The Ensnared

Written by: Adventure-Seeking-Juliet

When: During my posting ban from ff...

Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time...or any of the characters.

A/N AU, Belle and Rumpelstiltskin are both prisoners of a powerful monarch, who is out to destroy all of those who will one day seek to destroy her. In their cruel prison, the only hope that keeps them going are the notes they write to one another, through the stone walls.

I was inspired to write this fic by V for Vendetta. The plot is not a thing like the movie( or graphic novels...or whatever.) The only thing I borrowed was the "passing notes between prisoners" idea. On another note, I love that movie.

Chapter One

The lack of light in the dungeon produced an environment consumed with stale air and a foul stench.

Though Belle could not see much of her prison, she could feel the layers of grime covering the stone floors. Late in the night, she could hear the rustling of bugs and rats as they finished the rotting food she had left unfinished from the day before.

She had been locked in the prison for weeks, causing her heart to grow heavy with the burden of a life she no longer lived. She had once been a princess, helping her father plan wars, dancing with knights...

She had taken so much of her life for granted. She ran away from her responsibilities so that she could sword fight. She left her needlework to the moths while she read her favorite adventure stories...

Then the Ogre Wars reached the kingdom. Everything changed then.

No matter how well the battles were planned, no matter how much money her father spent, nothing could stop the Ogres. They destroyed everything in their way.

And her home, her life, had been right in the middle of their path.

The Ogres had demolished her home, leaving nothing in tact, not even the stone walls of the castle.

But to the surprise of all, the Ogres had spared the lives of the royal family and the advisers. Belle had not, and still did not, know for sure why her life was spared.

Why her life, but not the life of her people?

However, once the Ogres had separated her from her father and transported her to a faraway dungeon, Belle began to understand what was happening.

She had been tied up and blindfolded during her journey, but Belle knew the feel of a castle. The Ogres had transported her to a dungeon in the belly of a huge palace...but Ogres do not own palaces.

They destroy kingdoms, they do not live in them.

Belle could only figure that the Ogres were working for someone, whether they were being controlled by magic or chose to aide a faraway king of their own free will, she did not know.

All Belle knew was that she was important enough to be spared the fate of becoming a meal for a hungry Ogre.

But not important enough to be spared the from the terrible confines of a dark dungeon.

All Belle knew was that she was not alone in her prison, she could hear the mournful sounds of the other prisoners at all times of the day and night. Some of them would scream. Others would cry.

Every once in a while, the reek of rotting flesh let her know that one of her fellow inmates had succumbed to the inevitable.

But, Belle did not know what had happened to her father. Or to her friends. She was sure they were not trapped in the prison with her...she would have recognized their voices.

She could only hope they were somewhere safe. It was her only thought as she fell asleep at night. It was her only thought as she ate. It was only thought that mattered.

So, it was with the weariness of a caged bird that Belle woke up on what she thought to be her sixty-second day in the dungeon.

There was a bowl of gruel and a moldy slice of bread awaiting her when she woke up. She quickly ate the bread, despite the awful taste, but left the gruel on the floor. She did not think she could stomach thin mush for the sixth day in a row.

Something was different about her sixty-second day in captivity, though. There was something new to inspect.

There was a new sound- one she knew quite well.

It was the sound of a pen scratching on paper.

When she had been a rebellious princess, locked in the castle, Belle had busied herself not only with reading, but with writing as well. She had spent many a late night listening to the sound of her writing instrument teasing the strange fabric of the paper as she wrote her own stories about daring princesses and knights in distress...

She crept along the wall to her left, where the sound seemed to be strongest. She knew nothing about the prisoner situated to her left. She had never heard the person talk. Or scream. Or cry.

She had always been curious about her fellow inmates, but never so curious as when she heard the sound of the writing.

The prisoners were not permitted to speak to one another, but Belle could not help herself," Hello?"

Her voice came out scratchy and strained, but to her luck, none of the guards heard her.

But the only reply to her question was a slight pause in the scratching of the pen.

Then the writing resumed like nothing had happened.

Belle couldn't help but feel disappointed. She had hoped to find some way to communicate with someone... or at least some way to pass the time. Sitting in the same cell day after day, with nothing to look at but the darkness and faint outline of stone walls was driving her mad...

