Chapter Text
Belle gritted her teeth as she painstakingly lowered herself down the stone side of her tower, her palms sweaty against the makeshift rope made of her bedding. Her leather trousers, linen tunic, and burgundy jerkin kept the worst of the chill autumn air at bay as she neared the ground, her pack swinging on her back with every move.
Once her feet were on solid ground, she took off at an immediate run, smiling to herself as she heard the shrieks of her ladies-in-waiting as they discovered her absence. Hurrying to the stable, she found Philippe already saddled and ready, his great hooves stomping in anticipation of a ride. She slipped a silver penny into the grinning stable boy’s waiting palm, mounted her horse, and was off. Philippe’s hooves kicked up a swirling cloud of dust in their wake.
For nearly an hour Belle rode, following the worn dirt trail through the field and into the Enchanted Forest. Further she rode, until she reached a familiar fork in the road.
She considered her options. To her right was a bright, sunlit path, which led to a fragrant, flower-filled clearing. The clearing boasted a large tree overgrown with the softest moss Belle had ever felt, so pillow-soft that she’d spent many an afternoon nestled under its shade, losing herself in a book. And to the left… a dark path, sunlight choked off by overgrown vegetation. Even the path itself was being reclaimed by the forest, by shrubs and ferns and roots jutting up from the ground, threatening to trip an unwary foot.
Belle had never been down the left-hand path. Not for any lack of interest, but because the Blue Fairy had warned her father that a great evil, an impenetrable darkness, lurked at the end of that road. Rheul Gorm’s face had held all the sobriety of the grave when she’d warned Belle never to traverse the darkened left-hand path.
For the first time since she’d heard about the darkness lying in wait at the edge of her kingdom years ago, Belle tugged Philippe’s reins left. The great draft horse resisted, tried to lead her down to the familiar clearing with the crystal-clear spring and the sweet grass he enjoyed.
“Come on, Philippe,” Belle cajoled, urging him toward the obscured, plant-choked path. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Philippe snorted, as if to say he was perfectly happy with no sense of adventure, thank you very much, but allowed himself to be guided to the less desirable path. Slowly they went, Philippe picking his steps carefully over protruding rocks and roots on the overgrown, abandoned trail. His ears remained pricked, turning left and right as if he was afraid of some evil lurking beyond every shrug or tree stump.
They traveled for another thirty minutes that way. The very forest seemed to grow closer and closer around them. Belle fancied that the trees themselves seemed to reach grasping hands out toward them, trying to snag a stray flap of Belle’s cloak to keep her from moving forward.
Just when the trees grew so oppressively, suffocatingly close that Belle was considering turning back, the road suddenly opened up. Her face lit up in delight as she found herself in a peaceful, sunlit clearing, perfectly circular in shape. Sweet-smelling grasses and flowers grew in a perfect ring, in the middle of which was a flawlessly round lake. And at the lake’s center was a circular islet with a round stone tower that jutted up toward the sky.
She gazed at the clearing consideringly. It certainly didn’t look like the sort of place that housed a great evil. Everything looked… orderly. Flawle no ss, even.
She peered closer. Yes, flawless - too flawless. Even the flowers themselves were sorted by color in concentric rings, not a single petal out of place. This entire place was orderly to the point of peculiarity. Dismounting her horse, Belle reached out to touch a flower, half-expecting to feel artificial silk petals at her fingertips. But no - it was real.
Either this place was maintained by the kingdom’s most obsessive gardener… or something unnatural was afoot here.
With caution in her every step, Belle circled around the small lake, one hand on the grip of the small silver dagger she carried at her belt. Philippe, ears still pricked warily, grazed on a patch of grass.
When she reached the far side of the lake, Belle caught sight of a small, rickety canoe on the shore. Already, her imagination buzzed with the possibilities. A tower on an island at the center of a lake, said to house a great evil. And a single boat as the only way on or off the island.
She should go no further, she knew. She should turn around, mount her horse, and ride back the way they came. But as her mother used to say, her curiosity always got the better of her. So she climbed into the canoe and paddled toward the islet at the lake’s center.
The small island was as flawlessly formed as the rest of the clearing, with a thin strip of sand ringing the verdant grass growing around the stone tower. Climbing out of the canoe, Belle approached the tower’s one wooden door uncertainly. After all, it was one thing to explore a sunny lake clearing; barging into a tower that might be someone’s home - someone who had taken great pains to go undisturbed - was another.
Then again… the canoe had been beached on the lake shore. Not the island at the center. Didn’t that imply that whoever came to this tower was a visitor, and not a resident?
Still, she knocked on the door, just to be safe. From the window at the top of the tower came a strange, wordless, garbled cry.
Well… perhaps “cry” was the wrong word. “Squawk” might be more accurate.
Whatever it was, it was clear that someone was up there. Someone who might need her help. Someone stranded on this island, with the boat kept on the far shore. What sort of a person would she be if she ignored a person in trouble?
Pushing the door open, she poked her head inside. The tower was a dark, lightless place, empty but for a spiraling staircase leading to a room at the top.
“Hello?” she called cautiously. “Is… is anyone here?”
A strange, sonorous wail echoed down from the chamber above. Belle’s indecision vanished like a pricked soap bubble. Steeling her resolve, she took the stairs at a quick pace. When she reached the door at the top, she pushed it open… and paused.
The room was perfectly circular, unsurprisingly. There was an open window in each of the four cardinal directions. At the base of each window was a metal hoop, and attached to each hoop was a glittering, silvery-blue chain, no thicker than her boot laces.
And standing in the perfect center of the room, with all four chains tied to a silver collar around its neck… was a black swan.
Belle was no fool. She recognized the glow of the Blue Fairy’s magic in the chains holding the elegant creature prisoner. This swan must be the evil of which she’d spoken.
Still, her heart ached for the bird, as it would for anyone held so callously captive. With all four chains stretched taut, the swan was forced into a constant standing position, not allowed to rest itself on the cold stone floor. The metal manacle around its neck had rubbed many of its iridescent black feathers away, exposing skin that appeared more greenish than the normal pinkish gray she’d expect. There was no food, no water, no soft bedding to be seen in the empty room.
Perhaps this evil had no need of food or drink. But all things needed and deserved kindness. Even the “evil” ones.
In some cases, especially the evil ones.
Truly, Belle was unsurprised at the Blue Fairy’s cruelty. She’d long seen a he’d, frigid wall of ice underneath Rheul Gorm’s goodly facade, one that the rest of the kingdom seemed blind to. That a force of good could imprison anyone without even the freedom to move or the comfort of a blanket on the floor… it was monstrous. Even convicted murderers were treated with more decency back home.
That decided her. Drawing the knife at her belt, she approached the black swan.
The bird, apparently, thought her a threat; drawing itself to its full height, it flapped its wings and hissed angrily. Its eyes were riveted to the blade in her hand.
“Oh, hush,” she scolded, holding the knife with its short, three-inch blade for the swan’s perusal. “I’m not going to hurt you. This knife should cut through your bonds.”
The swan subsided, ruffling its feathers as it folded its wings at its back. It tilted its head at her curiously, as if trying to decide whether it could trust her. Eventually, it nodded.
“So you can understand me,” Belle realized. When it nodded again, she couldn’t stop a triumphant giggle from bursting past her lips. “Alright then. As I was saying - this blade is cold iron. It neutralizes fairy magic.”
The swan made an inquisitive squawk.
“Let me guess: you’re wondering why I’d keep something to neutralize a good fairy’s magic?” The swan nodded again. “Let’s just say that I know firsthand that there are times when evil can be right and good can be wrong.” The swan’s eyes - large, expressive, and a shade of amber she’d never seen on a swan before - watched her assessingly. Under its piercing gaze, she suddenly felt small and insignificant. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’ll have you out in a minute, Mr. Swan. Or… are you a Miss Swan?”
A deep, rhythmic trumpeting issued from the swan’s beak - a beak that should have been scarlet, but was a mottled grayish-gold. The cadence of it sounded familiar, almost like…
“Are… are you laughing at me?” she demanded.
Another nod.
With a roll of her eyes, she knelt beside the insufferable creature and began sawing her blade through the first chain. One by one, she cut through the thin, silvery bonds, the blade sliding through like a hot knife through freshly-churned butter.
As the knife cut through the last of the four chains, three things happened at once. The swan trumpeted, batting Belle with its powerful black wings. The knife slipped, the blade sinking into Belle’s palm and wetting the swan’s silver collar with her blood. And the room lit up with a brilliant flash of silvery-blue light.
Gradually, the light faded, revealing the diminutive form of the Blue Fairy. Her face, normally placid to the point of apathy, was a mask of fury.
“Foolish girl! What have you done?” the fairy demanded. Without waiting for an answer, she summoned a glittering blue wand from thin air. Brandishing it at the swan, she shot a beam of pure magic at the creature.
To the surprise of everyone in the room, the magic deflected off the silver collar, fizzling out like a guttering candle. The swan didn’t waste a single second; with a triumphant call, it burst through the nearest window, flying off into the clear blue sky.
In the blink of an eye, the Blue Fairy grew to human size. She rounded on Belle angrily. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she snapped.
Belle raised her chin proudly. “I released a creature that was being held in inhumane conditions, as any decent person would.”
“If the conditions of imprisonment were inhumane, it’s because the prisoner is inhuman!” Bright spots of red bloomed angrily on the Blue Fairy’s cheeks. “Because of your misplaced kindness, the Dark One has been unleashed on the land once more!”
The blood drained from Belle’s cheeks. The Dark One. The scourge of the ten kingdoms. The villain in bedtime stories her mother had told her as a child. Magic and malice wrapped in an enigma unknown even to her oldest books.
She’d never heard that the Dark One was a swan, though.
She swallowed down her apprehension, raising her chin stubbornly. “Kindness is never misplaced,” she insisted, “and cruelty only begets more cruelty. I’d think a good fairy would know that.”
The fairy’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. Eventually she pursed her lips in silence.
Belle nodded, her suspicions confirmed. The Blue Fairy was far more concerned with upholding her own ideal of order than she was with showing compassion and mercy to those who might need it.
“So why aren’t you going after it?” she asked. “You caught the Dark One once; surely you can do it again.”
“Foolish girl,” Rheul Gorm said a second time. She snatched Belle’s left wrist in an iron grip, not seeming to notice when Belle tightened her right hand’s grip on her cold iron dagger. Holding the left hand aloft, Blue pointed to the still bleeding cut on Belle’s palm. “Through the power of blood and cold iron, the blessing I placed upon the Dark One is now bound to you. I can neither alter nor break it.” Shrinking down to her usual diminutive size, the Blue Fairy regarded Belle gravely. “For better or worse, the fate of the entire land is in your naive hands.”
As the fairy vanished in a flash of glittering light, Belle chewed anxiously on her lower lip. The Dark One. The Dark One was loose upon the lands. Because of her. Belle remembered with a shiver all of the tales she’d been told of the Dark One when she was a child: bone-chilling stories of a malevolent beast who stole away any willful princesses who didn’t mind her governess or finish her greens. Tales of being forced to spin straw into gold until her fingers bled, of her skin being ripped from her bones and fashioned into his clothes when she inevitably failed.
Belle had told the Blue Fairy that kindness was never misplaced, and she believed that still. But if her kindness freed a being who ripped children from their loving parents… then the Dark One’s deeds would be her responsibility. Any death and devastation left in his wake would be her fault.
She didn’t regret showing mercy to a creature robbed of freedom and basic decency. Only time would tell whether others would suffer for her kindness.
As it turned out, she wasn’t left wondering for long. Too disturbed by the morning’s events to enjoy her book, she returned to the castle, where her father was furious with her for sneaking off again. She accepted his lecture without complaint, her troubled thoughts drowning out every last word. Even enduring the company of her would-be suitor, Gaston, wasn’t as agonizingly dull as usual. How could she possibly be bored by droning, tedious tales of his latest hunt when her mind conjured up countless dreadful phantasms of the horror she’d unleashed?
Finally, exhausted from the toll her heavy thoughts took, she retired to her bedchamber early. When her hair was brushed and plaited in a braid down her back, she changed into a pale blue silken nightgown and curled up in bed with her favorite book.
The sun just barely touched the rim of the horizon when a tapping came at her window. Glancing up, she saw a large, dark shape through the murky glass.
Belle rolled her eyes. Gaston seemed to think it was charming to climb the tower to her window at night and try to cajole his way into her bedchamber. No matter how many times she rebuffed him, he still tried night after night to get her to unlatch her window and let him in.
Still, usually he was smart enough to wait until after dark. It wasn’t like him to come when it was still light enough to be seen.
“Go away,” she called irritably.
There was a pause, and then again - tap tap tap.
“I mean it, Gaston! I’m in no mood!” A third set of taps sounded against the glass. Belle grabbed a nearby throw pillow and, appropriately enough, threw it at the window. “Go away, or I’ll tell Papa just how chivalrous you are to his maiden daughter!”
The dark shape at the window shifted, spreading into… wings? The light from the setting sun hit the glass in such a way that she could see the delicate curve of a black swan’s neck, see the sharpness of its gray-gold beak as it hit the window.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
No ordinary swan would rap on her window with such restraint. There could be no doubt: the Dark One had found her, and he was requesting entry to her bedchamber.
Her first instinct was to ignore it and hope he went away. Her second was to call for her guards. But… the Dark One was powerful - some said even more powerful than Rheul Gorm, though the Blue Fairy denied those rumors. He could have forced himself in if he meant her harm. He hadn’t. She had to believe that there was a reason for that.
Praying she wasn’t making a horrible mistake, Belle climbed out of her bed, padded across the room to the window, and threw it open. The swan came inside with a trumpet and a flutter of its wings.
For several long moments, the two of them simply watched each other warily. When the swan made no move toward her, she tentatively decided that it probably meant her no harm.
Probably.
Still, its strange, amber gaze was awfully unnerving. With a shrug, she took a step toward the door.
Immediately, the swan puffed up, extending its neck to a considerable height. It’s golden beak opened, and a hiss issued from its throat.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she assured it. She gestured toward the door. “I was just going to go - “
It hissed again, flapping its wings in agitation.
“You… don’t want me to go?” she guessed. The swan nodded. “Okay. And if I stay… can you promise no harm will come to me? And my loved ones?”
The swan hesitated, then reluctantly shook its head.
Belle’s heart sank in her chest. So the swan did mean her harm, then. Oddly enough, the Dark One’s honesty was reassuring. He… she? It?… could have lied to her. Gaston certainly would have, and she wouldn’t rule out the Blue Fairy, either. But this evil creature told her the truth, even knowing it was a truth she didn’t want to hear.
“Well then,” she said, walking to her bed and perching on its edge, “perhaps there’s something I can do to change your mind.”
The two of them watched one another, the silence stretching awkwardly between them. Really, for an evil entity, the Dark One made for a handsome bird. His feathers weren’t the matte black she expected of a swan, but rather glossy and iridescent, like a raven’s. With his amber eyes and gold beak and feet, he cut a striking figure.
And then there was the collar still attached to his throat. It was silver, with a scalloped edge and black markings on it that might be writing.
Those strange eyes watched her just as closely, and Belle knew in her heart that the Dark One was measuring her inside and out. As the sun set and the shadows in her bedroom grew longer, so too did her unease grow.
When the last rays of the sun fell past the horizon, the swan was suddenly engulfed in a pillar of glittering, royal blue smoke. Belle yelped, scooting back on her bed. She fumbled blindly and reached for the first weapon she could find: the golden, three-pronged candelabrum she used to light her late-night reading.
Soon, the smoke cleared, revealing… a man. Or what might be a man. He was man-shaped, certainly, with a slight build only a few inches taller than her own. His hair was a riot of medium-brown, shoulder-length curls with graying at the temples. He was dressed from neck to toes in black: black silk shirt, black leather trousers and waistcoat, and a dramatic black cape made of the same iridescent feathers of the swan that had stood in his place only seconds ago.
If there was any doubt that this was the very same being, one look in his face dispelled it. His sharp, lined features were the very same shade of mottled gold as the swan’s beak and feet, and those large amber eyes looked at her with an identical, measuring look.
