Vita brévis, Ars lónga

He had eventually told her why he wanted the beans: a son lost to a land without magic, a lifetime of regret, and she had hugged him instinctively at the end of his tale. It always seemed to surprise him when she touched him. He was nervous, unsettled, his fingers twisting awkwardly in the air until she said something to put him at ease. She wondered how long it had been since someone had touched him out of concern, or friendship, or affection. Perhaps his son had been the last person to show him any love. Perhaps no one had loved him since.

Magic beans, he explained, could be used to take you anywhere you wanted to go, and he intended to grow a supply of them in case his first search proved futile. He tended the plants carefully, coaxing them up tall structures of woven willow, and they had thrived under his care. The first pods were beginning to grow.

He had had other falls since that day in the gardens; they were becoming more frequent, with his skin taking on a strange pallor, and she was afraid for him. He had been quieter around her, with far less of the giggling, mischievous imp with his grand gestures and snide comments. She suspected that was a mask anyway, a fake persona he put on to unnerve those he dealt with. Over the past few months, she felt that she had been coaxing the man out from the cloak of the Dark One. He had even opened his library to her, and instructed her to read whatever she liked. But lately…

She shook her head in irritation as she turned into the kitchen gardens and snipped a few straggly herbs from the thyme and sage bushes. A tea brewed with the herbs and lots of honey would be soothing, although she knew that whatever was wrong with him was more than a simple cold. She made her way back into the kitchens, feet crunching on the new crust of ice atop the blanket of snow. The warmth of the kitchen fire wrapped around her, and she shrugged out of her coat and scarf, reaching down to pet the mother cat and her kittens, curled up in their basket. The kittens were half-grown now, playful and affectionate, and it amused Belle to watch them get tangled up in Rumplestiltskin’s yarn, or crawl into his lap as he sat at his spinning wheel. It occurred to her that she had not seen him spin in days.

“I’ll make him some tea with honey,” she told the cats, filling the kettle with water. “Perhaps he’d like some brandy in it, too. My father always enjoyed that when he was sick.”

-

Fifteen minutes later, she was climbing the stairs to his room, carrying a tray with the tea, the brandy bottle, and a plate of small cakes, the cats scampering after her. The door to his bedroom swung open as she approached, and Belle’s eyes widened as she saw Rumplestiltskin sprawled face-down on the floor by the crackling fire.

“Rumple!” She shoved the tray onto the dresser and fell at his side. “Are you hurt?”

He didn’t respond, and she pushed him onto his back, anxious hands feeling for his pulse, his breath, his temperature. His eyes flickered open at her touch.

“Belle,” he breathed, and she huffed in relief.

“Gods, you scared me!” she exclaimed, sitting back on her heels. “Will you please tell me what’s wrong? And don’t say ‘nothing’, like you always do, I’m not an idiot!”

“You’re certainly not an idiot,” he said, in his usual dry tone. “Inquisitive, that’s what you are. Interfering, some might say.”

Belle rolled her eyes.

“Yes, excuse me for caring whether you live or die,” she said sarcastically, and held out a hand for him to grasp. She pulled him to his feet, tucking herself in by his side with his arm around her shoulders. The way he was leaning on her made her fear rise.

“Let’s get you into bed,” she asked gently. “Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk,” he said loftily, and promptly staggered and almost fell again. Belle sighed and steered him towards the bed, drawing back the covers.

“I made you some tea,” she said. “Honey and herbs. I was going to put a drop of brandy in it.”

“I’ll have more than a drop, thank  you.” He waved his hand, and when the cloud of magic had dissipated, he was in the bed and clad in his silk nightshirt. Belle smiled.

“You can still use magic, then,” she said, and he gave a rueful chuckle.

“Oh yes,” he said quietly. “I can still use that.”

The cats, seeing that he was in bed, took it in turns to scramble up beside him, and by the time Belle had poured the tea and added brandy, they were nestled at his side or on his lap, purring. Rumplestiltskin petted heads and scratched ears as she set his tea on the nightstand. He glanced up at her with golden eyes, his expression a strange mix of anxiety and resignation.

