Archive of Our Own

It all began with a deal. A deal his aunts made without him knowing. Giving shelter and refuge to the lady of these lands. The former lady of these lands, although you could hardly even recognize her in the small, thin, ragged shadow of a woman asleep in a corner by the fire. Her worn cape hugged so tightly against her frame, her little form tucked in a tight ball, her head almost disappearing into her shoulders in a posture he knows all too well. An attitude he used almost all the time, begging others not to notice him, not to pay attention. Not to him, Rumpelstiltskin the coward.

He has been away for three days, gone to the nearby city market to sell his work. By carriage it took only a couple of hours maybe three it it’s loaded or and the horse is old and weak. By foot you can start your journey long before dawn and be certain you will be home almost at the beginning of a new day, leaving the market with the last vendors and never stopping on the way. This, of course, if you were not a cripple, and you also had to avoid crossing paths with others, hiding in the woods if you heard noises coming in your direction - people, horses, carriages, it doesn’t matter what could come in your way, they could mean harm. This was a lesson he has learnt the first few times he made the journey after returning from the ogre wars. Those times he came back to his aunts battered and bruised, and all their work, the threads so carefully spun, was stolen or ruined beyond repair.

It's been years since then. And he has learnt every nook and corner of the woods, often walking in the middle of them, parallel to the road. Never in sight but never so far he would get lost in the dark menace of the forest. He joined the road only near the city, where the people always buzzing around guaranteed him a little safety. And where he had costumers, be they merchant or ordinary people, who were eager to trade with him every time, waiting of the finest thread you could find in all the country. This maybe couldn't give him protection on the road, or even respect. But allowed him to come back home not only with the much needed money, but also with additional orders and even some news.

Entering in the little cottage that night, he was eager to tell his aunties of everything he heard. They enjoyed when he came back with stories, and they always said he had a way with words that made them alive. Rumpelstiltskin didn't believe them, even if he had to admit they were the only people he was comfortable with, and this made his mind free and his tongue fly over words. Only with them. The two lovely spinster who raised him as a child after his own father abandoned him and ran away. Who taught him their art and praised him - him, the worthless kid. They welcomed him back home with tears and smiles even when everyone shunned him, called him coward after he flee from the battlefield, blaming him for all the deaths the war has reclaimed over the years -as if his own actions had started the fight. Even when Milah confronted him about his shameful act, saying he was better dead than alive, bound to carry forever with him his shameful actions in his crouch, and broke their engagement, they where there for him. And they have been for the last 20 years.

Every word, every story he wanted to tell them that night, died on his lips at the sight of the figure asleep near the fire. He knew who she was immediately. In fact he planned to tell his aunts first the rumors buzzing around the city of the fallen Lady of Avonlea having come as far as those distant lands near the border.

"Do you know who she is?", he asked in a whisper.

"Of course, Rumple, dear", said aunt Delphina, sweetly.

"She has helped us a great deal in the last three days", told him aunt Prunia, "tending the vegetable garden, chopping the wood, helping us around the housework. She also helped tending your sheep and carried the bucket of water from the town's well every day. You know how much my back aches every time I do that, darling".

"The town? Three days? They know she is here?", he started panicking, feeling the blood turn cold in his veins. "The guards will come.. she must leave…" the words died on his lips at the sorrowful stare the two old women were giving him. "I am saying this for your safety, you must understand…"

"They won't come", said aunt Delphina, with a thin edge in her voice.

"How is it possible? You know the law, she can't stay here… she has no protection", he muttered in protest-

"Yes she has". Aunt Prunia’s words were firm and sure. Rumpelstiltskin stared at her, uncomprehending for a few moments

"What?". It wasn’t a word. It was a strangled plea. The kind of sound you will sob in your nightmarish sleep.

"We claimed her for you".

Rumplestiltskin heard the finality in the words spoken by aunt Delphina and stood there looking at the lady on the dirt floor. The lady that now, as his wife to be, was under his protection.

"I am a cripple", he said.

"But you are a man and you can give her the protection she needs. Not even the king can touch something bound together by the laws of marriage".

"We will not live forever, Rumple. And we want to know you are not alone".

"But she.. she'll be an outcast. shunned by everyone. And all because of me, of my father’s story, of my own cowardice... I can never condemn anyone to this fate" he murmured sadly, looking at his feet, his crouch.

He felt the comforting hands of the two women touching gently his hair, his hands. And he closed his eyes at the contact. When they talked he couldn't understand which one was, the whispers so low and careful. "We couldn't leave her there, Rumple, in the middle of the road, surrounded by the worst animals that gather in the town's tavern. They had already beaten her to drag her there. And we are only two old ladies. And the only thing we could do was… was…". The other finished "Was to drop the bucket and try to save her, as helpless as we are. She wanted to leave, but we convinced her to wait till you were home. And then if you agree, she'll stay with you, with us, and find some peace".

"She'll be an outcast" he pressed again, more urgent now.

