35

Where Your Heart Leads

After Rumple's triumphant feat of spinning straw into gold, it seemed like every man in the city wanted to clap him on the back and buy him some ale. Rumple was almost knocked off his feet by the press of people wanting to congratulate him and shake his hand. He found himself pressed back against the spinning wheel, Val and Bae in his lap, and Arrow beside him, giving a soft huffing growl that served to keep some people at bay.

Master Derek waded into the knot of people and yelled, "Halt! Let the man breathe, by the gods' breath!"

At the same time, Gwydion moved away from Maurice's side and used his magic to gently push a path through the curious and awed folk to get to Rumple. "Move, people!" he ordered as he strode through them.

People scattered out of the way of the purple cloaked sorcerer in his blue doublet and ivory breeches, his gold hair flying about his head like platinum wings. Gwydion mounted the platform in two easy steps and came over to where Rumple was sitting with his children.

"Well, Rumple, looks like you showed them what a true sorcerer can do when he puts his mind to it . . . and his Talent."

"Gwydion, I . . . never thought I could do that . . . until I did," Rumple replied, still reeling from the fact that he could now spin straw, such an ordinary thing, into precious gold.

Gwydion beamed proudly and gave his apprentice a quick hug. "Believe . . . and you can do almost anything within your Talent's range. And you, Rumple, have a damn lot of magic within you. As much as I do . . . maybe even more than I do."

Rumple flushed and looked at his boots. Having his mentor say such about him made him feel embarrassed, even if it were true. He wasn't used to all the attention, especially the way people were looking at him now . . . like he hung the moon. "But . . . couldn't you do it, Gwydion?"

"No. In the first place, I can't spin anything, not even a bit of wool, I'd need to use magic to even do that. Second, my magic is different from yours, Rumple. I'm good with air and water magics, with Seeing a few events in water and wind, charms and enchantments, less so with fire, earth, and healing."

"But you can transform things, I've seen you," Rumple objected.

"Sometimes, yes. But it's not easy for me," the older sorcerer admitted. He opened his hand and a rock lay there. Then he flicked his wrist and the rock became a shimmering sapphire. "Now, you've seen me do this, right?" Then he gestured and the sapphire became a large blue butterfly. "And this. And this." He passed his hand over the butterfly and it became a rock again. "Or this."

Val and Bae watched and gasped. "Neat!" they cried.

Gwydion smiled at the two children. "But what I just did . . . was not true transformation. It was a mere illusion. A seeming. For me to transform the rock with my magic would require me to pay a significant price in energy and exhaust me so I couldn't cast spells for the rest of the day. But you—your Talent lies within the realm of transformation and change, with the earth and fire, less so with water and air, but you can command those too. You are a true-born transmogrifier, Rumple, and such a one is a rare breed of magician. One in a million is born with that gift, and usually never to such a degree as you have."

It is as I have always said, Arrow interjected. He is special.

Gwydion nodded. "Trust your familiar, Rumple. Grimm wolves were made to be companions to the greatest magicians, and it was no accident he chose you. I know, for as good as I am, someday you'll surpass me. Hells, if we could all spin straw into gold, we'd have every king in the realms begging to be our subjects!" The elder sorcerer grinned. "Now, the king would like to offer his own congratulations, apprentice. So if you'll come with me," he gestured back the way he'd come, to where Maurice waited under his pavilion.

"Bae, Val, go by Jeff," Rumple told his children, and they obediently jumped off his lap and ran over to where Jefferson was standing. Rumple rose, gripping his staff, and followed Gwydion over to Maurice.

"You wished to see me, sire?" Rumple asked respectfully, bowing.

Maurice nodded, looking very cheerful. "Yes. Today, you have done what no magic wielder has done in centuries, if the tales are true. I wish to congratulate you on your achievement, Rumplestiltskin, and to offer you a permanent position in my household as Royal Assistant to the Exchequer."

Rumple blinked. "You honor me, sire. Thank you."

"No, thank you, Master Gold. From henceforth, I give you the title of Gold sorcerer, and ask that you give your assistance as necessary to Avonlea if required."

"And what assistance, sire, would that be?"

"If needed, to use your Talent to help the Royal Mint," Maurice elaborated. "And in return you shall be awarded a position upon my counsel, as Gwydion is, rooms within the palace compound for you and your family, plus use of a horse and carriage if needed, and a generous stipend. What say you, Master Gold?"

"I humbly accept, Your Grace," Rumple said, bowing again.

He could feel Gaston glaring daggers into his back, but ignored the knight.

