A/N: Sorry for the delay on this. I wrote two more chapters, then decided I didn't like it and started again, much happier with version two. Hope you like it.
Four hours earlier, delegations from the far reaches of the kingdoms had arrived at Avonlea Stronghold, ancestral home of Duke Maurice. Until moments ago, there had been a distinct party atmosphere, crown princes and princesses and ambassadors of the land living it up at Maurice's expense, celebrating the final capture of The Dark One, Rumplestiltskin, The Dealer. There would be time tomorrow to discuss the details of his imprisonment, time tomorrow to see the frightful creature cower at their magnificent feet and beg for forgiveness. Maurice was sincerely hoping that tomorrow would also bring the beast to his cells. Despite hours combing through the minute details of the contract, none of his advisors could find a way for the magical monster to slip from the cage of his own making, so he expected to see him soon, hopefully giving himself up with little fight. Moments ago Maurice's world was happy and safe, with time for worries tomorrow. Moments ago the young royals were dancing and drinking. Moments ago, a cloud of purple smoke signalled that something was amiss. It floated along the floor, swirling upwards, but was otherwise unimpressive. There was lots of twisting and turning and gasps of fear from the assembled crowd when a voice echoed around them.
'Your high Highnesses, pompous princes, pretty princesses and ..' The speaker pauses for effect, '.. all you other folk.' Several swords are drawn by several young men in various states of sobriety, but with nothing solid to point them at, the effect is rather lost. The voice giggles, if anyone was still in doubt of the speaker, they no longer are. 'It seems you have mislaid something of importance. Maybe I can offer my assistance?'
He appears, sitting next to their host, wine goblet in hand, looking, to all intents and purposes, like he was invited. The clatter of swords being manoeuvred to point in his direction is less than musical and laughable. After all these years, they haven't learnt that swords hold no fear for him?
'Submit to my guards, Beast!' The Duke stands and points a finger in his face, obviously encouraged by the amount of steel in the room.
'Or what?' His voice is lace with venom. He looks down at his hands, absent mindedly picking at his nails before flicking his fingers out towards the swords. He can't help a manic little laugh when everyone takes a step back, despite nothing appearing to have happened. 'The deal was not upheld. Dying. Is. Not. Safe. Bleeding to death. Is. Not. Safe. Left under the protection of a girl with ribbons in her hair. Is. Not. Safe. Captured by a monster.' He giggles. 'Is. Not. Safe. So no, I do not submit.' He stands and saunters towards the doors. 'Enjoy your little party!' Then he is gone.
Rumplestiltskin finds himself sitting on Belle's bed. Her sheets are still rumpled and bloodied from birthing his babe but the room has somehow held onto her fresh intoxicating scent. He stands to walk around the grand room, pausing at her closet to stroke his hands through her soft dresses and an idea hits him. With a wave of his hand, the contents of her closet disappear and he smiles to himself, imagining the look on her face when she finds she has clothing options more than a rag dress or nightgown. He had not really thought of it before now, but Belle had left very little behind when they journeyed to her father's castle a few weeks back, neither of them expecting her to return. All she and Red had, were the clothes he magicked them away in. He mused to himself about what else women needed or wanted, slowly stepping around her chambers until her reached a small side room for bathing. In here were brushes and combs, oils and soaps, pins and ribbons. Thinking it best to be on the safe side, he sent everything back to the Dark Castle, before turning to leave the room. He is looking forward to viewing the chaos in the throne room before returning home. He looks back to her bed, remembering the sight of her holding their baby cradled in her arms, and the abject fear on her face when she found all she was holding was magic smoke, he is a monster pretending to be man, how could this ever work out? His eyes light upon a baby crib, it is elegant and old, most likely it held Belle as a child and before that one of her parents. The wood is dark and expertly carved, woodland creatures play along the slatted sides and birds and butterflies flit over a solid canopy. The sheets are edged with lace and the crib holds many baby treasures; clothes fit for an infant of rank, a silver rattle engraved with a cursive B and a well loved, threadbare doll. He pockets the rattle and sends the cradle and its contents away with a flick of his fingers and a puff of purple smoke.
