Once Upon a Time Fic: Far Beneath the Bitter Snow -- Ch. 1
Far Beneath the Bitter Snow
Summary: What if Belle had refused to leave Rumpel’s castle, knowing she’d be rejected at home?
Link to previous chapter: Prologue
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Chapter 1:
Belle was certain by the silence in the castle that Rumpelstiltskin had left immediately after their conversation; she wondered if he’d even taken the time to stop by his room in the west wing to pack a bag. It didn’t matter, she decided with a determined sigh. She’d stood up for herself and earned the right to stay in his home, and whether he ever came back or not, she would forever have a place to live.
Then it hit her -- he might not come back at all. She stopped and looked around at the vast house, wondering what a lifetime alone would be like there. From its marble entrance to its intricately carved wainscoting and three-story-high ceiling, it seemed so dark and dismal and…empty. But maybe she could brighten it up some. She would make it feel like home.
Having been all over the castle during the previous months as a domestic, Belle knew just exactly which room she’d choose. Stopping by the linen closet for some fresh sheets, she went into the bedroom at the furthest end of the east wing that had the most windows. She adored the natural light in the room, with its tall windows and high ceiling. And the whites and yellows on the bedding, canopy, curtains, and walls made it feel cheery, even in this dreary castle owned by this miserable man.
She tried not to think of him, but couldn’t stop her mind from wandering about just why he liked his curse so much, while she tucked the sheets around the mattress. She thought he’d be thrilled with the idea of becoming a man again, of finding love with her, and being free. Instead, he’d held on to his curse like a child afraid to give up his most special toy. Well, so be it, she conceded as she tossed a pillow onto the finished bed.
Hungry from her time of punishment in the dungeon, Belle decided the next order of business would to see about something to eat. Since it was clear the master of the house wasn’t planning on being back for some time, if at all, Belle would only have to worry about cooking enough for one.
At first, it was lonely, making her plate and eating every meal in the kitchen in silence, having nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. But she wouldn’t allow herself to mourn for long, making sure to get up and keep busy so that her heart didn’t become so idle that she would feel the hurt. It would creep up so easily if she wasn’t careful.
Cooking and baking was normally one of her favorite pastimes, so she made herself try new recipes from the various cookbooks she’d found, perhaps foolishly hoping she’d have a chance to make them again for Rumpelstiltskin someday. She even perfected her bread recipe over time and learned how to can fruits and vegetables from the garden for use during the winter.
Occasionally, she would travel to town for supplies, taking herbs, flowers, and produce from the garden to trade for other provisions, just for interaction with other people. After her last experience, though, she took cover in the woods whenever a carriage would pass, just in case the queen was on the road. She didn’t want to ever see her again nor even talk to her for what she’d done, turning Rumpelstiltskin against her. She’d at last had a glimpse of what it was like to be in love until the queen had interfered. She didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of having an opportunity like that again, for his sake and hers.
Back at home, cleaning became her favorite thing to do. With the house empty, she felt more free to go wherever she felt her services were needed, oftentimes getting lost in large rooms like the library for days. She’d clean for several hours and then rest, rewarding herself with reading one of the numerous books he had collected. She’d spend a lot of time outside tending the vast garden as well, mostly for some sunshine and fresh air, sometimes taking a book out there to read while sitting in the plush grass by the pond if she just needed a break. Life in her castle wasn’t all that bad…but it was lonely.
The dining room where Rumpelstiltskin liked to spin his straw into gold was a mess the first time she came into it. She imagined she was the cause of whatever rage had gone through him once he’d locked her in her cell, and it saddened her. Her kiss and the love they shared in that room meant nothing now. At first, she’d found the pain in the memories unbearable; she’d left and closed the doors behind her, unable to return to it for several days.
When she finally determined the dining hall must be cleaned, she steeled her resolve and returned to the room. For a time, she just walked around and studied the mess of glass and wood and china. The beautifully-crafted cabinet doors had been destroyed. All of the dishes in his tea set were in tiny pieces against the wall. Then she recalled staring at that chipped cup and the matching teapot in her cell moments before he’d freed her. Were they the only pieces he’d spared? It seemed odd. She would’ve guessed that cup would have been the first victim of his fury, since she had been the one to chip it; surely it was a reminder of her, and he’d want it out of his sight. But the teacup was still intact and still in her cell when she went looking for it.
Holding the chipped cup in her hand, she replayed how he’d brought her that tea that morning. Having a difficult night’s sleep on the cold stone bed, Belle was awake when the door unlocked before dawn, and he came in with the tea. She’d sat up straight, awaiting punishment, but without saying a word or meeting her eyes, he simply set the tray on the ground, and then turned to walk out, closing and locking the door. It was at this moment that Belle realized he truly did care about her; otherwise, if he’d just wanted to get rid of her, he would not have had any concern for her well-being enough to bring her a morning refreshment.