“Will you – join me?” he asked hesitantly.

For a moment, Belle thought he was asking her to get into bed with him, and she felt her cheeks heat as she opened her mouth.

“There are brandy glasses on the dresser,” he added, and she snapped her mouth shut, thanking all the gods that she hadn’t said what she was thinking.

“Thank you,” she said. “Have one of those cakes.”

He ate one of the bite-size almond cakes, but she suspected he only did so to please her. She poured herself a measure of brandy, and sipped at it while Rumplestiltskin drank the herb-and-honey mixture. When he had finished, she took away the cup and replaced it with a brandy glass, and he nodded his thanks. Belle leaned towards him.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” she said gently, and he sighed.

“It’s my fault,” he said heavily. “All of it. Magic comes with a price, Belle, and it’s finally my turn to pay. And just when I was getting so close to finding Bae. Serves me right.”

He took a swallow of brandy, and Belle shook her head.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “What price are you paying? For using magic? Why should that make you ill, you’ve been using it for centuries.”

Rumplestiltskin let his head fall back against the pillows with a sigh. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, the firelight gleaming on his gold-flecked skin.

“You don’t understand,” he said tiredly. “How could you, pure of heart as you are?”

Belle hid a snort in the brandy glass.

“Well, I’m not sure I’m all that pure-hearted,” she remarked. “I remember thinking some very impure things at times, and—” She cut off, blushing, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t seem to notice.

“Pure of heart,” he insisted, wagging a finger. “Whereas I—all the centuries I’ve lived, the terrible things I’ve done—they take a toll. They darken your heart.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means that when the light in my heart goes out,” he said, “whatever is left in me that might call itself a man dies, and only the Dark One remains.”

Belle shook her head, biting her lip.

“The – the light in your heart?”

Rumplestiltskin eyed her for a moment, then pushed a hand into his chest. Belle gasped, jerking backwards, brandy slopping over her hand.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s fine,” he said. “A simple spell. I’ll put it back in a moment”

He pulled the hand from his chest, a dark, almost black lump held in his palm, his fingers cradling it. Belle stared.

“Is that – is that your heart?” she whispered, and he nodded, holding it out to her. She hesitated, but took it gently, cupped in both palms. It was warm, almost hot, and beating with a slow, rhythmic thump. The surface was hard and gleaming, like obsidian, but there was a deep red glow at its centre, like an ember.

“The light in your heart,” she said softly.

“Yes.” His voice was low, real. “Belle, you must leave. Tomorrow, if you can.”

“Leave?” She hugged the heart to her chest protectively. “I can’t leave you when you’re sick!”

“I’m not sick,” he said patiently. “I’m dying.”

She shook her head, her own heart thumping in her chest, and he nodded.

“I’m dying,” he repeated. “And I don’t want you to be here when that light goes out. I don’t want you to be alone with the Dark One. Take the cats, and go. I’ll give you a carriage, all the gold you can carry. You’ll want for nothing, I promise.”

“I want to stay with you!” she insisted. “I made a promise, and I mean to keep it!”

“It’s not safe!” he growled. “I’m not safe!”

“You could never hurt me,” she said firmly. “I won’t believe it.”

Something seemed to break in his expression then, his face crumpling a little.

“I would never want to hurt you,” he whispered. “But it won’t be me. Whatever I am, whatever I was—that will all be gone.”

Belle felt her eyes sting, tears pricking at them, and she swallowed hard.

“Are you certain?” she asked. “Has that – has it happened to other Dark Ones?”

“All of them.” He took a drink. “Some lasted months, some a few years, but all of them, in the end. Those that couldn’t find a – a desperate soul to kill them and take on the curse before it happened, that is. They knew what was coming.”

“But—” She shook her head in confusion. “But you told me you’d been alive for centuries.”

“And so I have.”

“Well, that’s decidedly more than a few years,” she said. “Why have you lived all that time when the other Dark Ones couldn’t?”

He hesitated.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Belle looked down at the heart, warm and pulsing in her hands. The soft, red light at the centre of it gleamed, pushing against the darkness around it. A beacon of hope.

