Chapter Text
The doors to the castle had blown open from the treacherous storm, mountain winds and icy rain sheeting against the stones and glass. The slam of the heavy oak jolted Belle from her drowsy dreams near the fire, curled in her master’s plush leather chair. Her book had fallen from her lap to the floor where the soft wool blanket pooled about her slippered feet, and she fluttered her eyes against the brightness of the merrily crackling fire, squinting in the otherwise shrouding darkness of the great hall. She’d fallen asleep over the words, straining her eyes over the foreign language that read with symbols rather than letters. She hadn’t practiced it since her skirts brushed her ankles in girlhood, but she’d found the Dark One’s extensive library vast and filled with wonders bound in leather and parchment, she had taken it up once more.
The howling wind echoed through the dusty castle like a banshee, prickling her arms with gooseflesh. Belle stood up on shaky legs, dizzy from dreams, and clutched the back of the chair to get her footing. Her dressing gown, a delicate dove white satin with embroidered golden scrollwork whispered softly over the skirts of her creamy white nightdress beneath whenever she moved, quiet as a whisper. A gift from Rumpelstiltskin, it was made more for fashion and appeal than warmth, though the candlelight caught the golden ribbons that tied along the crepe sleeves prettily. Amidst her clothes, all linen skirts and muslin blouses, it was the finest thing she owned, and she wore it with more pride than a ballgown, feeling more like a lady than ever as she took up the lone candle and made her way through the shadowed hall. Strange dress for a strange place, it gave her a little more courage to roam the dark castle on her own.
The large doors would normally open at her hesitant touches, but on the other side of the hall, the foyer was roaring with wind and rain, and it pressed against the hall’s entrance so that Belle was forced to lean her entire body into the effort. Immediately, the wind blew the flame of her candle out, whipping her hair and robes back in a frenzy. The suits of armor, the table, the vase of roses, everything was knocked asunder, casting dark shadows against the floor. Belle hurried down the steps the moment the wind let up enough to not hurl her back, and she nearly slipped on the slick flagstones. It took all of her strength to push the doors shut, and the rest to release the bolt back in place to keep it locked once more.
The consuming quiet that was left in place was disturbingly still, and Belle found herself anxious upon turning around. The foyer was slick with rain, and she could hear a gentle dripping from somewhere within. The shadows reached and climbed the walls until Belle's eyes adjusted in the near darkness. She stepped carefully around the shattered suit of armor, mildly concerned with how she would piece it back together when a great, creaking whine brought the hair on the back of her neck prickling upward.
Across the room, the overturned table rolled onto its side, and an inky black shadow stood up. With greater speed than she knew she possessed, Belle picked up the heavy broadsword from the suit of armor and brandished it with both hands. Though still on the weaker side, she found she could hold it firmly and steadily without quivering, her months of caretaking-fetching water buckets, tugging at curtains, and bustling back and forth-having given her more strength than a simple lady. She kept the image of Gaston and his posture in a fight in her mind's eye, and she had just determined she could slice the cords holding the chandelier overhead when a thin, raspy voice panted, "Going to slay the beast, dearie?"
Belle dropped the sword in astonishment before pitching herself forward in a run just as Rumpelstiltskin's knee buckled beneath him, hardly catching himself on the edge of the table. He was just a black shadow in the darkness, but she made out the shiny scales of his coat. His grappled for Belle with one hand, his other arm held tight about his middle, and he immediately took to leaning on her when she slipped beneath his arm.
"I could've killed you, what were you thinking?" Belle cried in alarm, huffing as she took his weight. Her master was slight, but beneath his sodden layers of leather and waterlogged dragon scales, he might as well have been the size and girth of Gaston in full armor.
"The day your constitution proves fearsome enough to be the demise of any soul is one I await with bated breath, little maid," Rumpelstiltskin bit out nastily, but when he took a step forward, his body recoiled from the pressure and a shivering whine escaped from the back of his throat.
"Your leg." His knee was weak, she could tell, but he barely seemed able to put any pressure on his ankle. "You're wounded?"
"Hardly," he tried to scoff, but it came out as another watery pant, and Belle rolled her eyes, tucking her head beneath his collar.
"Can't you...appear in bed or somewhere that I might take care of it?" Belle wondered why he couldn't simply heal himself with magic, but in such a black mood as he was in, she dare not poke the dragon.
"Not quite yet," Rumpelstiltskin panted softly, and for one long moment, he rested his forehead against Belle's temple, his wet hair clinging to her cheeks. The sudden tenderness unnerved Belle, though she feared more of disrupting and questioning it than anything.
The gentle, cooing was what startled Belle back into reality, jolting Rumpelstiltskin enough that she pulled away from him, blanching, "What was that?"
It had come from beneath his coat, which he now found more bundled about him and too bulky than how the normally slim fitted garment cut his figure. Rumpelstiltskin looked at her for a moment as if he were afraid before casting an eye down and opening his coat where his arm cradled his middle so tightly.
