Rewriting the Tale

A trilling alarm pierced the silence of the early morning. Mr. Gold groaned as he rolled over to shut it off – he really should get an alarm that was less grating on his nerves. He slowly sits up, his left leg aching worse than normal. His bed, while comfy – wait. His bed? 

Yesterday, Mr. Gold had gone to sleep in a jail cell, courtesy of Miss Swan’s impediment of his vigilante justice. It was illogical – impossible – for him to be in his Victorian manor, free as the north wind. He was sure it wasn’t a dream; everything had been too vivid, even for his seeing. 

Surveying the room, Mr. Gold found nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was as it should be. Grabbing his cane, he began his morning routine. In the half hour it took him to get ready, nothing had happened. It was strange – he was half expecting the sheriff to come busting down his door (not unlike her charming father).  

He debated staying at the house to avoid the public eye, but his curiosity got better of him. He put on the sly pawnbroker’s guise and confidently made his way to the Cadillac and drove into town. No one stopped him, no one stared, no one did anything. Peculiar. 

He opened the shop and waited for something to happen. Storybrooke was slow, yes, but the curse was starting to crack, and Miss Swan was making waves. Regina was surely panicking about that. It’d been unfortunate that he had to tell her, but everything comes with a price.

 Speak of the devil. Regina Mills walked into the pawnshop, haughty, and self-righteous. “What can I do for you, Madam Mayor?” Mr. Gold’s eyes gleaned, waiting to see what the queen wanted. Their game of cat and mouse had escalated – what was going to be her first move now that she knew that he knew his true name? 

"I came by to ask about the burglar that broke into your home. How unfortunate that a thief has found themselves at work in Storybrooke, no? I think the sheriff department should have been more proactive and prepared for such incidents.” 

That gave Mr. Gold a pause. Regina came into the shop yesterday to say the same thing. She’d tried to get a rise out of him, to reveal information. It didn’t work. But why is she asking again? It seems rather dull for Regina. And why was she wearing the same grey pantsuit as yesterday? In the 28 years of the curse, she’d never repeated an outfit. Something strange was going on. So, he responded the same way as yesterday. “It was rather unfortunate, yes.” 

Regina gave no indication that they had this very conversation already. “I heard that all your items were recovered at least, right?” Her eyes gleam with predatory satisfaction. 

Mr. Gold was very suspicious of the whole scenario. Nothing was making any sense whatsoever. He wasn’t going to let Regina have the upper hand, though. Not this time. “Yes, everything was recovered in a timely manner,” he said, smirking. “Miss Swan was quite efficient in her recovery of my things. Did you know it was Moe French?” Bile rose in his throat as he said the name, but he acted like nothing had happened. 

Regina’s seemed to shrink back, and her eyes wavered in confusion. She quickly recovered, her smarmy politician smile gracing her features. “How fortunate! Though, I never would have suspected Mr. French capable of such a crime.” 

"Desperation causes many unsuspecting criminals, dearie.” 

Regina nodded awkwardly before retreating to the door. The conversation had not gone as she had planned. “Goodbye, Mr. Gold.” 

The bell rang out in the store as Mr. Gold thought about everything that had occurred. Regina did not remember anything from yesterday – he was certain of it. But that left more questions than answers. He wasn’t sure what was going on. But he was starting to wonder if the right question was when was he? 

.....

Granny’s Diner had never been Mr. Gold’s favorite establishment in Storybrooke. The food was mediocre and the gossip mill was infamous. But it would help him establish what day of the week it was. Something strange was going on, but Granny’s specials ran on a tighter schedule than the clock tower. Each day of the week had its own specialty. No matter what week, Wednesdays are always spaghetti and meatballs. 

Upon opening the diner door, Mr. Gold’s eyes narrowed on the chalk sign. It read, “Taco Tuesday Special” and “Valentine’s Veal.” 

Damn.

Somehow, he’d traveled back in time to yesterday. Or rather, today.

He’d somehow retained him memory, but no one else did. Otherwise, Emma would have tracked him down and arrested him again. And Regina wouldn’t have been flaunting that he didn’t receive all his items back from the sheriff... Mr. Gold nearly swore in the diner. Regina still had his chipped cup in that infernal purse of hers. 

“Mr. Gold?” Ruby Lucas asked, hands on her hips. “Are you ordering anything or just going to glower the whole day?” 

Mr. Gold snapped out of his thoughts to answer her. “I’ll have coffee. Black. To go.” Ruby rolled her eyes but went to fill the order, leaving Gold to think alone. 

......

Gold sat in his car outside the sheriff’s station, nursing his coffee. His plan was simple – question Moe French about the incident in exchange for dropping charges. He wanted to know why Regina put him up to it. It seemed to be too much of a coincidence for his liking. 

Why would Regina wager so much on his sentimentality? Sure, he loved – loves –Belle, but his heart was notoriously black. A young woman dead for thirty years was a strange thing to dreg up to the surface. 

As he walked into the station, he was greeted by Miss Swan’s verbal lashing. “Gold! What are you doing here? I got all your stuff back. Just leave me alone for five minutes?” 

He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. “I’m just here to talk to the thief, dearie,” he nods towards Moe French’s cell, “Preferably alone?” 

"You want me to leave you alone with the prisoner? I don’t trust that, Gold.” Emma glared at him, not wavering. 

