Chapter Text
As they made their way to his mistress' bedroom he couldn't help but look. Unlike the kitchen which was stone and wood, the upper floor was finely decorated with hanging tapestries, vases of multicoloured flowers which adorned the windows and portraits of lavish landscapes. Trudy, having already opened all the curtains, stopped outside a room at the end of the corridor, placing a hand to his chest. "Wait here," she whispered before entering the room. Nodding, he remained outside, listening to the gentle stirring of his mistress from behind the door, their voices too low for him to understand.
What he didn't understand was why he had been instructed to remain outside. Possibly due to the state of his lady's undress but he had assumed that he was to be the one to deliver her breakfast. Though he supposed that wouldn't be the case, being his first day and now only regaining the strength to stand on his own two feet, maybe the other woman had suspected that he wasn't ready yet?
The door opened as the older woman came out. "Come," she beckoned him with her hand, ushering him in. Glancing around the room, his eyes widened in awe for it was nothing short of grand. In the room there sat a large four poster bed with a large window to the side, overlooking the vast countryside. By the foot of the bed, a large stone cut hearth was positioned, fire burning, which gave the room a comfortable temperature. By the fire, there was a large mahogany desk and chair, ink pot and quail and behind it a large shelf containing numerous books and scrolls.
Unable to read, the written language meant nothing to him. They were nothing but mere lines on a page.
"I trust you slept well?" A gentle voice spoke from behind him, startling him as he jumped with a gasp. Turning he saw his mistress sitting up in bed, an amused smile on her face. He gulped. How could he have not noticed her? His own mistress! He had been so curious looking around the furnishings of the room he had neglected to acknowledge his lady, whose room this was and all because he let his mind wander!
Quickly he bowed, "I-I did, milady." He kept his gaze on the floor, not willing to look up. He heard the quiet rustling of sheets and the padding of feet before a hand was placed under his chin, slowly lifting his head up to meet her gaze. "Belle." She corrected, seeing his confused frown.
"My name is Belle," she elaborated watching as his face turned to one of horror. "I-I couldn't!" He replied, shocked at the idea of addressing his mistress, his owner by her first name. As though he were free. He knew it to be improper for a slave to address their owner by their name, a etiquette of slavery that had been repeatedly beaten into him.
"I insist," she replied, smiling brightly. She knew that this was a wall they would need to break, the conditioned behaviour he had grown accustomed to. Meeting her gaze, he appeared still unsure.
"As you wish, milady." He cursed himself, already forgetting. "Belle" He corrected hastily but she was far from convinced. Knowing what had been done to him and aware of the physical and emotional scars it carried, she knew that it wouldn't be easy gaining his trust, especially on his own free will but hopefully today she could start to undo the damage that had been done. Which reminded her...
"Now, while we are on the subject, may I know what your name is?" She asked, curiously. While her mind had been so preoccupied over the past twenty four hours, she had never thought to inquire as to what he was called, something she couldn't help but feel a little bad about.
"...It's Rumplestiltskin." She wasn't expecting that. The name was a mouthful, but a unique one indeed. But with the use of his name, she could give him a sense of identity again as well as get him some decent clothes, not the dirty, threadbare rags he'd been forced to wear and she knew just the man to go to!
"Have you ever been to Avonlea, Rumplestiltskin?" She asked him, going behind her screen to wash and change, unaware of his blushing cheeks as she threw her nightmare over the top. He shook his head. "I...can't say that I have. D-Do you need any, uh, assistance?" He asked, cursing his awkward stammer. She chuckled, "I'm fine. Thank you, Rumple."
Rumple? She'd given him a nickname. Like he was...
He shook his head, snapping himself out of his thoughts, knowing his mind had a tendency to wander and he was already getting ahead of himself! Nickname or not, smiles and pleasantries or not, he was still her slave and she a kind mistress. He had only one previous mistress before, Mistress Milah, whom he had been ordered to cook for as well as bathe, dress and service whenever she decided. He just prayed that his new mistress wouldn't order him to sleep with her only to scold his inexperienced attempts when ordered to please her.
Ordered on a whim, he had been brought to her chambers after a long day of scrubbing the floors of the kitchen and pantry. On his hands and knees despite the burning pain in his ankle, he scrubbed the stone floors until he ached. She had only a handful of paid servants in her employment and he found them to be just as cruel as she was, leaving him to carry their load as well as his own. There were times he had been run so ragged he barely had time to think, often making mistakes. He forgot about her breakfast, when to run her bath, launder her clothing, prepare the other servant's breakfast and it often resulted in him going hungry or sleeping out with the animals.
"You're pathetic," She hissed, standing above him as he cleared the ash from her fireplace, coughing as he inhaled it.
"I'm sorry, mistress." He muttered, still focusing on his task, already covered in black ash. He heard his mistress scoff, possibly drinking as she was prone to do some evenings.
"Yes, you're always sorry. But you never seem to learn, do you?" He still didn't look at her, knowing from experience, when she was like this it was better to just continue with his chores and she would eventually leave.