She also realized that his temper tantrum might’ve taken place that morning, which would explain how the cup had been spared, although that didn’t seem to fit his mood at the time. When he’d thrown her in the dungeon the night before, he’d been livid. She’d feared that he was going to break something and could only hope it wouldn’t be her. That seemed like the more likely occasion for such a fit of rage as evidenced by the mess upstairs.
Suddenly, the cup seemed special. It was as if it was the only thing that brought his heart closer to hers. Whether he admitted it or not, she’d managed to break through some of that wall he’d built around his heart over years of pain and heartache…and it had all started with a chip. Perhaps there was hope that she could someday chisel away at his hardened heart again.
But first, she had to prove herself capable of ignoring her feelings and holding to her end of the bargain in order to regain his trust. That meant that she would have to do everything expected of her and keep her distance. That, she decided, was a test she would not fail.
Back upstairs, Belle washed the cup and its matching teapot and put the set on the shelves in the dining hall with the others. Then, with her hands on her hips, she turned her attention to the cabinet built into the wall, assessing a way to clean it up.
The doors were beyond repair and would have to be entirely rebuilt and replaced. She took care of sweeping up the glass first and then found a tool to take the doors off of their hinges to be discarded. It was not an easy task, trying to juggle the cumbersome wood frames while standing on that tall ladder, but somehow she managed, and when the room was clean again, back to the way it was before, she knew it had been worth it.
It became a routine to clean the common areas of the castle three days a week, focusing on the bedrooms the other days, cleaning and dusting every little trinket and window and corner. She just skimmed over rooms like the one where he concocted his potions in the west tower, making sure not to touch or move any of the bottles or jars. Having been part of her duties before, she would hurry through cleaning Rumpelstiltskin’s room, feeling a bit like an intruder whenever she was in there. He’d warned her early on to stay out of the room next door to his, and she had done as promised…until she chased some dust under the door with a broom one day and felt she had to clean it or later face the consequences of making a mess.
She gasped when she opened the door to find that it wasn’t even big enough to be considered a closet. Merely six inches deep, it held only a dagger, mounted on the wall, blade-side down. Red-faced and ashamed that she’d unearthed a secret of which he probably wouldn’t want her to know, Belle hurriedly swept the dust back out. But she still glanced at the knife one more time as she closed the door. Something on the blade caught her eye and made her curious enough to peer closer. It was etched lettering, spelling out…a name. It read, “Rumpelstilt--”
“I told you to stay out of there!” the imp’s harsh voice yelled from behind her, causing Belle to jump and drop the broom. She hadn’t even heard any footsteps, as if he appeared just as magically as that day they’d met in her father’s castle.
“I-I-I’m sorry,” she declared in a frightened squeak, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I-I was just cleaning and-and--”
Rumpelstiltskin shut the door and stood in front of it, glaring at her in fury. “You just can’t stay out of my business, can you?”
She was still shocked at finding that she was no longer alone in the house. How long had he been home? “No, no, I wasn’t doing anything--”
“For this, you must be punished--”
She panicked. Had he been home and watching her the whole time, just waiting for her to screw up and pounce? He grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the stairs. “No, please, no, not the dungeon again,” she begged. “I know I did wrong, and I’m sorry. I won’t touch anything of yours again.” His uncompromising silence frustrated her. He was practically carrying her down each step, which was often by the way he yanked and pulled her at her arm to lead her, causing her to stumble. He opened the door to the basement. “Where did you go?” she tried, hoping that making conversation would draw some compassion out of him. “Have you been home long? Did you just get back? The castle was quiet without you here.”
“Don’t try any of your tricks,” he seethed, lugging her down the narrow stairs toward the dungeon and making her steps falter behind him again.
“I’m not, I promise,” she pleaded, managing to regain her footing. “It’s just been so lonely here by myself, that’s all. I’m not used to being alone for so long.” She’d lost track of how long it had been, but she was sure it was closer to a month than the two weeks he’d predicted. “Do you always travel for such a long time?”
“No,” she was sure she heard him say, though he wouldn’t repeat his answer when she asked. Since acquiring the castle through one of his bargains, he’d found it so comforting, he’d rarely leave, only for short periods of time to meet with those in need of his services. With her staying in his home, though, he’d merely left so that he wouldn’t be near her, tempted and vulnerable. He’d come so close to losing his powers he’d worked so hard to keep -- too close, in fact. Now that he knew how easily he could lose them, he wouldn’t let himself be tricked again. Because of the deal he’d made, he would just have to keep Belle as promised, make her continue on as a servant and keep a distance between them. He could live with her that way, as long as she obeyed his rules and suffered the consequences when she didn’t.
This punishment in mind for her trespassing, he pushed her into her cell when they reached it, but this time, she kept her footing and didn’t fall. She spun around, stared into his face, and innocently asked, “Are you going to leave like that again?”
