Note: I was going to make the sheriff Keith from the episode Lacey, but he was too comic for this scene. I haven't seen much of the BBC's Robin Hood, but I am picturing Richard Armitage as Keith's replacement. The sheriff in that series was played by Keith Allen, so Keith's Enchanted Forest name is Allen in this story.
X
Rumple took out his crystal sphere and watched to see how Belle handled things in the entryway. At the appointed time, mauve smoke began to billow up by the door. So, the sheriff had used the charm Rumplestiltskin had sent him to bring him here rather than back out at the last minute. Backing out—or running away—was a common move from people dealing with him, especially ones he'd given a choice.
Belle, after a moment's surprise, quickly assumed a poised, confident stance. She looked much more like the woman he remembered from Maurice's court, every inch a queen.
When the smoke cleared, the sheriff was there. He was a tall, black haired man. A little like Lord Gaston, Rumplestiltskin thought, frowning.
The man was formally dressed, right down to his gold chain of office, the same as he would have dressed to meet a great lord or king. Good. He was at least showing proper respect. That boded well. Although (he thought with a wicked grin) fools could be much more entertaining to deal with.
The man's eyes scanned up and down Belle, awed rather than lascivious. He gave her a very proper bow, a guest meeting the lady of the castle. Belle gave him a very elegant curtsy in return. It was also all propriety, a curtsy of a woman receiving a guest who was just slightly above her in rank. But, her regal calm suggested the opposite, that she was far, far above him.
The sheriff caught that subtlety as well. He frowned, a troubled taxonomist unable to place the creature in front of him. Belle turned and led him from the room.
X
Belle felt a moment's relief as the mauve clouds formed, glad the Dark One wasn't making some poor mortal fight his way through the storm outside. The winds in the mountains howled like lost souls and seemed especially loud in this room.
She also knew the Dark One was playing petty games. He must have expected her to be startled when this happened. For all she knew, he was watching her this moment, waiting for her to make a fool of herself.
Well, Belle had dealt with her share of people in Maurice's court (and elsewhere) who smiled sweetly while waiting for a chance to stab her in the back. She fell back on what she'd learned, forcing herself into calmness. Act the great lady, and people often found it hard to remember you weren't.
And, if they got through your defenses and drew blood, never let them know you bled.
It still took all her hard-learned discipline to keep calm when she saw the man who appeared. He was too much like Gaston and Jones, tall and dark haired with a proud look that boded ill for anyone who offended.
You are a lady here, Belle reminded herself. Or close enough. She was housekeeper, head of staff (all one of her), chatelaine, and whatever else the Dark One decided she should be today. She didn't have to cringe before an interloper, no matter who he reminded her of.
Greetings were exchanged. Belle swept him a graceful curtsy before turning grandly to lead him to the great hall. She had let him know she was a servant, but she tried to imply otherwise in her manner. After all, what might the Dark One have as a servant? For all the man knew, the howling outside was a legion of demons the Dark One kept to clean the scullery who had been given the day off.
Still, she hoped the Dark One was watching. It made her skin crawl to turn her back on this man. But, would the Dark One care? For all she knew, this man with his handsome, nightmare face was part of whatever punishment he had planned for her.
Never mind. She wouldn't run. She wouldn't scream. She would remain calm as befit a great lady.
She swept down the long corridors, listening to the sheriff's footsteps, glad that he seemed content to just stay out of reach behind her.
X
Rumplestiltskin waved at the crystal, making it vanish back into the cabinet, and leaning back in his chair just before Belle swept in with the sheriff. She swept Rumplestiltskin a much deeper and much more sincere curtsy than she had their guest—and made sure the guest saw it. Good. She'd learned a few tricks about playing politics. "My lord," she said. "May I present the Sheriff of Nottingham, Guy of Gisborne." Looking back at Gisborne, she said, "My lord sheriff, may I present the Dark One." Then, she stood aside to let Rumplestiltskin take over.
Rumplestiltskin grinned, just to see how the sheriff would respond to the brown fangs, but the man wasn't like his predecessor, a drunkard, Allen of Voysey. He gave no sign that there was any difference between a mad, fanged imp and the most sober lord holding court in his castle. The sheriff bowed as deeply and properly as he would to a king. "My lord, I am honored to meet you," Gisborne said.