“Well, I’ll give the blue gnat credit: she knows I like to make an entrance,” the man quipped with an unnerving giggle.
Rising unsteadily to her feet, which sank into her feather mattress, Belle held the candelabrum like a talisman between her and the being before her. “You’re…” She swallowed hard. “You’re the Dark One.”
He sketched a bow, hands spread on either side of him. His sharp black claws stood out in sharp relief against his golden skin. “Rumpelstiltskin, at your service.”
“Are you?” Belle asked, not lowering her makeshift weapon. “You just said you plan to hurt me and my family. So how are you at my service, exactly?”
He waved a hand irritably, as if shooing a pesky insect. “Oh, that. Yes, yes, you and your loved ones will be harmed, but I never said I’d be the one doing the harming.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Forgive me if the distinction doesn’t instill a great deal of confidence.”
Rumpelstiltskin’s nose scrunched in irritation. “Oh… never mind that! I’m here to make a deal.”
Belle sniffed. “I’m not in the habit of making deals with people who threaten the people I love.”
He eyed her consideringly. “What if I gave you my word that no harm will befall you and yours in this world? All you have to do is one simple thing.”
Belle chewed her lower lip in thought. Really, she shouldn’t trust him. He was the Dark One, after all, with all the wicked trickery that entailed. How many stories had she heard as a girl of people who had been tricked into deals they didn’t understand? Women forced to give up their firstborn, children tricked into turning their own parents into lifeless marionettes.
But he’d been honest with her before, when he had no reason to be. That had to count for something. Didn’t it?
Thinking back to the stories she’d been told as a child, they all had a common theme. The Dark One always told the truth. But that truth wasn’t always what the hero of the story thought they heard.
If she was going to navigate a deal with the Dark One, she needed to scrutinize his every word.
“What about other worlds?” she asked slowly.
The grin on his face disappeared like a burst soap bubble. “Beg your pardon?”
“What about other worlds?” she repeated. “You said we wouldn’t be harmed in this world. There’s no reason to say that unless other worlds somehow factor into this.”
Rumplestiltskin raised a finger and opened his mouth as if to protest. After a moment, he tilted his head, seeming to reconsider. “Hmph. You’re much more clever than the people I usually deal with. Very well,” he conceded. “If you help me, no harm will come to you and yours in this world, and you’ll be under my protection, such as it is, in others - for as long as I know my own name. Are we agreed?”
It wasn’t perfect, Belle knew, but it was probably the best deal she could expect to make with one such as him.
Besides - she’d said just that day that kindness was never misplaced. She had to believe that was true. Even for the Dark One himself.
“Yes,” she said. “What do you need me to do?”
He gave an unnerving titter, and when he grinned, it revealed a row of crooked, blackened teeth. “Nothing you’ll object to, I’m sure. All I need you to do… is kiss your intended.”
Belle gaped at the Dark One. Finally, after all this time, the hand holding the candelabrum lowered. “My… intended?” she repeated.
Rumpelstiltskin waved a hand impatiently. “Yes, your intended. You know - tall, black-haired, hulking oaf without two bits of brain to rub together? Can’t string two sentences together unless they’re about himself or the beasts he hunts?”
She let out a most unladylike snort. “Gaston is not my intended. Nor will he ever be, no matter how he might wish it.”
Rumpelstiltskin seemed taken aback by that. “So… he’s not your True Love. Interesting. Though I’m sure I saw…”
Whatever he saw remained a mystery. Rumpelstiltskin trailed off and seemed to retreat within himself; his wide amber eyes took on a distant quality, and he began to pace the room restlessly, his thumb rubbing against the side of his index finger.
Belle regarded Rumpelstiltskin suspiciously. The Dark One, from what she knew from the limited knowledge available in her library, was incredibly powerful. He could cast any manner of spell on her to force her to do what he wanted. So why make deals instead?
And why a kiss? Rumpelstiltskin thought that Gaston was her True Love. And there was only one practical use for True Love’s Kiss.
“Am I cursed?” she asked.
The Dark One’s steps faltered. “I beg your pardon?”
“You want me to kiss my True Love. True Love’s Kiss can break any curse. So I assume I must be cursed,” she explained.
He waved her words away like a pesky fly. “Of course not, no. As you said, True Love’s Kiss can break any curse. Even one on someone else.”
“Then whose curse do you want me to break? And what sort of curse is it?”
He wagged a chiding finger at her with a titter. “That would be telling, dearie.”
“Tell me,” she insisted.
She was going to say more - to tell him that if he didn’t tell her whose curse she was to lift, she wouldn’t help him. But before she could say another word, he offered the information freely.
“My own,” he said, before pressing his lips together as though he hadn’t meant to speak. With a resigned sigh, he continued. “That glittering gnat placed a curse upon me. By day, I take the form of a swan. Only by night can I take my true form. You freed me from her tower, but the curse remains unbroken.”
Belle’s brows raised in understanding. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, True Love’s Kiss wouldn’t help you,” she offered. “You’re not cursed, you’re blessed. The Blue Fairy told me herself.”
“That rather complicates things,” he muttered to himself. Turning his strange, unnerving eyes upon her once more, he added, “I don’t suppose you’re a practitioner of dark magic.”
“Not at all,” she replied. She frowned. “But why would you need me? You’re the Dark One. Surely if you need dark magic, you can just…” She waved a hand vaguely.
“Obviously, if that were an option, I wouldn’t be here,” Rumplestiltskin snapped. He fingered the silver collar still wrapped around his throat. “The Blue Fairy managed to get her sticky little fingers on my - “ He cut himself off, eyeing Belle warily. Clearing his throat, he started over. “She bound my magic to the collar. Until the blessing is broken, I’m virtually powerless.”
“Another magic-user, then,” Belle suggested. “A genie, perhaps?”
“I never trust magic offered free of cost. The price is always more than you’re willing to pay.”
With a sinking feeling, Belle suggested the only other mage of any power she knew of. “They say the ruler of the next kingdom over is incredibly powerful. Some call her the Evil Queen.”
The Dark One wrinkled his nose, baring his stained, crooked teeth in distaste. “I’d cut out my own tongue before I went to Regina for help,” he retorted. “Besides, I sense powerful blood magic mixed with the fairy’s magic. The only one who can break Rheul Gorm’s blessing… is you.”
Belle nodded. The Blue Fairy had told her as much already. Still, she’d hoped the Dark One would have answers of his own. Not that she wanted him to break his curse… or rather, his blessing. Not if it meant harm coming to her family and friends.
But ignoring a suffering creature, even a so-called evil one, went against her very nature. It was why she’d once defended a young ogre against Gaston’s cruelty, and it was why she wouldn’t turn her back on Rumpelstiltskin now.
Placing the candelabrum back on her bedside table, she rose slowly to her feet. “Before I agree to help you,” she said, “answer one question: if the blessing stays unbroken, will harm still come to the people I love?”
Rumpelstiltskin’s lips thinned, and his strange amber eyes went shuttered and remote. Belle was sure he was going to refuse to answer.
But to her surprise, he spoke, every word seeming to be wrenched from his mouth against his will. “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “If I remain like this… your family will be unharmed.”
“So whatever the danger is, even if you’re not the one doing it, it involves you in some way,” Belle deduced. Reluctantly, Rumpelstiltskin nodded. Belle drew herself up to her full, not so considerable height. “Very well. Rumpelstiltskin, I propose a deal. I will do everything in my power to break the Blue Fairy’s hold on you. In exchange, every day from now until the spell is broken, you have to answer all of my questions, and you have to let me try to convince you to stop… whatever it is you’re doing at least once a day.”
It was a generous offer, Belle thought: securing her own doom and getting little to nothing in return. But true to the stories she’d heard, the Dark One was a deal maker, and every deal maker knew how to haggle.
“I’ll answer three questions a day, and you may try to convince me only once per day. Only for five minutes,” he added quickly before Belle could agree. “I won’t have you haranguing me for twelve hours straight and call it a single attempt.”
“I’ll agree to your terms, if you agree not to leave the castle grounds except in case of an emergency,” Belle compromised. “I need to know that you’re not hurting any innocent people.”
“Very well,” he agreed with a grim nod. “For as long as I’m under this spell, I’ll stay close and I won’t harm any innocent people. Deal?” he asked, extending one long-fingered, clawed hand.
Belle looked nervously at the proffered hand. The Dark One’s skin was a mottled green-gold, and scaled. She wondered how it would feel against hers. Would he be slimy, she wondered? Or rough, like the lizards in the forest outside the castle?
It didn’t matter, she told herself. No matter how beastly his exterior, he’d been surprisingly honest with her, and he made a deal with her readily. Grasping his hand in her own, she was surprised to find his touch warm and soft, his scales smooth under her fingers, not unlike a serpent.
“Deal,” she said, soft blue eyes meeting half-mad amber.
Chapter 2
Notes:
This entire chapter was me flying by the seat of my pants. The outline was basically "Belle and Rumpel research." So if this seems like a bunch of random ideas kludged together... that's because it is.
Chapter Text
When Belle awoke the next morning, she half-expected the entire castle to know what she’d done: that she’d freed the Dark One and made a deal with him to further unleash him upon the realm. Surely there must be some sign, some visible mark upon her from willingly allying herself with such darkness.
But no - nothing of the sort happened. Breakfast with her father was an unremarkable affair, as was the morning’s meeting with the earldom’s councilors. The only thing out of the ordinary was the Blue Fairy’s absence. A messenger had delivered a letter to Lord Maurice’s hand: a message in the fairy’s looping cursive, citing urgent business elsewhere.
Once the morning’s meetings were over, Belle excused herself to the library, where she pulled out every tome on magic she could find. She spent the rest of the day poring through them.
The results were… disheartening, to say the least. Books on magic were few and far between in Avonlea. What little she could find was vague and unhelpful at best, and outright conflicting at worst. Of fairy magic, she found nothing at all. And as for lifting a blood bond, there was nothing encouraging. There were only three ways to lift a bond such as the one she’d unwittingly created between herself and the Dark One. She could kill the Dark One. He could kill her. Or the bond could be passed to someone who shared blood with one of them. She doubted Rumpelstiltskin had any blood kin, and she would die before forcing this upon her papa, or any child she might one day have.
Of blessings, she found plenty, and none of it helpful. She spent hours reading stories of people who had received blessings from fairies, from wise sages, from good witches. But there was nothing on how to break such a spell.
And why would there be? she thought wryly, closing a thick leather bound tome with a huff. Blessings were welcome, wonderful things. Cases where the recipient wanted one taken back were probably few and far between.
Eventually, the sun started to set. Belle chewed on her lower lip. She’d been through nearly every book on magic in her castle’s considerable library, and had found nothing helpful. And the kingdom’s vault had contained only a single magical artifact - a gilt-framed mirror, its reflective surface broken saving a young ogre’s life from Gaston’s arrow.
She huffed in frustration. Other kingdoms had vaults filled with magical artifacts and shelves bursting with tomes. Avonlea had none of these things, choosing to rely on the generosity of the Blue Fairy for such things. Which was wonderful, until it left them defenseless against the threat of the ogres.
Could Belle truly be blamed for showing compassion for one as evil as the Dark One when the Blue Fairy, a supposed champion of goodness who couldn’t - or wouldn’t - give her country the aid it so desperately needed?
Maybe… that was something she had in common with the Dark One.
Or maybe she was a fool. A gullible child, so determined to save every monster she came across that she’d stake the lives of her subjects on it.
If only there was some way to know for certain. A way to see for herself if Rumpelstiltskin was as evil as the stories said he was.
Her mind wandered back to the Mirror of Souls. Of course - there was her answer! The mirror might not tell her just how evil he was, but it was better than nothing.
She glanced out a nearby window. The sun was already half concealed by the horizon, its remaining rays casting golden light and lengthening shadows in the castle library. She didn’t have much time until the black swan returned to his true form.
It didn’t take long for her to gain entry to the royal vault. Normally, it was under the watchful eyes of a pair of guards all hours of the day and night. But with the ogres gaining ground every day, any guards not assigned to the safety of the royal family were sent to aid in the war effort.
Slipping inside, she quickly located the ornate gold frame of the mirror. A single shard of reflective glass, no bigger than her hand, clung stubbornly to the frame.
Hopefully, it still worked. It had worked well enough on Gaston several months ago, after all. But she knew so little of magic. What if breaking the mirror had caused all of its power to leak out?
No time to worry about that. Hurrying back to the library, she cast her gaze about the room to find a place to put the mirror. Someplace where she could see Rumpelstiltskin’s face reflected in the shard of glass. The sun was well and truly set, the room plunged into near-total darkness. She’d need to light some candles if she was going to -
“Doing a bit of redecorating, dearie?”
Belle jumped at the sound of Rumpelstiltskin’s voice. The mirror nearly slipped through her fingers and dropped to the floor, but she managed to catch it just in time.
Whirling around, she could just make out the Dark One’s golden eyes glowing slightly in the gloom. “Rumpelstiltskin! You - you startled me!”
“Well, I do have that effect on people,” he retorted. In the darkness, his eyes narrowed in what she thought might be amusement. “I know we agreed to meet in secret, but I didn’t think it would be under cover of actual darkness. Not that I’m complaining.”
Belle sighed. “Just a moment.” Reaching forward until she found the table at which she’d been studying, she gently placed the mirror there. Groping around half-blindly, she managed to locate a box of matches and a candelabra.
Once it was lit, she made to light some others… and paused. If she lit the entire room, she’d have no way to get Rumpelstiltskin’s reflection in the mirror. But if she only lit the single candelabrum, it would force him into close proximity with her. With a little careful positioning, she could see his reflection and look for the telltale red glow in his eyes.
So instead, she took a seat at the table where she’d been studying all day.
Rumpelstiltskin tittered. “I didn’t realize the kingdom of Avonlea was so stingy with their candles.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Too much candlelight could draw attention to us. If I’m caught with you, no good could come of it.”
“Need to protect your virtuous reputation, do you?” he asked, his voice dismissive in a way that rankled more than it should.
“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, but my country is at war,” she snapped. “We’ve had to do without certain luxuries.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not really. Belle knew that the castle larders were emptier than they’d ever been, and she’d seen for herself how few coins were left in the vault. Fighting the ogres was expensive; losing to them was more costly still. At least coin could be made back. There was no replacing the lives lost.
“Ah, yes, the struggles of the wealthy,” he sneered. “What’s starvation or being ripped limb from limb by ogres when compared to having to go without candlelight to read by?”
For nearly a full minute, Belle simply sat in silence, trembling with rage. When she finally spoke, her voice trembled with the force of her anger and grief.
“I have lost far more than that to this stupid war,” she bit out. “I lost my home. My friends.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “My mother.”
Belle wasn’t sure why Rumpelstiltskin said what he did next. Maybe to trick her into trusting him. Maybe the dealmaker in him simply wanted to avoid any unnecessary debts between them, and chose to meet her candor with his own. Or maybe, in the low light of the room, he found it easier to confide in someone he could hardly see.
Whatever his reasons, his voice was soft when he spoke.
“I know what it is to lose all those things and more.”
Still tucked away in a corner of the room, Belle couldn’t make out his face in the darkness. Maybe his sharp features were twisted in amusement, or outright derision.
But his voice had taken on a lower, more human timbre - one that she believed was sincere.
“Anyway,” he continued, his voice once more taking on its usual mocking lilt, “have you found a way to break the spell?”
“I’ll tell you,” she said, “after you answer my three questions.”
She heard the creak of leather, and saw his strange, golden eyes approach the table where she sat. Soon, he was standing across the table from her, still arrayed in black feathers and leather. Belle looked excitedly down into the mirror, eager to see what was reflected there.
But whether by accident or design, Rumpelstiltskin was positioned wrong; she could only see the lower half of his face reflected in the glass.
He grinned at her, his stained teeth unnerving in the low light. “Ask your questions, then, dearie.”
“Alright.” She shuffled the scattered books on the table around, pretending to put them in some sort of order. “You said something is going to harm me and my loved ones - something in another world. What is it?”
“A curse,” he said, examining his clawed fingertips with an air of utter unconcern.
Belle waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she huffed impatiently. “That’s it? You have to tell me more than that!”
