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Belle is not a collector of things, not like Rumplestiltskin is. He hoards things in his castle, dealing for them and then keeping some hidden in dusty corners, others displayed proudly in the Great Hall. The ones on display seem to be the most intimidating, the most dangerous. He has told her multiple times to steer clear. One could turn her into a snail, another might cause a rash, a third could kill her. The serious look on his face has kept her far away from those things he’s collected in the Great Hall. The trinkets hidden away in the rooms upstairs, shoved unceremoniously into closets, stuck between the tea things in the kitchen, those are all fair game for exploration and she has spent many a day looking at them and wondering how and why he acquired such things.
But Belle collects ideas. Ideas are power, imagination and knowledge all wrapped up into one. She writes those ideas on pieces of parchment and tucks them in the pockets of her skirt or within the sleeves or bodice of her gown. They’re left strewn about her bedroom, stuck in the cushions of the couch, tucked into some of the safer items Rumplestiltskin has collected.
Sometimes she comes across them as she’s dusting, picking up an idea and smiling at the memory of writing it down. They come from books, from things Rumplestiltskin has said, from her memories and her imagination.
It’s the first day of May when Rumplestiltskin finds her in the Great Hall, one of the curtains drawn back and her nose pressed to the window. She’s clutching one of her ideas in her hand. She had only come across it again the day before, something she had jotted down when she recalled times gone past, memories of her village that were pleasant instead of riddled with ogres and war and death. Was it only just a year ago that she had been with her family, celebrating the coming of spring?
“What are you doing?” Rumplestiltskin’s voice comes from somewhere behind her and Belle leaps back from the window, rubbing her cold nose as she turns to him. The piece of parchment is still clutched in her hand and she watches as his eyes automatically go to it.
“I was daydreaming,” Belle admits sheepishly. She tries to tuck the parchment back inside the bodice of her dress, but Rumplestiltskin steps forward and stops her, his hand lightly grasping her wrist. For a moment she feels the heat of his hand as it lies close to the bare skin of her upper chest and her breath catches. She feels strangely bereft when he releases her to pluck the parchment out of her hand.
“May day?” A furrow forms between his brows as he glances down at the two simple words written on the paper.
Belle nods, feeling her cheeks warm just slightly.
“Is this a call for help?”
She snorts indelicately. “Of course not.”
“Then?”
“It’s a festival…in my village.”
The hand holding the parchment up sinks slowly to his side. “I see.” Belle just waits. It’s unusual for him to not have anything else to say. “And you…enjoyed this festival?”
Belle nods. “Oh yes. I only went once. Last year. Before…” She hesitates and waves a hand around the room.
“You would like to go again.” It’s a statement, not a question. Rumplestiltskin has always been able to get right into her heart, to know the truth without her speaking the words. She doesn’t know how he manages it. But he has since the first week she came to live with him. He understands her. She doesn’t know how or why, but he does.
“It’s no matter.” Belle tries to wave it off. She would like to go, no, love to go. But there is no chance of that and one thing Belle has told herself over and over again throughout her life is that there is little use hoping for things that simply cannot be. Her mother cannot come back to life. And she cannot ask the Dark One to release her for a night to attend a festival.
Not that she could go alone anyway.
“It is, though. Would you like to go?” Belle meets his eyes and in them she sees sincerity, an honest attempt to cross the divide that is often so very large between them. Master and servant. Sorcerer and maid. Companions. Sometimes she’s not sure what they are. He orders her about less and less these days, instead coming to her with requests to join him for tea, play games through the evening, discuss books and politics and his deal-making strategy. He shares news of the world with her and for that she is grateful. Even when living in her village, she was often left holed up alone in her father’s small estate.
“I would, but…”
“Then we shall go.” He nods his head firmly and she can scarcely believe those words have crossed his lips.
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
She smiles for just a moment before realizing that there is no hope for this. “We can’t.”
“Whyever not?” His hand comes up in a flourish.
“The festival…” She pauses and she can feel her cheeks, already warm from the exchange, turn bright red. “The May Day Festival in my land is to celebrate…fertility.” His eyebrows rise, but he stays, quite thankfully, silent. “It is a celebration attended only by those already married and those who are betrothed.”
“And so you went last year with that oaf…Gastro something or other?”
Belle reaches out a hand and lightly shoves at his shoulder. “Gaston. And yes. I went with him.” She hears him grumble something under his breath and cannot help but smile. “That was the least enjoyable part of it.”
“Indeed.”
“So you see, we cannot attend the festival.” Her voice echoes the sadness she feels at being so close and yet still so far.
“Of course we can.” Belle’s head shoots up and her eyes meet his once again. “I will be your betrothed for the evening.”
“I don’t think I can walk into my village on the arm of the Dark One and have anyone believe that,” she points out and then backs up a couple paces when the purple swirl of magic engulfs Rumplestiltskin.
Left standing in his place when the smoke clears is someone who resembles Rumplestiltskin and yet clearly is not Rumplestiltskin. He is dressed in the same finery, perhaps a little less ostentatiously, but still not the Rumplestiltskin she knows and…well…knows. Other things are best left not thought of.
“Will this do?” The hand gesture as he poses before her is certainly all Rumplestiltskin and if she looks closely, she can see the sorcerer in the human before her. His eyes are brown, but just as large as they always have been. His hair is straighter, but the same brown laced with grey. His skin is somewhat darker than hers, but no longer has the leathery look of scales. When he speaks, she notices his teeth, though still uneven, are white. He is softer, Rumplestiltskin without all the hard edges.
“This is…”
“Me. When I was human.” And he looks so hesitant for a moment that Belle cannot help but smile. She reaches out a hand and touches the soft hair that hangs loose down the side of his face.
“Yes. This will do.”
His answering smile is something Belle never thought she’d see on his face. Soft, kind, he looks like a child who was just handed his favorite toy. “Allow me to dress you, m’lady?”
Belle nods and she sees Rumplestiltskin’s glee as the smoke envelops her. It clears and she looks down at herself. Her garments match Rumplestiltskin’s, the color scheme nearly identical. They look less like the betrothed they’re going to play at and more like an established married couple, but she won’t tell him that. It will be fun regardless and she doesn’t need him to shy away from her. Not now, not when she’s so close to getting him to let down his guard.
In his hands, he holds a circlet of branches interwoven with tiny dark purple roses and baby’s breath. It is small and delicate and he holds it up, hovering just above the top of her head. “I believe this is traditional?”
“You knew.” Belle’s eyes are wide as she watches him. He places the crown of flowers atop her head and she feels his magic shift and settle it into place. She won’t have to worry about it falling off as she dances.
He gives her a crooked grin, but does not respond to her accusation. Stepping back, he holds out an arm. “Shall we then?”
Belle links her arm through his and smiles. “Yes, I think we shall.” Oh yes, she was most certainly ready for this adventure. A moment later, they disappear from the Great Hall in a whisper of magic.