Carrying the dirty dishes to the wash station is a perfect excuse to grab a moment alone with Belle. Darain and Maurice don't even glance up from their maps as Rumple rises and begins to collect the plates; with a sly smile, Belle catches on and scoops up the mugs. "Let me help, Lieutenant. It must be difficult for you to manage, with your cane."
Ashamed as he is already, the reminder of his lameness only stiffens his resolve for what he must do. "You're right," he mumbles, awkwardly balancing the plates in one hand as he picks up his cane with the other. Belle's smile vanishes as they leave the tent. "Rumple, did I offend you? I didn't mean—"
"No, I'm the one in the wrong. I should never have—" he lowers his voice. "I took advantage of you."
"Do you mean, the kiss?" She blushes.
"It was. . . forward and ungentlemanly and misleading. I'm sorry." He needs to say more, but the words keep slipping away from him, like his boots in the snow, and he's losing his footing figuratively as well as literally.
"I'm not," Belle answers stubbornly. "I liked it. I wish you'd kiss me again. And what do you mean, 'misleading'?"
"Belle, how I feel about you, how I think we feel about each other—it's a mistake. I'm not—"
"Your Highness! Papa! Let me get those for you." Bae comes trotting up, putting an abrupt end to the apology. He takes the dishes from Belle, casting a puzzled glance between her and Rumple as the two of them suddenly stop talking and turn away from each other. A question is forming in his eyes but he understands enough of romance to realize he has no business asking it. Besides, there is some important news he's come to deliver. "Excuse me, Your Highness. I think you two ought to have a look at Ely. She's acting strange."
Rumple sets his dishes into Bae's arms. "Is she sick?"
"I don't think so." Bae tilts his body to balance the new burden. "Agitated, I'd say."
Rumple starts in the direction of the cage, but Belle has to have an answer before she can drop their conversation. "Rumple, 'I'm not' what? What were you about to say? 'Not in love with you, Belle?' 'Not free to marry again?' Not what?"
Bae reddens and scuffs at the snow, pretending not to hear.
Rumple takes her by the elbows in a gesture of comfort. "I love you, Belle. But I'm not the right man for you. Not the kind of man you need." He releases her and walks to the cage.
He can hear her huff in frustration behind him; this conversation is far from over, but the anger that makes her footsteps snap as she catches up to him disappears as soon as they're in view of Ely. Their ward is, as Bae described, agitated, pacing, then suddenly stopping to grasp and shake the cage bars as she shifts from foot to foot, then resuming her pacing, all the while sniffing the breeze coming from the south and snorting, grunting, and whining.
"Something's going on," Rumple picks up his pace, headed for the gate. "Bae, go get His Majesty and the general." The guards are as worried as Ely seems to be, their weapons drawn. They talk in low voices. Some of them are watching the ogre closely, as if they expect a jailbreak, but others are squinting in the twilight, in the same direction Ely is focused on. At the gate, Rumple stops to glance at Belle, ready to urge her to seek cover, but the determination in the set of her mouth informs him any request that she leave would be pointless. She's the only one capable of speaking to the ogre, although her vocabulary is extremely limited. Her presence is necessary. Besides, what he would consider affectionate protectiveness, she would consider an insult to her abilities and her bravery. So he merely draws in a deep breath and orders the key keeper to unlock the cage so he can enter.
"Wait," Belle interrupts. "Let me talk to her first. Maybe I can find out what's wrong."
Rumple studies the ogre, whose head has swung in their direction. She's taking in their scent, and that calms her somewhat, but she's still bouncing from foot to foot. "You're right," he acquiesces.
Belle comes up to the gate; to their relief, Ely neither retreats nor approaches. There's a softness in the ogre's posture now that assures them she feels safer with them nearby, but there's a wildness in her sightless eyes that reminds them she is uncivilized, at least, by their standards, and potentially dangerous. Belle calls out in a series of grunts, growls and clicks. The ogre cocks her head to listen. "I wish we'd had more time," Belle grumbles. "I don't even know how to ask her 'what' or 'why.'"
Rumple slides a comforting arm around her waist. "Your voice alone is calming her. That you're speaking to her at all reminds her we're her friends."
Belle tries again, in a slower, gentler series of sounds. The ogre replies with a single grunt.
"She said 'ouch.'"
"Danger," Rumple surmises.
As the King and the general trot up, Belle addresses Ely again. "What's going on?" Maurice frets. "Belle?"
"We think she's trying—" Belle is interrupted by the ogre, who's growling and pointing south. Darain orders five of the guards to go and investigate—but not out of sight of the camp. The guards exchange a worried look but proceed together to the edge of the camp.
"She said 'Father.' I think," Belle translates.
"Does she mean me? Or maybe the Lieutenant," Maurice wonders. "She seems to think of him as a father figure."
