April Showers

Belle peered out the windows of the Dark Castle, delighted to see the first signs of spring come to the Dark Mountains after the long harsh winter. The last of the snow was melting off the peaks and the streams had thawed and all over the land the grass was turning green and the trees growing new leaves. Belle had not felt the need to go outside much during the winter, as it was cold enough to freeze a witch's heart, as the saying went, and her master informed her in no uncertain terms that if she caught her death from acting like a foolish child it was her own fault.

Though the next day she had discovered a magenta cape trimmed with ermine and a matching muff at the foot of her bed. Here's some winter wear. Because if you die, then who will I have to clean the castle?—R

Another woman might have been offended by the note's crusty tone, but Belle was slowly getting used to her beastly master and his gruff overtures. He had, after all, caught her when she had fallen off the ladder opening the drapes when she might have fallen to her death. And despite all of his grumbling and growling, he had never harmed her, not even when she had mistakenly washed his leather pants in hot water and shrunk them.

She had feared she was going to end up crawling through the garden as a slug for that little error, but instead he had taken one look at them, muttered something about an orphan home donation, and then proceeded to give her a lecture on washing clothes that could have put a housekeeper to shame. Shocked, she had stood gaping, until he had put his finger under her chin and shut her mouth, saying, "Now don't gape, dearie, you might be mistaken for a frog."

"But . . .but . . .where did you learn how to do laundry? I mean, you're the Dark One!"

"I wasn't always. Once I was just a spinner . . .and I needed to wash my clothes the same as anyone else," he replied. "And you never soak leather in hot water, dearie. Remember?"

"Yes, Rumple."

She was just glad he hadn't seen the other thing she had done. Maybe she still had time to fix it.

Until he looked towards where she had the clothesline hung in the back garden and several articles of clothing were flapping in the stiff breeze. Then his mouth gaped open.

"Belle! Is that my—my—"

"Underwear?"

"It is! And why is it—"

"Pink?"

He fixed her with a scowl that could have sent a dragon scurrying for cover.

Belle gave him a guilty little grin. "I . . .err . . .forgot they got mixed up with your red tunic and yellow one. I'm sorry, Rumple. I was going to fix it . . ."

He slapped a hand to his forehead. Then he snapped his fingers and a container with a clear liquid appeared. "Here. Use this. Soak it for thirty minutes, then rinse it in hot water."

"What is it? A magic potion?" she asked, her eyes alight with curiosity. In all these months she had yet to see him perform any magic.

"Yes, dearie. It's the magical color changing potion known to all good maids as—bleach!" He gestured with a flourish, giggling. "But do pay attention to the warning label." He pointed to a small sticker with the picture of a skull and crossbones. "It's lethal if swallowed. Been the death of many a toddler. So don't drink it. Or get it in your eyes or snort it. You'll go blind or pass out. And I'm not picking you up off the floor, got me?"

"Yes, Rumple."

He nodded in satisfaction. Then he turned and picked up the book off the table she had been reading. "Less reading more scrubbing." He snapped, then he walked away, muttering, "What did I hire here—a maid or a librarian?" He opened the book as he was leaving, reading the first page aloud.

"When in April the sweet showers fall
And pierce the drought of March to the root, and all
The veins are bathed in liquor of such power
As brings about the engendering of the flower,
When also Zephyrus with his sweet breath
Exhales an air in every grove and heath
Upon the tender shoots, and the young sun
His half-course in the sign of the Ram has run,
And the small fowl are making melody
That sleep away the night with open eye
(So nature pricks them and their heart engages) . . ."

Belle looked forlornly after her master, holding the bottle of bleach, and regretted that now she would never find out what happened to a certain bawdy wife. And peddlers trading books and stopping outside the Dark Castle were few and far between.

Now however, spring had finally arrived, and Belle was excited to go outside and see the changes the season had wrought. To begin with, she threw open the windows in the great room, letting in draughts of fresh air redolent with the smell of honeysuckle, violets, camellias, buttercups, and of course roses.

The heady fragrance drifted to her nostrils, filling her with a sudden bout of spring fever. Half drunk on the sensations of warm breezes, sunlight, and fresh flowers, Belle held out her arms and spun around in front of the window, as the birds chirped from the trees and perched upon the mermaid fountain.

"What's this? You practicing for the annual May ring dance?" the master of the castle queried.

Belle stopped twirling and put a hand to her heart. "Oh! It's you, Rumple!"

"You were expecting someone else? Like your dashing fiancé, Gaston?" he demanded tartly.

Belle wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Gaston? Uh—no! I'd sooner dance with a bear. Or kiss a frog. Any of them would be an improvement."

"Then he's not your true love?"

Belle nearly choked. "Gaston? The only true love he has is his mirror. Papa only arranged my marriage to him because we were going broke. And he wanted to see me taken care of before we were invaded."

"How nice. Marry your only daughter off to a narcissistic bounder and hope his money can make up for treating her like a piece of furniture," Rumple snorted. "Now there's filial consideration for you. He deserves a medal."

The sarcastic bite in his voice could have cut glass.

"Well . . .he thought he was doing the right thing . . ."

Rumple rolled his eyes. "That's a nice epitaph for your tombstone. He thought he was doing the right thing . . till she died of neglect and a broken heart . . ."

"What would you have done then?" she demanded belligerently.

