Maurice went to his study and began straightening papers, sorting them and adding notes for his . . . successors. It was his final duty and he meant to do it well. He didn't know how long he had been working when he felt eyes watching him.
He looked up and saw the Dark One. The Dark One or. . . . "Is your name really Rumplestiltskin?"
The Dark One shrugged. "It was the name I married Belle under."
"And the stories of your cowardice in battle?"
The Dark One grinned, showing his brown fangs. "Let's just say it wasn't the right time for me to be slaughtering Ogres. Not that I didn't kill plenty of them later."
"You wanted nothing to do with her when you made your bargain. Just the boy."
The Dark One's cheerful malice faded into something colder and much more deadly. "I thought Bae was all I wanted. And I was stupid enough to believe Belle wanted to be here, that she wanted that tall oaf you'd paired her with."
Maurice winced. Gaston, the greatest warrior in the Marchlands—perhaps all of Avonlea—was gone. "Don't mock the dead. He was my kinsman and my heir. What did you do to Belle, to make her turn on him?"
"Nothing," the Dark One said. He laughed bitterly. "I did nothing for her. But, that was better than what you did to her. The nothing I gave her let her have the time to finally lick the wounds you and Jones and that murdering dead man—oh, excuse me, that respected, murdering dead man—inflicted on her."
"He's dead. Don't speak ill of him." He was reprimanding the Dark One, not that it mattered. There was nothing worse the demon could do to him.
But, instead of being angry, the Dark One giggled. "Oh, I'm not speaking ill, dearie. I'm holding my tongue and being as respectful as a priest praying over a grave. Believe me, if I wasn't, your ears would be burned to ashes with what I have to say."
Maurice snorted. "Do you expect me to apologize? Belle's reputation may have been tainted, but I did the best I could for her. I tried to make her the next lady of the Marchlands despite the boy—or what I thought the boy was."
"Really? And did you ever once ask Belle what she wanted? You nearly killed her with your kindness—if she hadn't had a son who needed her to survive, you would have. He's what kept her alive all these years, not you."
"It's easy for you to judge, isn't it?" Maurice snapped. "It was bad enough when I thought the boy was a coward's brat. Instead, he was spawned by—by—whatever it is you are. At least, Gaston didn't have to lie and pretend to be human to get Belle into his bed."
"Oh, I think 'pretending to be human' is exactly what Gaston did. And, whatever I am, I wouldn't deny my own child. If I had a daughter who needed my protection, I would give it to her—and to her child. I wouldn't sell them to the first man who asked."
"You say that so easily," Maurice said. "As if the past didn't matter. What would you have done if Belle had had Gaston's child—or Jones'? You're telling me that child would be safe from you?"
The Dark One took a step back. For a moment, seeing the shocked look in his eyes—as if the Dark One were really seeing just such a child in front of him—Maurice felt triumphant. Then, the Dark One's eyes changed, filling with some feeling Maurice couldn't name, something deep and unreadable. "I've done darker deeds than you would believe, Lord Mau—excuse me, Maurice. But, I don't take revenge on children for their parents' crimes." The mockery went out of him. "Little as you may understand it, I love your daughter. And I would love any child of hers." The mocking light came back into his grin. "Though I could only hope any child of Gaston's would have her brain and not his.
"However, that's not what I came here to tell you. You see, as a respectful son-in-law, I wanted to assure you of my good intentions. Your daughter would be terribly distressed if anything awful—well, anything too awful—happened to you. It would be unpleasant all around if you tried for some final, melodramatic gesture, don't you think? A body found hanging from the rafters with a little note extolling your innocence and blaming difficult relatives for hounding you over your good intentions. So, I want you to be the first to know, you can't do it." He wiggled his fingers. "A little precaution. You can think about it, if you like—you can think about it all you like—you just won't be able to do anything about it.
"Oh, and another thing. Names have power, even ridiculous, false ones that, honestly, no one sober could ever come up with. Not that I'm admitting anything. Real or not, I don't like the sound of my name on your tongue. You won't be able to speak it to anyone after this. Or to write it. Or to play little games of charades to try and get people to guess what it is or even how many syllables. You won't even be able to think it. Just so you know."