"She was pointing into the woods when she said it," Rumple comments. "'Father' is out there somewhere."
"Her father," Maurice speculates. "Ogres." As Belle nods grimly, Maurice positions himself between Belle and the woods.
Darain speaks in a low voice to the nearest soldier. " Spread the word. We're going silent. Speak only when you have to, and then, in whispers. Fighting formation. Archers at the front." The soldier nods and creeps from guard to guard, whispering the general's instructions, and they move into formation without speaking, positioning themselves between the royals and the unseen threat. Darain need not remind them that ogres hunt by hearing.
Ely abruptly wheels about and howls toward the north. A shriek from deep in the woods splits the air. The camp explodes in noise: crashing, as trees are brought down; thunderous pounding, as heavy feet come running from all directions; animalistic roars and human screams and shouts as the attack begins. Backlit by orange light from the campfire, a huge, wild-eyed, open-mawed face suddenly emerges from the black night. Rumple's feet are frozen in place and his legs tremble as his focus fixes on the slathering lips and dagger-sharp yellow teeth. He casts his eyes about frantically to locate Bae; he finds his son standing side by side with Fendral as the two of them face off against a second approaching ogre.
To his right, metal flashes as Darain raises his sword and shouts, "Swordsmen, protect the archers! Archers, take aim! You'll get only one shot!" The general sets himself between the King and the largest ogre, who's approaching strangely slowly, as if completely confident that the battle is already won. A blast of hot air nearly knocks Rumple off his feet as the ogre unhinges his jaw and bellows.
And then the ogre swings his head in Belle's direction.
It's pointless, he knows that, but instinctively Rumple slaps his hip in search of a sword that he's never worn. He hasn't so much as a fishing knife, but he does have a body, and that, at least, may distract the ogre from the object of its attention. He's fully aware that the ogre can send him flying with a single backhand, but perhaps that will be enough. He throws himself in front of Belle, shouting, "Belle! Run!" He grasps her shoulder with the intention of pushing her to urge her to escape, but a glance behind him reveals there is no escape: they're surrounded by beasts. Belle hastily bends to grab the only weapon she can find, a fist-sized rock; Rumple balances on his good leg and raises his cane chest-high, a hand on each end of it. When the ogre is close enough, Rumple will thrust the end of his cane into the ogre's throat.
Behind them, metal shrieks as it's ripped apart and heavy feet slap against the snow. The situation is hopeless: a hasty glance behind informs him they're being attacked from behind, with three ogres already ripping open the bars of Ely's cage. Swinging back to the front, he presses closer to Belle, assuring himself of her continuing presence by connecting his shoulder to hers. His face twisted in anxiety, Rumple tears his eyes from those saliva-dripping lips toward Belle's fire-lit face. Her eyes are hard; her features are set. She's going to go down fighting. He's determined that her last memory of him will be as a fighter, too.
The huge hairless head lowers as a clawed fist as big as Rumple's head raises a club. Rumple tightens his grip on his cane. He wants his last words to his beloved to be profound, so that years from now, if she survives, when she's sitting beside the window in her library, a forgotten book on her lap, and she stares out into the darkness, she'll hear his voice and will have something worth remembering of him. But his mind is as frozen as his feet; all he can manage is, "Belle."
"I know," she assures him. "I love you too."
Behind them, an ogre roars, twice.
Rumple blinks. The voice is familiar; the sound it's making is familiar. His mind automatically translates it: "STOP! BAD!" He risks a backward glance and nearly loses his balance as the scent of pears and roses—rose-scented bath salts—fills his nostrils. "Ely! Belle, it's Ely!"
The youngest ogre is running toward them, leaving behind in her wake the three who released her and the mangled remains of her cage. Bizarrely, a laugh rises from Rumple's chest, but he quickly swallows it as Ely throws her arms open and scoops Belle against her body. "Ely, no!" He raises his cane like a club to smack Ely, to force her to drop Belle before the Princess is crushed—or worse.
But he's misunderstood. Ely twists at the waist and lowers Belle behind her, making a shield of her own considerable body as the attacking ogre storms in within striking range. Again, Ely roars at the attacker: "NO! MY MAMA!"
The attacker stops in his tracks. His nostrils quiver as his head shifts in Ely's direction. Ely roars again and stomps her foot. The attacker suddenly stills, his fist falling to his side, his hide shuddering. From his throat issues a soft rumble that Rumple recognizes as an expression of puzzlement. He's heard that rumble, many times, whenever he and Belle introduced something new to Ely.
The large ogre throws his head back and growls, and suddenly from all directions ogres emerge from the woods and stand quietly, listening and taking in scents. Seemingly satisfied, the large ogre turns his attention back to Ely.
