Work Text:
Lady Belle would never let it be said that she was not grateful for the end of the ogre wars. The death and destruction that had rained down on the Marchlands and all the surrounding duchies during the bitter conflict was terrible and devastating, and the lands were well rid of the beasts that had plagued them for far too long.
She held immense gratitude for the brave soldiers and knights who had fought back the ogres, and whenever they passed through the Marchlands, she was always quick to ensure that they were comfortable during their stay. Indeed, Lord Maurice and Lady Belle’s hospitality was well-known throughout the kingdom.
There was just one thing that the end of the ogre wars had brought that Belle was not at all grateful for. The process of her betrothal had been put on hold indefinitely during the fighting, and Belle hadn’t been sorry to see the back of all the various suitors that her father had paraded in front of her. She didn’t even know why she had been meeting them; ultimately the decision would be her father’s, not hers. She supposed that it was just a formality, a courtesy to make it seem as though she had some kind of choice in the matter, but Belle had long since come to the conclusion that she would far rather not know any of the young men, in case she took a particular liking to one of them and then he turned out not to be the one that her father chose.
Naturally, when the wars had started, all the eligible young men had gone off to fight, and Belle had been grateful for the reprieve. Although death was a terrible thing, she was also rather relieved to hear that Sir Gaston of Avonlea had been slain in battle, because she had been certain that he was her father’s first choice and on the one occasion that she had met the man, he’d taken several liberties that were not at all becoming of a gentleman and Belle had had to smack him around the head with a thousand-page tome on leatherworking in order to get him away from her person.
Still, the fact remained that Belle was of a marriageable age and was not yet married, and now that peace had returned to the land, she would be expected to marry and produce children as soon as possible to make up for the delay that the wars had caused. It was looking increasingly likely that her father would pair her up with one of the great military heroes of the war. The Marchlands was not the most prosperous of duchies and Belle knew that she couldn’t hope to marry into grand nobility or royalty, and nor did she want to. A good knight with a little land to his name was probably the best that she could hope for, and in the aftermath of the wars, all the good knights were being snapped up by other unwed maidens with alarming speed.
Of course, ideally, she wanted to marry someone of her own choosing, but she had accepted that wasn’t likely to be an option. If she could gain at least some control over her own fate, she would be happy, even if she was never destined to have the final say.
When her father called her into his private study one sunny afternoon, Belle knew exactly what he was going to say. She could tell from the looks of the serving staff and her father’s advisors, and she sighed inwardly at the fact that no matter what it was, any news concerning herself always managed to get disseminated throughout the entire household before it actually reached her ears.
Her father was standing by the window when she entered, and he turned, smiling indulgently at her.
“Bluebell,” he said as she came over to kiss him. “I’m sure that you can guess what this is about.”
Belle nodded.
“I have finally reached an agreement for your hand,” Maurice continued. “Are you familiar with the dowager duchess of the Frontlands?”
Belle nodded again. Most people were familiar with the dowager duchess of the Frontlands. Lady Fiona was certainly a force to be reckoned with in spite of her advancing age, although Belle had never actually met the woman in question, reports of her were consistent and unlikely to be exaggerated.
“Her son, Sir Rumpelstiltskin, was a great fighter during the ogre wars,” Maurice continued. “He was one of the bravest knights that our kingdoms could boast, and he remains unmarried.”
Not for much longer, as Belle already knew where the conversation was going.
“I have agreed with the dowager that you and Rumpelstiltskin should be wed at Michaelmas.”
Belle gave a single, curt nod. So, she had never met the man in question and had no idea what he might look like or act like, but if he was anything like his formidable mother, then he probably wasn’t a man to be crossed. It was all decided, and as expected, Belle had had no say in the matter at all.
