Maids and Merchandise (Chapter Five)
Title: Maids and Merchandise
Author: audreyii_fic
Fandom: Once Upon a Time
Rating: PG
Characters: Rumpelstiltskin, Belle, Regina, Cora (Rumbelle)
Genre: Romance/Angst
Warnings: None.
Summary:
Wherein Rumpelstiltskin doesn't modify his deal with Cora, and Belle's responsibilities at the Dark Castle include the girl who will cast the curse to end all curses. (FTL AU. Rumbelle.)
A/N: I'm sorry this one's a few hours late, but Tom Hiddleston said Loki would read Plato and I kind of blacked out for a bit.
Regina wants to dance.
To this end, she insists -- insists! -- that the ballroom be scrubbed to within an inch of its life. "It's filthy," she had explained to Belle, "and the dust is spreading to the rest of the castle." She gave several false sneezes immediately afterwards, going so far as to wipe away the imaginary tears watering from her eyes.
This has naturally made Belle wonder what her charge is up to. She is very much not inclined to clean the ballroom, particularly after the disastrous early attempts during her first month in the castle; and besides, there's no real need, given that Rumpelstiltskin is as likely to prance about in her silver shoes as he is to throw a gala. She once asked why he even had a ballroom; he'd replied that it came with the castle, and left it at that. Belle rarely asks for elaboration to his answers when none are provided. Not much good ever comes of it.
But Regina wears her down, having put together a very convincing argument that Belle is supposed to be teaching her etiquette, and this is part of etiquette, and what happens if Rumpelstiltskin takes her to barter deals at a fête and she cannot dance? What will become of her then? She'll be a laughingstock in the eyes of the entire realm! Belle doesn't want that to happen, does she?
Oh, yes. Belle is suspicious.
That being said, Regina does have a point; in six months they've not begun any work on social graces at all, and Rumpelstiltskin had requested it. So Belle, in spite of her misgivings, gives in -- on the condition that Regina put in just as much to the cleaning of the ballroom as she herself does.
This causes Regina to grouse and pout and moan, which spares Belle from requesting Rumpelstiltskin check the girl for possession. But she submits to the manual labor nonetheless... though not without near-endless complaint.
"My back hurts," Regina says the first day, on her hands and knees with a scrub brush.
"So does mine," Belle replies pitilessly. "If you'd rather not work, I've more than enough to do elsewhere in the castle. That mushroom in the cellar is taller than you now."
"All right, all right."
The second day: "This soap doesn't work."
"Yes, it does."
The third day: "I've invented an enchantment that will blow away all the cobwebs."
"You know the rules about cleaning spells."
The fourth day: "The bristles on my brush are broken."
"Fetch a new one."
The fifth day: "Sorceresses do not carry ladders."
"Then sorceresses do not learn to dance."
The sixth day: "This place is under a curse. The most evil curse in the history of the world. Ever."
"Perhaps. Pass the featherduster."
There are times Belle wants nothing more than to lock herself in the library for some peace from Regina's nagging; she sometimes fantasizes about what it would have been like if the Dark One had only needed a maid, instead of a maid and a governess. Quieter, certainly.
But then the day comes when the ballroom is at last finished, the columns gleaming brighter than the gold that falls from Rumpelstiltskin's spinning wheel, the crystal chandelier sparkling in the midday sun that radiates through the windowpanes, the marble spotless beneath their slippered feet, and the excitement that practically vibrates from Regina makes it impossible for Belle not to smile.
"Show me how," the girl begs, grabbing Belle's hands and all but dragging her to the center of the room. "Show me everything."
Suspicious indeed. "Is there a reason this is so important to you, Regina?"
"Lady Regina. And no. I just want to learn to dance, so teach me."
Belle knows perfectly well that her charge is lying once again, but there is no point in forcing the issue. It would only end in frustration for everyone. "All right, Lady Regina. Go and change your clothes into something formal. A dress with a bell skirt will--"
There is a whirl of smoke, and in the blink of an eye Regina stands clad in a ball gown of deep violet, complete with shoulder sleeves and black lace trim. Her hair is still a wreck. "There." At the expression on Belle's face she asks: "What? Don't you like it?"
"It's beautiful," Belle says honestly. The cut and color are severe, but suit Regina well; it's just a shame her natural complexion doesn't favor the softer shades of childhood. Then again, Belle can't help but note how the tight lacing around the girl's waist and chest indicates childhood is steadily fading. At least she hasn't chosen to wear red. "But you had no cause to cast that spell."
"I was practicing."
"You were being lazy. Not everything needs to be done with magic."
"But Rumpelstiltskin--"
"--would be even firmer with you about this than I, and you well know it. Next time you will walk to your chambers to fetch your clothes like anyone else."
Regina grumbles something that could potentially be considered an acquiescence. When she smoothes down her skirts, Belle notices the design is somewhat familiar; it only takes a moment more to see the cut is the same as her own golden gown.
"All right," says Belle. "Come here. Step opposite me... yes, like that... now raise your hands, and follow my count..."
After an hour of instruction -- and steadily mounting frustration -- Regina complains: "This is much harder than I thought it would be."
"It takes practice. Some people can dance for years and still feel a bit awkward."
"I won't," says Regina stubbornly. "I'm going to get it right, and it won't take me years, either. I just didn't know it would be like this, is all."
Belle frowns as she pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and uses it to wipe Regina's flushed face. The poor girl is dripping from exertion; even staid, stuffy ballroom dancing is hard work. They're past time for a break. "What did you think it would be like?"
"Different. This is just a lot of-- of hand-touching, and stepping around." Regina winces away from Belle's swipes, but Belle follows anyway, catching a drop of sweat before it falls from the girl's nose. "I thought it would be... faster."
Ah. Now Belle understands. "Like at the festival, you mean?"
"Yes." Regina blushes; Belle rather suspects that that stable boy features prominently in whatever the girl is picturing. "I want to learn that. This kind of dancing is boring."
"I'm afraid I'm not the one to teach you." Belle tucks the handkerchief away and straightens. "This is what I know -- and if you're worried about how you'll look at royal affairs, you'll need to know it, too."
Regina looks positively revolted. "They dance like this in palaces and courts?"
"They do. Only peasants dance the way you saw."
