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Chapter Text

“You were not prepared for this,” said Rumpelstiltskin when they were standing alone, outside the palace walls. “You did not even pack.”

“Why would I?” Belle thought to herself. All magic came with a price, but she never imagined she’d have to leave home to pay it.

She did not say this aloud. The less said to him, the better. But she did not relish turning back for her things. She’d gotten through her goodbyes without a painful scene. She wasn’t so sure she could hold out a second time. Still, there was no other way.

“Well, no matter. Just think of a few things, and I will get them to the castle.”

She looked at him blankly.

“For example,” he said with a note of exasperation in his voice, “what do you wear on a cool night like this? A cloak, I assume?”

The first cloak that came to mind was the coarse green and yellow one she’d borrowed from Gabrielle, not her own fur-trimmed cape. But the moment she thought of it, she was wearing it.

“This isn’t actually mine,” she said, looking down at herself. “I borrowed it from a friend.”

“Very well then. Think of your friend, and I will leave a gold coin and a note for her.”

“But –”

“It’s a simple purchase, not a deal. She will owe me nothing.”

Belle stared at him. A gold coin was an exorbitant sum to pay for such a plain cloak. He certainly threw his wealth around capriciously. But since he could just spin more gold, and it would benefit the Villeneuves. . .

“May I make another purchase from the same friend?” she asked, thinking of the blue dress.

“If you must," he said, as the dress materialized out of thin air, "but that’s all for clothing."

He lifted the flap of his own cloak, and the dress disappeared into it. Belle recognized it as an Agraban Cloak of Endless Storage, just like the pirate in the tavern was wearing.

"I will allow a few books. I gather you are fond of reading.”

Grateful to be getting books at all, Belle closed her eyes and began envisioning her favorites. “Her Handsome Hero, for sure. My pen and journal, and. . .”

“Enough!”

Startled, her eyes flew back open. He was now sizing her up. He frowned disapprovingly, much in the way she had seen the housekeeper look over a maid whose uniform was askew. In the next instant, she was wearing long, leather riding gloves.

“Thank you,” she whispered, embarrassed at being found lacking.

“Hmmph!” he sniffed, making her feel worse. Yet his next gesture was one of incongruous chivalry. He offered his arm.

Belle balked. She'd tolerated the brush against her elbow because that was how he sealed his deals, but linking arms with him was beyond the call of duty. She'd agreed to work for him, nothing more.

“No time for fussing, dearie. We're keeping the ogres waiting.”

“We’re meeting ogres? What for?”

“To sign the peace treaty, of course. That is what you asked of me.”

Now Belle felt stupid. When she asked for his help, all she imagined was him magically sending the ogres away. She never dreamed there would be this much pomp and circumstance. Even Father had never signed a peace treaty! Avonlea was so small and quiet, he never needed to. Belle felt completely out of her depths. 

“Transport will be easier if you would just take my arm,” said Rumpelstiltskin impatiently.

Reluctant as she felt, she could not disobey him. She grasped onto his arm, and he snapped the fingers of his other hand. A puff of smoke surrounded them, and suddenly, the ground seemed to fall out from under her feet.

“Oh!” she cried out.

They were floating through the ether, but the only thing she could see around her was smoke. She clung to his arm as though her life depended on it. The whole trip only lasted a second, but he was laughing at her when they landed.

“You may let go now, dearie,” he giggled. “Didn’t hurt a bit, did it?”

Belle snatched her hand back and took a step away from him. “No, it didn’t hurt,” she thought, “but it didn’t feel normal.”

She tried to collect herself and get her bearings. They were no longer at the palace, but on top of a hill in the forest. They could see the entire lay of the kingdom from up there: the palace, the village, and the two army camps.

He reached into his cloak and pulled out the legendary dagger of the Dark One, engraved with his long, cumbersome name. She gasped at the sight of it, but he ignored her. He held it skyward, just as Morraine described, and it absorbed some of the moonlight. The engraved letters went from black to shimmering.

A beam of white light streamed out of the dagger and radiated up through the air. One of the ogres took notice and walked toward them. His noisy footsteps made the ground tremble. Belle was nearly trembling herself, her heart was pounding so hard.

“Here, drink that,” said Rumpelstiltskin, handing her a vial of chalky liquid.

“What is it?”

“An import from Wonderland. It will make you grow to the height of an ogre.”

Eyeing the vial warily, Belle took it, but did not drink. Meanwhile, Rumpelstiltskin reached back into his cloak and pulled out another vial for himself. He downed it in one gulp and began doubling, tripling, and quadrupling in size. It all happened so fast, Belle felt like she must be shrinking as he shot up through the sky. She swallowed her potion and caught up just in time to be introduced to the ogre.

“Chief Shrek, allow me to present Princess Belle of Avonlea.”

The ogre bowed. “On behalf of ogrekind, we thank you for sparing the life of our fellow Ibber.”

Belle was too stunned to speak. Ibber must be the ogre she freed from Gaston’s trap! Father criticized her for doing it, calling it an act of misplaced mercy, but it sounded like she’d earned Avonlea some goodwill. She longed to ask the chief more about Ibber, but Rumpelstiltskin would brook no delays. He wanted to get down to business.

He waved his hand, and a table with three chairs, perfectly proportioned to their now inflated size, appeared. Even sitting down, they were so big that they were overlooking the treetops.

“Peace treaty,” said Rumpelstiltskin, making three sheets of parchment unroll on the table, “for your review.” 

With another wave of his hand, Rumpelstiltskin conjured a lit candelabra and three quill pens. Belle and Chief Shrek began reading their copies of the treaty.

Shrek, Chief of the Ogres, representing all ogrekind, and Belle, Princess of Avonlea, representing herself, the monarchy, and its subjects, hereby agree to leave each other in peace. To this end, Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, guarantees that he will fortify the ogres’ barrier and will maintain a protective force over Avonlea. This treaty is binding now and forever.

“We agree,” said Chief Shrek.

“As do we,” said Belle.

“It’s a deal then,” said Rumpelstiltskin. They passed the treaties around the table, taking turns signing each copy.  

When they were finished, Rumpelstiltskin looked over all three documents. He wrinkled his nose and passed them back to Belle. “You must sign with your title,” he told her. “’Belle, Princess of Avonlea.’”

Flustered, Belle made the correction. Rumpelstiltskin scrutinized the treaties once more. Satisfied at last, he handed one copy to Chief Shrek, who rolled it up and put it in his pack.

“Ordinarily, I would simply transport you back to your realm,” he said, “but the people of Avonlea need to witness your departure. March your troops out in procession, and when the villagers recognize that you are going, I will signal and send you the rest of the way.”

“That works for us,” said the Chief. The two shook hands, and when Shrek got up, not only did he bow to Belle again, he kissed her hand. “Our deepest apologies for your mother’s death,” he said.

“Th- thank you!” stammered Belle.

Evoking Mother’s memory now was a bittersweet tribute at best. She was the prime martyr of the war, but her inspiration guided the peace. Belle only managed to keep her composure because she knew that Mother would have.

“I know an apology is not really enough,” said the Chief, “but at least we have peace now.”

“Yes, we do,” said Belle. She glanced shyly at Rumpelstiltskin. “Thank you.”

Just like Chief Shrek, he bowed.

Shrek saluted him and then turned back to his encampment. He covered so much ground so quickly, it did not take him long to give his army the order to begin packing themselves out.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled two more vials out of his cloak. He spilled a drop of liquid onto the table and then passed a vial to Belle. “The antidote. Drink up.”

She obeyed him immediately that time. If she hadn’t, she would have broken the chair she was sitting on. Like everything else on and around the table, it was shrinking to its regular size.   

“I will store these at home,” said Rumpelstiltskin, making the two resized treaties disappear. He made Shrek’s chair vanish, too. Only the candelabra and quills remained.

“Contract of Employment,” he said, as two more pieces of parchment spread out before them.

“Contract. . . of Employment?” repeated Belle shakily. She should have seen this coming.

“What else? Did you think I’d pull a bait-and-switch and have you sign a marriage contract? That’s not my style at all. I'm a man of my word. Besides,” he tittered, “I’m not that cruel.”

While he sat there snickering at his own jokes, Belle stewed in resentment at being the butt of them. It was just like what Morraine wrote. He raises commoners into royalty because he thinks it’s funny. Apparently, doing the reverse tickled him, too. One minute, he was bowing to her as head of state, and the next, he was making her sign over her life.

Still laughing, he nodded toward the contract, silently prodding her to start reading. She picked up her copy. To her surprise, it was longer and more complicated than the peace treaty.

In payment for services procured by Belle, Princess of Avonlea, and delivered by Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, both parties agree to the following conditions and terms:

The first several clauses began “Belle shall,” and they listed her new responsibilities. She did not get far in reading them. Her eyes began brimming with tears. What if he grew dissatisfied with her performance? She’d made a few blunders already. Would the people of Avonlea suffer for her mistakes? A few tears dropped onto the page.

“No, no! You’ll destabilize the ink!” he scolded, levitating the contract so that it floated out of reach.

She promptly dried her tears. He lowered the contract back down. She tried to continue reading, but it was no use. She was too distraught to concentrate. All she grasped was that the last set of clauses began exactly the same way, “As long as Belle remains in his employ. . .”

Belle never expected to end up with a bagful of gold like Morraine, but she thought she’d at least be clever enough to see through his word games and emerge from her deal unscathed. Now it seemed she was just like everyone else: caught in a life-sized knot, with herself stuck in the middle.

“How do I sign this one?” she asked morosely. “As ‘Belle, the maid?’”

“Just ‘Belle’ will do.”

She signed both copies, and so did he. Then he whisked them away with the quills. She sat there feeling utterly hollow.

“Look!” he said, pointing at the village below.

Little by little, the villagers were lifting their window curtains to get a peek at the ogres marching away. As promised, Rumpelstiltskin sent Shrek the signal. He pointed his dagger upward, and the silvery moonlight shone out of it again. Shrek gave him one last salute before he and his army disappeared in a massive cloud of smoke.

A great cheer erupted all over Avonlea. The soldiers began breaking camp. The townsfolk ventured out of their homes and poured onto the public square. Friends ran to friends and hugged one another. Belle thought she could even make out the happy tunes of fiddlers.

How she wished she was down there, celebrating with everyone! But she must stay here, with her new master. The full weight of her decision was sinking in.

“I will never see Avonlea, or anyone in it, again!” she thought as tears refilled her eyes.

She’d always dreamed of getting away from there, of seeing more of the world. Sometimes she even complained about how provincial her life was. But now, with magic exploding around her at breakneck speed, all that dull sameness was suddenly precious.

“At least Father and the villagers will be safe,” she told herself. But her tears were beginning to fall.

She remembered her oversized hood and pulled it over her head. There was no hiding from the mercurial monster she’d just bound herself to, but she was not going to let him have the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

“As steady as a heartbeat in the negotiation,” he said, “but they always break at the execution.”

And then Belle couldn’t stop herself. Her floodgates burst forth. Soon she wasn’t just crying; she was sobbing. Her whole body shook until she was off her chair and kneeling on the ground, weeping over that beloved bit of forest earth.

Belle did not know how long she remained bent over the ground like that. She simply cried until her energy was spent. Then, she became self-conscious. No servant could behave like this at home! She caught her breath in short stutters, got up, and curtsied to her new master. “Excuse me,” she whispered.

He did not reprimand her. He did not even mock. He simply held out his arm like an unenthusiastic partner leading her to a dance set. With a matching lack of enthusiasm, she took it.

Once again, smoke surrounded them and brought them somewhere else. The floating sensation didn’t jostle her as much the second time, but she could see they had traveled much further in that brief instant. It was colder in his part of the Land. There was a chill in the air and frost on the ground. She shivered as he waved the great doors of his castle open.

His castle was bigger than Father’s, but much drearier. They stepped into the foyer. Evidently, he kept no other servants, so he removed her cloak with a snap of his fingers. It vanished completely, leaving her feeling bare and powerless. This man could go anywhere, do anything, and hurt her anytime he chose. She was entirely at his mercy.

Cackling, he led her through his Great Hall. With its banquet table and imposing tapestries, it wasn’t all that different than any other grand home she had seen, except the back wall was lined with cabinet upon cabinet of objects she assumed were magical. At the side of the room stood his famous spinning wheel.

Chapter Text

Belle’s weeping pierced Rumpelstiltskin right to his core. He didn’t think he could stand it much longer, but he knew he had to. She needed to get it out of her system. But more than that, she was sparking a spectacular renewal in Avonlea. In his vast collection of human tears, he’d never come across any as potent. He saw that the instant they landed on her contract. Combined with the Apprentice’s Ink and her signed Name, he expected stellar results, but no more than a drop or two was necessary. The rest fell onto Avonlea’s soil, where they rightly belonged. If Belle knew what her tears were accomplishing, she would welcome her own sorrow. Which, of course, would defeat the purpose.

Forcing her to sleep in the dungeon was also crucial to her sacrifice. She had to believe she was living with an irredeemable monster. It was practically the truth, anyway. The Dark One had reigned for so long, he felt permanent.

Rumpelstiltskin sent his mind into her cell to listen in more closely. “Just give in to sleep,” he whispered. “You’re exhausted. Please, Belle.”

Slowly, her cries died down. She coughed a bit, and then went quiet. “Good,” he thought. “She responds to my ‘please.’” He warmed up the cell, softened the floor into a cushioned mattress, and slid a pillow under her head. It would soak up her tears while she slept. He’d squeeze it out later when she awakened.

He had begun setting up a maid’s quarters at the opposite end of the castle, but just as Belle was not yet of a mind to accept it, the room was not ready to receive her. Furnishing it with the right magic took careful consideration. So far, other than the basic bed, bath, and wardrobe, he put in the few personal belongings he had allowed her, along with the two magical items he knew to be in her possession: Madam Morraine’s book and the Mirror of Souls. There was also the crystal she was wearing around her neck, nearly overflowing with Reul Ghorm's blessing, but he would not take it away from her, especially as the magic within it wasn't his to trace.

The spells in Morraine’s book had unraveled to completion. The fairy-blessed writer finally found her counterpart reader. So he left the book amongst the others Belle requested. The Mirror of Souls was the real conundrum. With a flick of his wrist, he brought it to the table, tightly covered so that he could not look in it himself. He hadn’t designed it for his direct use. It was meant for the maiden - or maidens - of the fairy prophecy.

He sat at his wheel, trying to recall the original prophecy verbatim. The precise words of any prophecy always carried great weight. He sent the wheel swirling backwards. That sometimes helped when he was thinking of times far past.

The image of the careless novice in her ridiculous pink frills came right back to him. “Redemption is possible for everyone,” she proclaimed, parroting the standard line.

“Shoo, pest!” he said, knowing full well that she wouldn’t leave until her message was complete.

“Your redemption will come from a fair maid’s love,” she continued.

“I’m to receive True Love’s Kiss, am I?” he laughed. “My, but you’re a blind little bat.”

“It might be True Love, but a more incremental Cleansing will precede it.”

“Ah, a Cleansing,” he repeated. “Just what my blackened heart needs. A fair maid to dust out the cobwebs.”

“Will you let me finish?” wailed the novice, breaking protocol.

He giggled. In this realm of hopeful souls and fairy magic, no one was so cynical as to interrupt a fairy prophecy.

“A woman clear of vision, sharp of mind, and pure of heart.”

“As foretold by the fairy loose of tongue and full of rubbish.”

“Nova!” came the scolding voice of Reul Ghorm. The novice abruptly disappeared.

“Delightful prophecy,” he snickered, “but that novice of yours needs more training. Don’t you warn them not to consort with me?”

“You were meant to get that message, and you know it,” said Reul Ghorm. “Stop playing innocent.”

“If such a woman were ever born to the world, you wouldn’t waste her gifts on my wretched Darkness. You’d snap her up and recruit her to your own ranks.”

“The woman who can redeem you, Rumpelstiltskin, will be performing a service even greater than a fairy’s. She will have my blessing whether she joins us or not."

He clapped his hand to his heart and sighed dramatically, as though shocked and insulted. Reul Ghorm knew better than to take his bait. She didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. “You’ve heard your prophecy. Now do with it what you choose.”

“Indeed I will!” he called after her as she flew away.

What he chose to do, at least at first, was nothing. He simply waited and watched. Prophecies always unfolded in their own way. There were more sides to them than anyone could predict, even immortals and Seers. Even Reul Ghorm herself.

“But did Reul Ghorm see through me?” he wondered. The question had crossed his mind many times, both then and since. Because underneath all his mockery, he was celebrating when he received that prophecy. Despite his bitter history with fairies, he harbored a deep and secret faith in them. Until the novice approached him, he believed the door to his redemption was locked shut. The romantic part was bunk, but the slow, incremental pace suited him perfectly.

Rumpelstiltskin knew better than anybody just how badly he needed to change. The trouble was, he needed his Dark Power, too. He had to rely on it to get himself to Bae. But Bae only ever wanted his Papa. When they were finally reunited, he would have to revert to his old self, and as he had so disastrously proven, he would never do that on his own. He needed the prophesied woman to help him. So, shortly after receiving the prophecy, he began searching for a woman who fit the description. He did it even while laying the groundwork for the Curse. He could pursue his Dark and Light paths in tandem. He just had to take painstaking care to keep their timelines separate.