“Do I?” he asked with a giggle.
Belle’s temper snapped. Maybe the Dark One found this situation funny, but she didn’t. Not one bit.
“Just tell me already!” she snapped. “Tell me what you have planned!”
She didn’t expect him to elaborate. He was the Dark One, after all. Even with his magic bound to that strange, silver, scallop-edged collar around his neck, there was no telling what he could do to her.
But speak he did, every word slow and stiff, as if each one was pulled unwillingly from his mouth: “A Dark Curse. One that will break this world and send every living person to a different one: a desolate realm without magic. There, we will all be trapped in a hellish oblivion.”
Belle stared at him, her mouth opening and closing in mute horror. A world-breaking curse? One that would send them all to a place of torment? It was worse than her direst imaginings.
But - wait. What had Rumpelstiltskin said? We will all be trapped. Did that include him? And if so… what would drive him to do such a thing? Was the suffering of the entire realm truly worth it to him if he would be suffering with them?
There had to be a reason. Surely even the Dark One wouldn’t damn himself just to make the world suffer. Evil for evil’s sake didn’t exist outside of her books.
Did it?
She shook her head, frowning in confusion. “I don’t - I don’t understand. Why? Why would you do something like that?”
All amusement or pretense of it dropped from his face. His sharp features were carefully blank, but his eyes - strange, swirling pools of amber - were filled with some torment Belle was helpless to name.
“Something was taken from me,” he said. “Something more precious than all the gold and jewels in the realm. Something without which even power itself is worthless.” His lips curled into a snarl of rage. “It was taken from me by the very same creature who imprisoned me. This is the only way I’ll get it back. And I will get it back!”
Wisely, Belle chose not to press the issue. Whatever it was that Rumpelstiltskin was seeking, it seemed unlikely that she could help. Besides, she had only one question left for the night, and she needed to make it count.
“If…” She trailed off, swallowing nervously. Rumpelstiltskin was already bristling with anger. Asking this question might set off his temper. But she needed to know this before she took another step to help him. “If I go back on my word and refuse to help you, will that prevent the curse from being cast? Will that… save everyone?”
Rumpelstiltskin shook his head, giving her burgeoning dreams of heroism a quick and merciless death. “No. Events were put into motion years ago, which can’t be stopped now. The curse is all but ready to be cast.” His golden eyes peered at her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to ignore the flutter of fear in her stomach. “But if I’m not freed of this leash soon, the curse will never be broken. So it’s really in everyone’s best interest if you help me.”
“You’re casting a curse just to break it? Why?” Belle demanded.
Rumpelstiltskin wagged a finger at her. “Ah-ah-ah, your three questions are up!”
Drat. Without knowing more about the strange man standing before her, she had no hope of convincing him to put a stop to this. Not when he seemed so determined.
The terms of their deal gave her five minutes a day to try to convince Rumpelstiltskin to abandon his plan. Knowing what she now did, she was positive that trying to convince him now would accomplish nothing… except possibly to anger him. Even bound as he was, Belle had no desire to toy with the Dark One’s ire.
Instead, she turned to the stacks of books before her. “I spent the day researching every book of magic we have,” she told him. “If you come sit next to me, we can go through what I found together.”
“I could,” he agreed. “Or I could stay over here and you could tell me what you’ve found.” He snapped his fingers, as though a novel thought had just occurred to him. “And while you’re at it, why not share just why you’re trying so hard to see my reflection in that mirror of yours? I get the feeling you’re not just admiring my rugged good looks.”
Heat suffused Belle’s cheeks. She’d really thought she was being subtle! Well, stealth and subterfuge were never her strong suits. She preferred honesty, anyway.
“This is the Mirror of Souls,” she said. “If a good person looks into it, it shows their normal reflection. When an evil person looks into it, their eyes in their reflection glow red. I needed to know if you really are as dark as they say.”
“I’ve read about the artifact before. I didn’t realize it was broken,” he observed. Bracing his hands on the table, he leaned across until his face was mere inches from her own. “I’ll sore you the suspense, dearie. You want to know if I’m as dark as they say? The answer is… darker. Much darker.”
That strange feeling of not-quite-fear fluttered through her again. This close, she could see the way the candlelight reflected off each individual scale on his face, the way it made twin flames in the amber of his eyes. She could smell him - something spicy, smoky, and exotic, yet somehow comforting, like foreign herbs cast upon a warm hearth. And between them she felt something thrumming, like a barely-restrained magic between them.
It had to be fear she was feeling. What else would explain the way her heart raced in her breast, or the way butterflies danced in her stomach?
Averting her eyes, she looked for a distraction… and found it in the mirror lying on the table between them. At this angle, she could see Rumpelstiltskin’s entire face reflected in the shard or glass. His eyes unwaveringly met hers in the reflection as he calmly allowed her to look her fill.
When she’d seen Gaston’s face in the mirror all those months ago, she hadn’t expected to see the crimson glow of demonic fire in his eyes. Even knowing that he’s tortured an ogre child, some part of her had clung to the hope that he’d had a reason. She’d learned a harsh lesson in trust that day.
Seeing that same glow in Rumpelstiltskin’s reflection didn’t offer her the same shock. What did surprise her was that only one of his eyes held that sinister crimson glow. The other was its normal - well, relatively normal - shade of deep gold.
Snatching up the mirror, she turned it upon herself. Sure enough, her eyes shone their usual shade of blue. The mirror was working fine.
Which could only mean one thing: the man across from her was capable of great evil, yes, but also of incredible good.
“There, you see?” he asked, eyes alight with triumph as his lips twisted in amusement. “As dark as the stories would have you believe, and more.”
Belle’s head snapped up as she gaped at him in disbelief. Could he not see? Was he blind to the goodness within him? Or did he simply push it aside, letting the darkness eclipse the light inside?
She was determined to find out.
“Stories are wonderful,” she replied, “but I prefer to make my own opinions on people.”
Rumpelstiltskin looked at her askance, seemingly thrown off-balance by her words. He fidgeted with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “Yes, well. We’ve wasted enough time. Tell me what it is you’ve found.”
“Alright. Well, I spent the entire day looking through all the books on magic we have. I found - “
He interrupted her with a scoff. “Very little, I imagine, if this is all you have on magic in your entire kingdom. This is a mere fraction of the magical books in my library.”
Belle’s temper snapped. Slamming her hands down on the table - careful not to hit any of her books or the lit candelabrum - she stood up and faced him proudly. “Excuse me for not carrying more books from the main castle! I was a bit preoccupied at the time - watching my mother die and fleeing for my life from the ogres. So I’m sorry if I don’t have the exact book you need to destroy our world; my world as I knew it ceased to exist months ago.” Raising her chin proudly, she fixed the Dark One with a cool glare. “Bring your books here, then, since your library is so much more well-stocked than mine!”
Rumpelstiltskin waved a hand, and suddenly, mountains of books and scrolls appeared all around her in swirls of crimson smoke. Some were practically new, their leather covers bright and unmarked by the passage of time. Others looked like their pages might crackle into dust if she so much as breathed on them.
Reaching out, she touched one of the summoned books with one fingertip. It seemed real enough. But how had they all gotten here? A glance at Rumpelstiltskin showed that he looked as surprised as she was.
“I thought your magic was bound,” she said slowly. If he had access to his magic… then he was far more dangerous than she’d been led to believe.
“As did I,” he replied. Looking at a nearby unlit candle, he waved a hand at it. Nothing happened. His brow furrowed. “It seems I can only use my magic…” He trailed off, pressing his lips tightly together. His hand went to the silver collar at his neck. One black claw traced the smear of her blood still visible there.
A piece of the puzzle fell into place - one she hadn’t even realized was missing. Why did such a powerful man go through this deal, when killing her would end the blood magic? Why would he give her information he was clearly reluctant to divulge? Why would his magic suddenly work when it was otherwise bound?
“You can only use your magic when I order you to,” she realized. “You have to follow all of my orders, don’t you? Why?”
Rumpelstiltskin’s face twisted into a mask of anger. But his eyes - those large eyes, so strange yet so expressive - were frightened. Just like the ogre child Gaston had tortured all those months ago.
If that child had been treated with compassion, would the ogres have continued their onslaught? Or would one kindness beget another, turning the army of monsters back the way they came?
She’d never know. And because of that, her mother was gone.
This time, she’d do things right. She’d offer mercy to a monster who might offer her none in return - not to manipulate him into stopping the curse, but simply because it was the right thing to do.
“I’m not ordering you to tell me,” she said quickly. “But I’d like it if you did.”
Rumpelstiltskin’s harsh features softened. His eyes peered into hers, as if searching for something. Whatever he found there must have satisfied him, because he nodded.
“This collar wasn’t always a collar,” he told her. “It’s… the source of my power. The Blue Fairy’s spell changed its form from my greatest strength to a shackle around my neck.”
“May I see?”
Rumpelstiltskin nodded, raising his face and baring his throat to her to give her better access.
Leaning forward, Belle brushed his shoulder-length brown curls away from his throat. She tried not to dwell on how very soft his hair was.
The scalloped edge of the collar was sharp, she noticed - as sharp as a blade. It was a wonder Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t cut himself on it. His name was etched across the metal in black. And where a buckle would have been, there was what looked like the handle of a knife meeting the tip of the blade circling his neck.
And smeared across the scrollwork of his strange name was her blood, as vibrant red as the moment she shed it.
“If we don’t break the spell… will you be bound to me forever?” she asked softly.
“For as long as you live,” he agreed. “And to your children, and their children, until every trace of your bloodline is gone.”
Belle shivered in revulsion. Not at having Rumpelstiltskin so near; he was amusing, in his own way, when he wasn’t prickly and defensive. And there was something about him that drew her in. He was a walking contradiction: powerful yet fearful, jesting yet intense, full of great evil and incredible good at the same time.
No, she didn’t mind his company. But the thought of having any creature enslaved to her whims turned her stomach. For a person like her, who fought and clawed for the few freedoms she could obtain, having a slave was anathema to her.
“I’ll break the Blue Fairy’s spell,” she promised him. “I’ll do everything I can to free you.”
He gave her another one of those intense, searching looks. “Thank you, Belle,” he said, his voice taking on that low timbre that she was beginning to like.
Belle’s cheeks heated, and that feeling of fear that wasn’t fear intensified. Telling herself she was being silly, she opened a book and flipped to the pages she’d been studying. “Here’s what I’ve found.”
Days passed, and they were no closer to a solution.
For all his talk of his expansive library, Rumpelstiltskin’s collection of books held nearly nothing about either blessings or fairy magic.
“I’m the Dark One, dearie. What need would I possibly have for those things?” he’d said when she pointed it out.
Still, Belle was learning more and more about the workings of magic. She learned of curses, potions, and magical creatures. She didn’t have a solution yet, but she was confident she’d get there eventually.
She just hoped she could break their bond in time for him to stop the curse from being cast.
Not that she was any closer to convincing Rumpelstiltskin to do that. No matter what she tried - appealing to his better nature, or pointing out all the people he stood to hurt, or offering to help him find another way to get back what he’d lost - his answer was always the same.
“I won’t risk my plan. Not for anything or anyone.”
He always said it with such quiet intensity that she’d inevitably drop the subject. Whatever it was he’d lost, whatever he was trying to get back, it obviously meant a great deal to him. In fact, she suspected it meant everything to him.
She still hadn’t asked him what it was he was after.
She could at any time, she knew. The terms of their deal gave her three questions a day, which he had to answer honestly. And if she truly wanted, she could ask even more questions, and order him to answer.
And if she did, she’d feel like a monster.
Time passed. With each passing day, the Dark Curse loomed over their heads, and with each passing day, Rumpelstiltskin’s delayed plans to make a Savior to break it became that much more urgent. If she didn’t convince him to put a stop to his plans, or free him to finish the most vital parts, then the entire world would be doomed to suffer. Forever.
More pressing: reports had come to the castle of the ogres’ march. Every day, Avonlea lost men, and every day, the ogres gained more ground. It was only a matter of time before they took the castle.
And so, a full week after making her deal with the Dark One, Belle found herself alone in the throne room, poring over the map on the great wooden table. Small wooden figurines marked the locations of Avonlea’s troops and the ogre hordes.
There wasn’t much distance left between the fighting and the castle. A pine forest, a river, and a stretch of abandoned farmland were all that stood between the ogres and the castle.
That, and the very last of her father’s soldiers.
Behind her, she heard the slap of webbed swan feet against the bare stone floor. It must be sunset. How long had she been bent over this map?
“Hi, Rumpel,” she called absently, her eyes never leaving the map. There was an idea in her mind, a way they could stop the ogres… too little, too late. The plan she had in mind relied on things the kingdom no longer had.
Rumpel gave a honk of greeting. Circling around to the other side of the table, he gave her a glower with those golden eyes of his.
“I know that look,” she said. “You antagonized Gaston again, didn’t you? And he tried to hunt you.”
He ruffled his feathers in what she recognized as an avian attempt at a shrug.
“You shouldn’t do that, you know,” she chided him gently. Her fingers brushed over the part of the map showing the pine forest just outside the castle. “I know your magic makes you immortal, but we don’t know what effect this spell has on your immortality. Goading him could have unexpected consequences.” Frustrated, she swiped at one of the wooden figurines on the map, knocking it over. “Besides… Gaston is probably going to be my husband soon. It… would be best if you didn’t provoke him.”
The last sliver of the sun slid behind the horizon, and Rumpelstiltskin transformed back to his normal self in a burst of blue smoke.
“You said you weren’t marrying that oaf,” he snapped, pacing agitatedly along the length of the table. “You said he would never be your intended. What changed?”
“The war changed,” she said quietly, gesturing to the map on the table between them. “The ogres will be here in a week. Two, if our men can hold out that long. Gaston can send word to his father to send soldiers.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “And he’ll only send word if I agree to marry him.”
“And you’re going to accept his proposal?”
Rumpelstiltskin’s tone was neutral, but Belle still bristled. “What choice do I have?” she demanded. “My people are dying. It was selfishness that kept me from agreeing to Gaston’s suit in the first place, and my people are paying the price. Brothers and husbands. Fathers and sons. All lost - because of me!”
She wasn’t sure when the tears started. All she knew was that by the end of her outburst, they were rolling down her cheeks, testament to the burst dam of her shame and helpless anger.
A clawed hand appeared before her, holding out a silk handkerchief. When had Rumpelstiltskin circled around to her side of the table?
Not wanting to question his kindness, she accepted the handkerchief and used it to dab her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, unable to meet his eyes and the judgment she’d surely find there. “I just… I had a plan, one that might have worked months ago. I tried telling Papa, but… it’s too late.”
“Tell me,” he urged.
“No, it’s… silly,” she demurred. “Just the naive notion of a girl who’s never had a chance to even hold a sword.”
He scoffed. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you have a quicker mind than all the men in your kingdom,” he muttered. “So tell me. If it can’t be done… what’s the harm?”
“True.” How novel, to be listened to for once in this room. She’d had to all but beg just to be allowed in during her father’s war meetings, and her ideas were always dismissed - assuming she wasn’t talked over altogether. Bending over the map, she leaned in close to Rumpelstiltskin so she could point to something. “See this, here? Our soldiers are stationed on the last bit of farmland between the fighting and the castle. The plan is for all of the men - Papa’s and Gaston’s, if I choose to marry him - to make a final stand here. To meet the ogres face to face on the field of battle.”
“It’ll be a slaughter,” Rumpel said darkly. “The ogres are brutal, merciless killing machines when the bloodlust takes them. Even the bravest souls can’t withstand such an onslaught.”
“I hoped that we could reason with them,” she said mournfully. “But ever since Gaston tortured the ogre child I tried to save, they’ve been relentless.”
Rumpelstiltskin glanced at her curious, his reptilian eyes measuring, but didn’t question her words. “What would you propose they do instead?
Belle slid her finger down the map - back from the front lines, toward the castle. “Fall back to the woods and make their stand there,” she said. “Ogres are blind, and hunt by sound. This wood is full of pine trees - “
“Which would muffle their movements,” Rumpel interjected, understanding immediately. “But that still doesn’t resolve the issue of sheer strength. It would take a dozen men to take down a single ogre.”