"I think I'd rather be a peasant. They have more fun."
"A peasant might disagree with you."
"I don't see why. You wanted to go down to town. You're having fun."
"That's-- that's not exactly how it works." Belle has been making regular trips to the village since Rumpelstiltskin gave his permission, which has been good for little more than exercise and a change of scenery. The townspeople nod to her in the street, clearly believing she's a relative of some straw-poor forest hermit; Belle determined fairly quickly that, somehow, none of them have the slightest idea they live in the shadow of the Dark One. She'd asked Rumpelstiltskin about this, which had gotten her nothing more than a laugh and a caustic comment about how fools only see what they expect.
It's not as though she doesn't enjoy these small breaks from the monotony of the castle, but a poor provincial town is hardly her idea of paradise. She only volunteered to begin with in the hopes of finding Regina a way to see outside the walls. That, however, has yet to come to pass.
Still, the Infinite Forest was not grown in a day, and a stubborn sorcerer's will is not to be weakened in the space of a few months. Belle hasn't given up. "Be patient," she tells Regina. "You'll return to the village eventually, I'm sure of it."
Another heaving sigh. "Be patient, be patient," the girl repeats in that mocking tone that always puts Belle's teeth on edge. "You're only saying that to keep me quiet. You're just pretending to care whether I want to go."
Belle takes a deep breath and reminds herself that Regina is only ten. "I think we're finished with dancing for today," she says coolly.
Regina's mouth drops open. "But you told me you'd teach me!"
"And I will. Later. Consider it a lesson in forbearance."
Regina storms off to her chambers. Belle takes out her frustrations for the rest of the afternoon by beating back mouse nests from the grain store rooms.
***
As the days pass, Belle is somewhat amazed to find that as her charge becomes progressively more frustrating, her employer becomes progressively less so. There are times, in fact, that he is almost... pleasant. Belle had only rarely found him to be intolerable -- except when he is in one of his blacker moods -- but if she enjoyed his company, it was only because his company happened to be enjoyable that day. In two seasons at the Dark Castle she had never known him to make an effort.
Now he does. And perhaps Belle should be more skeptical of this, as she always is when Regina's behavior become randomly solicitous, but she finds she cannot be. Regina is an inveterate, remorseless little liar, a habit which Belle has yet to break; Rumpelstiltskin is not. And though he is most assuredly a master manipulator, Belle long ago discovered he rarely aims that skill at herself -- and, when he tries, he is spectacularly unsuccessful. So she takes his newfound consideration at face value, filing away the knowledge that, when he is being awful, a hearty slap gets his attention.
The most notable instance of this occurs on the day Rumpelstiltskin wanders into the third dungeon, where Belle is forwarding her assault against the clinging green slime that coats the walls. "It's not likely to come off with just a scour, dearie," he says flatly, leaning against the doorframe. "That stuff? Hasn't a care in the world for vinegar."
Belle, on her knees, her back aching and sore from hours of work, looks up at the Dark One with mild reproach. "That would have been useful to know before I began," she says. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why didn't you ask?"
"If I asked how to approach every strange thing I came across in this castle, I'd have no time left for cleaning." She tosses the brush into her bucket. "Do you have a suggestion?"
Rumpelstiltskin smirks knowingly, and, with a quick turn of the wrist, conjures a fireball in his palm. "Try this," he advises. He brings his hand close to the stones; the goo shivers, then slides backwards towards the corners of the walls, pulling away from the flame as quickly as a shadow retreats from sunlight.
Belle is too fascinated by this display to be upset at the time wasted scrubbing. "That's amazing," she says, eyes wide. "Is it the heat, or the light?"
"I don't know; I've never asked it," he replies, preening as Belle giggles. "Either way, a candle will do just as well. That should go a bit quicker for you than vinegar and water, I should imagine."
"Why didn't you use a candle, then?"
"I beg your pardon?"
She nods pointedly at the flame that still flickers in his hand. "Magic," she says. "You and Regina are always using magic when there's no cause to do so. I thought it all came with a price?"
Rumpelstiltskin glances down at the fireball with surprise, as though he's forgotten it's there, and closes his fingers with a snap. "The rules are different for the Dark One," he says, his voice a little graver than Belle is accustomed to. "I paid my price for tricks like that long ago." He frowns. "The girl hasn't, though, and it needs to come to a stop."
"Then you'd best set a better example." He cocks his head at her in confusion, and she elaborates in the tones of someone explaining something to a small child: "She's imitating you. She sees you casting small spells and then does the same."
"Ah." He looks uncomfortable. "Well. I'll speak to her about it."
Belle gets to her feet, arching her smarting back until it pops. "I don't see why you both insist on using magic at every turn anyway," she says -- and is more than a little disgruntled to note the petulance in her own voice. She hopes Rumpelstiltskin doesn't hear it it.
He does. And the smirk is back at once. "Jealous, are we?"
"No," Belle says immediately. "But... but it can be trying, when you're only one doing things with your own hands." She looks at her palms a little sadly; months of work have turned them red and calloused, a far cry from the delicate peach skin she'd once possessed.
Rumpelstiltskin notices the same; his lips twitch. "I won't be teaching you any spells, dearie," he warns her, "but I imagine I could scare up a bit of hand cream."
Objections to magic -- and magical such a gift is likely to be -- do not stop Belle from beaming gratefully at her employer. "That would be wonderful," she says. "Thank you."
He shrugs awkwardly, not meeting her eyes. He's been doing that rather a lot as of late. "No matter," he says. "The state of the dungeons and your-- ah, your skin isn't what I came to discuss, anyway." He shifts his weight and drums his fingertips against one another. "I wished to thank you."
Belle smiles at him. "You're welcome."
He blinks, hands pausing mid-flutter. "I'm-- but I haven't told you what I'm thanking you for yet."
"You'll be welcome regardless."
"...oh."
The silence hangs for a few moments before she finally takes pity on his confusion. "So, how did I earn your gratitude?"
"Ah. Well." He's so completely thrown off by her teasing that Belle has to chew on her lower lip to hold her laughter at bay. That would only bewilder him further, after all. "It's about the girl. You've done an excellent job with her education. She's developing quite a bit faster than I anticipated, so... I expect it's due to you. And I-- I wanted you to know. That I appreciate it, that is."
