As a bell is rung to signal lunchtime, Bae leaps to his feet and offers to bring the Princess and his father something to eat. Bae's heard the gossip and as a gentleman, he's going to protect Belle as best he can from being exposed to it around the cookfire.
Belle stands and stretches, her sight wandering to the soldiers gathering around a spit; obviously she's about to express a desire to join them, but Rumple answers for both of them. "Thank you, Bae. That would be nice."
They're hungry, tired and a bit irritable after a morning without success—"well, not completely without success," Belle has pointed out. "We've got her to play with us. For a child, that goes a long way toward building trust."
But before Bae can trot off, two hulking figures approach from the cookfire, bearing trays. Rumple recognizes the bear coat immediately and hauls himself to his feet. "Father!" Belle exclaims, delighted for the diversion, and Rumple bows as the King and General Darain come into hailing distance. In the background, he can see the soldiers turn to stare as the two most important men in camp present the research team with the trays of hot food. "Thought you might be hungry." Maurice winks at his daughter.
Bae snaps to and darts off to locate a second log; a young private assists him in dragging it over to the cage.
"Father, thank you, and General Darain; that's so kind of you." She accepts her tray and settles back down on the log, easing it onto her knees. "Mmm, smells wonderful."
Rumple opens, closes and opens his mouth again as the General presents him with the second tray. He can't manage to get a word out.
"For you and the lad," Darain assures him. He nods at the log. "Sit. Eat."
Rumple can only obey. "Yes, sir." Bae hovers beside him, but when the King and the General seat themselves on the log he's fetched for them, he sits down beside his father. There are multiple plates on each tray; Rumple realizes this means that Darain and Maurice intend to eat with them, and he hands one of the plates to the General, who accepts it with a nod of thanks. Bae receives a plate too before Rumple settles back with the remaining meal.
Belle has already started to cut her food, and when Maurice reaches across to take the second plate from her tray, Rumple accepts this as a signal that it's proper for him to begin to eat now. He takes small bites, prepared to swallow quickly when Maurice asks him and Belle questions about their progress with the ogre. The senior men have much to ask, and Rumple finds himself relaxing a little as he focuses on the conversation.
"But still no words, huh?" Maurice gnaws his lip.
Belle shakes her head, poking at her food without enthusiasm. "But we won't give up. All babies want to talk. It's just a matter of finding the trick that will make their minds click."
"Talk to other ogres, maybe, but not to people." The King steals a carrot from Belle's plate.
Bae interjects, "She wants to talk to us, sire. I'm sure of it. She depends on my father and already she adores Be—the Princess."
Darain swings toward Rumple. "Do you agree with that assessment, Lieutenant? That she wants to talk?"
"Yes, sir. I think she's smart enough to realize it's her only hope for survival."
"Aye." The King says thoughtfully. "For our survival too, I'm afraid."
They talk comfortably long after the plates and cups are empty, and they wander over to the cage to observe the ogre as she too enjoys a lunch. Maurice even offers a peach from his pocket and after sniffing him up and down—then sniffing at Belle and seeming to sense the familial connection between father and daughter, just as she did with Bae and Rumple—Ely stretches her hand through the bars, palm open. The King raises an eyebrow at Belle, who explains, "She's waiting for you to drop it into her hand. She has better manners than to take it away from you."
"Well!" Maurice's other eyebrow shoots up. "Monsters with manners! Maybe not so monstrous after all." He releases the peach into Ely's hand and the ogre takes a few steps back. She sniffs at the peach, then licks it, then wrinkles her nose in distaste.
"She doesn't like peaches?" Maurice puzzles. "Fussy little lady, isn't she?" He smiles fondly at Belle. "Brings to mind another little lady who refused to eat her vegetables."
Belle laughs. "I learned better, didn't I, Papa? She will, too. Look; she's figured something out."