“A dozen men, or one arrow,” Belle corrected. “If the soldiers hid up in the trees with bows and arrows, they could take the ogres out by shooting them in the eyes.”
“Sounds like you have a plan,” Rumpel observed. “What’s the problem?”
She sighed. “The problem is, all our archers are dead. All we have left is close combat infantry. The soldiers can draw a bow, probably even hit the ogres at close range. But hit a moving target in the eye with any regularity? It would take a miracle.”
For a long time, Rumpelstiltskin was silent. His eyes took on a faraway look, as if he was searching someplace that wasn’t here. The past, maybe. Or perhaps, inside himself.
“You won’t need a miracle,” he finally said, “if you have magic.” One hand flitted in an elaborate gesture.
Belle understood him right away, and her gut churned with revulsion. “No. I won’t command you to help me. I won’t take away your free will like that, Rumpel. I refuse.”
“It’s not taking away my free will if I tell you to do it,” he insisted.
“Maybe not,” she conceded, “but my principles mean more to me than my life. I won’t compromise on this.”
Suddenly, Rumpelstiltskin was in her face, so close she could smell the magic on his skin. Were he a few inches taller, he might have loomed over her. As it was, his stormy eyes bored into hers.
“And what about your father? Hmm? What about your subjects, and the soldiers about to die on the battlefield? Are they worth less than your principles?” He swept an arm in a broad arc. “What about the lives of this entire world? If we don’t break this spell, they’ll be trapped in a realm of suffering for all of time. Are your principles worth all of that to you?”
The answer came to her easily. But that didn’t make it any less painful. “No,” she whispered. “No, they’re not.”
The Dark One nodded. His face softened in sympathy. “Principles are fine things. But they’re no good when you hold onto them and sacrifice the things that truly matter.”
“Like what?” she asked softly.
His eyes, still so close to hers, were a maelstrom of anguish and regret. “Like family,” he said. “Like doing what’s best for those who depend on you, instead of stubbornly doing what you think is right.”
Tentatively, Belle reached out and placed a hand over Rumpelstiltskin’s. “Is that what you did? Chose your principles over… over someone who mattered?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“And… how did things turn out?” she asked.
His eyes went shuttered, a portcullis slamming shut between the two of them. “I suppose I’ll have to let you know once the Savior breaks the curse,” he said with a giggle. “So you’d best stay alive until then, dearie, if you want your curiosity sated.”
Belle recognized a hint when she saw one. Obviously, Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t ready to say more on the subject. Still - she couldn’t help feeling that she’d been right about him all along.
“You’re not as dark as you make yourself out to be,” she said. “And I’m glad.”
Rumpelstiltskin gazed at her in wonder and confusion, a tentative smile just barely curling the edges of his lips. Quickly, he ducked his head, hiding his face behind his riotous curls.
Belle took mercy on him. “So what do you need me to do?”
“Simple: order me to bring every bow in the kingdom here,” he said. “Then order me to enchant them so that they never miss their target. As long as your soldiers can nock an arrow and draw the string, the bow will do the rest.”
Belle still didn’t like the idea of using this strange bond between them to order Rumpelstiltskin around. Doing so made her feel like a tyrant.
But this was what Rumpel wanted, too. He needed her alive in order to break the spell that bound him. In doing this, everyone benefitted.
If the price was her principles, it was one she’d happily pay.
She ordered Rumpelstiltskin to do exactly what was needed. Soon he was perched on a low chair, picking up each bow one by one and running the string between his thumb and forefinger. As he did, the strings began to glimmer like spun gold.
For a while, Belle simply watched him in the low light. Even with the candlelight casting his face in harsh planes and shadows, his features seemed to smooth as he worked. It was as if, in doing this task, he was able to cast off some unknown burden, even if only for a while.
She shook herself out of her reverie. She still had her own part to do. Finding a quill and parchment, she wrote out a letter in a rough imitation of her father’s hand, ordering the soldiers to fall back to the trees and ambush the ogres from the treetops. She would ask Rumpel to send the letter to the front lines along with the bows.
When he finished, she ordered him to do exactly that. Once the weapons and the letter were gone in a puff of smoke, she wrapped her arms around Rumpelstiltskin’s neck and pulled him into an embrace.
“Thank you, Rumpel,” she murmured into his ear. “Thank you for helping me. Thank you for trusting me with your power.”
She felt the ghost of his touch at her waist - flitting over the fabric of her gown, but never quite settling. And there it was again - that strange feeling that she’d thought was fear, but was gradually coming to recognize as a queer sort of excitement.
“Yes, well.” He licked his lips. He seemed unsure exactly where to look; his eyes kept darting between her shoes, and some point just over her shoulder. He resolutely didn’t meet her eyes. “We’ll see if you still want to thank me once my curse is cast.” Clearing his throat, he took a hasty step back from her. “Speaking of which: you have your three questions to ask. Not to mention five minutes to convince me to stop the curse from being cast.”
“True.” It was good of him to remind her. She’d all but forgotten, with the looming threat of the ogres and all. But he’d shown her a great kindness tonight; the least she could do was offer a small one in kind. “No questions tonight, and no speeches. Let’s just work on breaking this spell.”
He sighed, his face softening in relief. “Very well. What have you found today?”
Together, the two of them retired to the library. Instead of sitting at the table, like they usually did, Belle picked up the book she’d been reading and brought it, and the candle, to a nearby chaise. She sat down upon it and set the candle down on a nearby side table.
Rumpelstiltskin didn’t join her. He simply stared down at her, looking flummoxed.
Belle patted the seat invitingly. “Come on, join me. There’s a section in this book I wanted to read with you. I think it could be interpreted in a few ways, and I’d like to hear what you think.”
Slowly, like a timid rabbit poking its nose out of its hole, Rumpelstiltskin took a seat just beside her, carefully keeping a few inches between them.
Belle ignored that, leaning her back comfortably against him as she began to read aloud. The feathers of his cape were sinfully soft against her bare arms and shoulders. And the smell of him - smooth, spicy, smoky - lulled her into a feeling of contentment even as it made a strange, unfamiliar warmth pool in her insides.
Slowly, warily, Rumpel relaxed against her. When one clawed, scaled hand came to rest on the curve of her waist, she fought to keep her smile out of her voice.
They stayed like that until the wee hours of the morning, when Belle’s eyes were drooping and her voice going hoarse from hours of reading. They’d long since passed the passage that Belle wanted to talk about, but neither seemed to notice.
Three days later, word came from the front lines: the ogres had been driven back, retreating in the face of the preternatural accuracy of Avonlea’s archers. None could say where the orders from Maurice had come from, as no messenger had been seen leaving the castle or entering the soldiers’ camp. And of course, no one suspected the quiet, demure lady of the castle, sitting contentedly in a corner reading a strange book.
No one except the blue-clad fairy hovering at Maurice’s shoulder, her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Chapter Text
Weeks passed, and still they made no progress.
The kingdom of Avonlea was in the throes of post-war celebration. Women and children cried grateful tears for the fathers, sons, and husbands returned to them, or wept bitter ones for the people lost to the ogres’ bloodlust. Feasts were had, memorials were erected, and toasts were offered to Lord Gaston, who, in his infinite generosity, had seen fit to outfit Avonlea’s dwindling army with the weapons they needed to win the war.
Belle kept the truth of it silent. If her father, the Blue Fairy, and the clerics found out that their victory had come at the hands of a woman and the Dark One, they wouldn’t thank her for it. They couldn’t see her cleverness any more than Rumpelstiltskin’s compassion. The entire kingdom would brace itself, waiting to discover the horrible price the evil Dark One had duped the gullible princess into accepting.
So she let Gaston have the spotlight. Even though it sickened her to let the man who started the war have the credit for ending it.
Besides, she had larger concerns. Her people might be safe from the threat of the ogres, but Rumpelstiltskin’s curse threatened the entire world.
At some point, both Belle and Rumpel came to an unspoken agreement to ignore the terms of their earlier deal. Some days, Belle would ask no questions at all. Others, he would let her ask more than the three he’d agreed to.
Still, time was growing short, as Rumpelstiltskin reminded her every night.
“The cinder-girl is with child,” he muttered, pacing back and forth before the library’s fireplace. A low fire burned within - enough to offer them a bit of light to read by without calling attention to them in the dead of the night. “She knows I have plans to collect her firstborn child. Reul Ghorm was supposed to trap me under Snow White’s castle with squid ink, not cast a blessing to remove me from the equation entirely!”
None of this was news to Belle. Over the past weeks, she’d learned more and more about the looming curse. The scroll with the incantation was already in the possession of the witch Maleficent, who would soon turn it over to the hands of the Evil Queen. Her first attempt to cast the spell would fail.
“And I need to be in that cell before she tries again!” he continued, waving a hand in agitation. “I need to make deals with both Snow White and Regina. Without the one, I won’t awaken in time to help the savior break the curse. Without the other, I’ll be powerless!”
Belle closed her book with a sigh. She couldn’t focus on research when he was like this. It wasn’t the constant pacing and ranting. She’d long ago learned how to dive so deeply into a book that nothing in the real world had any hope of reaching her.
Nor was it the way the low firelight played across his golden skin, throwing his sharp, angular features in equal parts dazzling light and fathomless shadow.
It wasn’t even that she missed having him pressed close to her while she read, though that was closer to the truth. Every night since he’d enchanted the armory’s bows, they’d found themselves touching more and more. An unnecessary brush of the fingertips when passing a book to the other. Lying against one another on the chaise and reading until she fell asleep. On one particularly thrilling occasion, they’d been sitting opposite one another at the table when his booted foot accidentally brushed her slippered ones. He’d recoiled as if he’d been burned. But the contact had sent a thrum of tingling excitement through her, causing her to reach out and trap his foot between hers. They’d spent nearly an hour playing with one another in this way. By the time he sent her, yawning, off to bed, only a sense of propriety had stopped her from asking him to stay with her.
No, it wasn’t that, either. It was this: any time Rumpelstiltskin spoke of the curse going unbroken, his eyes would fill with anguish. The lines and creases in his face would deepen in worry. Gone were the giggles and quips she’d found so off-putting when they first met.
Rumpelstiltskin was desperate for the curse to be broken. He strove for it as urgently as he worked to have it cast in the first place. But why? Why did he need it cast so badly if he was only going to have it broken?
For the past few months, she’d tried to convince him to abandon his plot. She’d tried logic. She’d tried arguing. She’d tried appealing to his better nature - a nature she knew was there. All to no avail.
If she was to convince him to abandon the curse, she needed to understand why he needed it cast in the first place. Not the vague crumbs of truth he’d been feeding her. She needed to know everything.
She aimed a level stare his way. “Rumpel… why does this matter so much to you?”
For a split second, his steps faltered. Then they picked back up again. “That should be fairly obvious, dearie. The thought of being trapped in Regina’s curse for the rest of time isn’t an appealing one.”
She sighed. There it was again: dearie. He was pushing her away again, holding her at arm’s length.
She could force him to tell her the truth. One order, and the strange collar around his neck would compel him to tell her everything.
Even Rumpelstiltskin himself might not object. Wasn’t he the one who said that people’s lives were more important than her principles?
That might be so. But there were still lines that Belle wouldn’t cross. Using Rumpel’s curse against him was one of them.
In the end, she didn’t say a word to him. She simply pinned him with a calm, patient look. One that said, that isn’t what I meant and you know it. And, I won’t force you to tell me; I respect you too much for that. But mostly, Let me know you. Please, I want to know you.
Rumpel seemed to deflate. He sank heavily onto the nearby chaise. Without saying a word, Belle joined him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He rested his own on hers. One of his stray curls tickled her cheek.
“I have a son,” he said.
A thousand questions burned on Belle’s tongue. She bit them all back ruthlessly. Rumpelstiltskin was an evasive creature, always dancing away from giving her any true answers. He reminded her of the illusionists who would sometimes perform for her father, back before the war started: men with clever hands and large personalities, who used distraction and sleight of hand to trick the audience and call it magic. Rumpelstiltskin used those same mannerisms - only in his case, he would do the opposite, using magic to distract from the mundane.
So she kept quiet, and hoped the spell wouldn’t break.
“I took this curse on for him,” he continued, holding a clawed, golden hand out in the firelight. “Everything I’ve done since the day he was born was for him. Until the day he was ripped from me, torn away by the Blue Fairy’s deception and my own cowardice, and sent to a land without magic.”
“That’s why you need the curse cast,” she realized. “To get your son back.”
“To apologize to him,” he corrected softly. “To tell him that he was right all along, and to beg his forgiveness.”
She frowned, but didn’t pull away from him. “Then why go through all this trouble to have Regina cast the curse? Why not cast it yourself?”
“All magic comes with a price,” he said, his voice taking on that familiar, teasing pitch. “To power a spell meant to break a world, something precious must be given. The thing one loves the most. What I love most is on another world.” He sighed. “That is why I need to be captured in the way I foresaw: so Regina comes to me when her first attempt fails. She’ll figure it out on her own eventually, but too late for my plan to work. The timing needs to be perfect.”
“That doesn’t explain why you couldn’t just let yourself love someone else and sacrifice them when the time came,” Belle said, remembering a lamb she’d grown attached to as a child. Even knowing it was destined for the supper table hadn’t stopped her from bonding with it.
Rumpel wagged a finger. “Ahh, there’s the paradox,” he said. “If someone was the one I loved most - more than my son - I wouldn’t be willing to sacrifice them. The very act of sacrificing someone would put them beneath my son, rendering that same act useless.”
“So you’ve never let yourself love anyone? For all this time?” she asked softly.
His leg bounced against hers in anxious agitation. “Once,” he said shortly. “I thought I could have it all. It ended… poorly.”
Shifting, Belle curled up her knees so they rested in Rumpel’s lap. It was highly inappropriate, especially for a woman of her station. But he didn’t seem to mind. One long, clawed finger traced the lace trim of her nightgown, pressing so lightly that the fabric didn’t even move under his gentle touch.
Her throat ached, and her eyes stung with unshed tears. Finally, she understood what drove Rumpelstiltskin to darkness. She hated the harm he would soon bring to her loved ones… but she couldn’t hate the man himself. After all, hadn’t she put the mere memories of her deceased mother over the life of a friend? Given the choice between saving Anna and grabbing the stone, she’d chosen the latter - and that was only for a memory. If she were given the choice between the world and her child… knowing what she now knew about herself, she couldn’t say she’d do the right thing.
Knowing what she now knew about Rumpelstiltskin, she could no longer bring herself to talk him out of his plotting. Losing her mother had broken her. Losing a son? It was unimaginable.
With this newfound understanding came a powerful yearning - not just to know him, or to help him. She wanted to slot her broken pieces with his until they mended together into something greater than a single whole. Something that would take those fragile, shattered bits and make them even stronger than they were when they were whole.
And with that yearning came knowledge: simple, yet undeniable. She loved him. She loved this dark, complicated man with a fierceness that took her breath away. This man who listened to her, who made her laugh, who saved her people when he had nothing to gain. Who shared his pain with her when he kept all others at arm’s length. She loved him.
And he wouldn’t love her.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to do. “Rumpelstiltskin. I release you from our deal,” she said. She felt him stiffen beside her. Not wanting to be misunderstood, she hastily continued. “I still want to help break the Blue Fairy’s blessing. And after that, if there’s anything I can do to help make sure the Queen’s curse is broken… I’ll be there.” Reaching up, she cupped his cheek and encouraged him to look at her. His face was a mask of stoicism, but behind them, his lovely amber eyes were as raw and open as she’d ever seen them. “I won’t help you cast the curse. But I won’t keep you from your son, either.”
Rumpelstiltskin stared at her in a mix of confusion and awe. A small, disbelieving huff passed through his trembling lips. “Thank you, Belle,” he breathed.
“You’re welcome.”
For a long moment, she held his gaze. There was a soft warmth in his eyes that she’d never seen before. Gaston had certainly never looked at her like that. It reminded her, more than anything, of how her father used to look at her mother.
Perhaps Rumpelstiltskin could love her. The thought filled her with a glimmer of hope.