Bae’s childhood friend Morraine proved to be the first maiden, appointed by Reul Ghorm long before the prophecy had been revealed to him. She was more matron than maiden by the time she showed up in his castle, but she was indeed clear of vision, sharp of mind, and pure of heart. Those very traits were the reason he chose her as his sole witness on the battlefield when she was just a young girl.

She arrived at his castle with a proposition to redeem his legacy. His legacy, not him. A logical, just, and thoroughly unromantic unfolding.

But also, kind of funny. His wisecrack about a literal maid to clean him up was as prophetic as everything else! He could barely contain his giggles when his first potential redeemer declared her intentions. She was the maid at the village inn.

Of humble origins himself, Rumpelstiltskin favored laborers. It was why he elevated the worthy ones to positions of power. Anyone who had ever been a peasant would not demand undue sacrifices of the people. His political intrigue kept him as busy as his Light and Dark paths, but the results could go either way. Usually, one Dark monarch would defeat another in some petty power play, but every now and then, a hero emerged to lead the realm into Light. It was all a great balancing act.

He repaid Morraine by eliminating her poverty, but he never elevated her to any recognized status. That wasn’t her Destiny. And though he did not learn about her connection to the fairies until he got to read her finished account, he knew when he met her that her kindly spirit only deepened with maturity. She confirmed it the moment she said, “Please.”

Rumpelstiltskin worked out his special Magic Words with Bae when he first got his Power. “Please” made the hearer do whatever was requested. “Thank you” recognized and rewarded a favor. “I’m sorry” inclined the hearer toward forgiveness and cooperation. He also unearthed the key to tapping into a person’s essence by speaking his or her Name. That was why he collected Names, and why he always heard every desperate soul who took the risk of calling his.

Morraine’s “please” went right to Rumpelstiltskin the man, not Rumpelstiltskin the Dark One. She remembered the old spinner, and it was to him that she was making her appeal. Her plea was so effective, he knew he could trust her to use his Name in writing. She would strengthen his Light side, the side all but extinguished by Darkness.

Immaculately beautiful lace began cascading from the wheel. He’d finally reached Belle’s role. He paused his spinning to check in on her in the dungeon. Her breathing had grown deep and rhythmic. A coarser person might have called it “snoring.”

“Cogsworth!” he called to the clock on the mantlepiece. “When the young lady in my dungeon has rested enough to begin work, it shall be daybreak around the castle. A half hour for the rest of us.”

“Very good, sir,” said Cogsworth, his hands winding forward and back to adjust the Time.

“And you might as well get to work yourself,” he added, waving his hand over the clock to restore his human form. “Let me know if you have any breakthroughs.”

“Of course.”

Cogsworth bowed like a proper butler and headed downstairs to his designated corner of the vault.

Alone again, Rumpelstiltskin considered the lace in his basket. By rights, he ought to use it for Belle’s benefit, but it took him a moment to figure out how. Then an artistic fancy hit. He wiggled his fingers and sent the lace into Belle’s cell. It could shape itself into trim and tassels to decorate her pillow.

Chuckling at his whimsy, he threaded fresh straw into the wheel. It was time to tie past and present together.

“Belle and Morraine, Morraine and Belle,” he mused aloud. Between the two of them was a gap as wide as the Edge of Realms, but he’d tried other maids in the interim. He reasoned that if his redemption was to come incrementally, each candidate would bring him another step closer.

He chose women of all ages and from all walks of life. Some had magical potential. Others were excellent cooks. But he always tested them in exactly the same way. How did they make him feel when they said “please,” “thank you,” or "I'm sorry?" If their Light could penetrate his Darkness, even a little, he offered them a deal.

Many were damsels in distress. He’d be summoned by some pretty maiden trapped in a sorcerer’s tower or witch’s cage. “Please help me out of here,” she’d beg, only too willing to exchange one prison for another. “Oh, thank you!” she’d cry, signing her contract.

An outside observer might lump Belle in that category, but she came with far more gravitas. She was already a signatory on the Ogres’ Treaty, and it was just the beginning. The strength of her “thank you” those few times in Avonlea’s forest seemed a sure sign of great things to come.

“But I am getting ahead of myself,” he thought, pushing the wheel backwards again.

The maids who'd come from commonfolk typically sold themselves into his service. Sometimes their parents sealed the deal. “Spin us some gold, sir, and my daughter will work off the debt.”

That was how he got Candace, his youngest maid ever. She was a tiny child when she came. Her “pleases” and “thank yous” were completely ineffectual, but she aroused his pity anyway. Any parents who were willing to abandon such a little girl to the Dark One didn’t deserve to keep her. It was worse than the way his father fobbed him off. And Candace turned out to be both magical and a good cook. Such was the lasting effect of early life in a family with too many mouths to feed.

Candace darkened as she got older. She was thoroughly useless as a redeemer. He’d really misread the signs with her, crediting the sympathy she awakened in him to a quality within her, instead of the obvious similarity between her life and his own. He created the Mirror of Souls after that. He would never let himself make such a mistake again. Only a woman who fit the fairy’s description could use it. The Mirror could be objective, whereas he was not.

But the Dark One could always recoup from Rumpelstiltskin’s losses. If Candace couldn’t help on his Light path, he’d use her for the Dark. He taught her potion brewing, and her knack for cooking served her well there. Her magic never extended beyond the culinary, but he didn’t need much from her. These days she was living in the woods in her gingerbread house, occasionally stirring up minor nuisances for Regina. Whenever Light failed to conquer Darkness, which was most of the time, Darkness had to be kept in check with opposing Darkness. That was why he’d been forced to become the Dark One himself.

“I am getting way off track,” he thought, noticing that he was now spinning licorice instead of lace. “This is not about Candace. It’s about the Mirror. Did anyone before Belle ever use it?”

He’d never seen evidence of it, not even from Regina, who had a hidden Light side that could have allowed her access. She fit the description herself once, back before he used her resentment of her mother to turn her Dark. And she was a master at Mirror Magic. If she ever got hold of that Mirror, she could easily thwart it to her own evil ends. But he’d done a thorough search of her palace and never found it.

The wheel continued producing strings upon strings of licorice. “Candace was hanging onto it all along,” he concluded. “A trophy of her one and only triumph over me.”

Candace stole the Mirror when she ran away. He always left his maids an easy exit when he tired of them. When their “pleases” and “thank yous” hardened into hatred, it was time to let them go. As long as they didn’t steal anything, they got out without a scratch. But Candace had stolen, and since she was impure of heart and not especially sharp of mind, the Mirror took her vision.

“Yet the theft was her contribution,” he thought, glad to have finally resolved it. Candace's hoarding tendencies protected the Mirror from Regina’s corrupting grasp. Then, when Belle was ready for it, the Mirror found its way to her. Darkness served the Light, as it was supposed to.

“Another step uncovered, but what am I to do with all this licorice?” He clapped his hands twice. “Mrs. Potts!”

The first clap transformed the teapot on the table into his housekeeper. The second brought her son out of the teacup. The boy began eyeing the licorice right away.

“Hold yourself back, young man. That’s what you’re here to learn.”

The boy obediently put his hands behind his back.

“Get breakfast ready,” he told Mrs. Potts. “You won’t have to serve, though. I’ve got someone new for that. Her Name is Belle. You’ll be training her in.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, bobbing a curtsy. She headed off to the kitchen with her son in tow.

“Experience does have its advantages,” he thought as she walked away.

Mrs. Potts had been one of his wiser additions. Neither she nor her son had an ounce of magic, but their arrival was portentous.

He found them when the boy was trespassing on his property. The mother chased after him, as any sensible parent would. No child was safe on the Dark One’s grounds. But whatever danger she herself might face, Mrs. Potts was determined to get her son out of harm’s way.

He watched the boy dash ahead of his mother and take aim at a squirrel with his slingshot. Rumpelstiltskin readied himself for the pounce. Just as the boy was about to let the stone fly, Rumpelstiltskin went visible and grabbed him by the collar. There was no chance for him to make a run for it.

“Aha!” shouted Rumpelstiltskin. “A budding huntsman taking advantage of my grounds! Well, I’m a skilled huntsman myself. And you, laddie, have just been trapped!”

“NOOOO!” screamed the boy, as his mother came running up, out of breath.

“NO!” she echoed, falling to her knees. “Please, sir! I beg of you! Spare him!”

“Spare him?” he repeated in surprise. “I’m not going to kill him, dearie. I am merely taking him prisoner. I can think of many uses for an able-bodied young boy.”

“Take me instead!” she begged. “I’ll cook and clean for you! I’ll do anything you ask. Just let him go. Please.”

The “please” hit him right on target. “A mother’s love,” he thought. It was a tack he’d never tried before. His Inner Seer looked them over. Her Name was Beatrice Potts, a mother of twelve with only three left at home. The boy was her youngest, named Richard and nicknamed Chip. She might indeed do the trick. Especially with the boy nearby.

“No deal,” he said, glowering. “I will not release him. If you want to stay with him, here’s what I propose. You can be my housekeeper, and he will be a boy-of-all-work. He’ll help you a little, and sometimes he’ll assist the stable hand. He won’t have his freedom, but at least he’ll have you.”

He cackled to scare them, but scared or not, she couldn’t refuse. Her son would not be lost to her. Who would dare ask the Dark One for more?

A condition of their contract was that they had to remain inanimate objects when they weren’t working. He couldn’t allow that rambunctious young boy to run free in his castle. There was no end to the trouble he could kick up. It also effectively blocked every avenue for them to escape.

Escape. The very thought of it made his anger surge. The flames in the fireplace jumped and crackled. Before Mrs. Potts, he’d attempted to capture Anna of Arendelle. He would never let a fiasco like her happen again. Not only had she slipped past him, she took the Sorcerer’s Hat with her. He was lucky he still had his dagger.

His ears pricked up. Belle was tossing and turning in her sleep. Had the roar of the fire disturbed her, or was it something more? Could Belle and Anna have some connection? He couldn’t see how. Anna was from the north, and Belle the south, and both were sheltered princesses who seldom left their homes.

The lace he was spinning was now coming out frayed. “My anger at Anna is spoiling it,” he observed. “I must calm down.”

Well, really, there was no sense in raging over Anna anymore. The Hat was worth it, but she was not. Why should he care about the loss of a pearl now that he’d found a sapphire to take her place?

“Mrs. Potts?” he called.

The maid came out of the kitchen. “Yes, sir?”

“There’s a magical mirror wrapped up on the table. Bring it down to Cogsworth to store in the vault.”

“Yes, sir.”

Though unmagical, Mrs. Potts showed proper reverence for the Mirror. Or good, old-fashioned fear. Either way, it didn’t matter what she felt. What mattered was what she would see. As she cautiously picked up the Mirror, Rumpelstiltskin lifted his pinky finger ever so slightly until the wrap came loose. Then, while averting his eyes away from the Mirror, he angled his face so that it would frame his reflection.

“Oh, my!” gasped Mrs. Potts, hastily putting the cover back on and tucking it around the edges.

Rumpelstiltskin grinned. He was itching with curiosity, especially when Mrs. Potts stole a sharp, studying glance at his face on her way out, but when she returned, he said nothing more about it. He gave her his next order. “The new maid will need breakfast. Have Chip leave some tea and biscuits outside the dungeon door at sunrise.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, curtsying and withdrawing to the kitchen.

He resumed his spinning. The lace filled his basket once more. He grew so absorbed watching it, he was actually startled when Cogsworth entered. “Oh, is it half an hour already?” he asked. It was easy to lose track of Time when he was jumping back and forth between past and present.

“Twenty-nine minutes,” said Cogsworth, steadfast in his practice of leaving open a small window to fulfill any eleventh-hour commands.

The two men regarded each other in silence. Rumpelstiltskin often wondered if Cogsworth could be counted among his maids. He was enslaved to Zelena when they first met, so though he was not a damsel, he was certainly distressed. And while his duties involved no cleaning, he was strikingly sharp of mind and had an advanced, if not clear, vision of the future. As to his heart, it was a closed book. Cogsworth was a secretive, scholarly loner, much like himself. But Rumpelstiltskin trusted him to share his success, if he ever had any. His contract required it, and his release depended on it.

“No progress, I take it?”

“No, sir.”

With slumped shoulders, Cogsworth bowed and allowed himself to be turned into a clock again. “Freeze time in the Northern Kingdom of Arendelle,” Rumpelstiltskin told him. “It should not restart until I reach Princess Anna.”

Cogsworth gave a single tick as he stopped the Time. After that, he went motionless.

“There,” murmured Rumpelstiltskin, levitating the clock back to the mantlepiece. “I will reclaim that Hat when the Time is right.”

That Time was not now, not while his newest and most promising maid lay within the castle walls. He noted the sky outside slowly growing lighter. She would awaken soon.

The aroma of Mrs. Potts’ cooking wafted through the Great Hall. Rumpelstiltskin listened to Chip’s footsteps go from the kitchen to the dungeon and back again. With Belle’s breakfast delivered, he snapped his fingers and changed the boy and his mother back into a teacup and teapot. Belle would find them in the kitchen when she began her morning’s work.

“And then she'll be out to serve my tea,” he thought, snapping her breakfast to her side of the iron door. Almost giddy with anticipation, he set the wheel in motion again and began to sing:

                In distant times, in days of old,

                a novice fairy once foretold

                that some fair maid with vision clear

                would change the Dark One’s whole veneer.

                For underneath his thick green skin,

                his long lost soul tormented him.

                He craved escape; he sought release

                to be again a man of peace.

                He searched the Land from north to south,

                but very few maids came about.

                Some helped a tad, and others less,

                so Darkness reigned and caused distress.

                And to the Dark One most of all,

                for he must heed its beck and call.

                The war within him rages on.

                Has all his former goodness gone?

                And now arrives a heart so pure,

                the Dark One cannot long endure.

                Yet even Darkness has a role.

                It’s far beyond one monster’s soul.

                To wipe it out is not the way.

                Just teach the Darkness to obey.

                It’s to the Light that Dark must kneel.

                So says the Dark One at his wheel.

               Around and round the world keeps spinning.

               Every end’s a new beginning.

               But nothing ever stays the same,

               not in this wildly changing game.

               Pull a strand in one direction,

               and you’ll reveal unseen connections.

               Yet we are tasked to put to rights

               this fragile weave of Dark and Light.

He moved to the table when he finished his song, and then Belle entered the Great Hall, carrying the tea tray. Her eyes were still puffy from all her crying, but he could see the questions forming behind them. She must have heard the final verses. That ought to be enough to get that sharp mind going.

But Rumpelstiltskin had questions of his own. “Who do you see when you look at me?” he wondered. “The beast who threw you in the dungeon or the man who makes peace with ogres?”

If she had the vision to look past the one and continue reaching the other, he would spend eternity rewarding her with everything her pure heart desired.

Chapter Text

Beatrice “Mama Bea” Potts woke up as soon as the new maid touched her handle. It was different than when the master woke her. He usually just restored her body and put her to work.

“I’m still a teapot,” she thought, “but I can see and hear.” This was something new. She wondered if she could also speak, but she wouldn’t dare try. If the master knew she was awake, he probably wanted her quiet, and if he didn’t, that was all the more reason to hold her tongue.

“I can think, too,” she realized. “What a curious, in-between state this is!”

She looked over at the teacups surrounding her on the tray. Which one was Chip? They all looked exactly the same.

The master was rambling on, giving the girl her list of responsibilities. Dusting, sweeping, laundry, straw gathering, and serving meals, but no cooking. That, apparently, remained her job.

“She probably doesn’t even know how to cook,” thought Mama Bea. She certainly wasn’t dressed for duty. Serving breakfast in a ballgown, for goodness’ sake!

Mama Bea reckoned she was one of those girls who had grown up wealthy, but whose family had fallen on hard times. Young women often entered service by that route. Usually, they became ladies’ maids. The educated ones became governesses. But ending up in the Dark One’s castle meant there was more. The only reason anyone was here was because they made a deal with him, and behind every deal was a story.

“Oh!” said the master, as though suddenly remembering another task. “And you will skin the children I hunt for their pelts.”

Horrified, the girl dropped the teacup she was holding.

Mama Bea nearly screamed. What if Chip was in there?!

“That one was a quip,” he said with a wicked grin. “Not serious.” He waved his index finger from side to side to signal “No.”

The girl breathed a sigh of relief. “Right,” she said, faking a smile to show how much she enjoyed the joke.

“Ooh, that horrid beast!” thought Mama Bea. Not only did he know she was awake, he was making a game of watching her squirm. “Hunting for pelts” was a hint about Chip. And that clumsy amateur could have shattered her poor boy to pieces! She was so tense, the tea inside her was close to boiling.

The girl bent down to pick up the teacup. Gingerly, as though handling a precious treasure, she examined it.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her words were so earnest, they took the steam out of Mama Bea’s anger. “It’s chipped. . . but you can hardly see it.” Trembling, she raised the cup to show the master.

“A wee scrape then?” thought Mama Bea hopefully. Her tea began to cool down. She could let bygones be bygones as long as she knew Chip was all right. She looked over at the master. If Chip were badly hurt, he had to let her know. That was their deal. She was allowed to take proper care of him.

The master was too distracted to give her any clues. He was staring at the girl as though in a trance, and he wasn’t just ogling her face and figure. He seemed genuinely impressed at something she’d done, as though she’d just performed a miracle.

“There’s magic afoot,” guessed Mama Bea. There always was around here. But the master quickly went back to his wily old self.