He closed and locked the door without a reply, regretting the day he’d made that deal with her father and his village. He’d thought that having a servant girl -- and a beautiful one at that -- would be entertaining and fun; he’d had no idea how much of a problem she would turn out to be. It figured; though he supposed it had just been too long since he’d had a woman to contend with, he’d forgotten how much trouble they could be. The bargain no longer seemed as one-sided as it did in the beginning. She was turning out to be more trouble than she was worth.
Storming away with the keys, he hurried back up to the comfort of his spinning wheel, hoping its powers of forgetfulness would work on him again. He didn’t want to remember the pain he’d felt in his heart when he saw the expression on her face as he’d closed the dungeon door between them. At times it was like she was a child, so innocent and eager to please; and others, she was a woman so beautiful and sure of herself and far too good for the likes of someone like him. Neither expression was what he needed to remember now that she’d betrayed him yet again.
Recalling his tantrum a month ago as he ascended the stairs, he resigned himself to clean up the mess in the dining hall before he began to spin. Opening the doors with a flick of his wrist, he walked into the room and stopped suddenly, surprised to notice that the broken doors on the cabinet on the opposite wall were missing. There was a glowing fire in the fireplace. His mouth open slightly in shock, Rumpelstiltskin made his way around the room, noting all that Belle had done in his absence. All the broken glass had been swept up. The mirror had been covered again with its drape. What was left of his tea set was clean and placed on one of the shelves. Purple wildflowers were in the gold vase on the table; he wondered if she picked fresh ones every day and kept the fire going to warm the room in anticipation of his arrival. Even his spinning wheel had ample amount of straw sitting beside it in its basket. She’d obviously gone to town. For him.
Rumpelstiltskin slowly made his way back out of the room. Why had she done so much for him? Why did she care, even when he’d purposely withheld mercy? Now the fact that he’d caught her upon his arrival home with his powerful knife didn’t seem like that big of an offense. After all, it wasn’t likely that she knew what the dagger was or stood for, so why had he overreacted? He would just have to find a better hiding place for the knife, and that would solve the problem, should she ever learn what power it held.
Belle heard the key in the lock and wondered why Rumpelstiltskin was coming back so soon. She stood up and almost fearfully stood to face him. But no, she wouldn’t allow herself to be afraid of this man. Instead, she felt sorry for him.
Once the door was open, Rumpelstiltskin stood back and held it, gesturing for her to come out, without meeting her eyes. “You may go to your room,” he spoke quietly, emotionlessly.
“But… My room? I thought I --”
“You’re never to go into the west wing again. Understood?”
“Yes,” she nodded, still confused that she was no longer being punished. She wasn’t going to argue, however, as she came to stand in front of him. “Not even to clean?”
“It won’t be necessary. I’ll clean my own room. The others will be closed up.”
She nodded in understanding and stared at a button on his leather vest. “I truly am sorry if I violated your privacy. I promise to do what it is you ask of me from now on, no matter what.”
He dropped his chin to his chest in acknowledgment.
Belle started for the stairs but stopped. “Dinner?”
“I’m not hungry,” he declared. “You go on and fix something for yourself. I’m going to spin. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” she blinked up at him, surprised at the pleasantry. Her head bowed, she made her way back up the stairs.
Her stomach was too tied in knots to consider eating anything, so she just continued on up to the third level and readied for bed. But she wasn’t tired, and no matter how tightly she squeezed shut her eyes, she couldn’t stop from picturing his face, so humbled and kind when he wanted to be. And when he was angry, he was frightening. It amazed her that he was the same man in both instances at times.
He’s not, her inner self argued. He’s cursed. She’d learned that firsthand, watching the curse melt away from his face and hands after she’d kissed him. Oh, if only he’d let it happen. She wanted him to be free from it, free to be in love with her the way she was with him. He was convinced that her love was merely a ruse to take away his power, but he couldn’t be further from the truth. Until he started yelling at the mirror (really, to the queen, she’d learned), she had no idea that the queen’s advice to cure him had been selfish on her part. It appeared that she and Rumpelstiltskin had been immersed in this battle for power for some time, and that wicked woman had seen her only as a tool and not the friend she’d pretended to be. It made Belle hate that queen that much more, though Rumpelstiltskin’s despise for her was obviously enough on its own.
She’d been in bed several hours when her stomach rumbled with hunger, and she knew she wouldn’t get to sleep at all unless she settled it first. With a sigh, Belle got up and put on her robe, heading to the kitchen for a snack.
Taking a loaf of bread she’d baked that morning, Belle cut a slice and put it on a plate, slathering it with butter. It made her think of her father and how much he loved her homemade bread and butter. If only she had some jam too, she thought, wondering if there were enough blackberries in that patch of woods behind the castle that she’d found to make some jars of--
“Raiding the pantry, I see,” Rumpelstiltskin said, making her jump yet again, this time, managing to hold onto her plate instead of dropping it onto the floor, where it would surely break into pieces.