“I think I know,” she said slowly. “It’s your son. This.” She held up the heart. “This light here, it’s your love for him. True love is the most powerful magic of all, I’ve read about it. Powerful enough to keep the most terrible darkness at bay for  centuries!”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head, and she reached out to grasp his hand.

“Why else could you have survived all this time?” she asked. “Months or years the others had, you just told me that! And here you are, having lived whole lifetimes! Don’t you understand how wonderful that is? All that time you’ve been desperate to save your son, and – and in a way, he’s been saving you, too.”

There was something in his expression that she had only caught glimpses of before, a light in his eyes, a faint hope for something once thought lost, and he squeezed her hand with his own.

“Thank you, Belle,” he whispered. “That gives me comfort. I hope – I hope it hasn’t been too terrible. Living here with me.”

“These past months have been a wonderful adventure,” she said softly. “And I’m not going anywhere. I want to stay with you.”

He was already shaking his head.

“It’s not safe—” he began, and she put a finger on his lips, silencing him. It made his eyebrows shoot upwards, and she leaned in close as the hand fell back to her lap, wrapping around his heart.

“No one decides my fate but me, Rumplestiltskin,” she said.

His eyes met hers, golden and blue, and the air seemed to hum, a heavy atmosphere cloaking them, as though a storm was coming. She could feel her heart thumping, her pulse throbbing in her throat, in her loins. His lips parted, moist from the tip of his tongue, and she felt a tug of desire in her abdomen. She leaned forward, her lips finding his in a soft kiss. He made a tiny noise of surprise, but then his hand reached up to cup her cheek, fingers stroking through her hair as she tasted him. The storm broke in a pulse of energy, and Belle pulled back as a plume of light radiated out from them, making her skin tingle and the air hum. Rumplestiltskin was staring at her, wild-eyed and breathing heavily, and she gasped as his face began to change, the strange, sparkling skin and golden eyes fading away, to reveal dark eyes and soft, brown hair falling around high cheekbones. He was staring at her in shock.

“What did you do?” he whispered.

“I – I don’t know,” she stammered, and he ran his hands over his face before examining his palms and the backs of his hands, the callused fingers with lightly tanned and very human skin. Belle glanced down at the heart in her hands, and gasped. The warm, red light was pushing outwards, filling his heart, banishing the darkness.

“You – you broke my curse,” he breathed. “You broke the Dark One’s curse.”

“I didn’t – mean to,” she faltered, unsure if he was angry, but when he looked up his eyes were alight with joy.

“There’s only one thing that can break any curse,” he said. “I never dared to hope… Belle, is it true?”

“True love,” she whispered, and the tears that had been threatening to fall spilled over. “Oh yes! I love you, Rumplestiltskin! I love you!”

He laughed aloud, and cradled her face in his hands, his expression tender.

“And I love you too,” he said sincerely.

He kissed her again, his mouth hungry for her, and she could taste the salt of his tears on her tongue. His lips pulled at hers as she drew back, and then he took the heart from her with an expression of awe, examining its new, warm red colour before pushing it back into his chest.

“Well,” he said softly. “That feels different.”

Belle put her hands on his shoulders, smiling up at him.

“We’re going to find your son,” she said. “Together.”

 “I haven’t left the castle grounds in weeks!” she objected. “You surely don’t expect me to run away? I could help! I could gather potion ingredients, or something.”

“It’s going to be difficult enough to concentrate on whatever dull request this man has,” he said dryly. “If you’re rummaging around in the hedgerows, I can’t be certain you wouldn’t poison yourself again.”

“That was one time!” she said hotly. “And it was an accident!”

Rumplestiltskin took a sip of tea. She thought he did so to hide a smile, because there was a gleam in his eyes. She leaned on the table, giving him her sweetest smile, and he dropped his eyes immediately, studying his tea. She sometimes wondered at his shyness around her; she suspected loneliness was one of the reasons he had agreed to her staying. And yet he avoided her, spending much of his time at his spinning wheel in the Great Hall, or cloistered in his workroom.

“Please?” she implored. “I’m sure there’s something I could do.”