“It’s just a cup,” he said dismissively. “Go ahead and serve me from it. A little chip doesn’t bother me.”

“Another hint,” thought Mama Bea. Chip never did seem to bother the master. Of all his odd ways, the one that shocked her most, especially when she and Chip first arrived, was his gentleness toward her boy. It was almost like he had a soft spot for him. He kept an aloof distance, but there was something in his longing gaze that made her wonder if he’d once been a parent himself.

Mama Bea’s musings were rudely interrupted when she felt herself being lifted into the air and tipped over Chip to fill him with tea. The sensation made her queasy, but the angle was convenient for giving him a swift once-over. To her great relief, only his rim was chipped. There wasn’t a hairline of a scratch on his inside. Still, she couldn’t be fully at ease until she saw him in his own body again. She watched closely as the maid carried him to the head of the table and handed him to the master.

That beast didn’t take a polite sip like a genteel guest at a soiree. He guzzled his tea down like a thirsty farmer after a day of hard labor. When he finished, he met Mama Bea’s eye and chuckled at her for tracking his every move. With exaggerated caution, he placed the cup back onto its saucer and resumed his instructions to the girl.

“That door leads to the rest of the rooms on this floor. In the first closet, you will find a broom, dustpan, and bucket. Sweep all the rooms and collect the dust in the bucket.”

Common sense advice, but perhaps the girl was raised so posh, she’d never cleaned a room before.  

“Yes, sir,” said the girl.

“She’s got manners at least,” observed Mama Bea. “Raised posh, but not haughty. I can work with that.”

“Do not empty the bucket,” the master continued. “Bring it upstairs after you finish sweeping. Leave it outside the room with the large lock on it.”

“His brewing room,” thought Mama Bea. “Lord knows what potions he’s making out of that dust.”

“Two more things,” he went on. “First, you’ll notice I keep all my mirrors covered. Leave them that way. Do not remove the sheets and never look in the mirrors.”

Mama Bea remembered that instruction from her first day, too. She’d always been careful about it. So what was he playing at by tricking her into looking at that mirror earlier? And what was she to make of what she saw?

“Finally, if you know what’s good for you, stay far from the cellar.”

He laughed ominously as he said it, which terrified the poor girl. She curtsied and then practically bolted out of the room. Mama Bea hoped that with her gone, she and Chip could have their bodies back again, but no such luck. The master just crooked a finger and made her slide across the table until she and Chip were facing him.

“Well, well, Mrs. Potts. I find myself in an unusually forgiving mood this morning, and Chip’s little mishap entitles him to reap the benefit.”

He waved his hand over the teacup. Chip’s head emerged. No major damage from the fall, other than a chipped front tooth.

“Mama!” he cried, alarmed at seeing her as half a teapot.

“My sweetest Chip!”

“Chip!” repeated the master, bursting into a peal of giggles. “Names always do reveal Destiny, but usually not so literally.”

He laughed for a full minute. Mama Bea didn’t see what was so funny, but she stood at attention as she waited for him to stop. She gave Chip a meaningful nod to do the same. They managed as best they could in their teapot and teacup forms.

The joke over, the master went back to business again. “So, young man, you’ve been here a while. The time has come for you to give an accounting for your actions. Let’s review. What crime landed you here?”

Nervously, as though performing for his schoolmaster, Chip answered, “Coming on your property without permission. . . and hunting your squirrels.”

“Are you ready to say the magic words?”

Chip peered over at his mother, bewildered. “What magic words?” his eyes seemed to plead.

Mama Bea wasn’t certain herself, but there was no harm in trying the obvious. “Same as at home, love,” she urged him.

Chip took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm.”

The master put his hand on Chip’s head, and though he cried out at first, Mama Bea could see that he wasn’t hurt, only afraid. The master was separating his body from the teacup. When he was done, the chipped cup remained on the table, and standing on the floor was her normal-sized, freckle-faced, chip-toothed little boy.

The master waved his hand over the table, and three objects appeared: Chip’s slingshot, the plate of licorice that tempted him before breakfast, and a rolled-up scroll of parchment. That had to be their contract!

Chip did not catch onto what was about to happen, but Mama Bea understood. She was so anxious, hot honeyed tears filled her eyes.

The master pushed the plate of licorice in front of Chip. “You want some, don’t you?”

Chip nodded timidly.

“But now that you’ve learned your lesson, you won’t take without permission. Correct?”

“Yessir.”

“Then I am going to make a deal with you. You may go home to your father and sisters. I will let you have your slingshot back. You may even take the licorice. But here is what you must do in return: tell all your friends what happens to children who trespass on the Dark One’s property. And no boasting about how brave you were. We both know you screamed your lungs out. Tell a lie after eating that licorice, and you’ll be magically carried right back here.”

Chip was too petrified to budge. “What about Mama?” he whispered.

“Your Mama must stay here a bit longer. She should be home tomorrow.”

Chip looked over at her, not sure whether he could trust this promise. Mama Bea couldn’t blame him, but she wasn’t about to let him pass up on what might be his only chance at freedom. “Go on, ducky. I told you I’d stay near you till you grow into a big, strong man, and I’ll probably stick around long after that.”

Chip stole one last furtive glance at the master. Then, grabbing his slingshot and the licorice, he broke into a brisk run.

“Good boy!” Mama Bea called after him.

The master magicked the great doors open as Chip scampered away. When they slammed back shut, he said, “It appears we are in an unforeseen circumstance, Mrs. Potts. Our deal was that you could stay near your son as long as you worked for me. I never anticipated that I’d choose to free him before your work was done, and the fact is, I still have need of you.”

“So I’ll finish the day's work and go home,” said Mama Bea. It seemed straightforward enough. “What must I do?”

“I need you to acclimate Belle to my castle. Help her get comfortable here.”

Mama Bea knew better than to say what she was thinking. Nobody could get comfortable here. If that’s what the new deal depended on, she might never get home.

She phrased it as best as she could. “You just told my son I'd be back by tomorrow.”

“The timing is not your concern.” Snapping his fingers, he called, “Cogsworth!”

Mama Bea expected to see the officious butler come running, but instead, a clock appeared beside her on the table.

“He’s an object, too,” she realized. “Well, Chip and I couldn’t be the only ones.”

The master passed his hand over the clock and turned him half-human, just like she was. The numbers of the clock face remained, but Cogsworth’s brown eyes blinked open, and he gained back his own nose, mouth, and ears – even his glasses! His mechanical arms became flesh, but they stayed as small as his clock body.

“When Mrs. Potts has completed her current task,” said the master, sending Cogsworth’s arms circling forward, “it will be a new day in her village.”

“Very good, sir,” said Cogsworth as his arms wound back.

Once the clock was set, the master waved his hand over it, and all of Cogsworth’s human features disappeared. His face was back to expressionless numbers, and his mechanical arms ticked around them.

“So that’s how he controls time,” thought Mama Bea as the clock floated back to the mantelpiece. It was one of those things everybody talked about, but nobody understood. “Cor! I’ve just watched him do it, and I still don’t understand.”

“Questions, dearie?” tittered the master.

“About a thousand,” she thought, but only one really mattered. “How long does my husband think Chip and I have been missing?”

“I doubt he even noticed you’re gone. He’s been in the field all morning, and your daughters are still in school.”

“But I’ve been here for weeks!”

“Time is relative,” replied the master, as though that explained everything. “But back to Belle. She’s come a long way from home, and she’s frightened of me.”

“Who isn’t?” thought Mama Bea, but when she considered it, she realized that she herself wasn’t. She didn’t like him one whit, but she’d lived with him long enough to know that his bark was worse than his bite.

“I daresay you are well-suited to helping her. You two are quite similar. You came here for your son’s sake, and she is here on agreement that I protect her father’s kingdom. Both of you have sacrificed for the people you love, so you should understand each other.”

“Her father’s kingdom?” repeated Mama Bea. “She’s a princess?”

“Of a small kingdom, yes.”

Mama Bea was gobsmacked. She’d never met royalty before! “Should I curtsy to her? And call her ‘Your Majesty?’”

“No, no. That’s way too stiff and formal. Be her friend. Call her Belle.”

“The teapot who’s a friend of a princess,” mused Mama Bea. “What strange things happen here!” But to the master, she simply said, “I can do that.”

He nodded, and the scroll before him unrolled. “Amended Contract of Employment,” he announced as his quill pen appeared out of thin air to take dictation.

“Since Master Richard Potts has now been freed, Mrs. Beatrice Potts’ term of duties shall hereby be amended. Her service to Rumpelstiltskin shall be deemed complete when Belle feels at home in the Dark Castle. At that time, Mrs. Potts shall be allowed to return to her own home and family with due compensation.”

“Due compensation?” she thought, as her spout turned into a tiny arm. The master shrunk the quill so she could use it. “This is just like last time. I have no idea what I’m agreeing to, but I’m afraid I'll be worse off if I don’t sign.” Her arm turned back to china as soon as she finished.

The master snapped the contract away, and Belle returned. “The bucket is upstairs, as you told me,” she reported.

“Good. Then I can get a start on my own work. You may take a break. Serve yourself.”

And with that, he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Belle looked as confused as Chip. Did he really mean it? Could she actually take a break?

“Have a seat, love,” said Mama Bea. “And pour yourself some tea.”

Belle’s eyes darted around the room. “Who said that?”

“It’s me, the teapot. My name’s Beatrice, but everyone calls me Mama Bea. Come over this way, and you’ll see my face.”

Belle walked over and looked. Then she sank into a chair. “I’ve seen a lot of peculiar things this last day and a half. I’m going to have to get used to being constantly surprised.”

“Well, we have each other. I’ll help you through. C’mon. The tea’s nice and warm, and I keep filling up.”

Belle poured the tea and drank. “Have you been here long?”

“I wish I knew. He plays tricks with time, so it’s impossible to say. He does it with that clock on the mantelpiece. His name’s Cogsworth. He’s a clock now, but sometimes he’s a butler. And after what I saw him do today, I’ll wager he used to be a wizard.”

Belle walked over to the mantelpiece and studied the clock. “Hello,” she said to it. Its only answer was a soft tick-tock.

“It's no use talking to him,” said Mama Bea. “He never does say much, even when he’s human.”

Belle turned away from the clock and sat back down at the table. “Are there others here?” she asked.

“I’ve only ever met the stable hand, and that was just once or twice. But my son used to be in the teacup you chipped.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “What happened to him?”

“Nothing bad, love. He told the master he was sorry, and he was allowed to go home.”

“I’m glad that happens. . . for some people.”

“Well, it is out of the ordinary. The master said so himself. He said he was ‘in an unusually forgiving mood this morning.'”

“Help me!” called a woman’s voice near the window.

“It’s my broom!” cried Belle, jumping out of her chair and running toward it.

“Turn me right-side-up. Ah, that’s it. I do hate it when my hair drags all over the floor.”

“I’m sorry. If I would have known you were a person, I would have been much more careful when I was sweeping. Oh, but are you a person, or are you a witch? Did he turn you into your own broomstick?”

“Got the measure of him already, I see. But no, I’m not a witch. I’m Brunhilde the Valkyrie.”

“From Norse myth?”

“Oh, Norse myth, horsewhip,” said Mama Bea. “Bring her over for a cuppa.”

Belle carried the broom over to the table and propped her up against a chair. Mama Bea thought she looked ridiculous, a broad-boned, blonde-haired woman with a broomstick for a body. Then she remembered that she must look just as silly - a teapot with a face.

Belle poured some tea into the chipped cup. When she lifted it to serve the armless Brunhilde, she almost dropped it a second time. Her own voice was speaking through the cup. “I’m sorry,” it said in exactly the same shaky tone she used after Chip’s accident.

“Did you hear that?” asked Belle.

Mama Bea nodded, equally baffled.

“That means you marked it,” said Brunhilde matter-of-factly. “Now, are you going to let me have a drink or are you going to make me wait all day?” 

Belle hurriedly tipped the cup to Brunhilde’s lips. She gave her a moment to swallow but was immediately ready with questions. “What do you mean, I ‘marked’ it?”

“With your magic.”

“I don’t know any magic! You must mean his.”

“Your voice, your magic,” said Brunhilde.

“No, it isn’t! I’ve never cast a spell in my life!”

“That’s a fairy-blessed crystal you’ve got around your neck, isn’t it?”

Belle’s hand went self-consciously to the crystal. “Yes, but I got it for studying fairy language, not magic.”

“And I suppose you think that just anyone can learn fairy language?”

Belle went speechless.

“Hah!” cried Brunhilde triumphantly. “So that’s why he put in so much effort for you. He nabbed one from the fairy ranks!”

Belle was ruffled, but she tried to be polite about it. “I’m sorry, Brunhilde, but you’re quite mistaken. I’m not magical, and I’m paying for Rumpelstiltskin’s services like anyone else. I’m a prisoner here, same as you.”

“Shows how much you know,” snorted Brunhilde.

“My, she’s a surly one!” thought Mama Bea. “I’m going to have to keep her from upsetting Belle.”

A change of subject seemed in order. “Why are you here?” asked Mama Bea. “I came to look after my son after he was caught trespassing.”

“I made a deal to protect my father’s kingdom from ogres.”

Brunhilde sniffed. “So you’re both that kind of heroine. Well, not me. Where I come from, there’s only one sacrifice that counts. Losing your life while fighting a war.”

“Wouldn’t you rather sacrifice for peace instead?” asked Belle.

“Or make the life of someone you love a little better?” Mama Bea added.

“I’m a warrior goddess. It’s not in my nature to feel love, and I see no glory in peace. It will take a lot to get me to change. Give me another sip from that cup.”

Once again, the cup said “I’m sorry” when Belle touched it. “Does drinking from it make you feel different?” she asked.

“Definitely,” said Brunhilde, pulling a grimace. “If I didn’t know this syrupy sap was my only way out of here, I’d spit it right out.” 

“Ick,” thought Mama Bea. Where was Brunhilde raised that she’d act like such a boor?

“I heard that,” said Brunhilde’s voice in Mama Bea’s head. It disturbed her more than any of the master’s spells. He was probably a mind-reader, too, but he never invaded her private thoughts.

“What does it do?” asked Belle, still focused on the teacup.

“Figure it out for yourself, Miss Clever Clogs,” said Brunhilde, her jaw stiffening.

Belle looked utterly nonplussed, but Mama Bea had a flash of insight. “Magic words!” she cried. “You said ‘I’m sorry’ when you chipped the cup, and now, whoever drinks from it will feel calmer and less angry. That’s why the master said he was in an ‘unusually forgiving mood.’ That’s why he freed Chip!”

She beamed up at Belle, her gratitude overflowing. How she wished she weren’t a teapot so she could give her a proper hug and kiss! As it was, she couldn’t even move from her spot on the table. Teapots had no feet.

“From the bottom of my heart, I thank you,” she said. The simple words barely scratched the surface of how indebted she felt, but it was the best she could do. Then, the magic in her altered body kicked in. A fresh batch of peppermint tea heated up in her belly. When Belle got a whiff of that bracing wintergreen, Mama Bea knew she’d just brewed her favorite flavor.

“Forgiveness and gratitude! Bah!” scoffed Brunhilde. “I’ll take a pint of mead before battle every time!” She looked disdainfully at her companions. “So you two are my new legion, eh? A pair of warm, sweet, maternal types. Well, that’s him having another laugh at me.”

Now Mama Bea was ruffled. “He does like having a laugh at everything and everybody, but what’s so funny about being warm and sweet? It sure beats being cold and mean.”

“I am not cold and mean, if that’s what you’re implying,” said Brunhilde, her yellow hair hardening into straw. “I am a Valkyrie, strong and proud.”

“I wouldn’t be so proud if I were a broomstick,” thought Mama Bea.

“Get a load of the teapot calling the kettle black,” said Brunhilde’s voice, invading her thoughts once again.

“Stay out of my head!” cried Mama Bea.

Since Belle was unable to hear what prompted this outburst, she gave Mama Bea a startled look. Brunhilde, meanwhile, sat there sneering. Her voice went silent, yet somehow, she proclaimed to Mama Bea that she was a warrior goddess with the power of divine inspiration. She didn’t usually let mortals know when she was inside their minds. She could tell them what to do by flashing ideas into their heads. As long as the inspiration fit with their basic character, they’d act on her guidance without realizing why.

“That’s manipulation, not inspiration!” thought Mama Bea, and she didn’t give a hoot if Brunhilde heard.

“You’re turning into a broom again,” said Belle.  

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” snapped Brunhilde. “I can feel it.”

“Really?” said Mama Bea. She never felt a thing. It was like instant sleep. But Brunhilde was magical, so perhaps that made a difference. Then it struck Mama Bea. Surly or not, Brunhilde was in a unique position to answer her questions. Cogsworth never would.

“Brunhilde, since you have magic powers. . .”

“Divine powers.”

“All right, divine powers. Can you explain what happened to me this morning? I’ve only ever woken up to the master’s spell, but today I woke up from Belle’s touch.”

“I told you, I’m not mag –” Belle began.

“Hush, love,” said Mama Bea. “Give her a chance to answer.”

Brunhilde shook her head. “I can’t make sense of his powers. He makes everything so damned complicated! But it all comes down to his contracts. He’s an absolute stickler for those.”

“My contract is impossible!” sighed Mama Bea.

“Everyone’s is,” said Brunhilde, her features fast fading into straw. “See? I’m proving it. Risked my own flesh just to explain things to you two.” She moaned in pain. “Oh, great goddess Eir, please heal me!” 