"I already am" the voice from the corner startled him, and his head snapped up. Blue eyes looked at him, and he could see only sadness in there, accentuated by the purple shadows under them. "Kept apart by everyone. I am tired of running and running. Afraid to bring misfortune upon every single good soul who helps me without expecting something in change. But I understand your point, and I will leave now. I already caused too much discomfort".

She moved to stand up with a little difficulty, and Rumpelstiltskin saw her for the first without the shield of her worn cape. Her right ankle was bandaged and he could see a dark bruise vanishing behind it. She was thin, too thin for her dress, worn out and mended several times, with scratches of others kind of fabrics. She had other bruises on her arms and a cut under her chin. She limped a little when moving towards his aunts to say goodbye to them, refusing the food they were offering - raising her hands in front of her in a helpless gesture. Two of her fingers were slightly crooked, and he noticed she couldn't bend them or stretch them fully. A sudden thought crossed Rumpelstiltskin while she moved slowly toward the door. She was really desperate, so desperate that even three days of his aunt's lovely care couldn't do nothing to relieve her a little from her pain. It was all in the way she moved, shoulders hunch forward, ready to run, in the way she smiled without mirth, the gesture never reaching her eyes. Because she knew what was waiting for her on the other side of the door but she was willing to face it with a courage and dignity he has never had.

Months later, Rumplestiltskin thought that a tiny part of her bravery must have been in the air of the little cottage and somehow reached his heart when he stopped her.

"Wait", he said, "I'll give you my protection… that's if" he gulped, "that's only if you are willing to marry a coward. Because that is what I am", he shrugged, helpless.

"And I am just an exiled woman". For the first time, she let the tremulous smile appear on her lips be true.

The rumor of the fallen lady of Avonlea finally finding peace in the outskirts of a little village on the border spread fast, but no one bothered them. Sure she was kept afar every time she went into town, even when she was with Delphina and Prunia, who were both much loved and respected fro their age and wisdom and gentleness. But she didn't seem to care as she walked with her head high, not listening to the occasional murmur coming from the people or the teasing of children, but smiling at them and nodding politely if their eyes made contact - a life in court gave her a certain way to move and act that not even more than one year wandering around in the streets could erase.

He soon discovered that Belle was an hard worker. She was living, during the three customary months before the marriage, with the aunts in their little house, just on the other side of the small orchard of his own home, where he went only to sleep. She wasn't able to spin, and it was too late to teach her the trade, but she was very good with needlework and her embroiders where exquisite. She also knew a little about fabric dyeing, telling them she read books about the art in her library, and book about plants and flowers and their properties.. She was smiling while she told them so, a faraway look in her face, And then the smile faded, and nor he or the aunts dared to ask her if something was wrong. The aunts, because they firmly believed that she would share her tale when ready. He, because he was afraid to hear about her past life, of all the luxuries she has left behind… afraid she would think of them and feel pity for the life she was now ready to have with him, pity for him. He tried several times to talk the aunties out of this marriage, mostly when Belle was out to fetch some water or in the little vegetable garden picking up something for them to eat. Every single time Delphina or Prunia just told him to hush, not to fret, not to worry. and that everything would be all right. He wished he could believe their words, but every night he would dream of horses coming, and guards with swords and men with torches and he wasn’t able to protect any one of them from the cruelty of men.

When he had to leave the house for trade of something else, he would look around like an hunted animal, listening to every whisper in the woods, or every murmur in the town' streets. He was waiting for the guards to come, for the men to assemble, for some kind of ill-fated destiny to befall on him, on them. He wasn't able to turn his eyes away and not see the stares, or hear the comments, like Belle did. He has never been able to. But they were mostly left alone. The aunts keep telling they were right, even the poor protection he could offer - he, a cripple and a coward - was enough to stop the persecution. One day, just before the wedding, Rumpelstiltskin gathered his little courage and asked Belle.

"Do you think Lord Gaston will come here with the guards?"

The aunts stopped spinning, holding their breath. It was the first time they talked about this. Belle knew that Rumpelstiltskin was afraid. And she was, too. If he thought the guards will come, would he send her away? Rescind his protection? Law or not, if something bad would befall over them before or after the marriage, it would be her fault. And she couldn’t stand the thought.

"No. I don't think so", she replied slowly. She was peeling the vegetables for their dinner, and she noticed her hand was less firm now. She considered for a few moments: she has not heard of her husband, and those few weeks of peace had soothed her worries, so she said it again, trying to find the bravery in her words. "No, I don't think the guards would ever come".

After a few seconds Rumpelstiltskin talked again. "And why not? … if I may ask, my lady".

She smiled sadly. "I am no more a lady, Rumpelstiltskin. I am just Belle", but she knew he would not call her so, not yet. Then she sighed, putting down the knife. "This is just a little country, and Lord Maurice had the misfortune to have only a child, a daughter", she looked only at the pieces of carrots and potatoes on the table, when she talked for the first time about her life before.

"You", said Aunt Prunia in a whisper.