"Any man that wanted to marry my daughter . . .would have to pass a few tests . . .and if he emerged alive . . .would have to face me." He crossed his arms over his chest. "And then he'd have to ask her properly, and win her approval. Then and only then . . .would he be able to marry her."

Belle giggled. "I thought you'd have said you would lock her away in a tower."

He yawned. "That's so overdone. Besides, it's more fun to watch the poor sod struggle to climb Glass Mountain. Or run a gauntlet. Or dodge the three headed dragon Yggdrasil." He smirked wickedly.

"Rumplestiltskin, you're terrible."

"Really, dearie? You only just figured that out?" He quirked a brow at her.

Immediately she feared she had hurt his feelings. "I mean . . .you'd be terribly overprotective," she amended.

"Trying to spare my feelings?" he asked sharply. "You forget, I'm the Dark One."

"That doesn't mean you don't have feelings," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"No matter," he waved her apology away. "I've heard worse." What did you expect? You're a monster.

She dropped her eyes to her shoes and then saw the corner of her book peeking out from his vest pocket. "So what do you think of my book?"

"What book?" he asked innocently.

"The one in your pocket."

"This? Not bad. Better than I expected."

"What tale are you up to?"

"Sorry, dearie. No time for chitchat right now. I have deals to make, potions to brew, straw to spin, destinies to alter, an idiot shepherd to reunite with a snoring princess, and a pathetic pirate's vengeful heart to crush. I'm swamped."

Her face fell. She had hoped to find some common ground for them to meet upon, something interesting she could discuss with him. "Oh. I just thought—"

"We can have the bookclub discussion later. In the meantime, why don't you go beat some rugs or polish the candlesticks?" Then he vanished in a puff of purple smoke.

"Humph! I'd like to beat you!" she huffed. Sometimes her master could be so irritating! Then she turned back to the window, gulping in great breaths of the flower-laden air.

The smell of spring caused her bad mood to evaporate, and she decided that the place was a little dingy . . .and broody . . .and altogether lacking in some much needed spring color. She peered out the window again.

There was a profusion of blooms just waiting to be gathered. Maybe if she brought some flowers into the castle, Rumple would quit being so gloomy and brooding and acting like a grouchy beast.

She went and got a long basket and some pruning shears from the closet.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Rumplestiltskin returned from his latest meeting with that dolt Charming, wondering if he had been dropped on his head as a baby, because surely no one could be that stupid unless an accident had occurred and his brains had dribbled out onto the floor. Maybe I need to write a manual—How An Idiot Captures An Evil Queen. Rule #1—find a giant squid. Rule #2—do NOT inform the famine stricken villagers Rule #3—make calamari after you've gathered the ink Rule #4—read all of the above . . . He rubbed a hand across his eyes. Is it just me or has the hero population become stupider in the last century? Must be getting old . . .because they sure don't make them like they used to.

His foot stepped upon something.

He looked down.

And saw a purple flower petal.

"Huh?" he bent and picked it up. "Wisteria."

It was then that he noticed a trail of blossoms . . .going into the drawing room.

As he walked towards them he saw another trail of yellow ones going towards the kitchen.

Some pink and red rose petals drifted down the stairs.

What in seven hells?

He opened the door to the drawing room, and found the wisteria blossoms leading to a huge pottery vase from the kingdom of Shang Yze, where they had been arranged in a purple profusion on his good table.

On a smaller table was another vase, this one of handblown glass, filled with wildflowers.

His eyes bugging out, he ran into the kitchen.

There upon the kitchen table was a squat copper bowl with water lilies floating upon some water. He put a hand to his mouth. That's my Seeing bowl!

A bunch of straw had been bundled up, and in the middle of it was a bunch of buttercups, pinks, and bluebells. It was hung above the door way leading to the rear yard.

Rumple sniffed. Then he sneezed.

Damned wildflowers! What on earth had possessed Belle? I've heard of spring fever, but this is ridiculous!

Everywhere he looked, there were flowers.

There were tulips in the foyer, in a wooden shoe from an old woman who'd had too many children.

In the great room by the hearth there was a basket of heather, their lavender blooms making him think of the highland meadows he had often explored with Bae, before the portal had pulled him away forever.

Hyacinths and petunias graced a tall marble vase in the corner, and a grapevine wreath interwoven with morning glories, mountain crocuses, and snapdragons hung over the mantle.

Even his wheel bore a small climbing rose of a delicate white with gold edging the leaves and a blue center.

Not only that but there was also a trellis against the wall and more vines with huge red and yellow flowers were climbing up it!

His eyes bugging out, he ran upstairs and found more flowers in all of the rooms. Every kind of flower that grew in the soil beside his castle had been arranged in various receptacles until he felt as if he had entered the inner sanctum of a fairy bower.

He sneezed explosively.

Achoo!

Sniffling, he wiped his nose on a red handkerchief.

He strode down the hall, his boots tapping out a warning rhythm.

Belle was in what used to be a music room, there was an old black pianoforte gathering dust. She had run a rag around and polished it and now she was about to set some lovely red, purple, and gold roses in a vase with some odd runes on the sides.

"Stop!" he yelled just as she was about to remove the plain cork stopper in the top.

She nearly dropped the vase on the floor.

"What? Oh, Rumple! I was just—"

"-about to release a nasty little ifreet from that bottle. What in the gods' name are you doing?"

