The lids over her sightless eyes droop as she sits in her favorite corner, out of the humans' way as they clear away the remains of the bath. Belle has given her yet another gift, a ragdoll with button eyes and red wool hair and a stitched on smile; Belle's own smile wavers as she lays the doll in Ely's lap and carries one of the ogre's hands around to teach her the shape of the doll. "Doll, Ely. Our children love dolls. I wish you could see it," she says softly. "It will help you to know us." As the ogre purrs sleepily, Belle brings Ely's other hand around to teach her how to cradle the doll. Obligingly, Ely presses the doll to her chest, but before the men have finished cleaning the cage, the doll has dropped into her lap and Ely is sound asleep.
Belle drapes a blanket about the ogre's shoulders before walking out of the cage. Joining Rumple at the relocked gate, she slides her hand around his elbow and leans her head against his shoulder.
"All right, sweetheart?" He keeps his voice low. It's bad enough that the soldiers have seen her and him inseparable today; if they detected that their relationship might be more than a collaboration—might be more than it can be—there could be a backlash.
He can feel her nod against his shoulder, then he hears her yawn. "It was a long ride from Bogamir."
"You should sleep. A tent's been erected for you, near the officers'. I'll come for you when Ely wakens up."
"And we'll try again." She releases his arm and walks away.
He watches her until she's faded into the tent. With his duties on hold for now, he figures he should assist in the work of the camp. With his cane, he's useless as a hunter, but he can forage; his knowledge of the medicinal and nutritional properties of wild plants got him and Bae through many a hard winter, in the years before Midnight changed their fortunes. A native of the Flatlands, he doesn't know these mountains, but Bae does, through his military training. Rumple calls his son over. "Let's take buckets and see what the land will provide, eh?" It's a phrase from the old days. He grins and Bae grins back.
"Like we used to," Bae agrees.
"Except this time, you will be the teacher and I'm the learner."
As they scavenge their way into the woods, filling buckets with whatever nuts and plants that Bae deems edible, Rumple beats back the embarrassment he feels at his failure to contribute to the needs of the camp. First he failed as a warrior, too weak and too nervous to even lift a sword; then he failed in the purpose His Majesty brought him here for, unable to wrangle a single human syllable from the ogre; and now he's failing as a provider, unable to hunt, since he can't hold a bow and a cane at the same time, and lacking sufficient knowledge of the local flora and fauna to select plants or set traps without instruction. At least, Rumple reminds himself, he's a pretty good fisherman. Maybe he can redeem himself later with a successful catch.
But Bae is talking, pointing out the likely locations of hidden nuts, so Rumple ignores his inner critic and concentrates on the lesson. When he forgets about his own deficiencies, his heart swells with pride for all that Bae knows, all that Bae has become since leaving home. As much as Rumple dreads the danger that lies ahead after Bae enlists in the army, he must admit, the boy—no, the young man—is thriving. He's in his element. He's where the Fates intend him to be, and someday, he'll make a contribution to Aramore that will last beyond his years in this life. The child has found his place in the world: the father can't argue against that. So Rumple bends, as best he's able, to brush aside snow and leaves to uncover acorns ("We can make coffee and flour with these," Bae is saying) for his basket and he listens intently as the lessons move to a discussion of pine nuts and needles. When Bae scrambles up a tree, Rumple nods at him. "I'm proud of you, son."
Bae is still enough a boy to need such praise. "Thanks, Papa." Then he surprises both of them by adding, "I'm proud of you too."
Maurice is waiting when the Stiltskin men return with bucketsful of nuts and needles. "Gentlemen," he greets them, "I see we'll have acorn coffee and white pine tea with dinner tonight. The troops will welcome having a choice."
"Aye, sire, and Captain Fendral has a tasty recipe for pine nut bread," Bae acknowledges.
"Good job. Squire, suppose I could have a word in private with your father?" Not that there's any question of what Bae's answer would be, but Maurice appreciates both his guardsmen and the father-child relationship, so he gives them the respect of etiquette.
Bae gives a quick bow, then adjusts the two buckets he's carrying so that he can take Rumple's bucket. "I'll find the Captain so we'll get the bread started."