"Splendid!" Maurice cried, then he raised his arms and cried, "Citizens of Avonlea, welcome my new counselor, Rumplestiltskin, Guild Master and Gold sorcerer!"

The applause and cheering from the crowd nearly made Rumple go deaf.

But amid the accolades, his eyes found a certain pair of cerulean ones, and he gave her a shy triumphant smile.

Belle gave him one in return, longing to forgo propriety and run to him, throw her arms about him, and kiss him until they both passed out from lack of oxygen. If this had been one of her romances, she'd have done just that. But it was not, and her lessons in deportment and proper behavior chained her to remain at a distance, politely accepting of his achievements, as a university professor was of a brilliant student.

But oh, how she wished she could do what she had dreamed! She thought again of the constellation that had dominated the heavens before his arrival. The Magician, portent of change.

The stars had foretold it right. For Rumplestiltskin had brought change, both to herself and to Avonlea . . . and there was no telling what else might happen.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

That evening, before supper was announced in the great hall, Maurice called Belle into his private solar, a light and airy room with the walls colored a pale eggshell blue, like that of a robin's. The solar had sconces upon the wall filled with glowing mageglobes, and a thick carpet with curling vines and a scene of a unicorn kneeling to a king was spread across the tiled floor. Paintings of a flower meadow and a mountain castle hung on the walls, and a large desk of golden oak sat in front of a curtained window.

Bookshelves lined the wall to the right, filled with all manner of texts on government and law and previous decisions and history of the monarchs of Avonlea. A large fireplace was on the left, with a fire crackling in the grate, and upon the mantle was a crystal clock that chimed the hour. A thick padded couch was off to the left of the desk and a small table was next to it, with a tray upon which was a silver bowl with grapes and pairs, and another of dates rolled in coconut and sprinkled with almonds. A goblet of wine rested next to it, and the silver chased decanter was upon the desk itself.

Two guards stood on duty outside the door, they nodded as Belle went past them and into the study.

Maurice smiled at his daughter as she came into the room, still wearing her festival garb. "Belle! I hope I didn't interrupt your preparations for dinner."

"No, Father. I was just . . . reading a little," Belle remarked. Reading and daydreaming . . . about a certain spinner sorcerer. "You wanted to see me?"

Maurice cleared his throat, looking rather uncomfortable. "Yes, I . . . have a seat, please. I didn't call you here to scold you or anything like that. I . . . wish your mother were here to . . . err . . discuss this instead of me, but . . ." he sighed and spread his hands out.

Belle's mother, Serena, had died of an incurable disease when Belle was six, leaving a motherless child and a broken-hearted husband behind. Though urged to remarry and get more heirs, Maurice found he couldn't do so, as the memory of his dead wife haunted him, and he could no more consider another marriage than pigs could fly. Thus his only heir remained his daughter, and while that was unusual, Avonlea's law did not discriminate against women inheriting titles, property, or the kingdom.

"What is it, Papa?" Belle asked, reverting back to the mode of address she had used as a child. "What do you want to tell me?" She seated herself on the settle, folding her hands in her lap.

"It's . . . well, I couldn't help but notice how you . . . reacted this afternoon when Rumplestiltskin succeeded in spinning straw into gold," Maurice began awkwardly. "He blew you a kiss and you . . . you acted like he'd proposed to you with a diamond ring, Belle."

"Papa . . . I thought his gesture was charming . . . and I was truly happy that he succeeded in his task. Surely you can see what an asset he is to Avonlea."

"Yes, of course, it's why I gave him the position I did," Maurice said. "But surely, my darling, you don't have . . . feelings for this commoner? You are engaged to Gaston."

Belle frowned, her forehead furrowing. "Papa, I may be engaged to Gaston, but that was not ever my idea. You arranged it for me."

"As is only proper. A father has that duty—to see his children properly married to someone of the right background and class and especially if one is the heir to the throne, Belle. Gaston is of impeccable lineage, his mother was first cousin to the king of Briala, and his father one of my best knights. He is heir to the great holding of Lyonesse, tested in battle, and not bad to look on, eh?"

"He may be as rich as Midas, Papa, and handsome as sin, but I will never feel for him the way you felt about Mama," Belle told him firmly.

"Why, Belle? All the court ladies like him well," Maurice asked.

Belle snorted. "That's because most of the court ladies are moonstruck by his pretty face and broad shoulders and they don't look beyond them. But I do. And while I respect your choice, Papa, I have found that we do not suit . . . not at all. I . . . I feel more comfortable with Rumple, a commoner, than I do with blue-blooded Gaston, for all he is my social equal!"