"You said to do some spring cleaning. So I decided to go out and cut some flowers and brighten up the castle." She sniffed the air. "See? Now it doesn't smell so . . .fusty in here. Like a tomb."

"This is the Dark Castle, dearie, not some fairy bower!" he sputtered. "People expect finger bones and scalp locks and severed heads on the walls, not wisteria and ivy and heavens know what else!"

"You kept severed heads on the wall?" Belle looked ill.

"Uh no, it was one head, that of the giant Mimir, he was enchanted and he spouted one wise saying a day. But then a wandering beggar with one eye came along and made a deal with me for him, so he's gone now." Rumple said dismissively.

"Thank the gods!"

"But you get the picture. I have a reputation to uphold. No one will take me seriously if I say, welcome to the Dark Castle and show them into a room and say have a seat and by the way, how do you like my hearts and flowers arrangement? The name's Rumplestiltskin not Rhodanthe, dearie."

"It's spring time, Rumple! Can't you feel it? A time of renewal and grace and new life."

"I feel a headache coming on," he grumbled. Then he sneezed again.

Belle's eyes narrowed. Her master looked oddly . . . discomfited by the flowers. "Rumple, are you sick?"

"Me?" he gestured at himself. "Don't be ridiculous! I'm an imp, we don't get sick."

As if to belie his words, he sneezed again rapidly. Achoo! Achoo!

His maid frowned. "Sounds like a cold to me. Maybe you ought to lie down."

Irritated, Rumple was about to refuse, but suddenly his eyes were watering and his nose dripping like a leaky faucet. He didn't know how this was happening. He hadn't gotten sick since taking the curse three centuries ago!

"I think you're coming down with something."

His eyes flashed. He opened his mouth to retort with one of usual sarcastic rejoinders when he was interrupted by another spate of sneezing.

Pressing his handkerchief to his face, he stalked from the room, retreating to the one place there were no flowers—his bedroom.

Once he was there he mopped his watering eyes with a cold towel, noting how red they were in the small hand held mirror he had on his dresser, the one mirror that Regina could not see him in because he had made it of impenetrable glass. He stuck out his tongue. Was it a little paler than usual?

He sniffed experimentally. His nose definitely felt stuffed up.

He blew it, relieving some of the pressure in his sinuses.

Then he flopped down on his bed. Dealing with idiots was probably what had caused this unusual problem.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

Belle remained with the last bunch of flowers in her hands standing in the middle of the music room floor. She found a large brass pot and put the flowers in them with some water, thinking that somehow everything she tried to do lately seemed wrong. Or at least it annoyed Rumple.

Then she thought of his rather unusual spate of sneezing. If imps couldn't get colds, then what could have caused it? She considered carefully and recalled a time when her father's valet, an older man, used to be stricken with sneezing, watery eyes, and coughing every time he encountered a cat. He had said he was allergic to the cat's fur.

Could that be Rumplestiltskin's problem? Did he have an allergy to some flower she had brought into the castle?

But surely he would have known?

Puzzled she went and decided to make tea for him, figuring it would soothe him and serve as a kind of peace offering.

Rumple turned over when he heard the soft tapping at his door. He sat up, still feeling rather muzzy, and called, "Come in."

Belle entered with a small tea tray, saying, "I made you some tea with honey and lemon. It's good for soothing sore throats. I've also brought you some beef barley soup. Do you feel any better?"

"A little," he allowed.

As she placed the tray next to his bed, she asked, "Have you ever been . . . allergic to flowers of any kind, Rumple?"

He looked thoughtful. "Not that I recall. But as a boy I did suffer from attacks of sneezing and itchy watery eyes when the beginning of summer came. My papa always said I would grow out of it, and I suppose I did, though occasionally I would get bouts of sneezing when they harvested grain or something. Why?"

"Because maybe that . . .sensitivity didn't go away like you thought. Maybe you're still allergic to flowers." Belle postulated.

"I'm the Dark One!" he cried, aghast. "I can't be allergic to flowers!"

"But you weren't always," she argued. "And who's to say that this curse makes you totally free of mortal susceptibilities? I mean it's not like you could ask the previous Dark Ones, they're all dead."

"Dead and in hell, yes. And even if I could, they'd never give me a straight answer. They'd lie to cover up the fact that they weren't totally immortal." The imp sighed. Then he blew his nose again.

"Is it better up here, away from the flowers?" she queried gently.

"Yes, I don't feel as congested. And my eyes don't itch," he admitted.

"Maybe I'll just get rid of them," she said mournfully. All that hard work come to nothing. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sick. I just wanted to brighten up the castle."

That was what he would have said a few days ago. But now . . .he felt oddly discomforted seeing her so distressed. "Belle," he said, his voice softer than usual. "This . . .thing I have . . .is not your fault. How could you know I'm—" he grimaced at saying the word like someone forced to take ill-tasting medicine. "—allergic to flowers if I didn't realize it myself? And perhaps . . .it's not all the flowers I'm allergic to, but only a specific kind?"

"Do you recall if there were any you used to feel sick with as a child?" she asked hopefully, relieved that he wasn't going to start shouting at her for trying to assassinate him with a chrysanthemum.

"Umm . . .that was a long time ago," he groaned. "No . . .I don't."

She tapped her forefinger against her chin. "Well, I could bring up flowers one by one and see your reaction to them. But I wouldn't want to make you sick just to test a theory. Perhaps there's a book I can find about flowers and allergies?"