"Yes, me. He loved me dearly, has he did my mother, and when she died he never wanted to marry again. But in this land, there are many, many things a woman is forbidden to do. I couldn't be a ruler, so I couldn’t be my father's heir. For women, we can only bend to a man's will: be he our father, brother, husband or son. When I was 12, the first symptoms of my father illness started to appear. Gaston was noble, from a good family, and his father was the most powerful man in the council. At 14 I was betrothed to him, and got married at 17. Little by little, as his illness became more and more debilitating, Lord Maurice relinquished all his powers, and in the end, in those last 8 years, Gaston took full control of the country, having put his men in every place. He is a good ruler, and I must say he deeply cared for my father", she misled sadly.

"But we heard he did not care for you", said Prunia, noticing only too late the look of disapproval her sister was giving her.

"We weren't meant for each other, and I did nothing, in the first years of our marriage, to try to reach out to him. I had liberties, in my youth, that no woman had before me. The liberty to study and talk. I was free to participate at the council's meetings, and my father asked frequently for my advice. And when my father was not present, for he was too ill, I stubbornly thought nothing had changed. But my presence was not welcomed anymore. Everybody, even Gaston, looked with distaste at a woman meddling in politics". She paused for a few minutes, rubbing her crooked fingers with her other hand in a nervous gesture. Resuming her tale, her voice was hoarse, and Rumplestiltskin could see the tears in her eyes, tears she refused to shed.

"A few years ago, my father took a turn for the worse. He was confined in his bed, and sometimes the pain was unbearable. He never complained, but every time I was forbidden to go in his chambers, I knew it was because he didn't want me to see him suffering. It was then that I started studying herbs and medicines. Talking with doctors and with old, savant women. I tended our own healing garden, and prepared potions and infusions to relieve the pain, to strengthen the body, to lift the soul".

"You could be a healer…", Rumplestiltskin murmur was breathless, but was heard be everyone. And as the Aunts nodded their approval, Belle was more skeptical, she was never trained, she said, and surely no one would ever want to call her. But Prunia and Delphina stopped her firmly.

"Old Gwen, the town's healer, is looking for an apprentice", began Delphinia.

"But the poor girls can't read, and are needed by their families to work", said Prunia.

"And the girls who know how to read, they don’t' want to became healers. But you, you can. Go talk to her after the marriage". Added Delphinia.

Belle looked at the two old women, and then to Rumpelstiltskin. "You are free to do as you wish, milad.. Belle", he coughed, embarrassed by the obvious way she was looking to see if he would approve of this. "In any case, the town would need a healer, and if you want, you can be one".

Belle bit her lip, "I'll think about it", she promised, then she resumed her tale. "During those last years, I spend all my days with my father. And when he died I was devastated. We buried him, and the next days, I was called to the council several times. There Gaston, my husband, declared me barren. In the 12 years of our marriage I wasn't able to give him children, or even the promise of a child too early leaving my womb. Physicians and priests were also called, to give him the power to cast me out so he will be able to remarry and have heirs".

"No midwife has been called?", asked aunt Prunia.

"The heir of a kingdom is not a business in which women could meddle", Belle shrugged, apparently quoting something that has been told to her several times.

"They said…. they said he ordered the guards to never let you stay in a place for more than a night?", the concern behind aunt Delphina's question was plain, she was the one who tended Belle's injuries in those first days.

Belle took a deep breath, before saying carefully, "After he declared me unfit, he was afraid. He may be the ruler of this land, but he is such by marriage. He was afraid someone would use me to go after him and reclaim my lands. Even if the law wouldn't permit me to inherit, I am still the only child of Maurice of Avonlea. So if a noble wanted to use me and gain power, Gaston was afraid others would follow his lead and start a rebellion. We are such a small country, surrounded by powerful ones. If we are weak because we are struggling among ourselves, it's possible that others would come from outside and conquer us. In any case, Gaston's position would be in jeopardy. No ruler can tolerate that, and I wouldn't have allowed that, myself."

"But why stop now?", Rumpelstiltskin asked again.

"I can only suppose he thinks we are no threat" she said simply.

They all silently resumed their works. Rumpelstiltskin mulled over her words. A poor spinner, a crippled, is sure no threat. Sometimes he glanced over Belle, who was now putting the vegetables in the pan on the fireplace. The bruises were long gone, and so the limp, but the lines around her face where still there - lines of worry, of fatigue, lines etched in her soul by months of running and being threatened, easy prey of every man on the road. What has she suffered after she had to leave the only life she knew? Everybody in these lands knew about her. Knew they could do as they pleased, because she was cast away - and declared impure and unfit, because she could not give children to a man. And no one would even ask for justice if she was left to die on the side of the road. He shuddered and this little movement caught Belle's eyes. She looked up at him and smiled, and Rumpelstiltskin saw in awe how every line, every tension was lifted her face, leaving only her beauty.

