Title: A Price To Be Paid
Rating: T
Word count: ~107,300
Characters: Belle, Rumplestiltskin, minor appearances from Maurice, Gaston, Regina, and sundry original characters.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise from 'Once Upon A Time' does not belong to me.
Rumplestiltskin does not return for four nights, the longest he's left her since she came here as his wife, and by the time he returns Belle feels a little crazed from the isolation.
She's kept herself busy, of course. The library is progressing nicely – she cleaned the windows there once she'd finished the windows in the great hall. The latter had taken a whole day, and she'd been sore and aching by the time she was done. All her clothes are neatly mended, and she's reorganised the larder to make it seem more her own.
She's kept busy, but for four days there has been a nagging thought in her mind, and for four days Belle has waited for her monthly bleeding. It doesn't matter how much she tells herself it's a foolish thought, the thought will not leave her, and with no company to distract her, Belle has had plenty of time to dwell on it.
Rumplestiltskin reappears just after breakfast on the fifth day, startling Belle as she stands at the kitchen table kneading bread. His arms come around her waist from behind, and Belle shrieks in surprise, whirls around and would topple over but for his hands steadying her.
"Don't do that," she scolds, and he's laughing at her, all glittering eyes and wide grin. Belle's heart is pounding in her chest from the surprise, and she pokes his shoulder with her finger. "You enjoy that," she accuses, and Rumplestiltskin shrugs.
"Perhaps," he says, and dips his head to kiss her. Belle's irritation melts away as they kiss, warmth and tongues and a slow burn through her body; she's missed him. She's missed this, even though they'd only shared kisses for a few short days before he had been called away.
She's breathless when at last he withdraws, breathless and smiling, and his grin has faded into something softer.
"Welcome home," Belle says, and she likes the way that sounds. She likes calling this place home, she realises, and perhaps that should be more of a shock than it is.
"Home," murmurs Rumplestiltskin, and he's quizzical, frowning at his own thoughts. "Yes. I…you missed me, then?" His expression turns hopeful, eyes a little wide as he searches her face. Belle nods, ducks her head.
"Of course I did," she says softly. She doesn't asked if he's missed her; it doesn't seem right, somehow, when he's looking at her in such a way. Vulnerable, almost, as if he can scarcely believe she's real. There's no need to make him feel more vulnerable, and equally no need to hurry him back into a more casual, hardened mood.
Instead she wraps her arms around him, lifts herself up and kisses him again. He appreciates her boldness, hums into her mouth and pulls her close to him. He slides a hand into her hair, tugs at her ribbon until it comes free and her hair is tumbling over her shoulders. Belle breaks away from him to laugh, and he kisses her jaw, nuzzles at her throat.
"Dear one," he murmurs, and Belle tilts her head back, feels his teeth against her pulse and inhales shakily. And then, abruptly, he lets her go and takes a step backwards. Belle leans back against the sink, a little dazed, and she looks at him, finds him smirking a little at her. Flustered, she lifts a hand to push her hair behind her shoulders.
"What – what's wrong?" she asks, and he shakes his head, flourishes a hand.
"Wrong?" he says. "Nothing's wrong, dearie. Time enough for that later. I believe I promised you a trip to town on market day."
"I – " Belle doesn't know what she means to say, closes her mouth and stares at him while she tries to formulate her thoughts. Rumplestiltskin rocks on his heels, tilts his head as he watches her. "Yes," she says at last, "you did, but – but you've just got back!"
"Oh, have you changed your mind about going?"
She opens her mouth to protest, but catches the glint in his eye and stops herself before she can rise to the bait. He's teasing her, and Belle huffs a reluctant laugh, turns to find her ribbon.
"Alright," she says. "Town." She finds the ribbon in the sink, fishes it out of the water with a sigh. It's drenched, of course, and there's no way she can wear it into town – no way she can appear at the market looking anything less than her best. "I'll just run up and tidy my hair," she says, but Rumplestiltskin steps close to her, plucks the sodden ribbon from her hand.
"No need," he says. He shakes the ribbon, and a tendril of dark smoke ripples across it. In a moment the ribbon is dry, and Belle stands still while Rumplestiltskin ties her hair back once more. "There," he murmurs. "Perfect."
Belle can't think of anything to say to that, so she turns around and gives him a quick, chaste kiss.