"Indeed, you are," Rumplestiltskin agreed, giving a mad giggle. "Madam, fetch some tea for our guest."
"My lord," Belle murmured, curtsying again before leaving. Rumplestiltskin couldn't help smiling approvingly. He didn't understand her and her moods, but she knew how to play a part when it was required of her.
"What is she?" the sheriff breathed, awed.
"Hmm?"
"Fairy? Siren? Goddess? I'd heard tales of such beings but never seen one. . . ."
Rumplestiltskin looked sharply at the sheriff. Was he drunk after all? Belle was pretty enough when all was said and done, but 'goddess' was going too far.
"She's my maid," Rumplestiltskin said, wanting to end wherever the sheriff was going with this. "And only human." Obviously, being in a magic castle was going to the man's head. He was seeing wonders everywhere. It wasn't even one of Belle's good days. She looked too pale, now he thought about it, and her eyes were shadowed. She must have slept poorly last night. Far from a goddess.
Although, Rumplestiltskin wasn't beyond calling her a siren, the magic beings who took the form of those you loved—but only so they could hurt you when you let down your guard.
Rumplestiltskin shoved the thought aside. It was a pity he didn't tolerate vermin. The sheriff sounded far enough lost he would swoon at a mousehole, so long as it was in the Dark Castle, and call it Ali Baba's cave.
The sheriff was still staring at the door Belle had left through. "Only human? Truly?" A thought seemed to occur to him. "I heard a rumor, a tale that you made a deal with the lord of the lost Marchlands. You delivered his land from a curse and put them under your protection in return for the most beautiful woman in all the kingdom, a courtesan who had been the lord's own mistress, a woman who'd traveled the world and left a road of broken hearts behind her in another time. Was that her?"
After a flash of irritation, Rumplestiltskin decided to be amused. He knew how stories tended to change and grow, but this was a bit much.
It was also, he decided, a better tale than the ones that were likely to be told about the Dark One stealing a little boy. Not that there weren't plenty of those in the world already. Half the children in the realm were warned to go to bed on time or the Dark One would get them. He toyed with whether to squash this story or encourage it.
Neither, he decided. "I got her in Lord Maurice's court," he said. "She makes an excellent cup of tea." The sheriff could decide if he wasn't discussing why he'd acquired her or if (inhuman monster that he was) all he cared about was her cooking skills. He changed the subject, getting back to the reason he'd summoned the sheriff in the first place. Belle returned with the tea while they were negotiating. Eyes properly downcast, Belle prepared his and handed the cup to him.
"I'm willing to give a reasonable payment," Rumplestiltskin told Gisborne. It was always interesting when he went in to make a deal without knowing what it was the other person would ask for. Gold was often enough. Other times, they wanted magic. Curse an enemy, save a friend, youth, beauty—the list was endless.
"Magic, I understand, often costs more than it's worth," Gisborne said.
Rumplestiltskin giggled. "All magic comes with a price, dearie, though plenty of people want to pay it."
The sheriff, however, was looking at Belle as she poured his cup. "My lord?" Belle asked. "How do you like your tea?"
The awed look was back in the sheriff's eyes. He didn't see Belle, Rumplestiltskin realized. He saw a tale, a legend. The courtesan whose favors bought the salvation of an entire kingdom, the beauty the Dark One himself would pay for in lives and souls. She could look like a toad on a log and, with that story behind her, all Gisborne would see was his goddess.
"Her," Gisborne said. "That's my price. Let me have her."
X
Belle tried not to let her hands shake as she poured tea, adding honey and lemon. The Dark One and the sheriff were negotiating a price. In words, it was no different than a dozen other deals she'd heard the bits and pieces of. But, she could feel the sheriff's eyes on her.
Her stomach twisted and she felt bile in her throat. She wasn't surprised when the sheriff made his demand.
"Her. That's my price. Let me have her."
If you're too good for the officers, you can bed down with the crew.
She looked up at the Dark One, wanting to scream, to beg. But, his eyes were on the sheriff.
"Just for a night," the sheriff said. "An hour. That's what I want. Only that."
"Only . . . that?" the Dark One repeated the sheriff's words, his voice perfectly, uncharacteristically mild. There was a trap in those words, Belle thought.
Of course there was. And she could feel it closing around her.
"Madam," the Dark One said, still in that odd, calm voice. "Go. We'll finish this without you."