The wedding ceremony has been simple and brief. A few words, a simple ribbon tied around their joined hands, and then the day went on as the day before and the next. Other days passed in the quiet little routine they had somehow established when she was still living with Delphina and Prunia. The only difference was how now they were living mostly in the little house he built long ago, when he was young and full of hopes for he and Milah to fill this house with children's laughter. Instead, the rhythmic clinging of his spinning wheel's wood, the quiet murmur of the supper boiling in its pot, and the soft humming of Belle while she sew filled the winter evening.

In a corner of the little room was a big wooden chest. When they heard a carriage coming towards their house, just the day before the wedding, Rumpelstiltskin and Belle looked at each other. 'Here they come', was the silent thought that passed between them, while Delphina and Prunia started babbling something about how Belle could run to the forest and so on. But both he and Belle didn't pay attention to the aunt's frantic planning. If the guards have come, there would be no way to escape. Belle quietly joined Rumpelstiltskin to the narrow window and murmured an apology. Their eyes were fixed on the road when he replied, "It doesn't matter, dear, it's not your fault. I am the one who should apologize. I am not strong enough to offer protection". He had barely the time to register the callused warmth of her hands sliding into his and her soft murmur when he suddenly cried. "They are not the soldiers!". The hand in his tensed, and she snapped her head up. Three men were on the carriage, now in front of the house, and were pulling down a broad, heavy-looking chest. Later, Rumpelstiltskin would recollect the tears of happiness in Belle face while she thanked the men, who once has been her servants in her castle, and ask them about their families and others people. She never inquired about nobles or her former husband, and he was amazed when she asked about many people by name. When the men has gone - after they refused their offer to eat something, saying with a touch of sadness that they had orders not to -, Belle read the letter that came with the chest.

"Madame Potts, my former lady maid, has retrieved the things she hopes are my most treasured possessions, and send them to me", she explained, tears still running down her cheeks, struggling with smiling and laughing. "She also says the Lord heard about the marriage and, as long as he thinks I am not willing to act against him, he will leave us in peace".

It was a vague promise, but it soothed most of their fears. The chest contained many things, mostly books, some fine lines and shawls, a golden ballgown - "my engagement dress", she said shaking her head, "I do wonder what Potts was thinking, she knows I found it really pretentious" - a velvety box she didn't open but Rumpelstiltskin thought, correctly, contained some jewels and money, a couple of dresses, sealed jars and some spare china he watched with an odd look.

The first evening of their marriage Belle opened one of the jar and put the water on the fire to boil. The fragrance of the tea she prepared was something new for Rumpelstiltskin. It smelled like oranges and wildflowers. She gave him a delicate cup and took a seat before him at their table, inhaling the scent.

"This was my favorite". She sighed happily.

He made a non-committal sound while sipping the hot brew. It had a delicate taste, and it suited Belle.

"May I call you Rumple?"

The question came out of her mouth suddenly, on a whim, and he looked at her, seeing how her head was tilted on the side. When he didn't answer, she continued. "It's just that… Rumpelstiltskin sounds.. formal?". She said the last word in an apologetic tone, and he nodded.

"Mouthful, I know. You can call me however you like". She beamed at him and Rumpelstiltskin had to look away, feeling his cheek burn.

"I'd like to call you Rumple, my husband".

Her words shocked him and he almost jumped on his chair, chocking on his tea and sending the cup on the floor.

She hurried on his side, rubbing his back as he coughed. When his breathing turned normal she went back to her seat. "I am sorry I startled you", she said in a small voice.

"No.. I was just… I wasn't expecting it. That is all". She was biting her lip, obviously worried and thoughtful. It has been a long day, for the both of them, and he didn’t' want to distress her further, so he managed to said, stumbling on the words that he would get used to it, if she liked calling him that way.

She gave him a soft smile that eased a little of his worries, but then he caught the sight of the cup he has dropped. He retrieved it and felt awful holding it up for her to see the missing piece on the rim.

"I'm sorry it's chipped… I am so sorry, I didn't mean to… I am sorry", he pleaded. The little confidence he had with her shattered down by a little piece of broken china.

She held out her hand to his, steadying it. He hadn't noticed he was trembling. She waited till he looked in her eyes, and then said, with the softest tone she was capable of, "No matter, Rumple, it's just a cup".

"Don't..", he gulped, "don't try to ease my guilt. It's a lovely piece and now it's ruined, and all because of me….".

She didn't let him finish "But it is just a cup, Rumple. And it's just chipped, look, you can hardly see it… and you didn't ruin anything. Really. Didn't you notice that nor your cup or mine have a saucer?"

He was taken aback by that, and looked around. Truth to be told, there were only five cups and no saucers or other things. Just the cups and the teapot. "No" he murmured while looking around, "I can't say I did".

"That's because I broke them years ago. They kind of… flew out of my grasp?" She offered with a perplexed smile..

"Then why keep them if they are.. crippled", he cringed at his own words, but she didn't seem to mind.

