Yes, I'm finally getting back to this. And hopefully I'm at least halfway through the story, if not further. Thank you again, lovely reviewers. Enjoy!
It was daylight again when Belle woke up. Her dreams were a swirl of things she nearly believed were real, whereas the events of night seemed too strange to be anything but a dream. The sun helped clear her head, though, and distinguish between the real and the imagined. As memories of the night swept in, she touched her mouth, then the rest of herself, and found everything relatively unchanged.
There was that infernal creaking again. It started up after Belle woke. She looked up at Rumplestiltskin hunching over the spinning wheel while gold thread trickled from the spool. Another swarm of memories rushed in. Belle flushed, but her embarrassment turned to annoyance in recollection of her last memory. She assessed her body again. Would she know how it felt to be taken if she wasn't conscious for the event? Nothing felt sore (except her back from the stone floor, even with cushioning from the straw and blanket), and nothing felt different. Maybe her mouth was a bit chapped. She was tempted to inspect her undergarments for telltale blood. She resisted doing so in front of the imp. No, she'd know if anything happened. She'd have to. Women had instincts about these things, right? Unless - unless he covered it up afterward with magic. The notion sent an angry heatwave through her.
Belle stomped to her feet, then marched over to her companion. "What did you do?"
"Good morning to you, too, dearie," said Rumplestiltskin, not turning around.
"What happened last night?" She wanted to explode at him. If he'd taken her while she slept, he deserved her wrath. But if he hadn't . . . Belle calmed a little and sat on the second stool, fully facing Rumplestiltskin. "Why did you put me to sleep? I would've been willing. Why couldn't you be patient?"
The imp giggled but still didn't look. "It's not a matter of patience, milady. I'm quite patient when I want to be. It just seemed a good idea to not rush into things."
Belle pulled away from him and breathed deeply. Then he hadn't taken her. He simply put a stop to things before they went any further. "But why?"
"You were a nervous mess!" he said with a waving hand. "You say you were willing. I've met prisoners more willing to go to the executioner's block!" He tittered.
"You can hardly blame me." Feeling her nervousness return, Belle worked on unknotting some of the tangles in her hair. "What about our deal?"
"What about it?" Rumplestiltskin finally gave the wheel and straw a rest and turned to her. An irritated crease formed across his forehead. She could tell he didn't want to discuss this. What lunacy. Of course they had to talk about it! Did he expect them to leave things like this?
"Has it been properly struck? We didn't consummate it. I thought . . ."
"It's been consummated enough." The imp spoke a little more quietly, and a little more hurriedly. "I don't care who the father is, if that's what you're worried about. The other conditions still hold."
It was hard to believe. Rumplestiltskin seemed to be a man all about technicalities. He could've used their failed attempt at coupling last night to hold out on his promises for the child. Belle wanted to pry out the reason. Good sense managed to take the reins this time.
"I . . . thank you."
Another hand-flutter. "No matter."
For a while Belle could not think of anything to say. Rumplestiltskin spun in peace with her wordless next to him. Then she remembered their previous days together and took up the spot by the spindle to wind the gold. They rarely looked at each other directly, and never at the same time. Belle wasn't sure if it was paranoia, naive hope or real intuition that made her sense he was watching her. She couldn't help being otherwise sharply mindful of his presence and actions, including when he reached the end of his straw supply. They needed the silence for now, so Belle fetched more straw without being asked. Neither of them commented on it. There was instead a short pause in their movements when she lingered beside him after putting down the armful of straw, and he undoubtedly noticed her delay. He risked only the most fleeting glimpse in her direction. Not enough to let her read his eyes or feel all that acknowledged and appreciated. Belle started to tense with frustration. She made herself wait it out until her first meal was delivered. She took a break from coiling the gold to eat. She did not offer anything to Rumplestiltskin. He continued making a point of not looking at her.