The ogre is picking at the peach in her palm. She's scraping her sharp nails through the fruit, slicing it open, and when it's in two pieces, she licks at the inside of each. Satisfied with the result, she sucks up the the juice and nibbles on the flesh. She spits out the large seed and when she reaches the furry rind, she considers her snack finished; she tosses it aside.
"So it's not the peach, it's the fuzz that she objects to," Darain comments. "Smart creature."
"Yes, sir, we think so," Rumple replies. "We think they may be nearly as smart as humans."
"Careful who you say that around, Lieutenant," the King cautions. "Some would consider that inflammatory. Almost sacrilegious."
"She has enemies here, yes, but no one will harm her," Darain argues. "Nor her trainers."
It's then that Rumple understands what's happened here. Maurice and Darain's decision to share lunch with them is meant as a signal to the troops, who occasionally cast glances their way: the leadership endorses their work and will brook no complaints about it.
Whatever he may say about his lack of social skills, Maurice has got a way with nonverbal communication. Rumple admires him for it—and wonders if it's a trick that can be learned, even, perhaps, by an old dog.
Belle is studying the sky. "It's a warm day, relatively. We should take advantage of it. How about a bath?"
Rumple's mouth falls open. He can think of multiple ways to interpret the suggestion, none of them exactly proper (and all of them will follow him to his tent tonight, making sleep a distant memory). "I, ah—"
She's frowning slightly, then when she catches on, she chuckles and strokes his arm. "For her, Rumple. I mean for Ely. It'll relax her and besides, she needs it." Her nose crinkles. "Babies love baths, don't they?"
"Oh! Yes, yes they do," Rumple recalls. "But we don't have a tub big enough, and the river is too cold."
"We have a horse trough. It'll do. And towels and soap, and I brought clothes for her. You and I and Bae can do this, together."
"You want to go into the cage," Rumple surmises, his voice flat.
"One step at a time, Rumple. If she shows any distress, I'll leave immediately. But I think she accepts me, and I think this will encourage her to bond with us."
"It's not her, it's the soldiers I'm worried about."
"My father promised we'd have whatever we need. We'll speak to Darain. On his order, no one will disturb us. It's a matter of responsibility, you see: we must look out for her health. She's a child and she's in our care."
She's already on her feet before he grants his consent. "It will do her some good," he sighs. "All right, let's find the General."
It takes a great deal of time and effort, but by mid-afternoon a trough and a cauldron of warm water have been sledded into the cage, just inside the gate—the soldiers pulling the sled in refuse to go any farther in than necessary. Belle carries in a basket of sponges and soaps, while Bae, marching in without hesitation, carries towels. Captain Fendral, carrying only his sword, flanks the Princess. Darain and Maurice lean on the bars of the cage, the former with a bow slung casually over his shoulder (but Rumple has seen the man in action; in the blink of an eye, that bow can have released a perfectly aimed arrow). Similarly, Maurice, having shed his bear coat, wears a sword. With his size and age, he's slow, but his arm is powerful and Rumple would entrust him with Bae's life.
From his body language—smiling and chatting easily, leaning into the bars, hip-shot, resting a foot against the bottom-most rung—one would assume that Maurice is sending his daughter into a kennel to feed puppies. But Rumple knows better, having been in on the argument that ensued no more than a half-hour ago, in private, when Belle insisted that her presence in the cage is necessary; that she must be permitted to tend the ogre as a nurse would. "Remember, Father, she's a toddler, scared, abandoned, and for all we know, an orphan. Rumple and Bae and I are her only friends."
"You must remember, Daughter, one swipe of her arm, even in play, and she could break your back. A few months older and she'd cheerfully make a meal of you."
"The least sign of roughness from her and I'll get out of the cage as fast as I can." Belle grasps Maurice's hands. "I need for her to see me as a nanny, someone she wants to follow. She has protectors, in Bae and Rumple, but a baby needs-"
"Don't say it, Belle," Maurice groans.
"A mother."
"Belle! That's an ogre!"
"A substitute mother."