"I am actually fond of this set", she said, studying the cup on her hand narrowing her eyes, "The more I use it the more I think tea tastes perfect only if I drink it in them. Here, taste it and tell me if I am not right". She said while brewing the hot tea into his cup, the chipped one, and looking at him with so much hope and expectation that he didn't realize he had taken the cup till the hot liquid was in his mouth.

He took another sip, remembering to taste it this time, and not simply gulp it down, and smiled at her, a shy, tentative turn of his lips. "I suppose you are right".

She beamed and hid the light blush spreading on her cheeks behind her cup.

They sipped their tea quietly for a few minutes, relaxing in the newly found peace before he startled her with a sudden question.

“Do you even miss it?”

“What?” She asked, puzzled.

“Your life, before”, he gestured around to the house, and perhaps them, “before all this?”

She inclined her head. “My life before? No, I think not. I miss my father, and Potts, but not living at the court. It certainly was not what I dreamed of as a child”.

“I doubt you would have ever dreamt of this…”, he said dryly.

“No, you are right, I didn't”. she admitted quietly. “When I was little, I wanted to see the world, have adventures. But in the months between leaving my husband's castle and finally founding a safe haven here, I have seen enough to dismiss my childhood fantasies for what they really were. The dreams of a spoiled child, who lived a happy, sheltered - even if somehow constricted - life”.

He mused about her reply for a while, then he dared to ask something, his voice a low murmur he quite hoped she wouldn't catch. “And your husband? Do you ever think of him?”

“You are my husband now, Rumpelstiltskin”, she smiled, “And I will always be grateful fro the protection you and your aunties gave me”.

“No. I mean..” he blushed deeply, “I mean if you ever miss being with him… his… company”.

“Ah…” she blushed, understanding the meaning of his words. She took some moments to answer, sipping her tea with her forehead frown "No. I don’t", she sighed at last. "I was a dutiful wife, and that it's all I was. The fact he threw me away only days after my father died and I barely protested it's enough proof of that. There was no love lost in our marriage, there never was, and I think there would never have been”.

The silence that followed those words was a tight one. And Rumpelstiltskin could feel his discomfort rise to a point when he could no longer stand to stay inside the house, with the woman who has chosen to be his bride out of necessity and bare need.

“I m sorry, I didn't mean to pry”. He murmured as he stood and went towards the door, muttering something else about the sheep and the barn. A strange expression crossed her face - as usual, the sheep has been tended long before supper and she knew it -, but she didn't enquire further and Rumpelstiltskin was grateful for that walking outside and breathing fresh air. Her coolness when talking about her husband, and the way her voice has cracked a little over the word Dutiful deeply troubled him. Why did the aunties put him in this? He is no man, he is not right for a lady such as Belle. And the fact that she was so desperate to take someone such as him as an husband, only to have some peace and rest from endless wandering, afraid of every person she met on the road, afraid of men and what they could do to her. Dutiful wife. Rumpelstiltskin shivered at the thought. Men are beast, sometimes, but he would not be. He would never force her to be a dutiful wife. They said she can't have children, so the two of them could just live like this, be companions, and grow old together. Live a quiet life in this village. Maybe they would never be happy, Truly happy, not without sharing the passion of lovers and the burning of affection, but they could share a simple life, and survive.

He had almost tricked himself into believing this, when he came back his house that first night after a long time spent walking around just on the edge of the woods. He saw her looking out a few times, she was obviously searching for him, but she didn't call. There, in his house, he found Belle asleep in his bed, Their bed, and the thought and the sight stirred something inside him. That first night, and many many night after, he found himself utterly terrified by the image of this lovely, sweet woman who has shared in his bed in the past weeks, and never asked why he has never touched her. It was a different kind of pain. It was an ache deep inside. Different from the one he felt on the battlefield, crushing his own ankle to run away from the horror, the blood, the smell of dead and dying coming nearer and nearer his battalion.

Different form the one he felt when Milah abandoned him. He thought she was everything he couldn't live without. The one who knew all of his fears and troubles, the one who will comfort him when memories of his father made him sob at night. Instead, it was Belle who soothed him as darkness fell, when visions of the battlefield entangled with the fierce whisper of his father cruel mockery and the dark figures of the guards dragging all of them away worked together to crush him. He had woken up often in the first days of their marriage sobbing and gulping for air, with her hands lightly on his hair, and her sweet smile welcoming him to reality once more, soft and tender, even if he could see the worry veil the blue of her eyes. He was afraid, and tired, and anxious. Trying to stay awake, to not shift, to not touch the lady in his bed not even by mistake, not even while sleeping - and failing when the nightmares kept trashing him.

She had understood - what he couldn't say, because he didn't understand it himself - , and she has found out how to calm him. Soft contact, maybe holding his hand, brushing his hair away from his face, and quiet murmurs soothed him after a nightmare, and brought a peaceful sleep. So quietly but firmly, little by little, she has coaxed him to an easy bedtime routine, asking him to brush and disentangle her hair, and then smiling and taking his hand before letting her head rest on the straw pillow and close her eyes. Wary at first, as their time together as a married couple went on, he grew accustomed to her. Her quiet company was a true comfort, and he now found himself murmuring approvingly in his sleep when she scooted closer.