Waltzing down the ornate white marble staircase, his mind distracted by the practicalities involved with having two women and a baby in The Dark Castle, he nearly bumps straight into Belle's father, trudging up the stairs. With swift presence of mind, he magics himself a few steps up and sits, waiting for the old duke to notice him. When it looks like Maurice will simply walk right over him, he sucks in a breath and puts on his best caustic voice.
'Careful, Dearie. Inattentiveness on stairs can cause … accidents.' He twists his hand and slightly raises his pitch for the last word, implying more than the word itself suggests and jumps over the bannister to spy on the nobles left in the grand hall.
He is fast bored by the nobles and their half formed plans. Fierce words of rescue missions and slaying beasts float around the hall, as well as one interesting conversation suggesting he is building himself a harem, his snort nearly gives away his presence hearing that. He is painfully aware that he has no idea what to do with one woman, a harem is unthinkably terrible, for more reasons than one.
He makes a final call at the weavers, reducing several bolts of cloth to purple smoke and replacing them with a few gold coins.
Rumplestiltskin re-materialises outside his castle walls. The serious magic usage of the past few days has been exacting its price, he feels groggy and weak and his head won't stop pounding. He hopes the walk to the castle in the fresh night air will clear his head. It is approaching dawn and the ground is dewy and wet, the air cool and refreshing.
He cracks the castle doors and slips in, candles spluttering to life ahead of him. The castle is cool and silent and for a second he can imagine that the past year never happened. That he never answered the Duke's plea, that Avonlea fell to the ogres, that he never set eyes on the beauty who bewitched him, that his life was still empty and meaningless. The vision of Belle's body laying crushed and broken in the ruins of her castle makes him shudder and he shakes his head to remove the image before dragging his weary body to his chambers. He half wondered if she would still be there, curled delicately in the middle of his bed and, being honest with himself, he wasn't sure if he was happy or unhappy to find his bed cold and empty. He doesn't even bother taking off his boots, just falling to the bed, asleep before his head hits the pillow.
The sun is shining through the windows, highlighting the dust motes floating in the air and bathing the dining table in soft golden light. She can see his straight form, facing away from her, spinning his wheel slowly, obviously lost in thought. She feels a small stab in her heart that he doesn't turn to greet her when she enters the room, but pushes the pain away and walks carefully to the table with her tea tray. She has regained most of her strength and thanks to his healing magic, she is feeling very few of the after effects of birth. He turns when she sets down the tray, jingling the cups together and he seems surprised to see her.
'Y.. you said breakfast?' She doesn't know why, but she feels nervous. She looks down over her ragged dress and bare feet, trying to straighten her skirt with her hands. He looks impeccable, as always, his silk ruby red shirt as soft and loose as his tan leather trousers are stiff and tight. She fights a frown at the obvious difference in their status, he is all power, money and influence and she is once again his serving girl.
He claps his hands, and bounds to the table. 'Breakfast!' He declares, like it is something new and special. 'Where is Red?' He questions while waving a hand towards the table creating an extra chair. As if summoned by her name, the young girl appears in the doorway with another tray, walking carefully to the table and setting her load down, before turning to walk away.
'Are you not joining us, Red?' He asks softly. 'I got you a chair.' He waves his hands at the chair and grins, determined to do things right this time, no dungeons and servitude. Red's eyes are wide and confused when she turns to look at him.
'M .. M'lord, I .. I .. ummm.' She stutters over her words, her head not fast enough to produce a sentence for her.
His lips twitch upwards as he puts her out of her misery. 'I am no one's lord, I did not bring you here as my servant.' He pauses to look at Belle, ensuring she is aware that he speaks to them both. 'You are free here, free to come and go as you please. And I assure you, you need not fear me, Red, you stood for my lady when all others abandoned her in haste. I would happily repay that debt with the flesh of the man who put those bruises on you.' He growls out the last words, sounding more monster than man, which is odd, because for once, he feels more man than monster.
Red's grin is luminous, although, from the corner of his eye, he sees Belle blanch in horror. She takes a step backwards and he slowly turns to her.