Reluctantly, she looked away. “Anyway, I think I found something promising,” she said. Standing, she walked to the table and picked up a small scroll. Unlike the large scrolls from Rumpel’s library, so aged that they cracked when unfurled, this one was new. She handed it to Rumpel.
He unfurled it, his eyes scanning the finely-inked calligraphy. “A wedding invitation?” he murmured. He kept reading. “To the wedding of Princess Abigail and Sir Frederick.”
“Her father was blessed with the ability to turn anything he touches to solid gold,” she explained.
Rumpel nodded. “King Midas. I’m familiar with him.”
“Her father accidentally turned her love into gold. But with the waters of Lake Nostos, she was able to restore him,” Belle went on. “If we pour it on the collar…”
To her surprise, he didn’t seem all that enthused. “It could work,” he admmited, “if the lake hadn’t dried up. With its guardian gone, too many people drank greedily of its waters.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped in disappointment.
A long, scaled finger tilted her chin up. “It was a good idea,” Rumpelstiltskin assured her. “Let’s keep looking.”
They studied together long into the night. At some point, they found themselves back on the chaise: Rumpel sprawled out on his back, with Belle nestled into his chest. His strong, leather-clad legs cradled her own, radiating heat and magic. The metal fasteners of his black waistcoat dug into her back. Despite that and his thin, bony stature, she’d never been so comfortable.
At some point, she must have dozed, because a clawed hand shook her gently awake.
“Bed, dearie,” he said softly, but firmly. “That brain of yours is no good to me if you’re too tired to think straight.”
Belle sat up, nodding and yawning. After so many long days reading and late nights talking with Rumpel, she was worn out. Collapsing onto her luxurious feather mattress sounded like just the thing. Maybe if she slept for an entire day, she’d feel restored. Still half-asleep, she trudged toward the door.
Exhaustion had to be the reason she said what she did. Standing in the doorway, she looked over her shoulder at the slim, scaled man poring over yet another scroll. Affection welled up in her.
“Rumpel?”
He didn’t look up from his reading, but she sensed that every fiber of his being was focused on her. “Hmm?”
“I know that… letting yourself love someone more than your son would stop you from ever seeing him again,” she said. “But could you ever let yourself love someone just a little bit less?”
The look he gave her was one of pure agony. “I could,” he admitted, his voice taking on a low timber she’d never heard from him before. “But if such a person existed… she would deserve to be someone’s first choice. And that’s more than I can give.”
Belle nodded, devastated, but not surprised. “Good night, Rumpel.”
“Sweet dreams, Belle.”
She excused herself without another word. Only pride and stubbornness kept the tears from falling until she was halfway down the hallway.
Apparently, Rumpelstiltskin was even more stubborn than she; it wasn’t until she rounded a corner that she heard the distant sound of glass breaking.
For the next week, Belle hardly slept.
With every passing day, she and Rumpelstiltskin drew ever closer to the final book in his collection. Once they exhausted that, they would be at a dead end. And with Snow White already heavy with child, they were quickly running out of time. The curse needed to be cast as the savior was born.
Progress was slowed by Belle’s new daytime obligation. Gaston still hadn’t returned to his duchy. In fact, he’d had his father send food, medicine, and workers to Avonlea “as a show of goodwill” to help with the post-war restoration.
Belle wasn’t fooled. Now that he couldn’t pressure her with the promise of soldiers, he hoped to buy her hand with gifts. And seeing the grateful smiles her people gave to the Hero of the Ogres War made it increasingly difficult for her to put him off. So for now, she had to find ways to feign interest in courtship without committing to anything.
It was just for a few weeks, she told herself. A few weeks, and Rumpel’s curse would be cast, whisking them away to a place where magic and happy endings didn’t exist.
How sad, that that thought should come as a relief. But as far as she was concerned, marriage to Gaston wouldn’t be much different.
And so, for the third day in a row, she found herself in the garden with her would-be intended, doing her best to ignore him while she read. The stone bench under her favorite tree provided the perfect reading spot, though she winced every time Gaston’s heavy boot trod carelessly on the flowers there. X Every so often, she made a vague, interested sound as he prattled on about some upcoming hunt. He didn’t even notice that her attention was elsewhere.
The book she was reading had nothing to do with blessings. It was a thin tome written by an obscure philosopher she’d never even heard of. In it, he explored the art of curse breaking.
“And then there is the most powerful method to break a curse: True Love’s Kiss,” the text read. “What is it about a kiss that can render even the most powerful dark magic impotent? I would posit that the kiss itself is meaningless; it is the act of expressing one’s love for another that has a powerful magic of its own. This love could come in the form of a kiss, an embrace, or a great sacrifice made for another.
If True Love is this powerful, I wonder if other kinds of love can do the same. What of the love between siblings, or parent and child? And what of hatred? Could an act of pure, distilled hatred undo a blessing in the same way?”
That was it, she realized. An expression of pure loathing. That would break Rumpel’s bonds.
“Belle? Are you listening?” Gaston demanded.
“Oh. Um…” She snapped the book shut. Her face reddened at being caught out. Still, she’d patiently listened to enough of his one-sided conversations to know more or less what he was talking about. He wasn’t spreading his arms to show the size of his latest kill, so he wasn’t talking about his last hunt. “You were telling me about your next hunt,” she guessed.
He smiled at her - a look of condescending indulgence, much like one would give a pet who did something particularly silly. “Oh, no, Belle. You’re confused! Don’t worry. It happens to you women all the time.” And then he patted her head. Like a dog. “No, I was talking about the beast that got away! The fearsome monster the Blue Fairy warned your father about.”
Belle’s blood went to ice, and Gaston’s patronizing words were promptly forgotten. “Monster?” she whispered. “What monster?”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry your pretty head about that. I’ll protect you,” he said. “The creature might have slipped through my fingers this time, but not before I took a piece of it!” Reaching into his belt pouch, he pulled out a small, glittering object.
Her stomach lurched when she realized just what he was holding. There, in his hand, was a swan’s foot. Its rough, scaled skin was the exact shade of green-gold as Rumpel’s.
Her book fell from nerveless fingers. Before she even registered what she was doing, she was racing through the garden, heedless of Gaston calling out in consternation after her.
That didn’t matter. Not Gaston’s confusion, or the fact that he probably thought she was a hysterical, easily frightened woman. None of that mattered. Rumpel was hurt. He needed her. That was the important thing.
Near the castle entrance, a lovely rose bush heavy with deep red blooms trembled. As she approached it, a piteous squawk rang out through the air. Belle dropped to her knees and reached in, ignoring the dirt on her dress and the scratches the thorns left on her arms. Soon, she came in contact with soft, warm feathers that quaked violently at her touch.
She shushed him gently. “I’m here, Rumpel,” she murmured, untying the silken shawl draped around her shoulders. “Here. Let me take you someplace safe.”
Gingerly, she wrapped the shawl around the swan and pulled him out of his prickly shelter. His feathers alternated between fluffing out and lying flat against his skin, as though he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to look imposing as possible to any threats, or shrink down beneath anyone’s notice.
As soon as she finished bundling him up, a blotch of red immediately spread across the pale silk. He was bleeding, and heavily. She needed to get him help, and fast. But who could she trust? Everyone in the castle trusted the Blue Fairy implicitly; if word got to her that a black swan was being cared for here, it was only a matter of time before everyone would know that he was truly the Dark One.
It had to be her. There was no one else.
“Hold on, Rumpel. Just hold on!”
Covering him up as best she could, Belle smuggled him through the castle and up to her tower, pausing only long enough to ask a servant to bring her hot water, soap, and bandages. Nobody thought twice about the unusual request; it wasn’t so long ago that she’d brought baby birds and wounded mice into the castle and did her best to nurse them back to health. No doubt they assumed this was more of the same.
Once they were safely tucked away in her room with the door locked behind her, Belle carefully unwrapped the swan. By now, her shawl was drenched with blood. She cast it aside without a second glance. Her only concern was for Rumpel.
He was still trembling violently - whether from fear, pain, or weakness, she couldn’t tell. To her horror, one of his legs was missing, the end of it a ragged, bleeding stump.
“Rumpel. Can you heal yourself?” she asked urgently.
Twisting his neck, Rumpel pecked at the silver collar around his neck.
“Right. You can’t use magic unless I tell you to.” She took a deep breath, praying to the gods that this would work. “Rumpelstiltskin, heal yourself.”
The swan squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating. Nothing happened.
Of course. The Blue Star might only come out at night, but she was a creature of light. Of course her powers were strongest during the day. That was why Rumpelstiltskin returned to his normal form every night. It made sense that his magic was bound more strongly.
She glanced out the window. Another hour or two until sunset. If she could keep Rumpel alive that long, he’d be able to heal as soon as he regained his normal form.
Most urgently, she needed to stop the bleeding. Plucking a ribbon from her hair, she tied it tightly around the broken end of his leg as a makeshift tourniquet.
Rumpelstiltskin hissed and snapped his beak at her.
She combed her fingers soothingly through his feathers. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to stop it from hurting.” Trying to keep her movements gentle, but efficient, she quickly cleaned and bandaged the wound, applying as much pressure as she dared to try to stanch the bleeding.
Eventually, the flow of blood ebbed to a trickle, an ooze, and then stopped altogether. Belle held the shivering bird in her lap, combing her fingers through his feathers and humming soothingly.
When the sun touched the rim of the horizon, Belle riveted her gaze to it, uncaring of the tears streaming down her face. The sun was only partly to blame, anyway.
She couldn’t lose him. The world couldn’t lose Rumpelstiltskin - not with his plans so close to fruition. If he died now, the curse would still be cast, but the Savior would be caught up with the rest of them - forever an infant, unable to help anyone. Everyone she knew and loved would be caught up in the curse forever.
That thought terrified her, of course - though not half as much as that of the man she loved dying in her arms.
Her one source of comfort was the beat of his heart against her palm where it was pressed to his breast. It was weak, but steady.
“Just a few more minutes, Rumpel,” she whispered as the sun journeyed ever lower.
The last glimmer disappeared behind the tree line. Instantly, the two of them were surrounded in royal blue smoke. Silvery motes of light darted through the sapphire darkness. When it dissipated, Rumpelstiltskin’s head was pillowed in her lap. His brow shimmered with sweat, and his face was a rictus of agony. His right leg was severed just above the knee, the ugly wound peeking out from his torn leather trousers.
Belle wasted no time. She pressed a finger to the silver collar at his neck. “Rumplestiltskin. I command you to heal yourself.”
His right leg was consumed in a cloud of crimson smoke. When it cleared, his leg was restored. His boot and the lower half of his trouser leg, however, were still missing. His calf was scaled and hairless like the rest of him. But his ankle… it was a twisted, warped mass of bone and deep green scar tissue. Before she could comment on it, he waved a hand, and his leg and foot were clothed once more.
Belle couldn’t dwell on that. Rumpel was alive; that was all that mattered. She launched herself into his arms, a relieved sob tearing itself from her throat as she held him tight and buried her face in his chest.
Slowly, almost disbelievingly, his arms wrapped around her. One clawed hand buried itself into her hair. “I’m alright, Belle,” he whispered, pressing his nose into her hair.
“I almost lost you,” she cried into the feathers and silk brocade at his shoulder.
His voice took on that teasing pitch. “You’ll have to try harder than that to get rid of me, dearie,” he giggled.
Pushing herself away, she glared down at the Dark One. She was tired of this - tired of him pushing her away any time she got too close. Tired of dancing around her feelings - the feelings he would surely share, if he would just let himself. Tired of sneaking around, as if her love was something shameful or embarrassing.
No more.
“Rumplestiltskin,” she said, glaring T him through the tears, “I lo - “
“Don’t!” He recoiled from her as if she were an Agrabahn viper poised to strike. “Don’t say it, Belle. I can’t give you what you’re looking for.”
Her face heated in humiliation. This wasn’t how she pictured declaring her love for someone for the first time. She shouldn’t be on the floor, covered in blood, weeping furious tears. He shouldn’t be rebuffing her with fear in his eyes and pity in his heart.
But she refused to let that deter her. There would be no more running. For either of them.
“I love you,” she said firmly. Her tears were dripping down her neck, now, and soaking into the décolletage of her gown. “And you’re just going to have to deal with that. I’m not going to lose another person I love without letting them know how I feel.”
“Sweetheart…” He cupped her cheek in his palm. She nuzzled into his touch. But when she looked at his face, he looked like his heart was breaking. “I can’t let myself love you. Not until I find my son.”
Her heart leapt in triumph. If he had to resist loving her… then it meant that he already did. He as good as admitted it.
She grasped his wrist, holding his hand against her lest he try to retreat. “Then I’ll wait,” she insisted stubbornly. “I’ll wait until the curse is cast. I’ll wait twenty-eight years until it’s broken. It’s not like time is going to pass for me, anyway.”
Already, she could see his resolve weaken. “You deserve better,” he argued weakly.
“I deserve the man I love,” she retorted.
“I’m not a man; I’m a monster.”
She didn’t argue the point. He was willing to damn an entire world for love. It was monstrous. It was horrifying. It was wrong.
And yet… she hungered for him to love her the same way. Her soul craved it. She didn’t want a gentle, meek love. She wanted his darkness every bit as much as his light. The two were so intertwined that she suspected one wouldn’t exist without the other.
“I don’t care,” she said simply.
He tugged her closer, so their foreheads touched. His breath ghosted over her face. There was that feeling again - that thrill, that fluttering of excitement and nervousness in her belly. Only now it encompassed her entire body, as fizzy and intoxicating as fairy wine.
She wished, she wished, she wished.
Helpless to resist the unseen force that pulled her closer, she leaned forward. Rumpel’s lips met hers in the middle, warm and sweet and butterfly-soft.
Before she could explore this new sensation any further, a spark of light formed between them, iridescent white and no bigger than a firefly. Belle pulled back with a gasp. She watched in amazement as Rumpel’s scales slowly melted away under the light, revealing tanned, weathered, human skin.
Dazed amber eyes transformed to whiskey-brown when he suddenly recoiled.
“No!” Rising to his feet, he backed away from her. He held his hands out in front of himself as though warding off a great darkness.
A great darkness, or a terrible light.
The spark guttered and died. As soon as it did, Rumpel’s hand - still scaled and clawed - covered the lower half of his face. His other hand waved in the air, as if to cast a spell. But of course, nothing happened.
Belle nodded, disappointed. “Go ahead,” she encouraged. “Do what you have to do.”
Wide, terrified eyes met hers, even as they reverted back to amber. And with a wave of his hand, he was gone. That didn’t surprise her. What did surprise her was the cloud of smoke that enveloped her dress, removing the blood and leaving it pristine.
Sighing in affectionate exasperation, Belle stood. No trace of Rumpelstiltskin’s presence remained in the room; even the bandages and bowl of water were gone. Were it not for the lingering taste of him on her lips, she might think she imagined the whole thing.
He ran from her. True, it was his feelings he was truly fleeing - his feelings and the effect they had on his curse - but ultimately, she was the one he physically ran from.
They’d have time to work on that. Someday, decades from now, when the curse was broken and he was reunited with his son, they’d be free to love one another out in the open. Twenty-eight years was plenty of time for him to learn courage.
And in the meantime… She flopped onto her bed with a dreamy sigh. In the meantime, their kiss had nearly broken his curse. That could only mean one thing.
He wasn’t in danger of falling in love with her. He already loved her.
They could figure out the rest later.
Up in the night sky, a cold blue light twinkled. As two souls wished for their deepest, most aching desire, the Blue Star watched - and it listened.
Notes:
One chapter and an epilogue to go!
Chapter 4
Notes:
This chapter took MONTHS to write, and I did about 2/3 of it sleep deprived, so if you notice any inconsistencies... no you didn't.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After Rumpelstiltskin left, everything changed.
When the sun set the next night, Belle waited for her swan to appear. But though she waited until the first gray of dawn, he never came.
It was fine, she told herself. Rumpelstiltskin had just gotten clear, definitive proof that he loved her. And not just any love. What they had was True Love - the most powerful magic of all. He was frightened - of his feelings for her, of what it might mean for his plans. Centuries of plotting had nearly been ruined by a single kiss. She needed to be patient with him.