She turned to find him behind her in the doorway. “Oh,” she thought to say, “I thought it would be all right, since you said I could help myself to anything in the kitchen.”
“Yes, it’s fine,” he replied casually, sauntering into the room to toy with the fruit sitting in a bowl in the middle of the wooden island table. “I was getting a little hungry myself.”
“I could make you something,” she offered, setting her plate down to be at the ready.
“No, no,” he waved her off. “Don’t go to any trouble. I’ll just have…” he eyeballed her bread and butter, “whatever you’re having.”
“Oh, of course,” she nodded, moving to cut another slice of bread and butter it for him, putting it on a fresh plate.
He took the opportunity to observe her while she was turned away. Dressed in a nightgown and robe, stockings on her otherwise bare feet, and her hair pinned in some sort of haphazard bun at the apex of her skull, a few wayward curls falling stubbornly from its knot… She was a perfect picture of messy and beautiful at the same time. If there were only a word for such combined traits, he thought, just as she turned and passed him a plate with the buttered bread.
Belle watched as he held the plate and studied it, laughing quietly when he didn’t move to take a bite. “Well?” she prodded, gesturing for him to lift it to his lips and try it.
He did lift the plate, but only to bring it closer to sniff it. “You made this?”
She nodded. “I bought the milk to make the butter from a merchant in town.”
He furrowed his brow, squeezing the piece on his plate as if to test its sponginess. “I’ve never known bread and butter to be so…fluffy.”
Belle giggled at the sound of such a silly word coming from his lips. “You’ll have to tell me what you think of how it tastes.”
With that, he took a bite, took his time chewing it, and swallowed. All the while she waited with bated breath. “Delicious,” he decided. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“My mother,” she declared. “Before she died, she loved to cook and taught me all the basics. It wasn’t until recent years that my father was elevated to his position as our village’s leader, and until then we couldn’t afford a cook. As the eldest girl, I was responsible for the meals for my family from the time my mother died when I was ten until just five years ago.”
Rumpelstiltskin just stared at her while she spoke, not even taking another bite of his bread.
She shook her head, not wanting to talk of the loss of her family. “Anyway, the bread recipe was my mother’s. I’ve changed it a bit over the years to suit my tastes. Mother always liked hers sweet, while I like for it to have a more nutty, full-bodied taste.”
“Yes, I agree. It is quite good.”
He still had yet to take his gaze off of her as he leaned casually on the doorjamb, and Belle was beginning to feel a bit self-conscious. She stuffed what was left of her piece into her mouth and turned to set the plate in the basin of soapy water. It had been hours since she last did dishes -- more than half the day actually -- so the water was cold. And in the chilly castle, it was just freezing enough to make her flinch and jerk her hands back with a yelp.
Rumpelstiltskin assumed she’d just seen a mouse, but was only alarmed enough to pull away from the doorframe. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing. The water’s just cold.”
“We could heat some in the kettle,” he offered, pointing with one finger behind her at the stove.
“No need,” she smiled. “It’s just a couple of plates. I’ll be fine.”
She washed her plate and took his to do the same when she held her hand out for it. Rumpelstiltskin watched her curiously the whole time, until she was done and had dried her hands on a towel. Then she faced him, wiping her palms on her robe, biting her lip. “Well, uh…I’ll just…I’ll see you in the morning, I guess. You will be here, right?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll be here,” he nodded, still mesmerized a bit by her.
“I’ll have breakfast ready for you, then,” she half-smiled, picking up the candlestick she’d brought with her and stepping around him to go through the door. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he quietly replied. “Oh, Belle,” he spoke so softly that she nearly missed it and kept walking.
But she stopped outside the door and met his gaze. “Yes?”
“Thank you…for cleaning the mess in the dining hall. I should have attended to that before I left.”
She genuinely smiled, her eyes twinkling. “You’re welcome.”
“And for the straw.”
She bobbed her head once. “Of course.”
“And, however did you manage to take down the cabinet doors by yourself?”
She smiled so suddenly, she nearly laughed. “My mother would call me tenacious. My father would say, ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way, I suppose. That’s just our Belle.’”
Rumpelstiltskin understood that reasoning, since he, too, found himself surprised by what she could withstand, both physically and emotionally. She never seemed to be truly afraid of him the way others always were; instead, asking him questions and delving into his psyche, trying to draw him out. Why did she do that? He didn’t know, only having to accept that she was just that way, “just Belle.”
He was lost in his own thoughts for too long to make either of them feel comfortable, and when he realized this, he managed to mumble a “yes” and another “goodnight,” allowing her to go. And when she did, it wasn’t without him stepping into the hall and watching her figure sashay into the dark, silhouetted only by the light of her candle. She was amazing in a way he’d never known. She was as hardworking as any man he’d ever met, as enchanting as a harvest moon, and as beautiful as a sunrise on a clear day. Perhaps he hadn’t been so unwise to barter for her after all.