"Perhaps you would be convinced if I were to conveniently schedule a town board meeting tomorrow? Right after school? It would give a young boy some time to wander where he pleases without his mother.” He felt slightly guilty using Henry as bait, but he needed to know what Moe French knew. 

Emma hesitates and Gold knows he’s won. “Fine. But 15 minutes. No more, okay?” 

"Understood, Miss Swan."

He approached the cell as Emma left the room. Moe French sat uncharacteristically still as he did so. “Mr. French.” 

"Mr. Gold?” Moe asked quietly. He knew whatever this conversation wrought was not going to be pretty. 

“I have a business preposition, Mr. French. One I think you’d be interested in.” Gold smiled like a shark. “I want information about you in exchange for your freedom... if you answer all my questions, I’ll drop the charges. And grant you a three-week extension on your defaulted loan.” 

Whatever the florist had been expecting, this was not it. He was not a high-profile member of Storybrooke. His life had been a sad, but simple affair. Why the pawnbroker wanted to know about it was a mystery. But the information in exchange for his entire livelihood was too good to be true. So, like the fool he was, Moe French accepted. “I agree to your terms.” 

“Excellent.” He sits down on the couch beside the cell. “When did you move to Storybrooke?” 

Moe smiled, before he thought about it. It was hard to think about his childhood. It was all rather foggy. “I believe I was born here.” 

Mr. Gold nodded. So, Regina’s curse wasn’t that thorough with everyone’s backstory. His modern story was rather lacking as well – not so much as a first name. “Why did you choose to become a florist? A man like yourself doesn’t seem to be one into gardening much.” 

"That I’m not,” Moe agreed. “My wife loved flowers and it was her dream. When she died, it’s all I had left of her. Well, besides our daughter. Now, it pays the bills. Somewhat.” 

“My condolences, Mr. French. Though, I didn’t know you were married or had a daughter. Would you mind telling me about them?” 

The florist froze. He looked at the wall before back to Mr. Gold. He did this three or four times before answering. “They were the center of my world,” he let out a little sniffle. “My wife, Rose, loved to travel. She’d been flying back from Sydney when the plane crashed. No one knows what happened to the plane. It just disappeared off the map.” 

Mr. Gold watched pain flit across his face. He knew the feeling well, so his voice was perhaps a little softer than normal. “And your daughter?” 

Moe started sobbing. “I failed her. I failed her. After her mother died, I didn’t know what to do. I lost myself a little. I had one too many light nights at the Rabbit Hole. She... she slipped into a dark place. If I’d been there...” 

“If you’d been there what?” 

“My precious Belle, so bright, withered and crumbled without me doing a thing. I was too busy drowning my sorrows. She started failing her classes at university. She stopped taking an interest in anything. I took her to the doctors, and they admitted her to the psych ward. They said they could help her, Gold.” 

Mr. Gold’s heart stuttered at the mention of Belle. Regina hadn’t changed her name. The thought of Belle losing herself, even if it was a falsehood, hurt. “And from your tone, I presume they didn’t?” 

“No,” Moe spat. “They didn’t. She’d been receiving treatments for a pitiful three weeks when I got the letter. They found her in the shower – she'd done herself in. I never got to say goodbye or a funeral. They cremated the remains before I even got to see her.” 

Moe’s face warred between anger, sadness, and regret. Gold found himself regretting taking out vengeance on the man in the other version of the day. The pain of a parent losing a child was too close for comfort. “I’m very sorry to have brought up the memories, Mr. French. I’ll stop bothering you now. I’ll talk with Miss Swan to have you released.” 

Moe wiped his eyes on his sleeves. “Thank you, Mr. Gold. I don’t know why you asked but thank you. It was nice to talk about them, even if it hurts.” 

Mr. Gold nodded and left. The conversation with Moe French had been painful but gave him some new leads. This version seemed to conflict with the Enchanted Forest side. Rumplestiltskin had known Belle’s death had come by the actions of King Maurice. Moe French, however, seemed just as distraught by his daughter’s death as he had. Something wasn’t adding up – again. 

......

Mr. Gold found himself outside the library. He needed to look at the town records – old newspapers, maps, and health records. He needed to see if Belle French had ever graced the streets of Storybrooke – even if it was just in people’s memories. 

He opened the library doors and was overtaken by the musty scent of the abandoned room. His nose wrinkled in distaste before he entered. He went to the filing cabinets along the back wall and started searching. 

Nothing was coming up of any interest. Everything was about the banality of a small town – a high school science fair, tax votes, and community day posters. Gold slammed the fifth cabinet shut. He’d been looking for over an hour to no avail.  

Taking a deep breath in, he continued scouring over the files. He looked through half a dozen more before finding it – an admittance to the Storybrooke psychological ward for one Belle French. 

Storybrooke? Gold had assumed Moe’s memories had included a ward outside of town, much like how his wife’s death was in the Pacific. Storybrooke had no psych ward – none on any map he’d seen. Why was a dead woman admitted to a false psych ward? Where would it have been, if it existed? Moe mentioned doctors... 

Gold put everything back to where it had been. He didn’t need Regina to know he’d been sneaking around. Leaving the library, he returned to his store. Before he went gallivanting off to the hospital, he was going to take precautions. Someone – most likely Regina – had taken great lengths to cover the existence of the ward. He opened the vault behind the counter and pulled out a revolver. He wasn’t taking any chances. 

......

The hospital was eerily quiet. For a place that was supposed to be returning patients to life, Gold felt the years being sucked out of him. He shivered as he walked over to the front desk. 