Maurice gaped at her. "Belle! You . . .you cannot marry or even become engaged to a commoner! The law forbids such a union. Like must marry like, that's how it's always been."

"Just because something's always been, Papa, doesn't make it right," Belle debated spiritedly. "I mean, some of the old laws also state that a noble can have a commoner whipped to ribbons merely for failing to kneel quick enough in his presence, and you'd agree that's outdated and barbaric, right?"

"Of course! But marriage has always been for alliance purposes in the monarchy, Belle. You know this," Maurice sighed. "When I married your mother, I barely knew her, it was arranged by my parents, as was my brother's match. And yet I loved her eventually, and she loved me in return. Not all arranged marriages are bad."

"I know. But not all arranged marriages are good either," Belle argued. "Especially when the partners are as different as Gaston and I are, Papa. We have nothing in common. He loves hunting and killing, and he's a bully to his household staff and his horses and dogs. He only reads enough to sign his name to a tavern bill and he cares more for his own pleasures than he does the people who serve him."

"Belle, I know he's not enamored of the written word like you, but my dear, not everyone is in love with the printed page!" Maurice chuckled indulgently. "You are, however, very like your mother in that regard. Serena was always toting around a book and could be found most days squirreled away in the library with her nose in an old text, and her fingers stained with ink. Yet she knew the law like no one else, even my advisors, and I always knew I could count on her to give me the best information . . ." he trailed off as he recalled his lovely bright wife, whom he had lost too soon.

"Papa, I know that not all men share my love of books," Belle sighed. "But Rumple does. However, I could deal with Gaston's . . . disdain of bookworms, it's not like he's alone there with that attitude, but he's not only disdainful, he thinks he can tell me how to think, how to feel, he wants to make me into his puppet and I refuse to be so."

"Belle, he simply has certain ideas on how a . . . err . . . a lady should behave," the king said. "His mother was a very . . . opinionated woman and she set the standard for him."

"Then she taught him all wrong, Papa!" Belle flared. "I am not a meek simpering flower who curtseys and obeys without thought. I've never been. I use my brain . . . and if he doesn't like it, too bad! I'm going to rule this kingdom someday, and the last thing we need is a queen who does whatever her husband says, like some simpering milksop. But that is what he wants, Papa. He's an insufferable boor too, and he thinks he's the gods' own gift to women. He may be handsome, but he'd be an awful king! Papa, you taught me that a good monarch puts her people first, that she should always consider them before herself. Well, I know that Gaston's first love is himself . . . and he's a selfish wretch who would see his people starve before he'd lift a finger to throw them a crust of bread."

"Belle, are you sure you're not . . . exaggerating?"

"No. Have your bailiffs investigate his estates if you don't believe me," Belle challenged. "I'm sure you'll find out some surprising things." She took a deep breath. "Papa, Rumple isn't like most men. He enjoys books and learning, he . . . he isn't intimidated by my intelligence. I can actually . . . have a decent conversation with him . . . like I can with Gwydion."

"Can you? And where were you having this conversation, dear?"

"In the library, of course," Belle told him honestly.

"That's great, darling, for you to have found a . . . friend in this spinner sorcerer, but you could never be more than that. Your stations are too different, my girl. He's an amazing magician, but the fact remains he's only a common man, and you must marry to the advantage of your people," Maurice stated.

"Why must you assume that because Rumple's a commoner there would be no advantage in my marrying him?" Belle countered. "You told me often enough that it's not only a man's station that determines his true worth but how he acts. And Rumple acts selflessly. Did you know his maid is someone who stutters badly . . . that she would have never been chosen as his personal servant except he wished it so? And his little girl . . . is adopted . . . he saved her from her abusive cruel father. He's a good man, Papa, not an insufferable popinjay like Gaston and his ilk. People like him, Papa. Look at how they cheered him when you gave him that appointment. The Wool Merchant's Guild loves him, they say he's the best master they've ever had, and not just because he's a sorcerer that can spin straw into gold. He might be a cripple, but he's better than a man with two good legs, because he has compassion and intelligence."

Maurice sighed. There were some days that he wished Belle were not so . . . opinionated and so much of a bluestocking. "Belle, he could be one of the heroes reborn and the fact remains . . . he's a commoner and you're a royal. And the twain do not mix."

"Then why don't you just . . . elevate him to the peerage, Papa? It can be done. There's precedent for it. Lord Newcombe's grandfather became a Baron during Great-Grandfather Alphonse's reign."