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All comments welcomed! Please tell me what you think of this story! :)
Summary: What if Belle had refused to leave Rumpel’s castle, knowing she’d be rejected at home?
Link to previous chapter: Prologue
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Chapter 1:
Belle was certain by the silence in the castle that Rumpelstiltskin had left immediately after their conversation; she wondered if he’d even taken the time to stop by his room in the west wing to pack a bag. It didn’t matter, she decided with a determined sigh. She’d stood up for herself and earned the right to stay in his home, and whether he ever came back or not, she would forever have a place to live.
Then it hit her -- he might not come back at all. She stopped and looked around at the vast house, wondering what a lifetime alone would be like there. From its marble entrance to its intricately carved wainscoting and three-story-high ceiling, it seemed so dark and dismal and…empty. But maybe she could brighten it up some. She would make it feel like home.
Having been all over the castle during the previous months as a domestic, Belle knew just exactly which room she’d choose. Stopping by the linen closet for some fresh sheets, she went into the bedroom at the furthest end of the east wing that had the most windows. She adored the natural light in the room, with its tall windows and high ceiling. And the whites and yellows on the bedding, canopy, curtains, and walls made it feel cheery, even in this dreary castle owned by this miserable man.
She tried not to think of him, but couldn’t stop her mind from wandering about just why he liked his curse so much, while she tucked the sheets around the mattress. She thought he’d be thrilled with the idea of becoming a man again, of finding love with her, and being free. Instead, he’d held on to his curse like a child afraid to give up his most special toy. Well, so be it, she conceded as she tossed a pillow onto the finished bed.
Hungry from her time of punishment in the dungeon, Belle decided the next order of business would to see about something to eat. Since it was clear the master of the house wasn’t planning on being back for some time, if at all, Belle would only have to worry about cooking enough for one.
At first, it was lonely, making her plate and eating every meal in the kitchen in silence, having nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. But she wouldn’t allow herself to mourn for long, making sure to get up and keep busy so that her heart didn’t become so idle that she would feel the hurt. It would creep up so easily if she wasn’t careful.
Cooking and baking was normally one of her favorite pastimes, so she made herself try new recipes from the various cookbooks she’d found, perhaps foolishly hoping she’d have a chance to make them again for Rumpelstiltskin someday. She even perfected her bread recipe over time and learned how to can fruits and vegetables from the garden for use during the winter.
Occasionally, she would travel to town for supplies, taking herbs, flowers, and produce from the garden to trade for other provisions, just for interaction with other people. After her last experience, though, she took cover in the woods whenever a carriage would pass, just in case the queen was on the road. She didn’t want to ever see her again nor even talk to her for what she’d done, turning Rumpelstiltskin against her. She’d at last had a glimpse of what it was like to be in love until the queen had interfered. She didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of having an opportunity like that again, for his sake and hers.
Back at home, cleaning became her favorite thing to do. With the house empty, she felt more free to go wherever she felt her services were needed, oftentimes getting lost in large rooms like the library for days. She’d clean for several hours and then rest, rewarding herself with reading one of the numerous books he had collected. She’d spend a lot of time outside tending the vast garden as well, mostly for some sunshine and fresh air, sometimes taking a book out there to read while sitting in the plush grass by the pond if she just needed a break. Life in her castle wasn’t all that bad…but it was lonely.
The dining room where Rumpelstiltskin liked to spin his straw into gold was a mess the first time she came into it. She imagined she was the cause of whatever rage had gone through him once he’d locked her in her cell, and it saddened her. Her kiss and the love they shared in that room meant nothing now. At first, she’d found the pain in the memories unbearable; she’d left and closed the doors behind her, unable to return to it for several days.
When she finally determined the dining hall must be cleaned, she steeled her resolve and returned to the room. For a time, she just walked around and studied the mess of glass and wood and china. The beautifully-crafted cabinet doors had been destroyed. All of the dishes in his tea set were in tiny pieces against the wall. Then she recalled staring at that chipped cup and the matching teapot in her cell moments before he’d freed her. Were they the only pieces he’d spared? It seemed odd. She would’ve guessed that cup would have been the first victim of his fury, since she had been the one to chip it; surely it was a reminder of her, and he’d want it out of his sight. But the teacup was still intact and still in her cell when she went looking for it.
Holding the chipped cup in her hand, she replayed how he’d brought her that tea that morning. Having a difficult night’s sleep on the cold stone bed, Belle was awake when the door unlocked before dawn, and he came in with the tea. She’d sat up straight, awaiting punishment, but without saying a word or meeting her eyes, he simply set the tray on the ground, and then turned to walk out, closing and locking the door. It was at this moment that Belle realized he truly did care about her; otherwise, if he’d just wanted to get rid of her, he would not have had any concern for her well-being enough to bring her a morning refreshment.