Belle can't help but feel a surge of pride at this. She's certainly done her best, though Regina's not been listening to her much as of late. "You didn't anticipate her development?" she asks playfully. "I thought you could see the future."
If anything, he appears even more uncomfortable. "As I said, dearie, the details can be elusive. From time to time."
"Hmm." Belle decides to leave the subject of his clairvoyance be for now, in that she's feeling entirely too self-satisfied to approach it delicately. "Well, I'm pleased to hear Regina is doing so well." She magnanimously adds: "I'm sure your tutelage is more to thank than mine."
"Perhaps, but I believe you're responsible for instilling her with something resembling a degree of work ethic. Believe it or not, she's now deigning to look over her spells before trying to cast them. Sometimes my work room even remains functional for three hours straight."
"Well, that would make sense." Rumpelstiltskin cocks his head to the side, and Belle elaborates: "Since she can read now, I imagine fewer things are going awry."
"What?"
"That's why so much of her magic was wrong, wasn't it?" Belle shrugs. "Regina's certainly not what I would call proficient, but she's managing those books you've given her now, and picking up more every day. She's worked very hard at it."
Rumpelstiltskin only stares blankly.
The silence stretches.
A terrible suspicion builds in Belle's mind. "You-- you did know she couldn't read... didn't you?" Her stomach sinks as he slowly shakes his head. "Oh, no. How could you not-- oh, have you been hard on her this whole time?"
"I did ask if she was having difficulties," he says defensively. A flush has risen to his cheeks, made more golden than usual by the candlelight. "She told me she wasn't, so what else was I to--"
"She was lying, Rumpelstiltskin. She lies constantly. Can't you tell?"
The scowl on his face darkens along with the deepening blush. "Apparently not."
"Oh." Belle bites her lip. She'd had no intention of embarrassing him, she had only assumed... "I'm not surprised she fooled you," she offers hesitantly, trying to spare his pride. "She's very good at it."
"Yes. That seems to be a family trait." And he turns on his heel and strides from the dungeon, leaving Belle alone with a slime-covered wall and a curiosity that burns brighter than the flames he'd held in his hand.
***
Whatever Rumpelstiltskin says to Regina afterwards, it proves effective at destroying the already straining goodwill between Belle and her charge. The next morning Regina will not even acknowledge her maid's presence, let alone speak to her, and nothing Belle tries can convince her to thaw. Rumpelstiltskin is in a sour mood as well, disappearing four days out of the next seven to inflict what are surely ruinous deals on the rest of the world, and remaining intractably silent when at home, spinning for hours on end and offering only monosyllabic answers to Belle's feeble attempts to initiate conversation. He, at least, is not openly hostile the way Regina has become, but he doesn't make for enjoyable company nevertheless.
After a week, Belle has had more than enough of bratty children and brooding sorcerers. If everyone else is going to spend their time in sulks, then she has every right to do the same.
That evening she is comfortably settled in the library, reading about a quest to retrieve a stolen sword from a ferocious dragon, when her very own dragon-in-residence storms up the staircase. "It's dinnertime, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin says acidly, "and I cannot help but notice, what with my keen senses and all, that there is quite a stunning lack of dinner present."
Belle turns a page without looking up. "Really," she replies, deadpan.
"I didn't bring you here to waste your time lounging about my towers, little maid. In fact, I believe that serving meals was quite specifically stipulated in our original agreement."
"There's bread and cheese in the kitchen."
"Which you are meant to bring to the table. If that story of yours is so inconsiderately keeping you from your work, then perhaps I ought relieve you of its distraction." He points at the book in her hands, which begins to puff with purple smoke--
--until Belle fixes him with a silent, gimlet, evil glare.
The smoke vanishes instantly. "Bread and cheese in the kitchen, you said?"
"By the ovens." Rumpelstiltskin beats a hasty retreat, and Belle returns to the quest for the sword.
Not even the Dark One is permitted to come between Belle and her books.
But the triple impasse continues for three more days after Belle makes her stand -- three days wherein Belle is quite content to fix herself cold sandwiches and work her way through Rumpelstiltskin's surprisingly extensive collection of romantic poetry -- before the standoff thunders to a halt. More or less literally: Regina's footsteps certainly thunder past Belle's chambers before the sun has even risen, the stone walls seem to shake when she slams her door, and the pounding on Belle's door moments later hurts her ears.
When she opens up, Rumpelstiltskin takes no obvious notice of her nightclothes or tangled bed hair. "I brought you here to manage that girl," he says without preamble. "No excuses. Your vacation is over."
Whatever this is, it is entirely too early for it. "I thought we'd established," Belle snaps, "that you are all completely capable of handling your own--"
He cuts her off with a sharp gesture towards Regina's room. "No, dearie. You will speak with her, or on my word as the Dark One, I will consider our deal void and lift the enchantments protecting your miserable little village. The ogres will have your townsfolk in their clutches before noontime."
Belle is not awake enough to tell whether he's bluffing or not. Technically, though, he could; she has been shirking her responsibilities, however justified the shirking may be. "There's no need to threaten," she yawns, rubbing her eyes. "What's wrong with Regina?"
"I found her going through my cabinets."
"And?" Rumpelstiltskin doesn't continue, so Belle prods: "I don't know anything about your work room. Isn't this something for you to handle?"
"Not exactly." The Dark One is entirely fixated on a small spot on the wall next to Belle's head. "She was... searching for a remedy. And wasn't inclined to tell me why."
"All right..."
"So I insisted."
"I can't imagine that went well."
"No. It-- ah, it didn't." The speck on the wall cannot be that interesting, but Rumpelstiltskin stares at it as though it contains all the secrets of the universe. "There's many reasons you're in this castle, dearie, and one of them is that you're female. Therefore this is your purview, not mine."
"I don't underst--" She stops abruptly as the nature of the situation dawns on her. "Oh. Oh, I see."
"Good, because I have no interest in explaining further."
"Are you certain? She's ten years old."
"More certain than I ever intended to be. And she's eleven."
"What? When did she turn eleven?"
"Months ago." Rumpelstiltskin glances away from the wall to give her an odd look. "Did she not tell you?"
