V

"I'm worried about her, Gaston," Maurice fretted, rubbing a hand across his ruddy face as he paced the stone floor before his throne. Gaston was sitting in Belle's gilded chair set next to the king's own throne, his legs stretched out before him, his hands occupied with sharpening his sword with a wet stone.

"She needs time, Maurice, time to heal. She's had her heart broken," Gaston replied, concentrating on his task.

"Mrs. Potts came to me this morning, greatly concerned," he told the boy he loved as his own, referring to the palace housekeeper. "She said she found Belle in the kitchens before daybreak making bread. Since when does she make bread? I know I indulged her before, allowing her to pursue culinary knowledge, but this is different."

Gaston paused in his task to frown quizzically at the monarch. "Um … how is it different? So, she wanted to make bread. What's so odd about that?"

"Gaston, please pay attention, lad," Maurice huffed in exasperation. Sometimes the boy could be so thick. "There is a difference between making bread and trying to pound a hole through the worktable while kneading the dough. Mrs. Potts said my girl hadn't shed a tear, however. Now I'm afraid she's evolved to the anger stage."

"But that's good. The tears were wearing thin, Sire. Now perhaps she can move on, forget about him. Although, I find that highly unlikely."

Maurice sat heavily upon his throne and eyed the boy wearily. "Do you also know she hasn't touched the diary I gave her to replace the one she left behind with the Dark One?"

The wet stone fell from the knight's hands. "You must be joking."

"I do not find any aspect about this humorous, lad."

"She's always written in her diary," Gaston replied, aghast.

"It's still sitting on the coffee table in her sitting room, untouched. And she hasn't visited the library since her return to Avonlea." He knew this for a fact since he'd had Brutus watching her every move. "I want to know what that beast did to her to have her in such a state."

"Perhaps I might be able to persuade her to go into town today. The fresh air might do her some good."

"I don't think fresh air has anything to do with it, Gaston. She spends ninety percent of her time in the rose garden sulking, pondering, brooding … or whatever it is she's doing out there," he mused.

The door to the cavernous chamber opened to admit the captain of the king's personal guard. "Sire," Brutus bowed respectfully. "Her highness is in the parlor … dusting. I thought you would want to know."

Gaston's mouth fell open in surprise, his brows disappearing near his hairline. Maurice groaned and dropped his head into his hand. He dismissed the guard and turned to give Gaston an I-told-you-so look. "Still think it's nothing? My daughter, the high princess of Avonlea, has lowered herself to the status of maid."

"I'll … um … have a chat with her."

"See that you do, lad. Perhaps she will listen to you." He could only pray they could find something to get through to her. His fist slammed down against the armrest with a resounding thump. "I just want my daughter back."

*.*.*

Rumpelstiltskin woke in the middle of Belle's abandoned bed, the journal resting on his chest, an empty bottle of goblin-made fire whiskey cradled between his thighs and a splitting headache. Damn Regina and her spying, prying arse! Wasn't he suffering enough at the loss of his love? Did he really need her to make it worse? Now if he wanted to catch another glimpse of his Belle, he would have to find another mirror to enchant, that one being the only one in the whole bloody castle. Perhaps he could send Dove off to Trottham to purchase another. He didn't want to take time out of his research of Belle's diary to make the trip himself.

He set the empty bottle on the nightstand beside the bed to dispose of later and dragged his aching body out of her room and up the winding staircase to his tower laboratory in search of a potion to banish the pain in his head, the little red journal tucked beneath his arm. He was beginning to regret the decision to spy on Belle the previous evening. The sight of her weeping, her puffy eyes and reddened nose, wrenched at his heart. Even after what he'd done to her, she loved him still. He no longer believed her loyalty belonged to the queen, but he had much work to do before he popped off to Avonlea to grovel for her forgiveness. It was too important to his mission to find his son for him to let her kiss his curse away. And there was no possible chance he could be with her and not kiss her precious mouth. Eventually he would slip up and then where would he be? He'd be stuck in this realm with no way to get to his boy.

