IV

"Belle, my girl, I was hoping you would join us this morning. How are you feeling?" Maurice asked as Belle stopped next to her father's chair at the head of the table and dropped a kiss to his ruddy cheek.

Belle smiled wanly and smoothed the skirt of her robin's egg blue gown before taking her place to his right, nodding to Gaston who sat at his left. "I'm fine, Papa. You need to stop worrying over me," she sighed as she reached forward and plucked a sweet roll from the slaver before her. The table was piled high and set for breakfast with anything imaginable she might desire to eat, but her appetite was nearly non-existent these last days.

Gaston shot Maurice a see-what-did-I-tell-you look and poured juice into a goblet to set by her plate. "So, my Belle, what would you …"

"Please don't call me that," she hissed, closing her eyes briefly and swallowing around the lump in her throat as she felt her heart clench painfully, her hand grasping the fork in her hand until her knuckles turned white. "I'm sorry, Gaston, please forgive me. I did not mean to snap at you."

"Quite alright, Belle," he smiled reassuringly, reaching across the table to take her free hand and give it a gentle squeeze. "Would you care to perhaps go riding with me this morning to survey the recent work we've been doing with the new irrigation system. I'm sure Dash would love to see you after your lengthy absence," he suggested, referring to her prized gelding.

"I … not today. I think I would just like to … ah … to rest," she murmured distractedly, picking at the pastry on her plate.

Maurice studied her carefully as silence fell between them. She leaned forward to take her cup in hand and her braid fell from her shoulder, revealing the creamy expanse of her throat. "Belle, darling, what is that?" he asked, his hand snaking out to grip her chin in his hand and turning her head, so he could better see the mark below her left ear more clearly.

Belle pushed his hand away and covered the spot once more with her hair. "It's nothing."

"It is most assuredly something, daughter."

Belle toyed with the end of her braid and tried to will her heart to slow. Her father and Gaston were staring at her with worry and concern in their eyes and she suddenly felt self-conscious to be so on display before them. "It's just a small tattoo, nothing to be alarmed about."

Gaston's brows shot up into his hairline, a forkful of eggs suspended halfway to his mouth. Maurice cocked an eyebrow and stared at her as if she'd just announced she was going to ride naked through the square. She couldn't deal with her family this morning. They meant well and were relieved she'd finally come out of her room after two days of locking herself away, but she just wasn't ready to answer any questions about her time in the Dark Castle. She felt as though she were betraying Rumpelstiltskin by speaking of him. What had transpired between her and the Dark One would remain between them and them alone.

"You bear his mark," Maurice whispered, leaning forward and cupping his hand near his mouth, not wanting the servants to overhear him. "A gold dragon on a background of red. Why would he mark you, daughter?"

She could feel the tears prickling and burning to be shed as the memory washed over her and her lower lip trembled as she turned to her father. "To protect me."

"But, Belle, surely he knew any who saw that mark would shun you out of fear of his wrath."

"Exactly. The first time he had to leave me alone in the castle to make a deal, he put his mark on me. He was concerned," she murmured, fearing her father's reproach. "He feared that should someone come to the Dark Castle while he was away and happen upon me … well, he wanted to make certain I would come to no harm. I merely have to press my fingers to the mark and think his name to have him come to me," she said softly, lowering her gaze to her hands twisted upon her lap. "Even now I remain under his protection."

"Belle …"

"I'm sorry, Papa. I need …" She fled the table and ran until she was able to flee through the door which led to the rose garden. She felt wretched, knowing she possessed the power to summon him and not confident enough to use it, unsure he would come if she called. She couldn't bear his disdain if she summoned him and he rejected her again. She collapsed upon a patch of grass where she'd be hidden from view of anyone inside. Only then did she allow herself to succumb to the tears she'd been fighting all morning.

She remembered the concern in Rumpelstiltskin's eyes when he'd pressed his thumb to her neck, the warmth of his skin against hers as he'd placed his mark upon her. A necessity, he'd said, his voice so warm and husky it had caused gooseflesh to spread along her flushed skin, the timbre so unlike the maniacal imp who so enjoyed teasing her. He was marking his property, that was all, but she had felt something she hadn't recognized as desire at the time. Now she knew better, and it just made her feel all the worse for it, desiring him, loving him and unable to be with him.

Why had it all had to fall apart? Her hands fisted against her mouth as she tried to quell the sobs which threatened to break free of her lips. "How could you think I betrayed you, Rum?"