"Go look in my study. I have several books on plants." He sneezed again. "In the meanwhile, I'll drink this and rest."

Belle rose. "Feel better, Rumple." She hurried from the room, intent on her mission and determined to succeed.

Rumple waited for the door to shut before pulling the small book from his vest pocket and beginning to read where he had left off. He smirked as he read, thinking he wouldn't have thought his prim little maid a fan of reading such a book that had such an earthy tone to it. Not that the book was in any way explicit with details, but there was a certain bawdy and lewd humor in it regarding certain people and sexual congress.

Especially from a certain widow.

Smothering a giggle, he dived back into the tale, as it made him forget his misery.

Page~*~*~*~Break

After several hours of reading three large herbals, Belle thought she had narrowed it down to a few offending plants. It was difficult, however, because some authors merely provided descriptions of the flowers and what they could be used for and not any kind of side effects. But she luckily found one herbal where the author, a noted botanist, had suffered from some types of pollen allergies, and had noted which plants seemed to produce more pollen than others. The pollen was released by the female of the plant species, and was how plants propitiated.

She giggled, wondering how Rumple would react to learning he was allergic to a female flower.

She carried the herbal back into the bedroom and showed Rumple, who had stuffed the book he'd been reading aside and cleared his throat, sipping his tea calmly. "Look! I found something that could help. This says that if a person suffers from the following symptoms when exposed to chaff and the air in early spring and summer they may be allergic to pollen produced by several plants, including these flowers-chrysanthemum, daisy, goldenrod, amaranth . . ."

"You have any of those around the castle, dearie?"

"Uh . . ." she thought for a moment. Then she recalled that she had placed a large bunch of daisies into a vase in the music room before trying to place the roses in the stoppered urn. "Yes. I'll go get rid of them. And a few others."

"Good. Because the last thing I need is to be sneezing all over like a waterfall," he said with relief. Then he waved a finger at her. "And remember, this is our little secret, mind. If I hear one rumor about it . . .you'll be hearing about the leather pants incident at the market."

"Rumplestiltskin!" she blushed. Though it had been an honest mistake, she knew the gossips in the village wouldn't take it that way. They'd assume the worst.

"Just warning you," he smirked.

"I promise, I'll never tell," she vowed. "Now I' d best be getting the flowers removed."

"Damned flowers!" he groused.

"Rumple, everyone has a weakness," she consoled him.

"I already have one," he snapped.

"Most people have more than one. I know I do."

He pouted. "I'm not supposed to."

She tilted her head at him. "You know, having weaknesses makes you more human."

"Being helpless was what got me into this position!" he growled.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I became the Dark One to save my son! Or do they forget that part of the tale now?" he scowled sharply.

"No . . I never knew that? You had a son?"

"Yes, long ago."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, suddenly becoming defensive. "He's gone and that's all you need to know." Damned girl and her infernal curiosity and questions. "But I didn't start out a monster, dearie. I was spinner first, and crippled and unable to protect my boy when the duke's men came for him and tried to drag him off to fight the ogres. When grown men failed, they sent children to die!" Veins stood out in sharp relief on his skin. "But I could do nothing. I was helpless. Until I became the Dark One. Then I brought the children home again and stopped the war and the killing. But that's the part the history books leave out, isn't it?" he demanded acidly. "Because they can't let the truth be known—that it wasn't the Dark One sacrificing their children—it was their heroic duke! And the monster saved the children! But we can't let that be known. And so it is forgotten. By everyone except me."

Belle looked down at her hands. She knew that was true. Because she hadn't known about that little detail of the Second Ogre War, and she had always been a keen student of history. "They say—they say the war ended by a treaty or something," she murmured, ashamed.

"A treaty? Really, dearie? And who wrote it?"

"They don't say."

"No, but it's assumed the good duke did," Rumple sneered. "Little do they know the duke wasn't even at the battlefield, he was up at his castle playing slap and tickle and hide-the-sausage with his latest light-o-love! That's how much ending the war matter to him. But unlike that pompous noble ass, I keep my promises. I promised my son that I would save the children, save all those boys and girl dying for something they didn't even believe in, cannon fodder, while the noble knights tossed dice to bet on which child would last the day. Oh, didn't know that little detail did you? Another omission, because the ugly truth can't be known, it must be covered up with lies. Until now only I know what actually happened, because I'm the only one alive that was there, and not spoonfed the fake account of the duke's historians."

Belle wasn't sure whether to be horrified that such details, as he put it, had been overlooked, or wanting to punch the smug historians who had recorded such lies in the face. She could see that Rumple was not lying, his eyes met hers squarely and they shimmered with emotion, indignation and rage that turned his amber eyes almost feral, and he didn't pause or sound like he was reciting anything either. She thought of the old phrase, "in wine, truth."

Perhaps she might also say that of her master with his tea in his chipped cup.

Abruptly Rumple's tirade ended when he started sneezing again.

Belle handed him another handkerchief. "Maybe you haven't gotten over your attack yet?" she surmised.

He snuffled into the cloth, his eyes narrowing over the monogrammed blue square. "You wouldn't be baking fun of be, now would you?" he coughed, his speech coming out stuffy and garbled.

"Me?" she put a hand to her heart in mock-dismay.

"Yes!" he nodded, wiping his eyes.