"Then I just need my cloak," she says, and slips away from him, retrieves the garment from the hook beside the kitchen door. She settles her cloak into place, takes his offered arm, and he leads her up through the castle to the front doors. The carriage is waiting for them, the white horses stamping impatiently, their breath visible in the frosty air. Rumplestiltskin opens the door and helps her up, but he doesn't follow her in.
"Aren't you coming?" Belle asks in some confusion, for although he'd said she could go to town, she'd never dreamed he would allow her to go alone. And, in truth, she's a little afraid of it after meeting Regina, even though these are Rumplestiltskin's lands, even though the townspeople will, she's sure, protect her if necessary.
It's not a great fear, just a small kernel of ice in her heart. Enough to make her wish he would accompany her, although she can't help but be pleased that he trusts her enough to let her go alone.
"Not this time, my lady," he says, and he quirks an eyebrow, tilts his head. "You'll do fine by yourself. They'll not dare hurt you. Or," he adds, holding out a purse of money for her to take, "cheat you."
"Last time they barely took my money," Belle says, more for something to say than from any need to say it. "Alright, then," she says after a moment, reluctant. "But you've only just come home – I don't want…" She trails off, unable to say what she wants or doesn't want – unable to admit to him that she's missed him, that she wishes to spend time with him now, not be parted for longer even though it means she can go to town, that she is trusted.
The corner of his mouth lifts, as if he's trying not to smile. "I have work that cannot wait," he says, "and you are…a distraction."
"Oh!" That puts a different complexion on things, and Belle fights her own smile now. It's perhaps vain, perhaps prideful, but it pleases her to hear that – to hear that she is a distraction for him, that she is pleasing enough to him to be a distraction. "Well," she says, and she settles herself properly on the bench of the carriage, fusses with her skirts to hide her smile. "I'll see you later, then."
"The carriage will bring you back when you wish it," he says. "Knock on the roof when you're ready to go." He hesitates, his hand on the door, and Belle waits patiently. "My work," he says at last, "should be finished by midday."
"I'll be sure to be back in time for lunch, then," says Belle, and he nods, closes the door without a further word of farewell. Belle waits for a moment, watching him retreat up the steps to the castle doors, and then she knocks on the carriage roof.
The journey to town seems shorter than before, somehow, perhaps because last time Belle had undertaken it full of dread and fear, and now she's simply pleased to be out of the castle, and pleased to be trusted to leave and return again. It seems barely a few minutes before the carriage reaches the outskirts of the town, and without Rumplestiltskin to stop her, Belle watches through the window. She sees people working, sees the gradual increase of buildings – she sees people reacting to the carriage, as well, a ripple of awareness, of acknowledgement.
And fear too; there is fear. They fear that Rumplestiltskin is within the carriage, she knows, and she's not sure she can blame them for it. She remembers what Edith had said, that Rumplestiltskin rarely comes to town, and the townspeople must be alarmed by two visits within such a short space of time.
Hopefully when they see she is alone, their fear will abate a little. They'd been afraid of her before, when Mayor Oldfellow had escorted her around the market and introduced her to the stall-holders. Afraid, she thinks, of Rumplestiltskin's wrath should they misstep, rather than any true fear of herself.
Perhaps in time that will change.
The carriage stops at the edge of the market, and Belle opens the door and descends, looks around herself and finds people looking back at her – watching, waiting, to see if Rumplestiltskin is with her. When no dark figure follows her from the carriage they seem to relax a little, and many of them continue about their business. The hum of the market barely falters, and Belle drinks it in, the busyness and vitality of it. She feels almost dazed by it, after days of only cats for company, and weeks of barely seeing a living being beyond Rumplestiltskin.
Then she shakes herself, joins the throng – aware, always, that when people recognise her they keep a careful distance – and begins to browse the stalls. The weight of her purse tells her she has no need to stint, but she has little need of anything. Perhaps, she thinks, something will catch her eye. The mere fact of being here is enough for Belle, but she knows it would not do to spurn the town's offerings, not if she wishes them to grow accustomed to her – to grow fearless of her.
She finds Mary at her father's stand; her father is a shepherd, their wares thick, warm sheepskins. Some are made into garments – there are a pair of slippers lined with the soft wool, and Belle slips her hand inside and thinks of cold nights in the castle even as she greets Mary and asks after her health. Mary offers them to her freely, but Belle shakes her head, gives her the price asked for them.
She will not accept gifts; she knows many of these people must scrabble for every hard-earned coin, for every meal eaten. She will pay fairly, or not buy at all. Eventually Mary agrees, and when she insists on giving Belle a basket to carry her goods in, Belle doesn't refuse it.
