The Soul of the Beauty, The Heart of the Beast

This was my attempt at really getting the emotions and thoughts behind Rumplestiltskin and Belle's relationship in ABC's Once Upon a Time.

He was spinning quietly in the corner of the dining hall, his mind lost, drifting in memories and thoughts far away from the present. And then he heard her voice and came back to himself.

"Why do you spin so much?"

He glanced away from the wheel for a second, calculating the risk of answering her truthfully. He would be giving her a weakness to work with, to use against him. And yet, in the past months, she'd shown no anger, hate, or even disgust when around him. it didn't mean much of course, but still.

"I'm sorry. It's just that you've spun more gold than you could ever spend." She was genuinely curious. He made up his mind.

"I like to watch the wheel. It helps me forget." The last words slipped from his lips. He'd never meant to say them. With a frown, he continued to spin.

"Forget what?"

She was stubborn, almost as much as he. The thought made him smile. Almost.

"I guess it worked." His manic laugh filled the air and he turned to look at her. She was laughing also, the smile brightening up her whole countenance.

With another grin, she turned back to the curtains on the windows. She was standing high on a ladder, tugging at the thick cloth that blacked out all the sun. Curious, he stood and wandered over.

"What are you doing?"

"It's almost spring. We should let some light in." She continued to pill at the curtain, glancing at him when it refused to budge. "What did you do? Nail them down?" She gave another tug.

"Yes," he answered simply. Of course.

There was that bright little smile again, and he recognized the beauty in it. He continued to watch, a tad amused, as she battled on with the cloth.

Without warning, the nails gave way and the curtains ripped free. But she had put most of her weight into the tug, and she tumbled off the ladder, falling with the cloth. Before he had time to think, he threw out his arms, heart racing, and caught her.

A flood of light blinded him for a second. When he could see again, the first thing that met his eyes was her face, her skin practically glowing, her cheeks rosy. Her crystal blue eyes glittered as she met his gaze. He could feel her rapid heartbeat through her back where he held her. And something changed within him. He realized that he liked the image go her in the sunlight. Why had he ever insisted on keeping the light out when it could illuminate such beauty?

How had he never noticed before?

The last thought brought back an old and familiar feeling, one he could name: fear. What was happening?

"Thank you," she whispered, and her voice warmed something in his chest that had been cold and frozen for so very long. Another wave of fear, but duller this time, swept through him.

He realized that he needed to reorganize his thoughts and having her so close wasn't helping. He abruptly let her go, and she stumbled slightly as her feet hit the ground. Immediately, he felt guilty and his arms seemed so very empty. He swung them at his sides just to give them something to do.

"Thank you," she said again, smoothing out her skirt.

"No matter," he replied softly, still trying to think clearly. He turned, all too aware of her brightness in the light of the window, and started back to his spinning wheel.

"I'll just put the curtains back up then," she said and he could hear the slight smile in her words. He suddenly didn't want the light to disappear. He didn't want this radiant person, who so obviously flourished in the sun, to be trapped in the darkness again.

"Don't- don't bother," he said, turning back for a second. "I'll get used to it." SHe gave him another smile and he nodded, approving his decision.

He knew that spinning wouldn't help him regain control of his mind, so he wandered around the long table to the tea tray, picking up a filled cup. As he did, he heard footsteps behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted her bright form. Was she following him? With a quick dancing step, he spun back around just as she sat with a flourish on the edge of the table, a couple of mere feet between them.

Something was on her mind. Was she ever free of curiosity?

She spread her blue skirt over her knees and crossed her ankles, gently swinging them back and forth. He observed her, waiting for the inevitable inquiry.

"Why did you want me here?"

It was an innocent question, one he'd expected to be asked long before now. Still, the answer was a weakness, if only a small one. He leaned on his humor to dodge.

"Place was filthy." He took a quick sip of the tea as she gave him a knowing look, a glint in her eyes that told him she knew there was much more to his reasoning.

"I think you were lonely."

He carefully hid his surprise. One thing was for sure: she was perceptive and smart. She had the makings of a good ally.