After she finished her food and set the tray aside, she returned to wrapping the thread. She noticed how the gold twinkled like his skin, especially in the relentless midday glare. His bumps and scabby patches were in plain view, but Belle wasn't as bothered by them now. Her eyes kept going back to his hands, and she kept remembering how they touched her, held her, excited and soothed her. And his lips . . .
This silence was growing intolerable. It was one thing to share a quiet moment where words weren't necessary to convey mutual ease. Where there wasn't a hefty topic hanging above their heads like a suspended anvil. Something had to crack this wall between them. Belle rummaged her brain for some, any conversation topic. When she had one, she finished rolling up the gold, picked up the next strand and braced herself. "Now that we're going to spend more time together, I was wondering if . . . if you'd be willing to tell me more about the Frontlands."
The wheel slowed a little, although Rumplestiltskin made it look as if he hadn't slowed down his hands at all. "There's nothing really to tell."
"Please? Just a little?"
He gave the wheel a firmer push. "Not today."
Belle swallowed her disappointment and continued her task. She wasn't surrendering yet. "Do you have any family?"
The imp took his time. The wheel, the straw and gold kept up their pace. "I did. Once."
Relieved, she ventured with great care into this uncharted wilderness. "But now you're alone."
His voice was soft and tight. "Yes."
"Have you been alone for a long time?"
He didn't say. His eyes were fastened on the wheel, downcast and half-closed.
She understood. Belle risked scooting her stool closer to his. She slowed her coiling. "Sounds lonely." She knew Rumplestiltskin wouldn't respond to this judgement, so she pressed on before he could speak. "Whenever I'm lonely, I tell myself stories. Ones I've heard and read so many times I know them by heart. Sometimes I make up stories, too, but they're not as good." She quietly giggled. "Sometimes it's easier living someone else's life in a story than living my own. Especially if you already know what's going to happen, and you know things the hero doesn't. It's . . . cheating, I guess. But you still feel their pain and their happiness. It's still real in a way. You wait anxiously for the next obstacle even when you know everything will work out. So different from life." Belle briefly thought of her father, and reminded herself that even in stories not everyone gets a happy ending, good people included. And she thought of Dathomir and wondered if he would meet his just deserts like the cruel despots in her stories.
Rumplestiltskin's pose didn't change much while she spoke, but she detected little things that told her he was listening. The slight angle of his head, the stiffness in his posture. He was at attention. More than was needed to spin. Although she wished he would get over his stubbornness, she brightened knowing she held his interest. When she finished rolling the next coil and leaned over to set it down, Belle took advantage of her bent position for a more a direct look at the wizard's face. "Would you like me to spin you a yarn?" she asked, deadpan.
He finally looked at her, eyes wide. Then he broke into a giggle he'd probably intended to hold in. Once it was out, it was too late to pretend anything. Belle sniggered with him. It was a short exchange that ended with Rumplestiltskin regaining his composure and casually accepting her offer. But the mood changed. Both of them relaxed. Even when he didn't look her way, his ears were arrested to Belle's voice. She told him one of her favorites - the story about the princess with the magical bearskin. She used it to take on a bear's form when her father engaged her to a man she didn't love.
"Wait a minute," he interjected early in the narrative. "Isn't this the one where the king wanted to marry his daughter?"
"There are different versions," said Belle. "This is mine. Don't interrupt."
In any case, the princess decided to escape. She sought the help of a witch who gave her the bearskin. She then fled into the woods and lived there for a time in peace. Well, she did have to figure out how to survive like a bear first. Belle both recalled and improvised little details about the princess's unfortunate encounters with bad berries, a wolf pack, and a male bear that first tried to impress her with a deer it killed, then tried to mate with her.
"Couldn't escape unwanted suitors either way," the wizard quipped. He wagged his eyebrows.
Belle laughed before resuming. Thankfully the princess had enough brains and strength to escape and set a trap for her brutish suitor. Eventually she grew used to the ways of the forest and lived relatively happily. She missed the safer and more comfortable life of a royal, but she felt it necessary to stay away from all people. But one day she found a prince hunting in the woods. He was injured from being thrown off his horse. Filled with compassion and concern, she tended to him. The prince, frightened initially, became astonished and grateful. Once he was patched up with herbs and leaves she knew would take care of his gashes, he invited her to come back to his castle. She agreed, thinking she would be safe from recognition and unwanted advances as long as she kept wearing the bearskin.