Maurice was beaming, evidently thrilled by the good fortune that had played out. The Frontlands were rich and a match that would bring them into alignment and alliance with the Marchlands would be extremely beneficial. Maurice could well be proud of his negotiation skills, but at the same time, Belle had to wonder why she had to get involved in all the politicking. It wasn’t Maurice who was going to have to marry this man and bear his children and generally pretend to like him for the rest of her days.
Belle stayed in her father’s room for a little while longer, chatting aimlessly about the small, everyday trifles of life within the Marchlands, and pointedly avoiding talking about the wedding. It was too soon to begin preparations yet, although no doubt as soon as she woke up the next morning she would be assaulted by seamstresses and haberdashers trying to get her measured up and ready for her wedding gown, but right now Belle did not want to think about them. Finally, she retired to her own chambers, in something of a dour mood.
Just because she was now betrothed didn’t mean that she had to like it, or that she had to think highly of her future spouse.
Belle threw herself down on her bed with a sigh. Perhaps she was being too quick to judge, after all, she had never met the man. It was perfectly plausible that he was going to be very nice and not at all like any of the other knights that she had encountered during her time. She screwed her face up at the unlikelihood of that happening. War heroes always tended to be the same. Young and cocky and far too fond of boasting about the number of heads that they had claimed on the battle field.
“Are you all right, Lady Belle?” She had not noticed her maid come in and begin folding freshly laundered linens into the chest at the end of her bed. Belle just gave a grunt; she felt no desire to even attempt to act lady-like in her current mood. Idly she wondered if she could run away from her arranged marriage. Tie her bed sheets together in a rope and climb out of the window, never to be seen again as she raced off to have adventures by herself, no need of any man’s protection.
“Yes, I’d feel the same way if I had to marry Sir Rumpelstiltskin,” the maid said sympathetically.
At this statement, Belle raised her head off the bed a little and gave her maid a quizzical look.
“What do you know about the man?” she asked, intrigued.
Her maid shrugged.
“Nothing much,” she said. “I just know that he’s been a knight for a long time; he’s not exactly one of the brave and dashing young knights in their shining armour, if you know what I mean.”
“Is that all?” Belle asked. “He’s older than other knights?”
“Isn’t that enough? You don’t want to have to share your bed with an old man, Lady Belle. He’ll hardly provide you with children.”
Belle tried to piece together her maid’s logic in her mind and failed miserably.
“He can’t be that old if he’s still an active knight and he took a frontline role in the last war,” she pointed out. “You’re making him out to be a decrepit octogenarian. Even the dowager isn’t a decrepit octogenarian yet.”
Then again, her maid was not yet twenty so anyone over the age of thirty was probably old in her book.
“I’m just passing on what I’ve heard, Lady Belle,” the younger woman said, chastised.
“Well, maybe you should have a little more care before you speak.”
The maid left the room and Belle got up off her bed, the exchange having woken something inside her. Perhaps it was her independent and impulsive nature coming to the fore once more, but having learned that other people seemed to pity her for the match that had been made for her, Belle was determined to prove them wrong. So her intended might be on the mature side. That in itself was enough to pique Belle’s interest, as it went against all the notions she had previously held. Suddenly, she was very keen to learn more about this mysterious knight, whereas before she had been content to remain apathetic to his existence until her wedding day. And perhaps escape out of her window with her bed sheets if necessary.
Belle went over to her writing desk and took up a fresh quill and sheet of paper, beginning to write.
To the Honourable Sir Rumpelstiltskin of the Frontlands,
Since we are now engaged to be married on Michaelmas, I see no impertinence in writing to you like this. As there is a little time to wait before we are officially introduced to each other and that first introduction will be only a few days before our wedding, I think it might be beneficial to our future life together if we were to make our acquaintance in the written word before that time, so as to get to know each other a little better and ensure that the first meeting is not so awkward as such meetings often are. I must confess that I know very little about you and your family and I would very much like to learn.
I remain,
Yours sincerely,
Lady Belle of the Marchlands.
It was only a few days later that a reply came.
