Belle smoothed the pale green silk of her dress against her legs, pushed open the door to her father's study and cleared her throat, making him look up.

"You wanted to see me, Papa?"

"I did." He stood up, a tall, heavyset man, resplendent in embroidered velvet robes, and put his hand on her shoulder. "I've been talking with Sir Pascal. He thinks it's time his son was married and he approached me to ask if I'd consider a match between the two of you."

Belle's eyes almost started from her head as her stomach lurched.

"Marriage!" she choked. "With Gaston? But – "

"It's an eligible match," he interrupted. "Gaston has lands of his own and will take over the running of their estate when his father dies. You'd be a rich young woman, Belle, and we'd have the use of his soldiers." He turned back to his desk, where a map of the surrounding lands was spread, the current position of the approaching ogre hoard, far off as yet but still too close for comfort, marked with a soapstone paperweight in the shape of a sleeping dragon.

"But I don't know him," Belle complained. "I'm not even sure I like him. We have nothing in common – I expect the last time he read a book was when he learnedto read, assuming he ever did. His topics of conversation are as follows: Gaston; hunting; Gaston; fighting; Gaston; drinking contests; Gaston – need I go on?"

"Perhaps you can make him a better man," suggested her father mildly, toying with the small silver figurine of a horse that represented their own forces before placing it back on the map. Belle snorted, planting fists on hips.

"That's someone's life's work, no doubt, but I don't think I'd live long enough." She put a hand on his arm. "Papa, you know what he's like, what his attitude to women is! I'd be expected to sit at home and sew, or something. I wouldn't be allowed to have any opinions of my own."

"If I know you," he said, with a smile, "you'll have him whipped into shape in no time, letting you do whatever you like and, what's more, thinking it's all his idea."

Belle groaned. "And I'll have to put up with his sisters," she said, pulling a face. "Sylvie and Clarice are nothing but – but – stupid, catty, tailors' dummies!"

"Come, Belle, you're being too harsh." He was losing patience. "Sir Gaston is an honourable man and he wants to marry you. You can't sit at home buried in books your whole life. You have a duty to the town, and to me. You're my only child now. I need you to make a good match that will help me to protect our town."

"But Papa," she implored, taking his hand. "Why can't I choose who I marry?"

He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Do you even like any of the young men around here?" he asked. "I thought I could interest you in Sir Laurence's son at the last ball, but you didn't speak to him after the first hour. He's a handsome fellow."

"He's vain and stupid," muttered Belle, and blushed at her own lack of charity. She squeezed his hand. "But I'm sure I'll meet someone I like, some day. What's the rush? Why can't I marry for love?"

"Marriages for the nobility aren't about love," he said shortly, as though quoting from a book. "They are about preserving the security and prosperity of the town. With the ogre wars taking a turn for the worse and moving in our direction, we need Gaston's forces to protect us."

"We have gold," suggested Belle, desperately. "We could just pay them to fight for us."

"That would be a temporary solution, and you know it," he snapped. "Family is for life. Now, I don't want to hear any more of this nonsense! You will do your duty as the lady of this town and as my daughter, do you understand?"

She wanted to weep, but forced herself to stillness. "Yes, Father."

His face softened as he saw how close she was to tears, and he put his arm around her.

"There, there, darling," he said gently. "You may be pleasantly surprised. Did you know, when your mother and I first met we didn't get on at all."

Belle's eyes widened in shock. "Really? But you were so happy."

He smiled. "Really. She thought I was a boor who cared for nothing but hunting and riding and I thought she walked around with her nose in the air looking down on everyone because she thought she was better than them." His smile turned wistful. "Of course, she was right about that." He pulled her closer. "We argued non-stop for the first year of our marriage, before we realised that we were actually perfect for each other. Two sides of a coin." He kissed the top of her head and she leant against him with a sigh. "I miss her every day," he said quietly. "You know that's why I never remarried. But I know what she'd say to you if she was here." He looked down at her, holding her gaze. "Forge a strong alliance," he whispered. "Secure our future. Do whatever it takes to protect our lands and our people."