"No!"
"Well. It would appear I'm not the only one she's been keeping in the dark."
"Indeed." Eleven is still early -- but then, Regina has been nothing if not precocious. "At least it explains why she's been so impossible lately."
"So it does. Now, if you would be so kind as to do your job and inform the girl she's not perishing from injury or wasting disease, I'll be getting back to my own work."
And the Dark One disappears from the hallway in the blink of an eye.
"Coward," Belle mutters to herself.
She knocks on Regina's bedroom door, but only as a courtesy, and ignores the hoarse shout to go away; when she enters she is not surprised to see the girl face down in bed, nor to find the floor strewn with discarded, stained petticoats. Belle is struck by no small amount of guilt by the latter; had she not refused to do laundry for the last several days, she would have noticed at once what was happening. The child -- less of a child, now -- has obviously been bleeding for awhile.
As she sits at the edge of the mattress, she tries to recall what her own nanny had said to her at this critical moment. Her memory is of a rather harsh speech that ended with a brusque, extremely vague warning that she was not to be alone with men from then on. Other than that, Belle remembers little of those first few times beyond wringing pain and a great deal of tears. Belle may have a feminine touch, but this discussion is a mother's office, she knows all too well what it is like to be orphaned in these moments. She places a hand on her charge's shoulder. "Regina?"
The girl flinches away, burrowing further into her blankets. "Lady Regina," she mutters, muffled.
Belle sighs. "Lady Regina, then. How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Do you know what's happening?"
"Yes," the girl lies. She rolls onto her side, facing away from Belle. "I don't need you, so unless you've brought a healing potion, leave me alone."
This is not going well. "It can't be fixed with a healing potion, Regina. You're not ill." She receives no response, so Belle tries a different tactic. "Why didn't you tell me when you had your birthday? I would have baked a cake."
"You don't know how to bake cakes."
"I would have learned to bake a cake."
"It would have been horrible."
"Probably, but think of how funny to watch Rumpelstiltskin eat it?" There is a smothered, wet noise that sounds a bit like a giggle, and Belle smiles. "We'll do that when you turn twelve."
Regina curls into a tight ball, prickly as a porcupine. "He always came," she whispers. "When it was my birthday. They're just for him and me. So I didn't tell you."
"Ah." That makes some sense; they'd not known each other long at the time, after all. "I understand. Maybe next year, if you want, I could--"
"No. My birthday doesn't matter to you. You're not my mother."
That is nothing but the truth. It should not hurt as much as it does. "It matters," Belle manages. "But, if you don't want... it's all right, but, perhaps, in time, since you don't mind if Rumpelstiltskin--"
Regina curls up tighter still.
The meaning of it -- the reason Regina will accept him on her birthday and not her -- hits Belle like a slap in the face.
But that... that is neither here nor there to the current situation. "If I had realized how old you were," Belle forges on, trying to set aside her new suspicions, "then I would have warned you about all... this." She gestures vaguely to the soiled petticoats. "I'm sorry that you didn't know it was coming."
"I knew."
"You're lying."
"Am I?"
"Yes. You are. And you don't need to. I want to listen to what you have to say." This time, when Belle pats her shoulder, she doesn't flinch away. "Regina, if I'm never to know, truly know, more than two people for the rest of my life... can't I at least know you?"
A long silence follows this, but Belle has lived with this girl for many months now, and she has learned when to wait. Finally Regina says: "I wasn't going to do anything to his laboratory. Well, I was, but..." She swallows. "I was just... he asked, and I didn't..."
"You didn't want to tell Rumpelstiltskin what was wrong," Belle finishes for her. When she nods, Belle continues gently: "Would you like me to explain it to you?"
The "yes please" is so small that Belle can barely hear it. But it's a start.
***
Some hours later, Belle comes to the great room to find Rumpelstiltskin at his wheel, already on his third basket of gold. "Is she sorted?" he asks, eyes not leaving the straw in his hands.
"I think so, yes."
"Good. Good thing." The wheel continues to turn. "I suppose she won't be down today."
"No. I'll take her her meals. She'll be all right, she's just... she's more embarrassed than anything else. It all came as a bit of a shock, you understand."
"I don't, actually, and I have no interest in trying." He takes one hand away from his spinning long enough to point at the table; a tiny whirl of smoke wisps along the edge, clearing to reveal a stoppered blue bottle no larger than a hen's egg. "Give her that with her afternoon tea," he says. "It will ease the pains for the rest of her time." When Belle stares at him, he glances up long enough to add -- with great derision -- "Yes, dearie, I do know a few things about women."
"Oh." Belle shakes herself. "Yes, of-- of course you do." She pockets the bottle. "Thank you, that's very kind."
He shrugs as he returns to his spinning. It is a movement very much like Regina's.
Belle takes the moment to study his features, to try and separate the angles of his face and the contours of his hands from the strange, reptilian attributes of the Dark One. She cannot see anything of Regina in him. Perhaps Regina is all her mother.
Well, there may not be physical similarities, but Belle bears no resemblance to Maurice, herself. Not all traits are as easy to spot as the color of one's eyes or the shape of one's nose. The girl is certainly powerful. And tempestuous. And lonely. And, underneath layers and layers of metaphorical scales and dragonhide, good.
In that, they are nearly the same person.
It is a full minute before Belle realizes Rumpelstiltskin is watching her with a curious expression. She blushes at having been seen staring and explains lamely: "I-- I was wondering what... what you would like for lunch."
"Ah. I take it you're finally resuming your duties, then?"
"If everyone in this castle has decided to stop being ridiculous, then yes." His eyebrows climb higher, and Belle sighs at the silent sarcasm. "Myself included, I suppose. Will stew be all right?"
"Whatever you see fit to serve will be fine, my peevish little maid. If you rush something elaborate you're likely to poison us all."
If her feather duster were on hand, she would certainly whack him with it. As it stands, Belle settles for making a face at the Dark One before heading down to the kitchens. His laughter -- deep, human -- follows her through the halls.
She toys with the potion in her apron, and wonders if there's any way to discover whether Rumpelstiltskin is Regina's father, or if Regina only believes it to be so.
Probably not.
There is a bottle of hand cream waiting for her next to the cheese.