Her prayer didn’t work. Brunhilde kept moaning until she was all broom again.

It was a dreadful thing to witness. Mama Bea and Belle sat in somber silence until Belle asked, “Does it hurt you when you. . .turn?”

“Never,” answered Mama Bea. “I just go numb, and the whole world disappears.” She hadn’t realized how lucky she was. She’d rather be her real self than a teapot, but at least it wasn’t painful. “You’d better put Brunhilde back in the closet where you found her,” she told Belle.

“I don’t think I can bear to. It’s so dark and stuffy in there.”

“She can’t feel anything while she’s a broomstick. Trust me. I know.”

Belle picked up the broomstick and put her away.

“Good girl,” said Mama Bea. “We’ll make a maid of you yet!”

“Believe it or not, that sounds good to me,” said Belle. “With you to keep me company and work to keep me busy, perhaps it won’t be so terrible here after all.”

“A cheerful disposition,” thought Mama Bea. “Perhaps I really do stand a chance of getting home.”

“I still think Brunhilde was wrong, though. I’m not magical.”

Mama Bea was no expert, but she sided with Brunhilde on that point. “Why don’t you try drinking from the cup yourself? Just to see what happens.”

Belle shrugged and took a sip. “I’m sorry,” said the cup as Belle placed it back in its saucer.

“Well?” Mama Bea asked eagerly.

“Well, other than that I’m talking to a teapot, after having met my broom, who’s really a Valkyrie, I feel exactly the same. It’s gloomy here, and I miss home. But it is a relief to have you around.”

“I’m glad to be of service, love.” Instinctively, she reached out her handle and squeezed Belle’s hand.

“Oh, my, I can move!” she exclaimed. She tried her spout. That worked, too! “Two arms!” she cried, waving them around. “Perhaps I’m turning human again!” And though she didn’t say it, she was sure that Belle’s magic caused it. 

But the next instant threw her into doubt. The master popped back into the room.

“All right, you two! Break’s over.” 

Belle sprung out of her chair as though she’d just been caught doing something wrong. The master smirked and tossed her his apron. Then he clapped loudly, and Mama Bea was full-bodied and standing on the floor. She and Belle looked at one another and smiled.

“Pleased to meet you, too,” said Mama Bea. She wasn’t just showing the master how well she was complying with his orders. She sincerely meant it.

“I said break’s over,” he growled. “Take Belle down to the clothesline. Teach her how to do laundry.”

Chapter Text

Rumpelstiltskin resisted the urge to go invisible and plant himself in the Great Hall through Belle’s break. He was content just sitting upstairs in his brewing room, listening as she chatted with Mrs. Potts. Even Brunhilde joined them for a bit. But once his maids were outdoors, he was determined to watch them. He’d cast a spell of Thought Transfer on his apron before tossing it to Belle. Contact with any liquid would trigger the enchantment. If everything went according to plan, Belle and Mrs. Potts would wash and hang the apron together, and then the image of what Mrs. Potts saw in the Mirror of Souls would be revealed to Belle. In eager anticipation, he snapped himself outdoors and perched himself on the branch of a tree.

“The fire’s always lit, so you never have to worry about that,” Mrs. Potts told Belle. “And the washbasins fill and empty by magic. You’d think with everything he can do, he wouldn’t bother keeping servants.”

He snapped his fingers, and a pile of laundry appeared.

“Oh, that reminds me!” said Mrs. Potts. “I should have warned you before. He eavesdrops on our conversations.”

Belle looked around in every direction but up. “Do you suppose he’s listening right now?”

“Probably, but you'll never catch him at it. He goes invisible. Cogsworth says we should assume that he can hear everything. Personally, I think that’s going too far. He can’t be listening every minute. Sometimes he’s spinning, and sometimes he’s brewing, and sometimes he goes away. Cogsworth’s very careful, though. Every time he speaks, he keeps it short and to the point. Not me. I couldn’t very well button my lip all day long with my son running around, could I?”

“I’ll rather miss that boy’s chatter,” thought Rumpelstiltskin. Chip wasn’t Bae, but the sound of a child’s voice sometimes soothed him.

“Perhaps he’s lonely,” said Belle.

Rumpelstiltskin’s Dark heart melted a little. “More than you know,” he whispered.

“You may just be right about that, love,” said Mrs. Potts. “Listening to other people’s conversations is probably the closest human contact he can hope for.”

Belle gasped. “You just said he can hear us. Aren’t you afraid?”

Mrs. Potts shook her head. “He doesn’t punish for insults. He just laughs ‘em off. Chances are, he agrees. I don’t think he likes himself any more than anyone else does. But lying and stealing? That’ll get his goat.”

“A woman sharp of mind,” thought Rumpelstiltskin. Mrs. Potts was finishing off her increment of the prophecy quite admirably.

Belle dunked his brewing apron into the washbasin and began to scrub.

“So you do know how to do laundry!" said Mrs. Potts. "I didn’t expect that from a princess!”

“I’m not so high and mighty. My father's kingdom is really quite small. And my mother made sure I learned to do ordinary housework as part of my education. She didn’t want me feeling like I was above the maids.”

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled. It was just like Colette to find ways to keep her daughter humble. Of course, she probably also foresaw that Maurice would mismanage somehow. She wanted Belle prepared to make her way in the world.

Mrs. Potts clucked approvingly. “You’ll be easy to train then.”

“Your deal doesn’t depend on her cleaning abilities, Mrs. Potts,” said Rumpelstiltskin quietly. “Just keep lifting her spirits. And please don’t tell her your release depends on it. I don’t want her pressured.”

The “please” worked, as it always did with Mrs. Potts. She said nothing more about it and helped Belle wring out the apron. As soon as each of them had a hand on it, Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward. This was the moment he’d been waiting for.

Staring at each other, the two maids hung it on the clothesline.

“Attentive,” he thought. Most people didn’t notice when they were under the effect of a Thought Transfer. They just took for granted that whatever notions passed through their minds originated with them and could not be shared.

Belle spoke first. “Did you just see Rumpelstiltskin?”

“I wasn’t sure it was him.”

“It had to be. He wasn’t always. . . like he is now. He was a man once. I read about him in a history book.”

Mrs. Potts shrugged. She picked up a shirt from the laundry pile and began scrubbing it. Belle picked up another one and joined her. “Well, I can’t say I’m much of a reader, and history puts me right to sleep, but I have seen that face before, and I can tell you exactly when and where. It was just this morning. The master gave me a magic mirror to bring to Cogsworth. That was unusual in itself. I don’t often handle magical objects.”

“You might have been handling them all along without knowing it.”

“Well, that’s true, I s’pose, but this time, he made sure I knew. Remember how he insists on keeping the mirrors covered all the time? I got a peek under the cover of this one, and that couldn’t have been an accident. Looking right back at me was that face. His face. But he was just sitting there at the table, same as always – green, scaly, ‘n all.”

“It was the Mirror of Souls!” exclaimed Belle. “That means it’s real. The mirror always shows the truth!”

“Not exactly,” murmured Rumpelstiltskin. “It shows the truth to anyone whose vision is clear enough to perceive it. And you two just passed the test.”

He could have soared around the castle, but he controlled himself. So far, he’d established that the old spinner of the past was still his essence, however deeply he might be buried. What’s more, Belle still believed in him, even after the cursed monster forced her to spend the night in a dungeon. But could she reconcile his two sides? He certainly hadn’t done a good job of it.

“It’s time to move on to a bigger test,” he thought. “But what?”

The answer came in the shape of an arrow whizzing through the air. Neither Belle nor Mrs. Potts took notice of it. They were too busy with the washing.

“If he has the Mirror, then my other things must be here, too,” said Belle. “I sent along a dress that’s much more practical than this one. I wonder if he’ll ever let me have it.”

“You need it. That’s for sure.”

The next arrow lodged itself in one of the trees holding up the clothesline.

“Oh, Chip,” moaned Mrs. Potts. “Don’t start up again. You were just set free!”

“Chip can shoot arrows?” asked Belle.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out the hard way.”

“So go find him and send him home! I’ll finish up here.”

Mrs. Potts dried her hands on her apron and gave Belle a peck on the cheek. “Thank you, love. You’re a life saver.” She headed off in the direction the arrow had just come from.

Rumpelstiltskin giggled. What a wild goose chase this was going to be! As if eight-year-old Chip could suddenly acquire the skill of a master archer! Those arrows could only belong to one person. Nobody else in the realm had such true aim.

“And whatever you’ve come here for, Robin Hood, you’d better be prepared to pay an elaborate price.”

He transported himself back to the castle. Robin burst in soon afterward. He was in a full-blown panic, a stark contrast to his usual aplomb. “A witch has hexed Marian!” he cried. “I need magic.”

Rumpelstiltskin could undo the work of any witch in the realm, but some were more troublesome than others. It was well known that Robin and his band were part of the resistance against Regina. “Was it the Evil Queen?” he asked.

“No, we’ve managed to steer clear of her. But you know that gingerbread house?”

“You let your wife eat from that? Are you mad?”

“She was hungry,” Robin mumbled, as though that were a reasonable excuse.

Rumpelstiltskin scowled. “As little regard as you have for the concept of ownership, I would have thought you’d at least show some caution around Candace. Don’t you know her reputation?”

“Springing Marian from her trap was easy.”

“Of course, it was. Candace is blind, and you’re Robin Hood. But she learned from me. Any escape sets off a worse curse. How is Marian?”

“I’m afraid she may be dying.” Robin’s eyes welled with tears.

“Where is she now?”

“With Friar Tuck.”

“I see.” Rumpelstiltskin opened his palm and conjured the Wand of Healing. “This wand can cure all magical ailments, but I’m not letting it out of my possession unless you leave me some equally valuable collateral. Your bow will do. The charm was mine originally anyway.”

Without flinching, Robin proffered the prized tool of his trade. “Anything to save her. She’s the light of my life.”

“Not yet,” said Rumpelstiltskin, holding up his hand. “The bow is the collateral, but we must also discuss price. If you want your Light back, you’ll help me earn mine. I’ll freeze Time for Marian. She won’t get any worse till you reach her with the wand. But meanwhile, I need you to break into my castle tonight. Do what you do best. I’ll have to capture you, even draw blood, but –”

“But it’s all part of some scheme to impress the young lady I saw outside. Believe me, mate, I understand.”

Leave it to Robin Hood to reduce everything to romance. “You understand nothing,” snapped Rumpelstiltskin. “And we are not mates.”

“Have it your way,” said Robin Hood. “I still agree to your terms.” He extended his hand.

Rumpelstiltskin shook it. “Make your move when it’s dark.”

“I usually do.”

Robin left to hide in wait in the woods. “Cogsworth!” called Rumpelstiltskin, levitating the clock to the table and giving its occupant a partial revival. “Freeze time in Friar Tuck’s house. It should not resume until Robin Hood returns to Sherwood Forest with the Wand of Healing.” The clock’s hands wound forward and back.

Next, Rumpelstiltskin transported Mrs. Potts back into the castle. She was panting so hard, she must have covered every inch of his grounds. But she didn’t mention Chip, so he didn’t either.

“Thank you for your work with Belle, today,” he said.

Unused to receiving a “thank you” from him, Mrs. Potts looked like she might keel over. But before she could say a word, he turned her back into a teapot and gave Cogsworth another command. “When Belle is done with my laundry, it shall be dusk here.”

“As you wish, sir.”

That would be enough time for her to eat her own dinner and serve his. Then it was back to her dungeon cell, and the next test would begin.

The plan went off swimmingly. Belle was unfazed by the Time Shifts and served his dinner without breaking a single dish. But once she was back in the dungeon, she was crying for home all over again. And not just home this time. She was worried about Mrs. Potts and Chip. She didn’t know that Chip was alive and well back in the village, and she feared that her first day of friendship with Mrs. Potts could easily be their last.

“How much more of this can I take?” grumbled Rumpelstiltskin. Her tears were weakening his Dark Side before they’d even started the test. He had to put a stop to it somehow. No head starts.

He walked into her cell without knocking. “When you so eagerly agreed to work for me,” he began, “I assumed you wouldn't miss your family quite s’much.”

She rose to her feet. “I made my sacrifice for them. Of course, I miss them. . . you beast!”

He almost laughed. She believed Mrs. Potts. She wasn’t afraid to insult him!

“Yes, yes, of course, but the crying must stop. I mean, night after night! It’s making it very hard for me to spin! I do my best thinking then.”

She looked at him, confused. Well, how could she know what his spinning really achieved? He didn’t always understand it himself. But if she was going to cry this hard, she’d better have her pillow or he’d miss out on preserving all those blessed tears.

“Here,” he said, conjuring it. “Perhaps this’ll help?”

“For me?” she asked suspiciously, still perceiving herself as a prisoner. She didn’t expect gifts and comforts.

“Not quite so beastly now, am I?” he said, throwing it at her.

Despite his lack of manners, she remembered hers. “Thank you. Maybe now I can get some sleep.”

“Oh, it’s not to help you sleep, dearie,” he groused, disguising the impact her “thank you” had on him. “It’s to muffle the cries so I can get back to work!”

A sudden crash in the Great Hall ended their squabble. Recognizing it was Robin, Rumpelstiltskin rushed out. Belle followed and watched the whole charade. The ragged bandit kept him on his toes - shooting arrows at him, making him disappear here and reappear there. Robin seemed to be enjoying the sport of it.

Rumpelstiltskin allowed one arrow to land right in his chest. He left it there a moment, just long enough to see Belle come running toward him, but then he pulled it out and healed the wound in an instant.

“All magic comes with a price,” he said, grabbing Robin’s arm and seizing the bow. “In your case, that’s me.”

He threw Robin into a cell within earshot of Belle’s. For tonight, though, he would do no more. He let the magic of the pillow do its work. Just as he told her, it absorbed her cries. And because she asked, it gave her a good night’s sleep, too.

She wasn’t as prompt with his tea the next morning, but he noted that Brunhilde, in broom form, had inched away from the wall and was standing upright. Though Belle might still think of herself as a prisoner, it seemed she was beginning to accept her power. Perhaps she was even using it deliberately. If she got Brunhilde to shift position, it was a sure bet she’d awakened Mrs. Potts. He sent his mind into the kitchen to listen.

“The arrow wasn’t Chip’s!" said Belle. "A robber broke in last night!”

“I know. I saw him sneaking around the woods.”

Belle lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m going to help him escape the first chance I get.”

“Don’t! You’ll be punished!”

Belle's response boosted Rumpelstiltskin’s hopes like a catapult. “Maybe not. You saw his face in the mirror. At bottom, he’s a man of peace. So can you help me?”

“Like this? The most I can do is keep tea warm.”

“And that’s all you will do,” said Rumpelstiltskin, turning Mrs. Potts lifeless again. “This test is for Belle alone.”

Belle emerged with the breakfast tray and served his tea in the chipped cup, even though he didn’t ask for it. He giggled with delight. Gone was the timid dropper of teacups. Now that Belle knew that her "I'm sorry" marked the cup as her talisman, she was using it purposefully to appease him.

“A fair move,” he thought, taking a tiny sip. But he did not let himself overindulge. The darkest task was still ahead, and if the test was to be real, his cruelty must be also.

“Now to deal with our prisoner,” he announced, abruptly standing up from the table. While Belle scurried to clear away his unfinished breakfast, he went into Robin’s cell.

“I trust you had a comfortable night,” he quipped. “My dungeon must seem a bed of roses compared to your forest camp.”

“Aye, these stone floors are soft and warm as a cushion,” Robin retorted sarcastically, massaging the crick in his neck.

“Well, brace yourself for Phase Two,” said Rumpelstiltskin, levitating Robin and clamping his wrists in chains. “Your blood won’t go to waste. There’s a healer in another realm – a doctor, he calls himself – who’ll want to experiment with it. You’re paying for Marian’s healing with more healing.”

“Just get it over with,” said Robin.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled out his dagger and summoned his Dark Side, so rooted within him it was effortless. “All magic comes with a price!” he cackled. Then he slashed Robin across his chest. Blood spattered everywhere.

“When the maid comes to help you escape,” he said over Robin’s screams, “offer to take her with you.”

With his apron soaked in Robin's blood, he went out to Belle. She was sweeping the floor in such a fury, Brunhilde was lucky she was only a broom.

“I’m going to need another apron,” he told her.

She was ready with an excuse. “They’re on the line. Drying. It’ll be some time.”

“Oh, fine, fine. Get to cleaning this one as well.” He threw it onto the table. Then he told her he was leaving. Leaving her an opening, to be precise.

As predictable as he thought this scenario was, Belle actually found a way to surprise him. She quarreled with him first.

“All this because he tried to steal a magic wand?”

“No. Because he tried to steal from me, the Dark One. Do that, and you get skinned alive. Everyone knows that.”

“No, actually, they don’t.”

She had no idea how much she was throwing him off. Nobody ever fought the Dark One with mere words! But it was working! He had to get himself out of there so she could finish up with Robin.

He popped over to Friar Tuck’s house. Cogsworth’s Time Freeze was expertly executed, as usual. The friar was sitting stock-still at Marian’s bedside, his prayerbook open. Marian lay there ashen-faced, her cheeks distended as though the Freeze caught her mid-cough. Robin’s alarm was not unfounded. Without that wand, Maid Marian would die.