“Very well,” he sighed, adopting a harassed tone which she didn’t believe for a second.

“Then I can come?” She bounced on her toes in excitement.

“I suppose so, as long as you promise to stay close,” he grumbled. “It’s the weekend in Nottingham, and the labourers have all been paid. They’ll be drinking their wages, and can get very free with their hands.”

“I’m surprised that they’d dare try to fondle the Dark One,” she said innocently, and Rumplestiltskin spluttered, spraying tea.

“I don’t mean me, I mean you!” he squeaked, snatching a handkerchief out of thin air to wipe droplets of tea from his leather jerkin. “I don’t want to have to turn half the farm labourers into snails because you couldn’t stay out of the taverns! Bad for the harvest. Stay within sight and don’t wander off!”

“I promise,” she said, beaming at him. “Thank you, Rumplestiltskin.”

He grunted, and she poured him some more tea, smiling.

-

An hour later, they found themselves outside a busy town, the market filled with stalls selling flour, honey, skeins of wool, knitted sweaters and scarves. Wooden pens of livestock added to the noise and smell.

“What is it you want to find?” asked Belle, and Rumplestiltskin glanced at her.

“I’ve been looking for a particular antique mirror for some time,” he said. “It’s patterned in silver around the edge, with a spray of roses at the bottom.”

“Why do you think it’s here?” she asked, and he smiled.

“Foresight,” he said lightly.

“Oh.” She felt her curiosity grow. “Is that a – a Dark One thing?”

“No, it’s a me thing,” he said shortly. “A deal I made once. Useful. Mostly.”

“I suppose it must be,” she said thoughtfully. “If you know what someone wants and when they want it—oh! Is that why we’re here? Because you knew that someone here would ask you a favour? Or because you knew where the mirror was?”

“Both,” he said, a little smugly. “Now go on, take a look at these stalls. But don’t wander off!”

She moved past the stall selling potions and herbs. Rumplestiltskin was already scanning the objects on display at the next, a strange mix of brass instruments, a clock that didn’t work, old maps and wooden boxes, and—

“Books!” exclaimed Belle, reaching for a pile of old tomes.

“From the library at Agrabah,” announced the stallholder. “Only copies in all the land, miss. Just two gold marks each.”

“Two gold marks!” Rumplestiltskin scowled. “What, do the characters leap out and perform the story for you?”

Belle sighed, shaking her head at the stallholder, and let her hands drop from the books with a look of regret. She moved along the stall, frowning at a stacked pile of framed pictures. A pattern of silver around the edge. I wonder if that’s a picture frame, or…

“Is that a mirror?” she asked, and the stallholder bustled over, beaming at her.

“Why, right you are, miss” she said. “Whoever hid it away in that pile of paintings? Yes, it’s a fine piece. Ancient, it is. Only one of its kind, and—”

“Lies,” said Rumplestiltskin sourly. “There’s at least one more. Still, we could take a look.”

The stallholder gave him a somewhat sickly grin, and pulled out the mirror, laying it flat upon the wooden stall. Rumplestiltskin bent over it, frowning in concentration, and Belle took the opportunity to pick up one of the books. A commotion behind them made her look around.

A tall, dark-haired soldier with a neatly trimmed beard was striding past, swinging a sack from one hand. Belle saw that a brindle cat was running after him, mewing and swiping at the sack he carried. The man aimed a kick at it, but the cat dodged out of reach before circling back to grab at the bag again. As it stretched upwards, Belle could see visible teats along its belly, and she gasped.

“He has that cat’s kittens!” she exclaimed, and the stallholder sniffed.

“Nasty piece of work, that one,” she said. “Seen him beat his horse when he was too drunk to ride it. Plus he can’t keep his hands to himself around the village girls. He’ll probably drown ‘em.”

Belle didn’t wait to hear anything else. She dropped the book she was holding and scampered after the man, ignoring Rumplestiltskin’s strangled cry. The soldier had almost reached the river, the cat still desperately trying to grab at the sack in his hand, and as he swung the sack backwards to toss it into the rushing water, Belle managed to grab it. The man overbalanced, almost falling, and turned with a snarl. His face changed when he saw her, and his mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Well,” he said. “That’s one way to get my attention.”