***
Next: Wherein the plot thickens.
Author: audreyii_fic
Fandom: Once Upon a Time
Rating: PG
Characters: Rumpelstiltskin, Belle, Regina, Cora (Rumbelle)
Genre: Romance/Angst
Warnings: None.
Summary:
Wherein Rumpelstiltskin doesn't modify his deal with Cora, and Belle's responsibilities at the Dark Castle include the girl who will cast the curse to end all curses. (FTL AU. Rumbelle.)
A/N: I'm sorry this one's a few hours late, but Tom Hiddleston said Loki would read Plato and I kind of blacked out for a bit.
Regina wants to dance.
To this end, she insists -- insists! -- that the ballroom be scrubbed to within an inch of its life. "It's filthy," she had explained to Belle, "and the dust is spreading to the rest of the castle." She gave several false sneezes immediately afterwards, going so far as to wipe away the imaginary tears watering from her eyes.
This has naturally made Belle wonder what her charge is up to. She is very much not inclined to clean the ballroom, particularly after the disastrous early attempts during her first month in the castle; and besides, there's no real need, given that Rumpelstiltskin is as likely to prance about in her silver shoes as he is to throw a gala. She once asked why he even had a ballroom; he'd replied that it came with the castle, and left it at that. Belle rarely asks for elaboration to his answers when none are provided. Not much good ever comes of it.
But Regina wears her down, having put together a very convincing argument that Belle is supposed to be teaching her etiquette, and this is part of etiquette, and what happens if Rumpelstiltskin takes her to barter deals at a fête and she cannot dance? What will become of her then? She'll be a laughingstock in the eyes of the entire realm! Belle doesn't want that to happen, does she?
Oh, yes. Belle is suspicious.
That being said, Regina does have a point; in six months they've not begun any work on social graces at all, and Rumpelstiltskin had requested it. So Belle, in spite of her misgivings, gives in -- on the condition that Regina put in just as much to the cleaning of the ballroom as she herself does.
This causes Regina to grouse and pout and moan, which spares Belle from requesting Rumpelstiltskin check the girl for possession. But she submits to the manual labor nonetheless... though not without near-endless complaint.
"My back hurts," Regina says the first day, on her hands and knees with a scrub brush.
"So does mine," Belle replies pitilessly. "If you'd rather not work, I've more than enough to do elsewhere in the castle. That mushroom in the cellar is taller than you now."
"All right, all right."
The second day: "This soap doesn't work."
"Yes, it does."
The third day: "I've invented an enchantment that will blow away all the cobwebs."
"You know the rules about cleaning spells."
The fourth day: "The bristles on my brush are broken."
"Fetch a new one."
The fifth day: "Sorceresses do not carry ladders."
"Then sorceresses do not learn to dance."
The sixth day: "This place is under a curse. The most evil curse in the history of the world. Ever."
"Perhaps. Pass the featherduster."
There are times Belle wants nothing more than to lock herself in the library for some peace from Regina's nagging; she sometimes fantasizes about what it would have been like if the Dark One had only needed a maid, instead of a maid and a governess. Quieter, certainly.
But then the day comes when the ballroom is at last finished, the columns gleaming brighter than the gold that falls from Rumpelstiltskin's spinning wheel, the crystal chandelier sparkling in the midday sun that radiates through the windowpanes, the marble spotless beneath their slippered feet, and the excitement that practically vibrates from Regina makes it impossible for Belle not to smile.
"Show me how," the girl begs, grabbing Belle's hands and all but dragging her to the center of the room. "Show me everything."
Suspicious indeed. "Is there a reason this is so important to you, Regina?"
"Lady Regina. And no. I just want to learn to dance, so teach me."
Belle knows perfectly well that her charge is lying once again, but there is no point in forcing the issue. It would only end in frustration for everyone. "All right, Lady Regina. Go and change your clothes into something formal. A dress with a bell skirt will--"
There is a whirl of smoke, and in the blink of an eye Regina stands clad in a ball gown of deep violet, complete with shoulder sleeves and black lace trim. Her hair is still a wreck. "There." At the expression on Belle's face she asks: "What? Don't you like it?"
"It's beautiful," Belle says honestly. The cut and color are severe, but suit Regina well; it's just a shame her natural complexion doesn't favor the softer shades of childhood. Then again, Belle can't help but note how the tight lacing around the girl's waist and chest indicates childhood is steadily fading. At least she hasn't chosen to wear red. "But you had no cause to cast that spell."
"I was practicing."
"You were being lazy. Not everything needs to be done with magic."
"But Rumpelstiltskin--"
"--would be even firmer with you about this than I, and you well know it. Next time you will walk to your chambers to fetch your clothes like anyone else."
Regina grumbles something that could potentially be considered an acquiescence. When she smoothes down her skirts, Belle notices the design is somewhat familiar; it only takes a moment more to see the cut is the same as her own golden gown.
"All right," says Belle. "Come here. Step opposite me... yes, like that... now raise your hands, and follow my count..."
After an hour of instruction -- and steadily mounting frustration -- Regina complains: "This is much harder than I thought it would be."
"It takes practice. Some people can dance for years and still feel a bit awkward."
"I won't," says Regina stubbornly. "I'm going to get it right, and it won't take me years, either. I just didn't know it would be like this, is all."
Belle frowns as she pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and uses it to wipe Regina's flushed face. The poor girl is dripping from exertion; even staid, stuffy ballroom dancing is hard work. They're past time for a break. "What did you think it would be like?"
"Different. This is just a lot of-- of hand-touching, and stepping around." Regina winces away from Belle's swipes, but Belle follows anyway, catching a drop of sweat before it falls from the girl's nose. "I thought it would be... faster."
Ah. Now Belle understands. "Like at the festival, you mean?"
"Yes." Regina blushes; Belle rather suspects that that stable boy features prominently in whatever the girl is picturing. "I want to learn that. This kind of dancing is boring."
"I'm afraid I'm not the one to teach you." Belle tucks the handkerchief away and straightens. "This is what I know -- and if you're worried about how you'll look at royal affairs, you'll need to know it, too."
Regina looks positively revolted. "They dance like this in palaces and courts?"
"They do. Only peasants dance the way you saw."