He’d told Belle he would be back later. In this instance, “later” meant only a few moments. So, with his word duly kept, he popped himself back home and sent his mind into Robin’s cell. Just as he expected, Belle was in there.

“He will kill you,” Robin told her, “unless you run away with me.”

“I can’t run,” she answered. “I made a deal to serve him. If I leave, I may survive, but my family surely won’t.”

“You’re a credit to your kingdom, Princess,” whispered Rumpelstiltskin. “And you, Robin Hood, have fulfilled your end of the deal. It’s time you got what you came for.”

He placed the wand where Robin couldn’t possibly miss it and transported himself up to his tower. From the window, he watched Robin fleeing his grounds with the wand tucked under his arm. He gave Belle a few seconds to assemble herself and then popped down to the Great Hall as though he’d just arrived home.

With a dastardly laugh, he whipped up a cache of weapons and made a big show of sharpening them. Belle, meanwhile, was putting on a show of her own. She was pretending to be taking her break and reading, but the book was The Orygynale Chronicle. He’d deliberately left it around for her. It seemed only fitting that she should learn the authentic history of Robin and his Merry Men.

After a few minutes of silence in which they purported to ignore each other, he finally dropped his whetstone. “I’ll try not to be too loud,” he said, “but I can’t promise the same courtesy from our prisoner.” And so, armed with his implements of torture, he strode off to the empty cell, only to come storming back, geared up for a confrontation.

“Belle!” he shouted. “Where is he?”

She answered him with the plain, unvarnished truth. “Gone,” she admitted. “I let him go.”

“What? He was a thief!”

“Which doesn’t give you the right to kill him.”

“It gives me ev-er-y right!” he said, letting the Darkness take over. He began laying it on thick. “Oh, let me guess. You think he’s a hero, stealing from me for some noble cause. You read too many books, dearie!”

He made the Chronicle disappear right out of her lap. Then, pointing out that the wand was “missing,” he dismissed her intelligence further. “You were tricked! You foolish, gullible girl!”

He knew she’d heard that sort of thing from plenty of people, including her own father. But even now, she was proving to be the opposite - wise and skeptical. The whole world feared the Dark One, yet here she stood, brave enough to ignore his reputation and argue with him. She was even attempting to appeal to his well-concealed good side, all because she was one of those rare individuals who knew to trust a history book over common rumor.

“You can’t know what’s in a person’s heart until you truly know them,” she said.

“Oh, we’ll find out what’s in his heart, all right, when I shoot arrows through it.” He conjured Robin’s bow. “And since this is your fault, you get to come with me and watch! And as the blood drips from his carcass, it’ll be you and your rags to wipe it up!”

He snapped his fingers and dressed her in her cloak, gloves, and a pair of boots. He clapped, and a horse-drawn carriage was waiting for them at the door. He did not bother to reanimate the stable hand. The horses obeyed his magic without a driver. Other than that, the carriage was a mode of travel she was already used to.

They got in and began the hunt. She argued with him the whole way. “I think you are not as dark as you want people to believe,” she insisted. “I think that deep down, there’s love in your heart. And for something more than power.”

“Tell me more, woman of clear vision,” he thought. But aloud, he said, “You’re right. There is something I love.” He paused for effect. “My things!”

That got her! She'd already met her broom and teapot. She must sense that any one of his “things” could be much more than it appeared.

She frowned in disgust. “You really are as dark as people say.”

“Darker, dearie. Much Darker.”

He stopped the horses, and they got out of the wagon. The Sheriff of Nottingham came riding up. Rumpelstiltskin went through the pretense of seeking information he already knew. Unfortunately, the Sheriff was a crude-minded, foul-mouthed cretin. He wasn’t going to divulge anything for free. He wanted a deal, and he named his price.

“A night with your wench.”

Rumpelstiltskin fumed. His wench? How dare ANYONE speak that way of Belle? She was a lady through and through!

This man needed a lesson in watching his language. So Rumpelstiltskin had a spot of fun bouncing his tongue around.

It didn’t take long to make the point. The moment the Sheriff got his tongue back, he was only too willing to spill everything he knew about Robin Hood. After that, they continued their “search” on foot. Belle was soon at it again, trying everything she could think of to persuade him to change his mind.

“You know, it’s still not too late to turn back,” she began.

He kept walking.

“I am not going to stand by and watch you kill a man!”

He whirled around to scold her. “Well, you’re welcome to sit if you like, but you are going to watch! That’s the whole point of our little expedition, remember? To see what your actions wrought.”

And whatever would be wrought from the act of freeing Robin Hood should be worth seeing.

They spotted Robin just when Marian, lying in the back of a wagon, was driven up to him. Rumpelstiltskin took aim. Belle pulled his arm back. He did not stop her. He even smiled, he was so pleased with her, but she was too caught up in watching Robin and Marian to notice. She rejoiced when Robin passed the wand over Marian’s body, blanketing her from head to toe with healing magnetism. When he was finished, her color was restored, and she could breathe freely again.

“You see? I’m right about him! He only wanted the wand to heal the woman he loves.”

“But he’s still a thief,” Rumpelstiltskin persisted, letting his punitive side grow strong. “He has to die.”

They quarreled some more. Her interference was working, but it was getting out of control, and this was the most decisive moment. He thrust his hand into the air and created a forcefield that pushed her backwards and down, trapping her waist-deep in the earth.

“There!” he shouted. “That should give you a good view.”

It had better. He was counting on her for it.

Even while stuck in the ground, Belle did not stop arguing. If anything, she was getting more heated with each second. But when Marian stood up, that changed everything.

“Look! She’s pregnant!” cried Belle.

He lowered the bow and arrow. No wonder Marian had such a severe reaction! Candace’s confectionery house was designed to lure children in. It must have given the baby inside her a feverish craving. How could Robin leave out the most salient detail?

““Because he was scared,” Rumpelstiltskin realized. “He assumed I’d demand to keep the child for myself as payment for saving his life.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s self-loathing began to consume him, but then Belle’s voice came from behind, speaking to the side he so desperately needed her to rally. “You are not the kind of man to leave a child fatherless!”

“Indeed I’m not,” he thought. “A parent’s duties are more essential than anyone’s. Worth abandoning a war for. Even worth enduring a life of ridicule.”

The pang of the painful memories nearly leveled him. He should have known it would. Peeling back his Dark Power meant facing all the hurt that fueled it. He remembered Milah, saying Bae would have been better off with a dead but brave father, instead of his living and doting one. Then came the memory of his own father and their chaotic life together, ending in abandonment. But his mother was the worst of all. She abandoned him in infancy.

None of this would ever go away. But perhaps now, with the peace broker of Avonlea by his side, he could face it better.

He raised the bow and arrow and took aim again. “NO!” screamed Belle.

The warning shot landed right on target. The wagon rattled, just in time to send Robin, Marian, and their unborn child far from the Sheriff and back to a place of safety.

“What happened?” Belle challenged.

He affected frustration. “I missed.”

Without looking back at her, he swirled his hand in a circle to release her from her earthen trap. “Get back to the carriage,” he ordered. “I am bored of this forest.”

“You’re not going after him?”

“It’s not worth the effort.”

He stared after Robin’s white horse as it rode away. His Inner Seer was giving him a glimpse of the little boy Marian was carrying – dark-haired and agile, like Bae. Their Fates were tied somehow, thanks to his new maid.

“You spared his life!” she exclaimed.

“What? I did nothing of the sort!”

But of course, that was exactly what he had done, and she knew what she saw.

“We passed the test!” he thought. He wished he could shout it out for the whole forest to hear. How much more might they accomplish? He’d let her take on even more next time. Fiercer Darkness, not just a staged trial run.

But just when he thought the day could not possibly have gone any better, she did something he would never have dared to dream. She embraced him! She had to stand on tiptoe to do it, but that only made it all the sweeter. He was completely bowled over. If only he had prepared! He would have had Cogsworth set the clock in advance. “When Belle hugs me, stretch all of Time so it lasts forever.” As things were, he only got a few seconds to taste Heaven.

But they did have their ride home, and he intended to savor it. He slowed the horses down to a trot and sent them on a long, circuitous route. He made the Orygynale Chronicle reappear in her lap, just to show that he didn’t mean it when he said she read too many books.

“A library,” he thought. It was the perfect reward for her. A reward and a tool.

She read for the rest of the ride, taking small breaks to look at the passing scenery. But all the while, his mind was replaying that precious moment when her arms were around his neck and her head was pressed against his cheek. For every drop of happiness she gave him, he added a new book to the library. He saw no reason he should ever stop.

Chapter Text

The only trouble about receiving her library so late at night was that Belle was too tired to really explore it. But when she spotted her very own copy of Her Handsome Hero on the center table, she knew that no matter what Rumpelstiltskin said, the library was not merely another room for her to clean.

“Did you do all this for me?” she asked.

“I’d better not see a single speck of dust on any of these books,” he warned in answer.

She smiled. After everything that just happened in Sherwood Forest, who did he think he was fooling?

“What are you smiling at?” he demanded. “I’m serious.”

She reached out for his hand and squeezed it. “You’re not who I thought you were. And I’m glad.”

The happiness in his eyes was only outshone by the glow on his skin. He wasn't green anymore. He was sparkling gold! Belle knew it wasn’t just a trick of the moonlight.

He swiftly went back to giving her “orders.” He gestured to a door near the last set of bookshelves. “You might as well sleep there tonight. It’ll give you an early start on the dusting.”

On this night full of surprises, Belle could hardly wait to see what was behind the door. She walked over and opened it.

“Oh my!” she gasped.

It was a bedroom. Smaller and simpler than her suite back home, but it had everything she needed. A proper bed and bath. A wardrobe where Gabrielle’s blue dress was hanging, along with five exact copies of it, one for every work day. A fresh white nightgown and bathrobe laid out on the bed.

She stepped into the room. Rumpelstiltskin remained at the doorway, careful not to cross over the threshold, not even with the tips of his boots.

“He respects my privacy like a true gentleman,” she thought. The very opposite of what people believed about him.

She bristled at the memory of the Sheriff of Nottingham. That caveman actually had the gall to ask to borrow her, as though she were Rumpelstiltskin’s possession. . . or worse, his plaything.

Suddenly, she had to stifle a giggle. Rumpelstiltskin didn't need the standard show of swashbuckling to defend her honor. He didn't even nick the Sheriff. He just gave him a real-life demonstration about guarding his tongue.

“Good night, Belle,” came a whisper from the door. Rumpelstiltskin was speaking so softly, it felt like his words were more in her mind than in his voice. He made a horizontal motion with his hand, and the door closed between them.

“Wait!” she cried. She still had more to say. She hadn't thanked him for the bedroom yet. But when she tried opening the door, it would not budge. It was as heavy as the iron door in the dungeon, even though it was only wood, Clearly, he'd cast some spell on it, but now that she could see through his guise, she no longer felt trapped.

“He’s not locking me in. He’s locking himself out,” she realized. “A gentleman through and through.“

Her bathtub filled with water. She undressed and got in.

“So much gets packed into a single day here,” she mused. “I hope tomorrow will be quieter. The faster I get my work done, the more time I’ll have in the library.”

She'd better not sleep late by mistake. She was exhausted after all that traipsing around. But despite not getting to sleep until midnight, Belle was up before sunrise the next day, somehow feeling fully rested. The spell on the door had lifted, and she opened it easily. Padding barefoot into the library, she picked up the candelabra. It kindled itself for her, and she began browsing the countless rows of bookshelves.

Her first discovery was that along with Her Handsome Hero, the entire contents of her library at home were there. So was the Villeneuves’ collection. But the vast majority of titles were new and unfamiliar, and that was the most exciting part of all.

One shelf was dedicated to the works of Jefferson Hatter, described as “realm jumper, magical importer, and travel writer.” Whoever he was, he certainly got around! His titles included places she’d always dreamed of visiting, like Oz and Wonderland. There was even a book about a place she never knew existed, the Land Without Color. Her curiosity piqued, she leafed through the pictures. True to the title, they were all grey and white, yet still uncommonly lifelike.

Beyond Mr. Hatter’s books was an enormous section devoted to “The Land Without Magic.” That was even odder than the Land Without Color. How could people live without magic? But while the titles were all written in English, the words were put together in such strange combinations, they might as well have been in a foreign language. Democracy in America by Alexis de Tocqueville. Man and His Symbols by Carl Jung. Relativity: The Special and General Theory by Albert Einstein.

Shaking her head in puzzlement, her confusion gave way to delight when she saw that this mysterious section contained a great many books by women: Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Marian Lewes, Joanne Rowling. She had so many choices, she didn’t know where to begin!

As though in response, one of the books floated off the shelf and dropped itself right into her hands. It was entitled Jane Eyre, and within a few paragraphs, Belle found herself completely charmed by the child heroine who was describing her own love of books.

“I must save this for later,” she thought, bringing the book back to her room and laying it by her bedside. “Duty comes first.” She put on one of her blue dresses and went down to the kitchen to begin the day’s work.

“I approve of the new uniform,” said Mama Bea in her half-human, half-teapot state.

"You should see my new library!” effused Belle, as she arranged the cups on the tea tray. She began to describe the books she’d seen, but Mama Bea went right back to sleep.

“Well, she did say she wasn’t much of a reader,” Belle murmured to herself. Besides, it wasn’t time to chat anyway. She had to serve Rumpelstiltskin’s breakfast.

Sitting at the head of the table, he was absorbed in a book of his own. Belle peered over his shoulder as she poured his tea. The page he was looking at was more baffling than the titles on the unmagical shelves. Instead of words and sentences, it was full of letters and numbers.

“Chemistry,” he told her. “The basis of potion-brewing in the unmagical realms.”

Belle was impressed. Rumpelstiltskin was an even greater scholar than Prosper Villeneuve. She stood to learn a tremendous amount from him, and she was starting to believe he intended it that way. Though parts of the library were tailor-made to suit her tastes, perhaps what he really meant was for them to share it.

“I never realized there were realms without magic,” she ventured. “Have you been to them?”

He looked up from his book. “I’ve been to the Land Without Color. But the Land Without Magic is. . . hard to get to from here. I research it as best I can, though.”

“And so will I,” thought Belle. Travel and reading – her two favorite things! Now she understood the purpose of that section. Perhaps he would take her there someday.

“If that Land is so hard to reach, where did all those books come from?”

“They’re imports. They pass from that Land to an intermediary realm that hosts a magical bookshop. My importer maintains an open account for me there."

"That must be some bookshop!" thought Belle. She was about to ask if his importer was none other than Jefferson Hatter, but apparently, he had something else to tell her.

He signaled her closer to show her his book. Flipping to the back pages, he held it wide open and displayed a chart made of boxes. Each box contained two bold letters surrounded by smaller numbers.

“The Periodic Table,” he read aloud, running his finger along the heading. “It lays out all the known elements of nature with ingenious logic.”

“Like a code?” asked Belle.

“More like a map,” he replied. “Noble gases in the east, metals in the center and west.” He pointed to the box containing the letters “Ag” and challenged her to decode it.

“A metal?” she guessed, reasoning that the box was almost dead center.

“Very good. That’s silver.” He twirled his wrist, and a box of silverware appeared on the table. “And so is that. Polish it after you’ve finished the laundry, won’t you? I’ll be back later.”

“Oh!” cried Belle, taken aback at the mood shift. “Where are you going?”

He sneered as though it was a presumption for her to ask. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.” He stood up, and with a grand flourish, disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

“It’s terribly rude to just up and vanish like that!” Belle shouted into the air.

Was this how he was always going to behave? They’d start becoming friends and then he’d pull back and disappear?

She sighed. “Might as well start work.”

She cleared away the tea set and went out to the clothesline. Everything she’d hung with Mama Bea was now dry. She took it all down and folded it neatly into a basket. Then she got started on the new washing. Her own gold ballgown was on top of the pile. She picked it up and inspected it, noting a few rips along the hem.

“Well, what did I expect?” she thought, plunging it into the water. She’d done her chores in it, slept in it for two nights in a row, and hiked through the forest in it. She felt like a whole lifetime had passed, both for herself and the gown.

She scrubbed a few more items on the pile, but soon she was longing for Mama Bea. She’d even settle for Brunhilde. It was so dull washing laundry alone!

“Duty comes first,” she told herself, thinking of Stealthy. Then she remembered something she’d once read about dwarves. They whistled while they worked. She tried it, but singing came more naturally, so she switched to an old childhood favorite:

                    Come heed the call of Gideon,

                    the hero of the realm.

                    And if his rules you’ll follow,

                    then you may take the helm.

                    You need not be a fighter,

                    who’s skilled with sword and shield.

                    For it takes something mightier

                    to scale this battlefield.

                    The inner world of conscience

                    is where the battle’s fought.

                    If you can conquer anger,

                    a triumph you’ll have wrought.

                    So fill your heart with kindness.

                    Then show it to your friends.

                    And strive to be your finest.

                    The whole world you will cleanse.

She sang and worked until the washing was done, and then carried the basket of dry clothes back to the castle. The box of silverware was waiting for her. Polishing turned out to be more enjoyable than washing laundry. There was something satisfying about restoring a tarnished spot of black to its original gleam.

Rumpelstiltskin returned as she was putting final touches on the last piece. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was carrying a basket like hers, but she didn’t pay attention to what was inside until he slid it across the table at her.

“A baby!” she cried. “Where did it come from? Where are its parents?”

“Never mind. The child is mine now.”

“Yours?” she asked, as the horrible truth dawned on her. “You stole him?”