She was used to taking care of herself now, and as a bear she did not expect anyone else to treat her as a proper guest. So she volunteered to help with the housework. The prince's mother, the dowager queen, was impressed and quickly took a liking to her. Months went by. The prince and the she-bear-princess grew closer in friendship, then began to fall in love. The dowager queen, and pretty much all the servants, noticed it. Not so with the couple in question. The princess wasn't sure the prince truly loved her. She also wasn't sure she was ready for marriage. The prince took her cautious, aloof behavior as proof that she didn't love him. Irked and distressed, he thought maybe incurring her jealousy would change her feelings for him. One day there was a ball in a nearby kingdom that the prince decided to attend. The princess, who sorely missed dancing, wanted to go as well. The prince teased her about it. He said they'd never let a bear, even a gentle talking one, into the palace, much less a ballroom. He then started boasting how there were sure to be dozens of beautiful women waiting to dance with him. All this made her only more determined. She wanted to go as herself just to one-up him. She confided in the dowager queen, revealing her true form. The queen promised to keep the secret and lent her a gorgeous gown as white and luminous as the moon. The princess made her own way to the ball without the prince's knowledge.
Although the prince was in love with his she-bear friend, he was taken aback by the princess's beauty and wit. He danced with her and no one else all night until she made an excuse to slip away so she could return to the prince's castle. The next day he rambled about his mysterious acquaintance. The disguised princess, far from annoyed or envious, couldn't stop chuckling. It frustrated the prince beyond belief. Soon another ball was thrown. Again the prince went, as did the princess. They reunited and danced, and once more the princess left early. Like before, the prince praised the mystery princess in front of his mother and the she-bear, and the bear laughed to herself. They were both so stubborn, neither able to believe that the other person loved them, which made them too afraid to admit their feelings. The dowager queen had enough of it. She advised the prince to give his enchanting dance partner a ring when they met again. As she expected, both of them went to the next ball. The prince followed his mother's advice. When she returned, the princess wondered what to do with the ring. The queen implored her to put this game to an end and show him the ring while in her bear form. Still fearing rejection, the princess put the ring in a bowl of soup for the prince's lunch the following day. When he found the ring, he demanded to know who put it there. The she-bear came forward and took off the bearskin. As someone might expect, the prince almost went into shock. The princess regaled her history and her fears that he loved her only for her beauty, if at all. He explained that he had loved her before ever seeing her at the ball. And while he thought her very beautiful, he wanted her for who she was. It didn't matter if she chose to stay a bear or not.
"Wouldn't that make things awkward in bed?" asked Rumplestiltskin.
Belle rolled her eyes. "You know that's not the point."
"That's still a pretty big hole in the story. What if she decided to be a bear? What would he do?"
"Who says she didn't stay a bear?"
Rumplestiltskin turned to her, quite astonished. "Did she?"
She squinted coyly. "Maybe. Maybe that's how I want the story to go."
"You can't just change it like that!"
"Why not?"
The wizard stopped spinning so he could face Belle straight-on and gesture with his hands. "People who stay beasts don't get happy endings. It's not how things work. The beast becomes human, then gets the happy ending. It's a long-standing tradition. Besides, the princess became a bear because she didn't want to get married. If she does get married, she has no reason to be a bear anymore."
"You may have a point," said Belle. "On the last part, I mean. I can believe that people who act like beasts tend not get happy endings. But the princess was a good person. She was kind and brave, and as a bear she learned humility and self-reliance. That's why the prince fell in love with her. And to say that a story must end a certain way because its predecessors did is parochial!"
Rumplestiltskin folded his arms. "What about the king? What happened to him?"
Belle had to think on it. "I don't know, actually. I've never heard a version that explained his fate."