"I think I'd rather be a peasant. They have more fun."
"A peasant might disagree with you."
"I don't see why. You wanted to go down to town. You're having fun."
"That's-- that's not exactly how it works." Belle has been making regular trips to the village since Rumpelstiltskin gave his permission, which has been good for little more than exercise and a change of scenery. The townspeople nod to her in the street, clearly believing she's a relative of some straw-poor forest hermit; Belle determined fairly quickly that, somehow, none of them have the slightest idea they live in the shadow of the Dark One. She'd asked Rumpelstiltskin about this, which had gotten her nothing more than a laugh and a caustic comment about how fools only see what they expect.
It's not as though she doesn't enjoy these small breaks from the monotony of the castle, but a poor provincial town is hardly her idea of paradise. She only volunteered to begin with in the hopes of finding Regina a way to see outside the walls. That, however, has yet to come to pass.
Still, the Infinite Forest was not grown in a day, and a stubborn sorcerer's will is not to be weakened in the space of a few months. Belle hasn't given up. "Be patient," she tells Regina. "You'll return to the village eventually, I'm sure of it."
Another heaving sigh. "Be patient, be patient," the girl repeats in that mocking tone that always puts Belle's teeth on edge. "You're only saying that to keep me quiet. You're just pretending to care whether I want to go."
Belle takes a deep breath and reminds herself that Regina is only ten. "I think we're finished with dancing for today," she says coolly.
Regina's mouth drops open. "But you told me you'd teach me!"
"And I will. Later. Consider it a lesson in forbearance."
Regina storms off to her chambers. Belle takes out her frustrations for the rest of the afternoon by beating back mouse nests from the grain store rooms.
***
As the days pass, Belle is somewhat amazed to find that as her charge becomes progressively more frustrating, her employer becomes progressively less so. There are times, in fact, that he is almost... pleasant. Belle had only rarely found him to be intolerable -- except when he is in one of his blacker moods -- but if she enjoyed his company, it was only because his company happened to be enjoyable that day. In two seasons at the Dark Castle she had never known him to make an effort.
Now he does. And perhaps Belle should be more skeptical of this, as she always is when Regina's behavior become randomly solicitous, but she finds she cannot be. Regina is an inveterate, remorseless little liar, a habit which Belle has yet to break; Rumpelstiltskin is not. And though he is most assuredly a master manipulator, Belle long ago discovered he rarely aims that skill at herself -- and, when he tries, he is spectacularly unsuccessful. So she takes his newfound consideration at face value, filing away the knowledge that, when he is being awful, a hearty slap gets his attention.
The most notable instance of this occurs on the day Rumpelstiltskin wanders into the third dungeon, where Belle is forwarding her assault against the clinging green slime that coats the walls. "It's not likely to come off with just a scour, dearie," he says flatly, leaning against the doorframe. "That stuff? Hasn't a care in the world for vinegar."
Belle, on her knees, her back aching and sore from hours of work, looks up at the Dark One with mild reproach. "That would have been useful to know before I began," she says. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why didn't you ask?"
"If I asked how to approach every strange thing I came across in this castle, I'd have no time left for cleaning." She tosses the brush into her bucket. "Do you have a suggestion?"
Rumpelstiltskin smirks knowingly, and, with a quick turn of the wrist, conjures a fireball in his palm. "Try this," he advises. He brings his hand close to the stones; the goo shivers, then slides backwards towards the corners of the walls, pulling away from the flame as quickly as a shadow retreats from sunlight.
Belle is too fascinated by this display to be upset at the time wasted scrubbing. "That's amazing," she says, eyes wide. "Is it the heat, or the light?"
"I don't know; I've never asked it," he replies, preening as Belle giggles. "Either way, a candle will do just as well. That should go a bit quicker for you than vinegar and water, I should imagine."
"Why didn't you use a candle, then?"
"I beg your pardon?"
She nods pointedly at the flame that still flickers in his hand. "Magic," she says. "You and Regina are always using magic when there's no cause to do so. I thought it all came with a price?"
Rumpelstiltskin glances down at the fireball with surprise, as though he's forgotten it's there, and closes his fingers with a snap. "The rules are different for the Dark One," he says, his voice a little graver than Belle is accustomed to. "I paid my price for tricks like that long ago." He frowns. "The girl hasn't, though, and it needs to come to a stop."
"Then you'd best set a better example." He cocks his head at her in confusion, and she elaborates in the tones of someone explaining something to a small child: "She's imitating you. She sees you casting small spells and then does the same."
"Ah." He looks uncomfortable. "Well. I'll speak to her about it."
Belle gets to her feet, arching her smarting back until it pops. "I don't see why you both insist on using magic at every turn anyway," she says -- and is more than a little disgruntled to note the petulance in her own voice. She hopes Rumpelstiltskin doesn't hear it it.
He does. And the smirk is back at once. "Jealous, are we?"
"No," Belle says immediately. "But... but it can be trying, when you're only one doing things with your own hands." She looks at her palms a little sadly; months of work have turned them red and calloused, a far cry from the delicate peach skin she'd once possessed.
Rumpelstiltskin notices the same; his lips twitch. "I won't be teaching you any spells, dearie," he warns her, "but I imagine I could scare up a bit of hand cream."
Objections to magic -- and magical such a gift is likely to be -- do not stop Belle from beaming gratefully at her employer. "That would be wonderful," she says. "Thank you."
He shrugs awkwardly, not meeting her eyes. He's been doing that rather a lot as of late. "No matter," he says. "The state of the dungeons and your-- ah, your skin isn't what I came to discuss, anyway." He shifts his weight and drums his fingertips against one another. "I wished to thank you."
Belle smiles at him. "You're welcome."
He blinks, hands pausing mid-flutter. "I'm-- but I haven't told you what I'm thanking you for yet."
"You'll be welcome regardless."
"...oh."
The silence hangs for a few moments before she finally takes pity on his confusion. "So, how did I earn your gratitude?"
"Ah. Well." He's so completely thrown off by her teasing that Belle has to chew on her lower lip to hold her laughter at bay. That would only bewilder him further, after all. "It's about the girl. You've done an excellent job with her education. She's developing quite a bit faster than I anticipated, so... I expect it's due to you. And I-- I wanted you to know. That I appreciate it, that is."