"May I help you, Mr. Gold?” The secretary asked. If she thought it was strange that he was there, she gave no indication. 

The lie flows smoothly off his tongue. “I had a question about admitting hurt individuals to the psych ward? I’ve been receiving some complaints from tenants about Old Peter – they say he’s been crying wolf about some aliens?” 

"Psych ward? Mr. Gold, I think you’re mistaken,” her eyes are wide and panicked, “There isn’t a psych ward in this hospital.” 

“Understood, dearie. But is there any accommodation we could make for dear Peter?” Mr. Gold continued the falsehood, pretending to be a concerned landlord. 

“I can call Dr. Whale? He might be able to help us find a solution.” 

“Thank you, dearie.” He tapped his good foot against the tiled floor as he listened to the telephone conversation. It seemed to drone on forever and ever – back and forth – as the secretary asked for Whale. The quack had always put Gold on edge. 

Finally! “No, that’ll be all.”  

He moved over to the side of the waiting room for Whale to make an appearance. He’d been standing there for a minute or two when his phone rang – Regina. Gold narrowed his eyes – the mayor never used the phone with him. She always preferred bringing her issues face to face. Given the circumstances he’d found himself in, Gold ignored it. The phone rang again. He ignored it.

Gold’s phone rang a third time before Whale showed up. His face was drained of color, and he kept fidgeting with a pen. He reeked with desperation. “Mr. Gold? You wanted to speak with me?”

 “Yes, I did. About a tenant’s complaint. Old Peter Grimsey has been talking about aliens and the soon to be hostile takeover. I was wondering if we could discuss a plan for him to stay here? For his safety and the community,” he flashes a coy smile, “Preferably in private – we want to protect Mr. Grimsey’s information, don’t we?” 

Whale nodded but kept fidgeting. “I appreciate your concern about the local concerns, Mr. Gold,” he directed them into a patient’s room that was blindingly white and smelled of ammonia. “What would you like to discuss about Mr. Grimsey’s case?” 

“The psychological ward here at the hospital could probably do him some good, no?” 

If the doctor had been pale earlier, he was deathly white now. “The psych ward? We don’t have a ward here...” 

“Don’t lie to me, Whale. We both know it’s not Regina calling the shots in this town. I’d suggest you choose your next words very carefully.” 

Whale took a fortified breath before repeating himself. “That wasn’t a good answer, dearie.” Gold pulled the revolver out from under his suit jacket. 

“Now, now, Mr. Gold. Let’s not be too rash.” 

“I’m not being rash. You’ve lied to me several times now. So, it seems you need some persuasion,” he nodded to the revolver barrel. “Tell me everything you know about the psychology ward of this hospital.”

The doctor choked over his words, trying to keep his voice steady. “There never was a psych ward, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t taken patients before.”

"Some honesty, doctor, splendid.” Gold’s voice darkens. “What happened to Belle French?” 

The doctor was silent. His eyes moved around the room like rabid dogs, trying to find anything to focus on and failing. Gold pulled the safety on the gun. “You’re not going to shoot me.” 

"Really dearie?” Gold held the gun up to Whale’s chest height. “Try me again. Don’t tell me what happened to Belle French, and I will shoot.” 

Whale shrunk against the opposite wall, trying to come up with a plan. He couldn’t, so he told the truth. “She was admitted to the hospital a long time ago...” 

"And after she was admitted, good doctor? Did she receive medical attention? Or was she carefully let go under your watch?” 

Whale knew he was trapped. Gold knew more than he was supposed to. Regina had assured him that Gold would never come looking for the patient. When he’d called Regina after the secretary paged him, she’d laughed at his concerns. She told him he didn’t care about the girl anymore and that she’d call Gold to make sure everything was fine. Clearly, she’d been wrong. 

“You have the count to three to answer me, Whale.” 

“She’s in the basement.” 

Gold’s voice is full of vehement rage. His voice is filled with darkness no one’s heard since the Enchanted Forest. “She’s in the basement? You truly expect me to believe that, Whale? She’s been dead for thirty years! Don’t you think about lying to me right now.”  

“I’ll take you to her. Just promise me that you won’t kill me. I was just following orders.” Whale tried to placate, slowly shifting toward the door. 

Gold scowled but nodded. “You are going to take me straight there, no calling for help. And if you’re lying, you’re going to wish I shot you here.” 

Whale let out a shaky breath and opened the door. He silently led Gold down a few corridors until they reached a supply closet with a keycode. Gold glared at Whale as he entered the pin. “Would you like to go down first or second?”

"You go first, I will be right behind you, dearie.” 

The stairs were rickety and dark. The pair descended into the dark area where only a flickering lightbulb provided any sight. A nurse was staring at them once they reached the bottom. She hissed under her breath, “Whale! What are you doing here with him?”

 “He’s bringing some things to light. If I were you, I’d comply with the doctor’s wishes, hmm?” He flashed the revolver in her direction. 

The nurse promptly sat down and acted like she hadn’t seen them at all. Whale moved away from the desk into a narrow hall. After three rooms had passed, he stopped in front of a dented, padlocked door. His voice was quiet and timid as he unlocked it. “She’s in there.”

The world melted away as the door swung open. Sitting on a low metal frame was the most angelic creature in all the realms. Her hair was matted, and her clothes hung too loose on her frame, but she was undeniably alive. A sob almost tore through Mr. Gold, but he contained it. Instead, he let out a quiet murmur of her name. 