His name must have some power if he guarded it that closely. Maurice opened his mouth to try and say it, but nothing came out. He struggled. He knew this name, this ridiculous name that (the Dark One was right) only a drunkard could have come up with. Or a mad imp who thought it was amusing to seduce a peasant girl and let her think he was her husband. "Why don't you kill me?" Maurice asked. "That would keep me silent. Or put a curse on me. Make me pay for what you think I've done."
The mockery drained out of the Dark One again. He looked at Maurice with his inhuman eyes.
"You hurt my son." He raised a hand before Maurice could start to protest. "I know your excuses. You were a lord with a duty to your land and people. You thought Gaston would be better for the Marchlands and you didn't want to endanger that. But, Bae was one of those people, and a lord who has to buy his rule at the cost of murdering children doesn't deserve to be lord. Not in my opinion, and I've had a few centuries to see how it turns out for lords who think the way you do.
"And you hurt Belle, even though she was your own daughter. Because it was easier for you. Because it spared you embarrassment not to admit you were her father even when she was dying for just one word of kindness." He said the word dying as if he meant it, as if Belle's life really had been in danger. Ridiculous. And sentimental. Whatever taint she'd picked up in the Frontlands—and through her . . . union with this creature—Belle was still the daughter of an old, proud line. She had good blood in her and, until this demon got ahold of her again, she had always done her duty.
The Dark One looked at him as though he could read his thoughts. He shrugged and gave up listing Maurice's 'crimes.' Shaking his head, the Dark One said, "Despite everything, they're alive because of you. You may have had second thoughts after, but you saved them from Jones. Your curse saved them from the Ogres when I didn't even know to look for them here. No matter what else you've done—or tried to do—I owe you for that.
"And Belle loves you." He said it as though it were the most ridiculous thing in the world. "She shouldn't. You don't deserve it. But, she loves you. In spite of everything, she's happier with a world with you in it. And I want her to be happy." The moment of seriousness vanished. The Dark One grinned, feral and vicious. "I just think she'll be happier in a world with you as far away from her as possible.
"So, go and live your life, Maurice. Enjoy being a peasant. Cultivate your garden. I don't care. Just know that I'm taking away your power to ever hurt your daughter again."
X
Later, Rumplestiltskin stood beside Belle as she checked in on a sleeping Bae. For the first two days after reviving their son from the sleeping curse, she had barely been able to be apart from. Truth be told, Rumplestiltskin had had a hard time pulling himself away even for matters had had to deal with (there'd been a reason LeFou had arrived in the Marchlands at exactly the best time).
Even knowing the Doves were there and all the castle's magical defenses were in place to protect the boy, it had been hard for Belle to leave him behind and confront Maurice. Bae understood some of what had happened, but they hadn't explained his grandfather's part in it—or that Maurice was his grandfather. Maurice's abdication made it so they'd said less about what Belle endured than Rumplestiltskin had expected, but it was still more than a child should have to hear. It had been right to leave him behind. It just hadn't been easy.
They had returned late—becoming rulers, even in absentia, wasn't something that could just be straightened out in an evening. Bae had already been asleep; but Belle needed to see him, to watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and to feel the living warmth of his cheek against her hand.
At least, now, having assured herself he was alive and well, she could turn and leave. Depending on her nightmares, she might return later that night. Still, Belle was getting better, however slowly. They all were.
She let him go with her to her room. Rumplestiltskin had drawn the bits and pieces of the house he'd made for her into the castle (Gaston's friends, deciding to verify LeFou's panicked garble, hadn't known what to think when Belle's house simply wasn't there). Belle's bedroom and sitting room were right next to Bae's chambers—a side door opened from the playroom into the sitting room so, if Bae woke up from a nightmare (the ordinary kind, Rumplestiltskin had taken steps to protect him from the ones the sleeping curse brought), he wouldn't have to run through the hallways to reach his mother's side.
They had a small ritual to how they got ready for bed. He knew Belle felt easier with him there. She also felt easier changing behind a screen and with Rumplestiltskin turning away. So, he looked away, picking up the small book Princess Ariel had impulsively drawn out of her pocket (mermaids, of course, never had pockets. Ariel thought they were wonderful things and had them sewn into all her clothes, including ball gowns). Knowing the sort of things the princess collected, Rumplestiltskin had wondered what kind of very odd odds-and-ends she would pull out this time, and had been surprised to see something as normal—and as appropriate—as a book. It was a mistake to confuse the mermaid's naïveté with a lack of intelligence. Looking at the cover, Rumplestiltskin saw it was the poem Sabrina Fair. He opened it up at random and read,
Fool, do not boast. Against the threats
Of malice or of sorcery, or that power
Which erring men call Chance, this I hold firm:
Virtue may be o'ercome, but yet unbroken,
Struck down by unjust force, but not enslaved.