She thought he looked oddly endearing, like a small boy suffering from a bad head cold, and she stifled another giggle, because he would be mightily affronted if he could read her mind and learn how she thought of the Dark One. "You just stay here and rest while I go and remove the flowers," she said practically. "I'm sure you'll feel much better once they're gone."

Involuntarily, she reached out and brushed a curl of dark hair from his eyes, unable to resist touching it.

He froze under her delicate touch. No woman had touched him like that since . . .he couldn't even remember . . .perhaps when he was a small boy the spinsters had stroked his hair . . .but not since then. Milah had not been given to such gestures . . .

Belle saw his eyes widen, and they reminded her of a startled puppy's, uncertain whether the hand that patted it behind the ears meant it harm or not. Her heart went out to him then, as she saw for perhaps the second time, that there was a man behind the golden scales and impish giggle, a lonely man who was the only one who remembered the truth of the history written in the time of her ancestors, a man who had been beaten down by circumstances and cruelty, and who had taken a desperate gamble, only to have it turn upon him horribly.

She continued to stroke his hair back from his face, her cerulean eyes never leaving his.

Finally he said, still sniffling, "What do ye think I ab? Sobe kind of stray dog?"

She laughed then, unable to help herself. "If you are, you're the most scruffy and cute stray I've ever laid eyes on!"

Then she gasped.

So did he.

They stared at each other for the drawing of several breaths before Rumple regained his power of speech, sort of.

"You think I'm cute?"

Belle nodded, for hers had deserted her. Then blushing like a sunset, she turned and hurried from the room. "I'll just go finish removing the daisies and so on."

As she shut the door, Rumple gazed at his chipped cup and whispered in amazement. "She thinks I'm cute!"

Then he sneezed again, and mopped his streaming eyes.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Belle gathered up the vase with the daises and the other ones with chrysanthemums and a few others she thought might create pollen with how they were speckling the floor with their petals and carried them outside and put them in the field where she had picked them.

"I'm sorry, but you can't remain indoors, since Rumple's allergic to you. So you'll have to be enjoyed out here. At least the deer will be happy."

She knelt to set the bunches of flowers down in the meadow, but as she stood up, she heard something crying. Turning, she saw a flicker of movement in the grass beside the first bunch of daisies she had put down.

"Oh!"

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Rumple blew his nose for the fifth-or was it twenty-fifth—time, and tossed the handkerchief alongside the pile of them he'd been amassing since Belle had left around two hours ago. One of the worst things was that these allergies made him unable to concentrate enough to really use his magic, so he was stuck languishing in bed, on his last cup of tea since the teapot was now empty, and he was almost done reading about the shenanigans of the carpenter's wife and the ass-kissing suitor, and laughing in the middle of honking like a bloody donkey.

I really should thank Belle for this amusing little book, he thought. It's served to pass the time admirably while I'm stuck here in bed.

He found his room was slightly stuffy, and he didn't dare open the window for fear more pollen would blow in the casement and set him off worse than he already was. He wondered why he was still having symptoms—didn't they ever bloody stop? Then he looked down at his clothing and saw some telltale white specks.

Hells bells! No wonder I'm still running like a river in a March thaw! I have pollen on my clothes!

He rose and stripped off his clothing, washed himself in the basin, and then pulled on fresh clothes. He waved a hand over the sheets, cleaning them too, and then lay back down, tired from even that little bit of exertion.

He fell asleep with the book over his nose.

He woke abruptly as Belle entered the room to fetch the tea tray, and the book tumbled off his face to fall on to the pillow next to him.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" she asked solicitously.

"No, I wasn't really sleeping," he said quickly.

"Your eyes were closed."

"I can be awake and have my eyes closed," he argued.

She snorted. "You probably needed the nap."

"Dearie, please take the clothes in the corner as well as the tray when you leave. I got some pollen on them and it was making me sneeze."

"Oh. Of course," she went to get them, and as she bent down, what he thought was a hair bow suddenly raised its head and meeped at him.

"Seven hells!" he cried in shock. "Belle, where did you get a draconis?"

She stood up so fast the tiny winged dragon nearly fell out of her hair.

"EEEPP!" it shrieked and dug its claws into her head.

"Oww!" she yelled, and the little creature hissed and flapped its golden wings.

"Easy, dearie. You're scaring her," Rumple said, and came and gently detached the frightened draconis from his maid's head.

The little creature, which resembled her huge cousins thought in a more delicate fashion, crawled up his arm and perched on his shoulder. "Mmmrrr!"

"Hey there," Rumple said, scratching her inbetween her tiny horns.

The draconis rubbed her head along his hand, emitting tiny rumbling noises similar to a kitten purring.

"Is that what she's called?" Belle asked. "I found her hiding in the shrub bed."

"She's a celestial draconis, I can tell that from the color of her scales," Rumple said, going to sit down again on the bed. "Indigo and gold are how celestials are colored. They are rare draconis, and are hardly ever found in these mountains due to the scarcity of their favorite food . . .they live off of the nectar of certain mountain flowers."

As he spoke, his hand was gently stroking the tiny dragon.

She was colored a deep indigo from snout to tail, though her wings, horns, and neck ridges were a shimmering gold color. Her large eyes were a light amber, and she was about a foot long, her wings were nearly that long, though they were folded along her sides. She had four claws on each of her four feet and a long tail that curled loosely about Rumple's shoulder.