"Thank you, son, for the lessons." Rumple watches him trot off, then shifts his attention to Maurice, who, with an outstretched hand, is inviting him into the officers' tent. He follows the King inside the warm shelter, where both men slip out of their coats. Maurice offers him a seat and a cup of tea. It's a strange feeling, to have your tea poured by a King, and Rumple wonders if he should have offered to do the pouring himself, but Maurice is talking as he pours, and wouldn't it be even more impolite to interrupt?
"Belle is still asleep. If she hasn't waked by suppertime, I'll rouse her, but for now, she needs the rest. She's a strong girl, but more so in spirit than in body." Maurice waves vaguely at their surroundings. "She's not used to the thin air and rugged living." He sips his tea thoughtfully.
"Aye, sire." Rumple also takes a sip. The warmth courses through his veins, giving him a little shot of courage. "Are you thinking of sending her back early?"
"No. Yes," the King admits. "But, I mean, I won't. I won't break a bargain. I'd never hear the end of it, if I did." Abruptly he seems to change topics. "Did Belle ever tell you how I met her mother?"
"No, sire. Just that her mother was the daughter of a landowner."
"A wealthy landowner. Wealthier, in fact, than any two bluebloods combined. And the land straddles two kingdoms, mine and Midas'. So when it came time for me to take a bride, it wasn't considered too improper for me to consider Colette. There were a great many more. . . traditionally suitable, shall we say? Including princesses with whom an alliance would be politic. But at the time, Aramore needed wealth just as much, so my father was willing to allow me to cast a wide net. He himself had been a commoner, you know. Well, I'd heard of Colette, heard she was as gentle as a spring rain, as sweet as honey, as sturdy as a mountain flower, as well as lovely, of course. So under the excuse of a hunting excursion, I visited her father. I saw for myself the reports were true. She was everything I'd been told she was, and something more. But I had to be sure. . . .As you know, a royal when he marries has far more than his own desires to take into consideration. He needs more than a wife; he needs a queen. And that, Lieutenant, is more than just coming from the right stock and having the right upbringing. Not that it's not important to know which frock to wear for which occasion, and who to curtsey to; though I barely know such things myself, I acknowledge their importance. Keeping up appearances helps to satisfy expectations. It reassures the public that all is in order." He shoots a frown at Rumple. "And public confidence must never be underestimated. It's a fragile thing, easily swept by any passing breeze, and once it's lost, it's impossible to regain. The loss of public confidence is the greatest secret threat to a monarch. It opens the door to foreign and domestic enemies."
"Aye, sire." Rumple lowers his head. He thinks he can foresee where this conversation is going, and he's quite in agreement—but Maurice is preaching to the choir. It's Belle that Maurice must convince, not Rumple, that this ever-growing affection between the couple must be terminated.
"My Colette, she was a commoner, but there was no woman better suited to the role of Queen of Aramore." A fond smile creeps onto the King's face. "I learned that the first time she came to court. My mother held a ball, with Colette's family as the guests of honor, under the guise, you see, of honoring her father for contributing so much to the First Ogres War. But it was really a test, and Colette knew it, and she rose above it. That night. . . " he pauses to sigh. "That night she was royal in all but blood. Her manners were flawless, her demeanor unshakeable, her dress understated elegance, her beauty unsurpassed. Every woman there knew it. None of them, no matter how blue their blood, was worthy of carrying the train of her gown. And when the snobs came after her with their verbal knives, she dodged their daggers as easily as if she was batting away mosquitos. With my rough edges and clumsiness, I couldn't keep pace with her, but she forgave me. She still does. And to my credit, though I'm rather dull-witted in the ways of society, I'm smart enough to know a natural born queen when I meet one. That night I asked her to stand by my side, and to lead me; and, I admit it, give me the weapons I need to protect my throne against those smiling sycophantic devils."
"The gray men," Rumple murmurs. "That's what Belle calls them."
"An appropriate descriptor. I know how Belle gets along with them; it's one of the weaknesses she's inherited from me."
"But she knows the law and how to use it for the good of the people. She knows how to lead. She got those qualities from you."
"So she did." The King raises his mug in a salute of thanks. "The people will follow her in confidence, in times of strife as well as peace. But the bluebloods, in our land and abroad, they must be led too. From behind. Subtlety is not Belle's strong suit. She can be patient, but compromise comes hard to her, especially when it infringes upon what she considers to be matters of justice. She's young in that way; she still sees things as black or white. And she'll jump in with both feet, heedless of her own safety. Like her father." He smiles sheepishly into his mug. "Except I had Colette to reel me in, or to fish me out when I jumped in too deep."