She also realized that his temper tantrum might’ve taken place that morning, which would explain how the cup had been spared, although that didn’t seem to fit his mood at the time. When he’d thrown her in the dungeon the night before, he’d been livid. She’d feared that he was going to break something and could only hope it wouldn’t be her. That seemed like the more likely occasion for such a fit of rage as evidenced by the mess upstairs.
Suddenly, the cup seemed special. It was as if it was the only thing that brought his heart closer to hers. Whether he admitted it or not, she’d managed to break through some of that wall he’d built around his heart over years of pain and heartache…and it had all started with a chip. Perhaps there was hope that she could someday chisel away at his hardened heart again.
But first, she had to prove herself capable of ignoring her feelings and holding to her end of the bargain in order to regain his trust. That meant that she would have to do everything expected of her and keep her distance. That, she decided, was a test she would not fail.
Back upstairs, Belle washed the cup and its matching teapot and put the set on the shelves in the dining hall with the others. Then, with her hands on her hips, she turned her attention to the cabinet built into the wall, assessing a way to clean it up.
The doors were beyond repair and would have to be entirely rebuilt and replaced. She took care of sweeping up the glass first and then found a tool to take the doors off of their hinges to be discarded. It was not an easy task, trying to juggle the cumbersome wood frames while standing on that tall ladder, but somehow she managed, and when the room was clean again, back to the way it was before, she knew it had been worth it.
It became a routine to clean the common areas of the castle three days a week, focusing on the bedrooms the other days, cleaning and dusting every little trinket and window and corner. She just skimmed over rooms like the one where he concocted his potions in the west tower, making sure not to touch or move any of the bottles or jars. Having been part of her duties before, she would hurry through cleaning Rumpelstiltskin’s room, feeling a bit like an intruder whenever she was in there. He’d warned her early on to stay out of the room next door to his, and she had done as promised…until she chased some dust under the door with a broom one day and felt she had to clean it or later face the consequences of making a mess.
She gasped when she opened the door to find that it wasn’t even big enough to be considered a closet. Merely six inches deep, it held only a dagger, mounted on the wall, blade-side down. Red-faced and ashamed that she’d unearthed a secret of which he probably wouldn’t want her to know, Belle hurriedly swept the dust back out. But she still glanced at the knife one more time as she closed the door. Something on the blade caught her eye and made her curious enough to peer closer. It was etched lettering, spelling out…a name. It read, “Rumpelstilt--”
“I told you to stay out of there!” the imp’s harsh voice yelled from behind her, causing Belle to jump and drop the broom. She hadn’t even heard any footsteps, as if he appeared just as magically as that day they’d met in her father’s castle.
“I-I-I’m sorry,” she declared in a frightened squeak, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I-I was just cleaning and-and--”
Rumpelstiltskin shut the door and stood in front of it, glaring at her in fury. “You just can’t stay out of my business, can you?”
She was still shocked at finding that she was no longer alone in the house. How long had he been home? “No, no, I wasn’t doing anything--”
“For this, you must be punished--”
She panicked. Had he been home and watching her the whole time, just waiting for her to screw up and pounce? He grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the stairs. “No, please, no, not the dungeon again,” she begged. “I know I did wrong, and I’m sorry. I won’t touch anything of yours again.” His uncompromising silence frustrated her. He was practically carrying her down each step, which was often by the way he yanked and pulled her at her arm to lead her, causing her to stumble. He opened the door to the basement. “Where did you go?” she tried, hoping that making conversation would draw some compassion out of him. “Have you been home long? Did you just get back? The castle was quiet without you here.”
“Don’t try any of your tricks,” he seethed, lugging her down the narrow stairs toward the dungeon and making her steps falter behind him again.
“I’m not, I promise,” she pleaded, managing to regain her footing. “It’s just been so lonely here by myself, that’s all. I’m not used to being alone for so long.” She’d lost track of how long it had been, but she was sure it was closer to a month than the two weeks he’d predicted. “Do you always travel for such a long time?”
“No,” she was sure she heard him say, though he wouldn’t repeat his answer when she asked. Since acquiring the castle through one of his bargains, he’d found it so comforting, he’d rarely leave, only for short periods of time to meet with those in need of his services. With her staying in his home, though, he’d merely left so that he wouldn’t be near her, tempted and vulnerable. He’d come so close to losing his powers he’d worked so hard to keep -- too close, in fact. Now that he knew how easily he could lose them, he wouldn’t let himself be tricked again. Because of the deal he’d made, he would just have to keep Belle as promised, make her continue on as a servant and keep a distance between them. He could live with her that way, as long as she obeyed his rules and suffered the consequences when she didn’t.
This punishment in mind for her trespassing, he pushed her into her cell when they reached it, but this time, she kept her footing and didn’t fall. She spun around, stared into his face, and innocently asked, “Are you going to leave like that again?”