But they never went beyond that, even as something between them grew with time. Something that once, in passing, she called intimacy and ease. And the more they shared tea in chipped cups without saucers, talking and smiling, the more he found he wanted to talk and smile to her the next day.

Or to listen to her reading. He found it amusing that the only way to stop her from working when she was tired after a long day, so tired the needle kept slipping from her hands, causing little tears of blood to appear on the tips of her pale fingers, was to make her reading to him. She has kept the books in the bottom of the chest, sometimes brushing their covers longingly, but she thought reading was a luxury she wasn't allowed to have anymore. He disagreed and one evening asked her to read something to him - that, of course, if she didn't mind. She was surprised and, after a few careful words between them, she picked up a book and began reading, her tone wavering a little in the beginning, but growing stronger and stronger as she was swept away with the story, and he with her.

"Read me something from the big book with the strange word on the cover", he asked her one evening.

"Which one?" she inquired, putting away their cups.

"The big blue one. It has a strange design in front, like delicate flames of silver, and the flowery pattern around it, the one you embroidered when the constable's daughter got married, on her dress' bodice", he explained.

"The Tale of the Thousands Nights? Why?", she gulped, suddenly embarrassed.

He shrugged. "It's just… you never read form it and I was wondering…", he saw her face blush, and fidgeted. "But it's no matter, we..ah… we'll read something else". He turned around and resumed with his work, but his fingers trembled. He must have done something wrong.. maybe that book wasn't meant for the eyes and ears of some common people like him.

Belle considered for a few minutes what to do. Then went and retrieved the book from her chest. She didn't said a word, just began to read slowly to Rumpelstiltskin. It was a tale of love and seduction, of words and cruelty and cleverness. A tale with many ends and beginnings, that went on for many, many nights as the beautiful princess bargained for her life with a powerful sorcerer every single time darkness came in her reign with another story, another twist of words, another universe to explore. And as the nights of the princes went on, for many nights Belle kept reading to Rumpelstiltskin. At first he worked on his spinning wheel and she was on her favorite place near the fireplace, but, gradually, they made it so the reading was the last thing before closing their eyes and falling asleep, most of the times their heads bending over the page as they sit side by side in their bed. Their breath mingling as the world and the pictures passed by. They never talked about the story like they did with other books, they just shared looks and sighs, the occasional fidgeting and blush. So silence fell between them when Belle read the last words of the final night, when the sorcerer loved the princess, and was loved back by her with passion.

Belle closed the book and her eyes, too, overwhelmed by the power of the words. She shivered when an equally breathless Rumpelstiltskin finally gathered the courage to ask her one burning question.

"Is it really like this? The passion, the desire?"

She swallowed loudly and turned towards him. "I don't know, not really. I only read it in books and heard it in old songs and tales", she licked her lips, and watched how his eyes followed the motion, pupils dilated. "And for you? Has it ever been like this?"

"For me?”. was his throaty whisper, "I have never felt like this, not before".

"Before what?" she asked, losing herself in his gaze.

"Before you" he said simply. And she was the one to cross the little space between them and capture his lips with hers. It was soft, barely a brush, and when she moved back he followed her, eyes closed. She smiled and kissed him again, closing her eyes, tasting his lips with hers once more, and then once again.

When they broke contact, they were facing one another. Her hand came to rest on the side of his face, and he leaned into it. It was a sweet, small gesture, and stirred something in her. She thought she needed to said something now, or she would never. "I deeply care for you, Rumple. And if you let me, I will love you. I want to love you".

He seemed to shrink back at those words. Panic shadowing his eyes as he pulled away. She brought her other hands to cup his face, and firmly stopped him. "If you tell me no, I will understand. I choose you but I know you didn't… you didn't want me. Maybe you never will. But I want you to know this. It's not because I am grateful, or because I think I owe you. I really love my life here". She smiled and caressed his face. "You gave me hope, something I thought long lost. And love, even if it's not… even if you don’t' want me, it doesn't matter, this wouldn't change how I feel about you." She leaned in and kissed his furrowed brow. Then she moved to give him some space, hoping she would be able to hide her turmoil at his rejection.

His hand grabbed her shoulder and made her turn around and face him. The movement caught her off guards, and she half stumbled against him, hitting his chin with her forehead. They both started to apologize and they laughed when their eyes met. Then he blushed and said, slowly: "I do care for you, too. And I want you. But I…”, he looked around, looking for words, "I don't know how… how to make you… like in the book…I never… I don't know passion" he finished, sighing. He dropped his head, dejected, and she looked at him in wonder. When he raised his head at her silence and stillness, she smiled at him and again closed her the space between them to kiss him fully.

