Banished (forever?)
Whilst Belle was in the dungeon, Rumplestiltskin remained upstairs in the Great Hall. The first thing he did was re-cover the mirror with the heavy cloth, cutting off a disappointed Queen from the show. Then he grabbed the broom she used to sweep the floor, and broke it in half. One half he threw through the window, the other he rose above his head. He brought it down upon the glass of the cabinet, shattering it to the floor. Wood splintered and caught him in the face, catching in his hair. He stopped only when breathing itself became too much for him and stood, panting, his head bowed by the weight of his broken heart. He dropped the handle on the floor and leaned on his cabinet for support.
With an almighty breath he pushed himself up, away from the shattered glass, and towards the great oak doors. Before he reached them he disappeared in a plume of smoke (and for the first time in years he missed his mark), reappearing to walk into the door of the library. He tore it off its hinges and into the room, and began throwing books across the room with his magic. When he was done, paper littered the floor. Then he transported himself back to the great room and sank to the ground. But much to his dismay he could hear Belle crying, her sobs echoing across the castle. As though she had a right to be upset!? He stood up and strode to the table, intending to cover the noise. He grabbed the tea set and flung it piece by piece at the wall with all his might. It didn't occur to him to use magic.
When he reached Belle's cup, he paused. In the new silence he could hear her whispering to herself, his heightened senses picking up on the sound. "I don't understand what I did wrong..." He set the cup back down with a sneer. Soon he would remove the problem once and for all.
Some time later, after he had spun enough to calm himself, he made his way down to the dungeon. As he traversed the darkened passageways he somehow, against his own will, managed to convince himself not to kill Belle. By the time he got there, his plan was to let her go. Seeing her sat there, upon opening the door, with vacant eyes and a despondent expression, made him want to forgive her, and keep her forever, and mend both their broken hearts. He shook himself out of it. Her pain was just an act. She was just irritated her plan had failed, and she had disappointed the Queen. He reassured himself of this as he sent her away, but his resolve began to crumble as she came clacking back. She stood, her faces inches from his, and accused him of sabotaging his own happiness. He told her he couldn't care less about her, but the words were becoming harder and harder to choke out. He wanted to beg her to come back to him, and the darkness inside him was relieved when she said "No, it doesn't. But now you've made your choice. And you're going to regret it. Forever. And all you'll have, is an empty heart, and a chipped cup." The spinner inside him sobbed as her tears began to fall (they are fake, remember that, they are fake), and flinched when her voice cracked at the end. He stayed where he was until, five minutes later, when she was sure to have found the satchel of supplies he had placed by the entrance, Belle slammed the door behind her.
As she passed through the Great Hall, Belle looked at the carnage her love had wrought. Glass lay broken across the floor, porcelain shattered by the walls. One of the drapes, now nailed back to the wall, was not as secure as the others and fluttered in the breeze caused by what was surely a broken window. She sadly shook her head at the destruction, and made her way through the heavy doors. Folded on the floor just before the main entryway was the cloak he had gifted her when they went after the Sherwood thief. Even then he was caring for her. She wiped away her tears and knelt on the cold ground, lifting the heavy cloak in her arms. It unfolded as she stood, and a satchel fell from within with a thud. Assuming it was for her she slung it over her shoulder, and with a brief glance behind she pulled open the doors, and left the Dark Castle for what she believed would be forever.
A few hours later, out of the mountain pass and in a heavily wooded area, Belle stopped to rest, exhausted. She sat on a log just beyond the hollow of a tree, and rubbed her sore ankles. She knew she had to continue, but just wanted some peace for a moment. She had nothing to think about but Rumple as she walked, and so spent the entirety of her rest forcing herself to think of something other than Rumplestiltskin. Such as her father. The effort made her more tired and, without meaning to, she drifted off to sleep. When she awoke she was shocked to find the darkness had fled, and it was the bright light of dawn that had disturbed her. She shot up with a start, realising she had planned to get much closer to the Marshlands than she was yesterday. And also find water before dark, which didn't work out either. She dropped her head into her palms in despair at her foolishness.
Soon, thankfully, she recalled Rumple's gift. Freeing her arms from the comfort of the cloak she had draped over herself, she reached for the satchel, whose strap she had wrapped around her ankle. She lifted the flap to find that on top there was a blanket. She pulled it out, expecting the coarse fabric they used back at her father's estate in the infirmary, but was delighted to find it to be soft and smooth to touch. She refolded it and placed it on the log beside her. Next was a pair of water-skins, regretfully empty. She sighed, and placed those atop the blanket. Then she pulled out parcels of leaves and, not wanting to disturb them just yet, she placed them on her other side. Also in the satchel was a change of clothes (some kind of red leather that she didn't want to analyse at that moment, but was glad to find included deerskin breeches and a heavy pair of boots that she was surprised actually fit in the bag), a coil of rope (for some reason), a book in another language, a spool of gold thread, and a small dagger. She nearly swore at Rumple's thoughtlessness in not providing food, until she remembered the leaf-parcels.
She unwrapped them carefully, removing the twine, to find some odd kind of biscuit inside. At least, they looked like biscuits, and felt like biscuits, but they smelt like bread. Suspicious, she took a small nibble of one corner, and immediately smiled at the taste. Crunchy, a little dry, but satisfying all the same. She moved to take another bite, but stopped herself just before she did at the realisation she was no longer hungry. She blinked down at the bread-biscuits with surprise. She had not thought the stuff existed, but did not find herself shocked that it did. Lembus bread, baked by the elves and known to be able to fill a grown man's stomach with the smallest bite. She shook her head and repacked her satchel, clothes at the bottom, blanket at the side, then the rope, the book, the water and the bread, and the spool and dagger in a side pocket not there when she began.