The effect was immediate; the tiny brunette whipped around at the sound of her name. She did remember this handsome man, so clearly awed, ever visiting her. There was something familiar to him, but she could not place it. She quirked her head in a way so reminiscent of her days in the Dark Castle, back when she was first starting to learn that her master was more bark than bite. “Do I know you?”

Mr. Gold could hardly contain himself. Despite her condition, his Belle was still brave. She was quieter than he remembered, but oh so strong. “You probably don’t, sweetheart. But you will.” 

Sweetheart. The name was so impossibly tender, so pure. Belle could not remember the last time someone called her so sweetly. She could, actually, but that’s when everyone assumed she died. No one had called her like that since her days in the Dark Castle. So intrigued was Belle with this stranger that she stood up and inched closer. It was like a magnetic pull. 

Gold did not know what to expect as Belle limped her way towards him. It was every dream of his come true – the good and the bad. The only difference would be what happened next. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Whale bolt toward the exit. He couldn’t care at all, not when Belle had that curious look in her eyes. 

Belle only stood a foot or two away from him. Her azure eyes pierced into his very soul. He didn’t know what to expect, but nothing could prepare him for the words that came out of her mouth. “And how could I ever forget you, Rumple?” 

It was his turn to quirk his head. “Belle?” This time, her name was a desperate plea and prayer, a man seeking refuge in being known. 

“Yes, you stupid man, that is my name.” She crossed her arms and let out a small laugh. 

To Mr. Gold, Rumplestiltskin, the sound was salvation. It was life being remade again. “You’re alive. And you remember. How?” He was shaking like a leaf, as if he’d been the one locked in a dungeon for years. “Wait. Let’s get you out of here first, then I want to hear everything.” 

Belle nodded. She took his arm, unable to believe the moment was real. How many times had she dreamed of her Rumple finding her and rescuing her? She’d never imagined it like this, but it was better than she could have imagined. She clung to him like a lifeline, secretly thrilled when he leaned in rather than away. 

They ascended from the basement of the hospital. They walked out with confidence, even though they were both holding the other up from collapse. No matter how cliche it was, the sun broke through the cloudy Maine sky as they left the hospital. 

Regina was pulling into the parking lot of the hospital as they left. Her face contorted first into rage then abject horror. She knew she’d lost; she’d played the long game, and it failed. The beast had been reunited with his beauty, and there was nowhere she would be able to hide from his wrath. She met his eyes through the windshield and knew her days were numbered. 

......

Rumplestiltskin could not help but smile wistfully has he watched Belle observing Storybrooke for the first time. Her eyes tried to take in every color every knew shape of the modern world. He knew that once she felt better, she’d ask every question she could think of. And he knew he’d answer every single one of them. 

They pulled into his driveway, and he opened the door for his lady. Rumple and Belle made their way into the grand manor, relaxing as the familiar scent of tea and straw permeates the air. “It smells like home.” 

“Aye, that it does, Belle.” Rumple smiled that she still associated him, the Dark Castle, as home. 

He led her into the parlor, encouraging her to sit. “I’m going to get us a cup of tea, alright sweetheart?” 

She sat down with the practiced grace of a princess and giggled. “I’d love some tea.”

He nodded shyly before going to the kitchen. When he returned, he carried the tea service tray. He settled next to her and handed her the steaming cup. “I cannot believe you’re alive. After all this time.” 

Her brow furrowed in the way he always found adorable. “You thought I was dead?” 

“For a long time, nearly thirty years. If I had known you were alive, you never would have been wasting away below the town,” he vowed, “Regina told me you died. I thought...” 

“Thirty years?” Her face paled. “Has it truly been that long? I thought it’d been two years at most – primarily back home.” 

Rumple let out a breath he’d been holding. “For that, I won’t kill Regina right now for her hand in this.”

Belle sat her cup of tea down on a coaster before taking his hand between hers. “You’re not going to kill anyone, Rumple. Not on my behalf. We’ll get revenge by being happy. Together.” 

Together. The word is loaded with implications for them. For the future. His voice is filled with self-loathing. “You’d truly still want to be together after everything? I treated you so horribly. You should hate me and finally see the monster that I am.” 

Belle tsked, “You’re not a monster. And, if you’d be willing to try, yes. Yes, I’d like to be together. I love you.” 

Rumple could not believe his good fortune. “And I love you too.” 

Belle drew closer and shut her eyes. Rumplestiltskin was not going to mess this up, not this time. His hands cradled her face as if it were the most precious porcelain. He kissed her gently; afraid the moment would end. Where their first kiss was quick and disastrous, their second was languid and glorious. When they pulled away, Belle smiled and it was the most radiant thing Rumple had ever seen. 

“Now that’s settled, I think we should talk about everything that’s happened, no?” Belle said as she tucked herself under Rumple’s arm. 

Rumple’s voice was low. “I suppose we should, hmm? Would you care to tell me how you came to be locked up with your memories?” 

Belle hummed in agreement as she started her story. “After I left the castle, I went in search of adventure. I’d always wanted to explore the world, and I was taking the opportunity to do so. I had my adventure, and I realized I wanted to come back home to my greatest adventure, you. 

I was on my way back to the castle when Regina found me. Her soldiers surrounded me and I was taken to a tower in her palace. I’m not magical, but I could tell there were heavy wards around it. I called your name, but I don’t think you could hear me. Even then, I knew you still cared.”