'My lady?' His words were to reassure Red, he had not given due thought to how they would affect his compassionate lady.
She starts walking backwards towards to the door. 'Aurora.' She mumbles, finding her strength. 'I have to get Aurora, and a cup for Lu- for Red.' She can read the panic in his eyes, softening at the baby's name. 'I'll be fast.' She promises. 'Pour the tea?' She winks at him, playing, but also testing how true his words are.
Her bare feet carry her slowly up the stairs, trying to forget the image of her master/lover flaying the guardsman who so loved to abuse pretty, status-less Red. Aurora is asleep where they left her, in the middle of her bed, turned slightly away from the door and cradled in a nest of pillows. She has to stare at her for a long moment before picking her up, still amazed and awed that this tiny being is hers. She nestles the baby into the crook of her arm without waking her and heads for the kitchen.
When she nears the great hall, she is drawn up sharp by the sound of laughter, she had expected them to be discussing gruesome torture for Red's abusers or sitting in stony silence, unsure of how to talk to each other, so she creeps into the room in the hopes of observing her companions unseen. Two cups of steaming tea are sitting at the end of the table and Red and Rumplestiltskin's chairs have been dragged to face one another. There is a delicate crown of daisies on Red's head and Rumplestiltskin is holding a wooden sword, waving it absent-mindedly.
'I shall slay the wicked beast for you, my lady, and we shall live happily ever after in our castle by the lake. We shall have great balls in the winter and tournaments in the summer. We will raise strong sons who will lead our mighty army and …' He has made his voice deeper, but dull and she realises the game they are playing. He makes a good impression of most of the boring suitors who came to try and win the generous dowry he had gifted her.
Red's voice is pitched slightly higher than normal and she does a good impression of Belle's upper class accent. 'Thank you, all very interesting.' She waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. 'But all the same as the last guy. What if I don't want balls and tournaments? Or strapping sons to send to war?'
Belle giggles unable to hold back. 'And what if I prefer wicked beasts to boring knights?' Red and Rumplestiltskin both spin to look at her, Red looks guilty, but Rumplestiltskin looks shocked.
'Men can be monsters, my lady, but monsters cannot be men. Be careful what you wish for.' He sounds so sad, but she knows at once how to break the melancholy from settling in.
She walks confidently up to him, placing Aurora in his arms before he has chance to protest. He looks between her and the baby, the range of emotions on his usually unreadable face, quite comical. She steps away, pouring herself tea and making up a bowl of porridge for each of them. By the time Red has pulled her chair back to the table and offered a silent apology to Belle for mimicking her, Rumplestiltskin is lost in his daughter. He doesn't move, just stares at the small miracle in his arms, hardly blinking. Belle and Red eat their breakfast in silence, keeping their faces respectfully turned away from him so they can swear if needs be, that they never saw his tears fall.
When her bowl is empty, Belle stands and gently eases the girl child from her father's resisting arms. 'Eat, Rumplestiltskin.' She urges, breaking him from his trance. He looks at her thoughtfully before falling on his porridge with gusto. He sits back in his chair, enjoying his tea, a strange smile playing on his lips.
'I have gifts!' He declares, slamming down his teacup and motioning for them to follow him. He bounds up the stairs and by the time they catch him up he is standing in the doorway of Belle's suite, purple smoke already disappearing down the hallway. He bows with a flourish, gesturing them inside. Belle squeals in delight when she enters the room, gently placing Aurora on her bed before throwing herself into the arms of an unsuspecting Rumplestiltskin. He holds her loosely to him, relishing the feeling of having her in his arms but not wanting to be seen to be taking advantage.
'Thank you so much, Rumplestiltskin! You have no idea …' Her eyes are full of tears. 'I can't believe you did this.' She kisses his cheek and slips from him to run her hands over her family's cradle, which has magically appeared beside her bed. Red is laughing and pulling out all the baby clothes, passing the threadbare doll to Belle, whose tears soak into the dolls thick yellow woollen hair. Rumplestiltskin waves his hands to open the wardrobe doors and both women gasp to see it full to bursting with dresses.