"You are too brave for your own good." The shaggy head shakes heavily. "I can't permit this. Even if no harm comes of it, your mother would never forgive me if—"
"My mother would do the same thing I'm doing. Enraged Avonleans could be marching this way, calling for her blood. For this baby, for our people, for an end to the Ogre Wars, let me do whatever I can, anything I can to win Ely's trust and affection."
"I will go in with them," Darain says abruptly. "Her Highness will be safe, sire."
Tension melts from Maurice's shoulders, but before he can mull this suggestion over, Rumple intervenes. "Fendral. It should be Captain Fendral. Ely's used to him."
"Fendral, then," the General agrees. "Good swordsman."
Belle kneels beside her father to peer into his face. "Father, Bae is going into the cage. Do you think Rumple, who knows Ely better than any of us, would allow that, if he had any doubts?"
"At the first sign of trouble—"
"Yes, I promise. At the first sign."
A half-hour later, the bath supplies have been rolled in and the bath team stands in the center of the cage. The ogre, in her favorite corner, has clambered to her feet and stands shivering, sniffing.
"Ely," Rumple calls to her, making his tone casual, as though bathing an ogre is an everyday chore for him. "Bath time, Ely."
Her head swings in Fendral's direction and she presses her back to the bars.
"She's scared," Belle whispers.
"Ely, this is Fendral. He's a friend. And you already know Belle."
The ogre whines uncertainly.
"Sheathe your sword," Rumple advises Fendral.
"She can't see it—"
"She knows. I don't know how. Put it away."
Fendral has made dozens of snap decisions during his career, decisions that could result in life or death. In the week of her capture, he's seen no hostility in this creature, but in five years of warfare he's yet to meet an ogre he can trust. He has, then, only Rumplestiltskin's word to counteract his experience with these beasts. And the knowledge that while he's not the strongest, he's definitely the fastest swordsman in His Majesty's Home Guard. He sheathes the sword and hooks his thumbs in his belt, just inches from the weapon.
Looking back on this moment, years later, Rumple will consider it a milestone in his personal life: his son, his beloved and his friend believed in him enough to stand beside him in this cage, facing a creature they've been conditioned to see as a monster—all on his say-so.
He steps forward, calling out again. "Ely, we're going to give you a bath. Warm water, soft towels, sweet soap."
"And you can splash in the water all you want. You're going to love it," Bae assures her, also stepping forward. "I always did."
Rumple shoots him a skeptical look.
"When I was your age," Bae amends.
"And I have something for you to play with in your bath." Belle sets her basket down so she can dig out the crude wooden duck that Bae had carved while waiting for the water to heat. She holds it out toward Ely, but the ogre makes no move toward it. Belle is disappointed until she recalls, "Oh. I tend to forget you can't see."
"Ely, pear." Rumple announces, and the ogre immediately reaches out, her palm open. When she's been supplied with her treat, she smiles and bites into it.
"Let's prepare the bath." Pushing and pulling, the four of them get the trough off the sled, then tackle the caldron. There's only enough water to provide two inches of bath, but by the time the cauldron has been emptied, the humans are panting and sweating and longing for their own baths.
"Come, Ely, time to wash," Belle urges. She holds her hand out in invitation. "I'll sing to you while we wash you."
"It's gonna feel great, Ely," Bae chimes in, splashing his hand in the warm water.
The ogre is licking pear juice from her hands. She doesn't like to be sticky; after finishing a meal, she will seek water to wash her hands. And now as her brow wrinkles in frustration as her tongue labors to remove the stickiness from her fingers, Rumple speaks softly. "Come, Ely, let's wash your hands." He splashes in the water too. "Come. Water, Ely."
Quietly, Belle walks up to the ogre and as the men beside her and those behind her watch in horror, she slips her hand into the ogre's. Darain, Maurice and the soldiers at the gate raise their weapons; Fendral's hand drops to his sheath. "Bath time, Ely." She tugs gently, and to the amazement of all, the ogre allows herself to be led. Rumple will comment later that the ogre seemed to want to be led; he will recall how, as a small child, Bae enjoyed walking hand in hand with his papa. It had made him feel secure and valued.