Ally? He'd always only seen potential enemies, never friends. When had he started looking for an alliance? A partner?

"Any man would be lonely." SHe looked back at her feet, acting nonchalant, trying to understand the one who kept her here. Of course, she had no idea that she'd stumbled upon one of the greatest weaknesses he had.

In a momentary lapse of judgment, he said quietly, "I'm not a man."

Instantly, he regretted it. If she hadn't known about that chink in his armor, she would now. Why had he said it? The fear came back: he was losing control.

Still, he sat next to her on the table, knowing she wouldn't give up on her quest for information.

"So I've had a couple of months to look around, you know, and upstairs, in one of the rooms, there's clothing, small. As if for a child. Was it yours, or was there a son?"

Hearing those words, that question, brought memories flooding back. He saw the face of his son, smiling, his eye glowing with pride in his father. His son had always looked up to him, always seen the best in him, even when the best would never surpass his greatest shame. His son had been everything to him then, had been all he'd had. But things had changed. The smile slowly disappeared, his eyes began to darken with an unexplainable sorrow. And then, the boy had gone.

Suddenly, he realized that his defenses were crumbling. He knew then that he didn't want to keep his grief to himself anymore. And maybe, this creature he found himself with would be able to help him fill a void that had remained empty since he had lost his son.

"There was," he said, staring at the cup in his hands. "There was a son. I lost him, as I did his mother."

He'd told her more than he'd told anyone else, but he still couldn't bring himself to explain further. The wound was still sore, even after all these years, and her true motives were still a mystery.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly and he felt an unexpected comfort.

Her words were sincere.

"So you were a man once, an ordinary man?"

Once, yes. But no longer. That had been proven in far too many ways. He knew he was a beast, something darkly beyond human. Until earlier, he had been sure that he lacked a heart. Yet she had changed that, had woven a tiny thread of doubt into the truths he had grown to used to, despite his hatred of them.

The question she asked of him was one which would lead to a revelation about his nature, no matter how he answered. Once again, the walls were building themselves up. No, he could not reply.

"If I'm never going to know another person in my whole life, can't I at least know you?" She turned to look at him and he met her gaze. He saw in her eyes only kindness, though he searched for any sign of revulsion, hatred, anything that would prove she sought a weapon. there was only a tender compassion, and that confused him above all else.

"Perhaps," he answered, standing back up with a grin. "Perhaps you just want to learn the monster's weaknesses." He shook a finger at her as if scolding a child, and she gave him that look, the one that said he was being ridiculous, that she knew she was working her way to a place close to his heart in an effort to really understand.

"You're not a monster," she replied. "You think you're uglier than you are. It's why you cover all the mirrors up, isn't it?"

Once again, she'd observed something secret of his. How does she do it? he wondered. He felt the loss of control keenly.

Before he could answer, or even think of what to say, there was a great knock on the grand doors to the castle.

Silently, he left the dining hall and made his way to the entrance. With a wave of his hand, the thick doors opened, revealing a tall, dark-haired mass of a man. He recognized the visitor as her betrothed. The man held a blade trained on the master of the house and he began what must have been a well-rehearsed challenge. But the visitor was interrupting something that he now realized he hadn't wanted to end. He snapped his fingers and in a puff of smoke, the man had gone, replaced with a long-stemmed crimson rose.

Perfect.

With a coo of satisfaction, he returned to the dinging hall with the flower behind his back. She had been looking out the window and turned to him at the sound of the door. Once more, the light framed her face, made the ends of her auburn hair glow as if gilded.

"Who was it?"

"Just an old woman selling flowers."

"Oh." She nodded and looked at her feet.

So sweet, he thought, and revealed the rose.

"Here, if you'll have it."

There was something bright in her eyes as she accepted the flower, something he had seen only rarely and so long ago. Long before he had become who he was, before he had lost all that he had held dear.

"Why thank you," she said with a smile and a curtsy. He bowed and she wandered over to the toolbox. He was suddenly curious to know about her, to really understand her as she tried to understand him.

"You had a life, before this." he gestured to the castle, to himself. "What made you choose to come here with me?"

She stood and walked over to the cupboard that held a few of his less-important items.