"How about this?" Rumplestiltskin shifted forward in his seat. "The king, angry and distressed by his daughter's flight, spends a long time scouring the land for her and comes up empty-handed. He almost goes mad with grief and guilt. Then he's invited to the prince's wedding and, not knowing who the bride is and assuming his daughter is dead, is petrified to see that the human bride (thank you very much) looks just like his daughter. Now he thinks he must be mad, but he seeks an audience with her anyway."
"And the two are happily reunited?" asked Belle.
"Where would be the fun in that? No, no. The princess is still angry at her father. She grants him a frosty blessing and gives him the bearskin after explaining how she used it. Then she tells him to leave and never return to the kingdom. The king is heartbroken but understanding. After he leaves, he throws on the bearskin and goes into the woods, never to be seen again."
"Oh, you're a cheery one." Belle put down her finished roll of gold but didn't pick up the next thread. She moved even closer to Rumplestiltskin. "I don't think the princess would be so severe. Of course she has a right to be angry. But now she's with a man she loves. The king doesn't control her life anymore, and he's sorry for what he did. I think she'd forgive him."
Rumplestiltskin tilted his head with a skeptical yet hopeful attitude. "You think so?"
"Sure. You get only one father. That has to count for something."
He knit his fingers together and rested them on his thighs. His eyes flitted down and up - between his hands and her face. He scowled, grave and pensive. Belle left him to think while she wondered about the family and life he didn't want to talk about. Did he have a child? Children? Were they alive or dead? Did it have some connection to his deals for firstborns? Her imagination snatched at ideas that flew about like airborne snowflakes. She tried to imagine him as an ordinary man, if he'd ever been one. A home and a wife and children, and him spinning for a living. It was an exercise in fantasy given his impish behavior. He didn't have the steady demeanor one would expect of a family man. But that could've been as far back as three hundred years ago. While time might not have aged him, that didn't mean it hadn't changed him.
"You admire the princess," said Rumplestiltskin.
Belle tucked away her meditations for later. "Of course."
"But you were engaged to a man you didn't love. Arranged by your father, right?"
She felt a sudden but soft chill, and her stomach ached like she was sick. "What are you saying?"
He leaned forward. There was a critical edge in his otherwise quizzical expression. "Then why didn't you follow the princess's example? Why didn't you run away?"
She scrunched her eyebrows and looked down. Her mouth tried to find a ready explanation. For a while she could offer nothing but little guttural blurts. She felt as though she'd been whacked in the face with a wet cloth, leaving her cold and stinging. This question had passed through her mind before, so she must have answered it. What had she told herself? She couldn't remember. She'd have to improvise yet again.
"It's different. Gaston and I . . . I mean, it had to do with family connections and securing the interests of the town and the land. Gaston had connections, and I . . . didn't dislike him. I didn't love him, nor was I terribly fond of him. But my father . . . he had the interest of his people at heart. So did I. I wasn't being a coward; I was trying to do the right thing. I was trying . . ."
Moments sprang to life in her mind like moving pictures on a wall. She saw her and her father talking it out; how at eighteen she hadn't expressed any interest in other suitors, or any suitors, and Gaston presented a promising opportunity for the Marshlands to at last earn the respect of the other duchies. They'd been mocked over the years, despite the region's prosperity due to the industry of its people. The land itself yielded limited resources. Many a lord had laughed at the idea of building a fiefdom in the midst of a series of marshes. Belle's ancestors had had little choice when it came to the pickings. She wasn't ashamed, though. They'd made the most of it, and it was time other people acknowledged that. She didn't accept the notion of a marriage easily, though. Father and daughter had argued it out. At times anger flooded Belle and drowned her rationale, and she would establish a silent wall between herself and everyone else. But eventually she saw that she couldn't put herself first in this case. Her marriage to Gaston would bring about greater good for a greater number of people. And it wasn't really martyrdom. Gaston, of average intelligence but fierce loyalty, was a fine choice for a husband by general standards and adequate by hers. She'd acquiesced of her own will, her own choice. Had she found him truly intolerable, she would have objected to the match. Belle believed it without doubt until now.