Belle clutched the sack to her chest, feeling a number of small, wriggling bodies inside, and hearing pitiful mews. The mother cat pawed at her leg, yowling, and Belle put the sack down, sitting on her heels to open it up. Five tiny kittens were huddled together, in varying shades of black, brown, and white. The mother cat immediately climbed into the sack and began to wash them. The man cleared his throat, and she glared at him.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” she retorted. “Drowning defenceless kittens? What’s wrong with you?”

He took a step towards her, spreading his hands as his smirk widened into a grin.

“She’ll bite you, my pretty,” he said. “Bit me twice when I took them from her.”

“I don’t blame her!”

“Ah!” Rumplestiltskin’s voice made them both look around. “Unpleasant man in Nottingham with ideas above his station. That must mean you want to make a deal with me, yes?”

“Dark One.” The soldier straightened, looking wary. “I – uh – I have this for you.”

He fumbled inside his surcoat, tossing a small pouch onto the riverbank. Rumplestiltskin scooped it up and peered inside.

“A magic bean?” he whispered. “Oh yes. This will do. This will do very well indeed.”

“We want the cat and her kittens, too,” said Belle, and Rumplestiltskin looked at her quizzically.

“We do?” he said. The soldier shrugged.

“Take her if you want her, but she’ll only have another litter,” he said. “Cats are like farmgirls. Before you know it, you’re overrun with little bastards.”

Belle clenched her fists, furious, but Rumplestiltskin’s hand on her shoulder made her bite back the insult she was about to hurl.

“So,” said Rumplestiltskin softly, “what do you want from the Dark One in return?”

The soldier drew himself up.

“Make me a lord,” he said arrogantly. “I want power. Riches.”

“Hmm.” Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips. “Easy enough. If unimaginative.”

“And another thing,” added the man, pointing at Belle. “A night with your maid.”

Belle gasped, her eyes widening, and Rumplestiltskin looked at her with an unreadable expression before turning back.

“She’s not for sale,” he said quietly.

“You sure about that?” The man leered at Belle. “She’s pretty, I’ll give you that, but a magic bean would buy two hundred of her kind, and—"

His voice cut off with a choking sound as he shot up into the air, yanked away by an invisible force until he was suspended over the river.

“Be careful with the next words out of your mouth,” Rumplestiltskin said in a sing-song voice. “I’m sure you’ve grown attached to your tongue, hmm? Wouldn’t want to lose it, now would you?”

The man’s face was growing purple, and he clutched at his throat.

“Of course, I could always just rip your heart out,” said Rumplestiltskin cheerfully. “Oh! Then you could be my pet lord! Never saw much point in lords, personally. Always too willing to let their people die in pointless wars, or the famines they cause with their greed. Is that the kind of lord you’d be?”

“Rumplestiltskin!” said Belle sharply.

Rumplestiltskin started, glancing back at her, then abruptly waved his hand and the man was dropped onto the riverbank. He coughed, rolling onto his hands and knees and rubbing at his throat. Rumplestiltskin squatted on his heels.

“So you want power,” he said quietly. “Riches?”

“Yes!” The man’s voice was hoarse, and Rumplestiltskin leaned in close.

“I don’t suppose you want to repeat your earlier – request – do you?” he asked, and the man shook his head fervently. Rumplestiltskin nodded.

“I’m a man of my word,” he said. “In return for the bean, you shall be – the Sheriff. More  power and riches than anyone in these lands will see, and considerably more than you deserve. Will that do?”

The man nodded again, and Rumplestiltskin’s mouth twisted.

“I have a feeling you and I will meet again in less pleasant circumstances,” he said, with his nastiest grin. “Can’t wait for that!”

He snapped his fingers, and Belle clutched at the sack of kittens as she found herself back in the Dark Castle’s Great Hall. Rumplestiltskin strode away from her towards the fire. The mirror he had purchased already rested on a stand on one of the plinths, and he clicked his fingers, covering it with a shawl.