"A remarkable woman," Rumple murmurs.
"What I'm leading up to, Lieutenant—what you do with thread, you can do with people. You have a subtle touch and a patience that Belle lacks—but that she needs, just like I need her mother. You don't see that in yourself, I know." He raised a hand to stay Rumple's objection. "But I see it in how you handle that ogre. You won its trust. And through the ogre, you're winning over some of the troops. Not all, I admit. No one ever wins them all, not even Colette. But the ones that count, like Darain and Fendral. The most important thing, Rumple, is you've won Belle over. She'll be better and the kingdom will be better if she has you at her side."
"But the gray men—"
"About them. I owe you an apology. That dinner with them, Colette and I meant it as a test. We wanted to see if you would stand up to them. We were the ones that failed, though. Throwing you into that ocean of bluebloods—it was the same sort of test as the ball, we thought, but while the ball played into Colette's strengths, highbrow social events aren't the right kind of place for your strengths to go to work. We were forgetting that you're a spinner. You manipulate a few threads at a time. Slowly, winding them together, making them stronger together, making them yours. That's your power."
The King stands, and Rumple, stunned, automatically follows suit. "I won't sell you a bill of goods, though. You had a look at our life. That's Belle's future; that's how it has to be. It has its pleasures, but there are plenty of annoyances. It's not for everyone. It's got on my nerves more times than I can count. But you're a patient man, and you've made sacrifices for your son, to let him follow his own destiny. You'll have to decide if you love Belle enough to make such sacrifices for her." He pats Rumple's shoulder. "So, the short of it is, if you took a notion to court my daughter, I wouldn't be adverse to it."
Before Rumple can answer—he has no idea how he would answer—the King has pushed aside the tent's flap and is walking out. "I'm hungry. I'm going to see if any that acorn bread is ready."
He doesn't know how much time has passed since Maurice vacated the tent. He only remembers sitting back down at the table, clutching at fragments of facts about ogres, as if they were flotsam from the shipwreck he's trying to pretend didn't just happen. Now, to do what's right for Belle and the kingdom, he's going to have to cross the wishes of two of his sovereigns. His own internal voice, reciting the science of ogres, can't drown out Maurice's. Ogres are diurnal, like humans. They seem to require five or six hours of sleep per night. "The people will follow her in confidence." Ogres are omnivores, like humans. They eat fruits, vegetables and meat, including human flesh. "Subtlety is not Belle's strong suit." Their hides are thicker than ours, less sensitive to climate, though they still do feel cold and heat. "She can be patient, but compromise comes hard to her." They live in groups, though it is unknown whether the groups are formed from friendship or familial bonds or simple ties of convenience. "What you do with thread, you can do with people." Their young, like ours, seem to require several years of nurturing before becoming self-sufficient. "You've won Belle over." Besides the basic biological needs, they seem to have need for amusement and intellectual stimulation. "She'll be better and the kingdom will be better if she has you at her side." They seem to feel many of the same emotions we do: embarrassment, joy, frustration, humor. Love? "You'll have to decide if you love Belle enough." They can be just as gentle as they are vicious. They have a need for the security of communal connections, even if it's with captors. "You'll have to decide if you love Belle enough." And yet, they seem incapable of communicating beyond their own species. Like me, trying to communicate with the gray men, when all I have are primitive grunts and whines against their airy words. They can learn, especially if motivated by affection, but their physical limitations must be taken into account. But they can learn, with the right teacher. With someone like Belle. Can I learn, with the right teacher?
A curly head pops into the open space between the tent's flap and its front wall. "Belle's awake, Papa. She's playing ball with Ely. Thought you'd want to know." Bae's head retreats just as fast as it appeared.
He gathers his cane and makes his way across the rocky ground, moving slowly; his hesitancy isn't solely due to his fear of falling. "If you love Belle." Or, maybe it is: maybe he is afraid of falling. Maybe he already has.
