Chapter Text
“Father says he’s not coming,” Belle says hollowly, staring out the window. Everything in her sight - everything she has ever known and loved - is in jeopardy tonight. The ogres are quickly converging on their little village, destroying everything in their path. The castle walls, strong though they are, will not keep them out.
Verna shrugs helplessly. “Nothin’ good ever come o’ wishin’ for a visit from the Dark One. That’s what my grandmother used to say.”
Belle frowns, fear getting the best of her. “Yes, well, I doubt that your grandmother was ever facing the decimation of her entire village by ogres.”
Verna looks sheepish. “True enough.”
“I must take matters into my own hands,” Belle says, more to herself than to Verna. She turns, reaching for her cloak.
Verna immediately drops the old linens she was cutting into bandages. “Oh Miss Belle,” she says, frantic. “You can’t be considering what that witch said.”
“Edda’s not a witch,” Belle says absently. “She’s a seer.” Belle heads for the door and Verna tries to block her way.
“No, Miss, you can’t. Please,” Verna pleads. “Your father’ll have my head if you go. I can’t allow it.”
Belle’s expression is stern. “I’ll be dead if I don’t go. We all will be dead. Tell no one where I’ve gone. Do you hear me? No one.”
Verna is clearly terrified, but Belle is reasonably certain the dizzy girl won’t go running to her father the second that she leaves. She points a finger at her for good measure and then turns and head for the door, steeling her nerve.
***
Belle is shaking so violently that embers from the torch scatter everywhere. She can hear the ogres approach, feel the ground shake beneath their bulk. Their roars pierce the air and it takes every bit of courage she has not to turn and run.
She won’t run. She can’t. She is her village’s last, best hope. Edda spoke words of truth. Belle may not have magic, but there is magic inherent in deeds, in sacrifice. The magic in her sacrifice may well be enough to spare her village and her loved ones. And if this deed can spare any at all, it is well worth the price.
The ogres are nearly upon her now, dozens of them. In the dim light of the torch, she can see their gruesome forms, their sightless eyes. One bounds toward her, stopping several meters away, sniffing loudly. It drops down, bracing its weight on its knuckles as it leans toward her and bellows. The foul stench of its breath blows her hair back from her face. Now she is too terrified to run, despite every fiber in her being telling her to do just that.
The ogre takes a step toward her, then another. It reaches out and she knows she’s going to feel the repulsive press of its gruesome flesh against her own. She prays that this will be enough to save those she loves.
But the ogre doesn’t touch her.
It stops.
And then slowly, it backs away, head bowed.
As she watches, the other ogres back away too. Blind though they are, she can tell that their attention is fixed on something just over her right shoulder and a dread like none she has ever known creeps up her spine.
Gathering all her nerve, she spins around.
“Good evening.”
She screams, unable to stop herself. Quickly, she clamps her hand over her mouth, staring at him, dropping the torch in her fright. The torch lands unceremoniously on the damp ground, quickly sputtering to nothing. But the moon is high and full and she can clearly make out his odd features, the unnatural glint of his skin, the too large irises, the long, black claws. He is dressed from head to toe in leathers, dragonskin from the look of the coat, all rough scales and fright with some type of scarf that looks like spines.
He studies her, his expression wary and slightly put-upon. She has the distinct impression he’s trying not to sigh, as if he finds stumbling across her in an ogre filled field far from the castle walls to be a tiresome affair. “Good evening,” he says again, this time punctuating it with a tight, mirthless smile. Even in the dim light, she can see the jagged, stained teeth as he speaks.
“You - You - You’re him,” she says, finally finding her voice. “You’re the Dark One. You’re Rumplestiltskin.”
“So I am,” he says, bowing deeply. His voice is strangely melodic, unnerving. He straightens. “And you are the Lady Belle.”
She frowns at him. “How do you know me?”
“Oh, trust me,” he says with a wicked, knowing smile and a high, piercing giggle. “I know a great many things. Like the fact that you are out here to sacrifice yourself to those ogres in hopes of sparing your little village.” His nose wrinkles in distaste. “You must be very innocent,” he says, making it sound like an impediment rather than a virtue. “If you had any idea what a pack of ogres could do to a willing young virgin, you wouldn’t be so cavalier with your gifts.”
“I .. uh,” she falls silent, staring at him. “How did you know why I’m out here?”
“Magic, dearie,” he explains, waving his hands. “Your deed, your intention constitute a binding magical contract.” He looks her up and down. “In this case, it’s a good thing that you didn’t know enough to be specific.”