Ely's tone softens as she grunts words Rumple has never heard before. One of her big hands remains on Belle's shoulder, as a warning, he thinks, to the other ogres to leave Belle alone. A conversation of grunts, growls, purrs and clicks ensues between the largest ogre and Ely. Belle can't translate any of it, except "Father. She's calling him father."
"He's her father," Maurice breathes.
One final burst of anger is expressed in the large ogre's snarl, but Ely's response soothes him. When he calms, Ely ducks her head toward Belle's. A silent communication passes between the two females as Belle stokes Ely's face and in turn, the ogre rests her head on the Princess' shoulder.
While Darain's attention remains locked on the large ogre, Maurice, lowering his sword, shifts toward Rumple. "What are they saying?"
Rumple can only make out one word. "'Go.'"
Over her shoulder, Belle explains, "Her father has come for her. We have to let her go."
"Sire," Terbor objects, "that ogre is our bargaining chip."
"There's no treaty without her. No hope of communicating with her king." Maurice is on the verge of prohibiting his prisoner's release, but Belle insists, "Papa, you wouldn't keep a daughter from her father."
"I think we are communicating. Letting her go will be our offer of a treaty," Rumple suggests, watching the large ogre with a wary eye.
"It'll be slaughter if we don't let her go," Darain points out.
"But peace if we do," Belle adds. "Let her go home, Papa."
Maurice is a stubborn man, but he counts at least fifteen ogres lining the edges of the camp, not to mention the three behind Ely, and who knows how many are waiting in the woods. He addresses the big ogre. "She belongs with you."
The ogre growls, not understanding, of course, but taking it as a threat that the human is speaking to him. Ely knows better, however. She purrs and affectionately pats Maurice on the head as His Majesty instructs her, "Go home, Ely."
With a quivering smile, the baby ogre thrusts her open palm toward Rumple. He has no fruit at hand to offer, but he unwraps the scarf from his throat and lays it in her palm as a goodbye gift; the ogre brings it to her nose to sniff before wrapping it around her own throat.
Even many years later, Rumple will remember every detail of this moment, including the tear streaking down Ely's cheek and the burning sensation in his own throat. When as an old man he will tell this story, he will shake his head in amazement that somehow, he came to care about a man-eating monster.
"Be good out there, little girl," he says. "Thank you." Then she throws her overpowering arms around both Rumple and Belle, sweeping them off their feet and into her embrace. "Oh, Ely, I'll miss you." Belle's eyes shimmer as she returns the ogre's hug. She presses her lips against the ogre's cheek, and with a messy smacking noise Ely kisses her back, then kisses Rumple.
The sky suddenly goes white, as if a hundred lighting strikes have hit at once. Rumple feels the earth shake under his feet and his body is consumed with a softly vibrating warmth. He's dizzy and disoriented, his senses deadened, but the ogre whimpers as he loses consciousness and slumps to the ground.
He's still dizzy and a bit nauseated when his senses slowly return, his hearing clearing first. Along with purring, he can hear a faint "Rumple?" and "Darain, what just happened?" Shadows form shapes in the light creeping in beneath his eyelids. He breathes deeply and slowly, then swallows, then pries his lids open to meet Belle's glazed blue eyes.
"Belle? Sweetheart, are you all right?" He raises himself on his elbows. "Where's Bae?"
"Belle? Rum?" The ogre's voice is surprising high-pitched, but then again, she is just a baby—although no longer an ogre.
"Ely!" Belle gasps, and Rumple touches the now smooth and rosy cheek he kissed just moments ago. A big hand pats him back. "Ely, you're human!" Belle starts and stares. "A very big human!"
"Rum's ouch!" Ely huffs, apparently annoyed that Belle's attention is focused on her instead of Rumple.
"You can talk! You can see!" Belle exclaims.
"Papa? You okay?" As Bae comes running to examine his father for injuries, Rumple struggles to sit up; Bae assists him. "You took a hit to the head, looks like, but it's just a scratch."
"I'm fine, just a bit muzzy," Rumple assures him, gripping his arm. "Are you?"
Bae grins. "Momentarily blinded, that's all. I guess I was far enough away from the blast of—whatever that was. You and Belle were in the midst of it. You rest here. Ely will look after you." He winks at the ex-ogre. "Won't you, girl? I'll bring you your medical kit and some water."
As he trots off, Ely kneels beside her caretaker, the earth shaking as her knees thud to the ground.
Rumple touches the bristly black hair framing the smiling moon face and the clear hazel eyes staring back at him. From her features, Ely does appear human, but in size she still hovers over Rumple and towers over Belle. She pats his head and inquires, "Hurt?" When she removes her hand from his head, she shows him a dab of blood on her finger.
"You're bleeding a little, but it's stopped already," Belle tears a bit of cloth from her tunic and dabs at his small wound. She draws in a cleansing breath. "What in the name of the seven civilized nations happened here?"