But, Belle was a patient soul, so with a sigh of desperation, she forced herself to go back to sleep. If the other prisoner did not want to speak to her, then he didn't have to.

When she awoke a few hours later, the sun had risen outside the dungeon, shedding a slight bit of light on her surroundings. Belle had come to relate the lighter portion of the day with noontime. That was when her cage seemed to be the brightest.

Which is how, by some miracle of the noontime light, Belle happened to see the small piece of yellow paper sticking out of a tiny hole in the wall.

Her first reaction was to laugh, but she dared not let the guards notice her, so she merely smiled.

Belle gently plopped down on the stone floor and slid the paper out, wincing when it made a scratchy sound against the rock.

She searched around nervously, making sure she wasn't being watched, then, opened the folded square of paper.

There, written in a sprawling curve of letters, were the words: My name is Rumpelstiltskin. Who are you?

Belle smiled, hopelessly happy at the idea of knowing the name of one of the fellow prisoners. In her excitement, she had already planned her answer. It was only when her empty fingers touched the paper, that she realized she still had no pen. Or quill. Or pencil.

Clearing her throat, ever so lightly, she asked," Pen?"

Once again, there was no apparent response, but a second later, a black fountain pen was shoved through the hole.

Belle grinned," Thank you."

There was a grunt on the other side of the wall, which Belle could only guess was meant to shut her up. If the guards heard her, she would be forced to become quiet.

Belle considered her answer for a moment. Paper was a precious substance in the prison. As was ink. She would hate to waste both with her endless questions...

So, she wrote only: I am Belle. It is nice to have met you, Rumpelstiltskin.

Her writing looked childish next to his...but Belle was too happy to berate herself for her child-like hand. She set the note and the pen back in the hole, anxiously awaiting a response.

She listened as for a few precious minutes, she could hear the sound of the writing once more, then the note re-appeared in the hole.

She was quicker about removing it this time, and she held the pen tightly in her fist, awaiting her chance to reply once again.

I would hardly call this a nice meeting, dearie. How did you come to be in this house of nightmares?

Belle stared down at the paper, clenching and un-clenching the pen in her hand. She was at a loss for how to answer his query. How does one explain the horror of being stripped of her only family and carried to a far off land by Ogres to a complete stranger...in a few lines?

She could hear the rustle on the other side of the wall, a sound she had come to associate with the movement of old clothes against stone. It was nice to know Rumpelstiltskin was as restless as she...it was nice to know she wasn't alone in her need to talk to someone who could understand her.

I was a princess in a far off land. Ogres attacked our kingdom...destroying everything. Only my father, our loyal advisers, and myself were spared. I was separated from my only family to be brought here. I wish I knew why, but I do not. How did you come to be here?

Belle quietly slid the paper back, sniffling. Tears were pricking at her eyes, making her feel like a silly little girl. She had spent weeks being strong...she had barely made a sound until today. She hated to feel weak.

This time, the sound of the writing was sped up, as though Rumpelstiltskin was writing the note in haste. Within a minute, he had passed the letter back to her.

I am but an old and poor spinner. My only family, my son, was taken from me when I was sent here. I do not know why I was chosen for this, either, but please, do not cry Belle. You and I are ensnared in this terrible trap together. So, we shall find a way home, to our families, together. I am sure of it.

Belle smiled, using the back of her hand to wipe at her eyes. It was somehow funny to know that Rumpelstiltskin had recognized the sounds of her cries, when she had never before cried in front of him.

His kind words gave her hope, but she feared he only wrote them to alleviate her pain.

I hope you are right, Rumpelstiltskin.

She heard the thunder of boots descending the stairs into the basement, and hastily stuck the pen and paper in the hole, praying her new friend had sense enough to leave the letter alone while the guards inspected them.

But, despite her worry, Belle was smiling, now she had another thought to occupy her time. No longer would her night be spent thinking of her lost family...

Instead, she could think about Rumpelstiltskin... and his conviction that they would be able to escape.

A/N Probably the longest start I've written for a Rumbelle story...but I'm trying to be a better writer, so perhaps that is a good thing? Let me know, with a review!