Fic: [Once Upon a Time] The Vagabonds of Heroism (Belle/Rumpelstiltskin)
The Vagabonds of Heroism, Once Upon a Time (Belle/Rumpelstiltskin), 935 words.
Belle has grown up with stories; she knows how they work, and how she will be the questing hero. But the stories are not always enough.
Belle is raised by her father’s gruff love, the stories of her governess, and no mother.
Girls who know their mothers grow into proper ladies, but Belle does not. Her father does not know what to do with her, and allows her into his war chambers as if even a girl could not worsen their chances with the ogres. She does not learn to embroider or spin; she reads the books in the library instead, until she is full of history and geography. She wishes she could hold a sword, as Gaston does, to protect their land; instead, she tells her father of battle strategies. She tells him of diplomacy, and what allies might help them, if they can arrange an agreeable deal.
And God save them, he actually listens to her.
But it is not only the tools of an advisor that she reads. The stories her governess told her come from older stories, like history but more like biographies. Belle reads and re-reads stories of twelve princesses, cursed to dance through their shoes every night with twelve demon princes. She reads of men who stood against dragons. There are those who set off on quests, to bring back the one thing that would save their kingdom, or their true love. One princess runs away and becomes a housekeeper for a dragon. There are rules to these things: the youngest of three sons goes questing, the magic sword only answers to one hand, and love can be found if one is dedicated enough to not be fooled by disguises.
When Gaston kills a wild bear at the edge of the town and brings it back for meat and the right to boast, Belle smiles at him, wondering what it must be like to feel the pulse of fear and triumph in one’s throat, and to have the freedom to go adventuring. He smiles back at her, and that night, asks her father for Belle’s hand in marriage.
Her father says yes, of course. Belle had always known the inevitable question would come, and its inevitable answer would follow. She does not resent either of them for treading the rutted paths of predictability; it is not their nature to be mysterious.
And yet, when Rumpelstiltskin asks for her in exchange for protection of the kingdom, she thinks faster than anyone in the room what that could mean. She is only a woman, but it is bravery that matters. Belle holds her chin high and does not say goodbye to her father.
Rumpelstiltskin is by turns kind and cruel, amused and indifferent, but she grew up in a court of men, and is not easily ruffled by it. She makes him tea and supper at the right times, and she dusts most carefully. Washerwomen and stableboys are princesses and princes in the stories, and their time to reveal themselves as heroes always comes.
He sends her out for straw, not expecting her to return. Even as she contemplates running, she knows she won’t. This is not how stories end. And he expects her to be weak, easily tempted by freedom. But she is strong, and she has chosen her fate. He has underestimated his heroine.
A woman in black robes, most certainly a witch who knows magic, offers her help in exchange for company. And Belle knows this story too: you help the witch, and she will give you advice on how to save the day, break the curse, finish the story.
This is how it goes.
She does love Rumpelstiltskin, after seeing him as the man he was; how could she not? He is alone in the world, and never quite the person people want, even if he’s who they need. Belle, a useless daughter determined to be useful and still not a man, is no different. To hate him would be to hate herself, and she has only ever had herself to depend on. He could be her jailor. But if she ran, she knows he would not stop her.
Belle circles his spinning wheel, her pulse quickening in her throat as she asks him for a story. This is what she has waited for. This fear -what if it doesn’t break the curse? What if it does?- and the triumph of having a chance at loving truly, without the festering splinter in his heart coming between them. It is her moment.
And it is just a moment.
The next is filled with confusion, self-loathing. Rumpelstiltskin is ranting, and she doesn’t understand his accusations. All she understands is the stories have lied to her. Worse- the stories have been used against her. Sometimes the stableboy shovels muck until he dies. Sometimes bravery isn’t enough. Sometimes the woman giving advice in the road was not a wise, helpful witch after all.
Sometimes, a curse is more comfortable whole than broken, because broken things have jagged edges.
Belle turns her back on him, gathers her cloak, and walks out. She knows what she is, how she will be seen, after living with a man for two months, alone. She is alone, without even stories to keep her company; she has left them behind with a chipped teacup and a basket of straw. There is one story she thinks she might have read once that she barely remembers, and it is the only one she has left: the story of a sorcerer who delved too deep into magic, and became the curse he had tried to fight.