No, precautions had to be put in place, so he wouldn't lose his magic. He groaned and flopped onto the stool before his worktable. He was going to have to ask Jefferson for help. He'd rather eat a handful of broken glass than ask anything of the hatter, but he had no choice. Retrieving a roll of parchment and quill from the shelf behind him, he proceeded to scratch out a message for Jefferson.

Hatter —

I have need of your services. Present yourself at the Dark Castle with all haste.

-R

Rumpelstiltskin sent it off in a plume of violet smoke. It took him longer to find the book he needed with the spell he planned to use. He checked his stores of ingredients to make certain he had everything at hand. The spell was quite difficult and would require the ingredients to stew for four days. Provided Jefferson didn't dally overlong at the task he was to set him, everything should be in place for his return. And it would all be for naught if she rejected him. He pushed the thought aside and concentrated on filling the cauldron with dragon's tears, a newt's tail, chimera skin and his own blood before adding the necessary herbs and a liter of water from Lake Nostos. He didn't relish the idea of facing the siren to get more, but he would do what was necessary to win back his beloved.

He wrapped his hand in a cloth, refusing to heal the wound, hoping the pain would help him fight off the fatigue which plagued him. He lit the fire beneath the cauldron on his worktable and dropped in a length of his gold thread, the last ingredient he would need to complete the spell. Dropping onto the small sofa he kept in the tower, he opened the journal to read once more. Belle would be his once more and he wasn't going to waste a moment longer than necessary. It no longer mattered if he found the truth written by her own hand. He would put his faith in her and trust he wasn't wrong. He just knew he couldn't live without her love.

15th of December

I can't believe how busy I have been this week. There is an abundance of baking ingredients which appeared in the food locker and I just couldn't help myself. I've decided to bake cookies and make candies for the children in the village at the base of the mountain. Rumpelstiltskin is away, and I have to confess … I'm bored out of my mind. I know he's only been gone for three days, but I miss him terribly.

There's no one to talk to or laugh with. And yes, it's true, he makes me laugh. His sense of humor is morbid at times, but I don't really think his quips are meant to harm but more to shock. Perhaps I have a bit of darkness within me which makes me find him amusing. Then again, maybe it's the way his eyes light up when I show him my pleasure at his quips. I find myself enjoying his company more and more, especially in the evenings when we have dinner. He has a brilliant mind and sometimes I find myself challenged by his conversation.

After dinner he will retire to his wheel and I to my armchair before the fire with a book. He's added a lovely sofa to our sitting area, so he may join me occasionally. It pleases me greatly when he sits with me and asks that I read aloud so he may enjoy my book as well. I wonder what he would do if he knew how closely I watched him at the wheel. I find myself curious as to why he spins so much. Perhaps soon I will find the courage to ask.

Journal entry 17th of December

I had just finished the gifts for the villagers when my master returned from the south. Needless to say, he was less than pleased.

"What is this, dearie?" he asked, snatching a frosted sugar cookie from the slaver on my worktable.

It took nearly everything within me to stop myself from slapping his hand away. That would've gone over well, I'm sure. He would have surely banished me to the frozen depths of the dungeon. So, I merely fisted my hands in my skirt to restrain myself and explained I had made them for the village children and their families.

"Why would you do such a thing? And where did you get the ingredients?" he'd asked around a mouthful of his second cookie. I'm finding my master has an uncontrollable sweet tooth. I will have to remember that when trying to curry his favor.

"The ingredients just appeared in the food locker, my master. And since you are liege lord to the village, I assumed you would want to show what a kind and generous master you are with a gift for the winter solstice," I explained.

It may well have been a full five minutes before he stopped laughing at my innocent remark. "Why on earth would you believe that? When have you known me to be kind and generous?"

"You've been very generous to me, my master," I told him. I had to duck my head to keep from meeting his eyes. I was finding myself rather warm and needed to compose myself. I was a bit surprised when I met his gaze and he seemed to be just as uncomfortable as I.

"Yes, well … that's different, dear. But I can't go about giving away presents for the solstice; how would that look? I have a reputation to uphold."