Though this my flesh be bound in dungeon grim
Thou canst not touch the unpolluted temple of my mind. . . .
He remembered this story. An innocent—but very strong-minded—maiden was captured by an evil fiend. In the way of evil fiends, at least in poems, he tormented her and engaged in long arguments in blank verse. The maiden, strong heart unbroken, told him that, though he could do what he would to her body, he had no power to over her soul which remained unstained by his crimes.
It was surprisingly insightful, assuming Ariel knew what she had given Belle. Even if the villain, with all his magical power, sounded a bit too much like the Dark One.
The unpolluted temple of my mind.
Gaston and Jones had touched Belle's heart and mind, hurting both. But, their crimes were their own. Belle's unpolluted soul still shown, bright and beautiful as any star.
"The princesses liked you," he told her. "Ariel especially."
"I liked her," Belle admitted. "But, I'm not sure about Snow White. She . . . doesn't like you."
"What, because she doesn't think I'm a gentleman?" He put the book down. "I'm not. And the little queen knows better than to hold it against me. She married a shepherd, after all, not a prince. And, she trusts me. For a certain value of trust. She's worried for you, afraid you've made some deal with me you shouldn't have. Once she accepts I'm not forcing you to be here, she'll be easier to deal with. And she'll look out for you, either way."
"It's . . . strange," Belle said. "To have people trying to protect me." She stepped out from behind the screen. Her nightgown was thick flannel, hiding more than even Belle's high-collared mourning gowns had. Rumplestiltskin pulled down the blankets for her. He didn't watch as she got into bed, taking his own turn behind the screen.
"You deserve to be protected," he told her. "If I could make everything in this world swear not to harm you, down to the smallest blade of grass, I would."
"There are stories like that," Belle said. "They never end well."
"Which is the only reason why I'm not doing it. But, they'll look out for you. And they'll look out for the Marchlands, too."
"The stewards you discussed," Belle said. "Locksley and Lancelot, you think they'd do a good job taking care of the Marchlands?"
"Lancelot has more experience dealing with nobles," Rumplestiltskin said. "After the upset we caused today, they might need someone like him to restore order and keep the court from worrying I'll come to collect their heads in the night."
"You won't, will you?" Belle said anxiously.
Rumplestiltskin stepped out from behind the screen. He was wearing nightclothes as thick and concealing as Belle's. He wore his human face for her here, in the castle (the royals wouldn't have recognized him if he hadn't been all scales and fangs), but he still hid his human-seeming body.
"I promised you I wouldn't. If they can keep away from any murder attempts, they should be safe enough." Now, LeFou and Gaston's trio of stooges he still had plans for, though the royals expected them to have a fair trial and no unjust punishments. That was all right. Being transformed and forced to live as a wild beast till you could prove you'd learned the error of your ways was just enough, wasn't it? And, given what he'd seen of that bunch's learning curve, it could be centuries before he had to think about them again.
"What about Locksley?" Belle asked. "You said you'd had difficulties in the past."
"He tried to rob me," Rumplestiltskin said. "I . . ." tortured him for several days to find out who had put him up to it and would have killed him once he answered. He didn't think Belle would appreciate that, even if Locksley had tried to kill him first with that magic bow of his. ". . . let him know I did not take kindly to that. It might have ended badly for him, but his wife came to beg me to let him go. She was carrying their first child. And she was dying. She couldn't even stand on her own. Her servant, an old woman, had to practically carry her through my door."
"A loyal wife," Rumplestiltskin had said. "I didn't know there was such a thing. For the sake of novelty, then, you can have your thief back. In return, you will each owe me something, you, your thief, and your child. . . .
"I healed her," he told Belle—and he'd done a better job of it than Locksley would have with that wand he'd tried to steal. "And I let her take Locksley with her. He owes me a favor. He's not as good with nobles as Lancelot, but he's a good organizer and he knows how to help people in need. He'd do a good job helping the Marchlands rebuild after all they've been through."