Now she had reason to doubt. Wasn't she seriously considering marriage to a brutal king? The sort of man who, at the time of her betrothal to Gaston, she would never dreamed of giving her hand, or any part of her to? Yet here she was about to do just that. Because she had next to no choice. It was that or escape - and maybe deep down she was a coward.
Belle shut her eyes and gnawed on her lip. Her tears began to rally. She wouldn't let them conquer her yet. Crying would do nothing. She forged ahead. "I was trying to put my people first. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. Marrying Gaston would have strengthened our connections with other duchies - formed stronger alliances, provided our people with more protection should it be needed. We're not a very big or intimidating fiefdom. We had to guard ourselves against those who might take advantage." She released her fingers, which she'd unwittingly clenched against her legs, leaving light nail indentations in her palms. "I might have gone through with it even if Gaston had been a boor."
Rumplestiltskin snickered. It took Belle a moment to realize why. "No, a boor like the animal, not a bore. He was that."
The imp giggled again. She slapped him lightly on the knee to shush him. "My point is he could've been another Dathomir, and I might have not had the nerve to do what that princess did. I thought about it, actually, when you first came to me. You offered me a chance to escape and I didn't take it. I thought I'd be putting myself in more danger. But . . . I just may not be as brave as I thought I could be." The tears threatened again. Belle sniffed to hold them in and looked away from Rumplestiltskin.
Her companion took his time in nervous silence. As the first tear slipped out the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek, one of his scale-speckled fingers caught it and brushed it away. She turned in surprise.
He sat back and cleared his throat, then anchored both hands on his thighs again. "Being reasonably afraid doesn't make you a coward, dearie. It makes you not stupid. You can imagine how many people have called foolishness bravery. It's laughable. What good is bravery, anyway, when the risk is so high?"
"If people only acted when things were easy," said Belle, her voice feeling a bit stronger, "the mighty would always win, and the mighty don't usually act with the best intentions. Sacrifices have to be made sometimes." She hunched over. Her arms were cool and covered with goosebumps. She wanted to curl up somewhere and wallow in her self-deprecation. "What sacrifices have I made? When my people were being slaughtered by soldiers in the marshes or on the road, fleeing for their lives, what did I do to help them? I failed them." That last sentence echoed again and again in her head. She buckled under its merciless truth. More tears came. Belle held her body still so she didn't dissolve into sobs.
The other stool scraped against the floor. Rumplestiltskin adjusted his position so that instead of facing Belle, he sat side-by-side with her, getting close enough that their outer thighs touched. Belle watched his fingers drum against his legs. They beat out a frantic dance that helped distract her from her own punishing thoughts.
"Why do you want to marry the king?" he gently asked.
Belle wiped her eyes and streaked face. "If I could get out of here without marrying him, I'd be the happiest woman in the world. If I had the choice to be free with or without marrying him, I'd marry him only if it meant being able to take care of the people whose lands he's conquered. My people included. I don't know what kind of king he really is, and I doubt he'd give me much say in anything at first. Still, if I have to marry him, I won't be some trophy wife. I'd find a way to use my position for the good of others." She sighed and tossed up a hand. "I know people say those things when they don't have power, and once they do they often go back on their word. I've known people like that in my father's council." Feeling slightly better, she shot Rumplestiltskin a smile. "If I promise to use my position as queen for unselfish reasons, would you promise to check on me now and then and give me a rude awakening if I break my promise?"
"I would be a very poor choice for a conscience."
"You wouldn't do it, then? Even if I said you could rub my nose in my mistakes to your heart's content? That seems like something you would enjoy."
Rumplestiltskin chuckled. "You're probably right. That would be rather fun, wouldn't it?" He gave her a sidelong leer. "What other punishments could I dole out?"
Belle glared at him. "Aren't gloating rights enough?"
"But what if you're in a particularly stubborn mood? What about physical corrective measures? Like . . . oh, I don't know, spanking?"