"How is it different? You are my master and my life depends on your care and generosity. Because of your kindnesses, it makes me want to please you. When you took over this castle, you also took on responsibility for the village as their liege. They depend on your generosity."

Seeing as how his skin tone is so different, it was hard to tell, but I think he might have been blushing. But he brushed off my words … as usual when he becomes uncomfortable. The Dark One doesn't like it when I point out his good qualities and likes it even less when I point out his faults.

"I suppose next you'll be asking for gold coins to drop at the bottom of your packages."

I'm sorry. It was such a wonderful idea I couldn't keep the smile from my face. He tossed a pouch of coins on my worktable, threw up his hands in defeat or exasperation … possibly a bit of both … and left the kitchen. I'm hoping I can persuade him to escort me to the village tomorrow to deliver our gifts. There's hope for my master yet!

Rumpelstiltskin couldn't help but smile. Only she would think there was hope for a beast such as him. But he remembered their trek to the village. He'd brought out the carriage and bundled her into a heavy blanket. Of course, tiny thing that she was, she'd shivered all the way down the mountain. When the villagers … the ingrates … had seen that the Dark One and his servant had descended on the village, they'd run and hid in their hovels. Belle had indeed had to knock on each door to present her gifts to the children. It made him wonder if their parents had actually let the children enjoy the treats Belle had made for them. But it had made her happy to do something for the townsfolk, no matter that they were undeserving.

On the way back up the mountain, he'd bundled her back under the blanket, but he'd made her sit next to him, so she could share his warmth. He couldn't remember ever having seen her so content. She'd fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, a smile upon her rosebud mouth. Without waking her, he'd carried her into the Great Hall and settled her on the sofa, leaving her there to her rest while he'd gone to the kitchen to make hot chocolate.

Even with the roaring fire and the ermine blanket wrapped securely about her, she had shivered violently.

"What's wrong, dearie? I thought you would've warmed up by now," he said, wrapping her trembling hands around a mug of cocoa.

Belle refused to meet his eyes, her lower lip captured between her pearly teeth. But a long finger beneath her chin forced her to look up at him with wide tear-filled eyes. "I can't feel my feet at all." She acted as though it were paining her to have to tell him of her ailment.

Carefully, he dug under the blanket and revealed her feet. He'd had to hide his alarm from her and cursed himself for his carelessness. When he removed her shoes, her toes were dark blue. First thing tomorrow he'd make a trip to the marketplace to find suitable footwear for her. Perhaps a pair of sturdy leather half-boots lined with ermine or mink. She jumped reflexively as he wrapped his hand around her left ankle, pulling it into his lap, setting about rubbing warmth back into her frozen foot.

"You're not to go back out into the snow until we procure some proper footwear for you," he snapped in all seriousness. She seemed happy not to argue, content to sip her cocoa and let him rub her feet.

She shouldn't have looked quite so comfortable about having a beast rub her feet, to touch her frozen flesh, but yet, she had. It was quite possibly the very night he'd fallen in love with her.

21st of December

Rumpelstiltskin cringed as the date rang sharply through his memory. That was the day Belle had wandered outside the gates, outside the protection of his wards and had gotten into trouble. Still, the thought of what could have happened to her that day made him sick with dread.

The solstice is upon us! The snows have finally let up enough to let me venture out onto the grounds. I want to gather holly and pinecones and other such greenery to decorate the Great Hall. I convinced my master to bring in a grand fir and the baubles I found at the marketplace look lovely on it. But I think it will make our home a bit more festive if I can decorate the mantle over the hearth and the sills of the tall windows. Home. I don't know when I began thinking of the Dark Castle as my home, and my master. My master and the Dark Castle are my home. My spirits lift greatly at the thought.

But I must go before the wind decides to pick up. This will be the first time I get to venture out with the wonderful new boots my master has given me. They feel so sinfully warm and soft against my feet. I will have to write more tonight when I retire.

He felt his heart clench as he sat up on the sofa and strained to make out what it was dotting the page. It was as if she'd sprinkled water droplets … on … oh, damn. She'd been weeping as she'd written this. He closed his eyes for a moment with regret before attempting to finish the entry.