“Ye-es,” he said, with a sinister note in his voice. “Scandalous, isn’t it?”

He kept his back to her as he spoke. He was rooting through his enchantment scrolls. The baby started fussing, so she picked him up and rocked him.

“What kind of beast steals a child from its parents?” she scolded. She’d heard stories of him stealing babies, but she never really believed them. Besides, she’d gotten the monster to shed his skin just yesterday. Had a worse one grown over in its place?

“What happened to you that made you like this?” she asked.

“You’d do best to stop asking so many questions.” He found the scroll he was searching for. “Ahh, there it is! I have work to do. I’m not to be disturbed.”

Still rocking the baby, her blood boiled. The torture of Robin Hood was bad enough, but this! This was a helpless, innocent child!

And then she understood. The baby’s innocence was exactly what he was after. Innocence was used to power all sorts of diabolical spells. She could not let this stand. “What do you plan on doing with this child?”

He did not answer. “I shall be back at sundown,” he told her. “Take care of the baby, but don’t think about trying to hide him.” He brandished the scroll in her face as though it were a weapon. “I’ll find out.”

He turned and walked out on foot instead of disappearing by magic, but unlike that morning, Belle was glad to see him go. She now had a few hours to figure out how to protect the baby, even if she didn’t know exactly what she was protecting him from.

But first, she had to get him quiet. She read to him from Her Handsome Hero. He was an alert little lad. He stayed awake for quite a few stories. But eventually, he fell asleep, so she carried the basket into the library to put the book away.

The candelabra that lit her way in the morning flickered to life again, but since there was already plenty of sunshine coming through the windows, she didn’t need more light. “Are you trying to tell me something?” she asked it.

Its flames began dancing. When they settled, they were all pointing in the direction of the shelf in the rear corner.

“Ohhh. A secret door. We have one of those in our library, too.”

She knew how these worked. There was always some hint of how to trigger the mechanism if you took the time to look. She scanned every book on the shelves, searching for that one misfit. But Rumpelstiltskin designed this place. He wouldn’t do something as obvious as turning a volume upside-down or rubbing out a significant letter.

Then she saw it. The very book that brought her there: Heroes of the Ogre Wars. She gripped the baby basket tightly, took the book off the shelf, and let herself be spun to the other side.

Now she was facing a spiral staircase. It must lead to the tower! She crept upstairs quietly, just in case Rumpelstiltskin was up there.

He was not. But she could tell she'd been brought to his private library. It contained fewer books than were downstairs, but more work tables. A scroll lay open on one of them. It had to be the one he was rummaging around for.

She carried the baby basket over and studied the scroll. It was in complicated fairy language, very difficult to decipher. The easiest word to pick out was “fairy.” She wrote it down. Then she tried picking out the verbs. She found one in infinitive form, “to summon,” and another in command, “awaken.” Then a phrase: “night sky.” She knew she was right because the crystal on her necklace warmed against her skin. But when she worked out that she was reading about “the Black Fairy,” the crystal went ice cold.

Belle knew very little about the Black Fairy. The other fairies made a deliberate choice to obscure her within the lore. Everything written about her was in such esoteric language, only the most advanced scholars could translate it. But the iciness of her crystal did not bode well. The Black Fairy must have done some shamefully immoral things.

“What would Rumpelstiltskin want with her?” she wondered aloud.

“That’s for me to know, and you never to find out,” he said, suddenly appearing beside her.

He grabbed the scroll and the paper she was using for translation. She’d been tricked! They never discussed her abilities as a translator, but he must have known from the very beginning. Surely, Rumpelstiltskin could recognize a fairy-blessed crystal when he saw one. And he must have guessed how she earned it.

“You knew I was going to do this!” she cried.

“Not only did I know, I was planning on it. Did you really think I left the tower door open by accident? I do not speak fairy, but why should I have to? I have you.”

Belle could have screamed, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He had the translation, and she had no way of magically erasing it. But she could still protect the baby. She’d stood up to Rumpelstiltskin in Sherwood Forest, and she would do it again, using all her persuasive power.

“I will not let you hurt this baby!” she declared, standing in front of the basket.

Rumpelstiltskin laughed, cast a transport spell, and in an instant, had both baby and basket in his hand.

“The child is no longer your concern,” he told her. “I think you should stay here for a while. I don’t want you to get any ideas about trying to stop me.”

He snapped himself out of there, locking the iron door behind him.

Belle pounded on it, but it was no use. Still, she could not give up, not with the baby’s life at stake. Then, quick as a wink, the sunny afternoon sky darkened into night. He sped up the time so he could awaken the Black Fairy!

“Help!” she cried. She didn’t know who would hear her, but she would take help from any source.

Her crystal warmed up and began glowing. Reul Ghorm, the Blue Fairy herself, was coming! Belle had never met her. Only Mother received that honor. But in times of great trouble, Reul Ghorm always came to the aid of anyone whose heart was pure and whose aims were true.

Shimmering azure light shone from under the iron door. Belle opened the sliding window, and the Blue Fairy flew right through it, manifesting before her in full body. She introduced herself simply as "Blue."

Belle wasted no time. “Rumpelstiltskin is taking a baby to the Black Fairy!” she cried.

“I know!” said Blue. “I felt the incantation. And it has fallen to you to stop him.”

“Me? But I don’t have magic.”

“That’s precisely why it has to be you. My magic can’t save him. But first, we must get you out of here.”

She waved her wand over the iron door and set Belle free. But instead of giving further instructions, she flew away.

“Wait! Come back!” called Belle. “What do I do next?”

Reul Ghorm did not return. Belle stomped her foot in frustration, but then an exhilarating sensation overtook her. While her body surged with energy, her mind grew calm and clear. Her crystal turned bright blue and spoke into her thoughts.

“Follow your instincts,” it said in Blue’s voice.

“I’m so proud of you, darling,” it said in Mother’s.

“Come heed the call of Gideon,” it sang, just as she had that very morning.

Blue hadn’t left her empty-handed. She magnified the blessing in the crystal, and Belle had only to follow its lead. Now she was galvanized! She didn’t know what she was doing from one moment to the next, but she trusted that help would present itself as she needed it.

She ran down the spiral staircase and through the secret door back to her library. The candelabra lit up as soon as she walked in. It was sitting on the table alongside Her Handsome Hero. Belle looked inside the book. Tucked within the pages, bookmarking the last story she’d read to the baby, was a slip of paper with two names on it. Jack and Jill.

The baby’s parents. She was sure of it.

A loud, operatic soprano reverberated through the castle. “Heia-taha ah! Heia-taha ah!”

“Brunhilde’s battle cry!” exclaimed Belle. She followed the singing to the Great Hall where Mama Bea, in human form, was holding onto Brunhilde, whose body was a broomstick, but whose head was fully restored.

“I’ve woken up in a right state!” gasped Mama Bea. “What happened?”

“Rumpelstiltskin kidnapped the baby of Jack and Jill!”

“Blimey! They're my neighbors!”

Brunhilde’s horned helmet floated onto her head. “Our legion shall fly tonight!” she announced.

“On you?” asked Mama Bea. “Like witches?”

“No! Like Valkyries!”

“Let’s go!” cried Belle. “First, we find Rumpelstiltskin!”

They went outside for take-off. Though they had to fly upside-down, with Brunhilde’s head on top and her passengers below, they managed it. Brunhilde sang all the way. Mama Bea did a fair bit of screaming.

They spotted Rumpelstiltskin, still on castle grounds. He was standing in a moonlit clearing with the baby basket. Brunhilde landed them in some nearby bushes.

“We’re going to have to get closer than this,” said Belle.

“Each of our legion must know her role,” said Brunhilde.

“She’s right, love,” said Mama Bea. “Only you can get close to the master."

“But if I see you are in danger, I will fly to your defense," promised Brunhilde. “I pledged to be your guard. Even if it’s against him, the one who contracted me to it.”

That bit of information sent Belle’s mind reeling, but now was not the time to think about it. “All right, then,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

She tiptoed closer and hid behind another bush. Rumpelstiltskin was summoning the Black Fairy:

                    Let the night sky tremble,          

                    as the Dark Star shall fall.

                    Awake, Black Fairy,

                    and heed my call!”

“A good translation,” thought Belle. “He even made it rhyme. He didn’t need me at all.”

The Black Fairy flew out of the sky and manifested before Rumpelstiltskin. As soon as she was near, Belle’s crystal grew so cold, it hurt to keep it on. She hid it in her dress pocket.

“Who dares summon me?” asked the Black Fairy imperiously.

Rumpelstiltskin threw something on her. She was paralyzed instantly. “Squid ink,” he said. “Nasty stuff.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she said with a grin. It seemed she was relishing a fight.

“So you know who I am,” he said.

“Who hasn’t heard of the Dark One? But if you’ve heard of me, then you know squid ink won’t hold me for long.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I have this.” He showed her his dagger.

“Is he planning to kill her?” Belle wondered. “What am I supposed to do about that?” Then she remembered what Blue said. Her role didn’t require magic. Whatever battle was about to take place, it was not hers to fight. She just had to save the baby.

As Belle listened to the two of them grandstanding, she realized that Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t looking for a fight at all. He wanted information.

“You steal babies,” he accused the Black Fairy. “Steal them from their mothers’ arms. So why, of all the babies in all the realms, did you abandon the one child that was actually yours?”

“He means himself,” realized Belle. "He's the child she abandoned."

The one and only fact she’d ever read about the Black Fairy suddenly clicked into place. She didn’t learn it from fairy lore. It came from history – Rumpelstiltskin’s history. When Blue visited teenage Morraine on the battlefield, she told her that the Black Fairy made a choice that destined the savior of the generation for Darkness. That was why the Ogres War had to end by means of the Dark Power.

When Belle first read that, she took it to mean that the Black Fairy asserted some unique power of hers. But if she understood Rumpelstiltskin correctly, the choice was much more personal. Fairies were the godmothers of the whole realm. They couldn’t be tied down with children of their own. Most of them took their vows while they were young and unmarried, but here was a mother who deserted her child and then turned around and perverted the fairy mission by stealing other people’s babies! And yet of all the lives she wrecked, she dealt her son the harshest blow. Growing up an unwanted child sealed him for a life in darkness.

The Black Fairy seemed as stunned at this revelation as Belle. She never knew what became of her child. “No! No! It can’t be!” she protested.

“Oh, I’m afraid it can be. . .Mother.”

Never had Belle heard the word pronounced with such bitterness.

“That’s right,” he went on. “Rumpelstiltskin is your son. Of course, you would know that, had you bothered to even give me a name.”

He was so engrossed in uncovering his origins, Belle knew this was the moment to make her move. She sneaked up toward the baby basket.  

The Black Fairy laughed. “Funny that the Dark One should ask such a thing. Sometimes you have to choose power over love.”

She said the last word with such sickening sweetness that it made for the cruelest taunt Belle could imagine. She felt terribly sorry for Rumpelstiltskin, but she still could not let him or the Black Fairy take the baby. She grabbed hold of the handles of the basket, but the sudden jostling made the baby cry out. Rumpelstiltskin turned and saw what she was doing, but before he could react, the squid ink wore off, and the Black Fairy grabbed him.

“Time’s up!” she sing-songed. “No more answers for you today.” Laughing, she got in one last, pitiless barb. “Son!”

Then she flew away, leaving Rumpelstiltskin staring blankly into the empty sky.

“I understand now,” said Belle, cradling the baby in her arms. “You didn’t deserve what she did, but sacrificing the life of an innocent child is not the answer, no matter how much pain you’re in.”

Still staring in the direction of his absent mother, he lapsed into his native burr. “No one knows anithin' about ma pain.”

Without another word, he vanished in a cloud of smoke.

“Back to the castle to lick his wounds,” thought Belle.

She carried the baby over to Mama Bea and Brunhilde. “We must get him back to his parents,” she told them. “But fly slower and more gently this time.”

Brunhilde sighed. “That’s the trouble with you maternal types. You fight as fiercely as bears when a child is in danger, but once you’ve got him near you, you go back to your boring, old ways.”

“Call us boring if you will,” said Mama Bea, “but I’m as proud of being a mother as you are of being a Valkyrie.”

“As you should be,” said Belle, holding up her hair while Mama Bea reclasped her necklace. The tender gesture made her think of her own mother. And poor Rumpelstiltskin’s lack of one.

As they flew over the village, Mama Bea pointed out her own cottage.

“Shall I drop you off?” asked Brunhilde.

“It’s not worth the risk,” she answered. “I’m supposed to go home by tomorrow. If it’s night here now, morning might not be so far away.”

“I’m probably a lot closer to freedom myself,” said Brunhilde. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“There,” said Mama Bea. “That’s where Jack and Jill live.”

Jack was just coming home. He’d probably been out searching for the baby all day.

Brunhilde landed them near the cottage, and Belle returned the baby. His parents were overjoyed.

“Was it the Dark One?” asked Jill.

Belle nodded.

“How did you ever manage to get past him?” marveled Jack.

“I’m his maid.”

It was hardly a complete explanation, but it would have to suffice.

“So run away!” cried Jill. “We’ll hide you! It’s the least we can do.”

“I can’t,” said Belle. repeating what she’d told Robin Hood. “I made a deal to serve him. I have to stay for my family’s sake.”

The couple looked at her pityingly. They couldn’t possibly understand the full truth. She didn’t recognize it herself until that very minute. She wasn’t staying just for Father’s safety or even Avonlea’s. She needed to be nearby so she could help the next Jack, Jill, or Robin Hood, whoever they might be.

“How can we ever repay you?” said Jack, fondling his son’s cheek.

“Please, there’s no need. I’m just happy he’s home safe with you.”

Jill passed the baby to her husband and embraced and kissed Belle.

“Mama? Papa?” came a child’s voice inside the cottage.

“Hush, sweetheart! Everything is fine! Baby Michael is home!”

Jill squeezed Belle’s hand once more, and she and Jack brought the baby inside.

Belle turned around, ready to fly back with her “legion.” Their mission accomplished, perhaps they might celebrate amongst themselves. But a stirring in the bushes caught her eye, and she saw it wasn't Mama Bea or Brunhilde. It was Rumpelstiltskin. He’d been hiding there, watching her all along.

Belle walked up to him and looked him squarely in the eye. “Promise me that you will never steal another child again!”

He looked at her mournfully. “I promise,” he mumbled, extending his hand.

Belle jumped. She had not expected him to give in so easily. She was geared up for a much bigger fight. And really, she had no leverage against him. But confronting his mother left him weak, and it was an advantage she could not pass up. It would ensure the safety of all the children of the realm.

When Belle took Rumpelstiltskin’s hand to seal the deal, the crystal on her necklace warmed up again, but there was much more. Gideon’s song was resounding through it, and the whole forest was joining in – the chirping crickets, the wind rustling in the trees. It was one immense harmonizing chorus. Even the stars in the sky seemed to twinkle more brightly. Was her mind playing tricks on her or was the whole realm celebrating?

“Of course, we’re celebrating!” whispered Blue. “Thanks to you, Rumpelstiltskin’s baby-stealing days are over!”

Chapter Text

Belle was so entranced by the stirrings in the forest, she didn’t notice that Rumpelstiltskin kept hold of her hand after they shook on the deal. Only when they were floating through the smoke cloud of a transport spell did she realize that he was taking her back to the castle. And when they touched down in the Great Hall, she felt like she was almost used to it.

Mama Bea and Brunhilde were back, too, but in their object forms. Mama Bea was sitting on her tray on the table, and Brunhilde stood propped up against the wall. Both were entirely inanimate.

Rumpelstiltskin sat down at the head of the table, still looking thoroughly miserable. His skin was dull and greyish now, the embodiment of his low spirits. Late as it was, Belle didn’t feel right about leaving him alone.

She touched the teapot. Mama Bea did not awaken, but the tea heated up. Belle poured a little into the chipped cup and served Rumpelstiltskin. He might never forgive his mother, but perhaps he might begin forgiving himself.

“I know you said nobody understands your pain,” she began, “but if you’re willing to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.”

She sat in the chair beside him and waited.

He said nothing except, “Rider to Contract of Employment.” Two fresh scrolls and a quill appeared on the table.

“Hiding behind formality,” thought Belle. “We’ve done this before.”

He began dictating. “As long as Belle remains in his employ, Rumpelstiltskin the Dark One shall not steal, kidnap, or make deals to acquire any infant or child not his own.”

He looked over at her for approval. She nodded. She saw no need to remind him that the term of her employment contract was forever.

He signed both copies and passed them over so that she could sign also. Then he took one back, snapped it away, and went to his spinning wheel. He brought the teacup with him.

“Shall I fetch some straw?” asked Belle, standing up.

“Wool,” he said, pointing to a drawer in the cabinet. “Inside there.”

Belle found a ball of raw wool and brought it to him. He threaded his wheel and began to spin. Not gold, like usual. Just plain, ordinary yarn. He only paused to sip his tea.

She sat nearby without speaking for several minutes. “If he really wanted me to leave, he would have commanded me to,” she thought. “He’s aching to share. I just have to ask the right questions.”

Perhaps it was too much to expect him to discuss his past, but he might be willing to get there by explaining the present. She certainly had plenty to ask about it.

“You never intended for the Black Fairy to get that baby,” she said. “You handed me all the tools to stop you.”

He did not look up from his spinning. “It seems to me you found those tools on your own.”