Seated on a blanket on the ground, Belle is rolling the kickball back and forth through the cage bars. She's grinning and giggling like a little girl, and the ogre grins and giggles like a little girl too as she rolls the ball back. Ely's caught on to the game, learned how to listen for the soft whoosh of the ball as it slips across the snow and rolls toward her. She has to depend on her hearing, but Rumple doesn't find that so strange any more; it's no different, really, from the humans' dependence on their eyesight.
Rumple joins Maurice, who's standing beside Belle at the cage, leaning on the bars and watching the game. His Majesty still doesn't completely trust the beast; that's obvious in the tension in his shoulders, even though he's smiling easily. Every so often, he glances across the cage or to his right or left, assuring himself that ten armed guards are at the ready, just in case.
One large hand atop the ball to hold it steady, Ely raises her head and sniffs in Rumple's direction. Her grin expands and she purrs loudly before sending the ball back to Belle. The spin she adds to the ball before releasing it seems to signal a finality to the game, further indicated when Ely hauls herself to her feet and swings her head in Rumple's direction. Her playful grin gives way to raised eyebrows and a whimper.
"What's wrong, Ely?" Belle asks. "Did you miss Rumple?"
"Maybe she's hungry," Maurice suggests.
"She just had three pears." Belle gives her father an apologetic shrug. "I know it's too soon for her dinner, but babies need snacks after their naps. I'm a bit concerned about the limited foods we're feeding her here. I think if we're going to avoid rickets, we ought to start feeding her small amounts of fish."
Maurice's eyebrows crash together. "I don't like the idea of feeding her meat, lest she start to develop a taste for something more. . . sophisticated."
"Mushrooms," Rumple blurts. "In the winter, when we can't get fish, we feed our children mushrooms. And cheese, when we can't get milk. It prevents bow legs." He doesn't explain who we is. The peasantry can't afford books and schools, but perhaps they know a few things the rich don't, about survival.
"We still have a supply of cheese," Maurice recalls. "We'll start adding slice of it a day to her diet. And tomorrow, when the squires go out to forage, they can dig up some mushrooms." He grins wryly. "Can't have a bow-legged ogre in our care, can we?"
Caught up in this nutritional analysis, they've become distracted. Ely has waited patiently with her little begging face and her soft whine, but she is just a baby and has the patience of one. She now stomps her bandaged foot and thrusts her hand through the bars of the cage, her open palm a request. The three humans finally take notice. A two-toned rumble issues from deep in her throat.
"Another pear?" Rumple guesses, and he picks one up from the little supply on Belle's blanket. But when he drops it into the ogre's palm, she rolls it right back at him. "Peach?" he guesses again, but she rejects that offering too, stomping her foot once again and making that rumbling sound.
Maurice is now involved in the guessing game. "Maybe she wants bread. I'll go find her some." But as he starts to walk away, Ely stamps her foot a third time and repeats her rumble. Maurice chuckles. "I think she likes me. She doesn't want me to leave."
Belle twinkles at him. "Babies love their grandpas."
Rumple spares a moment to appreciate the affectionate humor between father and daughter, but Ely doesn't: she's still stamping and rumbling, frustrated now; her two bottom teeth are bared. "Baby, indeed," Maurice blinks. "She's having a temper tantrum. I raised three children; I know a tantrum when I see one."
As much as he would love to ask about some of Belle's more memorable childhood temper tantrums, Rumple resumes chasing after a distant thought that feels very important. . . . "Wait. Listen." He raises a cautionary hand—rude though it is to interrupt his sovereigns.
"What is it, Rumple?" Belle asks softly.
"She's made that same sound five times now."
They all stop to concentrate on Ely's rumbles. Her eyes widening, Belle clambers to her feet and exclaims, "How self-centered and egotistical we've been! Oh, Ely, pardon us!" And before either of the men can ask for an explanation, she's run off to the cookfire. Puzzled, the men look after her; aggravated, the ogre bellows.
But it's not long before Belle, with Bae in tow, dragging a cart full of goodies, returns. She rushes right up to the cage—her father grasps the hilt of his sword and the guards ready their weapons as well. Despite having a human run up to her, Ely seems more relaxed now, her nostrils flashing as she takes in the new scents of Bae and the contents of his cart. Belle calms herself, smooths her tunic, then takes a deep breath and imitates the two-toned noise that Ely had made earlier.
Ely bounces on her toes and repeats that noise.
