Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from Shrek 2, nor do I own the song "Unexpected Song".
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Three weeks had passed since Belinda and Frederick's potion stealing escapade, and her business was already up and running, thanks to the bottles she managed to rescue from the pub in order to get started (and a royal restraining order that kept Harry from coming within two miles of her cottage). Unfortunately for Belinda, she was nearly too tired to enjoy her success. She never saw Frederick until after she closed up shop for the evenings, at which point he would arrive and either stay until the wee hours of the morning, or whisk her off to some grand ball held in honor of some important so-and-so whose name would be forgotten in a year. He was always gone before morning came, leaving her to catch a few hours sleep before the shop opened.
Early in the evening, Belinda watched the sun sinking below the treetops, and she flipped the sign on the door from 'Open' to 'Closed'. She was looking for Frederick to arrive at any time; he usually appeared just a little while after dusk. Humming to herself as she went upstairs to retouch her makeup, she couldn't help but smile in anticipation of the coming nightfall; on the nights they didn't go off to a party, he always brought her some sort of present. Beautiful dresses, jewelry, slippers, gloves...all the things a real princess should have. And, as much as she did love Frederick, she wouldn't deny that she also held a love for the material things he brought her. Lighting a lamp to combat the coming darkness, she stopped to admire the sparkle of an amethyst ring on her right hand and the shine of her coral colored nails, which she made sure to keep perfectly manicured now that the only real work she had to do was mix and bottle potions. She no longer even had to clean; Frederick sent a maid in from the palace in the afternoons to keep the place spotless, upstairs and down.
She double checked that the stew on the stove wasn't boiling over; no matter how much she protested that they shouldn't bother eating her simple cooking when Frederick was used to eating fancier dishes and they had the capacity to go anywhere they pleased, he always insisted that he liked her food better. She set the table and ladled two bowls full of stew to be cooling, then paused when she heard the tell-tale sound of hooves galloping on the dirt path outside. Smiling to herself, she untied the apron from around her waist and hung it on a hook behind the door, heading down the stairs again to greet her prince.
"Belle!" he called happily once she stepped outside, as he dismounted from the horse; he let the animal roam free whenever he was at the cottage, since it never tried to leave the clearing. He hurried over and grabbed her in a hug, lifting her off the ground and swinging her around once.
"Oh, Frederick, you're such a little boy sometimes," she chided, but she was laughing. He gave her one of his perfect, dazzling grins that could make any woman in the kingdom fawn over him, and she shook her head at him. "Come on inside, supper's ready."
A few minutes later, Frederick was already more than halfway through his stew. "S'great," he mumbled around the food, taking a bite of bread.
"Don't eat so fast," she warned him, shaking her head a little.
"Yes, mother," he answered mockingly, a teasing glint in his eye. She tried to hide a grin.
"Honestly, Frederick, you would think that a prince would have been raised with more manners than this!" she exclaimed with mock indignity. Although, truth be told, she couldn't really chide him much; she was brought up as a poor girl, and no matter how many airs she put on, she still licked her fingers at the table.
"I was raised with manners! I just choose not to use them all the time," he replied, then added in a more serious tone, "Besides, you're the first person I've ever met that I didn't have to put on fancy airs with."
She was quiet for a moment after that comment; serious conversation of that nature always made her feel like he was probing a little too deeply into her soul. As much as she wanted to share everything in her life with him, she still wasn't completely over her fear that as soon as she let him in, something would go wrong. But the way he looked at her...she knew he had to honestly love her.
"I...I guess that's true for me, as well," she said, swallowing her discomfort with some difficulty. There was a short silence between them, broken abruptly by Frederick.
"Belinda, do you love me?" he asked bluntly. She jumped at the suddenness of the question, startled.
"What?"
"Do you love me? I just...I mean, you've never actually said it..." he added, a little hesitantly. Belinda suddenly became very interested in the pattern on the silverware in front of her; an emotion as serious as love was not something easy to admit, no matter how true it was. What if he didn't WANT her to love him? What if...
"Yes," she blurted before she could overanalyze things any further, still not looking at him. She focused on tracing the outline of the spoon with her index finger on the tablecloth, but stopped when he reached over and laid a hand on top of hers.
"Belle, I love you, too. You know that," he replied. She glanced up to meet his eyes for a moment, then pulled her hand away and stood up to clear the table.