Ely is smiling faintly and purring as Belle takes her to the trough, and when Belle kneels to splash the water, still holding her hand, Ely's nostrils quiver and her smile grows.
"I have a special surprise for you, baby," Belle says, releasing the ogre's hand; Ely's smile sinks. But Belle continues to chat with Ely about the treats to come as she digs around in her basket, and Ely overcomes her disappointment. "Here." Belle produces a jar from the depths of the basket. Unscrewing its lid, she dumps the entire contents into the water, then swishes around in the water.
"What the-?" Even Fendral is surprised as rainbow bubbles form in the water and float into the air.
"Bath salts," Belle explains triumphantly. "A gift from a visiting sultan who wished to court me last year." She blushes as she glances at Rumple. "But my heart was not mine to give away."
Ely is now crouching to splash in the water. Her nostrils flicker as she takes in the scents, which, from her expression, she finds wondrous. Her fingers rub against each other, sampling the texture of the bath salts. She needs no further persuasion: she swings her legs over the side of the trough and lowers herself in. Her eyes close briefly as she relishes the warm water, then she begins to splash joyously.
"Well, I'll be a flyin' monkey's uncle," Maurice can be heard to exclaim.
Belle giggles. "We probably should've taken her clothes off first."
Rumple positions himself on the other side of the makeshift tub and accepts a cloth and a bar of soap from Belle. "I remember once when Bae jumped into the bath fully clothed, boots and all. He said his clothes needed washing too."
"Papa—" Bae moans.
Belle answers. "I've often imagined what it would be like to give my own baby a bath. I just never figured she'd been six feet tall and two hundred pounds."
"Never mind them, Ely. Grown-ups like to embarrass kids." Bae kneels beside Belle and presses the duck into the ogre's hand. "Toy, Ely. You can play while we wash you."
Ely chews thoughtfully on the wood, then spits it out and has to pick a splinter out of her lip. While she's preoccupied, Rumple lathers the cloth as Belle does the same, and at the same time they begin to wash as much of the exposed skin as they can reach. With Bae washing her feet and Rumple and Belle scrubbing her arms and neck, she's in heaven. When Belle begins to sing for her, she leans back in the tub and purrs. She idly brings bubbles up to her nose to smell them and poke at them with her tongue. Rumple hates to disturb her when she's so relaxed, but he manages to get her shirt off of her so he can scrub her back.
Thoroughly wet themselves, they finish washing her and stand up. "All finished now," Belle says, but Ely doesn't budge. The water is still warm and the bath salts are still producing bubbles. She holds out her palm toward Belle.
"What do you want, Ely? Pear?" Bae guesses.
"Maybe she wants to wash herself." Belle gives her the soap and the washcloth.
Ely tosses the washcloth aside, smacking Bae in the face with it. He squeaks in protest as he wipes the soapy water from his eyes. The ogre ignores his complaints; instead, she's examining the soap, smelling it, rubbing her fingers over it—then popping it into her mouth. There's a sudden roar as she spits the soap out with such force that it lands in the snow.
The soldiers roar with laughter. "In all the battlefronts I've seen, in all my years of dealing with the enemy, I've never seen the like," Darain declares.
"If you're that hungry, I'll get you a pear." Rumple tries to be firm, but he can barely suppress his laughter.
"She doesn't want to get out of the bath," Bae observes. "What do we do now, Papa?"
Rumple dries himself off with one of the towels. "Let her sit until the water turns cold. Just like I did with you, back in the day, son."
"Papa!"
There's a strange smile on Belle's face as she reaches over to dry Ely's face: a smile of longing as well as amusement. Rumple thinks he knows what she's imaging, because he's imaging the same thing: a small tub of warm water on a rug beside a fireplace, and a mother and a father kneeling, just as he and Belle are now, on either side, their hands linked as they support their baby, who's splashing at bubbles and chewing on a toy duck.