She stood and pulled the cloak over her shoulders, noticing the gloves not there before either. She wore them for the added warmth, since there was very little heat this close to the mountain range, snow still around in smatterings upon the ground. With her hood over her head and her satchel hidden away, Belle began the trek onward, to a stream where she might quench her thirst. Thankfully there was a clear one she found not three hours later, tumbling over rocks an impressive distance from its origin in the mountains. She drank her fill and topped up both water-skins, securing their stoppers tightly. She then stripped down as far as she dared in this not-entirely-enclosed space, and washed as much of her body as the water could reach. The stream was not overly deep, but was enough so that, if she were to lie down, her raised arm would be open to air at her elbow. Her clothes were also washed in the stream, them before her, and left to sun on a flat rock. After trying (and failing) to keep her hair dry whilst washing herself, she used the blanket to dry off where she could, pulled on the now dry-and-crisp dress and undergarments, and forced her hair back with a ribbon.
Ready once more, she continued on her journey from mid-morning until late evening. She sorely wished she had stayed in the village she had passed through, but it was too late for that now - it was an hour behind her, and darkness was rushing in. Already she struggled to see the road before her. She thus moved off into the trees, managing to find a wide one that could hide her from the road. Using her blanket as a pillow and her cloak as a blanket, she settled herself down for the night, hoping that tomorrow she would be able to find the village by the dwarf mines.
In the morning, awoken as she was by the passing of a carriage, Belle ate as much Lembus bread as she could manage (another tiny bite), and drank a good amount of water before relieving herself as necessary further into the tree line. When comfortable once more, she retrieved her satchel and cloak, pulled on her gloves, and set out in what she hoped was the right direction. The fairy dust mines were between fifteen and twenty miles away, and whilst that was a relatively easy distance for a hardened walker, it was not so for a noblewoman who spent most of her life trapped in doors, even if she'd spent most of the last few months traversing a ridiculous amount of staircases. Puffing out her cheeks in frustration and determination, Belle set out on her way.
She reached the place around midnight, having not wanted to stop when she felt she was so close. Thankfully, the first building she stumbled into in the small town (a collection of buildings really, only ten or so for travellers. Dwarves live underground) was a tavern that doubled as an inn. She moved away from the doorway and let it close on the still night. She lowered her hood as she searched for the owner, and it became apparent pretty quickly that that was a mistake.
She heard a drunkard call out something crude and unrepeatable, and her face flushed with shame and humiliation as she hurried to the other side of the room, where she could see a bar. Some of the other patrons laughed at the other man's comments but most of them, there were barely a dozen to begin with, continued staring at their drinks, or snored into the table. No one was behind the counter, however, and she blew some rogue hair out of her face as she looked around.
That was when she caught sight of him, a huge behemoth of a man coming towards her. She shrank away, aware that if this man wanted to take something from her, to hurt her, she would be powerless to stop him. She was about ready to hit him with her satchel as he paused a few paces from her, and she flinched when he thrust his hand out to her. He laughed then, and introduced himself. He was Jamie, dubbed Giant by the local Dwarves, and owned (as he put it) 'this mighty fine establishment'. She shook his hand, and he apologised for frightening the 'pretty little lady'.
His daughter, a surprisingly small girl from the size of her father, was named Brienne, and was instructed to take Belle up to a room for the night. She could pay on the morrow, when her thoughts were clear. 'On the morrow' ended up as late afternoon, as Belle got a proper night (and day)'s rest from all her walking. She wandered down a short while after awakening, briefly considering the soft deerskin breeches and accompanying ensemble, with the tall boots and the red gloves. She stuck with the dress, however, and was welcomed to the tavern area by Brienne when she reached it.
The innkeeper's daughter was Belle's height and more sturdily set, her blonde hair leaping around her head in an untameable tangle. Her dress was simple, brown and of the peasant-cut, but well made and sturdy. With her she had a tin serving tray, currently holding a good half-dozen jugs of ale. She directed Belle to a table just off the edge of the room, where she was soon joined by Jamie, who was far less intimidating in full daylight. Without harsh candlelight to distort them, his features were soft and kind, and it seemed his daughter had inherited his blonde hair. His eyes were spirited and brown, like his daughter's, and his hands were large and worn from hard labour. He told her she was welcome to stay as long as she wished, and gave her a fair price for the room. She was soon brought a hot meal and a drink to wash it down, and then she was left alone, her spool of thread some three inches shorter.
She sorely wished she had taken her book down with her, but soon began to enjoy the sport of people-watching. She caught sight of Brienne's mother, a woman with long unruly hair, darker than night, whose eyes danced as she laughed at some tale her husband wove. She saw the man from the night before, looking a little put out that she had ignored him. And in the late evening, because she had been day dreaming and staring at her hands that long, she saw the Dwarves. There were about twelve of varying ages, each wearing hats of different kinds, and a large group of them sat at the table by hers. Although she was, at this point, trying to imagine what Rumple's son might look like, she did manage to catch half of a conversation the two closest to her were having.
Unable to keep a straight face any longer at their confusion, she barged into their conversation, and cheerfully informed the younger dwarf that he was in love. The poor man soon came to sit at her table, and as she giggled at his description of their meeting (and tried to ignore the raw pain of Rumplestiltskin) she sent him off to find his love, his hope, and his dreams.