*.*.*

Rumpelstiltskin yawned widely and tried to focus on the page before him. He really needed a cup of tea, but refused to contemplate the swill which rested in the cup before him. He just couldn't get used to the subpar brew he was able to conjure. It had none of the flavor Belle's special blend contained and he could just add that to the list of complaints he had about her absence from his life. He ground his teeth together as a resounding knock reverberated against the front door. Setting the journal down next to the abandoned tea service, he rose from his chair and strode angrily to the door, his hands crackling with magic to be unleashed upon the interloper. How dare someone interrupt him?

His eyes narrowed with menace as he opened the door to find Jefferson leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, a smug smirk upon his handsome face. "What the hell do you want, Hatter? I happen to be busy at the moment," he sneered.

Jefferson pushed away from the door frame and shrugged noncommittally. "Just thought I'd pop in for a spot of tea," he drawled, shaking the decorative box in his hand. "Can I come in?"

Rumpelstiltskin stepped back and waved him inside, brightening slightly at the prospect of a decent cup of tea. His step faltered, however, as a thought occurred to him. "That isn't the same blend you gave Regina, is it? The one which had her running to the chamber pot for nigh on a week?"

Jefferson set the box of tea leaves on the dining table and snatched up Belle's little diary, caressing the leather cover with his nimble fingers. "Of course, not. I might be a little mad, but I'd have to be really stupid to mess with the Dark One in such a way," he huffed, flipping open the cover of the diary and running a long finger over Belle's elegant penmanship.

Rumpelstiltskin practically snarled seeing the diary in his associate's hands. "I'll have that back, Hatter, if you please," he hissed, his eyes darkening with malice.

"Don't get your leathers in a twist, Rumpel. I just thought I'd have a peek while you make tea," he said, holding the book out of the imp's reach, deliberately taunting him.

With a twirl of Rumpelstiltskin's hand, Jefferson's lower body from the waist down disappeared into the carpeted floor beneath his feet, making it more than easy to snatch the prized tome from the hatter's hands. Without a word, Rumpelstiltskin tucked the diary beneath his arm and hefted the tea tray and the decorative box in his hands and strode purposefully towards the door leading into the kitchens. Let the hatter stew in his present predicament and learn not to toy with the Dark One. He was back within the hour, deliberately taking his time and resuming his seat at the table before allowing a conspicuously silent Jefferson his freedom.

"My, aren't we in a pleasant mood today," Jefferson remarked dryly as he added tea to his cup, watching Rumpelstiltskin warily as he perched his hip against the table. His eyes were drawn to the chipped cup in the imp's hands. "Aren't you afraid of slicing open your lip on that cup?"

Rumpelstiltskin caressed the rim of his cup almost reverently. "My cup is none of your concern. Did you just come to bedevil me with your presence, or did you want something?"

"No, no, nothing important. I just thought I'd stop by and see if you'd come to your senses yet," he grinned. Rumpelstiltskin could see every one of the hatter's pearly teeth and it irked him greatly. The man was a busy body.

"Hatter …"

"How long are you going to keep denying your feelings for the girl?"

"Hatter …"

"I'd be happy to fetch her for you."

"Jefferson!"

Jefferson set his cup down, crossed his ankle to rest on his knee and folded his hands to rest over his middle as he sat atop the table. One of these days he was going to bring his own chair with him. "Do you really believe … even for a moment … that Belle, our darling, sweet, honest to a fault, Belle … would ever betray you?"

"Get. Out," Rumpelstiltskin declared with barely restrained malevolence.

Jefferson threw up his hands in surrender, figuring he'd pushed his luck enough for one day. He hopped down off the table and smoothed the creases from his silk frock coat, bright orange today. "Very well. You know where I'll be when you want to talk." He turned to go, but stopped at the double doors leading into the foyer. "You're welcome for the tea, by the way." He dodged a burst of magic and disappeared through the door, leaving a very disgruntled sorcerer behind.

Rumpelstiltskin settled back in his chair and sipped his tea, savoring the brew for the first time in days. It wasn't Belle's, but it was a vast improvement and helped to chase away the drowsiness which had plagued him since early morning. He caressed the cover of the diary sitting upon his lap and frowned at the thought of the hatter's hands on Belle's most personal possession. She'd entrusted him with her intimate thoughts and Jefferson, no matter how innocent and well meaning, had no right to put his grubby paws on it.