There was truth in that, but it wasn’t the full story. Yes, Blue had helped her. So had Mama Bea and Brunhilde. Even the candelabra played a role. But Rumpelstiltskin was behind it all, pulling the strings. And though he would only reveal himself in hints, she was learning how to parse them.

“You left me the note with Jack and Jill’s name on it. Nobody else could have done that.”

“That library has ideas of its own,” he said, as the corners of his lips gave the slightest twitch upward. “Perhaps the names just appeared in that book by magic.”

“It was the most important part,” said Belle.

“Oh, really? I am sure Brunhilde will disagree. She’ll be trumpeting about her victorious flight to anyone and everyone when she next awakens.”

Belle would not let herself be sidetracked. “You didn’t need me to translate fairy language for you, either. You said you don’t speak it, but ‘don’t’ and ‘can’t’ are two different things.”

“I don’t speak it on principle,” he said, “and now you know why.”

“Well, that was pretty direct,” thought Belle. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

“I know,” he answered, holding up his teacup as though toasting her.

Encouraged, she went on. “So even when you plan your darkest deeds, you allow room for goodness to win.”

“It usually does anyway, albeit with tremendous struggle,” he replied.

“But that’s not the point! The point is: if you take the time do all that, then your heart is pure. You’re not really a monster after all.”

“Oh yes, I am. You have no idea how many evil thoughts are bombarding me at any given time.”

“But how can that be?” said Belle, waving her new contract for emphasis. “You took on the Dark Power to stop a war! That’s the lightest reason there is!”

“Two principles. First, using Darkness to fight Darkness does not change its nature. And second,” he sighed wearily, “all magic comes with a price.”

Belle had heard him repeat his famous refrain several times now, but never with such heaviness and grief. His humor sapped, she could see it for what it was: not the taunt of a trickster, but a sad statement of his own life. He paid for his magic with his own good character. And it was twisting and discoloring him, inside and out.

It didn’t seem fair. The Black Fairy shaped his terrible destiny. He didn’t choose it out of greed. He made a noble sacrifice for the sake of peace!

“The cost seems far too high,” she said, shaking her head. “Anyone can see that the Dark Power has been a burden to you.”

He stopped his spinning and looked at her so intently, it almost frightened her. “Actually, Belle, you are quite likely the only one who has ever seen that. Well, I daresay Reul Ghorm knows it, but she will she never let on.”

He resumed his spinning.

“I don’t understand. If your power causes you so much pain, why not just relinquish it?”

This time, he did not look up. “The Dark Power is no simple matter. It is woven into the fabric of the world, just like the stars, the earth, and all life within it. The only way I can give it up is to pass it on to someone else, and I categorically refuse to do that. Who will maintain all I have built up?”

To anyone else, he would sound like the power-hungry beast he appeared to be. But Belle knew better. She’d seen him up close with Chief Shrek. He didn’t use his magic like his mother – to crush and dominate. He used it as a shield, not a weapon.

“You mean like the ogres’ barrier,” she said. “You created it so that the ogres could not reach us, and you guaranteed that we would not provoke them. Your darkness stands between everyone else’s, and we’re all safer because of it.”

“An incomplete picture, but yes, that is one example.”

If that was just one example, there had to be hundreds if not thousands more. In this vast realm of witches and monsters, what else did he control? With all his deal-making, he’d probably taken charge of all sorts of evil, both magical and mundane. She knew what he’d done with Father – propping him up to counterbalance the more powerful King George. But he also made Father agree to listen to Mother. Her greater goodness and reason were meant to reign.

Belle did not dare ask about his other deals. She knew he would never answer anyway. But she was sure that all his machinations added up to good in the end. “I think you are the wisest, most selfless person I have ever met!” she declared.

“Hah!” he shouted. “I am the most selfish creature in all the realms! Ask anyone! Ask your new friends, Jack and Jill.”

He set the wheel on a fast spin and cackled as though he had flummoxed her.

“Oh, Rumple!” she sighed.

He looked up. She had never called him by a nickname before, but the effect was both immediate and visible. He wasn’t glistening like he had when she grasped his hand in the library, but his odd yellowish color was returning to his cheeks. It was like seeing the dawn break across the shadowy sky.

He twirled his hand in a circle, and a dish stacked with meat pies appeared on the table. It was simple peasant fare, but it smelled heavenly. Belle began serving.

“Take for yourself first,” he told her. Though it seemed impolite, she did not disobey. She made a plate for herself, then a plate for him, carried it over to the wheel, and sat back down at the table. He would not take a bite until she ate first.

“They’re delicious,” she said.

He took a forkful himself. “This was dinner every night when I was a child,” he said. “I was apprenticed to a pair of spinners at a very early age. They always insisted I have the first taste.”

“So they were –”

“My adoptive mothers, yes.”

Belle was glad to hear he’d known some love in his life. It stood to reason, given his good side. But those women must have died a very long time ago. He was already an adult in the First Ogres’ War. That made him two hundred years old at least!

They sat without speaking and ate their meat pies. He kept on spinning, and she kept on watching. There was something hypnotic about the rhythmic spiral of the wheel. She could see why he said spinning helped him do his best thinking.

And then, the wheel worked its thought-inducing charm on her. Impressions she might never have connected suddenly clicked together like pieces in a puzzle. His unearthly fingers deftly plied the yarn, but with handicraft instead of witchcraft, reminding her of his research into the unmagical realms.

“Will you lose the Dark Power in the Land Without Magic?” she asked. “Is that why you want to go there? To get rid of it?”

He took a long sip of his tea. “I never said I wanted to go there. I must go there. Blue set that wheel in motion long ago, and I have to say, she laid the perfect bait. But anyway, that’s all very far away. It’s much too early to discuss it. You’ve only just begun to understand how this realm operates.”

Had anyone else said that to her, Belle would have been insulted – another casual dismissal of the bookish princess. But coming from him, it was an invitation to drink in more knowledge. She sat back and listened as he began to sing:

        All fairies must protect the just.

       The realm is in their sacred trust.

       But when there’s evil to be foiled,

       then that becomes the Dark One’s toil.

       When evil lurks in someone’s mind,

       the Dark One isn't far behind.

       He tempts, cajoles, and makes a deal,

       allowing folk to cheat or steal.

       But when it’s time to pay the price,

       the Dark One isn’t quite as nice.

       For no one sees the traps he laid.

       It costs a lot to seek his aid.

       Whatever trait that birthed the deed

       is actually a planted seed.

      The fruits of sin are custom-built.

      The pain should not exceed the guilt.

      But punishment’s an awful chore

     of keeping track and settling scores.

     The Dark One’s tired of the task,

     and so he has one thing to ask.

      Dear Belle, I humbly beg your help.

      You’ll find the guidance on your shelves.

      For when the Darkness overcomes,

      then to your Light, I will succumb.

       And should you fail to pull me back,

      then you must try another tack.

      Enlist the fairies when need be.

      They’ll come in your emergency.

       For I am not the fairies’ foe,

       though looks deceive, as you well know.

       We all want you to heal our rift.

       And then the realms you will uplift.

While he sang, Belle’s crystal grew comfortingly warm, like a blanket or a patch of sunlight. “Oh, my!” she gasped, clutching at her neck as he finished.

“Yes,” agreed Rumple. “Quite.”

“I don’t know if –”

“If you’ll succeed? Well, none of us does.”

“And by ‘us’ you mean -?”

But she didn’t have to ask. Her crystal was glowing blue.

“Perhaps you’d like to go to your room and discuss it with her?” he suggested.

“Later,” she said. Right now, she had too many questions for him. “Brunhilde said . . . you nabbed me from the fairy ranks?”

“Brunhilde!” he scoffed. “Don’t look to her for interpretations! She is here to learn from you, not the other way 'round. But I’ll answer your question with a question. Did you ever contemplate becoming a fairy? The possibility must have arisen when you were studying their language and lore.”

He was correct, of course. The possibility had come up, and it caused a dreadful family row. Father was vehemently opposed. He said they could not let beauty like hers go to waste. His goal had always been to marry her off to a prince who would enhance Avonlea’s prestige. Gaston was a nobleman, not a prince, but he was so ambitious, Father approved of him anyway. He was a ruthless soldier, certain to make many conquests and amass power.

Mother assured her she did not have to give into Father’s pressure. “No one decides your fate but you,” she said.

“She has a duty to the kingdom!” protested Father.

“Not if she has a higher calling,” said Mother.

“My gods! I’ve always said her education was making her unfit for marriage, but I never thought you’d take it this far!”

“I am not the one pressuring her. I simply made sure she got the education that would open multiple doors. She will choose which one to enter.”

And Belle did choose. She would never have accepted Gaston if not for the war, but she’d already decided against becoming a fairy long before then. Being stuck in an arranged marriage was the expected fate of a princess. She understood that even before she came of age. But unlike the Black Fairy, she could not give up on motherhood. She dreamed of it the way other young women planned out their ideal weddings.

Belle found herself staring at the steady circles of Rumple’s wheel as her mind returned to the present. Taking care of kidnapped Baby Michael was the most enjoyable task she’d been given since she arrived. While she was worried about his safety, she hadn’t been able to think of anything else, but now that the ordeal was over, she could appreciate all the sweet moments of the day: cradling him in her arms, feeling his tiny fingers wrapped around her own, reading to him about Gideon.

Rumpelstiltskin’s voice woke her out of her reverie. “So is it fair to say I ‘nabbed’ you from the fairies?”

“Do you read minds?” she asked.

“I get glimpses, but never full detail. Don’t worry. Your private thoughts are safe from me.”

“Good,” thought Belle. Her parents’ quarrel embarrassed her, and even though her new contract ought to make it clear, she didn’t want Rumple thinking she condoned taking someone else’s baby, no matter how much she enjoyed having one around.

Then an unpleasant thought struck her. Though she hadn’t become a fairy, she was still living their fate – everything she’d hoped to avoid. She could neither marry nor have children as Rumpelstiltskin’s maid. And now she’d she’d gotten him to agree to terms that would prevent her from ever bestowing her love and care on a baby again.

“There was no other way,” she told herself, but as much as she wanted to hold back, the tears escaped her eyes.

The next instant was a confusing blur. The chipped teacup was suddenly hovering right beside her face, catching her teardrops as they fell. But before she could push the cup away, Rumple levitated it back to himself and downed its contents.

“Ahhh,” he said. “The best medicine.”

Belle stared at him. He giggled. A soft, happy laugh. Not hard and bitter like his “Hah!” or rascally and mocking like usual.

“Go on, dearie. That can’t be the last of your questions.”

It wasn’t, but adjusting to his mood shifts was like reorienting herself after a transport spell. She had to collect herself a moment. “So even without fairy training, am I . . .magical?”

“Potentially.”

“Is that why you wanted me here? To teach me?”

“Teach you! That’s not how I’d describe what we’re doing. But with this castle as your backdrop and that vast library at your fingertips, I fully expect you to learn.”

Belle pondered this. She’d learned plenty, just in this conversation. And over the last three days, she’d had such a wide variety of new experiences, it was like her whole world was exploding. But with everything coming at her so quickly, she’d barely had time to process it all.

“We’re both better off if you stay as you are. It’s like that crystal around your neck. I could add my own magic to it, but why would I ever sully anything that pure?”

Belle didn’t know how to respond to such a compliment. She wasn’t sure how to phrase her next question, either. Simple words could not do it justice. Then, inspiration hit her. She touched the handle of the teapot. A half-human Mama Bea yawned and said, “What is it, love? Time to make breakfast already?”

She removed her hand. Mama Bea turned into a teapot again.

“Yes, those charms will persist regardless,” he said.

“But who controls it? You or me?”

“It could be either one. It comes down to Fate, really. Sometimes your fate is tied to the person in the object. Sometimes mine is. Most likely, it’s a combination of all of us. This world is full of hidden connections in desperate need of unraveling.”

Belle sat back in her chair. “This is a lot to take in.”

“I’d say you’re holding your own quite well.” He levitated and lowered the scroll in her lap. “Look at the terms you got out of the Dark One.”

“But, Rumple, I –”

“Ah, very well then, if you insist, I will teach you a few spells. Magic Words, to be precise.”

“But –”

“Hush. The first Word is, ‘Please.’ Say it right, and I will do as you ask.”

Belle looked him doubtfully. “Is this one of your jokes?”

“No, Belle. Now, please try it.”

“Oh!” she gasped, feeling it. First her name. That was just like when he whispered it from her bedroom door, gentle yet strong. The “please” was similar. It wasn’t forceful at all, yet she absolutely had to obey it.

“Please, Rumpelstiltskin, may we leave this for tomorrow?”

“Yes, Belle,” he said standing up. “I’m sorry I put you through such hell tonight. Thank you for riding it out with me.”

She felt every single word. The bolt of energy from her name. The hope of reconciliation in the “I’m sorry.” The heartfelt “thank you.” Even the sting of the word “hell.” It brought back the cold, cruel presence of the Black Fairy for a fraction of a second. Belle never wanted to feel that again.

She stood up and looked into his eyes. Everything was right there. The mix of Dark and Light. The war raging within him. The faith he was placing in her.

“Dear G-d,” she thought. “This is bigger than making peace in Avonlea. Can I really handle it? What if I make a mistake?”

“We’ll help you,” said Blue’s voice in her ear. Or perhaps it was in her mind. Or her crystal. Or all three.

Rumple stood by patiently, waiting for her response.

What could she possibly say? “Good night, Rumpelstiltskin,” she faltered.

He smiled and held out his hand, not for a handshake, but with his palm upward, a gesture of openness and friendship. She grasped it, and he cast a transport spell over them. They landed in her library, touching down so lightly on the floor, it was as though they were cushioned.

“Good night, Belle,” he said, “and thank you again.” He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Now standing alone, Belle soaked up the goodwill of his parting words. It was astounding how he could pack his magic into everyday phrases!

The new contract unfurled itself in her hand. Belle understood that like the candelabra, it was giving her signals. It wanted to be read. “If you think those words are something,” it was saying, “then have a look at mine!”

Belle re-read the single, fateful sentence. “As long as Belle remains in his employ, Rumpelstiltskin the Dark One shall not steal, kidnap, or make deals to acquire any infant or child not his own.”

Reading it didn’t make her feel any different, but when a breeze blew in from the window, she knew the library was reacting. The cover of Her Handsome Hero opened with a smack on the table. The contract pulled itself out of her grasp, floated to the book, and inserted itself within the pages. Belle walked over to see where it went, but the other pages began rustling in the wind, so she lost the place. She tried searching for it, but the pages refused to stay still.

“Another signal,” she murmured.

“Indeed,” said a man’s voice behind her.

Belle yelped in alarm. She grabbed the candelabra and spun around, ready to strike. She’d scream for Rumple if she had to. But there was no strange man or dangerous monster threatening her. Perched upon the windowsill and lit up by the moonlight sat a perfectly harmless insect. He was wearing eyeglasses like a human and carrying a miniature umbrella.

“Jiminy Cricket, at your service,” he said, bowing.

Belle lowered the candelabra back to the table.

“That’s right,” he chuckled. “You have nothing to fear from me. I wouldn’t hurt a fly, or any other creature, in this entire blessed universe.”

“Y- you can talk!” Belle stammered.

“Yes, and I can sing, too,” he said, rubbing his wings together so that they produced a few tuneful notes. “That’s what I’m here for. To sing you a message. Blue sent me.”

“So you don’t live in the castle then?” asked Belle, disappointed. Now that she was no longer afraid, she thought she’d rather like having this affable cricket around to talk to.

“No, I belong to the forest.”

He pressed his wings against each other with more vigor, and his song grew deeper and louder. The other sounds of the forest followed his cue and joined in. Just like before, they began singing in chorus, except now human voices blended in among them.

“They’re coming through the books!” Belle realized in amazement. With rich and layered harmony, they serenaded her with “The Call of Gideon,” but with all new lyrics.

        Take up the call of Gideon,

        and champion those in need.

        Though it may be a struggle,

        the Light side will succeed.

        You may incur some losses.

        All acts demand a price.

        But good will be rewarded

        when there’s a sacrifice.

        You saved the young lad Michael.

        He’s happily back home.

        And children of the future

        won’t fall prey to that gnome.

        So though much Time will pass first,

        your deed will be repaid.

        Whatever you most cherish

        can never stay mislaid.

        Take up the cry of Gideon.

        For he is your own son.

        Because of him, you’ll live to see

        the Dark One’s curse undone.

Was she imagining it or was Rumple himself singing that last line? She shook her head as if to set herself straight. “Silly of me to take it so literally,” she thought. “Like the line about Gideon. I don't have a son. Gideon is a paradigm, not a real person.”

She had to focus on the message, not the symbolism. She was being told that after a long struggle, the Light side would succeed. That meant she could never give up fighting for the good man in Rumple, hard as it might get. He needed her help bearing the burden of the Dark Power. She’d even have to restrain him when the Power got the better of him.

But what about those losses she would incur? Everyone seemed to have so much confidence in her – Blue, Rumple, even the talking cricket – but none of them had seen her at her worst. . . abandoning Anna. What if she did something like that again? She won the battle tonight, but that didn’t mean she always would.

“Let your conscience be your guide,” chirped the cricket, bowing once more before hopping away. After he was gone, the voices in the library receded to a low hum.

Tempting as it was to stay up listening to them, Belle was simply too tired. “What a day it’s been!” she thought, going into her room. Rumple had sped up the night, and now morning felt unnaturally long ago. She wondered if she’d ever get used to this.

