I hope everyone is enjoying the chap spam!
Flush
Belle spent the morning making the best of the bruised light in the castle. It simply wasn't bright enough to do handwork, and she liked bright sunlight to polish and dust by, so she hitched up her skirts a few inches and set out a series of buckets in the entry hall. Mopping floors properly was no quick task.
It begged the question, where along the way had she figured out the best way to do these menial jobs? And why? The floors were never truly dirty, and Rumpelstiltskin only truly demanded a very few tasks be done with her hands. Domestic tasks. The kind of tasks that could be done very swiftly and impersonally, or with great care and affection.
Gold embroidered cuffs, for instance.
She heaved the water-laden mop out of the first bucket and started working a path from the passages towards the entry door. As she dirtied the water, the buckets came with her and could be dumped out when she made her way all the way to the door. She was sweating and sticky by the time she reached the door and hauled the buckets out one at a time to splash on the few bushes and flowers hardy enough to grow and bloom at Dark Castle.
The floor would dry in an hour and while it did, she could start the supper and warm water for much a needed bath. Once dinner was simmering, she pulled out the basin and set it behind the curtained alcove in the kitchen. Her bath was too hot, but soothing to her tired back. The dim morning had given way to a bright afternoon, and she was thankful. Having worked so hard, she could rest for a few hours with a book, which would have been impossible earlier.
As she finished her bath and dressed in fresh clothes, she heard the unmistakable sound of the wheel. Belle smiled. How odd she must be, looking forward to seeing him. Before she left, she set the tea tray out and made sure everything was ready for whenever Rumpelstiltskin demanded it.
She left the kitchens and took her favorite book with her. As she walked through the Great Room, Rumpelstiltskin stood from his spinning and bowed, half sincere and half mocking. "My lady."
Belle, having learned to appreciate his humor, replied in kind with a gracious curtsey.
"You are flushed, dearie. Either I am rather dashing today, or your bath was overheated."
Glad for her already pink complexion, Belle had a ready answer. "Exertion, actually. I mopped the entry hall." She settled into a chair with good light. "You shouldn't discuss a lady's bath. It's unseemly."
He flattened his palms to his chest in mimicked outrage. "Are you scolding me?"
"I'm reminding you of your manners."
"I've no use for manners. A good scolding might go farther." He flipped a salute and sat at the wheel again once he heard her laugh. Within seconds he was spinning again and the soft noises of the wheel and his intermittent adjustments soothed her into her book.
And yet she could not read. Her mind buzzed instead. Somewhere along the way, this was less the martyr sacrificing her life and more just… life. There was a timing and rhythm to life in his castle, much like his wheel, and whether she had fallen in step, or had helped create it, she could not say, but there it was.
She certainly had no illusions about Rumpelstiltskin. There was darkness in him that blackened his moods, soured his humanity, and changed his very skin. Early on, when he was in particularly foul moods, he would tell her stories of the horrid things he had done, just to shock and disgust her.
She turned a page without seeing any words. It was just something she knew her hands should do.
But he was not what people said about him either. She was his servant, so he was under no obligation to ensure that her pillows were covered by the finest silk or that the tea he provided for her personal use was fragranced with the finest blooms from the East.
Yet they were.
He had been a man once, too; a man with a cherished son. She found the tiny clothes, rough from wear and poverty, carefully preserved and sequestered from the gaudy treasures on display. These were things not meant for casual eyes, not meant to impress. Handmade toys, polished from handling and chipped from play, nestled alongside tiny bowls and hand carved spoons. There were objects that were used every day. The kinds of objects a father might clutch to his chest in remembrance.
He was the dealmaker, though. She was living proof of that, though she maintained that the benefit far outstripped the payment. Even so, he clearly did not deal so cleanly with everyone, or perhaps others tried to avoid payment. The way he spoke, many of his deals were not for honorable reasons, so if the less than honorable sought him out, then attempted to back out, well… She wasn't sure people weren't receiving their due in those cases.
Was this proof of her corruption?
"What are you ruminating on?" He was standing over her. Looming.
Belle started violently. "I was just reading."
Rumpelstiltskin stepped back as she sat up straight in the chair and brushed her hair back. "I asked for tea." Belle stood to go to the kitchens, but Rumpelstiltskin stepped aside, revealing the tray on the table. "I asked for tea more than twenty minutes ago. I took the liberty of fetching it and, since you are so absorbed, dearie," he glanced at the book, "I thought I would make it for us myself."
"Oh." Belle felt the heat rise in her face again. "I'm sorry; it's a very interesting book."
"Of course it is." He bent and placed his lips by her ear. "I'm sure that's why you only turned one page." He slid back and swept a hand towards the table. "Come, sit." He held a chair for her and pushed it in as she sat.
Belle's eyes gravitated to the tray as he opened the wooden tea box. Instead of using the spoon, he raised the box and measured by eye as he shook dried leaves into the pot. His eyes were focused on the falling tea, and when he was satisfied, he tipped the box up with a shake to settle the contents again. The box was set down and latched with a caress. He did not have slender, elegant hands. They were hands that knew work- work that required strength, precision, and repetition. When he spun, those hands controlled the product by touch, adjusting the pressure and tension with mere intent, rather than conscious effort.
Hot water struck the leaves and the ensuing burst of scent made her breathe in. Rumpelstiltskin settled the teapot's lid back with a faint porcelain ring. He set out their cups next, protectively fingering the chip in his. Belle glanced up and saw that he was watching her.
Her breath caught in her throat and her belly flipped.
"You're quite flushed again, my dear. Perhaps you should avoid such steamy baths."
Belle's tongue caught for a moment, but two could play. "Maybe it was all the exertion."
Rumpelstiltskin set the silver strainer on her cup and poured. "Then perhaps you should choose your exertions more carefully."
She took her cup from him. Courage fueled her audacity. "Perhaps I should."
He sloshed tea into his saucer.