She started slowly. Teasing kisses that were just brushing of lips. Then, when he relaxed and reciprocated her movements, searching her lips with his, she started deepening the kiss, sucking on his bottom lip, gently nibbling it. She cupped the back of his head when he gasped, keeping him against her as she continued her ministrations. Then, suddenly, his lips moved, and he answered every single plea she made with her lips with his, suckling, nibbling, and licking her upper or bottom lip in turns. She smiled and sighed against his lips, moaning his name. His hands came up to tangle in her hair. He tilted her head to the side, his mouth opening a bit more as his tongue came to taste her own mouth, still open in a breathless sigh. They broke the kiss, panting and looking in their eyes. He kept his hand on her hair, brushing her locks with his fingers, disentangling them with a tenderness that she felt would break her heart. But it did not. She pecked him on the lips.

"This was nice". She bit her lip and blushed at the sight of his eager nod. She caressed his face, feeling his skin under her fingertips. "Touch, caress, lick, taste. It's all very simple" she whispered slowly studying him with a careful gaze while her fingers traced the lines of his mouth. "Everything that brings pleasure to you will do the same to me”.

“Bring you pleasure?”, he choked out.

“Yes. As long as you listen to me. I will also listen to you, your words, your breathing, your sighs and laugh”, she smiled at his perplexed expression, and her soft laugh , like the breeze on a quiet lake, made him shiver. “I would listen to your… Your noises, too”.

“Noises?”, he repeated, perplexed.

“Yes, like when I brushed you wrist with my hand this morning, and you sharp intake of breath was almost a hiss, like you were in pain. But I know it better, and pain has never sounded so…”, she bit her lip, “so wishful, like.. Like….”

“Like longing”, he concluded for her.

“Was it? Was it longing?”. She asked, hope filing her tone.

“Oh, yes”, he breathed out, “it was. It is”.

“I am glad”, she smiled sweetly. And he noticed a slow blush tint her cheeks, faint by the light of the dying fireplace. But he knew her face so well, the soft cream of her skin was engraved in his memory by many, many nights spent watching over her, as the fire burned out, or as the moon made her shy appearance and crossed, in her path, the bed. Their bed, he thought with a shudder of anticipation.

“Would you teach me?”

“What?” She murmured, furrowing her brows

“How to love you”. he said simply, shyly.

“Oh”, she took his hands in hers, “but you already know how. I feel it in our home. I feel cherished by you. The rest, we will discover it together, you'll teach me as I'll teach you. How to touch you, how to kiss you, how to make you murmur my name as I taste your skin, as I breathe you in”, she said softly.

“Oh, Belle”, he murmured letting her guide him to lay down on their bed, facing each other and kissing languorously. She trailed her kisses down on his chin, his jaw. Nuzzling his neck, biting him down. At first with care and tenderness, laving the soft bite with kisses and little swept of her tongue. Then, when his breath became more labored, and his hand tangled in her hair, urging her closer, moaning her mane, she suck hard, just shy of his collarbone, when neck and shoulder met. He sobbed her name at that, and bucked his body against hers instinctively, making Belle shiver in response. He brought her face back to his, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss, moving their bodies so he was now on top of her, pressing her frame down with his. A moan escaped her lips and he seemed to regain his senses at the noise, moving back with a loud gasp.

Before he could apologize, Belle took her hand and brought it to her lips, kissing his fingers and gently sucking them.

"Did you liked it?" she murmured between nibbling his fingers, glancing at him with eyes heavy lidded.

"Oh, yes" he shuddered, his hand twitching between hers.

"Then keep going", she challenged, letting his hand drop to brush her neck and her breast. He looked at her wide-eyed, before moving to kiss her on the corner of her mouth, and then tracing a path from mouth to nose, then her cheeks and chin, then down on her neck, copying her actions, he kissed and licked and nibbled at her pale throat. With every approving noise she made, with every soft sigh and shallow breath, he doubled his efforts. And when he traced her lovely form with his hands, moving them from shoulder to hip, caressing her body through the fine fabric of her nightgown, she moaned his name.

They read about this. About heated touches setting bodies on fire. And he tried to remember what the sorcerer did to the princess, to make her moan and beg. He would like to make Belle moan, thrashing under his hands and lips. He was not sure about wanting her beg him.. for what? The idea of this wonderful woman, whose hands were fisting in his hair and guiding him down her neck till her panting torso, begging him for more stirred something inside him and he began to lick and kiss her breast through the cotton of her nightgown. She cried out when his mouth closed on a taut nipple, the wet fabric clinging on her, adding on the sensation of his sucking. She moved his head away. And the noise of protest he made deep in his throat died as soon as his brain caught up in what she was actually doing. She sat up and started untying the little bows keeping her nightgown closed on front. He watched rapt has her fingers moved, pleased to find them a little trembling, clumsily trying to move as fast as possible, and failing. Could he have caused such reaction in this woman, he, with his clumsy kisses and inexperience? But then he saw her tremble and close her eyes when he raised a hand and brushed away her hair from her face and neck, caressing her skin.