“l was a fool for wanting adventure,” she thought, crawling into bed. “Now I’ve got more than I can manage. I hope tomorrow will be quieter.”

Outside her bedroom door, the voices in the library thrummed in answer. “Whatever you wish.”

Chapter Text

True to his pledge to Belle, Rumpelstiltskin did not bring home any more babies, nor did he force her into any other confrontations with life and death consequences. He continued bossing her around, and sometimes he even insulted her, but that was the worst he made her deal with. After having faced him down twice, she deserved a rest.

So he slowed Time to a crawl within the castle and let her settle into a regular routine. By day, she cleaned, sometimes with Mrs. Potts, but mostly alone. When she grew tired, dusk would fall around the grounds, and that was her signal to serve dinner. After that, she could do whatever she chose. Usually, she read in her library until she was ready to retire to her quarters.

Rumpelstiltskin adjusted his own schedule to track hers. While she was working with Mrs. Potts, he shut himself up in his brewing room, but if she was dusting the Great Hall, he made sure to be down there at his wheel. He conjured up new objects for her to clean, just to keep her nearby. He left all his outside business for the hours when she slept, stretching or speeding the Time as needed.

But even his Dark pursuits were losing their attraction. He’d taken to spending most nights in her library. As soon as she was safely locked behind her bedroom door, he would tiptoe inside and catch up with whatever she’d been reading. She favored Austen and Brontë from the unmagical shelves, and she’d recently finished a dauntingly thick volume called Middlemarch, but she was also working her way through Jefferson’s travel books. When he saw she was done with the book on the Land Without Color, he decided to allow her into his brewing room the next morning.

“It’s a laboratory!” she cried, marveling at the multi-colored chemical solutions bubbling in their flasks. “Just like in the pictures!”

“Photographs,” he corrected her. He conjured up a pail of sudsy water next to his test tubes. She set right to washing them, but her eyes were still roving around the room, jumping from the steaming cauldrons on the magical side to the rows of unfamiliar gadgets right in front of her.

“Did you get all these things from your importer?” she asked.

“No, actually. To furnish my lab, I am my own importer. I procured this equipment in the realm in which it was made.”

“The Land Without Color?”

“That’s right.”

She sighed wistfully. “That must be something to see!”

“Not really.” Though he hoped he might show her the world someday, now was not the time, and the Land Without Color was decidedly not the place. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Colorless. Unmagical. All these potions would look as plain as water over there. It’s quite dull.”

Ever the skeptic, she saw right through him. “You must be going there for some reason, other than shopping.”

“I study with a doctor who lives there,” he conceded. “In that realm, doctors and scientists are the equivalent of sorcerers.”

She mulled this over a moment. It was a particularly appealing habit of hers. Unlike most people, she generally thought before she spoke.

“So you do have friends . . .outside.”

“Friends?” he laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous! My relationships with people fall under two distinct categories: those who owe me and those who can offer a fair trade.”

Of course, she herself was in a category of her own, though she didn’t know it. She was the only person in all the realms he was truly indebted to. But he had the rest of her lifetime to repay her. He could not make her immortal, but he could stretch out her years, keeping her forever young, healthy, and with any luck, as happy as was in his power.

“Which type of person is the doctor?”

“A fair trader. Science is not as sure as magic, but it’s a discipline worth learning.”

Belle picked up the long brush meant to scrub the bottoms of the narrowest test tubes. Whether by instinct or information, she seemed to know how to use it. “I met some doctors once. My father called them in for me after my mother died. They were horrible. They confined me to my room and made me drink a potion that they said would calm me down. What it really did was make me sleep through the funeral. And when I woke up, I was completely confused because I couldn’t remember how she died. I still can’t remember it, no matter how hard I try. . .”

“The Chamberlen Brothers,” he said. He knew those two would come up sooner or later, and Belle being Belle, naturally it was sooner. “Those fakers don’t know magic or science, though they dabble in both. I've had my eye on them for a long time.” 

“Are they from another realm?”

“I suspect so, but I never could determine where. In any case, they have no power here. My curse made sure of that.” He snickered as his Dark Side flared.

“What did you do?” She was horrified yet fascinated. Her injured heart, though naturally magnanimous, still craved a reckoning.

“Nothing they didn’t deserve. I gave them a taste of their own medicine – literally. Every potion they attempt to brew will affect them before they can give it to anyone else. The minute they mix it, they’ll feel it, whether it’s a poison, a memory erasure, or something else.”

A vindictive person would have cheered at this, or perhaps egged him on for more, but not Belle. She remained quiet and reflective.

“Contrary to what people believe,” he continued, “the Dark One punishes with Justice, not vengeance. Though I readily admit, the line between the two is very fine, and it's tempting to slip.”

She pulled an unused dust rag out of her pocket to dry off the jars. Looking sideways at him, she asked shyly, “Did you know what they did to me?”

They were edging toward secrets now. He never intended to reveal his full role. But he understood the unspoken questions behind the words. Since he had his eye on them, did that mean he'd been watching her, too? And for how long? 

He answered her with two simple truths. “Yes, I knew about the memory erasure, but only later did I find out it was you.”

He braced himself for her next question. He’d left out plenty, and her inquisitive mind might fill in the gaps in any number of ways. But when she turned to him with her face lit up in excitement, he dreaded what he knew she was about to say.

“Can you restore my memory?”

“Oh, Belle,” he thought, “please let’s not do this.”

He hated to watch her sink into such foolishness. She was as eager as any of his other customers. He had to make her understand just how bad an idea this was.

“Perhaps I can, but why in Heaven’s name would you want me to? You know your mother was killed by ogres, so you know it must have been terribly violent. It seems like a memory you’re better off without.”

“It’s not so much that I want the memory back. I just don’t like that my mind was tampered with. It’s like those doctors stole a piece of me.”

Little did she know, they tried to steal much more.

“I understand,” he said. She did have a point. But he had to dissuade her anyway. “You do realize this is beyond the terms of our contract. And all magic comes with a price.”

“All right,” she said, drying her hands on her apron. “What do you want?”

“Not so fast. Answer me a few questions first. Am I the only wizard you’ve consulted with this problem? Or did you try restoring your memory by some other means?”

“I did get hold of a memory stone, but –”

“Ooh, pricey little items, those stones. And I assume it slipped right through your fingers.” He wriggled his own as he said it. “They're prone to that.”

She stared at him in amazement. “You know everything!”

He shook his head. “Only the Lord Judge is omniscient. But this is all quite easy to deduce when you understand magic. Memory stones are sentient objects. They take precautions against trauma. They’d sooner escape it than face it, and they’re almost always right.”

Belle grew even more pensive than usual. “So you’re saying. . . the stone wouldn’t have helped me anyway?”

“I’m afraid not. And I imagine you paid a steep price for it, too.”

With that, she turned her back. Evidently, he’d hit a sore point.

“You needn’t be ashamed, Belle. Nobody gets through life without someone hoodwinking them when they’re desperate.”

She did not look up. She busied herself arranging the now-clean test tubes.

“So, no deal, then,” he concluded.

“What?” she cried, almost dropping a glass. “I didn’t say I made up my mind.”

“But I have,” he sneered, letting his Darkness get the final word. “What can you possibly offer me anyway? You’ve already promised to live and work here forever.”

She shot him a resentful look and went over to the opposite corner of the room. She began dusting the shelves where he stored his ingredients. For a few minutes, they worked apart and in total silence. She would not even look in his direction.

He was glad to have won a round for once, but the price he was paying was painfully high. He’d rather quarrel than get the cold shoulder treatment. How could he get her talking again? He tried feeling her out with his Inner Seer, but her defenses would not yield.

“There’s much more to this story than she’s willing to let on,” he observed.

He sent a dry rag floating her way and let her exchange it for her damp and dirty one. But when the used cloth came back, the Thought Transfer on it was far too weak. The spell couldn’t work properly unless they were both touching the rag together. He could pick up on her feelings, but there was no imagery to complete the context. Still, the feelings were vivid. Almost overpowering. Belle had a bad case of survivor’s guilt.

“Because her mother died to save her,” he surmised.

Poor Belle. This was the kind of burden people carried around for the rest of their lives. It was probably the reason Maurice wanted to erase her memory – to spare her. A thoroughly misguided plan, but at least it came from a place of love.

He wished he could say something to comfort her, but there was no real comfort for the loss of someone so beloved, especially in so tragic a circumstance. The best he might do was distract her.

“Travel,” he thought. It was sure to work.

“Did I mention that I received a summons from Sir Lancelot?” he asked casually.

She spun right around. “From King Arthur’s court?”

“Yes. He has an interesting proposition for me. I’ll be leaving for Camelot tonight.”

He was almost proud of himself until her next question.

“Will you be needing me there?”

Oops. Not a well-planned tactic at all. “Certainly not! This is a simple business transaction.”

And an extremely Dark one at that.

“You took me to Sherwood Forest.”

As if he needed a reminder. “You served a purpose then.”

“Hmmphf!” she sniffed, turning back to her dusting.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he thought. No more hardening into ice. He’d start a little fire with a spark of his own.

“Just what is it you expect to see there, anyway? Ballrooms and jousts? The Dark One doesn’t take pleasure trips.”

“I realize that but –“

“But what?” he challenged. And then, before she could make another retort, a strange impulse popped into his mind. It was better than provoking a spat. He could not bring Belle to Camelot, but he could bring a little Camelot to Belle.

“Very well then,” he sighed, as though she had been nagging him. “If we must.”

He walked over and held out his hand. Though puzzled, she took it. He snapped them downstairs to the Great Hall.

“Well, look at that,” he said, as she let go. “Transport is old hat to you now.”

“That wasn’t a very great distance.”

“True.”

He snapped his fingers again, and her blue uniform lengthened into a ruffled, yellow ballgown, softer and more subdued than the gold satin one she arrived in. She looked down at herself. Beaming, she looked back up.

“What has come over you?”

Unable to account for it himself, he did not answer. He simply clapped Cogsworth awake and endowed him with a new ability. Cogsworth was now a violinist. He struck up a light-hearted waltz.

Rumpelstiltskin bowed and offered his hand once again. “Care to dance, Princess Belle?”

Hesitantly, wordlessly, and with the barest modicum of trust, she accepted. She slipped her hand into his proffered one and placed the other on top of his shoulder. He drew near and put his free hand around her waist. His heart was racing. Longing pulsed through him.

“Just concentrate on the dance!” he ordered himself.

They started off with a simple box step. She followed his lead with the grace and lightness of a floating butterfly. He waltzed her all around the room, nodding to Cogsworth to pick up the tempo. He wished he could lift her high and dip her low, but those steps required more physical closeness than she might be willing to allow. So instead, he stepped back to give her room to twirl. She giggled and spun around twice before stepping close to him again.

As she relaxed into the dance, the room began to transform. The table disappeared, and the windows grew taller. The curtains opened, and sunlight poured in. Soon his carpets were replaced by shiny marble floors, and the room grew so long he wondered if it would ever end. Replicas of the Knights of the Round Table appeared around the periphery, standing guard over them, the two lone dancers.

“It’s like all the books I’ve ever read put together!” she exclaimed.

He burst into giggles. Coasting on the library’s magic was such fun with her informed mind leading the way!

But she was not laughing along. “You’re making fun of me!” she accused, her dazzling smile twisting into an offended frown.

“I wasn’t! I promise!”

Her beautiful blue eyes grew colder as she pulled herself out of his arms.

If his heart was racing when they started their dance, it was doing frantic somersaults now. “I honestly thought you would like it.”

“I did like it. . .until you laughed. You laugh at everything.”

“Not at you. Never at you. I was just laughing at the spell.” How could he have fouled it up this badly?

“Well, what the hell’s the difference? The spell works off my mind, doesn’t it?”

The force of her Magic Swear Word hit him like a slap across the face. “Belle! Watch your language! You don’t know your own strength!”

She turned away in a huff and stalked off in the direction of her quarters. Her gown turned back into her ordinary dress. The Knights disappeared, and the Great Hall shrunk back to its normal size and décor.

He could not let it end this way. He transported himself into the library and blocked her bedroom door.

“Out of my way!” she yelled.

“Belle, please. Listen to me.”

She rolled her eyes. She was compelled to listen.

It was time to bring out the heavy artillery. He transported the tea set over to her reading couch.

“Please take tea with me,” he begged.

The second "please" worked as well as the first. Belle went to the couch, and he poured, serving her from the chipped cup. He waited for her to take a good swallow and then, with all the sincerity he could muster, pronounced the Magic Words. “I’m sorry.”

On tenterhooks, he watched her reaction. He knew she felt it when the silvery glare in her eyes gave way to her natural blue.

“Oh, Rumple,” she said, making his heart patter faster. “I know you didn't mean any harm. But I don’t like that kind of magic. It reaches into my mind and creates. . . illusions.”

Good Lord, had he botched it!

“So you feel that spell stole a tiny piece of you? Like what the Chamberlen Brothers did? If I would have known. . .”

She put her hand on top of his. “No, don't compare yourself to them. What they did to me was permanent. I guess I over-reacted.”

He was lucky she was so quick to forgive. “I’ll never do it again,” he assured her. Anything to avoid the pain of her rejection. Yet something told him to stop short of adding the Binding Words “I promise.”

“It’s not your fault, really,” she went on. “It’s just that for a princess, a ballroom is a place of diplomacy. My father always expected me to make some great alliance on the dance floor. That spoiled all the fun and. . .” Bashfully, she lowered her eyes as she added the last word. “. . . romance.”

“What the hell was I thinking?” Rumpelstiltskin inwardly cursed himself. “Dancing with the princess who prefers books to ballrooms?”

“Anyway, I guess all that stuff got mixed up into the spell. That's why I snapped. But you couldn't have known.”

Grateful as he was to receive her forgiveness, Rumpelstiltskin could not let himself off that easily. Of all kingdoms in the Land, Camelot was the most notorious for using courtly love to jockey for power. He couldn’t have made a clumsier choice. How could he make amends to her now?

The moment he finished the thought, a book flew off the shelves and landed on the table. She picked it up.

“Silas Marner: the Weaver of Raveloe by Marian Evans Lewes,” she read aloud. She put the book in her lap. “The library works on Mind Magic, too, doesn’t it?”

“The most finely tuned kind.”

“And somehow it knows that I just finished another book by the same author. It’s called Middlemarch.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded but said nothing. He didn’t know if she’d appreciate his practice of keeping up with her reading. She might consider it snooping.

“Well, I suppose it’s not very consistent of me, but I love the Mind Magic in here.” She tapped the book. “Like this. Did you make that happen?”

“I can’t take credit. The library has ideas of its own.”

She fixed him with her skeptical look.

“I can swear on my dagger if you want me to.”

“No, I trust you,” she said quickly. Even without knowing how serious the Oath was, her instincts steered her away from it.  

“As I told you, I keep an open account at a bookshop called Speranza’s. The books pass from the Land Without Magic to the Victorian Realm to here.”

“And the library selects them?”

“Mostly, but not exclusively.” Anxious to get himself back on firm ground again, he began a demonstration “If I wanted to recommend a book to you, here is what I would do.” He lifted up his hand and quoted, “’We may sit in our library, and yet be in all quarters of the earth.’”

The copy of Sir John Lubbock’s The Pleasures of Life floated toward them. He caught it and gave it to her. “A little philosophy for whenever you’ve finished with that weaver story.”

“Oh, Rumple.”

What a salve it was to hear her speak his Name! “Freeze!” he called to Cogsworth.

In a single stroke, everything in the castle came to a standstill. He allowed himself a few minutes to let her pardon sink in, taking a sip of her tea to help it along. Once he felt a little better, he couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at where the library was guiding her. He gently pried Silas Marner from her fingers.

“In the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily in the farmhouses – and even great ladies, clothed in silk and thread-lace. . .”

“Spinning wheels and lace?” he nearly shouted. “It’s our story!”

He flipped to the summary page in the back. The redemption tale of a lonely misanthrope whose life is changed when he takes in a golden-haired foundling child.

Belle's hair was dark, and she was neither a foundling nor a child, but perhaps he was carping on the details. No book was ever a perfect fit. He wished for some means of making amends to her, and the library, in its boundless wisdom, responded with a redemption story. No doubt, it would buck her up on her mission. He resolved to read all about the lonesome weaver and his turn for the better, which meant he’d be skipping Middlemarch. That one looked too long anyway. He placed the book back into her hands, positioning it beneath Sir Lubbock’s, exactly as before. “All right,” he called to Cogsworth. “Resume!”

Belle, and everything else around them, blinked back to life.

He picked up the conversation where they left off. “I know you want to see the world,” he told her, “but there are worlds unto themselves right here. Every object in my cabinets has a rich history you might research.”

She grinned. “So I have permission to look around while you’re gone?”

“Ye-es,” he agreed reluctantly, afraid to upset her again.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful,” she assured him, holding up the chipped cup. “I won’t break a thing.”

“Of course not,” he said, though it was easy to see what was coming. The impossible was already happening. He - the Dark One - was falling in love. And she could never return his affections. She might succeed in redeeming him, but to dream of romance? That was an indulgence in pure, harebrained fantasy. He knew his limitations, and he couldn’t afford to kid himself. He was just the graceless, misanthropic monster who misread her thoughts, trifled with her feelings, and trod upon her toes.

His heart was breaking already.