Chapter Text
Even though he was still getting accustomed to walking about on four legs rather than two, Rumple heaved himself to his feet as soon as he heard the familiar high-pitched whistle at the other end of the paddock.
Belle stood on the other side, beautiful as always in her green traveling cloak, of a far wealthier make than anything he’d encountered before being sold in the Marchlands. It brought out the bright blue of her eyes and her rich brown curls created a pleasing contrast against the forest green patterns. He felt a hidden swell of pride when got closer and noticed the newest addition to her cloak; a fine tracery of golden stitching outlining the design on her shoulders – the thread was his work, and she’d felt highly enough of it to incorporate it into her clothes.
Another beckoning whistle startled him out of his thoughts and he limped gamely towards the fence, hooves clopping quietly over the grassy ground. He couldn’t gallop, or even trot (a handicap that was apparently much more desirable in a centaur than in a human; as a centaur, he was incapable of running away), but it was still a million times better than trying to maneuver himself around with one good leg and a staff.
He stopped a few yards shy of the fence, suddenly nervous, and the noblewoman smiled at him and held one hand out through the fence, palm up, as if beckoning a skittish horse.
The centaur flushed – he was not a beast, no matter what he looked like – and took the last few strides to the fenceline, resting his hands on the chest-high bar and looking down at his visitor on the other side of the wooden bars. Her outstretched hand brushed at his hip, right below the hem of his shirt where the brindled grey and brown of his horse half joined with his human waist and he fought back an instinctive shiver at the sensation of her fingers petting his coarse fur.
Before he could greet her – or even decide on how with his tongue apparently tied in the back of his throat and a blush still threatening his cheeks – she beat him to it.
“Hello Rumple. I brought something for you today.”
“Th-that’s alright, milady. You don’t need to-.”
“I want to.” She interrupted firmly. He flinched away at her suddenly firm tone, arms dropping from the fence to curl around his waist, hoping he wasn’t about to be the recipient of another ‘centaurs are people, not animals’ speech. She had a good heart, and he appreciated her support, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it and hearing about how he was currently classified as property and livestock depressed him every time. He was content to take it day by day, trying to focus on his contact with Bae and his spinning, and ignoring how much time he spent locked in the paddock, or a stable, or even hitched to the horse-master’s cart. (Apparently, a biddable beast was worth its weight in gold. Or golden thread, as the case might be.)
“Sorry.” She offered quietly, noting his flinch.
“It-It’s nothing, milady. My fault.”
He knew she wanted to protest – because she was Belle and she’d never let him shoulder any blame if she could help it – but she held it in, smiling playfully instead. “How many times must I tell you to call me Belle?”
“Ah…um.” He could barely comprehend addressing her, mere penniless peasant that he’d been and slightly more valuable centaur that he now was. The very thought of using her given name made him stammer and shift back and forth on his hooves.
“It’s okay, Rumple.” The amusement was thick in her voice as he looked up at her through the fringe of his hair, somehow managing to give the impression of being small, when he was actually a good foot taller. “Look, see? I brought you a book!” She pulled her prize out of her cloak where she’d no doubt hidden it to get it passed her father. Her eager joy at merely holding the book was infectious and Rumple found himself coming back to the fence and peering down at it.
“The…Hero’s Journey?” He read quietly.
“It’s one of my favorite books!” She enthused, flipping to the first page before he could even get to the author, apparently not noticing his slower pace in her haste. A faint smile crossed the centaur’s face. He’d been surprised to learn of the noblewoman’s passion for reading, but he’d also been surprised she wanted to spend time with someone – something – like him. She’d been a welcome surprise in almost all ways and he found himself leaning down to listen to her, focusing more on the joy in her voice and the way she paced and gestured enthusiastically as she explained the plot than the book itself. He didn’t know why she came to him with her books and passion, but he was glad she did. She was the first person (other than Bae) he’d felt a connection to since Milah’s death, and that was far more precious than anything else.