"Look, Belle." He sweeps his arm across the camp, where nineteen former ogres are blinking in confusion as they pick themselves up from the snow and shake their heavy heads.
"They've all changed," Belle catches her breath. "They aren't ogres any more."
Rumple recalls illustrations he once saw in a book. "They're giants."
They do indeed appear human, except for their height, and from the expressions on the soldiers' faces, they're a little harder to hate now. Add to that the common knowledge about giants—they're vegetarians who make their livings by farming or weaving and who spend their evenings painting, writing poetry and playing music—and the humans are thoroughly confused about what to feel now.
Ely's father is pressing a hand tightly against his head as he sways on his feet. "What happened?" Across the camp, ex-ogres groan and try to take in their surroundings. "What did we do?" Ely's father moans, surveying the remains of three humans. He shudders and draws into himself as the living soldiers pick themselves and their weapons up and come forward to assist their King, who's sputtering curses.
Rumple reaches through the haze in his brain for a faint memory. "Belle, wasn't there something in your library. . . legends of the origins of ogres?"
Belle is straightening her cloak, putting her thoughts as well as her clothes in order. "They were once giants, the writer speculated. But they sort of de-generated."
"A curse," Ely's father spits. "We were cursed."
As the humans start to gather protectively beside their King, Bae and Tristan return from the cookfire with medical kits and waterskins slung over their shoulders. Tristan serves Maurice and Darain first, but Bae, after some hesitation, approaches the giant king and silently holds out a waterskin to him.
The giant cocks his head in a familiar gesture. "You show kindness, after what we've done?"
"We've been no better," Bae admits, with a glance at his fellow soldiers. He suddenly points to the south, where an archer is taking aim at the stunned eyes of a half-conscious ex-ogre. "General!"
Darain wheels, takes in the scene in an instant and barks, "Corporal! Lower your weapon!"
"This is our chance, General." The archer nocks his arrow. "We can end this war right now, while they're still too woozy to fight."
"Lower your weapon or I'll do it for you!" Steel flashes as a dagger appears in Darain's hand.
The archer gapes at his superior, giving Fendral enough time to tackle him from behind, his arrow flopping uselessly on the ground and his bow cracking under the weight of two men. The Captain snaps an order to two guards who come running up, and the offender is hauled away to the officers' tent. As Fendral rises and brushes the snow from his uniform, Rumple gives him an approving nod, and the Captain nods back.
Maurice clears his throat and takes a step toward Ely's father. Darain is just a half-step behind, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I apologize for my man. Some of them are so young." He shrugs.
The giant bends his head in agreement. "The young can be extremely foolish." But he lifts his head and smiles as the ground shakes under his daughter's feet as she comes to his side. His hand brushes her cheek fondly, then his arms open and she sinks into them, pressing her wet face against his chest. "Father, father," she moans through her tears. He brushes her bristly hair back from her face. "Krea," he murmurs into her ear.
Her eyes shining, Belle leans into Rumple. "Krea! That's her name. Krea." She spares a smile for Bae, who's offering her and Rumple waterskins. "Thanks, Bae."
The giant lifts her head from her father's chest long enough to reply to Belle, "Ely too. I like Ely." Then she submerges herself in her father's arms once again.
"Since we're learning names." Maurice bows slightly to the giant. "I am Maurice, King of Aramore. This is Darain, the leader of my army. And my daughter." He holds out his arm and Belle comes under it. "Belle."
The giant tips his head in response. "I am Janshai, elected leader of the Maelyss Tribe. You might say, a governor."
"Maelyss," Maurice samples the word. "You're a long way from home, sir."
"His home doesn't exist any more," Belle corrects. "It was destroyed a century ago."
Janshai ignores the side conversation and turns back to Maurice. "I should like to know, sir, are we your prisoners, or are you ours?"
Maurice guffaws, then, making a quick decision, thrusts his sword into the ground as a symbol of the end of fighting. "Let's say it's a draw, shall we? Come to the fire, you and your daughter, and share a meal with me and mine, and let's talk of peace."
A murmur ripples throughout the ex-ogre faction and Janshai's bushy eyebrows shoot up. As an indication of his acceptance of the offer, he tosses his tree-branch-turned-club off to the side. "Peace. A word I have not heard in many years." Still clutching Ely, he allows Maurice and Belle to lead him to the cookfire. Darain follows close by, as does the ex-ogre that appears to be Janshai's second-in-command.
"Rum too," Ely insists. "Rum saved me."
"Lieutenant," Maurice summons him. "We require your services. Maybe between us we can figure out what just happened."
And so it is, that, as the soldiers and the giants gather in tight clusters on opposite ends of the camp, and as Bae, Tristan and Fendral move slowly about, weaving between them with bandages, water and food, Rumple seats himself—awkwardly, for his ankle and his head are throbbing—beside Belle, and takes tea with giants.
It's a strange, strange world.