She fumbled with the last bow sighing in frustration when, instead of loosening the knot, she managed only to tie it up more. He took her hands away gently, and kissed them, marveling at the thought that his own action had on her the same effect hers have on him. Arousing him, making something stir inside him, coiling in his belly, on his tongue, on his fingertips. Like a spark, a flicker of light was running through his body and he needed to touch her, to feel her to have relief from this maddening sensation. He saw her shiver, and felt her heart thump inside her chest when he traced the line from her neck to the middle of her torso with his fingers. A path of white skin flushed with desire that the opening of her nightgown has revealed. Her eyes were fixed in his when he easily untied the last ribbon, and then, with a soft movement of his hands, let the fabric slide away from her shoulders and her arms, pooling at her waist and baring her to his sight.

He was breathless. Speechless. Long instants passed before she slowly smiled at him and caressed the side of her face slowly. "Breathe, Rumple". He did as she asked, but the air flowing again his brain didn't help him further. She took advantage of his impasse, and, with little struggling on his part, removed the old shirt and pants he usually wore for the night. Before he could realize it, he was bare before her, and she leaned down to kiss him on the chest, tasting his skin, his nipples. Moving her hands to caress him down his torso, on his ribs and the planes of his belly. He didn't have time to be bashful or shy, too caught up in the sensations she was giving him. His hand went to her shoulders, and a cry escaped his lips, a primitive, guttural sound, and he hold onto her for dear life when Belle’s hand traveled down and carefully but firmly encircled him. She slowly began sliding her hand up and down, driving him mad. He was pressed against her, pushing against her hand and muttering her name in her hair as she kept kissing and nibbling his throat, keeping the fast motion of her hand on him. When she kissed his ear and murmured some nonsense he wasn't able to comprehend, knowing only that it was her voice, her lips, her hand giving him pleasure, he succumbed at the sensations and shuddered, spending himself on her hand and belly.

When he regained his senses, her hands were now caressing his chest and his arms, while she gave him soft kisses. He looked at her in awe. “Belle”, he whispered, slowly responding to her pleading lips with his. Then he remembered something she said to him before, how everything that would bring pleasure to him will do the same to her. He focused on her, listening to her gasps and moans as he deepened the kiss, growing bolder and bolder. When her fingers tangled in his hair and she shivered he moved his lips down on her throat, remembering how she liked the gesture before. His hands kept caressing her, soft touches and firmer gestures, brushing and teasing heated skin. He lost himself in her taste, in how she felt pressed against him. His mouth went to her breasts as his hands wandered down, over her ribs and belly and then, softly, touching her between her legs. She keened, sobbing his name in a constant plea as his hands brushed her. She was murmuring something between shallows breaths, but he couldn’t understand her words, he couldn’t care for them, not with her hands clutching him closer and he was enjoying the feeling of her softness. He let her breathless sobs and moans guide his movements, moving over this place and that, constantly changing the pressure of his swift fingers, rubbing, circling, caressing. Changing the pace with slow movements or abruptly, making a low, desperate moan escape her lips. He felt himself harden again at the sound, and looked up at her, losing herself on their bed, under his care. For a second, he regretted the dying fire and the low light of the little house. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him. And he knew he was lost.

“Rumple, please…”, she moaned, urging him over her with her hands, trying to kiss him and not managing to raise her head enough when his nail scraped lightly over something and she cried out. The urge to kiss the sound out from her lips overwhelmed him and he gave in, tasting her. Between the two of them, out of stubbornness and sheer luck, they somehow managed to align their body and he slowly entered her, while Belle was still shivering from her pleasure. It was pure torture and bliss. And neither of them could do anything but moan. When he started to move, she moaned his name, raking her nails down his back. He leaned a little on his bad ankle, hoping the pain would be enough to keep him going. She started to move with him, and slowly they found themselves captured in a quiet rhythm.

He leaned forward and traced her lips with his tongue, hearing Belle moan when he did filing her legs instinctively circling his waist, allowing him to thrust harder and deeper. She cried out against his lips every time he pushed further inside her. He started to whisper something over her lips, something that slowly became a uninterrupted sequence of sweet words and her name and how she was beautiful and lovely and how he was unworthy of her. She arched against him, begging him for more. More words, more kisses, more touches.

When she said his name, Rumpelstiltskin grunted into her mouth and raised his arm up to grasp the wall above her head, and what had been a slow building of sensations grew like wildfire. The change in their posture triggered something in her body, and she started convulsing under him, holding him closer, scratching his back with her nails. Rumpelstiltskin tangled his hand in her auburn curls and buried his head on the crook of her neck as they reached their pleasure, drowning one into the other. He kept murmuring her name and love and sweetheart in her curls, and she was doing the same, trembling under him.

After they caught their breaths, her hand drew his mouth to hers hungrily, and he was nuzzling her, combing his fingers through her hair and along her neck lazily, as if he couldn't afford much more. They moved till they were facing each other, lying on their side.

They fell asleep like that, intertwined one in the other, so close that they didn't know which limb belonged to whom. Whose lips kept giving sweet lazy kisses and whose responded. So close that when he closed his eyes, she fell asleep.