He opened the book and searched for the place he'd left off, rifling through the pages until he found it.

3rd of October

My master has been acting strangely … well, he always acts a little strangely, but this is different. He's been staring at me all day and it makes me wonder why. Have I done something to incur his ire? I've done nothing different in my normal routine today and it just has me in a quandary as to what I might have done to upset him.

4th of October

I have been liberated from the dungeon! My master has gifted me with a room above stairs. I am so delighted, I can barely contain myself. After tea this afternoon, which he insisted I join him for, he escorted me upstairs and simply stated I would no longer be required to sleep in the dungeon.

My room is amazing. It has a little sitting room where I can lounge before the hearth in my spare time and read. It's quite cozy and decorated in beautiful creams and blues. Much lovelier than my personal sitting room at home. I also have my own private bathing chamber with a deep porcelain tub which fills with hot water if I but ask. Sometimes, being a prisoner in an enchanted castle can have its perks. And there is a cabinet with oils and soaps and creams to smooth the tangles from my hair. It makes me wonder if he made them himself with his proficiency at making potions. But why would he do something so generous for his servant?

But the bedroom is a dream come true. The bed is so large I fear I could easily get lost in it and it's so soft I could happily stay abed for a week. Not that I would. I fear Rumpelstiltskin would not suffer laziness from me. But it is heaven compared to the misery of my straw pallet in the dungeon. The sheets are a lovely royal blue silk and the duvet is fit for a queen. I won't have to worry about frostbite on my toes with the onset of winter. There are windows in my room, floor to ceiling windows which will let in the light and afford me a wondrous view of the mountains.

It is just the wardrobe which took my breath away. It was filled to the brim with dresses and petticoats and underthings and shoes to match. Why would he give me such fine clothing if I am to be a servant? What could I possibly have done to please him? When I asked, he explained I would henceforth be joining him in the evenings for dinner and he didn't want me dressed in rags. But could it possibly be more than that? Does he now actually desire my company for more than serving him? Perhaps now he is open to a tentative friendship instead of strictly master and servant. It would make my life here in the Dark Castle so much easier to bear.

It gives me hope, hope the loneliness I've been suffering will be no more, hope I will have someone to share my life with, share my thoughts and dreams with. Someone who will call me friend and treat me as if I matter. Someone who doesn't think me so odd. I just pray I am right.

Things were getting more and more complicated as he read. Why would she want to be friends with an old monster such as he? He'd been downright awful to her when he'd brought her to the Dark Castle, caring only to his own needs and that she carried out the tasks he assigned for his own personal comfort. But he had come to savor the sounds of someone else in the castle. He hadn't given her the room above stairs to see to her comfort. He'd just wanted to make sure his little investment didn't freeze to death in the harsh cold which permeated the castle in the winter months. But she had cherished every bit of kindness he shown her. She had wanted so desperately to be his companion, his friend, and he'd never even realized. He was a selfish bastard, he thought glumly.

7th of October

My master has forbidden me access to the vast garden to the rear of the castle. He says he doesn't want me to freeze to death playing in the dirt, that I should save it for spring. But I long to be out in the fresh mountain air. It doesn't serve me well to be cooped up inside when I've never had to do so before. I miss my gelding, Dash. I miss riding through the fields with Gaston at my side, enjoying the sunshine on my skin. But I will obey. I have no other choice. Things are nice at present, my relationship with my master one of a budding friendship and I don't want to take the chance I might mess it up by being disobedient. I feel I don't know him well enough.

I am, however, allowed to go into the little courtyard off the kitchen to do laundry and tend to the little vegetable garden I've managed to salvage. Unfortunately, when the snows set in, it will be frozen over in no time. I need to hurry with the washing today. I want to make a cake for my master to thank him for his generosity and the gift of my room. I hope to coax a smile from him at the very least.

He set the book down upon his lap, his stomach growling in protest as he remembered the sumptuous meals she'd prepared in the warm kitchen she'd claimed as her domain. He remembered all too well the little cake she'd made that night for him. Before he'd taken on the Dark One's curse, there had never been any extra coin to splurge on the extravagance of such things and had never he eaten one with the light and delicate frosting she'd covered the confection in. It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him, the first of many made by his Belle.