Belle can't help but feel a surge of pride at this. She's certainly done her best, though Regina's not been listening to her much as of late. "You didn't anticipate her development?" she asks playfully. "I thought you could see the future."
If anything, he appears even more uncomfortable. "As I said, dearie, the details can be elusive. From time to time."
"Hmm." Belle decides to leave the subject of his clairvoyance be for now, in that she's feeling entirely too self-satisfied to approach it delicately. "Well, I'm pleased to hear Regina is doing so well." She magnanimously adds: "I'm sure your tutelage is more to thank than mine."
"Perhaps, but I believe you're responsible for instilling her with something resembling a degree of work ethic. Believe it or not, she's now deigning to look over her spells before trying to cast them. Sometimes my work room even remains functional for three hours straight."
"Well, that would make sense." Rumpelstiltskin cocks his head to the side, and Belle elaborates: "Since she can read now, I imagine fewer things are going awry."
"What?"
"That's why so much of her magic was wrong, wasn't it?" Belle shrugs. "Regina's certainly not what I would call proficient, but she's managing those books you've given her now, and picking up more every day. She's worked very hard at it."
Rumpelstiltskin only stares blankly.
The silence stretches.
A terrible suspicion builds in Belle's mind. "You-- you did know she couldn't read... didn't you?" Her stomach sinks as he slowly shakes his head. "Oh, no. How could you not-- oh, have you been hard on her this whole time?"
"I did ask if she was having difficulties," he says defensively. A flush has risen to his cheeks, made more golden than usual by the candlelight. "She told me she wasn't, so what else was I to--"
"She was lying, Rumpelstiltskin. She lies constantly. Can't you tell?"
The scowl on his face darkens along with the deepening blush. "Apparently not."
"Oh." Belle bites her lip. She'd had no intention of embarrassing him, she had only assumed... "I'm not surprised she fooled you," she offers hesitantly, trying to spare his pride. "She's very good at it."
"Yes. That seems to be a family trait." And he turns on his heel and strides from the dungeon, leaving Belle alone with a slime-covered wall and a curiosity that burns brighter than the flames he'd held in his hand.
***
Whatever Rumpelstiltskin says to Regina afterwards, it proves effective at destroying the already straining goodwill between Belle and her charge. The next morning Regina will not even acknowledge her maid's presence, let alone speak to her, and nothing Belle tries can convince her to thaw. Rumpelstiltskin is in a sour mood as well, disappearing four days out of the next seven to inflict what are surely ruinous deals on the rest of the world, and remaining intractably silent when at home, spinning for hours on end and offering only monosyllabic answers to Belle's feeble attempts to initiate conversation. He, at least, is not openly hostile the way Regina has become, but he doesn't make for enjoyable company nevertheless.
After a week, Belle has had more than enough of bratty children and brooding sorcerers. If everyone else is going to spend their time in sulks, then she has every right to do the same.
That evening she is comfortably settled in the library, reading about a quest to retrieve a stolen sword from a ferocious dragon, when her very own dragon-in-residence storms up the staircase. "It's dinnertime, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin says acidly, "and I cannot help but notice, what with my keen senses and all, that there is quite a stunning lack of dinner present."
Belle turns a page without looking up. "Really," she replies, deadpan.
"I didn't bring you here to waste your time lounging about my towers, little maid. In fact, I believe that serving meals was quite specifically stipulated in our original agreement."
"There's bread and cheese in the kitchen."
"Which you are meant to bring to the table. If that story of yours is so inconsiderately keeping you from your work, then perhaps I ought relieve you of its distraction." He points at the book in her hands, which begins to puff with purple smoke--
--until Belle fixes him with a silent, gimlet, evil glare.
The smoke vanishes instantly. "Bread and cheese in the kitchen, you said?"
"By the ovens." Rumpelstiltskin beats a hasty retreat, and Belle returns to the quest for the sword.
Not even the Dark One is permitted to come between Belle and her books.
But the triple impasse continues for three more days after Belle makes her stand -- three days wherein Belle is quite content to fix herself cold sandwiches and work her way through Rumpelstiltskin's surprisingly extensive collection of romantic poetry -- before the standoff thunders to a halt. More or less literally: Regina's footsteps certainly thunder past Belle's chambers before the sun has even risen, the stone walls seem to shake when she slams her door, and the pounding on Belle's door moments later hurts her ears.
When she opens up, Rumpelstiltskin takes no obvious notice of her nightclothes or tangled bed hair. "I brought you here to manage that girl," he says without preamble. "No excuses. Your vacation is over."
Whatever this is, it is entirely too early for it. "I thought we'd established," Belle snaps, "that you are all completely capable of handling your own--"
He cuts her off with a sharp gesture towards Regina's room. "No, dearie. You will speak with her, or on my word as the Dark One, I will consider our deal void and lift the enchantments protecting your miserable little village. The ogres will have your townsfolk in their clutches before noontime."
Belle is not awake enough to tell whether he's bluffing or not. Technically, though, he could; she has been shirking her responsibilities, however justified the shirking may be. "There's no need to threaten," she yawns, rubbing her eyes. "What's wrong with Regina?"
"I found her going through my cabinets."
"And?" Rumpelstiltskin doesn't continue, so Belle prods: "I don't know anything about your work room. Isn't this something for you to handle?"
"Not exactly." The Dark One is entirely fixated on a small spot on the wall next to Belle's head. "She was... searching for a remedy. And wasn't inclined to tell me why."
"All right..."
"So I insisted."
"I can't imagine that went well."
"No. It-- ah, it didn't." The speck on the wall cannot be that interesting, but Rumpelstiltskin stares at it as though it contains all the secrets of the universe. "There's many reasons you're in this castle, dearie, and one of them is that you're female. Therefore this is your purview, not mine."
"I don't underst--" She stops abruptly as the nature of the situation dawns on her. "Oh. Oh, I see."
"Good, because I have no interest in explaining further."
"Are you certain? She's ten years old."
"More certain than I ever intended to be. And she's eleven."
"What? When did she turn eleven?"
"Months ago." Rumpelstiltskin glances away from the wall to give her an odd look. "Did she not tell you?"
"No!"