Belle finds other things in the market as she wanders – trifles, really, things she doesn't need but that she discovers she wants. Rumplestiltskin had been generous, she has plenty of coin to purchase whatever she desires, and she tries not to feel like she's squandering it when she purchase a new pen, soft yarn to continue her attempts at knitting. A small paper bag with more of the toffee and fudge that she'd been sent as a welcoming gift, from a portly woman who seems pleased when Belle expresses how she'd liked the sweets.
Edith is in the market too, selling her wares – herbs and small remedies of the sort that Belle knows, things that require no magic to make. There are other things on her stall too, things that Belle knows are made with magic, although she thinks there is little power in them. Charms and trinkets, she sees as she seizes her courage and approaches the stall. A necklace for a lovesick girl, perhaps, or a charm for a woman who is weary of childbirth.
Edith has her voice back; she nods at Belle, greets her with a murmured 'my lady'. Belle thinks she's learned from what happened, and she's glad of it even though she wishes Rumplestiltskin's display of power had been unnecessary.
The smell of the herbs is overwhelmingly strong, and Belle lifts a hand to her face, closes her eyes for a moment. She feels dizzy, feels faint; before she quite realises what's happening she is half on her knees, and strong arms are supporting her, worried voices all around.
"I'm alright," she says, and she looks up to see who's holding her up. It's Mayor Oldfellow, and in his kindly concern she finds comfort. "Thank you," she says. "I – I think I can stand now."
"A chair," he says, but not to her – he's instructing those around him, the men and women who have gathered around her. Belle wonders if she fainted, wonders if she lost consciousness for a moment, for there seem to be more people around her suddenly than there were before. "And a cup of water," Oldfellow adds, and somebody nods, a girl shoves her way through the crowd with a cup and passes it to Belle with a curtsey.
"Thank you," Belle says. "But – Master Oldfellow – I'm quite alright."
"My lady," he says, and he helps her stand, keeps his arm around her waist and at her shoulder until she's safely up and steady on her feet. "You must," he says, "forgive my caution. I should not like anything to happen to you while you are here."
She understands what he does not say; he is worried about Rumplestiltskin's reaction, when he discovers what happened. Oldfellow will give her every courtesy and kindness, will make sure she is well, and Belle knows she must accept it or risk Rumplestiltskin becoming angry. He is, she has learned, surprisingly protective of her.
A man brings a stool, and she sits and sips her water, cheeks flushed from the stares she's receiving. She's grateful when Oldfellow ushers them away,
"Well," says Edith, and Belle glances up, across the stall at the old woman sitting behind her herbs and her simple magics. Edith's watching her with a peculiar expression, half-astonished and half-gratified, and Belle can't quite make it out. "That was soon enough, mistress. I see I was wrong."
"Wrong?" Belle questions, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"About you preventing it," says Edith, pointedly. Belle stares, confused, and Edith laughs, a cackling, amused laugh that sets Belle's teeth on edge. "Most of my work's around children and child-bearing, mistress," she says. "I know when a maid's with child. You're early yet, but there's no fooling me, mistress. I know."
The cup falls from her hand; in a moment Oldfellow is by her side again, picking up the cup, asking if she's alright. Belle can't answer, can't speak, can't do anything but stare at Edith.
She must have miscounted the days, she thinks, and her thoughts are like sludge, are like treacle dripping off a spoon, slow and stupid. She must have miscounted the days. She can't remember how long it's been since she arrived at the Dark Castle, since she made her marriage vows with her father as witness. She can't remember; she must have miscounted.
Edith reaches forward, picks up a bundle of herbs and holds it out to Belle.
"For sickness," she says. "Go on, Mistress, take it. It won't bite."
"My lady?" Oldfellow queries, and when Belle glances up at him she sees his worry. He knows, he must know, why Rumplestiltskin had come to town before. He's worried, she's sure, that Edith means harm.
Belle rises to her feet. "Thank you," she says to Edith, and takes the bundle of herbs. She recognises them, knows she has more of the same in her still room box in the castle – Laura had given her some of this herb, she remembers, and so she knows it's safe, knows its use to be what Edith says. She puts the herbs into her basket, and tries to smile at Oldfellow. "Thank you, Master Oldfellow," she says. "I am quite well now, but I think I should like to go home."
"I will escort you to your carriage," he says, and offers his arm. Belle, still feeling shaken, takes it without complaint.