I have never seen my master so very angry with me. I didn't do it intentionally. I swear I didn't. I was gathering greenery near the gates and the pickings were slim. I could see the most beautiful holly bushes just yards from the gate and they held enough to decorate the entire castle if I wished. I didn't think I would get distracted and wander so far from the castle's protection. But it seemed the farther afield I ventured, the more choices I had with which to fill my basket. I was able to gather enough to fill it and turned to come back. It was then I noticed the eyes peering at me from the brush.

I have never been more frightened in my life. Four wolves with paws as big as dinner plates it seemed. I knew in that moment I was going to die. I only had one thought … that my master was going to be furious he'd have to get a new caretaker. What kind of thought is that when you're staring death in the face? If I hadn't been so frightened for my life, I would have most assuredly been laughing hysterically.

I could only close my eyes as the first beast lunged and wait for death, praying it would be quick. I was knocked backward, landing in a heap of holly and pinecones as my basket tipped and spilled around me. But I was unharmed. By some miracle, I was unhurt. That miracle turned out to be my very furious and enraged master. He was crouched before me, his eyes black with so much darkness I could only lie there in the snow, frozen in my fear. The wolf which had lunged for me lay dead in the snow at my feet and the others were moving closer, stalking my master.

I can't believe I fainted. I came to find the beasts dead and my master hovering over me, watching me intently, his large black eyes holding a hint of madness amidst the darkness. He growled low in his throat as he rose to his feet, hauling me up by my arm, his grip like a steel band. With a thought, he transported us back to the Dark Castle and shoved me forward to stand at the hearth. It was only then I noticed the deep slashes in the front of his shirt and waistcoat. How sharp could the beasts' claws have been to slice through dragonhide?

"What were you thinking, you foolish, foolish girl, to leave the protection of the castle?!" he yelled at me. He was justified in his rage as he prowled before me, one of his clawed hands pressed over the rips to his garments. I wanted so badly to ask him to sit so I could tend his wounds, but my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth and I could not speak. What would he do to me for disobeying one of his direct commands?

"I asked you a question! I expect you to answer me, Belle." I couldn't stop my mouth from falling open. He'd never used my given name before and it took me by surprise. Even in his anger I don't think I've ever experienced more pleasure than hearing my name roll off his tongue.

"I-I just wasn't t-thinking. I just …"

"That's right, princess. You. Weren't. Thinking! When I give a command, I expect it to be obeyed!"

I lowered my head in shame and maybe a little fear. Oh, who am I kidding … a lot of fear. We'd been getting on so well. Never had I given him a reason before to speak to me in such a manner and I had no idea of what he might do to me. He whipped off the dragonhide waistcoat and flung it into the fire, startling me into looking up at him again.

"Master, I am so sorry. I promise never to disobey again," I vowed, finally finding my voice.

"Yes, I imagine you are, dearie. You're mine! Mine to do with as I will. You sold yourself to me in exchange for the safety of your kingdom. Say it!"

"Yours. I belong to you, master." I said, fearful he was about to shake me until my teeth rattled.

"You're mine, Belle, you bear my mark. I've tried to be good to you, dearie, but I will not have you putting yourself in danger. I will not allow my property to be damaged," he snarled, his voice so cold in his anger it cut through me almost like a physical blow. "Go, gather supplies to clean my wound," he hissed, his voice filled with menace. "Since this is your fault, you are going to see to it."

I quickly ran to the kitchen and heated water to bathe the wound. While it was heating over the fire in the hearth, I ran upstairs to his laboratory to find bandages and antiseptic along with an ointment I'd seen him use before on my cuts and scrapes from my own brushes with calamity over the past months. When I returned to him with the necessary supplies, he was stretched out on the sofa in the Great Hall, his shirt discarded, and his arm flung over his face, concealing his eyes from me. I had no way to judge his mood and I was almost afraid to approach him.