There, tucked tightly against the leather jerkin and laces was cradled a little child, swathed in a thick burlap sash that her master had tied about his shoulder to keep the babe close to his chest. The baby was asleep, making noises in its dreams, and seemed only just days old.
Belle stared blankly, dumbfounded until Rumpelstiltskin met her eyes once more, lips pressed in a hard, thin line. "I mustn't use magic with her so close. Take her."
"Her?" A ridiculous thing to say, Belle knew. The most absurd thing to yet happen in her new life, but it seemed so much more strange to think of the babe sleeping in the Dark One's arms as a delicate little girl. Though the tales often told of the Dark One trading away children in the night, Belle had just thought those were stories, not-
"Now!" Rumpelstiltskin barked, his arms trembling under the strain of holding himself up. Stepping close, Belle slid her arms up around him to untie the sash before slipping the baby into her arms, gulping when her master slid down painfully to land on his backside in a wet heap of leather and scales. Breathless, after a few long, quiet moments, he bowed his forehead into his palm and murmured, "Thank you."
The child had pale, petal soft skin and chubby cheeks, sweet as a pea. With a light dusting of golden hair, Belle thought she was beautiful, so far as babies went, and tucked the rough blanket around her closer, fearing she would catch a cold. Her experience with children was few and far between, but she had always enjoyed the little ones in the village, especially when they would ask for a story on market day. Looking up, Belle bit her lip, stepping closer to where Rumpelstiltskin sat ponderously, asking, "What's her name?"
Rumpelstiltskin rolled his hand over his forehead as if it were hurting him, before he half glanced up, drowsy in his weakness. “Why do you need to know?” he muttered, drawing each word out so they slithered.
Huffing, Belle wrinkled her nose and said, “Well I need something to call her by. Names mean something, after all.”
The Dark One’s eyes flickered up to Belle’s face, widening just slightly as if realizing that he was talking to Belle and not just any silly maid. Letting his head fall back with a dull thud against the table, he sighed, "Rapunzel."
Tilting her head, his caretaker looked down at the little one, fidgeting with the blanket and asked, “Like the vegetable?”
Rumpelstiltskin snorted, “It’s a long story. Suffice it to say, no one steals from me without receiving their comeuppance.”
Belle stared at Rumpelstiltskin in horror, a cold dread settling heavy in her heart. She knew her master could be cruel, mocking, vile, and loathsome, but never had she truly thought he could be evil. Her short time in his home had assured her he was not as wicked as he seemed, but the thought that he could snatch a child as a payment left her feeling ill. “But she’s a person,” Belle whispered, her hoarse voice quickly gaining earnest when he wouldn’t look at her. “A person! You cannot barter a person!”
Like the strike of a snake, Rumpelstiltskin threw himself to his feet, nearly stumbling in his approach at her, baring his teeth and his eyes flashing like hawk’s, growling low and deep, “You speak out of turn to me, mistress.”
Swallowing thickly, the maid shifted the baby in her arms, but she did not step away. Instead, she leveled her chin and took a deep breath. “If I’m to be party to this monstrosity, you should at least tell me what happened.”
The sorcerer narrowed his eyes dangerously, and for a moment, Belle was sure he was going to turn her into some creeping, crawling critter to grind beneath his boot. But then his nose twitched and his lips twisted into a sorrowful kind of smile, a high pitched giggle escaping him more like a cry than a sound of mirth. “Her mother was reckless, and her father a fool,” he paused, turning his face away from Belle and limping towards the stairs, leaning heavily on the wall. Each word was a huff, a strain. “Her father dealt her away like trading at market when I found he’d stolen from me.”
“What did he steal?” Belle asked softly, following her master as he climbed to the great doors of the hall. He limped the whole way to the fireside, collapsing into the armchair where she’d been with a noisy sigh.
“From my garden,” the sorcerer said, glaring at the crackling fire, his voice a mere mutter. “A desperate husband trying to please his wife, the fool didn’t even think to ask. Had he, he’d know that the only fruits that grow here,” he pointed a dark nailed finger to the floor, shooting a treacherous look at Belle, who stood, damp and shaking near the fire. “Are poisonous.”
“P-Poisonous...” Belle looked down at the baby worriedly, but Rumpelstiltskin waved a hand.
“The babe is unharmed. Her father has learned his lesson in bartering away precious things. The birth took the mother,” Rumpelstiltskin paused, his unsettling eyes flickering from his hands to Belle. “A lesson learned enough for both of them, I should say.”
“You named her after the very thing that killed her mother,” Belle whispered, flinching at the choked, dry sound Rumpelstiltskin made when he threaded his fingers across his chest, leaning back in the chair and stretching his boots out toward the fire.
When he finally raised his eyes to her, bloodshot and haggard. “I named her after the very thing that saved her, dearie,” he whispered, his eyes falling almost hungrily to the baby at Belle’s breast. Belle looked to the sleeping child too, watching how the firelight danced at the crown of the baby’s head, her hair glowing softly. “Magic.”