When the next night passed in the same fashion, she grew worried. It wasn’t like him to keep his distance like this. She spent the night pacing in her chambers, hugging her arms tightly around herself to ward off some nonexistent chill.
She was so distracted the next day that she couldn’t even bring herself to focus on her book. She stared at the passage about an act of true hatred, reading it over and over without absorbing a word.
An act of true hatred. Belle couldn’t even fathom such a thing. She’d never felt that sort of loathing before; she doubted she was even capable of it. Not for the ogres who took her mother from her. They hadn’t started the war. Not for the Blue Fairy, whose actions, though misguided, were done with good intentions. Not even for Gaston, who had brought the war to a head by torturing the ogre child. After all, he’d read her book, hadn’t he? Her Handsome Hero had changed her life, taught her the value of hope, bravery, and mercy. Surely Gaston had learned the same.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Gaston interrupted her reverie. He towered over her where she perched on her favorite stone bench in the garden.
“Well, Belle, I suppose this is farewell,” he announced. His booming voice startled the nearby birds from the fruit tree she sat under.
Reluctantly, she closed her book, tucking a finger between its pages to keep her place. “You’re leaving? Now? Why?”
His brow furrowed. “I announced it at breakfast this morning. Don’t you remember?”
Her face heated. She couldn’t remember a single detail of breakfast. As preoccupied as she was with Rumpelstiltskin’s absence, even the food she ate was a blur.
“I… suppose I was just… overwhelmed by the news,” she said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. It galled her to play the part of the weak woman everyone expected her to be. But ridding herself of Gaston’s company was worth that price.
“Yes, well, with the ogres gone, our betrothal contract is null and void. Pity - I was so looking forward to letting my steel taste ogre blood again,” he said with a predatory gleam in his eyes.
Belle bit her tongue, hard. Was he truly so proud of tormenting a child? Surely he understood that a grown ogre was far more formidable. She’d seen the horrors visited upon Avonlea’s soldiers by the ogre army’s forces. How could Gaston look at that and think he stood a chance against them?
Pity and revulsion rose in her gullet. She swallowed them back down. Gaston had to be better than that. If Rumpelstiltskin could overcome the evil of his curse, then Gaston should be able to conquer his own darkness with ease.
“Perhaps now that peace has come to our lands, we could arrange a new contract under less dire circumstances,” he continued.
“Perhaps,” Belle agreed. Perhaps, if Gaston could bring her mother back. If her love for Rumpelstiltskin crumbled to ash in her hands. If she lost all sanity and principles. Then, perhaps, she might marry him.
He chuckled down at her with affectionate condescension. “Don’t worry your pretty head, Belle. I’m sure we’ll see each other again before you know it.” A call from the castle gate caught his attention. “Well, I’m off. But worry not - you haven’t seen the last of me!”
Belle let him go without saying a word. Anything she would have said would have revealed the intensity of her dislike.
Her mind was back on her conundrum before Gaston even left her sight. What she needed right now was Rumpelstiltskin. No one understood the darkness like he did. If anyone would know an act of pure loathing, it would be him.
By the third night, her patience was at its end. Standing on her balcony after the sun’s last rays disappeared, she held her scarred hand aloft to the star-studded sky.
“Rumpelstiltskin, I summon you. Stand before me!” she called to the empty air.
Nothing happened, though she waited long minutes for a sign of him.
“Dark One, I command you! Come to me!”
Still nothing. Belle’s blood went cold with dread as she considered the implications. She was linked to him with blood magic; if her command was within his power to do, he had to obey. His absence in the face of her demand could only mean one thing: he couldn’t obey her. Which meant he was either dead or captured.
She needed to know for sure. Hurrying back into her bedchamber, she cast off her nightgown and quickly dressed in her leather trousers and jerkin. She somehow managed to creep through the castle corridors without running into any guards. When she got to the stable, it was mercifully empty. She quickly saddled Philippe, climbed astride him, and rode out of the castle grounds.
Her stomach was tied in knots as she rode through the woods. Everything within her screamed to go faster, to dig her heels into her horse’s sides until they were galloping as quickly as his legs would carry them. But the woods were dark, and the path treacherous. She couldn’t risk Philippe tripping over a stray root or stone and breaking a leg. So she ignored her own fear and let her horse pick his way through the woods at a safer pace.
Even in the dark, she was able to find her way to the clearing that once housed Rumpelstiltskin’s prison. But where once had been a tower at the center of a perfectly round pond, surrounded by perfect concentric circles of flowers, there was now a simple meadow.
Belle drew short and frowned, troubled. Surely it was good news that the tower was gone. That meant that Rumpel hadn’t been captured by the Blue Fairy again, didn’t it?
A moment’s thought proved that idea a fallacy. His absence here didn’t prove that he wasn’t being held elsewhere. All she knew for certain was that something kept him from coming when she called for him.
Reluctantly, she turned around and slowly made her way back to the castle. With Philippe’s every plodding step, the worry in Belle’s heart only grew.
When she arrived back at the castle, she led Philippe back to the stable, making sure to curry him before returning to her bedchamber. She changed into her nightgown absently, her mind a thousand miles away. Once in bed, she tossed and turned all night. Sleep proved elusive until the sky began to lighten with the gray of pre-dawn. Even as she drifted off, her slumber was fitful.
When her maid awoke her at the ungodly hour of noon, she buried her face in her pillow with a grumble. Weeks of sleepless nights with Rumpelstiltskin were finally catching up with her, and all she wanted to do was sleep for a week.
That was, until her maid told her that a suitor had shown up at the castle gate, and was currently in discussions with her father. Annoyance roused her more quickly than tea ever would. Hadn’t she just managed to rid herself of Gaston? Surely now that the war was over, her father wouldn’t be in such a rush to sell her off to the highest bidder.
Well, whoever it was, he would be sorely disappointed. Now that the lives of her people weren’t on the line, she refused to marry for anything less than love. And the man she loved was the very one set on cursing the entire realm.
Belle didn’t bother getting dressed; slipping on a dressing gown and stepping into her silk slippers, she hurried to the castle solar. The sun was high and bright in the cloudless sky; her father would entertain his guest there.
As she stormed into the room, slamming the door open, she was sure she looked a fright: robe billowing, hair askew, with a righteous glare leveled at her father at his desk and the man facing him.
Lord Maurice rose at his daughter’s entrance. It didn’t escape Belle’s notice that his guest did no such thing. He didn’t so much as look over his shoulder at her. His hair, medium brown except for where it grayed at the temples, was just long enough to brush the pure white feathers at the top of his crimson cape. Underneath, he wore a suit of golden plate armor.
Belle gazed at the man with narrow-eyed suspicion. A man in such armor must boast a great deal of wealth. And yet, he seemed utterly unconcerned with the lack of propriety he showed. He came to the castle unannounced with the intention of courting a woman who, until yesterday, had been engaged.
It could only mean one of two things. Either he had come into his riches recently enough not to know how such things were done… or he was ruthless and powerful enough not to care. The former didn’t bother Belle. The latter could be dangerous.
Maurice beamed at his daughter. “Belle! This fellow has come asking for your hand in marriage. He calls himself - what was it?”
“The Light One,” the man replied. Belle’s stomach flipped at the sound of a familiar burr in his voice. No impish lilt, no mischievous titter, but she knew that voice - knew it in the depths of her heart.
He stood and turned toward her slowly, deliberately. Breathlessly, Belle took in the sight of the man before her. Gone was the riot of shoulder-length curls and the glittering, green-gold skin. This person had hair with only the slightest wave, and the tanned skin of a man used to long days under the sun. A common laborer’s complexion. More startlingly, reptilian amber eyes had been replaced with normal, human, whisky brown.
But the moment she caught sight of his profile - his prominent nose, his high cheekbones, his sharp chin - she knew who it was who stood before her. She’d recognize his face anywhere.
Half-numb with disbelief, she stumbled toward him. Swallowing hard, she blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. “Rumpel? Is that really you?”
She reached out to him with shaking hands. Only when her palms touched his face, feeling the rasp of his stubble, did she dare let herself believe.
“It’s me, Belle,” he said, unnecessarily.
“I don’t - I don’t understand,” she said. “How do you look like this? Why are you the Light One, and not - “
She cut herself off, glancing cautiously at her father. By some miracle, Rumpelstiltskin’s curse had been broken. But that didn’t mean her father would necessarily approve of her clandestine deal with the Dark One.
“I believe I can shed some light on the subject,” a voice rang out. The Blue Fairy appeared in a swirl of silvery-blue light. In her winged form, she hovered just at Rumpelstiltskin’s right shoulder. “Three nights ago, you and the Dark One shared True Love’s Kiss.”
“True Love’s Kiss can break any curse,” Rumpelstiltskin explained slowly.
Belle glanced at him askance. “Yes, I know,” she said. Warily, she turned her gaze on the Blue Fairy. “How did you know about that?”
Blue smiled beatifically. “You both wished so loudly I couldn’t help but hear.”
“Right.” Well, that was… troubling. Belle wasn’t sure how she felt about her innermost desires being laid bare - even to a being as good as a fairy.
But what was done was done. Rumpelstiltskin’s curse had been broken. True love prevailed, and now she was free to love this man for the rest of her life. At least, until the Evil Queen cast her curse.
Actually… could the curse still be cast like this? A few days ago, he didn’t seem to think so. The very idea of losing his ability to find his son had sent him fleeing into the night. So what changed?
There was only one explanation she could think of. “You called yourself the Light One,” she said slowly. “Does that mean… you still have your power?”
She couldn’t let herself ask any more explicitly than that. Not with her father and Blue watching. And unfortunately, he didn’t seem to understand what she was asking. He frowned, hesitating to answer.
Luckily for him, the Blue Fairy was there with an answer. “Rumpelstiltskin has always had the potential to be a powerful force for good. Prophecies have been told of him since before his birth. That fate was cut away from him by a wicked fairy centuries ago.”
“Oh.” She bit her lower lip, troubled. “But then how - “
“Enough talk,” Rumpel interrupted. He turned his back on Belle, giving his full attention to her father. “Lord Maurice, I humbly ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. In exchange, I offer you all the magic I have at my fingertips. What say you?”
Belle reflexively took a step back, stung. This wasn’t at all how she pictured a marriage proposal from her one true love. He wasn’t even looking at her! He seemed to value her father’s input more than hers.
After giving it some thought, she bristled. “In case it escaped your notice, I’m not a prize pig to be haggled over in the market,” she snapped. Her fists clenched, her fingernails digging into the heels of her palms. The sting of it kept her voice even and her eyes dry - if only barely.
Her father looked at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Belle, why are you upset? This was how we handled your engagement to Gaston.”
“And I went along with it to save my people,” she retorted. “But the war is over now. We don’t need soldiers or weapons. Which means I’m free to marry who I want, instead of using myself as a bargaining chip.”
“Belle, be reasonable,” Rumpelstiltskin said, finally turning his attention back on her. He was handsome, she realized. Not in the tall, muscular, broad-chinned way Gaston was, but his sharp features were pleasing to look at, now that they weren’t hidden under a scaled exterior. Still, she missed the face of the man she fell in love with. Especially his eyes. Somehow, they’d been much kinder and softer when they were a reptilian amber. “I’m your true love,” he went on, gesturing one gauntleted hand in a broad, clumsy motion. “A man shouldn’t need to beg to marry their true love.”
Belle shook her head in consternation. This couldn’t be her Rumpel. In his golden armor with the pure white feathers at his shoulders, he looked every bit like the knight in shining armor she used to dream of as a child. A handsome hero, just like Gideon in her favorite book.
She’d only been in the presence of the Light One for ten minutes. But already, she missed the mischievous imp she’d learned to love. The Dark One made her laugh. He listened to her ideas and brought them to life. And he opened himself up to her, showing her the softer, vulnerable side he hid away from the world.
Evil or not, she liked him better as the Dark One. Right now, with his armor and his cocky condescension, he reminded her less of Rumpelstiltskin and more of…
Gaston.
Belle blinked in shock. She peered at everyone else in the room with new eyes. And suddenly, it made sense. Rumpelstiltskin’s clumsy movements, so unlike his normal delicate-fingered gestures. The way he put Maurice’s word over her own, and implied that she was irrational for being offended at the slight.
Most damning of all - the way the Blue Fairy hovered at his shoulder like a trusted advisor. There was no trace of the animosity that led to the blessing she’d cast upon him in the first place. Mere weeks ago, Blue had railed at Belle for releasing Rumpel. She’d been so sure that the Dark One couldn’t change. This sudden change of heart made no sense… unless the man before her wasn’t Rumpelstiltskin.
She had no proof - only a hunch based on empathy and intuition. No one would believe her word over the Blue Fairy’s.
If she was going to get to the bottom of this and find out what they’d done to her Dark One, she had no one to rely on but herself. She had no allies, no weapons, and no magic. Her mind was her arsenal, and she needed to buy herself time to use it.
Thinking quickly, she fumbled for an excuse. “I’m sorry, I’m just - so overwhelmed.” The haste of her lie made her stammer; with luck, Gaston would put it down to a case of feminine nerves. “Just a few nights ago you chose your power over me. You said you couldn’t love me then. What changed?” The suspicion in her voice needed no acting on her part.
Gaston’s smug grin looked out of place on Rumpelstiltskin’s face. “What sort of fool doesn’t listen when his true love speaks?” he asked in reply.
Belle swallowed painfully. It was too cruel, hearing this impostor give voice to the feelings Rumplestiltskin refused to acknowledge. In that moment, she truly hated Gaston.
“I need some time to think,” she said. “Can I give you my answer tonight?”
It was a clumsy excuse, but it didn’t need to be deft. She just needed to buy herself a few hours. Anything to give herself time to find a way out of this situation.
And maybe, if she could put them off until sunset, Rumpelstiltskin would come. It was a dim hope, but a hope nonetheless.
Gaston opened Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth to reply. To both of their surprise, Maurice cut him off, clearing his throat loudly. “Light One, surely you realize how improper it would be to meet with an unmarried maiden alone after dark. Couldn’t this wait until morning?”
Belle resisted the urge to protest. To her, her father’s misgivings were ridiculous. How many nights had she spent, alone and unchaperoned, with a man who was said to be evil incarnate? And every night, he’d been a perfect gentleman by her standards (if not her father’s).
But Lord Maurice didn’t know about their intimate nights. He didn’t know that it was her mind and Rumpel’s magic that turned the tide of the war, or that they had a love strong enough to break a centuries-old curse. Maybe with time, she could make him understand. But with the Blue Fairy and the disguised Gaston in the room, she didn’t dare try.
Surprisingly, it was Blue who spoke up. “I’ll be their chaperone,” she offered.
“Really, this is most irregular,” Maurice huffed, unconvinced.
Gaston-Rumpel turned to her father with a winning smile - one she now recognized as her former betrothed’s. “I understand your concern. And if circumstances were less dire, I’d be doing this the right way,” he said. “But there’s a curse that’s going to be cast. Soon. A curse that I set in motion. And only Belle can stop it.”
If she’d blinked, she might have missed it. But Belle’s gaze happened to settle on the Blue Fairy for the split second that she glared at Gaston in fury. Just a fleeting moment, and then the look was gone, replaced with her usual placid smile.
It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Rheul Gorm didn’t want Gaston to mention the curse. And no wonder. There was no power, magical or otherwise, that would stop Rumpelstiltskin from reuniting with his son. She knew, based on their late night conversations, that he’d been working tirelessly for centuries to position everyone just so, like pieces on a chessboard. He was willing to sacrifice a chance at True Love and put himself through nearly three decades of cursed misery. All for the son he’d lost.
If Belle hadn’t already guessed the truth, this would be a dead giveaway that the man standing before her was an impostor. She hated the curse he was working to cast - but not as much as she loved him for the reasons that drove him. Furious tears sprang to her eyes. She didn’t bother to blink them away.
Gaston physically recoiled from her. “Are you crying?”
“Sorry,” she whispered, wiping her tears when they fell. “It’s just that I’ve been trying so hard to talk you out of casting this curse. I can hardly believe you’re asking me to help stop it from being cast.”