"Answer me!" She yelled, kicking the tray across the room, the ash covering him as well as the floor. He sighed, tiredly. "No, mistress."
She didn't reply, only scoffed as she turned to leave the room. "Clean it up," she snapped, slamming the door behind her. He turned to see the floor he had spent hours scrubbing now covered in a layer of black ash and as the realisation once again dawned that this was now his existence, he cried.
A hand brought him back to the present. "Are you alright, dear?" It wasn't his mistress, but the other woman he had become familiar with. He looked around the room, only to meet their concerned stares. "You left us for a while there," she explained and he knew that he had once again become lost in his own thoughts, still plagued by memories he'd much rather forget.
"I'm sorry," he apologised, not meeting their sympathetic eyes.
"It's alright, Rumple." His mistress reassured, "though as I was said to Trudy, I do believe you are in need of new clothes as well as other basic necessities, so if you are feeling up to it, maybe you could accompany me into Avonlea?" She kept her tone light, trying not to sound as though she were ordering him to come, knowing how his mindset may interpret her request.
Looking between the two women, one of them he now identified as Trudy, he nodded hesitantly, "Of course."
"Wonderful!" Belle said happily earning a smile from Trudy. Despite the abuse he had suffered, he couldn't be in better hands than those of her lady. Once dressed, she met with Trudy and Rumple who were waiting at the front door while her horse and cart was being prepared for their journey into the town.
"We shouldn't be too long," Belle said as she wrapped a shall around her shoulders, coming down the stairs.
"Well, Mrs Potts will have supper ready by evening I would expect, miss." Trudy laughed as she winked, knowing just how much Belle adored Mrs Potts' cooked meals. Being his first supper with them in the house, she suspected he would be in for a treat.
Accepting Rumple's hand of assistance, she mounted the cart while Rumple, with slight difficulty managed to do the same before they set off. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as the house faded slowly into the distance, feeling the finest bit of unease that he may not return. He sat back against the wooden seat, looking into his lap.
"We'll only be a few hours, Rumple." Belle said, sensing his unease yet still keeping her eyes on the road. He didn't reply though she knew that he had subconscious fears. She sighed. In just under an hour they would reach Avonlea and once there they would get him what he needed, make him feel a little more human.
When they arrived in Avonlea, he wasn't prepared for was the onslaught of people traveling in and out of the large city gates. The streets were lined with vendor carts and stores, along with whitewashed homes with slate roofs, so unlike the thatched ones he had become to accustomed to seeing. Riding further into the city they passed cates of produce from the stalls, next to a large pen where livestock was being auctioned to the highest bidder, something Rumple clenched his eyes at, having to look away. Seeing this, Belle jerked the horse's reins, prompting it to trot faster.
"Here we are," Belle smiled, once they had entered a clearing where she could tie the horse. As soon as the cart stopped, Rumple, much to her own dismay, jumped from the wooden seat, hurrying around to her side to offer her his hand so that she may dismount the cart. Thanking him, she gave the horse a gentle pet before wandering into the crowd, her slave following suit.
"Where are we going, Belle?" He asked, trying not to lose her amount the people. Cursing herself for her ignorance, she took his arm, linking it in her own. "You need clothes," she said, guiding him through the mass of people. "And I know just the place," she muttered with a smile, steering him in the direction of a small shop located on on of the corner streets.
He heard the chime of a small bell as she pushed the door open. Taking hold of the door, he allowed her to enter ahead of him. She stepped over the threshold with a sense of familiarity, moving straight towards the counter, leaving him behind as he took in his surroundings.
The shopfront was modesty sized, he would dread to see the place on a busy day. Light spilled into the room from the main window, bathing the place in such a way that it seemed to eliminate any trace of shadow. There was a sense of organised clutter, a few mannequins in the window dressed in various fashions, jackets, waistcoats, pants and various dress pieces categorised and hanging from small brass hooks on the walls. He felt as though he were being assaulted by colour in every direction he turned, sea greens, turquoise blues and a spectrum of crimsons. There was such a seeming level of care and artistry that it bordered on the obsessive.
Belle leaned over the counter a little, moving up onto one foot as she balanced herself on the countertop. "Lumiere?" she called out, "the door was open, are you in?" He turned to watch her, moving slowly towards the counter. As he moved to her side, the tailor stepped out from the back room, pushing a light curtain aside with the back of his hand.
He was a lean man, handsome, bow lipped with clear skin and sun in his cheeks. His eyes were a light hazel, his dark hair tied back in a tight ponytail. His shirt held tightly to him, wiry muscle pressed to the fabric. He wore a blue waistcoat, each brass button expertly polished, the buckled on his shoes having received the same treatment. He smiled at Belle, his long arms outstretched as he stepped around the counter. "Ah Mademoiselle!" He began, taking her gently by the shoulders. "Too long. It has been too long."
"Oui, my friend. Have you been keeping yourself busy?" She asked, looking up to smile at him warmly, a smile that he returned. "I've been so busy these past few weeks, I am welcoming the solace." He leaned down, blocking his mouth with the back of his hand. "Weddings, eh? You women can become quite vicious if you may permit me to say so."