That truly shocked her. She gawked at him. "Spanking? I'm not a child! I haven't been spanked in years!"
"Oh, but you used to be spanked, eh?" Grinning from ear to ear, he leaned toward her again with lecherous enthusiasm. It made Belle blush and pull away from him. "You were quite a naughty child, I bet. Making trouble for everyone with your wit and your book-learning."
"Actually, when I was four, I broke some china on purpose because my governess wouldn't let me play with the village boys." Belle knew her blush was deepening.
Rumplestiltskin twittered with rapturous glee. He wouldn't stop so long as Belle kept her head turned away and her blush persisted. She hadn't meant to revisit any of these memories, now or ever. That damn imp. On a blind impulse her hand shot out and grabbed the collar of his black-scaled vest. She didn't grab it hard, but enough to hold him when she whipped her face to him. "Will you shut-!"
What Belle hadn't considered was just how close he was sitting to her, and what it would be like face-to-face with him. More like mouth-to-mouth, barely an inch apart. One good thing happened, though: Rumplestiltskin stopped laughing. He looked just as stunned as she was. A heatwave much different from the rageful one she experienced earlier hit her when his breath tickled her lips. Her first instinct was to retreat. Always her choice strategy when it came to this level of unfamiliarity and discomfort. Yet something else maintained her grip on his collar and let her hold her position. Out of this same source of certainty came her mother's words, an old adage she needed to trust in more: Do the brave thing . . .
So, against her anxieties and self-preservation instincts, she closed the distance and kissed him. She had never been the first one to kiss someone else. Ever. Not with Rumplestiltskin or Gaston. For the first few seconds she regretted her choice. Her first impulse still screamed at her to take it back and get away. After a few seconds of just their lips touching - none of that tongue and teeth nonsense - she realized it wasn't Rumplestiltskin she was afraid of. She feared her own response and her failure to be up to form. Her inexperience, regardless how much men in romance novels adored their virgin lovers, put her at an unwanted disadvantage. But Rumplestiltskin was in no hurry to object or point out her weak points. Incredibly, he didn't even push beyond the bar she'd set. He did loosen his lips, which Belle imitated, and they both latched on more firmly. She couldn't remember if his lips felt this warm last night. Maybe it was her body heating up. The coolness that had coated her arms was gone, although the goosebumps stayed.
Slowly she pulled back. The smallest niggle of desire to keep kissing him crept into her stomach. But she had something to say before anything went further. She opened her eyes. Rumplestiltskin's eyes remained closed until she spoke.
"Rumplestiltskin?"
The shadowed lids fluttered halfway open.
Belle swallowed. "Would it be all right if you stayed with me tonight?"
That got his eyes to open wider.
"I just thought that if we spent a few days sleeping together - I mean sleeping in the same place - I could get used to it, then maybe we could . . . you know . . . would you be okay with that?"
One long moment of perplexity passed. Then Rumplestiltskin nodded, never saying a word.
"Thank you," said Belle, heart feeling lighter. She relinquished his vest collar with delicate reluctance. "I'll, uh, let you get back to the spinning." Every little hair was standing on end. Belle managed to withdraw herself and her stool back to the gold without tripping over her feet or shaking like a newborn foal.
He spun the gold and she rolled it for several wordless minutes. It was hard to tell if this new round of silence sat well with Belle. Her thoughts flew in dozens of directions like bees coming out of a hive. Last night, this coming night, their discussion, their kiss - the past, present and future clashing together in a frenzy. Then Rumplestiltskin, in a voice rattled and sweetened by shyness, said the magic words. "You can tell me another story, if you want."
Belle did want to. So she told him another tale, this time one she had some grievances with. It was about a dragon that plagued a kingdom, and it was eventually defeated by a foreign knight and a princess who had been intended as a sacrifice. Belle didn't like how, once the dragon was tamed by fastening the princess's girdle to its neck, the knight still slew it. They argued about it a good portion of the day while Rumplestiltskin continued to make gold with his sparkling scaly hands.