“That’s the power of True Love,” the Blue Fairy chimed in. “Even the Dark One’s evil can’t withstand its power.”
Normally, Belle didn’t like to lie if she could help it. Dishonesty tasted bitter on her tongue. But if Gaston was going to come to her wearing her true love’s face, if the Blue Fairy was going to help him in his lie, then they didn’t deserve her honesty.
“I want to help,” she lied, plainly and simply. “I’ll do whatever I can to stop the curse from being cast. But I need time.”
Gaston furrowed Rumpel’s brow. “Time? Time for what?”
Belle’s mouth opened and closed as she tried to think of a convincing lie. She glanced down at her dressing gown. “Well, it… wouldn’t be appropriate for me to… spend time with my intended in such a state of undress, would it? Even with a chaperone,” she added, nodding toward the Blue Fairy. “So I’ll meet you when the sun goes down,” she said again, more firmly this time.
The Blue Fairy’s brilliant smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Surely dressing yourself isn’t an all-day affair,” she said, her voice as light and sweet as spun sugar.
Stomach sinking, Belle scrambled to come up with a good lie. “I thought I’d spend some time in the library to… see if I could find a way to break the curse.” She bit her lip, fretting.
“Oh, don’t worry, dear; that won’t be necessary. I know exactly what must be done,” the Blue Fairy retorted, an assurance that Belle found hardly reassuring. “Meet us here in an hour. That should give you plenty of time, no?”
“Yes. Plenty of time.” There was no point in arguing any further. She might be a terrible liar, but she knew when she’d been outmaneuvered.
Bowing her head respectfully to her father, she hurried back to her rooms. Once she was washed for the day, her maid dressed her in a dress of fine muslin, the heavily-embroidered fabric dyed a dusty pink. She only had minutes left to prepare by the time she was done. Once she was alone, she reached into the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out her small, cold iron knife - the very one that had cut through Rumpelstiltskin’s bindings and formed their blood bond the day they met.
She hoped she wouldn’t need it. Rheul Gorm was a force for good - or so the stories said. But Belle could not, would not believe that a fairy would do her harm.
But perhaps this good fairy wasn’t as good as she pretended to be. Luckily for Belle, there was an artifact that could show her the truth. The last shard of the Mirror of Souls was still in the library, right where she’d left it that first night with Rumpelstiltskin.
She needed to hurry. She left her rooms with quick, mincing steps, her need for haste only outweighed by the necessity for subtlety. Prying the last fragment of glass from the mirror’s frame took nearly five minutes; the gilt frame held the shard tightly, and she had to be careful not to cut her fingers on its sharp edges. As soon as she freed it, she tucked it and her knife in a fold of her skirt. Her dress had no pockets, but that was fine. The voluminous material would hide her shaking hands from view.
When she returned to the solar, she lurked at the door, keeping carefully out of sight. She held her breath and listened.
“All this sneaking around is testing my patience, fairy,” Gaston said. Belle’s stomach churned at hearing Gaston speak in Rumpel’s voice. She could hear the thud of his boot against the stone floor as he paced the room. “Why can’t we simply break the curse and be done with it?”
Blue’s voice was patient, as though she’d answered this question multiple times before. “I told you: this is no mere curse. The Dark One’s curse mixed with my blessing and the blood magic Belle inadvertently cast. Only she can break this spell, and she must do it willingly.”
Belle pressed her lips together, smothering a smile that was equal parts triumph and relief. If they needed her cooperation, then that meant two things. Firstly, that they couldn’t harm her. And secondly… Rumpel was alive. He had to be.
Wanting to know exactly what she was about to walk into, Belle pulled out the mirror shard, angling it so she could see inside the room.
Both Gaston and the Blue Fairy were waiting for her. Her father was nowhere to be seen, which was only a slight cause for concern. As far as he knew, he wasn’t leaving Belle in any danger. She was with her True Love and Rheul Gorm, strongest of the good fairies. Where was the harm in that?
That wasn’t suspicious. What alarmed her was the black swan at the so-called Light One’s feet. With its golden eyes and the silver, scallop-edged collar at its throat, there was no doubt in her mind that this was Rumplestiltskin.
The swan was frozen in a preternatural stillness that left Belle frowning with confusion. Not a single feather stirred. His chest didn’t rise or fall with breath. Even his eyes, one its normal gold and the other glowing scarlet from the power of the mirror, didn’t so much as twitch.
As she watched, the Light One, both eyes demonic coals in Rumpelstiltskin’s borrowed face, took out a vial half-filled with an inky black substance from beneath his cloak. He uncorked it and poured a single drop on the swan’s back. Blue magic danced over black feathers like sunlight dappling a rippling pond.
Another piece of the puzzle slipped into place. Whatever that potion was, it kept Rumpelstiltskin from moving a single muscle. No wonder he hadn’t come when she’d called. He couldn’t. Not paralyzed as he was.
Still in her small, winged form, the Blue Fairy flitted about Rumpelstiltskin. “Good. We should have an hour before the squid ink wears off. This needs to work. We don’t have enough to keep him imprisoned like this forever.”
As Blue turned her back on her captive, Belle finally got a good look at her eyes in the mirror’s surface. There wasn’t a hint of red to be seen. Nor was there Rheul Gorm’s brown irises, dark as the wood of the Enchanted Forest. Instead, twin beams of dazzling silver, brighter than staring into the sun, reflected into Belle’s eyes. She squeezed them shut reflexively. The fragment of silvered metal grew hot in her hand. With a pained cry, she dropped the shard, shattering it to pieces no bigger than her smallest fingernail.
Inside the room, there was a scuffle. “Who’s there?” Gaston demanded in Rumpelstiltskin’s beloved burr.
His partner, on the other hand, remained as placid as an undisturbed pond on a windless day. “Lady Belle, I presume?”
Belle blinked her eyes open. Twin spots danced in her vision from the blinding white reflection of Blue’s eyes. Belle still wasn’t entirely certain what that meant. She knew that evil would show as deep red demonic coals in the mirror’s reflection. But nothing in her reading said anything about a white light.
Well, there was nothing to be done for it now. The two of them knew she was there, and the last mirror shard was broken beyond repair. There was no way to prove their deception. She would simply need to rely on her wits.
“It’s me,” she confirmed, stepping into the doorway.
“What was that noise?” Gaston demanded, eyes narrowed.
“It was…” Thinking quickly, she glanced down at the true Rumpelstiltskin. Frowning in feigned shock and confusion, she looked at the Light One and the Blue Fairy. “What’s that swan doing here? I thought Rumpel’s curse was broken.”
“Not exactly,” Blue hedged. She glanced at Gaston, clearing her throat pointedly.
“Ah.” Gaston adjusted his golden breastplate and dusted imaginary lint off of his feathered mantle, clearly stalling for time. “You see, when we kissed,” and if Belle hadn’t been watching, she might have missed the derisive curl of his lip, “the curse of the Dark One was broken. But evil isn’t so easily destroyed. It had to go somewhere.”
“This swan contains all of the evil of the Dark One,” Blue chimed in.
Belle had to give the Blue Fairy credit; not one word she spoke was untrue. The swan did contain all of the Dark One’s evil - as well as his goodness.
That explained why she would ally herself with Gaston, of all people. He had no qualms about lying to people for the sake of his idea of good. Neither, it seemed, did the Blue Fairy - so long as it wasn’t her tongue speaking them.
She truly was a force of goodness, just as the mirror had shown. So good, in fact, that she seemed to neither know nor care who her brilliance might hurt.
Belle let every drop of disgust, of horror, of loathing show on her face as she stared down at the true Rumpelstiltskin. “What do you need me to do?” she asked, voice hard as flint.
“Renounce your bond with the Dark One,” the Blue Fairy said. “Only then can the world be free from his evil.”
Belle stared at the Blue Fairy, wringing her hands in helpless distress. Or so it seemed. In truth, she was slipping the cold steel knife from her sleeve, the flat of the cool blade sliding along the tender inside of her wrist. She prayed she wouldn’t need to use her weapon, but backed into a corner as she was, she had little choice.
What was she supposed to do? She could not - would not - renounce the man she loved. She could lie, of course… and it would be clear when the bond didn’t break that she had. She could attack Gaston and the Blue Fairy, and be declared insane. She could do nothing, and doom their entire world to an unbreaking curse in a miserable land. Every path before her seemed to end in misery.
Why did this have to be so complicated? Rumpel had been so sure on the day they met that True Love’s Kiss would break the spell. But they’d kissed, and the spell hadn’t broken.
…Wait.
Belle thought back to the day Rumpelstiltskin had appeared in her bedchamber. It felt like a lifetime ago, despite only being weeks. He’d insisted that a kiss would break the spell. In fact, he’d said he’d seen it.
But it wasn’t Rumpelstiltskin she kissed. It was Gaston.
And she remembered the journey she took before meeting Rumpel. A journey she’d taken to reclaim the lost memories of her mother - a journey which ultimately ended in failure. Not only to retrieve her memories, but to save a friend. Anna of Arrendelle had truly given everything for her sister - even her life.
Twice.
The second time was Belle’s failure. But the first time? That was Anna’s triumph. A last-ditch effort to save her sister’s life from a power-hungry prince.
An act of True Love.
And suddenly, she knew what she had to do.
She looked at the Light One as if seeing something inside of him for the first time. “Gaston? That’s you, isn’t it?”
Gaston drew himself up indignantly. “Why would you - “
“Please don’t insult me by lying to me any further,” she interrupted.
The Blue Fairy chimed in, “Lady Belle, you must understand - “
Belle didn’t give her a chance to finish. She needed to keep them off-balance, lest they ask too many questions and expose her deceit. “What I understand is that you lied to me. How am I supposed to believe in your good intentions when you treat me like that?” she demanded.
The Blue Fairy flinched at that. “I never spoke a lie,” she insisted.
“No, but you implied plenty. And you let Gaston lie for you,” Belle pressed. The Blue Fairy’s eyes lowered - the closest she’d ever seen of humility for the tiny creature. Belle pressed her advantage. “I don’t want to see our world get cursed, either. But I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me. Take off the disguise and talk to me. I deserve that much.”
Gaston and Blue shared a long look. Eventually, Blue nodded and dispelled the glamour with a wave of her glittering wand. The disguise melted away, leaving Gaston standing in the Light One’s place. Gone was the golden armor and Rumpelstiltskin’s dear face. Gaston wore an ornate red doublet and black trousers.
“I… apologize if you felt deceived, Lady Belle,” the fairy said stiffly. “But you must understand - we couldn’t be sure you would see reason, what with your… infatuation with the Dark One.”
“I see.” She stared down at Rumpel in his black swan form. Was it just her imagination, or were his golden eyes silently pleading for help? “So… he’s still the Dark One. Is that right?”
The Blue Fairy’s voice was gentle. “Yes. No matter how good your intentions, I’m afraid your feelings weren’t enough to break the curse.”
“I suppose that’s what I get for listening to my heart instead of reason,” she sighed. “He even told me himself he couldn’t love me. I guess I just… wanted to be the one to save the world from a monster.”
She didn’t dare look at Rumpel as those bitter words came tumbling out of her mouth. She couldn’t stand to see hurt in his eyes, even in his avian form.
“Before I go on, I just ask one thing,” she continued. She turned to Gaston. “You came to Avonlea at the start of the Ogres War, and you’ve been at my father’s side through it all - even the loss of my mother. I’ve repaid your kindness poorly.”
Silently, she prayed to her mother for forgiveness for speaking so to the man who had inadvertently caused her death.
“Yes, you did,” Gaston agreed. “But I’m a forgiving man. I know you were simply hysterical with grief.”
Disgust rose in her gullet, threatening to choke her. She embraced the feeling. It was exactly what she needed in this moment.
“Still, I’d like to repay your generosity in kind. May I offer Avonlea’s hero a kiss?”
Blue and Gaston shared a smile. “Of course,” he said.
Belle approached her former intended and rose up on tiptoe. She noticed, with a flare of annoyance, that he made no move to lower his head at all. That wasn’t surprising; of course he’d rather watch her struggle than lower himself in any way.
As she leaned up to kiss him, Belle focused on every reason she had to hate Gaston. The way he condescended to her, when he deigned to speak to her at all. The way he’d been perfectly happy to take credit for her idea to drive off the ogres. His sadistic glee in hurting creatures smaller and weaker than him.
Most of all, she focused on the empty space where the memory of her mother’s death should be. Had the ogres not been antagonized, that day might never have happened.
She poured all of her hatred, her disgust, her frustration, and her grief into the kiss as her lips connected with Gaston’s.
Several things happened at once. Gaston wrapped an arm around Belle’s waist, pulling her closer. Belle sank her blade into Gaston’s hand, which loosened his grip enough on the potion to let her snatch it from his grasp. The scar on Belle’s palm burned. And a thrum of magic reverberated through Belle, spilling forth in a black, greasy cloud.
That cloud engulfed the black swan. It swelled, growing ominously taller, and disappeared. In its place was the true Rumplestiltskin - still the Dark One, though the black feathers at his shoulders were gone. As was the silver, scallop-edged collar at his throat. Instead, he held a kris dagger in his hand - same wavy edge, same black scrollwork spelling his name.
“Rheul Gorm,” he snarled through clenched, stained teeth.
“Dark One,” Blue said stiffly.
“You’ll have to try harder than that if you want to stop me.” He gestured to the bottle in Belle’s hand. “You should’ve just stuck with the squid ink, dearie. A blessing can be broken as easily as a curse. But squid ink? No magic can withstand that. Not even the most powerful curse.”
“A mistake I won’t make twice,” Blue retorted, raising her wand.
Thinking quickly, Belle hurled the bottle of squid ink at the fairy. She managed to catch it even in her diminutive size, the bottle nearly as big as her torso.
A flame appeared in Rumpelstiltskin’s hand. “No! Don’t let her get away with that ink!”
With a flash of triumph, the Blue Fairy disappeared, leaving only a sprinkling of pixie dust behind.
That, and Gaston. The larger man lunged at Rumpelstiltskin, reaching for the dagger in his hand.
The Dark One didn’t even spare him a glance. With a snap of the fingers and a puff of scarlet smoke, Gaston was turned into a snail.
“Finally, a bit of privacy,” he quipped.
Unwilling to wait another second, Belle rushed into Rumpel’s arms. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed in the scent of him: magic and man, in either measure.
Clawed, long-fingered hands curled around her waist, making to push her away. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled her closer, pressing his nose to her hair.
“Belle, I can’t,” he whispered brokenly. “The curse…”
“Needs to be cast. And broken. I know.” Resting her hands on his chest, she fidgeted with the leather lapels of his waistcoat. “That’s actually what made me realize I was being tricked. The only thing that would make you try to stop the curse would be your son coming back.”
His eyes lowered. “If only it were that easy,” he lamented, voice breaking.
I wish it was, too. I can’t say I like what you’re doing, but… I understand it.” She grimaced. “I might have ruined that by letting Blue get away with that squid ink.”
Rumpel giggled mischievously. “Oh no, my darling Belle, that’s exactly what I hoped for. She’s got it in her head that I don’t want her to use it - which is exactly why she’ll have Cinderella use it to imprison me. Exactly as I’d planned.”
Belle shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why is it so important that she use the ink?”
“It’s one piece of a very complicated puzzle I’ve been solving for centuries,” he admitted. “These last three pieces need to fall into place if I’m to help the Savior break the curse. I need Regina to offer me security so I have the power to help the Savior. I need to know the Savior’s name so hearing it will restore my memories. And that name, written in magic-nullifying ink, is what does the trick.”
“I see.” She took a moment to digest that information. “So you’ll have your memories back before anyone else. Before me.”
“Aye.”
“Can I ask a favor, then?”
“For you? Anything,” he said fervently.
Belle didn’t take those words lightly coming from Rumpelstiltskin. Not the consummate dealmaker, who worded everything so that he would get the better end of any bargain. When he said he would do anything, he meant anything - with the trust that anything she asked for was something he could give.
What she was going to ask him would be hard - far harder for him than for her. But she needed to ask.
“Find me before the curse breaks?” she asked softly.
He blinked in surprise. “Before the curse breaks? Not before it’s cast?”