"Well. It would appear I'm not the only one she's been keeping in the dark."
"Indeed." Eleven is still early -- but then, Regina has been nothing if not precocious. "At least it explains why she's been so impossible lately."
"So it does. Now, if you would be so kind as to do your job and inform the girl she's not perishing from injury or wasting disease, I'll be getting back to my own work."
And the Dark One disappears from the hallway in the blink of an eye.
"Coward," Belle mutters to herself.
She knocks on Regina's bedroom door, but only as a courtesy, and ignores the hoarse shout to go away; when she enters she is not surprised to see the girl face down in bed, nor to find the floor strewn with discarded, stained petticoats. Belle is struck by no small amount of guilt by the latter; had she not refused to do laundry for the last several days, she would have noticed at once what was happening. The child -- less of a child, now -- has obviously been bleeding for awhile.
As she sits at the edge of the mattress, she tries to recall what her own nanny had said to her at this critical moment. Her memory is of a rather harsh speech that ended with a brusque, extremely vague warning that she was not to be alone with men from then on. Other than that, Belle remembers little of those first few times beyond wringing pain and a great deal of tears. Belle may have a feminine touch, but this discussion is a mother's office, she knows all too well what it is like to be orphaned in these moments. She places a hand on her charge's shoulder. "Regina?"
The girl flinches away, burrowing further into her blankets. "Lady Regina," she mutters, muffled.
Belle sighs. "Lady Regina, then. How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Do you know what's happening?"
"Yes," the girl lies. She rolls onto her side, facing away from Belle. "I don't need you, so unless you've brought a healing potion, leave me alone."
This is not going well. "It can't be fixed with a healing potion, Regina. You're not ill." She receives no response, so Belle tries a different tactic. "Why didn't you tell me when you had your birthday? I would have baked a cake."
"You don't know how to bake cakes."
"I would have learned to bake a cake."
"It would have been horrible."
"Probably, but think of how funny to watch Rumpelstiltskin eat it?" There is a smothered, wet noise that sounds a bit like a giggle, and Belle smiles. "We'll do that when you turn twelve."
Regina curls into a tight ball, prickly as a porcupine. "He always came," she whispers. "When it was my birthday. They're just for him and me. So I didn't tell you."
"Ah." That makes some sense; they'd not known each other long at the time, after all. "I understand. Maybe next year, if you want, I could--"
"No. My birthday doesn't matter to you. You're not my mother."
That is nothing but the truth. It should not hurt as much as it does. "It matters," Belle manages. "But, if you don't want... it's all right, but, perhaps, in time, since you don't mind if Rumpelstiltskin--"
Regina curls up tighter still.
The meaning of it -- the reason Regina will accept him on her birthday and not her -- hits Belle like a slap in the face.
But that... that is neither here nor there to the current situation. "If I had realized how old you were," Belle forges on, trying to set aside her new suspicions, "then I would have warned you about all... this." She gestures vaguely to the soiled petticoats. "I'm sorry that you didn't know it was coming."
"I knew."
"You're lying."
"Am I?"
"Yes. You are. And you don't need to. I want to listen to what you have to say." This time, when Belle pats her shoulder, she doesn't flinch away. "Regina, if I'm never to know, truly know, more than two people for the rest of my life... can't I at least know you?"
A long silence follows this, but Belle has lived with this girl for many months now, and she has learned when to wait. Finally Regina says: "I wasn't going to do anything to his laboratory. Well, I was, but..." She swallows. "I was just... he asked, and I didn't..."
"You didn't want to tell Rumpelstiltskin what was wrong," Belle finishes for her. When she nods, Belle continues gently: "Would you like me to explain it to you?"
The "yes please" is so small that Belle can barely hear it. But it's a start.
***
Some hours later, Belle comes to the great room to find Rumpelstiltskin at his wheel, already on his third basket of gold. "Is she sorted?" he asks, eyes not leaving the straw in his hands.
"I think so, yes."
"Good. Good thing." The wheel continues to turn. "I suppose she won't be down today."
"No. I'll take her her meals. She'll be all right, she's just... she's more embarrassed than anything else. It all came as a bit of a shock, you understand."
"I don't, actually, and I have no interest in trying." He takes one hand away from his spinning long enough to point at the table; a tiny whirl of smoke wisps along the edge, clearing to reveal a stoppered blue bottle no larger than a hen's egg. "Give her that with her afternoon tea," he says. "It will ease the pains for the rest of her time." When Belle stares at him, he glances up long enough to add -- with great derision -- "Yes, dearie, I do know a few things about women."
"Oh." Belle shakes herself. "Yes, of-- of course you do." She pockets the bottle. "Thank you, that's very kind."
He shrugs as he returns to his spinning. It is a movement very much like Regina's.
Belle takes the moment to study his features, to try and separate the angles of his face and the contours of his hands from the strange, reptilian attributes of the Dark One. She cannot see anything of Regina in him. Perhaps Regina is all her mother.
Well, there may not be physical similarities, but Belle bears no resemblance to Maurice, herself. Not all traits are as easy to spot as the color of one's eyes or the shape of one's nose. The girl is certainly powerful. And tempestuous. And lonely. And, underneath layers and layers of metaphorical scales and dragonhide, good.
In that, they are nearly the same person.
It is a full minute before Belle realizes Rumpelstiltskin is watching her with a curious expression. She blushes at having been seen staring and explains lamely: "I-- I was wondering what... what you would like for lunch."
"Ah. I take it you're finally resuming your duties, then?"
"If everyone in this castle has decided to stop being ridiculous, then yes." His eyebrows climb higher, and Belle sighs at the silent sarcasm. "Myself included, I suppose. Will stew be all right?"
"Whatever you see fit to serve will be fine, my peevish little maid. If you rush something elaborate you're likely to poison us all."
If her feather duster were on hand, she would certainly whack him with it. As it stands, Belle settles for making a face at the Dark One before heading down to the kitchens. His laughter -- deep, human -- follows her through the halls.
She toys with the potion in her apron, and wonders if there's any way to discover whether Rumpelstiltskin is Regina's father, or if Regina only believes it to be so.
Probably not.
There is a bottle of hand cream waiting for her next to the cheese.
***
Next: Wherein the plot thickens.