He closed and locked the door without a reply, regretting the day he’d made that deal with her father and his village. He’d thought that having a servant girl -- and a beautiful one at that -- would be entertaining and fun; he’d had no idea how much of a problem she would turn out to be. It figured; though he supposed it had just been too long since he’d had a woman to contend with, he’d forgotten how much trouble they could be. The bargain no longer seemed as one-sided as it did in the beginning. She was turning out to be more trouble than she was worth.
Storming away with the keys, he hurried back up to the comfort of his spinning wheel, hoping its powers of forgetfulness would work on him again. He didn’t want to remember the pain he’d felt in his heart when he saw the expression on her face as he’d closed the dungeon door between them. At times it was like she was a child, so innocent and eager to please; and others, she was a woman so beautiful and sure of herself and far too good for the likes of someone like him. Neither expression was what he needed to remember now that she’d betrayed him yet again.
Recalling his tantrum a month ago as he ascended the stairs, he resigned himself to clean up the mess in the dining hall before he began to spin. Opening the doors with a flick of his wrist, he walked into the room and stopped suddenly, surprised to notice that the broken doors on the cabinet on the opposite wall were missing. There was a glowing fire in the fireplace. His mouth open slightly in shock, Rumpelstiltskin made his way around the room, noting all that Belle had done in his absence. All the broken glass had been swept up. The mirror had been covered again with its drape. What was left of his tea set was clean and placed on one of the shelves. Purple wildflowers were in the gold vase on the table; he wondered if she picked fresh ones every day and kept the fire going to warm the room in anticipation of his arrival. Even his spinning wheel had ample amount of straw sitting beside it in its basket. She’d obviously gone to town. For him.
Rumpelstiltskin slowly made his way back out of the room. Why had she done so much for him? Why did she care, even when he’d purposely withheld mercy? Now the fact that he’d caught her upon his arrival home with his powerful knife didn’t seem like that big of an offense. After all, it wasn’t likely that she knew what the dagger was or stood for, so why had he overreacted? He would just have to find a better hiding place for the knife, and that would solve the problem, should she ever learn what power it held.
Belle heard the key in the lock and wondered why Rumpelstiltskin was coming back so soon. She stood up and almost fearfully stood to face him. But no, she wouldn’t allow herself to be afraid of this man. Instead, she felt sorry for him.
Once the door was open, Rumpelstiltskin stood back and held it, gesturing for her to come out, without meeting her eyes. “You may go to your room,” he spoke quietly, emotionlessly.
“But… My room? I thought I --”
“You’re never to go into the west wing again. Understood?”
“Yes,” she nodded, still confused that she was no longer being punished. She wasn’t going to argue, however, as she came to stand in front of him. “Not even to clean?”
“It won’t be necessary. I’ll clean my own room. The others will be closed up.”
She nodded in understanding and stared at a button on his leather vest. “I truly am sorry if I violated your privacy. I promise to do what it is you ask of me from now on, no matter what.”
He dropped his chin to his chest in acknowledgment.
Belle started for the stairs but stopped. “Dinner?”
“I’m not hungry,” he declared. “You go on and fix something for yourself. I’m going to spin. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” she blinked up at him, surprised at the pleasantry. Her head bowed, she made her way back up the stairs.
Her stomach was too tied in knots to consider eating anything, so she just continued on up to the third level and readied for bed. But she wasn’t tired, and no matter how tightly she squeezed shut her eyes, she couldn’t stop from picturing his face, so humbled and kind when he wanted to be. And when he was angry, he was frightening. It amazed her that he was the same man in both instances at times.
He’s not, her inner self argued. He’s cursed. She’d learned that firsthand, watching the curse melt away from his face and hands after she’d kissed him. Oh, if only he’d let it happen. She wanted him to be free from it, free to be in love with her the way she was with him. He was convinced that her love was merely a ruse to take away his power, but he couldn’t be further from the truth. Until he started yelling at the mirror (really, to the queen, she’d learned), she had no idea that the queen’s advice to cure him had been selfish on her part. It appeared that she and Rumpelstiltskin had been immersed in this battle for power for some time, and that wicked woman had seen her only as a tool and not the friend she’d pretended to be. It made Belle hate that queen that much more, though Rumpelstiltskin’s despise for her was obviously enough on its own.
She’d been in bed several hours when her stomach rumbled with hunger, and she knew she wouldn’t get to sleep at all unless she settled it first. With a sigh, Belle got up and put on her robe, heading to the kitchen for a snack.
Taking a loaf of bread she’d baked that morning, Belle cut a slice and put it on a plate, slathering it with butter. It made her think of her father and how much he loved her homemade bread and butter. If only she had some jam too, she thought, wondering if there were enough blackberries in that patch of woods behind the castle that she’d found to make some jars of--
“Raiding the pantry, I see,” Rumpelstiltskin said, making her jump yet again, this time, managing to hold onto her plate instead of dropping it onto the floor, where it would surely break into pieces.
She turned to find him behind her in the doorway. “Oh,” she thought to say, “I thought it would be all right, since you said I could help myself to anything in the kitchen.”