Belle came to admire the tiny creature. "She's lovely. But she seemed lost or sad. Can we keep her?"

Rumple looked vastly amused. "No one keeps a draconis, dearie. They're highly intelligent and can use magic. They choose to stay with you."

"Can they breathe fire like the big ones?"

"Some can, but a celestial draconis can breathe magical energy bolts . . . which can have different effects, or so I've read. This one, though seems a trifle young."

"You mean she's a baby?"

"Yes. She will be twice this size when she's fully grown."

The draconis cocked her head and meeped at him.

"What?"

She nudged him. "Mrrrreep!"

"Oh, very well, Your Ladyship!" he resumed his petting.

The draconis settled happily in the crook of his arm.

Belle smiled. They presented quite a picture, the golden-skinned sassy imp and the small indigo and golden draconis. She wished she could draw them. "What shall we call her?"

"Hmm . . .she's like a small queen . . .so what about Rayna?" asked Rumple. "I know that's not your actual name, but since we probably couldn't pronounce it, will you accept this one?"

The draconia purred in answer.

"Rayna it is," Rumple declared.

"What do they eat?"

"They like nectar and honey, also milk and fruit." Rumple replied.

"I'll bring up some food for her after I wash these."

"Better wash your clothes too," he suggested. "Just in case."

Then he settled down against the bed, the newly named Rayna asleep on his arm.

When Belle returned a few moments later with a small dish of milk with honey and some small blueberries, she found both Rumple and Rayna sound asleep.

She left them both sleeping and after putting down the small dishes on the night stand, tiptoed from the room.

Page~*~*~*~Break

The next day, Rumple's allergies were much improved, enough so he figured he could go into his lab and brew up some kind of potion to mitigate the symptoms of his allergic reaction. He was not suffering like this every time spring came! He had read through the herbal last night and thought he had a good enough understanding of the plants and how to counteract them. So he went down to his lab, he had moved it since Belle came, because having it at the top of the castle was asking for trouble, if an experiment went wrong, it could blow the roof off or cause the ceiling to collapse, so he put it in one of the castle storerooms, making it one with windows to release any fumes, and this way if there was any kind of explosion, the earth could contain it.

The draconis accompanied him, having developed a fondness for being around both him and Belle, and could often be found perching upon Rumple's shoulder with her tail wrapped about his neck like a living torque, or in Belle's hair with her wings half mast like a moving hair ornament. Her tiny snout would peer around at whatever they were doing, and she would chirp and purr and make other noises to indicate how she was feeling. She also had a most mobile face, and different expressions crossed it depending on her mood.

Several days later Rumple was stymied and still concocting various potions. He spent almost all day and night in his lab, grinding, mixing, and brewing. He filled notebook after notebook with his failed recipes, and various stinks and smells erupted from the room, along with spates of cursing.

Rayna didn't seem to mind the strange smells, though on occasion she would wrinkle her nose up and sneeze pointedly.

"Yes, I know," he muttered balefully to the small dragon. "April showers bring May flowers and that's why I'm like this! Bah!" He went to grind up a pinch more of an herb. "I think this might do it."

"Rumple, I brought you some tea and scones," Belle announced as she walked into the lab.

The wizard was busily mixing and answered with a non committal grunt and kept grinding his herbs.

Suddenly Rayna, who was curled around his shoulder as was her wont, grasped the Dark One's chin with her flexible forefeet and went, "Prrrfftt!" and turned his head.

"What the—"

An instant later he lost track of what he'd been doing as he caught sight of Belle gliding from the room in a new dress of a rose fabric with her apron tied in a cute little bow in the back that bounced tantalizingly over her derriere.

"Oh!"

Rayna purred and grinned a toothy grin. "Prrrft!" she hissed in the lovestruck sorcerer's ear.

Rumple remained watching a moment more, before sighing and muttering, "Hopeless! As if she could ever want me—the old monster!"

He sipped some tea from the chipped cup and nibbled a cinnamon scone before turning back to his potions again.

Behind him, the draconis on the worktable huffed and made an exasperated face at his back. Humans! Why were they so dense? Clearly the sorcerer liked his maid's company, so why he was depriving himself of it was beyond the little dragon's comprehension. Silly addlepated people!

Rayna put her chin on a foreclaw and scratched thoughtfully. Hmmm . . .

That evening, as Belle swept up the floor after supper, her broom making the dust fly, Rayna flitted about her head, teasingly grabbing strands of her hair.

Belle would occasionally pause in her task to rub the draconis's eye ridge if she happened to swoop low enough, saying, "You're a worse tease than Rumple, you know that!"

"Trrrccckkk!" the tiny creature burbled, her amber eyes whirling with mischief.

Just then Rumple happened to be crossing the foyer, going to spin some straw into gold.

"Rrrmmfft!" Rayna dove into Belle's hair, and grasped the maid's head with her little feet, her wings outstretched, and literally turned Belle's head to see Rumple walking.

"Rayna, what—oh!"

She lost what she was about to say, leaning on her broom, as she caught sight of his leather-clad backside, swaying slightly as he walked.

A dreamy expression crossed her face as she thought about how fine he looked . . .and how much she wanted to give that tantalizing portion of his anatomy a good pinch.

Rayna purred in delight. Things were finally going according to plan.