"I guess I'm just afraid this is all too good to be true," she said, forcing a little laugh as she gathered up the dishes and put them in the sink. "I mean, I always wished for a happily ever after...I never actually thought it would come true. This isn't even supposed to be real...you're a prince, Frederick, and I'm--"
"As good as any princess," he finished for her, cutting her off. There was a short silence, then he stood up, taking her arm and pulling her away from the dishes. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"Outside. You need to get out and breathe some fresh air...you spend too much time cooped up inside with all these potions during the day," he answered. Wordlessly, she followed him, stopping when they got to the arched footbridge overlooking the stream that ran in front of the cottage. Belinda leaned over the railing to look at their reflection in the water, and couldn't help but smile; without high heels on, she was positively dwarfed by Frederick.
"Have I told you I love this place?" she asked, turning her head to look back at the quaint, two-story cottage. Of course, the upstairs was almost more of an attic, with a single divider to separate rooms and ceilings that sloped almost to the floor, but it was good enough for a living space.
"Oh, just about every other time I'm here," he said, grinning as he leaned over to prop his elbows on the bridge railing. "You've gone on and on about how much you love the place...pity I can't get you to talk that much about loving me."
"Oh, Frederick, I do love you, you know," she sighed, shaking her head. "It's just...not so easy for me to say. I'm not used to being in love," she explained. He turned her face back towards him with one hand and kissed her softly.
"Better get used to it," he replied when they pulled apart. "Because I plan on loving you for a long, long time." She just smiled at that comment, and he put his arm around her shoulders so she could lean her head against his chest, both of them looking out onto the water. After a few moments, Frederick asked suddenly, "What would you do if you weren't into potion making? I mean...as far as a career goes. Have you ever thought of trying anything else?"
"What on Earth brought that up?" she asked, laughing a little. He shrugged.
"Oh, I don't know. Just thinking, I guess. My mind wanders, sometimes." He waited a moment for her to answer, then prompted, "Well? What would you do?"
"Well..." she began. "I always loved to sing. I used to sing a bit in the pub some nights, whenever we had someone who could play piano. Of course, I don't know how well I'd do at that professionally, but if I could do anything besides potion making, it'd be that."
"Why don't you combine the two? Maybe using singing as an advertising ploy, or something?" he suggested, grinning a little. She laughed.
"If the business is ever well-respected enough so I can afford to be a performer on the sidelines, I'll think about it," she said, then added, "Besides, only dwarfs and fairy godmothers have theme songs."
"Hey, you're almost short enough to be a dwarf," he began teasingly. The comment earned him a sound smack on the arm, which he ignored. "And who knows? Maybe you'll be the next fairy godmother."
Belinda didn't reply; she never really told him the full story of how the fairy godmother had actually been the one to help her, and thankfully, he hadn't asked questions about how she got to the royal ball in the first place. After a few moments of silence, Frederick commented, "I've never heard you sing, you know. I bet you're pretty good."
"I'm not bad," she replied honestly; she was very seldom modest about anything.
"Sing something for me?" he asked, almost playfully. She blinked at him, then laughed, shaking her head. "No, really! Sing for me. Anything, I don't care what...you pick." The blonde woman studied him for a moment, thinking, then turned and began to walk away from him across the bridge, her steps measured. He started to call after her, but stopped and listened when she started to sing a slow, lilting melody.
"I have never felt like this...for once, I'm lost for words. Your smile has really thrown me. This is not like me at all; I never thought I'd know the kind of love you've shown me...Now, no matter where I am, no matter what I do, I see your face appearing...Like an unexpected song, an unexpected song that only we are hearing..."
She kept her back slightly to him, seeming almost ashamed to meet his eyes, but he forced her to when he gently tilted her chin up to face him.
"Don't stop," he murmured quietly. She blushed a little, averting her eyes at first, then raising them to look at him again when he moved his hands to her shoulders.
"I don't know what's going on, can't work it out at all; whatever made you choose me? I just can't believe my eyes...you look at me as though you couldn't bear to loose me. Now, no matter where I am, no matter what I do, I see your face appearing...like an unexpected song, an unexpected song that only we are hearing..."
She trailed off, and he leaned down to kiss her as the last note faded from her lips. "That was beautiful..." he murmured, then asked, "Do you really feel that way, Belle?" She nodded slowly, not lowering her eyes this time. Somehow, saying what she had wanted to say in a song made things easier, and she wasn't quite so afraid to admit her emotions anymore. Smiling, he drew her into his arms, resting his chin on top of her head. They stood there in silence for a moment, holding one another, when suddenly Frederick murmured. "Marry me, Belle."