Belle sighed again, recognising the truth in his words, and he squeezed her tight. "And don't despair," he added. "Love can sometimes grow in the most unexpected of places."

Belle awoke slowly, hearing a chink of china somewhere in the room. She opened one eye to see Gold carrying a tray under one arm, and pushed herself up on her elbows, smiling as he sat down on the edge of the bed. She wondered if she could persuade him to get back under the covers, but decided, a little regretfully, that breakfast ought to come first. She still marvelled at the intimacy of their relationship. She had known little of men before making their deal; her mother had died when she was only eight and the only discussions she had had on the subject after that were with her formidable, and unmarried, governess, and several equally inexperienced girlfriends. All these conversations had left her with the distinct impression that sex was something painful, embarrassing, and to be avoided at all costs. Just grit your teeth, my dear, her governess had advised sternly. And remember that's how you were made. Once you are with child, you can easily refrain from such things. Had she known that the act could leave her breathless, could turn her body into a quivering mass of jelly that seemed only to feel pleasure, she would have been far less nervous when she had approached him on their first night together and had all but flung herself on him. For Gold's part, he still could not believe that she had chosen him, that she recognised the darkness at his core and yet still saw something in him that was worth loving. She had opened herself to him completely from the first day they were reunited in Storybrooke, their initial fight and brief separation setting a pattern for the weeks to come, as she sought to understand and accept who and what he was, and who she was. There had been a lot of arguing, kissing and making-up in that time, and he had particularly enjoyed the last part. Belle was passionate when she was angry. He looked at her as she yawned sleepily; her dark hair fell over her face in unruly curls, and with her wide eyes and slightly flushed cheeks she looked about sixteen, which made his thoughts positively criminal.

"Good morning," she murmured, reaching for him and kissing him deeply, pulling his head down on hers. The kiss lasted for a long moment before they broke apart.

"You dressed!" she said accusingly, flicking his tie, and he smiled.

"I thought I might open the shop today," he said. "We've been hiding in here for a few days now, it's about time we saw the outside."

"Mm," she agreed, picking up a cinnamon Danish and biting into it. Warm flaky pastry crumbled on her lips and she savoured the sweet taste of sugar and spice. "I have some work to do in the library. We got a load of new book donations before you got back, so I want to finish the cataloguing."

"We could have lunch together," he suggested, pouring coffee for them.

"I'll bring it to the shop," she promised. "What would you like?"

His grin was evil. "You."

"Well, in that case," she teased. "You should make sure you lock the door this time!"

The grin widened. "Understood."

Her reference to one of the least savoury memories of Lacey made him a little uncomfortable; having Emma walk in on them when she was straddling him with her skirt up around her waist was not pleasant. Lacey had thought it hilarious, Emma had been mortified, and he… He had not cared at the time, but he felt guilty over Lacey, and he sensed Belle did too. He brushed her hair out of her face, stroking her cheek tenderly.

"Belle, what happened when you weren't – you…" he began. "I can't apologise enough. I was trying to keep you safe, to keep you with me. Lacey didn't have your fidelity. If another man had touched you, I would have – I would have been devastated." He didn't say he would have killed any such man, would have made him beg for death before the end, but her narrowed eyes showed that she knew. She remembered Nottingham. The one-time sheriff had gotten off lightly. So had she, in a way. She had approached from behind as he was beating Nottingham to a pulp and he had turned, full of bloodlust, his eyes crackling with power and rage, every inch the Dark One, to see her gazing at him hungrily. When she had stepped closer to him, had indicated with her shortened breath and dilated pupils that she was truly aroused by his darkness, it took every ounce of his self-control not to slam her back against the wall and take her there and then. They had made it back to his place. Just. She had proceeded to show him that Lacey was very different from Belle, and a part of him, the part he had tried so often and so unsuccessfully to bury for Belle's sake, had enjoyed indulging his dark passions. She remembered it all, of course, and she touched his cheek gently, reassuringly.