The draconis grinned and leaned her head on a forepaw, her eyes whirling. "Prrfftt!"

The spell was broken as Rumple entered the great room and vanished from Belle's line of sight.

With a sigh, she went back to her sweeping, saying softly, "I'm such an idiot! I'm just the help, and he'll never see me as anything else!"

Atop her head, Rayna huffed. Time for phase two.

At dinner that night, Rayna wound herself about the salt cellar, managing to push it and Rumple's hand together with Belle's as they both reached for it at the same time.

And sparks flared between them, even as they hastily apologized and Rumple handed the salt cellar to Belle.

Rayna rolled her jeweled eyes in exasperation.

At least a dozen times a day in that week, the draconis, whose purpose was to bring harmony and light to those who needed it most, and why she had been found in the Dark Castle's garden, though Rumple did not know this, caused the two occupants to notice each other in various ways.

Each time they did, Rayna thought the affection she sensed lurking just below the surface grew, and grew, and grew until someday it must burst into flower—and they would admit they were in love.

But she had never reckoned with two more stubborn individuals—especially Rumplestiltskin.

Things finally came to a head one fine April morning, when Rumple managed to concoct just the right potion to prevent his spring allergies from overwhelming him. As he tested a drop of the solution in some water and then added a tiny amount of pollen from a daisy and watched the pollen dissolve, vanquished, he gave a delighted shout. "Eureka! I did it!"

He began to dance around the work table, and Rayna trilled and chirped, flying in dizzying spirals about him.

Rumple made sure he could read this latest experiment, copying out the proportions neatly, then he ladled the batch into some vials and labled them, after drinking one.

"Come on, dearie, let's tell Belle," he called to the gyrating draconis.

Rayna zipped from the room.

Belle was watering the flowers in the great room when Rumple came up the stairs and saw her shapely derriere bent over the vase, pouring the water from the pitcher into it.

"Perfection!" he muttered, his eyes going dreamy as he imagined holding his maid in his arms and kissing her breathless.

He took two steps forward.

Above him, Rayna hovered and trilled in delight and made smooching noises to encourage him.

He took another step.

Then there came a knock at the door.

Blast! The draconis glowered at the untimely interruption.

Belle straighted. "Rumple, I'll get that."

"No need, dearie," he said, and forced himself to turn away towards the door.

He opened it and said in a surly tone, "What do you want? Next time make an appointment!"

There was a knight standing on his doorstep.

"I've come for Belle," he said bluntly, as if that would have been obvious.

He wore a red tunic and black breeches and had on a chain hauberk, but his dark hair was windblown and curling about his head. He had a very handsome face and his shoulders were like a prize bull's.

Rayna made a face at him, disliking him on sight.

Rumple shut the door with his foot. "Excuse me, dearie? Last I checked, Belle was not a dog, to come anywhere with you." He glowered at Gaston.

"She is my fiancée, beast, and I demand you let her go!" he blustered.

"Really, dearie? Not anymore. That contract was null and void once I made my deal. And she has no desire to go anywhere with a bullying braggart like you!" Rumple retorted crisply.

Gaston flexed his muscles. "You lie! We've been betrothed by her father's decree and she is mine!"

Rayna screwed up her face and hissed at him, puckering her lips in disgust. She then made a gagging sound.

"There now, the loudmouth bully is going away, sweetie," Rumple crooned to the draconis.

Gaston glared at Rayna with disdain. "Figures you would keep monsters as pets. I demand you release her at once!"

Rayna bared her teeth at the word "monster" her wings flaring out behind Rumple's head.

"I cannot release what I don't hold prisoner, you lout!" Rumple cried exasperatedly. "She made the deal of her own free will and the magic binds her."

"Then unbind her, magician!" ordered Gaston. "I will have my little wife . . .I have waited years for her to grow into a suitable woman who will see to my every need like a proper lady—cook, clean, have my children, massage my feet—"

"-kiss your ass, sing your praises in the choir, and look upon you as the best of all husbands," Rumple finished sneeringly. "How nice! For you!"

"What of it?" Gaston asked arrogantly. "I'm the best knight in the realm. And don't I deserve the best?"

Rayna made retching noises.

Rumple snorted. "My thoughts exactly! You don't want a wife, you arrogant idiot, you want a worshipper! A woman who does your bidding and hangs on every word as if it's wisdom from on high. What about what she wants?"

"Who cares? A wife should want her husband to be happy and it's her purpose to make him so."

Rumple was disgusted. "That's what you nobles think a wife is?"

"And someone to warm your bed on cold nights and help provide children to carry on the family name. So?" He crossed his arms over his chest.

"What about her feelings? What if I told you she doesn't want to marry you?"

Gaston shrugged. "That's not up to her. Her father made the match and now I'm here to collect."

"Collect? Like she's some baggage you left at an inn?"

"She's a nice little piece, aye." Gaston winked lewdly. "Like you haven't noticed! Or are your manly parts as shriveled as the rest of you, imp?"

Rumple lifted a hand to curse the brainless oaf. "Get this through your head. Belle is not a prize for you to win at some tournament. She's an intelligent bright person and she doesn't wish to marry you because she can't stand the sight of your strutting preening self! And I don't blame her. Now get out of here and go back to looking at your reflection in the mirror and telling yourself how magnificent you are. Before I turn you into something slimy."

"Out of my way, monster!" Gaston bellowed, and he lunged at Rumple.