"What?" she asked, drawing away in surprise. He smiled at her reaction.
"I just asked you to marry me...I rather expected you to say 'yes', or 'no', not 'what'," he said, raising an eyebrow at her. Her mouth opened slightly in shock, but she shut it again quickly, at a loss for words.
"I...I mean, it's just...unexpected, that's all..." she stammered.
"An unexpected song?" he quoted, and she couldn't help but smile. He took both her hands in his, squeezing them lightly, then pulled one hand away to reach into the pocket of his tunic, pulling out a large diamond ring, fit for any princess. "I mean it, Belle. I want you to be my princess. My wife. Will you marry me?" She studied his face a long moment before replying.
"Frederick, I don't think anything on Earth could make me happier," she murmured quietly. Unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face, he slipped the ring on her left hand before leaning down to kiss her, tenderly at first. The kissing grew from tender to passionate, then from passionate to hungry. Soon, it became too intense for either of them to bear, and so he lifted her in his arms and carried her inside the cottage.
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Sunlight was streaming through the window by the time Belinda awoke the next morning, lying on her right side the way she always did, which put her facing away from the man she had fallen asleep next to the night before. She yawned widely, blinking her eyes blearily at the sunlight just as she did every morning. It took a moment for her to remember the events of the night before, and she smiled happily when she realized that the other side of the bed was a little sunken because of Frederick's weight. With another yawn, she rolled over to snuggle up next to him.
And promptly screamed in terror.
The shriek jolted the ogre lying in bed awake; he sat up quickly, staring in confusion at Belinda, who had immediately scrambled out of bed and grabbed a robe, which she was tying haphazardly around her.
"Belinda, what's wrong..." the ogre began, speaking in Frederick's voice, but trailed off when he noticed the bright sunlight. He looked down at his hands to confirm what he already knew was true, looking horrified. "Belle, please, I can explain!"
"What have you done with Frederick?" the blonde woman screeched, grabbing the nearest object at hand – an oil lamp from the bedside table – and brandishing it as a weapon.
"Belle...it's me..." the ogre said softly, reaching an enormous green hand out towards her. She recoiled in horror from his outstretched fingers; she, like all other villagers, had been raised to hate and despite ogres as fearful, loathsome creatures who should be disposed of by any means possible. Waking up in bed next to one was a far worse experience than even her more horrifying nightmares.
"What in bloody hell are you talking about?" she demanded, her normally careful speech slipping into a less refined pattern. "You're an OGRE!"
"Belle, will you LISTEN to me! It's a curse...this is why I always leave before sunrise..." he faltered, a little uneasy at the fear and hatred he saw glittering in her eyes. "I...I was going to tell you..." There was a tense silence between the two of them, Belle still staring at the creature in her bed with a repulsed expression. Finally, she spoke, her voice a low growl that he was unused to hearing.
"Get out."
"Belle, please...I love you..." he began desperately.
"I said get OUT!" she repeated, louder this time. His face fell into a heartbroken expression.
"I thought you loved me, too," he said quietly, his eyes downcast.
"I don't even KNOW you!" she answered, her voice shaking with rage and hurt. "I loved what I THOUGHT was a wonderful, handsome, HONEST man! Not a bleedin' ogre in disguise! Now get out, and don't you dare ever come back. Is that perfectly clear?"
He just looked at her quietly, not moving, clinging to a last hope that if he just waited for her to calm down, she would change her mind. When he didn't leave, her eyes narrowed to slits, and she slammed the lamp down so hard on the table that the globe shattered, some of the shards narrowly missing her hand.
"Fine," she hissed. "If you won't leave, then I will. I'll not stand here to look at your hideous face a moment longer." In spite of her anger, her voice cracked with emotion on the word 'hideous', but it wasn't enough to stop her from grabbing her cloak and shoes and heading down the stairs, still in her robe.
"Belinda, wait..." Frederick called after her. The downstairs door slammed loudly in response, and he shook his head. "I love you," he said aloud to the empty cottage. The sound of hoof beats on the bridge outside was his only answer; she had ridden away on his horse, leaving him alone to stare shamefully at his oversized green hands with tears in his eyes.