"Heroism. Sacrifice." She pulled out a case as she answered him. He sat in the chair at the head of the table. "You know, there aren't a lot of opportunities for women in this realm to really show what they can do, to see the world, to be heroes. So when you arrived, that was my chance." She came back to the table and snipped the end of the rose so it would fit in the vase. "I always wanted to be brave, and I figured, do the brave thing and bravery would follow."

He observed her as she spoke, watching her movements and letting her words sink into his thoughts. He recognized her as a brave soul, one who understood that fate was decided by one's own choices. He then knew that she harbored no ill will towards him and he asked another question.

"And is it everything you hoped?"

She laughed as she set the vase in the center of the table and sat on the edge next to it. "Well, I had wanted to see the world. That part didn't really work out," she added conspiratorially, smiling. "But I did get to save my village."

Here was a woman who thought little of herself, her mind and heart for others. How had he come by such a magnificent person? Another question nagged at his thoughts.

"And your betrothed?" He carefully avoided looking at the rose.

At this, she showed not a flicker of regret. She even smiled almost knowingly, as if she understood why he asked. He was beginning to doubt that she couldn't read his thoughts.

"It was an arranged marriage. Honestly, I never really cared much for him. To me, love is layered. Love is a mystery to be uncovered." The way her eyes lit up when she spoke of love told him that she yearned to find it for herself. It was something important to her, the one thing she thought of for herself. To her, it was a way to define people by: how they loved. He found that her perception of these things was fascinating to him. "I could never truly give my heart to someone as superficial as he," she concluded.

They both lost themselves in thought for  a few moments. Then she shook herself and said, "But you were going to tell me about your son."

In that moment, he could feel the walls come crashing down. There was nothing now to keep him from revealing everything. But as much as he did want her to know the truth about him, if only to free himself from this lie of a life, he knew it would be a burden for her. This kind, selfless soul would only worry, hurt for him. And he knew that out of everything, the one thing he could never allow himself to do was cause her pain.

Yet he could feel her spirit as she spoke to him. She was meant to be free, letting herself fly through the world. And he was keeping her here, holding her back. How could he think of not causing her pain while he hurt her by keeping her imprisoned? He knew in that moment that even if all the windows were opened, all the curtains put away, she she would never feel the freedom she had once wished, still wished, to experience.

He knew then that it was time to stop thinking of himself. All these years, he'd survived, advanced, and slipped more and more from the rest of humanity by thinking selfishly. And until now, it had helped him. He had thought. Yet here was a person who had gone her whole life thinking only of others and she was the most magnificent thing he'd seen. She proved to him that living for oneself was not the only way to be happy. She had given up her family, friends, and privileged life for the lives of her people, and she still laughed easily, smiled brightly. He felt a hunger for that kind of joy.

He then thought for someone other than himself.

"I'll tell you what," he said. "I'll make you a deal. Go to town and fetch me some straw." He saw the surprise and then confusion flicker through her eyes. She as wondering if this was a trick. He continued. "When you come back, I'll tell you my tale."

She was silent for a second, incredulousness painted on her features.

"Wait," she said, taking deep breaths. "Town? You trust me to come back?"

Here was a chance to continue in the games he'd played for a long while. Or, he could reveal his sincerity. He wanted her to know the truth of his words, his intentions. He was struck with the urge to prove to her that he had the capability to reach beyond the cruelty that she must have come to expect from him through rumors. He told her the truth.

"Oh no. I expect I'll never see you again."

Author's Note

I noticed while looking through a bunch of fan fictions for Rumbelle that absolutely none of them are from Rumplestiltskin's point of view. Considering the fact that his emotions and history are much more complex and deep than Belle's, I thought this was a mar in the world of obsessive fangirls. So I fixed it. I mainly want to know if I really pulled off a very deep thought process along with confusing internal changes in the way Rumple sees Belle and the way he's lived his life.

Reviews

[MoriartyMesa]

I enjoy the view of an old fairy tale character like little Rumbelle, but I enjoyed how you did not force any point or try to make anyone less than what they appeared, they came to life on their own.