The slashes in his chest were deep, angry and oozing bright red blood. I was relieved to see he bled like an ordinary man and at the same time, greatly remorseful he was bleeding at all. My hands trembled as I set the pan of water on the carpet and dipped a cloth into it. I could feel his gaze on me as I set to work on his mangled flesh and it unnerved me, increasing my nervousness.

"Master? Couldn't you heal yourself with magic?" I asked, unable to stop the question from falling from my wayward lips.

"The wound must be cleaned first. Then after I have rested … perhaps. Now be silent and get to work." I was surprised 1 he'd answered at all, but his voice had gentled, become more of what I was used to from him. At least, his body was beginning to heal itself, the blood ceasing to flow from the angry slashes. His skin was so warm, nothing like my own cold flesh. I felt as though ice were running through my veins. The longer I worked on his ragged wound, the more fascinated I became with the gold which seemed to glitter just beneath the green-grey hue of his skin and I found myself wondering what it would feel like under my fingertips if he were whole instead of mangled.

By the time I was able to apply the healing ointment, I knew my cheeks were red as ripe cherries from my scandalous thoughts. I pray that he didn't notice. Who am I kidding … my master never misses a thing. He's entirely too observant. I gathered the supplies and wrapped them in one of the dry towels, preparing to rise and bring everything to the kitchen, but I couldn't bring myself to leave him there alone.

I kept my eyes lowered submissively to the floor as I asked, "Master, might I bring you anything to make you more comfortable? Perhaps some of the spirits you keep in your study?" My voice shook as I tried to wrack my brain for something, anything which might help to ease his pain. He'd not made a sound throughout my fumbling ministrations aside from a sharp intake of breath when I'd used the antiseptic.

He didn't say a word, merely taking my chin into his hand and forcing my eyes to meet his. The rage and darkness had receded, leaving them a warm amber once more. Seeing them like that again, knowing he had control over his temper, loosed my tongue and I couldn't stop the words from tumbling from my lips.

"I'm so sorry, my master. I know I disobeyed and deserve whatever punishment you have in store for me. But …"

"Yes?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and regarding me as if he didn't know who I was of a sudden.

"Thank you." I closed my eyes, unable to bear his penetrating stare for another moment. I was surprised when he cupped my cheek in his palm with more gentleness than he'd ever shown me before and I couldn't stop myself from leaning into his hand, seeking his touch. "Thank you for saving me," I whispered, hating the weakness which flooded my limbs as the magnitude of what could have happened tore through my body and stole my breath.

"Go. Fetch me a glass of the elfin wine and then see to starting your preparations for dinner."

He could have locked me in the dungeon or my room, denied me food or water, or even beat me. But he merely sent me about my duties. "Aren't you going to punish me?" I asked, unwilling to worry about what he might do to me. The anticipation and apprehension would be a punishment in and of itself.

"I think knowing what could have happened to you is punishment enough. Now, off with you, dearie."

I have a new respect for Rumpelstiltskin and the power he keeps tightly caged within him. I never wish to see him in such a state of rage again. I feared I had ruined the solstice celebration with my rash behavior, but he was his old sardonic self when I served dinner. I certainly wasn't expecting his gift. In honor of the winter solstice, he gifted me with a very special quill, a lovely blue peacock quill which never needs ink. It is truly remarkable. It makes my gift to him pale in comparison. As much as I abhor sewing, I had purchased a swath of crimson silk and made him a cravat. I had pilfered a bit of his gold thread … it isn't as though he would miss it…and embroidered a dragon onto it. I wonder how long it has been since anyone has given him a gift, if ever. The look on his face, the sheer joy which flitted across his face before he was able to hide it from me was the best gift I could ever have received.

For one moment, I knew what happiness looked like on the face of my master.

His Belle. His to protect, his to cherish, his to love. Well, he'd screwed that up royally and now it was time to fix it. He had a new purpose, a new calling … to repair what he'd broken between himself and his beloved. Then together they would find a way to find his son. He just had to wait for Jefferson to arrive to put his plans into motion. Gods, he hated waiting.

A/N: Well, dearies, what'd'ya think? Hmm? He's finally dragged his head out of his arse and decided he made a mistake in letting Belle go. xoxox