"I know what you were trying to do," she said quietly. "For what it's worth I'm sorry too. And embarrassed." She actually blushed slightly as she looked up at him, then giggled. "Although, now I don't think I'll ever be concerned about asking you to try anything new."

He winced, kissing her. "As long as it's not for a while. I need to recover from the last time you did that." Belle chuckled, her smile wicked.

Once breakfast was over, Belle got up to wash and change. He lay on the bed, fully-dressed, watching her pick out and discard items of clothing. She went to the window to check on the weather, and turned to him with a start.

"It's spring!" she announced, with an air of surprise. "It's four years!"

"Four years since – ". He feigned confusion and she made a face at him.

"Our first kiss," she admonished, and he smiled ruefully.

"Ah yes, in some ways one of the best and worst days of my life!"

"Well, you only have yourself to blame," she said unsympathetically, and he chuckled.

"You're right, of course, and we should celebrate." He stood up and drew her to him for a lingering kiss that left the two of them breathless. "We could go out for dinner," he said softly, when he had let her go. She leant against his chest with a sigh and gazed up at him.

"Or," she whispered. "We could stay in."

"You," he breathed. "Are the most delicious deal I ever made."

Sir Maurice leant on the table, fixing each of the Council members with a grim eye.

"It seems the ogres are covering more ground than we anticipated," he said bitterly. "At this rate we'll be overrun within weeks."

"What of Sir Gregor's forces?" asked Sir Pascal. He was a tall, handsome man with black hair, much like his son Gaston. Maurice shook his head.

"Too far off," he said. "By the time they reach us, we'll be surrounded." He ran his hand over his face worriedly. "I don't think we can stop the ogres with the tactics we're using, they're just destroying everything in their path."

"We're losing too many men," agreed Sir Laurence. "We need a new strategy."

"I suggest an all-out attack on the ogres during the day," said Gaston. "That way we have the advantage."

Pascal shook his head. "To attack their camp – we'd no doubt kill a lot while they slept, but there are too many for us to take out, and then we'd have nowhere to retreat to. The ground is far too rocky for horses where they are."

Belle turned a page of her book quietly, hoping they wouldn't notice she was curled on one of the chairs at the side of the room.

"We need to rethink this," declared Laurence, running his hands over his rotund belly. Despite his size Laurence was a skilled rider and fighter. His lands were nearest to the ogres and he therefore arguably had the most to lose from their current situation. The other men turned to look at him enquiringly, and he leant on the table.

"This is the third ogre war in the past century, and there have been others before that we've heard of," he began. "Each time, the ogres rise up, kill thousands, and somehow disappear again. How? How were the ogres defeated in the last war? No-one in Avonlea seems to know." He looked at them expectantly. There was a moment's silence as the men glanced at one another and shrugged.

"The Dark One," said Belle clearly, from her corner, and the men spun to face her.

"Belle, my dear, this is hardly suitable conversation for a young lady," began Gaston, and Belle frowned, snapping her book shut.

"Is that your way of telling me not to worry my pretty little head about certain death and destruction?" she asked with a smile, her voice overly sweet. The older men exchanged grins. Gaston opened his mouth to reply, confusion on his face, but Maurice held up a hand.

"Let her speak," he said. "Belle, what do you know?"

She sat up, blue silk rustling softly, and put down her book.

"I don't know about all the wars," she admitted. "But from what I've read in the old books we hold, in the last two, the Dark One stopped the ogres after the townsfolk made a deal with him."

The Council shared uneasy looks, murmurs of "Dark One" and "dangerous" drifting around the table.

"Perhaps this is the solution," said Laurence slowly. "As distasteful as we may find it, gentlemen, perhaps this is the way to save our people."