 Rumple’s face is dark as he listens to Belle’s tale. “You’ve always thought too highly of me.”

"Nonsense!” She snorts, “But anyways, I think I was there for a year and a half? Time kind of blended together. Then the curse was cast and I found myself in a psych ward. I couldn’t remember anything but sadness. My mom had died, and I felt so alone.  

After a few weeks of nothing, I felt a spark. Regina had come to check on me, probably to gloat or something. But she made a rather stupid mistake. She gave me this jacket.” She gestured to the grey woolen cardigan she wore. “She pretended to care, to be hospitable.” 

Rumple’s eyebrow raised as he took this all in. “The jacket was in my shop. She purchased it off of me. I didn’t know what she wanted with it at the time. Could that have anything to do with it?” 

Belle nodded vigorously. “Yes! One of your hairs was on the jacket. After Regina left, I placed the jacket on. When that hair touched mine, they entwined into a thread of gold.” Belle reached into the pocket and showed him. “Like a flood, my memories came back. Was that around six months ago? At least, that’s what it felt like... And ever since, I waited for you to come rescue me. The only bad part about remembering was that Regina declared me dead to the world. She fabricated this whole thing...” 

Rumple interrupted her by stealing a kiss. “You are magnificent.” 

“Thank you?”

"Your love for me was so strong, that even in a world without magic, you produced it. True love.” 

Belle’s face lit up, laughing. “And to think you didn’t believe me! I love you very much, you silly man. So now I want to hear your story. How did you come to find me?” 

Rumple swallowed. Belle’s love was truly a force to be reckoned with. “When the curse was cast, I was condemned to life as a mundane mortal...” 

“Wait - so this is what you looked like before you were the Dark One?”

He nodded slightly. He felt Belle looking at him like he was a text that had intrigued her. He felt oddly nervous and excited. 

“You’re very handsome,” she giggled, “I’m sorry for interrupting your story. You’re just very distracting.” 

Rumple flushed as he continued his story. “Thank you, sweetheart, err, the curse. I lived with no concept of time for 28 years. Then the Savior came – Charming and Snow’s girl. Time started moving again. 

Regina’s control over the town started to slip. She tried to unsettle me. She broke into my house – well, she hired your father to do so – and stole from me. The cash and the jewelry were worthless to me. But she stole my most prized possession – your chipped cup.”

“You kept it? My chipped cup?” 

“Of course. There was not a day I did not mourn the loss of your light in my life.” He brought her hand up to his lips to kiss. “Let’s say I took some actions that you would not approve of and ended up in jail.” 

Rumple saw the admonishing look Belle gave him but was grateful when she did not interrupt. “The strangest thing happened, Belle. I went to sleep in the jail cell but then woke up in my own house the next day. Except it wasn’t the next day, but it was the same day. I was living the same day over again, but with the knowledge of what happened the first time. 

I used that knowledge to track down information as to what happened to you. Every truth felt like a punch to the gut. But I’d gladly do it all over again to see you again. I still cannot believe you’re alive.”

 Belle smiled at him brightly. “Don’t you see, Rumple? Our love is so strong that it rewrites the narrative. Our love restored my memory and gave you the opportunity to find me.” 

"I should learn to never doubt you – you always seem to be correct.” Rumple placed a kiss on the top of Belle’s head.

“Between true love and chipped cups, our love truly is the strongest force in any realm.” 

“Well said, Rumple.” She leaned up to place another kiss on his lips. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you more than life, Belle. More than life.

......

Hey! My name's Jeanie and I'm sorta new to this all! I've been a lurker in the fandom but have wanted to get involved. This is chapter 9 of my fic. The other chapters can be found on AO3, where I'm jeanielovesfangirling. From now on, chapters will also be posted here on Tumblr as @rewritingthetale. Thanks for reading this, and long live rumbelle. ❤ ❤ ❤

.....................

Belle’s journey toward the dungeon was long. The Dark Castle, which had started seeming somewhat homely, felt crowded and disconcerting. As she walked down the stairs, everything became more claustrophobic; she could have sworn the walls were going to swallow her and confine her. Stop being so silly, Belle, she chided. The walls have never moved in this castle. Besides, it’s not all that different from walking towards my ‘room.’ 

Steeling herself and feeling braver, Belle continued down. Soon, she reached the place where the thief was being kept. She tried the door, expecting it to be locked. To her surprise, the door opened easily. She crept into the room, bracing for what she’d see. Oh, my stars... It was worse than she thought.

Belle looked around the room. Her gut churned with horror at the thief – he was hung up on manacles from the ceiling, blood dripping from a gash in his forehead. Lacerations wrapped around his body, hastily healed. Belle shuddered. She thought that washing the aprons could have prepared her for this. She had thought that the men coming home from facing the ogres could have. She was wrong.

   Belle couldn’t believe the sight before her. Belle had always truly believed that good could be found in unexpected places. The councilmen in Avonlea had called her naive for it, and perhaps, for the first time, Belle wondered if they were right. In her short tenure as maid of the Dark Castle, Belle had begun to believe there was more to her master than met the eye. This though, this? This painted the Dark One like the legends of old. The ones that appeared when she researched the possibilities to save her kingdom. A shudder tears through Belle again. Rumple, why would you do this?! It was thievery, I’ll admit, but this is inhumane. Cruel. Vindictive.