“I know better than to get in the way of your plans,” she said. “Someday, Rumpel, I hope I’ll come first in your life. But I know that’s a long way off. Twenty-eight years off.” She swallowed against the aching lump in her throat. “But this curse scares me. I know it’ll break eventually, but… the idea of every good thing in me being perverted and corrupted… losing myself in that way… it terrifies me. I’d feel better knowing there’s someone there to remember me how I was. Who can help me find my way back.”
“Oh, sweetheart…”
Rumpel’s face lowered to hers. For a breathless moment, she thought he might kiss her again, curse be damned. Instead, he pressed his forehead to hers, nuzzling their noses together.
“I was going to do that anyway,” he admitted. His breath ghosted over her lips. She parted them in invitation, knowing he wouldn’t take it. “These past three days were torture. The coming weeks will be even worse. When my memory returns twenty-eight years from now, nothing will stop me from finding you. I’ll tear down the entire magicless world if I must.”
Belle’s fingers fisted in his lapels. She could ask him to stay with her. She could beg him. His eyes were twin golden storms of barely restrained longing. If she worded it prettily enough, she could convince him to stay with her - to come up with some other way to break the curse.
But that wouldn’t be fair to either of them.
“This isn’t goodbye,” she said firmly. “I will see you again. You’ll find me, and you’ll help me find myself.”
“Of the two of us, my l - my darling Belle, you’re not the one in danger of losing their way,” he said. He trailed one scaled thumb over her lips, his eyes gazing down at her yearningly. “When my memory returns, I’ll find you. I promise.”
And then, without his usual theatrical smoke, he was gone.
Alone in her father’s solar, with only a snail for company, Belle allowed herself the luxury of tears. Tears grieving the past, fearing the future, and longing for the True Love that would be hers one day - but not yet. She’d earned them.
Drying her cheeks, she raised her head high and left the room. She wouldn’t waste her time wallowing in her emotions; a curse was coming, and there were things that needed doing. She needed to find some sort of explanation for her father; she doubted he’d take kindly to the fact that his daughter was in love with the Dark One. More importantly, she needed to return to her research. In a few weeks’ time, they would be transported against their will to a world without magic, leaving everything behind but their bodies, minds, and hearts. She would spend these weeks making sure to pack in every morsel of knowledge she could - anything that might be useful when the curse broke.
And if she happened to come across a way to return Gaston to his normal self… she might do it.
Maybe.
Notes:
Just a quick epilogue to go!
Chapter Text
When my memory returns, I’ll find you. I promise.
Thwap!
Lacey Odile French awoke with an undignified snort. Lifting her head off her desk, she batted a loose sheet of paper that was glued to her face with a mix of lipstick and drool.
“What? Who…?” She blinked her bleary eyes into focus. Sidney Glass loomed over her like the stalker he was, lips pursed and one eyebrow raised. His arms were folded over his chest. The morning’s edition of The Mirror was in one hand. “Siddy-Bear. I take it you read my latest review?” she asked. She leaned back in her chair, resting her stilettoed feet on the desk. The move put the shortness of her skirt and the long, lean lines of her legs on full display. It was a move that distracted most guys.
Not Sidney, though. The weirdo only had eyes for the Mayor. He followed her around like a lost puppy, as if he weren’t a shrewd man in his fifties. It’d be cute if it weren’t so pathetic.
“A scathing vivisection of the author’s psyche, as usual,” he praised. Too bad for him, Lacey took any praise he offered as an insult. “I particularly enjoyed the part where you said… oh, what was it…” Sidney flipped to Lacey’s review article on page eight. “Here it is: ‘perhaps if the author spent more time developing a real personality, she could impart some modicum of it onto her characters. Instead, she gives them a series of quirks that fall flat of endearing, and spends pages trying to convince the audience that they’re character flaws.’”
“I call ‘em how I see ‘em,” Lacey retorted. “And for the record, I totally went easy on her.” She snatched the paper from Sidney’s hand. It didn’t take her long to find the excerpt she was looking for. “Here, see? ‘The author’s grasp of grammar and syntax were acceptable. I just wish they’d been used to create a story worth reading.’ See? Compliment.”
He chuckled. “For you? That was practically a glowing testimonial. Anyway, I just came to tell you it’s eight o’clock. Long past quitting time. Though it doesn’t seem like I interrupted anything important.”
Lacey snorted. “My beauty sleep is very important, I’ll have you know. How else can I stay up ‘til last call at the Rabbit Hole and still make it to work on time?” Standing, she picked up her purse and slid the strap onto her shoulder. Work already took forty hours a week from her; she’d be damned if they got a single extra second.
“Hm. True enough.” A sly look passed over his face, and Lacey knew he was about to bring up his real reason for bothering her. “You know, I remember the day you came to work for The Mirror. You put in for the book critic position because you loved reading. What happened?”
She shrugged. “Nothing happened. I still love reading - good books. As soon as I find one, I’ll let you know.”
Sidney dusted an imaginary bit of lint off his navy blue jacket. “I heard you’ve been working on a book of your own. You’ve sent your manuscript to, oh, how many is it? A dozen publishers? More?”
Lacey’s face burned. She didn’t bother asking how he knew about her miserable failure of a book. She might not have told anybody in Storybrooke about it, but that didn’t really matter. Sidney Glass had a way of looking past the face you put on for the world and finding everything you wanted to hide.
“What about it?” she asked, aiming her voice for casual and just about managing it.
“Oh, nothing. I’m just reminded of the saying. ‘Those who can, do - ‘“
“‘Those who can’t, teach.’ I know it,” she interrupted.
“‘And those who can neither do nor teach, criticize,’” he finished.
Lacey’s face went hot with anger and humiliation. She did her best to school her expression to blankness. But the quirk of Glass’s eyebrow told her all she needed to know. He knew his barb hit its mark.
“Well, Siddy, it’s been fun, as always. But there’s a barstool with my name on it. Can’t be late.” She walked by him, heading for the door.
“Isn’t your next review due in the morning?” he called after her.
She looked over her shoulder without breaking her pace. “Yup. And the only way I’m going to get through the so-called climax of this book is with help from my good friend Johnny Walker.”
And with that, she opened the front door and slipped out. She needed to change into something a bit more fun than her work blazer before hitting the bar.
The walk from work to home was quick. One of the perks of the job. She kept a bottle of whiskey under her desk, which got replaced at least once a week. Unlike Leroy, the town drunk, she didn’t fancy a night in Sheriff Graham’s slammer for public drunkenness or worse, drunk driving.
Anyway. The walk was short - past the shitty diner, hang a left at the derelict library, and she was there. By habit, she glanced up at the clock tower. Almost eight thirty. Her usual seat at the Rabbit Hole was probably taken by now.
Huh. Weird. Since when did that busted old clock work, anyway?
She dismissed the thought with a shake of her head. What did she care about some ugly old clock over an eyesore of a library anyway? The building had been a waste of space even before it closed down. The average person in Storybrooke lacked both the brains and attention span to get through the Sunday funnies, never mind a novel.
When she got back to her apartment, she let herself in and locked the door behind her. On a normal night, she’d shower, nuke up a frozen meal for one, and head out to the Rabbit Hole for a night of booze, pool, and music.
But as she passed her kitchen table, her her laptop caught her eye for some reason. Honestly, it was a miracle she noticed it at all, covered as it was in layer upon layer of overdue bills and dust.
Unearthing the computer started an avalanche of envelopes - some opened, some ignored. Dusting off the flat surface, Lacey booted up the laptop and opened her manuscript document.
She stared at the document without reading a word. She didn’t need to; she’d been working on this book since she could remember. But no matter how many publishers she reached out to, she got nothing but rejection.
She didn’t understand what the problem was! The grammar, syntax, and spelling were perfect from a technical standpoint. The characters were mature, their struggles realistic. There were no flowery speeches, no grand gestures, no unearned endings that conveniently wrapped up loose ends and ended the story before everything would inevitably go to shit. Unlike the crap she had to read day in and day out, this was real. Life wasn’t a fairy tale. There was no such thing as magic or happily ever after.
So what did these naive, idiot so-called authors have that she didn’t?
The cursor blinked at her, mocking her for every second she kept her manuscript opened but untouched. With a snarl, she slammed the laptop shut. Crossing the room to her fridge, she snagged a beer, cracked it open, and took a long swig. It was only when she got a mouthful of foam that she realized she’d chugged the whole damn thing.
She sighed. Fuck it - she wasn’t in the mood to go out anymore. She grabbed a second beer.
Before she could pop the top off, there was a knock at the door.
She set the bottle down harder than she should have. Her heels clacked loudly on the hardwood floor as she stomped toward the door. “Keith, I’m really not in the mood for two minutes of staring up at my ceiling tiles.” She wrenched the door open. “So unless you - oh! Mr. Gold.”
“Miss French,” he said with a polite nod. He stood in her hallway, immaculately and colorlessly dressed as always: black suit, black tie, black and white checkered shirt. A wardrobe just about as interesting as the man himself.
His enormous goon, Dove, wasn’t lurking behind him for once. That was a good sign. Still, she needed to cover her bases.
“Rent’s not due for a week and a half. Stalk me all you want, but you’re not getting it early.” She pushed the door shut, ready to slam it in his face.
His cane shot forward, wedging itself in the doorway. “I’m not here for the rent. All I ask is a moment of your time.”
She opened the door just wide enough to glare at him. “My lease specifically states that surprise inspections are off-limits. You need to give at least 48 hours’ notice.”
His eyes crinkled and his lips twitched. “You always did know your way around a deal,” he murmured.
Lacey frowned. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
He spread his arms, as if pantomiming that he was unarmed. The movement brought her attention to something tucked under the arm not holding his cane. A book?
“Simply that you’re my only tenant who took the time to read their lease before signing,” he said placatingly. “Regardless - I’m not here as a landlord. I simply want to talk. May I come in?”
Lacey looked him up and down, trying to buy for time. Honestly? She didn’t want to invite him in. Not because she was afraid of him; unlike the rest of the town, she didn’t see her landlord as some sort of monster lurking in the shadows.
No, what Mr. Gold was was far worse. He was boring. Always dressed in those stuffy suits of his, never talking to anyone unless it was to collect the rent. He had the entire town in the palm of his hand, and did he do anything fun with it? No - he just lurked in that dusty old shop of his.
Peering closer into his eyes, she saw something there that hadn’t been there yesterday: a sly, mischievous glint. His lips, normally downturned in a dour scowl, were curled up in something resembling a smirk.
Intrigued, she stepped aside. “Be my guest.”
He stepped inside. While she closed the door behind him, he looked left to right, surveying the place. Probably looking for any hint of damage. Anything that would let him hold onto her security deposit should she ever move out.
His gaze settled on the small terrarium in the corner. “I believe the lease said no pets, Miss French.”
She snorted. “Who, Gary?” she asked, indicating the fat, fist-sized snail in the tank. “He’s not a pet. He’s an interactive art exhibit.”
“It’s a living creature in your apartment,” he argued.
“So’s the moldy leftovers in my fridge. Are you gonna count that as a pet, too?” she shot back.
“I probably should.” Holy crap, he was smiling. Smiling! At her! She wasn’t sure whether to call Sidney Glass to cover the breaking news story, or Dr. Whale to check him for head injuries. He peered at her, eyes narrowed, as if looking for something. He sighed, clearly not finding it. “But I didn’t come here to argue about your lease.”
“Why did you come?” she asked bluntly. She didn’t really care if she was being rude. She wanted Gold gone. Something about him - the way he carried himself, the way he looked at her - made her uncomfortable.
“You’re the resident book reviewer,” he said, stating the obvious. “I came to recommend you a book.”
Oh, god, that was just what she needed: some jerk telling her what to read and how to feel about it. Hard pass. Striding to the kitchen counter, she popped that second beer and took a swig.
“I’m not a DJ, Mr. Gold. I don’t take requests.” She hesitated. Taking a closer look at him - the cut of his suit, the fine craftsmanship of his cane, and the ring on his finger with the fat gemstone - she reconsidered. “Not for free, anyway.”
“I’m not here to make a deal, Miss French. And a review would be wasted on this particular book.” Taking the book out from under his arm, he held it down at his hip. “I offer you this book purely for enjoyment.”
Lacey snorted. She couldn’t remember the last time she read for fun. Even if she could find a halfway decent book in this shitty town - doubtful - constantly churning out reviews for mediocre novels had burned her out on it.
She eyed the book in Mr. Gold’s hand curiously. It was bound in forest green leather and liberally gilded. It was old, obviously; the edges of the cover were worn, and there was a gentle indent along the pages, as if a single reader had turned the pages in the exact same spot hundreds of times.
Infuriatingly, Mr. Gold held the front cover against his trouser leg, hiding the title from sight.
“If the book’s so great, why don’t you want a review?” she asked suspiciously. It wasn’t like him to offer something for nothing. There had to be a catch.
He grinned. “Because I have it on good authority that this is the only surviving copy. And I have no intention of loaning it out to anyone else.”
“Then why loan it out at all? And why me?” she pressed.
“Why not loan it out? And why not you?” he asked in answer. His smile took on a sly, secretive glint. “Perhaps I think you’ll find it… rather enlightening.”
She bristled at that. The way he was talking to her, like he knew some secret punchline that he dangled just out of her reach, pissed her off. She should take the damn book and feed it to Gary.
But even at her worst, she’d never do that to a book. Even the crap she was forced to read day in, day out. It wasn’t the book’s fault it’s author was crap any more than it was her fault her dad was a mess.
“Fine. Show me this oh-so-special book of yours,” she bit out. He handed it over with a flourish. When she got a look at the cover, she burst out laughing. “Her Handsome Hero? You got me all hyped up for some stupid bodice-ripper?”
“I assure you, all bodices make it to the end of the book unripped,” he said drily.
“Yeah, I bet. Seems like a real hoot,” she said. She tossed the book onto the couch. It bounced once and landed, open-side down. The spine creaked ominously.
She glanced at Gold to gauge his reaction. Oddly enough, he seemed… unbothered. Lacey had figured a guy so obsessed with antiques would flinch at seeing a one-of-a-kind item so mistreated. If anything, he seemed strangely… satisfied.
So - not worth any money, then. Not that she had anyone else to sell it to.
“I look forward to hearing your thoughts, Miss French. Perhaps you could share them when I collect the rent.”
“Sure, whatever.”
Once Gold was gone, Lacey finished her beer. Pulling a third from the fridge, she flipped down on the couch and turned on the TV. She pointedly ignored the book resting on its open pages.
Or at least, she tried. But something about the book was just… unnerving. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and no matter how hard she tried not to look at it, there it was, lurking in the corner of her vision.
After about ten minutes, she gave up on the TV. She picked up the book, determined to smooth its pages, close it, and tuck it away someplace out of sight.
As she lifted it, a black feather fluttered out onto her lap. She picked it up and examined it closely.
“That’s a big-ass feather,” she muttered to herself. It was as black as a crow’s or a raven’s, but far too big for either. What other big, black birds were out there?
The last owner must’ve used the feather as a bookmark. Not very practical, but much more romantic than the crumpled up grocery receipts she used.
Curiosity piqued, she opened the front cover. On the inside was a note:
Belle,
By the time you read this, I will be out of reach. Where I go, I go with no regrets, save one: I wish I could have been the man you deserved from the start.
Dark times await us both, but I swear to you: I will keep my promise. When you’ve forgotten who you are, I will be there to remind you.
I look to the day when you come back to me, and I to you.
-R
Lacey was shocked to find a single tear falling down her cheek. When was the last time words had inspired anything in her other than disgust? She genuinely couldn’t remember.
Whoever this Belle and her lover were, one of them had clearly loved this book. With a recommendation like that… well, she could give the first chapter a shot. And if she didn’t like it, she could rub Mr. Gold’s face in it on rent day.
“Alright, book, you’ve got your work cut out for you. You’d better be worth it,” she muttered.
She flipped the page, her thumb resting in the indentation feeling like home.
Notes:
If the Her Handsome Hero thing seems tacked on at the last minute, that's because it 100% was.
Any guesses which Pixar character I loosely based Lacey off of?
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