Her head is swimming with the surreality of this conversation. She’s standing in a field in the middle of the night calmly speaking with Rumplestiltskin, the most feared man in the world. Or most feared demon in the world? Or was it imp? She can’t remember. “Specific?”
He nods. “Devil’s in the details, dearie. It usually pays to be specific with magic. Though not for you. Not tonight. I’m generally not considered a prize, but compared to a pack of ogres, even I look like prince charming.”
“You?” she says, staring at him in confusion. She glances over her shoulder and can no longer see the ogres at all. “I don’t understand.”
He purses his lips together. “Clearly.”
Seeing that he’s not going to elaborate, Belle steps closer. “Edda, the Seer, she told me that if I was to sacrifice myself to the ogres, that the magic might be enough to spare my village.”
He leans in toward her, his tone conspiratorial as he says, “Just so you know, Edda’s a hack. Wouldn’t know a deal if it bit her in that wrinkly old ass.”
Belle’s cheeks flame at his coarse language and she feels offended on Edda’s behalf.
He sighs as if the strain of having to explain things to someone as slow and ignorant as she is unnecessarily taxing him. “There is certainly magic in sacrifice,” he explains clearly. “And the … purer … that sacrifice, the more potent the magic. Now a willing, virgin sacrifice … ho ho,” he claps his hands together lightly. “There is some potent magic in that.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at him, irritation momentarily squelching her terror. “Enough magic to drive away the ogres?”
“Hmm?” he looks at her, confused, and then glances in the direction the ogres retreated. “Oh, gods no, girl. Pack of ogres that big would take convents full of virgins. Probably be more efficient to just stack the virgins up into a barricade and hope for the best.” He grins at her, clearly amused by his own joke.
“No,” he says again. “This is what I meant about being specific with magical contracts. The agreement you negotiated - to any taker, incidentally - didn’t stipulate that your sacrifice would drive the ogres away. Your contract stipulated that your … innocence … would be sacrificed to whomever would faithfully attempt to drive the ogres away. And payment isn’t contingent on success.”
She shakes her head, trying to clear it. How can this possibly be this complicated? Edda gave her no indication there were so many loopholes and nuances to magic. “So if you hadn’t scared off those ogres?” she prompts him.
“Oh, the dumb animal that was approaching you probably would have fucked you within an inch of your life and then fought to the death with the rest of the pack, thereby fulfilling the requirements of the contract. Eventually the others would have tired of infighting, probably eaten you and sacked your village.”
Belle gapes at him, not sure if she is more offended by his language, his assessment of the situation or her own naivete. Is that really what would have happened? Gods, that would have been a disaster - and a complete waste.
Then she has a chilling thought and her mouth snaps shut.
“Exactly,” he says with a malicious grin and a wink. “The ogres didn’t take you up on your offer. I did.”
He gives her a moment for that reality to sink in. She feels her knees go weak as her breath leaves her in a panic.
She’s not sure if she’s going to vomit or pass out.
When he speaks again, his tone is deadly serious. “Lucky for you I won’t merely make a doomed attempt to save your little village. It will have all the benefits of my protection, the Dark One’s protection. The ogres dare not bother your lands again.”
With that assurance, life seems to pour back into Belle’s body and she can breathe. “They’ll be safe?” she demands. “My family, my friends?”
“It is my promise to you,” he says solemnly.
She shakes her head, struggling for mental clarity, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “So why didn’t you just respond to my father’s request?” she demands. “And spared us all these … theatrics?”
“Theatrics?” he says incredulously, hands over his heart in feigned shock. “My dear, a willing virgin sacrifice is certainly not theatrics. Do you have any idea how rare this is?” His lips purse together with censure. “Especially with young people these days. No morals at all. No respect for the blood of innocence.”
She stares at him, dumbfounded. The Dark One is lecturing her on the lacking morality of today’s youth.
“And you,” he says, gesturing to her. “Not exactly a flower in first bloom and with a strapping young fiance to boot. Who would have even thought it possible that you could still retained the goods to barter a deal like this?”
She gasps in outrage. “Did you just call me an old harlot?”
“Well, clearly not a harlot,” he qualifies, his tone somewhat placating. “But it does make me wonder about the fiance of yours. What’s wrong with him?”
Belle sputters, but oddly, can’t think of a single thing to say to defend Gaston.
“Hmm. Perhaps he prefers the male camaraderie of battle and the hunt,” he says and there is a knowing edge to his words that make Belle think he intends something far more wicked than camaraderie.