   The insidious, pragmatic side of Belle laughed at her inability to grasp the darkness of the Dark One. Of course he’s going to be a monster, Belle; it taunted. He’s the bloody Dark One. Remember that. The book, the conversations, they’re a front.

   Belle was snapped away from her internal debate when the thief grunted in pain. Ethical dilemma later, save this man now. She picked up the hem of her skirt and reached the man. “What, has he sent you to finish the job?”

   Belle stuttered a little as she processed his words. She was frankly a little shocked that he could speak in his condition. “No, no, no. Not at all,” she offered the man a cup of water. When she drew close, she noticed his lip had cracked from a lack of hydration. “Drink this.”

  Belle began to try to figure out the mechanisms holding the thief up. Luckily for her, they were mundane, human trapping. She didn’t know what she was going to do if they had been magical restraints. “I couldn’t let this continue. It’s... it’s inhuman.”

 “I couldn’t agree more,” the thief panted. “But I fear now he’ll turn his wrath on you.”

  Trust me. I’m aware. “If he does, I’ll stand up to the beast that he is because no one... no one deserves to be tortured.” Belle gives a final tug on the rope, and the thief falls to the ground. As she began to untangle the chains, the man spoke again. “He may beg to differ.”

  “I don’t care. He doesn’t frighten me.” Half lies, half-truth. “Hurry up! He’ll be back soon.” I truly don’t think he’ll kill me, but he’d probably kill you. 

“He will. He will kill you. Unless...” The thief stops, thinking. “Unless you run away with me.” The thief reaches out his hand, waiting to rescue the damsel in distress.

  Belle straightened her back. Her voice was more confident than she felt – she was grateful for her years of court training then. “I can’t run. I made a deal to serve him in exchange for him protecting my, my kingdom and my family from the ogres. If I, if I were to leave, I may survive. But my family... surely won’t.” That, and I have a strange feeling that fate wants me here. Even if I am the one who makes that fate...

 The thief looked at her with a curious expression but respected her sense of duty all the same. “All I can do is wish you luck.”

  “Thank you, now go. Go!” Belle shoved the thief towards the back exit. She could barely breathe from the feelings that she was trying to process. As he sprinted away, Belle sank to her knees. What did I just witness in all of that? Now that the imminent danger of the moment had passed, Belle thought back to the gashes and scrapes that had crisscrossed the thief’s body. He really was skinning him alive, wasn’t he?

   Belle curled into herself. It was hard for her to reconcile this image of her master with the one she’d spent the last few weeks with. It’s almost like they’re two different people. Jekyll and Hyde. She considered the possibility. It didn’t seem too farfetched; not with all the magic she’d seen since coming to the Dark Castle. Or he’s just the Dark One and evil, the logical part of her argued. But that didn’t sit well with Belle. That can’t be it. No, not really.

  She sat there, on her knees, in a tight little ball for a while longer. Then an idea struck her. Her pragmatic side had claimed that the tender side of Rumple was a front. But what if that’s actually Rumple? And the Dark One is the front? The thought rattled around her brain. It makes sense, really. She thought back to the moments he’d scared her over the past few days. The aprons. Snapping at me. Coming out of the dungeon. It suddenly occurred to her that they all had one thing in common. His eyes were different then. Colder, almost soulless. Is that the face of the Dark One?

  This new revelation gave Belle hope. Perhaps her master truly wasn’t evil. Perhaps he was even good.

   So she wasn’t directly giving away that she let the thief go, Belle returned to the Great Hall. She sat on her chaise lounge and opened her book. Just as she was before Rumple had stalked off. I know that Rumple won’t hurt me. But would the Dark One?

............................................

   Rumplestiltskin was mad. Livid, really. Not a Belle, no. He was mad at himself. The Dark One had gotten the slip on him. That creature had spoken venom at his lovely maid. She was so brave, though; he mused. Faced with the most evil and ancient power in the world and she fights back with righteous indignation.

  It had taken a decent amount of his control to just leave the situation. The Dark One wanted to do something to make the woman pay. It had hissed in his ear, “no one gets to talk back and get away with it. Turn her into a snail. Do it.” Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath in. Even now, he could feel the residual anger.

  He leaned down and picked up a branch. The grounds around the Dark Castle had truly begun to turn towards winter. He’d always hated winter when he lived as an ordinary man. Between his ankle and the draftiness of his little cottage, winter was hard on the spinner. He twisted the branch in his hand a few times before throwing it out into the lake. The branch broke through the thin layer of ice, bobbing below the surface before coming back to the surface. Not unlike my life, is it?

  The branch stayed on top of the lake, taunting him to do something about it. Damn it all. Damn it all. Rumple magicked the stick back to his hand. The branch, now wet, dripped on his mottled hands. He snapped the branch before throwing it back to the ground. Useless, useless.

  He had just thrown the stick down when his magic flared. “Your girl is doing something she shouldn’t!” Rumple growled. The voice of the Dark One truly could be incessant and rude. She isn’t my girl, and she’s allowed to do whatever she pleases!

  “Even free the wand thief from your dungeon? And escape with him?”

  Rumple’s heart lurched. You lie. Belle doesn’t break promises. She knows that we’d revoke the protection around Avonlea if she left. 

The darkness crooned and pushed. “So soft, cripple. Only concerned that the girl will leave you. Like everyone else. Everyone but us.”

   “SHUT UP!” Rumple shouted. A few birds flew away at his outburst. He knocked on his head hard; the voices hadn’t been this loud since Belle had arrived to the castle. “I don’t want to hear it. You know what? Show me, show me the thief and the escape.”