“Thank you,” she said. “That was very – I’m grateful for what you did. You saved me, and this poor mother cat and her babies.”

“Anyone fighting so hard for their children deserves to be reunited with them,” he said quietly, still not looking at her. His voice had returned to the normal tone it often had around her. Deeper. Human. Not for the first time, she wondered how he had become the Dark One.

“Well,” she said. “I suppose I should find something for them to sleep in.”

He waved a hand, and a large wicker basket, lined with a woollen blanket, appeared by the fire. Belle carried the sack over, coaxing the cat and her kittens into the basket and petting her head. Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes.

“They’re probably full of fleas,” he said, and she smiled, pushing to her feet and throwing her arms around him.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re a good man, Rumple.”  

She kissed his cheek, smelling his scent of spice and the tang of magic, and settled back on her heels. He had frozen at her touch and was staring at her, wide-eyed with shock.

Belle started, and glanced around, heart thumping. She was in a large and comfortable bed, the room lit by candles and the flicker of firelight. A man was sitting in a high-backed chair nearby, legs crossed and elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his fingertips tapping together. He was thin, dressed in tight leather pants and a leather jerkin with a high collar that exposed part of his chest. Candlelight made his skin glitter strangely, and she felt her curiosity grow.

“Who are you?” she asked. The man snorted.

“Well, makes a change from ‘what are you?’, I suppose,” he muttered, but didn’t answer her question.

Belle sat up further, looking around. The room was large, furnished in red and gold. The fire had a carved stone surround, the mantelpiece holding identical gold candlesticks and a box in worked silver. She felt lightheaded and weak, and ran a hand through her tangled curls, trying to piece together in her mind what had happened. She had been picking her way through densely packed undergrowth. There had been a strange noise in the air, a pleasant, tinkling sound, almost like a babbling brook. She had followed it, eager for water, but— She shook her head, her memory fuzzy.

“How did I get here?” she asked, and the man sniffed.

“Well, I brought you here, obviously,” he said. “I suppose you don’t remember poisoning yourself? With belladonna that you stole from me?”

“Bella—what?” Belle pushed herself upright, rubbing at her eyes.

“You may know it as deadly nightshade,” he said. “Devil’s cherries, the local folk call it.”

“Oh,” said Belle slowly. “I’ve read about that. I’ve never seen it, though.”

She had a vague memory of plucking some dark, sweet berries from a bush to ease her hunger. She had been wandering the woods for days before finding the first sign that people were here too – a thick stone wall that hugged the curve of the hill and cut through the forest. Roots had pushed up through the stones, tumbling a section of the wall down, and she had scrambled over to reach the berries. Her head had started swimming, but she had thought it was merely hunger pangs. She had sat down against the wall for a moment, and remembered nothing after that. How lucky she was that he had found her!

“Why are you growing poisonous plants?” she asked.

“That’s my business!” he snapped. “The issue here is that you broke into my garden and ate my potion ingredients!”

“I – I’m sorry, I was so hungry I wasn’t thinking straight.” She rubbed at her eyes. “It’s very kind of you to take care of me.”

“Kind?” He looked outraged. “I am not kind! I am the Dark One!”

“Really?” Belle’s curiosity grew. “You’re Rumplestiltskin?”

“How do you know that name?” he demanded.

“Oh, I read about you,” said Belle airily. “So this must be the Dark Castle? How interesting, I always wondered what it would look like. You have such nice things in this room, it’s very well set out. Are all the rooms as lovely?”

Rumplestiltskin flinched.

“I’m not giving you a tour!” he snapped. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw you in the dungeons!”

His irritated tone made her want to giggle, and she bit her lip to hold in her laughter.

“No, you brought me in out of the cold and put me in this very comfortable bed instead. Very villainous.”

Rumplestiltskin stared at her for a moment with a puzzled expression, then leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

“I am the greatest wielder of dark magic in all the realms,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “I can do things that would make you scream and cower to hear them.”

He put his head to one side, eyes gleaming golden in the light, and Belle pursed her lips, looking him over.