"Belle, I can't just . . . ennoble him. He has to earn that right . . . Newcombe saved your great-grandfather's life! He has to do something worthy of being a noble before I appoint him. You can't just hand out estates and titles on a whim."

"And yet stuffed shirts like Gaston have all the privileges of rank and did nothing except get born," Belle pointed out. "And don't you think that his spinning straw into gold is something that can benefit our kingdom? He can make us rich, make us able to build and grow our borders and draw the finest professors and researchers to our kingdom."

"I know that, it's why I granted him the position of counselor and Assistant to the Exchequer," Maurice argued.

"He can be an even greater asset as royal consort. The people can relate to him, he's one of them. He's as well-educated as any noble I know, Papa, maybe even more so. And just because he works for a living, instead of living off an inheritance, makes him more appreciative of the things rank brings, not less. If you ennoble him, Papa, he could show those born to rank how to best use their position to serve the people, rather than using it to serve themselves."

"Hmm . . . you may have something there, Belle," Maurice allowed.

"And not only that, Papa. I . . . I think . . . I'm falling in love with him," she admitted breathlessly. "Not just with his looks, though I think he's wickedly handsome, but with him as a person. He's smart and witty and he . . . respects women, Papa. He also loves his family, and his children adore him. I know he's not the man you would have chosen for me, but . . . sometimes the heart chooses on its own, and you can only follow where it leads."

For an instant, her father looked dismayed and concerned. Then his features smoothed out and he looked like a monarch again, albeit one who'd been knocked for a loop, like a knight jousting at the quintain. "Belle, this is . . . rather sudden, and I ask that you take the time and think about this attraction you have for him. Consider your position and what it might mean for your people if you were to . . . pursue him. In the meantime, I'll take some time to investigate Gaston and his motives and also Rumplestiltskin's as well. I'll reserve my judgment for now on who is the better man. Or the better man for you . . . and for this kingdom."

Belle looked very happy. "Thank you, Papa! I truly believe that once you get to know him, you'll see what I do." She jumped off the settle and kissed Maurice on the cheek.

"I hope so, my dear. I truly want you to be happy with your consort, but also want what's right and proper for this kingdom," Maurice said, hugging her back. "And now I have to get back to these petitions. I'll see you at supper, sweetling."

Belle left the room then, humming an old song Mrs. Potts used to sing to her under her breath, leaving Maurice pondering the wisdom of such a decision, and wondering if he was growing soft. However, he loved his daughter, and he thought that it was only fair he give Rumplestiltskin a chance to prove himself. He thought Serena would have agreed, and certainly Gwydion would.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Gold cottage:

" . . . and the Swan Queen and her prince, who used to be an errand boy, lived happily ever after," Rumple finished reading the new book he had gotten out of the library called The Tale of the Swan Queen, a story about a enchantress of a far away kingdom who could shapeshift herself into a swan and how she fell in love with one of her servants, but he was kidnapped by pirates and she had to rescue him, fighting evil wizards and cutthroats before she finally did so, and then they ruled together the kingdom she had won from defeating the dark wizard.

"I love that story, Papa!" Val said, grinning as she snuggled on Rumple's knee. She was dressed in her favorite nightie, which was one he had made for her of soft cotton with violets all over it and a pretty matching grosgrain ribbon along the bodice that laced up. She wore fuzzy socks that matched the ribbon on her small feet, and she held Amanda Willa in one arm. The doll wore a matching outfit, made from the scrap fabric Rumple had left over after he'd cut out the nightie.

"Me too!" Bae agreed. He wore a plainer cotton sleep shirt, though it was of the same quality as Val's, also sewn by his papa, and had fuzzy red socks on. His lips were red from sucking on a lollipop given to him by Jeff, and he was leaning on Rumple's opposite shoulder as they all snuggled together on the couch in front of the fireplace.

Rumple had attended a banquet in his honor earlier that night, but had insisted upon coming home in time to read his children a story and tuck them into bed. "What part did you like best, Bae?"

"Uh . . . I liked when Elsa fought all those creepy ice creatures," Bae said.

Rumple turned to Val. "And how about you, Val?"

"Yeah, that was cool, but so was the part where she summoned the great white egret and it helped her and Sebastian fly away from the Mirk Lord," his daughter said. "I wanna hear it again tomorrow."

Rumple chuckled. "But don't you want to hear about Sir Gawain and the Black Dragon tomorrow?"

"Yes! Let's read my book tomorrow night," Bae seconded, bouncing up and down on his father's lap. "We can read about Elsa after, Val."