  “As you wish, spinner.” The darkness within him casted a spell onto the lake that allowed its host to watch Belle and the thief. Rumplestiltskin’s gut churned as he watched Belle make her way towards the dungeon. His heart dropped when he watched the horror meld to her face at the sight of the thief. She’s going to run away. As she should. Look at what I did to that man... he’s a patchwork of skin and scab.

   He wanted to turn away. From her horror, from the mess he made. He didn’t even remember making those gashes, but there they were. Blood persists. Nightmares persist. I am its personification. He wanted to turn away from his wretchedness, but he couldn’t.

  He watched as the thief prattled on, telling Belle of his crimes. I deserve this. He waited for Belle’s agreement, her acknowledgement of his horrid nature. But instead, Belle’s brave spirit shone through. She truly is brave, isn’t she? “Unlike you, yes, she does have a spine.” Rumple struck his head again.

  The vision continued. He watched as the thief told his maid to run away, that he would maim her too. Then he heard what she responded with. Belle was planning on staying. Of course. She’s staying. He was ready to cry, for the Dark One to make its vengeance on Avonlea known. Of course she'd run off with the handsome thief...Then the thought hit him. She’s staying?!

  He could feel the darkness’s anger at her stubbornness to keep the deal. But it paled in comparison to the joy he felt that she was staying. Perhaps not for me, but she says she’ll remain. Nonetheless, I get to keep her light in my life.

   The thief ran off. The Dark One was mad, but Rumplestiltskin could not bring himself to care. Belle had stayed. She was still there, kneeling on the ground of the blood speckled dungeon. The room that was nearly identical to her own. That will have to change. I cannot have her sleep in a room that’d give her memories of the tortured man. Of the blood I spilled.

  “You really could though. It’d be a good reminder of who we are.” The darkness crowed. “Speaking of, we should go pay the girl a visit. Show her the consequences of letting our prisoner go.”

  Rumple sighed

Belle’s journey toward the dungeon was long. The Dark Castle, which had started seeming somewhat homely, felt crowded and disconcerting. As she walked down the stairs, everything became more claustrophobic; she could have sworn the walls were going to swallow her and confine her. Stop being so silly, Belle, she chided. The walls have never moved in this castle. Besides, it’s not all that different from walking towards my ‘room.’

Steeling herself and feeling braver, Belle continued down. Soon, she reached the place where the thief was being kept. She tried the door, expecting it to be locked. To her surprise, the door opened easily. She crept into the room, bracing for what she’d see. Oh, my stars… It was worse than she thought.

Belle looked around the room. Her gut churned with horror at the thief – he was hung up on manacles from the ceiling, blood dripping from a gash in his forehead. Lacerations wrapped around his body, hastily healed. Belle shuddered. She thought that washing the aprons could have prepared her for this. She had thought that the men coming home from facing the ogres could have. She was wrong.

Belle couldn’t believe the sight before her. Belle had always truly believed that good could be found in unexpected places. The councilmen in Avonlea had called her naive for it, and perhaps, for the first time, Belle wondered if they were right. In her short tenure as maid of the Dark Castle, Belle had begun to believe there was more to her master than met the eye. This though, this? This painted the Dark One like the legends of old. The ones that appeared when she researched the possibilities to save her kingdom. A shudder tears through Belle again. Rumple, why would you do this?! It was thievery, I’ll admit, but this is inhumane. Cruel. Vindictive.

The insidious, pragmatic side of Belle laughed at her inability to grasp the darkness of the Dark One. Of course he’s going to be a monster, Belle; it taunted. He’s the bloody Dark One. Remember that. The book, the conversations, they’re a front.

Belle was snapped away from her internal debate when the thief grunted in pain. Ethical dilemma later, save this man now. She picked up the hem of her skirt and reached the man. “What, has he sent you to finish the job?”

Belle stuttered a little as she processed his words. She was frankly a little shocked that he could speak in his condition. “No, no, no. Not at all,” she offered the man a cup of water. When she drew close, she noticed his lip had cracked from a lack of hydration. “Drink this.”

Belle began to try to figure out the mechanisms holding the thief up. Luckily for her, they were mundane, human trapping. She didn’t know what she was going to do if they had been magical restraints. “I couldn’t let this continue. It’s… it’s inhuman.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” the thief panted. “But I fear now he’ll turn his wrath on you.”

Trust me. I’m aware. “If he does, I’ll stand up to the beast that he is because no one… no one deserves to be tortured.” Belle gives a final tug on the rope, and the thief falls to the ground. As she began to untangle the chains, the man spoke again. “He may beg to differ.”

“I don’t care. He doesn’t frighten me.” Half lies, half-truth. “Hurry up! He’ll be back soon.” I truly don’t think he’ll kill me, but he’d probably kill you.

“He will. He will kill you. Unless…” The thief stops, thinking. “Unless you run away with me.” The thief reaches out his hand, waiting to rescue the damsel in distress.

Belle straightened her back. Her voice was more confident than she felt – she was grateful for her years of court training then. “I can’t run. I made a deal to serve him in exchange for him protecting my, my kingdom and my family from the ogres. If I, if I were to leave, I may survive. But my family… surely won’t.” That, and I have a strange feeling that fate wants me here. Even if I am the one who makes that fate…

The thief looked at her with a curious expression but respected her sense of duty all the same. “All I can do is wish you luck.”