"Perhaps they could work together," Belle said.
"Perhaps," Rumplestiltskin said. "But, both those two have had problems with people ordering them around, it doesn't matter if it's a sheriff or a king. I don't know if they'd get along." He grinned. "It might be worth it just to see what happens."
Belle had the blankets of the bed pulled up around her. He lay on top of them beside her, only pulling the coverlet up over both of them. They weren't lovers, not yet—perhaps not ever, though Rumplestiltskin had hopes that would change as her wounds healed. She wanted him by her side while she slept. When she woke from nightmares, finding his arms around her comforted her and brought her peace.
She'd told him, after that first night when Bae had been saved, that she knew he wanted more from her. He remembered how sick and drained she'd looked, just saying that. The thought of a man—any man—touching her made her ill. And Maurice and Jones and Gaston had taught her that was the price she had to pay—worse, that was what she already owed— to any man who said he'd protect her.
He would have liked to kill Gaston and Jones all over again.
Telling her that wouldn't have helped. Neither would setting fire to the room with a few, well aimed curses, though he was sorely tempted. He thought about lying, too, though he hadn't done that in about three hundred years (there had been promises he'd made Morraine, promises he'd failed in). Finally, he told her the truth, hard as it was.
"Belle, I want things between us to be the way they were before the war, before Hordor, before everything." He touched her cheek gently. "I know that can't happen. But, if it can't. . . ." he thought of all the things he wished could be changed or set right. If Maurice had sent Belle back to him, would he have been able to heal the hurts Jones had left on her? Or, simple, foolish man that he was then, would his fumbling attempts to help her only have made them worse?
I would have loved you, he thought. No matter what I did or didn't understand, I would have loved you.
Maybe it would have been enough.
"If it can't, I never want you to look at me the way you looked at Gaston. I never want you to be afraid because you wake up and realize I'm beside you. Nothing—nothing—is worth giving that up."
You're like ice, he thought, thinking of the fragile laces forming on glass in winter. And, if I take more from you than you're ready to give, everything I love will melt and slip through my fingers.
Tonight, she nestled closer to him. "You can see the future, can't you?" she asked. "Can you see where things are going for us?"
"The future is hard to catch of hold of," Rumplestiltskin said. "It changes or becomes something you never expected, even when you thought you saw clearly. I saw glimpses of you and Bae before I reached the Marchlands, but I never understood the truth of them. Now . . . I see futures where we're . . . content." He hesitated, "I think—I think I even see futures where we're happy."
Belle leaned against him. He could feel the tension in her as she decided whether or not to say tell him something. "I—I don't think that's our future," she said. "I—I think—maybe—it's already happened. Or it's beginning to. Don't you?"
"A gentleman never argues with a lady," he whispered. "Especially when she's right."
X
Note: Thank you, those of you who've read this far, and special thanks to all those who've given me encouragement as I went along. I have plans for a follow up story or two some time. Rumple and Bell still have things that need healing in their relationship, but they're working on getting there.
Robin in this world isn't Regina's true love. I'm not sure what happened to Regina in this world. She may have stayed evil to the end and died (possibly while being tricked into helping Rumple get into the Marchlands) or it may be that Daniel survived in this world and the two of them found their own happily ever after. I really don't know. Rumple spared Robin's life when a pregnant Marian realized he'd been captured trying to save her and forced herself to go to the Dark Castle and beg for his life.
Lancelot is not dead in this world and isn't Cora in disguise.
I'm fairly sure Cora is dead by the time this happens.
By the way, Rumple keeps his true name hidden in this world as a minor safety precaution. If someone does finds his dagger, they won't know what the name on it means. He's found other ways to know if people are wanting to summon him to make a deal.
Although it's not a major point, Zelena was either never born in this AU or died without ever laying a hand on the dagger.
For anyone wanting to read any other stories I've written, I've posted most of those under Ellynne. This story was darker than some of the others, and I knew at least one younger reader I didn't want reading it).
Sabrina Fair: The verse Rumplestiltskin reads is adapted from Comus by Milton. Some scholars believe Comus was meant to represent the case of Margery Evans, a rape victim of the time. Although a fantasy, Comus has several points in common with the real case. It was also written for the Earl of Bridgewater, who had championed Margery Evans when local authorities wouldn't prosecute her attacker. As such, it seemed like a fitting gift for Belle.