But before he could even lay a finger upon the wizard, Rayna breathed at him.

A cloud of purple vapor erupted all over the knight.

When the smoke cleared, there was a rose lying on the courtyard steps.

Rayna preened in satisfaction.

Rumple giggled.

Then he picked up the rose and went back inside.

"Who was at the door, Rumple?"

"Oh, nobody. Just an old woman selling flowers." He bowed and offered her the perfect red rose.

Belle stared at him, noting the hopeful expression in his eyes and the cautious smile on his lips as he held out the rose. It was then that her heart did a funny dip and she realized something. She didn't need to go looking for love, or have love find her, like she had read in all of the tales. She had love right here in front of her . . .offering her a red, red rose.

All she needed to do was to take it.

"Why thank you, kind sir!" she laughed, and took the rose from him.

Rumple breathed again.

Rayna sighed. Gods, but these humans were slow!

"It's a beautiful rose," Belle said, gazing at Rumple adoringly. Like the man who gave it to me.

"Yes, he's a prize specimen." How lovely her eyes are!

"I should put it in water before it wilts." I love how his hair falls forward over his eyes, it's so endearing! She reached out to push it out of his face.

"He's too puffed up to wilt," Rumple replied, not daring to move as Belle's hand touched his forehead. "Better put him in a vase by himself. I don't think he plays well with others."

"I think . . ."

She never finished her sentence.

Claws wound in her hair and tugged.

Suddenly her mouth was on Rumple's and she was kissing him.

Rumple was so startled he almost fell over.

Then instinct took over and he was holding her in his arms and kissing her like there was no tomorrow.

Belle felt her knees go weak. In her hand, the rose trembled, but only Rayna heard the tiny "Help!" it squeaked as it was in danger of being crushed as Belle's grip tightened on Rumple's back.

Rumple knew he was fast reaching the point of no return. He could feel the love within him bubbling up, rising like a spring flood, and as it rushed through him, all he could think of was—so this is love . . .it's nothing like the stories say it is . . .

And he felt the age old darkness that had guarded his heart wither and slink away.

"Rumple! Your skin . . ." Belle gasped when she could speak again.

Abruptly he pushed her away. "No! You can't break my curse!"

Rayna, who had been flying in ecstatic loops and hearts above them, froze and glared down at him. She hissed in disapproval.

"But why? Surely you don't enjoy being a beast?"

"No, but I need my magic, Belle. I need it to find someone I lost—my son, Baelfire. Without it . . .it's hopeless."

"I see. That's why you did all of this, isn't it?"

He nodded sadly. "Yes. I made a huge mistake, years ago. And I lost him. And in order to find him again . . .I need my magic. Otherwise . . .I would kiss you until the stars crumbled and my magic be damned."

Belle smiled at him. She understood now why he was so wary and guarded. It wasn't because he had no heart. It was because his heart had been broken. But now that he had let himself feel, let himself love, that heart could be mended, and his curse broken.

"I understand, Rumple. And I'll help you. Together we'll find him. And after that . . .we can have our storybook happily ever after."

"Don't believe everything you read, dearie." He snorted. "To hell with their version of happily ever after. We'll create our own." Then he caught her up in another embrace. "I don't know what you see in this old monster—"

"I see a man, not a monster," she corrected. "A man who put himself in hell for love of a child. A man who is imperfect and knows it and makes no excuses or puts on any airs. A man whose love never wavers, and is constant. A man like that . . .I would marry. And love him the length of my days."

Then she leaned her head upon his chest and listened to his heart beating.

His hands stroked her hair. "And you, dearie, have seen something in me that no woman ever has. You've made me feel more . . .alive . . .and more worthy than I have ever felt in all my life. You challenge me and make me think. You see something there that wasn't there before. And it's for that I love you best of all."

They remained entwined for several more moments, while a perfect rose tumbled forgotten to the floor, and a certain scheming draconis swooped overhead and left hearts and roses in a glittering trail of magical dust in the air, doing a victory dance.

All around the happy couple was the scent of crushed rose petals . . .and in the distance the peal of silver bells could be heard . . .as those on high acknowledged another successful courtship, as true love bloomed anew in a heart that had been frozen by despair and cruelty.

"By the way, dearie, I found the cure for my allergies," Rumple murmured into Belle's ear.

"That's incredible, Rumple! I knew you could do it."

"Third time's the charm," he replied. Then he reached into his pocket and gave her the book he had taken. "This belongs to you."

"Did you read it?"

"I did."

"And? What did you think?"

"I think . . .the book needs a new tale. It's lacking one key player."

"Who?"

"The Magician," he answered, then he spun her around, laughing.

But that is an entirely new story.

A/N: This was written for one of my dear friends on FB based upon the following prompt: Set right after Rumpelstiltskin caught Belle when she fell from the ladder. Spring, indeed, had almost arrived and not long after, the Dark Mountains experienced a thaw to rival that of Rumpelstiltskin's heart. As quickly as the snow began to melt, flowers began to appear. As soon as Belle catches the sweet and tantalizing fragrance of flowers, she decides to pick some and decorate the Dark Castle with them.

Who liked Rayna? And would like another story with her and Rumbelle? Just curious.

And who knows the book that Rumple and Belle were reading? There's several hints, especially in the first quoted passage. The author of them is quite famous and has become required reading in school.