"My lord, I—" Don't. I'll do what you ask. Whatever—whatever it is. Don't—
But, she couldn't say the words. They lay in her stomach in frozen lumps.
"Go!" he snarled.
Belle turned and ran.
The doors slammed shot on their own behind her. She stood in the passageway, trembling.
This was his revenge. This was her punishment.
Memories. A ship's hold crowded with men, drawing straws for their turns. Jones laughing when he made her scream. His warnings when his brother came aboard.
Do what he wants, Belle. Or I might decide that brat of yours is making you squeamish. Give a whore a bastard, and she turns into a prude. Don't make me punish you after. Or maybe that brat is the one I should punish. He's the one doing this to you.
He won't do that, Belle told herself. She didn't understand the Dark One and his talk of fate, but he cared for Bae. She thought—she believed—he cared for her son.
She'd been wrong about him before. Yesterday had proved that.
She couldn't breathe. She had to get out, get air.
Belle saw the door to the battlements. Without stopping to debate, she ran to it and threw it open, rushing outside.
The cold air slammed into her, clearing her mind. Despite the snow and wind, her shaking eased.
Back in the great hall, the Dark One was negotiating his price for her.
Jones is dead, she thought. He's dead.
I thought I was free.
She moved away from the door. The shivering was coming back. It was too cold out here. She had to go in before she froze.
But. . . .
But, going back in meant facing the Dark One and whatever deal he'd made. It meant—it meant—
She remembered him bandaging her hands, healing them. She'd trusted him, then. Or something that felt like trust.
Would he have her work her trade in Bae's room? Or put her someplace else in the castle? Or give her a charm, like the one he'd given the sheriff, send her to the man's home, then expect her to return when she was done? Would he come and fetch her if she didn't? Or would that be another victory, getting rid of her at last?
The wind howled around her. Like the dead. Maybe Jones and his crew were out there, mocking her. For all she knew, maybe the Dark One summoned their wraiths to see this little farce play out to its end.
The cold bit into her. Belle tried to keep moving, pacing the battlements. It had been snowing for hours, but the wind was blowing it free of the stones. It was only at the edge of the parapets where the wind couldn't reach it that it lay in piles.
She should have brought her shawl. No, she should go back in. Belle remembered stories the sailors had told of men falling into the water in the northern seas, how quickly they could freeze and die. How long had she been out here?
The icy sting was beginning to fade. She couldn't go back, not yet. Just a little longer, she told herself. To catch her breath, to feel numb inside.
She walked further. She wasn't sure for how long—or how far. There were dangerous places out here, stairs and odd turns. Harmless enough normally, but it was hard to see. The snow around her was so thick, she wondered if the old saying was true. Maybe she wouldn't be able to see her hand in front of her eyes. She paced some more. She should test it, Belle thought. But, lifting her hand seemed too much effort.
Where was she? How far had she come? This was foolishness. She needed to go back in before—before—
Her thoughts felt heavy as lead. Doors. There were doors all along the walkways, weren't there? She needed to find one. She needed to go inside and face what had to be faced.
She could do this. She'd done it before. The cold was numbing her. That was what she needed. To be numb and cold, inside and out.
Belle turned towards the side of the castle. Or what she thought was the side. She ran into stone, but it was the parapets.
Turn around. Go back.
Except, the wind pushed and prodded at her (the dead voices howling). The snow blinded her. She thought she was heading back across, towards the castle. Why wasn't she finding it?
The answer felt as if it should be obvious, but her leaden mind had trouble finding the answer. Going the wrong way. She must be going the wrong way.
Belle turned again and took a few steps. Then, her foot met nothing but air.
The stairs. She'd found the stairs.
She stumbled, tried to find her footing as she fell into air, tumbling down the stairs along the battlements, landing in a small heap at the bottom.
It was a little sheltered from the wind, here. The snow had been given the chance to accumulate, breaking her fall.
It was so soft. She knew it should be cold, but she only felt the softness. Weariness weighed down on her like stones.
Get up, she thought. Get out of here. You can't stay here. It's dangerous.
She tried to remember why it was dangerous. She tried to remember why it was wrong to lay here and rest.
Get up, she told herself again.
I will, she answered back. In a moment. . . .
A moment.
With that promise, Belle's eyes slid closed.