"Okay. Is that like Sir Gawain in King Arthur?" she wondered. She had read King Arthur and His Knight of the Roundtable for children back when she lived in Manhattan, borrowed from the New York public library.

"Could be, dearie," her father replied. "Now, you two need to go and wash up and brush your teeth before you go to bed."

"Aww, but Papa . . . I'm not even tired," Bae groaned.

"I'm not either," Val agreed. Then she playfully ran her little hand down Rumple's tunic. "Let's play Tickle Monster first, Papa. Then we can go to bed."

He smiled at her. Little by little she was slowly coming out of her shell and finally starting to ask for things like a normal child would. "What's this, pretty girl? You want to make a deal with me?"

She nodded, her dark hair flying all over her head. "Yes, Papa. Let's make a deal!"

"All right, dearie. If I let you stay up and play Tickle Monster with you . . . what'll you do for me in return?"

"Uh . . ." she thought hard, then she said, "When I come home from school tomorrow, I'll help Linnea make your favorite cinnamon pecan cookies for dessert."

"And I will too," Bae added.

"That sounds like a good trade," Rumple agreed. "Deal struck, Mistress Gold!" He shook her hand to seal it.

"Mistress Gold. I like how that sounds, Papa," Val told him. "It's so much better than Morinelli. Like now I'm really your little girl."

"You always will be, sweetheart," he told her sincerely. "My little girl forever and always, till the stars fall from the sky and everything turns to dust. And the same goes for you, Bae."

"Papa, will I still be your boy when I'm old and gray and have no teeth?" Bae queried.

"Baelfire!" Rumple started laughing. "Yes, my boy, even then." He tickled Bae under the chin, making the lad squeal in pretend fright and jump off his knee. "Run, Val! The Tickle Monster's after us!"

"I'll save you, Bae!" Val cried and jabbed Rumple in the side, yelling, "Ooga booga! Can't catch me!"

Then she ran too, jumping behind the couch and giggling.

Rumple stalked the two children around the cottage, pretending to sniff about and "search" for them, growling, "Mmmm . . . I smell two delicious delectable little morsels . . . just right for a midnight snack . . ."

Then he grabbed Val's foot and pretended to "eat" her, tickling it until she collapsed on the floor. "So sweet and satisfying! Like cinnamon chocolate candy!"

Bae jumped on his back, clinging like a monkey, and yelling at Val to get away.

"Oh ho! What's this?" Rumple crowed, using an arm to haul his son over his shoulder and tickle the backs of his knees. "A tasty tidbit! Crunchy! Chewy!"

Bae was giggling hysterically, upside down in Rumple's arms. "Hee hee . . . ahh . . . Val . . . help me . . .!"

Val darted in then and tickled Rumple under the arm, making the sorcerer snicker. "Eat me! I taste better!"

"Okay, my fine lady!" the "monster" bellowed, and carefully lowered Bae to the floor before chasing Val around the room.

Arrow, who was snoozing beside the hearth, opened one blue eye and watched indulgently as his sorcerer played with his children before closing it and going back to sleep.

When he had finally exhausted his little scamps . . . and made his leg ache doing so, Rumple stopped the game and sent his two imps to get ready for bed. He spent equal amounts of time with each one tucking them in and singing softly in his melodic voice until they both drifted off to sleep, Val holding Amanda Willa and his hand, and Bae with his new stuffed horse that Rumple had made to replace his old one that had been left behind when they had fled from the Enchanted Forest.

Once both children were sleeping soundly, Rumple came back downstairs and had another cup of cocoa, his children's laughter echoing sweetly in his ears as he sipped the creamy drink and thought about how belief had just changed his life, and now he was no longer just a master spinner, but counselor to the king, somebody instead of nobody. The thought was both exciting and nerve wracking. He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but he would try his best, and hope it would be enough.

He gazed at the single spool of gold winking in the lamplight on the mantle and recalled the fairy tale in Val's book from New York. Well, dearie, now you really are Rumplestiltskin, who can spin straw into gold. How very ironic . . . and how totally utterly amazing. Then he thought of how Belle had looked tonight at the banquet, and smiled quietly, imagining how she would look sitting on his bed in his cottage, with her chestnut hair down, waiting for him to come and sleep with her, wanting him the way no women had, not even Milah in the first years of their marriage, before she had labeled him a coward and become disgusted with him. Rumple, you're such a hopeless romantic, he thought, slightly mocking. Such things you imagine! Things that only come true in fairy tales, because in real life princesses don't marry spinners, even ones who can spin straw into gold. Everyone knows that.