“I think it’s not the form of magic that’s important, but what you use it for,” she said. “I think you’re a good man.”

“You take that back!” he snapped, and this time she couldn’t hold in her giggle, which made him huff in indignation.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “How rude of me, I didn’t think how that might upset you. I could try to pretend to be frightened, if you like?

Rumplestiltskin waved a hand with a weary expression.

“No, this has been quite humiliating enough, thank you, I don’t need you to humour me,” he said stiffly.

“I just meant that you saved my life,” she said. “That doesn’t seem too dark to me.”

He held her gaze, golden eyes locked on hers, but when it became clear that she wouldn’t drop her eyes he seemed to deflate a little.

“So you read about me, did you?” he asked. “I didn’t think there were many accounts of me out there. Most people don’t like to admit their dealings with the Dark One.”

“I’ve read bits and pieces, here and there,” she said. “It’s true that most people seem to be afraid of you, but I noticed that they all agree that you keep your word in any deal you make.”

“Well, of course I do,” he said, sounding affronted. “A deal’s a deal, and all magic comes with a price. Too many people think they can get what they want without paying it.”

“And what price will you demand for this?” asked Belle, gesturing at herself. When he pulled back with a stricken expression, she added. “For saving my life, I mean. Surely I owe you something.”

Rumplestiltskin pushed to his feet. She watched him stalk over to the fire, the firelight gleaming on very tight leather pants and high boots.

“I don’t make retrospective deals,” he said. “You were unconscious. I could hardly agree terms with you. You may leave in the morning.”

“Oh.” She felt – was that disappointment? “Oh. Right.”

He still had his back to her, and she watched him lift the lid of the silver box. A tinkling tune started playing, like the ripple of water, and Belle felt her brow crease in recognition.

“That’s the sound I could hear,” she said slowly. “I thought it was a stream, but—”

Rumplestiltskin closed the lid with a snap, and the music cut off.

“What on earth were you doing roaming the forest, anyway?” he asked. “There are no towns for miles. Barely even a village.”

“I know.” She dropped her gaze, looking at her hands. “I was – um – lost.”

“Where were you going?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Then you can’t have been lost,” he said, in a dry tone.

“Fine, I was running away!” she said impatiently. “My mother died in the Ogres War and – and the King offered me in marriage to some pig of a knight and I – I just couldn’t go through with it! I wasn’t really thinking, I was just trying to get as far away as I could.”

Rumplestiltskin turned very slowly on the balls of his feet to face her, fingertips tapping together again.

“So,” he said softly. “You want your freedom? What would you offer for that?”

“Anything!” she said, and he smiled nastily.

“I do love it when they say that.”

“Well, when I say anything,” she amended, “I mean within reason. I’m not going to murder anyone, or – or do something awful to an innocent person.”

“Your definition of ‘anything’ is impressively restrictive,” he said, in a dry tone. “Can you cook? Clean? Anything of actual use? Or are you yet another noblewoman with no skills other than vacuous small talk?”

Belle frowned at him.

“I can manage an estate,” she said stiffly. “I can keep accounts and I’m good at research. I admit I’ve never swept a floor in my life, but I daresay I could learn.”

Rumplestiltskin tapped fingers against his lips with a thoughtful expression.

“I tell you what,” he said. “I’m looking for a caretaker. For my – rather large – estate. Interested?”

“And in return?” she asked.

“You’ll have safety, your own rooms and three meals a day.”

“And?”

“And?” he snapped. “And nothing! What were you expecting?”

“Wages,” said Belle. “If I’m going to be working for you, I expect a fair wage. And don’t try to cheat me, I know how much servants cost.”

“You said you wanted freedom!” he reminded her. “When did wages come into it?”

“If I can’t be independent or leave without destitution, I’m hardly free, am I?” she retorted.

Rumplestiltskin was silent for a moment, but a tiny smile seemed to be tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Very well,” he agreed. “A fair wage. But you must agree to stay for five years.”

“Three.”

“Five!” he snapped. “Take it or leave it!”

“Alright.”

Rumplestiltskin grunted, and Belle put out her hand, raising an eyebrow.