“He,” Belle sputters. “I … We don’t - “
“Exactly, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin says, tapping the end of his nose with one blackened claw. “You and your fiance … don’t.” He smiles smugly. “Which is why I’m here.” He giggles madly and it makes Belle’s skin crawl.
She shakes her head, steadfastly refusing to contemplate the terms he’s discussing. “Back to my point,” she says. “Why didn’t you just arrive when my father summoned you?”
He frowns. “First off, I am not summoned anywhere. Secondly, your father offered me gold. I make gold. I certainly don’t need charity from your paltry coffers.” He looks her up and down speculatively. “But your offer now, that was infinitely more tempting. Like I said, potent magic, especially to connoisseur such as myself. Few are in a position to truly appreciate such a rare bounty.”
Belle swallows harshly. “And you promise that you will protect my village.”
He nods slowly. “Indeed, I already promised that I will. The deal has been struck.”
“Fine,” she says blandly, oddly resigned to her fate. She crosses her arms over her chest, staring at him. “Fine. Then by all means, let’s be done with it.”
He shakes his head, tsking. “So young.”
“As you have so cleverly deduced, my fiance and I do not suit,” she says bluntly, tired of being spoken to as if she is a slow child. “I find no pleasure in his clumsy, aggressive embraces despite his pleasing face. I have no reason to think that I would find physical congress with you any more repulsive than I would find them with some overgrown, excitable boy who in a year of courting has never bothered to ask me a single question about myself. His only concern is my father’s fortune and siring as many sons upon me as quickly as he can.” She takes a deep breath, allowing him to digest her words. “And if there is truly any luck to be found in this deal for me, Gaston won’t want me when you’re finished, which suits me just fine.”
Now it is he who is dumbstruck. He starts to speak and then stops. He presses his eyes closed for a moment and then slowly opens them. “You would … welcome the possibility of being ruined by the Dark One?”
She considers his question for a moment and then nods. “When my only other option is to serve as a broodmare and coin purse for a barely literate oaf of a husband, yes.”
He shakes his head, staring at her in wonder and confusion. “You are a very odd girl.”
“So I am often informed,” she says, smoothing down the front of her skirt, trying not to let that particular barb find a home. She should be inured to it by now, but often discovers she is not.
He steps closer, seeming for the first time to really study his prize. Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and catches a lock of her hair between his fingers, rubbing gently. “You are surprisingly lovely,” he says, watching her from beneath hooded eyes.
She rolls her eyes, pointedly looking away from him, stepping back far enough that it pulls her hair from his grasp. “Yes, I know. Especially for a virgin of my advanced age,” she says sourly. “However, I’m bookish. And I have known too much freedom to sit idly by while men decide my fate without my input. Usually those two traits are more than sufficient enticement for most men to dismiss my loveliness.”
His smile is one she cannot read. But then he takes a deep breath and sighs, his demeanor becoming oddly melancholy. “It is a specific tragedy to not have the freedom to choose one’s own fate.”
She meets his gaze, surprised to find that he is not mocking her. “Indeed,” she replies. She looks at him and then at the ground, feeling her anger fade, only to be replaced by unease. “Now to the task at hand,” she says with far more confidence than she feels. “I suppose our contract must be executed.”
He smiles at her. “So eager, are you?”
“Not eager for the deed, sir,” she replies firmly. “Eager to be done with this chapter of my life and to start the next as a ruined spinster. From where I stand, it sounds positively lovely.”
He smiles again, but there is mischief in it. “I don’t think so,” he says quietly.
At that dismissal, her eyes go wide with shock. He doesn’t want to consummate the deal?
“Not tonight,” he explains with a coy smile.
She opens her mouth to protest, then realizing what it is she’s protesting, thinks better of it and closes her mouth.
“There is nothing in the contract that specifies a time frame, my lady,” he says with a mocking bow. “And I think it might do us both some good to delay. Anticipation can add such … flavor … to a deal.”
“I don’t want to wait,” she says, shocking herself with her outburst. She considers the words she just spoke and finds them to be true. She has no desire to draw this out any longer than absolutely necessary. She does not want the dread of this deed hanging over her head.
“Yes, dearie, I know,” he says, contemplating her carefully. “You may be an odd girl, but you do seem surprisingly bright. I’m sure next time, you won’t be so careless as to make a deal you don’t understand.”
She sputters. “But - But - But … when?”
“Soon,” he says. “Never fear. I won’t leave a deal half done. I always honor my contracts.”
And with that, he is gone and Belle finds herself standing alone in a dark clearing miles from home.
***
END CHAPTER 1