To the Honourable Lady Belle of the Marchlands,
It pleased me greatly to receive your letter, and I think that your idea is a sound one. I have only ever passed through the Marchlands on campaign and I look forward to learning more about it and about you. My mother has only good things to say about your father, but she has not mentioned any of your qualities. I have always preferred to make judgments for myself on such matters, and so far this first impression is favourable.
I remain,
Yours sincerely,
Rumpelstiltskin.
The missive brought a smile to Belle’s face, and she took some time to consider her reply. This correspondence was definitely one that had potential.
X
Belle could safely say that she was in the middle of a crisis, one that she had never found herself in the middle of before and hopefully never would again. It was one week until Michaelmas, and the dowager and Rumpel - Sir Rumpelstiltskin, she corrected herself - would be arriving within a few short hours. They would meet officially for the first time, and Belle would lay eyes on the man she had pledged to marry.
For the briefest of terrifying moments, Belle wondered if perhaps her maid had it right and he was incredibly old and ugly. She liked to think that this would not diminish her feelings for him in any way, but it would be a bit of a shock after the mental picture of him that she had built up over the past few months.
Belle drew his latest letter from the folds of her dress and looked at it, a smile creeping over her face. Ever since those first letters were exchanged, they had been writing to each other on an almost daily basis, and although she had never met the man, she felt like she knew him inside out already. In him she had truly found a kindred spirit, someone who would support her love of books and adventure, and had promised to take her to all the places in the world that she wished to go to once they were married. Matrimony did not have to mean the end of all adventures, he had said in this latest letter. In fact, matrimony itself was just one big adventure.
He had signed it in the way that she had come to call him: I remain, your Rumpel.
Belle sighed and stopped her pacing up and down her chamber. It was time to make the confession that she never thought that she would make.
She was completely and utterly in love with this man, a man she had never met, never spoken a word to for all the many that she had written to him. Just his voice on a page had been enough to paint a picture for her, a shadowy figure with no features but nonetheless one that she had fallen helplessly in love with.
And now she had to face him, not knowing whether he returned her feelings at all, not knowing whether the impression he might have formed of her in return would have been shattered by her actual appearance.
Still. At least she knew that she was never going to have to go through this nerve-wracking wait again. Once he was here and they had met for the first time, then they would never have to meet for the first time again.
The time dragged on, but at last, she heard the commotion of their imminent arrival and Belle raced down into the main hall to greet the incoming guests. The dowager entered first with her small retinue, and Belle dutifully curtseyed to her, the obedient future daughter-in-law.
Then came her betrothed and the man she was helplessly in love with.
Rumpelstiltskin was indeed older than most knights and it was undoubtedly his skill in battle that had allowed him to remain so long-lived in the midst of the wars. He wasn’t the tall, muscular type that had so often courted her in the past, but there was a strength in his slight build, and a maturity in his face and greying hair. His eyes were dark, and if Belle didn’t know better, she’d say that they were nervous, darting here and there and everywhere as he entered this unfamiliar territory full of unfamiliar people, about to meet an unfamiliar penpal who would soon be his wife. He was not conventionally good-looking in the sense that the younger maids so admired, but he was most certainly handsome.
Maurice encouraged Belle to step forward, and as soon as Rumpelstiltskin’s gaze finally landed on her, his worried expression became a wide smile with something akin to wonder in it.
“Belle,” he said, his voice full of awe and barely above a whisper.
“Rumpel,” she replied, forgetting propriety for the moment as jubilation that her impressions of the man had not been shattered by meeting him in person. If anything, his smile grew even wider at her use of his nickname.
Yes, Belle was definitely head over heels in love with this man, and it appeared that the feeling was indeed mutual.
“Ah,” she heard Maurice say behind her. “Love at first sight. Truly this was a match made in heaven.”
Belle had to giggle at that, although her eyes never left Rumpelstiltskin’s. It was hardly love at first sight. This was a love that had been building for a long time, only capped off by first sight.
It might be a match made in heaven yet.