"I don't like it," said Pascal at once. "He can't be trusted."

"That's not true," countered Belle, and blushed as they all turned to look at her again. She lifted her chin. "He may be evil, but the books all say that if he makes a deal, he sticks to it, as long as you don't try to break it. We – I mean you – just need to ensure that you give him what he wants."

Maurice sighed. "I don't see that we have many options here," he said grimly. "We have gold – we'll send him a message promising him gold to stop the ogres."

"What if he wants something else?" said Gaston bluntly. "What if we don't have anything he wants?"

"Then we're no worse off, are we?" snapped Maurice. "Gentlemen, your opinions?"

There was a certain amount of grumbling and shaking of heads, but in the end it was agreed that a message would be sent to the Dark One, pleading for help and promising gold in return. Belle felt oddly calm, as though a decision had been made that would be for the best. She wondered if the Dark One would come in person, if she would actually see him, and felt a twinge of excitement and fear at the prospect.

"This will work," said Maurice confidently, as the message was prepared, and the other men glanced at one another uneasily. "Everyone wants gold," he added, and Belle shook her head.

"He's the Dark One," she said, with a shrug. "We have no idea what he wants."

Rumplestiltskin paused in his constant turning of the spinning-wheel, sensing a deal to be made. Flickers of foresight scurried across his mind, and he saw a group of men standing around a table, discussing an offer to be made to him for help. Help to defeat the ogres. He smiled none too pleasantly. Wars were always useful to him; people would be desperate enough to offer him anything to keep themselves, their families and fortunes safe. He decided to wait until he received the offer before going to them – it should take only a day or so until the messenger arrived with whatever it was they had to dangle in front of him. Pushing himself up from the stool, he sauntered casually to the long mirror at the end of the room, its glass covered by a thick shawl patterned in gold, brown and burnt orange. He whipped the cloth to the side and waved a casual hand at it, his reflection immediately disappearing, to be replaced by swirling colours that gradually coalesced into an image. He could see the same men as he had glanced at in his vision; all of them were dressed for battle except one, a large, heavyset man dressed all in furs and velvet. The local lord, he presumed.

"How much gold will we offer?" asked a tall, handsome young man, pushing his dark hair off his forehead. The larger, older man shook his head.

"We'll start with twenty thousand crowns," he announced. "That way we have plenty in reserve if we need to go higher."

Rumplestiltskin curled his lip. Gold! As if he would accept that! He was already losing interest, certain these men could offer him nothing he would want, when he saw her. A flash of blue in the corner of the mirror had caught his gaze, and his eyebrows jumped up when he saw a young woman stride purposefully towards the older men and put her hand on his arm. Her father? Perhaps, although they bore little resemblance to one another. He eyed her curiously. She was strikingly beautiful; her chestnut hair fell in elaborate curls down past her creamy white shoulders and the blue of the silk dress she wore matched the colour of her wide, clear eyes. She had a book tucked under her arm, thick in the spine and old. That piqued his interest; few noble daughters bothered to read in his experience and, when they did, they seemed to prefer slim novels full of nonsense about gallant knights in armour and virtuous damsels in distress. This girl was different. Her eyes shone with intelligence, compassion and spirit. The good-looking young man put his hand on her shoulder and she shrugged it off impatiently. Not her brother, certainly. Her husband? No, there was no ring. Her intended, perhaps, but whose intentions were they? Not hers, he thought; she was dismissive of the man, not wanting him to touch her. He smiled to himself, stroking his lip absently with his forefinger as he watched her.

"This is the right decision, Father," she said earnestly. "I'm certain he'll come. He'll help us, I know it. He'll want to make a deal."

Indeed, thought Rumplestiltskin wryly. But for something far more precious than gold. He tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully as the picture swam back to his own reflection. He would give them a few extra days, long enough to become truly desperate, before naming his price.

.