"Yes! Yes, Ely!" Belle has to catch her breath. She makes the sound again and holds out a loaf of bread.
"What's happening?" Maurice whispers; Rumple whispers back, "Communication, I think."
Ely pushes the bread away and repeats her request.
Belle imitates the sound and holds out a wheel of cheese. It's rejected, gently, and Ely's request is repeated. Belle repeats the sound and offers a pan of water.
Ely is ecstatic. She's jumping up and down, tossing her head and laughing, until she finally settles down and accepts the pan. She makes her two-toned sound again, then, purring, gulps down the water. She holds the pan out through the cage bars, but before she can utter her request, Belle is making the sound and refilling the pan. As Ely sips, more ladylike this time, Belle turns amazed eyes to Bae. "Water! Write it down, Bae." She makes the sound.
Bae scrambles for his father's notebook, but once the pen is in his hand, he shrugs. "How do you spell aaahhh—guggg?"
Belle is struck with inspiration. "Music! Papa, is there a musician in camp?"
"Well, Captain Terbor plays fiddle, and one of the corporals has a mouth harp—"
"But who can write music?" She spins on Bae. "Bae, go ask around. Find someone who can write musical notation. We're going to create the world's first Ogre dictionary."
"Yes, ma'am!" Bae is off like a shot.
Maurice bends his head toward Rumple. "What just happened?"
Rumple chuckles. "I think Belle just fulfilled her end of the bargain. You're going to have to let her stay."
They're huddled together in Belle's tent, a pair of lanterns casting beams of light that cut through the shadows. No one, not even Rumple, is giving a second thought to the propriety of a man alone in a tent with the Princess. Outside, the excited chatter of the camp fills the night; the ogre-haters have turned a new leaf and are just as thrilled by the afternoon's breakthrough. A breeze carries in mouth-watering scents from the cookfire, and Belle's stomach growls, making her blush. Bae, Darain and Maurice are out there, awaiting the meat to be sliced so they can load plates and fill mugs with pine-needle tea. Soon enough, they'll barrel into the tent with every hand filled, bringing the bounty to share with the Ogre Experts.
For the present, however, Rumple and Belle are alone. Their heads are bent over the notes Captain Terbor has taken. Neither of them can read the musical notes, so until they come up with another system, they'll have to depend upon their own memories and Terbor's musical skills for this dictionary to be useful. They don't mind, though. Not one bit.
"How many words do we have?" It's difficult to concentrate, here in the warmth and privacy of the tent, with the shadows creeping in, and with Belle's soft cheek just inches from his lips.
Belle's finger slides down the list. "Fourteen. Mostly nouns, but a few verbs. I'm not sure but I think we have one adjective too." She makes a guttural sound. "This one. She used it for the ball, but it's so close to her word for 'rock' that I think this word"—she makes that sound again—"must mean something like 'soft rock' or 'play rock.'" Her voice slows and grows fainter as she speaks; her eyes stray to his lips. There's a shine in her eyes that draws him closer. As he leans in just a little, her eyelids lower.
He swallows hard. "Belle."
Her hand leaves the dictionary to rest over his. "We've done well, haven't we, Rumple?"
"You," he insists. "You figured it out. You're the smartest woman I've ever—" A sudden sigh cuts off his compliment. "Belle."
"We make a grand team, don't we, Rumple?" Her smile wavers.
"We—" He gulps, then before he can realize what he's doing, his arms have captured her waist and drawn her close. She makes a pleased little sound that's he's pretty sure has nothing to do with Ogre and her hands slide up his chest to his shoulders. He brushes his lips against her hair, then her cheek, then her ear, murmuring her name. It's the only word he can manage, but it expresses his feeling perfectly, so he repeats it. She lifts her face just a little; that's invitation enough. His first kiss is modest; the second makes his wishes clear.
When she pulls away to catch her breath, her lips are swollen. "We," she agrees. "That's how it should be. We." The third kiss is hers.
Footfalls and voices interrupt the fourth kiss. Dinner arrives, along with laughter and praise for the success of the day. As they sit across from one another, plates and mugs and notes between them, Belle and Rumple are oddly silent. Maurice and Darain don't notice; they're busy making plans for convincing Ely to take them to her king. But just because they're short on words doesn't mean the Princess and the Spinner aren't communicating. Their secret smiles speak for them.