“Thank you, now go. Go!” Belle shoved the thief towards the back exit. She could barely breathe from the feelings that she was trying to process. As he sprinted away, Belle sank to her knees. What did I just witness in all of that? Now that the imminent danger of the moment had passed, Belle thought back to the gashes and scrapes that had crisscrossed the thief’s body. He really was skinning him alive, wasn’t he?

Belle curled into herself. It was hard for her to reconcile this image of her master with the one she’d spent the last few weeks with. It’s almost like they’re two different people. Jekyll and Hyde. She considered the possibility. It didn’t seem too farfetched; not with all the magic she’d seen since coming to the Dark Castle. Or he’s just the Dark One and evil, the logical part of her argued. But that didn’t sit well with Belle. That can’t be it. No, not really.

She sat there, on her knees, in a tight little ball for a while longer. Then an idea struck her. Her pragmatic side had claimed that the tender side of Rumple was a front. But what if that’s actually Rumple? And the Dark One is the front? The thought rattled around her brain. It makes sense, really. She thought back to the moments he’d scared her over the past few days. The aprons. Snapping at me. Coming out of the dungeon. It suddenly occurred to her that they all had one thing in common. His eyes were different then. Colder, almost soulless. Is that the face of the Dark One?

This new revelation gave Belle hope. Perhaps her master truly wasn’t evil. Perhaps he was even good.

So she wasn’t directly giving away that she let the thief go, Belle returned to the Great Hall. She sat on her chaise lounge and opened her book. Just as she was before Rumple had stalked off. I know that Rumple won’t hurt me. But would the Dark One?

…..

Rumplestiltskin was mad. Livid, really. Not a Belle, no. He was mad at himself. The Dark One had gotten the slip on him. That creature had spoken venom at his lovely maid. She was so brave, though; he mused. Faced with the most evil and ancient power in the world and she fights back with righteous indignation.

It had taken a decent amount of his control to just leave the situation. The Dark One wanted to do something to make the woman pay. It had hissed in his ear, “no one gets to talk back and get away with it. Turn her into a snail. Do it.” Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath in. Even now, he could feel the residual anger.

He leaned down and picked up a branch. The grounds around the Dark Castle had truly begun to turn towards winter. He’d always hated winter when he lived as an ordinary man. Between his ankle and the draftiness of his little cottage, winter was hard on the spinner. He twisted the branch in his hand a few times before throwing it out into the lake. The branch broke through the thin layer of ice, bobbing below the surface before coming back to the surface. Not unlike my life, is it?

The branch stayed on top of the lake, taunting him to do something about it. Damn it all. Damn it all. Rumple magicked the stick back to his hand. The branch, now wet, dripped on his mottled hands. He snapped the branch before throwing it back to the ground. Useless, useless.

He had just thrown the stick down when his magic flared. “Your girl is doing something she shouldn’t!” Rumple growled. The voice of the Dark One truly could be incessant and rude. She isn’t my girl, and she’s allowed to do whatever she pleases!

“Even free the wand thief from your dungeon? And escape with him?”

Rumple’s heart lurched. You lie. Belle doesn’t break promises. She knows that we’d revoke the protection around Avonlea if she left.

The darkness crooned and pushed. “So soft, cripple. Only concerned that the girl will leave you. Like everyone else. Everyone but us.”

“SHUT UP!” Rumple shouted. A few birds flew away at his outburst. He knocked on his head hard; the voices hadn’t been this loud since Belle had arrived to the castle. “I don’t want to hear it. You know what? Show me, show me the thief and the escape.”

“As you wish, spinner.” The darkness within him casted a spell onto the lake that allowed its host to watch Belle and the thief. Rumplestiltskin’s gut churned as he watched Belle make her way towards the dungeon. His heart dropped when he watched the horror meld to her face at the sight of the thief. She’s going to run away. As she should. Look at what I did to that man… he’s a patchwork of skin and scab.

He wanted to turn away. From her horror, from the mess he made. He didn’t even remember making those gashes, but there they were. Blood persists. Nightmares persist. I am its personification. He wanted to turn away from his wretchedness, but he couldn’t.

He watched as the thief prattled on, telling Belle of his crimes. I deserve this. He waited for Belle’s agreement, her acknowledgement of his horrid nature. But instead, Belle’s brave spirit shone through. She truly is brave, isn’t she? “Unlike you, yes, she does have a spine.” Rumple struck his head again.

The vision continued. He watched as the thief told his maid to run away, that he would maim her too. Then he heard what she responded with. Belle was planning on staying. Of course. She’s staying. He was ready to cry, for the Dark One to make its vengeance on Avonlea known. Of course she'd run off with the handsome thief…Then the thought hit him. She’s staying?!

He could feel the darkness’s anger at her stubbornness to keep the deal. But it paled in comparison to the joy he felt that she was staying. Perhaps not for me, but she says she’ll remain. Nonetheless, I get to keep her light in my life.

The thief ran off. The Dark One was mad, but Rumplestiltskin could not bring himself to care. Belle had stayed. She was still there, kneeling on the ground of the blood speckled dungeon. The room that was nearly identical to her own. That will have to change. I cannot have her sleep in a room that’d give her memories of the tortured man. Of the blood I spilled.

“You really could though. It’d be a good reminder of who we are.” The darkness crowed. “Speaking of, we should go pay the girl a visit. Show her the consequences of letting our prisoner go.”