He summoned a tray of bread and cheese and some cured ham from the food locker and set about eating the cold fare with a frown knitting his brow. His thoughts strayed to her, wondering if she was safe and warm in her home, wondering if she was being treated well by her father and friends and wondering if she was getting enough to eat. No matter that she had betrayed him, he still loved her and worried over her well-being.

Perhaps he could pop in to check on her, to assure himself she was well. Would she even want to see him after what he had done? She simply had to summon him to her if she wanted to see him, after all. No, it was for the best he leave her to her life. She was better off, he thought morosely. He skimmed through the next few pages, reading quickly of her days spent in the Dark Castle, searching for anything pertaining to him or time spent in his company.

25th of November

Rumpelstiltskin is leaving me this afternoon to see to a deal. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about being left alone in the castle. It will be the first time since I've been here that he will be gone. What if someone comes here while he's away? I must be brave. I can't let him see how frightened the thought of his absence makes me.

Later that same day:

I'm staring in the mirror at this mark on my neck and I really don't know what to think about it. My master claims it will protect me. There is no doubt in my mind the golden dragon branded into my flesh is made of his very own gold. His mark, a golden dragon on a red background, there for all to see. He assured me any who see it will know I belong to him … forever. Rumpelstiltskin said if I find myself in trouble I am merely to press my fingers to the mark and think of him. It will supposedly bring him directly to me. His way of assuring my protection.

But I find myself vastly disturbed by my reaction to his touch. I've never felt anything like it before. When he pressed his thumb to my neck, it felt as though a thousand butterflies had taken flight in my belly. It wasn't an altogether frightening feeling, nor was it unwelcome … just rather alarming?

It makes me wonder what it would feel like to have his hands on other parts of me. I felt so warm with his fingers caressing the skin beneath my ear and I could feel myself moving closer to him, needing to be closer to him. And there was something hidden within the depths of his eyes I had never seen before … but what? It's maddening to feel so confused. What is happening to me? Could I be attracted to my master?

Rumpelstiltskin ran a frustrated hand through his hair and gently laid the diary on the table, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. Had he really been so blind to what she had been feeling for him even then? How could he not have seen what was right there before him? He could no longer deny her feelings, they were staring him in the face in her own hand. He just wanted to know how Regina had gotten to her and brought everything crashing down around them. He moved to the mirror in the corner of the Great Hall and whipped the drape from its frame. He needed to see her, to gaze on her lovely face and see for himself she was all right. He touched his index finger to the beveled glass, watching it ripple and shift, waiting for his command. He swallowed nervously, hesitating. It was torture to think about seeing her. What if she was hurt or in pain …

"Show me my Belle," he commanded, waiting impatiently for the mirror to obey his command. His fingers rubbed together across his thumb in his worry, itching to spring into action if need be.

*.*.*

Belle stared into the flickering flames quietly crackling away in the hearth, savoring the warmth spreading through her sitting room. It was late spring, and the Marchlands were warm, almost balmy, but she found herself constantly craving the heat of a fire. She was cold inside and nothing but the return of her love would ever be able to truly warm her, she feared. Even now, in the glow of twilight, she craved nothing more than to curl up on the settee in the parlor of the Dark Castle and lose herself in a book, Rumpelstiltskin's fingers running idly through her hair. A single tear trailed its way over her ashen cheek and she brushed it away angrily. She was tired of weeping. She'd shed more than her fair share of tears over circumstances she would never be able to change.

She glanced at the door, a soft knock drawing her attention. It was opened from the outside by Gaston, her maid following behind him with a tea service. "I thought you might like a cup?" he hedged, hesitating in the doorway, unsure of his welcome. "Might I come in and sit with you for a bit?"

Belle tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace and she wanted to kick herself for the melancholy state she found herself in. It wasn't his fault her heart had been broken. He'd been nothing but supportive and attentive of her since her return. "Of course, Gaston, please come in and sit with me."

He moved to sit next to her, a warm familiar presence making her think that tonight was no different from the other hundreds of times they'd taken tea in her sitting room. He, unlike her father, had always tried to show interest in her conversations about the books she read, how boring she found sewing and dancing and other courtly pursuits. She knew he really wasn't interested, but he pretended because he was her friend. She'd never been able to claim that with many. It wasn't like the discussions she'd had with Rumpelstiltskin. He'd never had to feign an interest in her pursuits, but had been genuinely intrigued by her bright mind and warm smile.