Cursed, she walks back down the road where the witch had deceived her. Belle will be no heroine. Not anymore.
Belle has grown up with stories; she knows how they work, and how she will be the questing hero. But the stories are not always enough.
Belle is raised by her father’s gruff love, the stories of her governess, and no mother.
Girls who know their mothers grow into proper ladies, but Belle does not. Her father does not know what to do with her, and allows her into his war chambers as if even a girl could not worsen their chances with the ogres. She does not learn to embroider or spin; she reads the books in the library instead, until she is full of history and geography. She wishes she could hold a sword, as Gaston does, to protect their land; instead, she tells her father of battle strategies. She tells him of diplomacy, and what allies might help them, if they can arrange an agreeable deal.
And God save them, he actually listens to her.
But it is not only the tools of an advisor that she reads. The stories her governess told her come from older stories, like history but more like biographies. Belle reads and re-reads stories of twelve princesses, cursed to dance through their shoes every night with twelve demon princes. She reads of men who stood against dragons. There are those who set off on quests, to bring back the one thing that would save their kingdom, or their true love. One princess runs away and becomes a housekeeper for a dragon. There are rules to these things: the youngest of three sons goes questing, the magic sword only answers to one hand, and love can be found if one is dedicated enough to not be fooled by disguises.
When Gaston kills a wild bear at the edge of the town and brings it back for meat and the right to boast, Belle smiles at him, wondering what it must be like to feel the pulse of fear and triumph in one’s throat, and to have the freedom to go adventuring. He smiles back at her, and that night, asks her father for Belle’s hand in marriage.
Her father says yes, of course. Belle had always known the inevitable question would come, and its inevitable answer would follow. She does not resent either of them for treading the rutted paths of predictability; it is not their nature to be mysterious.
And yet, when Rumpelstiltskin asks for her in exchange for protection of the kingdom, she thinks faster than anyone in the room what that could mean. She is only a woman, but it is bravery that matters. Belle holds her chin high and does not say goodbye to her father.
Rumpelstiltskin is by turns kind and cruel, amused and indifferent, but she grew up in a court of men, and is not easily ruffled by it. She makes him tea and supper at the right times, and she dusts most carefully. Washerwomen and stableboys are princesses and princes in the stories, and their time to reveal themselves as heroes always comes.
He sends her out for straw, not expecting her to return. Even as she contemplates running, she knows she won’t. This is not how stories end. And he expects her to be weak, easily tempted by freedom. But she is strong, and she has chosen her fate. He has underestimated his heroine.
A woman in black robes, most certainly a witch who knows magic, offers her help in exchange for company. And Belle knows this story too: you help the witch, and she will give you advice on how to save the day, break the curse, finish the story.
This is how it goes.
She does love Rumpelstiltskin, after seeing him as the man he was; how could she not? He is alone in the world, and never quite the person people want, even if he’s who they need. Belle, a useless daughter determined to be useful and still not a man, is no different. To hate him would be to hate herself, and she has only ever had herself to depend on. He could be her jailor. But if she ran, she knows he would not stop her.
Belle circles his spinning wheel, her pulse quickening in her throat as she asks him for a story. This is what she has waited for. This fear -what if it doesn’t break the curse? What if it does?- and the triumph of having a chance at loving truly, without the festering splinter in his heart coming between them. It is her moment.
And it is just a moment.
The next is filled with confusion, self-loathing. Rumpelstiltskin is ranting, and she doesn’t understand his accusations. All she understands is the stories have lied to her. Worse- the stories have been used against her. Sometimes the stableboy shovels muck until he dies. Sometimes bravery isn’t enough. Sometimes the woman giving advice in the road was not a wise, helpful witch after all.
Sometimes, a curse is more comfortable whole than broken, because broken things have jagged edges.
Belle turns her back on him, gathers her cloak, and walks out. She knows what she is, how she will be seen, after living with a man for two months, alone. She is alone, without even stories to keep her company; she has left them behind with a chipped teacup and a basket of straw. There is one story she thinks she might have read once that she barely remembers, and it is the only one she has left: the story of a sorcerer who delved too deep into magic, and became the curse he had tried to fight.
Cursed, she walks back down the road where the witch had deceived her. Belle will be no heroine. Not anymore.