He stepped back quickly, chucking as Belle moved her arm up as if to jab him in the ribs. "So, is this a social call or do you require my services?" He asked, leaning back against the counter. She reached back, taking the older man by his sleeve, gently pulling him forward. "But of course, Monsieur. I'm in need of some new clothes for my friend." She replied, stepping aside as not to obstruct Lumiere's vision. Both men regarded one another for a moment in silence.
Lumiere stepped forward slowly, scanning him meticulously. Rumplestiltskin watched warily as he circled him, unable to make direct eye contact with the other man. Lumiere leaned in, stepping closer. "These are your clothes, no?" He asked, almost blankly. He looked at the younger man before quickly averting his gaze. "No sir." He replied quietly, "these have been provided for me by the lady."
Lumiere leaned to the side to look over his shoulder in an accusatory manner. Her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms. "He has only recently come into my household, Lumiere. I have no suitable attire to provide him."
"Clearly." Lumiere replied, lightly tugging at the man's sleeve, showing how much fabric came away from his arm. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, "these clothes are not suited for a gentleman twice his fellow's size...or any gentleman at all for that manner."
"Then what would you suggest?" She asked, lightly scoffing. Lumiere placed his hand on his shoulder, looking to him. "Your name, sir?" He asked as he played with the shirt fabric.
The older man swallowed, keeping his gaze downcast. "Rumplestiltskin, sir." He replied, edging forward to avoid the grip of the man currently tugging at his clothes. "Well, Monsieur Rumplestiltskin, allow Lumiere to open your eyes to all new possibilities. Onward!" He beamed jovially, as he linked his arm, marching him forward. Nervously, he looked back over his shoulder to Belle, eyes pleading. She only smiled, almost apologetically, waving as he was escorted into the back room of the shop.
Lumiere gently took the older man’s cane from him, moving to a nearby counter to collect a tape measure, pencil and some paper which he set down on a nearby table. “Come.” He said, gently beckoning. Rumple stepped forward as steadily as he could, Lumiere already commencing his assault, moving to quickly measure his inside leg, as well as taking its girth.
“Have you know the lady long, Monsieur?” Lumiere asked as he scribbled frantically. “No,” he replied, stiffening slightly as he felt his arm being manoeuvred. “I’ve only been...in the lady’s services for a short while.”
“Oh, you’re a valet are you? She is truly a gem. Do not tell her I say this though, or I fear she may have my head!” The younger man teased, a look of mock prettification on his face.
He placed the sheet of paper to Rumple’s back as he took the measurements of his arm's length. He gently tapped his under arms, signalling for him to raise them, which he did slowly. Lumiere wrapped the tape around his chest first, then his waist. He stood for a moment after scribbling down the measurements.
“Could you keep your arms up for a moment longer, Monsieur?” He requested.
“Is there something wrong?” Rumple asked, tilting his head back over his shoulder to see the young tailor scratching his smoothly shaven chin. “Non, of course not. I just appear to have measured your waist and chest incorrectly.”
Rumple stood patiently as he allowed Lumiere to measure him not only a second, but a third and fourth time. The look on the tailor’s face turned slowly from confusion to concern as he paced the small back room. He measurement of this man’s mid section were the same each time. He appeared to be as thin as some of his younger female customers if not thinner.
The older man looked at him worriedly, clearly reading the expression on his face. Lumiere gave of a loud, jovial laugh, causing him to jump slightly. “How stupid of me!” He began, “I seem to be off form today. I will be right back, Monsieur.” He said, quickly leaving Rumple alone in the small room.
Belle looked up from the waistcoat she was admiring to see Lumiere striding towards her, a face like stone, eyes pried open. “Is everything...”
“Oui!” He almost shouted back, “Oui...I just have to put the gentleman’s outfit together.” He said, scanning the hangers and reaching with his left hand, collecting a red waistcoat, tanned redish pants and a white, long sleeved shirt. He quickly scurried back behind the curtain, only to reappear in seconds. “I will give him some time to change.”
He sat on the edge of the counter, his brow furrowed. Belle approached him slowly. “Lumiere, what’s wrong?” She asked, placing a hand on his knee. He looked up to face her. “Who is that man, Belle? He is so very thin, it is not healthy. Where did this man come from? Why is he this way?”
Belle felt the pressure of Lumiere’s hand on hers, gripping it firmly. “It is a long story, my friend. I assure you he is not nor will he be in the position that brought him to this again. I will explain everything, I promise.” She said, looking at the young tailor, thinking that there may have been a hit of wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes. They heard the heavy curtain being drawn back, Lumiere almost tripping over his long legs in an attempt to stand quickly.
He stood in the door frame, his hair tied back from his face. Belle smiled softly at the sight of him. The outfit looked spacious, unlike what he had been wearing. They suited him well; he even looked a little handsome for his age. He stepped out of the door frame, his hand braced to his hip for support. His face burned as they both looked at him. “How do I look?” He asked, slightly nervous.
“Well, Sir.” Belle said, smiling. “You look well.”