“Yes, it’s fine,” he replied casually, sauntering into the room to toy with the fruit sitting in a bowl in the middle of the wooden island table. “I was getting a little hungry myself.”
“I could make you something,” she offered, setting her plate down to be at the ready.
“No, no,” he waved her off. “Don’t go to any trouble. I’ll just have…” he eyeballed her bread and butter, “whatever you’re having.”
“Oh, of course,” she nodded, moving to cut another slice of bread and butter it for him, putting it on a fresh plate.
He took the opportunity to observe her while she was turned away. Dressed in a nightgown and robe, stockings on her otherwise bare feet, and her hair pinned in some sort of haphazard bun at the apex of her skull, a few wayward curls falling stubbornly from its knot… She was a perfect picture of messy and beautiful at the same time. If there were only a word for such combined traits, he thought, just as she turned and passed him a plate with the buttered bread.
Belle watched as he held the plate and studied it, laughing quietly when he didn’t move to take a bite. “Well?” she prodded, gesturing for him to lift it to his lips and try it.
He did lift the plate, but only to bring it closer to sniff it. “You made this?”
She nodded. “I bought the milk to make the butter from a merchant in town.”
He furrowed his brow, squeezing the piece on his plate as if to test its sponginess. “I’ve never known bread and butter to be so…fluffy.”
Belle giggled at the sound of such a silly word coming from his lips. “You’ll have to tell me what you think of how it tastes.”
With that, he took a bite, took his time chewing it, and swallowed. All the while she waited with bated breath. “Delicious,” he decided. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“My mother,” she declared. “Before she died, she loved to cook and taught me all the basics. It wasn’t until recent years that my father was elevated to his position as our village’s leader, and until then we couldn’t afford a cook. As the eldest girl, I was responsible for the meals for my family from the time my mother died when I was ten until just five years ago.”
Rumpelstiltskin just stared at her while she spoke, not even taking another bite of his bread.
She shook her head, not wanting to talk of the loss of her family. “Anyway, the bread recipe was my mother’s. I’ve changed it a bit over the years to suit my tastes. Mother always liked hers sweet, while I like for it to have a more nutty, full-bodied taste.”
“Yes, I agree. It is quite good.”
He still had yet to take his gaze off of her as he leaned casually on the doorjamb, and Belle was beginning to feel a bit self-conscious. She stuffed what was left of her piece into her mouth and turned to set the plate in the basin of soapy water. It had been hours since she last did dishes -- more than half the day actually -- so the water was cold. And in the chilly castle, it was just freezing enough to make her flinch and jerk her hands back with a yelp.
Rumpelstiltskin assumed she’d just seen a mouse, but was only alarmed enough to pull away from the doorframe. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing. The water’s just cold.”
“We could heat some in the kettle,” he offered, pointing with one finger behind her at the stove.
“No need,” she smiled. “It’s just a couple of plates. I’ll be fine.”
She washed her plate and took his to do the same when she held her hand out for it. Rumpelstiltskin watched her curiously the whole time, until she was done and had dried her hands on a towel. Then she faced him, wiping her palms on her robe, biting her lip. “Well, uh…I’ll just…I’ll see you in the morning, I guess. You will be here, right?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll be here,” he nodded, still mesmerized a bit by her.
“I’ll have breakfast ready for you, then,” she half-smiled, picking up the candlestick she’d brought with her and stepping around him to go through the door. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he quietly replied. “Oh, Belle,” he spoke so softly that she nearly missed it and kept walking.
But she stopped outside the door and met his gaze. “Yes?”
“Thank you…for cleaning the mess in the dining hall. I should have attended to that before I left.”
She genuinely smiled, her eyes twinkling. “You’re welcome.”
“And for the straw.”
She bobbed her head once. “Of course.”
“And, however did you manage to take down the cabinet doors by yourself?”
She smiled so suddenly, she nearly laughed. “My mother would call me tenacious. My father would say, ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way, I suppose. That’s just our Belle.’”
Rumpelstiltskin understood that reasoning, since he, too, found himself surprised by what she could withstand, both physically and emotionally. She never seemed to be truly afraid of him the way others always were; instead, asking him questions and delving into his psyche, trying to draw him out. Why did she do that? He didn’t know, only having to accept that she was just that way, “just Belle.”
He was lost in his own thoughts for too long to make either of them feel comfortable, and when he realized this, he managed to mumble a “yes” and another “goodnight,” allowing her to go. And when she did, it wasn’t without him stepping into the hall and watching her figure sashay into the dark, silhouetted only by the light of her candle. She was amazing in a way he’d never known. She was as hardworking as any man he’d ever met, as enchanting as a harvest moon, and as beautiful as a sunrise on a clear day. Perhaps he hadn’t been so unwise to barter for her after all.
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All comments welcomed! Please tell me what you think of this story! :)