He’d never spoken to her about it but he thought she felt the same way, even though he was supposed to be merely a beast of burden and, as a noble lady, she shouldn’t be anywhere near his field or the stables. But every time she visited, she stretched her limits a little further and, looking at the way she hung on the fence as she spoke, getting as close to him as she could given their respective positions, he was absolutely sure that one of these days she was going to climb right over the fence and face him head on, propriety (and fancy expensive dresses) be damned.
Even though he knew he shouldn’t encourage her, and the very thought of meeting her without a fence between them made him blush and stammer, he anticipated that day with hope and pleasure.
The first time Belle saw Rumpelstiltskin, he was half-dead, exhausted, and hitched to a supply cart. She’d heard what happened in the Frontlands; everyone had by then; and had seen the herds of centaurs being led, chained and subdued, to their marked enclosures. Most of them were wild – human once, but driven to animalistic behaviors by their change.
Rumple stood out because he wasn’t wild. Her initial impression was of a dusty brown and grey figure, larger than a human but smaller and slighter than the other male centaurs, probably the size of a small stallion. His hair was long and shaggy, matching his ruffled fur and twitching tail, and he was wearing a simple tunic over his chest that fell past his waist and covered the border of his skin and fur. Where the others were chained and forced, mostly unburdened and bare of clothes, he seemed simultaneously more and less human; more because he was clothed and interacting with intelligence and less because he was standing quietly in his traces, even without a driver in his cart, docile to his rough state and treatment. People milled about the busy streets, but he did not buck or rear, and did not try to escape. (Eventually, she’d learn he was physically unable; his shattered ankle hobbled him better than any chains or bridle.) There was only one person he spoke to; a boy who stood beside him, standing up on his toes with his hands braced against the centaur’s side, speaking lowly into his ear.
Belle had watched as Rumple responded to the boy, and how both of them turned when a gruff man with a dark beard stepped out of a nearby house, swinging a riding crop with the ease of long use and stepping up into the cart with nary a word to his ‘horse’. A shouted order and a snap of the crop got Rumple flinching and moving, limping down the street until they passed out of sight, destined for the carriage stables on the other side of town, well away from the ‘wild’ centaurs and closer to the horses that were used for every day transport and labor in the Marchlands.
Belle burned from the secondhand indignity of watching someone – anyone – treated like the small centaur, but especially someone who couldn’t even fight back.
There and then, she decided she would free him.
Oh, she’d do her best to free all of the centaurs, to lobby with her father and what other rulers she had access to for the centaurs to be labeled people rather than property, but Rumple was her special project. He was hers. And when she actually met him, came to know and like him, watched him spending his days lying under a scrawny tree in a small fenced field, harnessed and bound at the stable-master’s whim, and spinning in his stable, she knew she had to follow through on her original plan.
Maybe not that day, or even soon, but some day she would release him from his bondage, and see him running free and happy.
Notes on this verse:
-Rumple was born human but due to the sketchy actions of the Duke of the Frontlands (his lord) he was transformed into a centaur along with hundreds of other peasants…but not Bae
-When the soldiers of the Frontlands found out Rumple was lame (due to his crippled leg), they seriously considered killing him on the spot so he would not slow down their wagon train. It took quite a lot of desperate begging, promises of good behavior, and clever persuasion to save his life. Even if those promises meant he was immediately hitched to a cart and treated like a horse, he does not regret it.
-Bae came along to the Marchlands with his father, but as he is human, he is free. Between the two of them, they managed to wrangle an apprenticeship for him at a nearby stables (one with actual horses) as a stableboy.
-Rumple was allowed to keep his spinning wheel because the thread he makes is more valuable than most of the wares of the other peasants. He’s expected to spin yarn for his ‘owner’ in exchange for the basics of survival…but recently he’s realized a previously unknown talent for spinning gold. So far, he’s managed to keep it under wraps, unsure what anyone would say, but he’s going through the straw in his stable at an alarming rate and someone is bound to notice soon.