A/N: I am so excited that so many people are following my story already - thanks to you guys, and hopefully, as we now get further into the story, not only will people continue to like it, but more will join in the fun. Thanks so much, I don't own OUaT, and if you're so inclined, please R&R!
The next morning Belle woke up in her room (it really did sound better than dungeon), with the sun streaming across her face. Despite the chill in the air and her cloak practically cocooned around her, the warmth of the light was comforting, and she inclined her head toward it, not wanting to move… but knowing she desperately had to.
Rumpelstiltskin would be waiting for his breakfast, and his tea, even if he would only really pay attention to the tea, and she reluctantly pushed herself up, shivering in the cold morning air. Despite her heavy, winter nightgown and stockings, she was freezing. So, she tried to dress as quickly as possible – slipping on her long, but thin chemise, the embroidered shirt, her hip roll, her blue skirt with matching stay, lacing it up as quickly as possible.
It had gotten easier, as the days went on, to do, and she was thankful for it. When she lived with her father, she had a sea of lady's maids just waiting to scoop her up and have her ready in moments. Having to do it herself had, at first, been an arduous task… now it was just a minor inconvenience.
Breathing heavily, she hadn't realized how quickly she got ready until it was actually over. She grabbed her cloak off the floor and started to pull it against herself, anticipating the door would be opened for her at any moment… but when she finally took the time to look over, she realized it was already just barely cracked.
Furrowing her eyebrows, she pursed her lips and slowly inched forward. Usually, he would come let her out, presumably so she would not sneak out at night… but the door being open? She was so curious – [i]remember what happened to the oysters[/i] rang through her head…
But, she was not an oyster, and this was just her door. So, she pushed it open and blinked in surprise – a little package sitting on the floor, wrapped in crude paper and tied with simple twine. Belle looked up and down the hallway, seeing no one in sight. Slowly, she leaned down to pick up the parcel and turned it over in her hands before she started to slowly untie the wrap.
The twine fell to the floor, and she dropped the paper, her eyes going wide as she held the soft, slivery-white and delicate shawl in her hands. Her breath hitched in her throat as she held onto the edges, and the knitted fabric rolled down, revealing its whole form.
She gasped, overtaken with how beautiful it was – and the hints of gold interlocked with the beautiful fabric… Belle quickly leaned down to pick up the packaging and walked back into her room, placing them by her bed. She laid the shawl down carefully, like it would break in a thousand pieces were she to drop it, and her fingers worked quickly at the clasp on her cloak.
It could not be quick enough, she thought and put it down on the ground, retrieving the gold-laced silver shawl, and pulled it tightly around her shoulders. It did not look as though it would be warm, and feeling it against her hands, she thought it was light, but once she put it on, she felt instantly warm.
She almost felt a flush on her cheeks, but she suppressed the feeling, realizing how long she had already tarried. Her feet carried her quickly from her room to the kitchen and she immediately started the fire under the enclosed oven – letting it crackle and pop while she moved to prepare breakfast.
She retrieved the batter for the butter croissants she had started yesterday from cool storage. She put the bowl on the counter and then patiently rolled out the dough and cut it. She rolled each individual roll to perfection – glad she had an innate talent in the kitchen, or this would have been utterly impossible. When the fire was stoked, she placed the pan in the oven and sighed – the smell was almost immediately delectable. She loved the flakey dough, especially spread with jam, and for the first time - . Opening the pantry, she was happy to find apple preserves and put it on the tray with a knife.
She started to hum as her breakfast ritual was wrapping up, the croissants toasting and the kettle boiling over the fire. The tea ball was already set in the porcelain teacup, and when the kettle started to whistle, she used the thick holder to lift it and pour, careful to avoid burning herself again.
It was, perhaps, not the quickest breakfast, but it smelled delicious, and covering the fresh croissants with a handkerchief, she walked up the stairs, away from the impossibly cold basement toward the main hall, where he would be waiting.
When the doors swung open, Belle saw Rumpelstiltskin, sitting at the end of the table, though not the usual side facing the cabinet. He was very clearly facing the door with his fingers steeped and brow low. "You're late," he said flatly, darkness in his voice. Clearly, the master did not like waiting. She would have been more embarrassed were she not proud of the offering she brought.
"It was well worth it," she smiled, not betraying the nervousness that made her heart beat faster in her chest. He sniffed, disbelieving and Belle placed the breakfast tray on the table in front of him. She contained her smile as his eyebrows quirked, perhaps intrigued. She delicately lifted the handkerchief from the croissants and looked at him expectantly. He met her gaze, though looked puzzled – she could not reason why. "Are you displeased?" she asked, trying not to sound deflated.
He gingerly picked up a hot pastry, dropping it on a plate with a sour look. "Hot," he said simply, looking at her while she remained motionless, like he expected something. She opened her mouth to say something, but realized she hadn't continued to serve and dropped the hanky on the table with a little, "Oh!" of surprise before she picked up the teapot. Pouring into the two cups, she pretended she was not watching as he gingerly picked at the pastry. "What do you think?" she asked quietly, putting the chipped cup in front of him before serving herself.
"I think…" he paused, inclining his head to the side. Rumpelstiltskin seemed to gaze upward, into the corner for several tense moments before he looked at her and grinned, "I am glad you've decided to abandon the ridiculous cloak." She looked over at him, lips pursed, clearly not the answer she was looking for and shook her head. "Oh, you mean about these?" he made a grand motion to the pastries in front of him, "I suppose they are passable."
It was as close to a compliment as she might get from him, she reasonable and Belle suppressed her laugh with a discreet roll of her eyes. "Thank you," she said simply – knowingly, "for everything.
The master looked perplexed, and then amused, "Whatever do you mean, dearie? You must be very easy to please if a passing comment on passable pastry elicits such a response. How lucky for me, you are easy to keep." He laughed, taking a bite out of a croissant – the look on his face clearly suggesting he was enjoying it more than he let on, but that was his way. It was always about more than he let on.
Belle giggled quietly, daintily spreading jam on her own pastry, making the decision to not bring the shawl up. He had made his comment, seemed pleased, and that was that. If he chose not to take her thanks, that was fine – but she had given it. He was not the only one who knew more than he let on, after all.