Gaston poured tea into their cups and added just the right amount of sugar and a slice of orange, handing it to her carefully with his large hands, careful not to spill a drop. "We missed you at dinner, Belle. I don't approve of you missing meals."

"I know and I'm sorry to have worried you. I just need time to sort myself out, is all," she mumbled apologetically, her eyes falling to the cup in his hands. The pattern was very similar to the tea set Belle had used every day at the Dark Castle and she lost herself once more in her memories.

"What is it, Belle? Are you unwell?" he asked, setting his cup on the low table set before the settee. He was trying so hard to be patient, but he missed his friend, her bright smile, and the way her eyes lit up when she spoke to him.

Belle was unmindful of the tears which leaked from her eyes as she stared at the cup. "The cup … there's no chip."

"I beg your pardon?" he asked blankly.

"There's no chip in the rim."

Gaston rescued the cup from her hands, afraid she'd spill her tea and burn herself. He nodded at her maid to take the service away and gathered Belle in his arms, uncomfortable as she cried out her heartache against his shoulder. "Perhaps I could break one for you if it would make you feel better," he suggested, trying to lighten her mood. It made her cry all the harder. "Please, Belle, I'm sorry."

"Not your fault … not your fault he doesn't want me anymore."

He patted her shoulder awkwardly as she poured out her anguish. "Tell me how I can make it better. I just can't stand to see you hurting like this."

"You're making it better just being my friend, Gaston," she murmured, burying her face in the handkerchief he placed in her hand.

"Belles, you're crying because your teacup doesn't have a chip in the rim. There is just something so wrong with that. I don't know what exactly, but I know it's something. Would you care to enlighten me?"

Belle smirked ruefully as she tucked her feet under her skirt and raised her teary gaze to his. "My first night in the castle I was so incredibly nervous. I didn't know what to expect and I was fearful of making a cake of myself. You know how clumsy I am. Remember when I was fifteen and tripped over the rug in the throne room? I landed face first in Lady Mortram's skirt and ripped it away from the waistline, exposing her undergarments for the entire court to see."

"I had forgotten about that," he laughed, pleased to see her smile.

"I think Rumpel was trying to frighten me or intimidate me as he was giving me a list of the duties I was to perform in the castle. I was nervous and trying to keep my hands steady while preparing his tea and he made a quip, causing me to drop the cup against the carpet."

Gaston's brow crinkled in a puzzled frown. "A quip made you drop a cup?"

"I didn't know it was a quip at the time. He said I was to skin the children he hunts for their pelts," she retorted dryly, remembering clearly the night in question. "He has quite a morbid sense of humor at times. But after that, the chipped cup was the only one he would use. I'm sorry I upset you, Gaston," she apologized. It seemed that was the only thing she did of late.

"Don't fret, Belles. I will leave you to rest now. But I hope to see you at breakfast," he said gently, placing a kiss to her brow as he rose to leave.

"I will try. Goodnight, Gaston." She watched him go and rose to dress for bed. She really didn't see the point of trying to sleep when her dreams were plagued with images of her former master she would do better to forget … and the pain with them.

*.*.*

Rumpelstiltskin gripped the gilded frame of the mirror and gazed dumbfounded at the image of his Belle. He was regretting his decision to spy on her. Never had he thought to find her in such misery and despair, the pain written clearly on her ashen features enough to send him to his knees. Did she truly love him? Had he been wrong in accusing her of duplicity and betrayal?

A cold sneering face appeared in the mirror amid a swirl of magenta mist. "Aw, is Rumpel missing his little tart? What happened, regretting tossing your girl out on her butt? Was it such a crushing disappointment she wasn't your true love?" Regina taunted, cutting across the image of Belle with her own.

"You evil soul. This was all you. You turned her against me," he railed at the queen.

"I did nothing, Rumpel. If you want to blame someone, well, just look in the mirror," she trilled smugly, her cruel laughter mocking him. "Such a sweet girl, so innocent and trusting. Much too good for a monster like you. It's sad, really, to think she could actually love you."

With a burst of black smoke, the mirror shattered, obliterating the image of the queen's taunting, sneering countenance and leaving him in silence once more. He snatched up the journal from the table and retreated upstairs to Belle's room, needing to feel close to her, needing to be surrounded by her scent in the one place she'd been happy … at least for a time until he'd left her broken with his distrust.

A/N: Oh, all the beautiful angst! Don't worry, things will begin to come together. Thank you all soooo much for reading and your lovely comments!