'I just happened to find myself at a loose end last night.' He explained bashfully, before gesturing to Red to enter her room. Once they are away from Belle, he looks at Red apologetically. 'I'm sorry, Dearie, didn't know where to find your things, but acquired these for you.' He magics the fine bolts of cloth up against one of her walls. 'If you need anything else, you have only to say. I dislike being indebted to another, but you ..' He chokes a little. 'I owe you.' He says it meaningfully, he needs her to know that whatever she wishes is hers, but can't bring himself to say the words. She nods and gives him a quick smile before running her hands over the beautiful cloth, nothing like the coarse fabrics currently clothing her body. Red as dark as wine, bright white, forest green and black, dark as midnight on a starless night.
'Thank you!' She breaths, not quite brave enough to touch him, she drops into a deep curtsey. 'I never had anything new before.' He returns her curtsey with an elegant bow and retreats from her room to give Belle her last gift.
She is sitting on her bed, looking at Aurora in the cradle, her fingers tracing over the deep carvings on the hood. He magics the silver embossed rattle into his hand and shakes it to gain her attention. She looks up and her tears start anew, reverently taking the rattle from his hand.
'My lady.' He drops her a respectful but extravagant bow, before surrounding himself in smoke and disappearing to his room. He needs more rest to regain his strength, feeling for sure that there will be repercussions from the previous night.
He hasn't dreamed for centuries, nightmares however, nightmares are his constant night time companions. So he knows that this can't be a dream, but he can't bring himself to believe it is real. Curled up in his arms is Belle, he can't see her face but her back is pressed up against his chest, her chestnut curls gently tickling his face. His arm is draped over her waist, the fingers of their hands entwined. He doesn't move, hardly dares to breath, but he pulls her a little closer, buries his face a little further into her hair and closes his eyes, he is weary still, but improved, he doesn't intend sleep again, but lays, at peace, savouring the small mercy he has been granted, enjoying her softness and inhaling her intoxicating scent.
She had crept into his room a few hours earlier, not long after he had fallen asleep. Her intention had been to talk, to thank him again, to try to work something out, but seeing him so relaxed and at peace had undone her completely and she was powerless to stop her body snuggling in beside his. Feeling safe for the first time in months, she fell asleep in minutes.
The sun is warm on her face, the scent of roses strong and comforting. The grass beneath her bare feet is damp with lingering, refreshing dew. Her skirts brush the ground, skimming over her feet as she slowly walks, her hand safely tucked in the arm of her companion. He looks down on her, smiling, mischief glinting in his strange eyes as he swings her around, holding her close and leading her in an impromptu waltz across the small rose garden. Their laughter fills the air as they dance faster and faster. The world started to shift and fade, he is whispering her name and she fights to hold everything together, to hold onto her lover, to feel the soft silk of his shirt, but something is tugging her away.
She blinks the dream away, momentarily confused, before turning in his arms and looking deep into his eyes. He loosens his arms around her, face guilty and opens his mouth to speak, but Belle wants the vision in her dream so she does the brave thing, leaning forward to cut off his words with her lips. She knows he loves her, he was prepared to sacrifice himself for her, he brought her gifts from home, he named their daughter, so she holds her lips to his, even though he is frozen in inaction. When he finally responds, she gasps at the intensity. He pulls her closer, deepening the kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth and wrapping a hand in her hair. She surrenders herself to him entirely, running her fingers up his back to tangle in his hair. When he pulls away to look into her eyes, to search for any sign that she is anything other than happy, they are both breathing hard, and smiling, lips red and swollen, hair tangled and in disarray.
'Think you might have got lost, Dearie.' He whispers in her ear. 'This is my bed.'
'I'm not so sure about that.' She smiles. 'I heard tell of a deal.' She gives him a quick kiss on his nose. 'A deal stating that this castle and everything within its walls belongs to the Lady Belle.' She winks at him. 'Which just happens to be me, so this room, this bed, this monster.' She pauses to kiss him again. 'Are mine!'
'As you wish, my lady.' He truthfully declares. If she wants him, who is he to argue? He isn't exactly a monster, not exactly a man either, but he will be a fool no longer.
