AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello everyone, readers all!

My name is Ismann, pronouns she/her. I started this new FFN account because I completely lost track of my old one, where I went under a different FFN username. Anyway - I'm starting fresh here! This is, however, my first time publishing a Rumbelle fic, so go easy on me with the feedback, at least at the start.

I started this fic for deliriumsdelight7 on rumbelleprompts. The prompt was: On an adventure, Belle finds herself in a tavern, playing a game of chance with a mysterious stranger. The game culminates in the stranger making a most unusual wager: an oddly-shaped dagger, with an even odder name inscribed on the blade.

I took some liberties with the prompt and shifted it around a bit. Some of the chronology of events is OOC, but we get back into the right sequence of things fairly quickly, don't worry. ;)

Thanks in advance for reading, and pretty please do leave comments, constructive feedback or requests, and suggestions, which are always appreciated. Sidenote: I'm the sort of person who likes to indent their paragraphs, but sadly, as we all know, FFN can get finicky with formatting. So, forgive me if these paragraphs are haphazardly indented.

Now that I've gotten the boring stuff out of the way: Welcome aboard!

Virtual handshake/hugs/fist bump,

- Ismann.

CHAPTER THE FIRST

Purpose.

Belle trudged through the fall leaves, keeping one mittened hand clenched at her side as she walked, and the other strained behind her. And as she made her way uphill pulling her load with one arm, an increasingly pronounced frown began to pinch the middle of her typically serene, if inquisitive, brow. Adventure, she thought, definitely had some downsides.

She had been on her so-called adventure three weeks now, and was growing quickly tired of it. At first, when she had left her home in Avonlea to escape an impending marriage to Gaston LeGume, things had felt exciting and right. Even now, far from her father's demands and the demands of her station in life, she was free, in principle, to travel for the sake of it. To see the world. And this thought in itself would have, at one time, been more than enough to make her happy.

Yes, she mused — if she could ignore the fact that she had no final destination, no defined goal, and no companion save for her loyal (and very silent) horse, she would be quite happy indeed.

"Sorry, Philippe," she said, looking to her left, where the stallion walked slowly at her side, needing no bridle to remain close to his master. "That wasn't fair. You may be a man of few words, but you really are a charming conversationalist, I promise. You do know I'm grateful to you, don't you?"

The horse snorted and shook his head. She made an amused noise, then went back to her thoughts.

The feeling of voyaging endlessly with no purpose was slowly driving her round the bend. Of course, she had met wonderful people along the way — people from the Land of Hearts. People like Mulan, and the Dwarves who had been traveling through Avonlea to get to King George's realm. But all of that was due to serendipity, sheer luck, and happenstance, and not because of an ultimate purpose, a drive.

Spontaneity was in her nature, to be sure, and so was courage — but she was also eminently prudent and intelligent, and hated senseless wandering. Wandering, traveling, both of these had to have some sense behind them. A purpose. And, she realized as she moved onward through the golden-tinged autumn trees, the feelings of anticipation mingled with freshness had already begun to wear off after less than a month. Her original purpose - to free herself from her chains - had already been achieved. It had been well achieved by the second day of her voyage.

She hadn't fought any mythical beasts. She hadn't saved anyone from certain doom. She wasn't on a quest to find some untold treasure. And if she was looking for her true love, she had no idea where to begin. There was no purpose to her journey now, save to keep moving before the frosts came. Les Saints de Glace, as they called them in Avonlea. The Ice Saints. She looked up at the sky and squinted; it was bright and completely white. Already a sign of impending winter.

"We need to find a place to stop for the night, Philippe."

The dark horse whinnied.

"Let's check the map."

She stopped moving and set down the wagon (which was large enough for one person and everything they owned in the world, if they were modest, which she was). She'd taken up the wagon to give Philippe a bit of a rest, which in all honesty, he'd seemed appreciative of. Insofar as a horse could be appreciative. Perhaps she was projecting human characteristics onto him. She'd been alone for what felt like forever. With a sigh, she removed her mittens and pulled a map and compass from the thin brown leather cylinder that she kept under her cloak.

"Alright, Philippe," she said to her horse, turning the old map this way and that, holding it out in front of her and cocking her head. "Another hour or so on this path and we'll come up to The Three Jolly Bargemen. Oh, good, maybe we'll see Mulan there. Seems like just the place she'd go to, doesn't it?," she said. "Well, would you look at that? That's in the Frontlands, right at the edge of Father's kingdom. It took three weeks just to get to the border, isn't that unbelievable? Just imagine how much else must be out there… and how big everything is," she added, trailing off in a way that was half dreamy, half sad. Then, she blinked. "Yes. Well. How does a nice warm stable sound, Phil?"

The horse threw his head up and down as if to say 'Oh, yes, please.' Belle shook her head and smiled. Now that she had her hands free, she was able to stroke his flank and comb her fingers through his coarse mane.

"You deserve it, P, you do," she said softly, patting him on the top of his great head one last time. She sighed again. "Right. Onward-ho, and all that?"

Philippe grunted. Well, as much as a horse could grunt.

"I know, Philippe," she said, picking up the wagon and facing forward. This time, there was a renewed hope in her eyes. "We'll be able to rest soon. It's been a long day."

And, feeling more desperate than she had in many days, Belle moved forward with her stalwart companion at her side, amidst falling leaves and cold, bracing winds. The wagon creaked behind them, and the ground crunched underfoot.

Some two hours later, they were still walking. Belle felt exhausted, and everything ached. Her boots were caked with mud and broken pieces of amber, red, and yellow leaves, and Philippe was clearly suffering from sore hooves. So it was with relief that Belle spotted the tiny building on the horizon, a dot in the distance, with more dots behind it.

They had made it.

And unbeknownst to them, someone — or rather, something — had followed them.