Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time. ABC owns it. Belle and Rumpel are not mine, either. Their characters are brought to life by the wonderful Emilie de Ravin and Robert Carlyle.

A/N: This was an idea that came to me when I was re-watching the 14th episode. The creators of the show had mentioned that "Belle is sitting with the person who loves her" and so it inspired me to come up with this scenario.

I hope you all enjoy it and will maybe tell me what you think of it afterwards. (=

A Rose Among Thorns

How do you cure a broken heart? An impossible question to answer when your heart lay shattered at your weary feet.

Belle solemnly peered into her nearly full mug, as if it might hold the answer. The pages of her books never detailed such a lifelong burden. The beast had always transformed into a handsome prince and true love reigned free.

I almost found my happy ending. Almost, she thought, replaying the moment in her mind when she had dared to lean towards her fearful, dark captor and place a modest, delicate kiss upon his lips. Licking her own red, soft ones, she could recall the taste of him still. Jewel-like eyes hid behind fluttering eyelids as she savored the memory.

It had all gone downhill after that, every last drop of hope draining and crumbling to pieces like the lost shard of the chipped porcelain cup.

Angry words, harsh resentment, a dull throbbing in her chest to signify the splintering of a most precious belonging: her heart.

You will regret it. And all you'll have is an empty heart…and a chipped cup. Such mournful words, indeed.

Belle sighed deeply, shoulders slumping miserably as she took a tiny swallow of her drink to drown her tormenting sorrows. It tasted as bitter as the pain that scorched her heart.

…..

In a dark, secluded corner of the tavern, a beast—for how could he be called a man?—watched the forlorn beauty, all the while hidden beneath the folds of a thick cloak. It contained spots of blood from troubles long past, but he could not think of that now.

All he saw, or cared to acknowledge, was her.

Without so much as a single blink, his cold, unforgiving eyes drank her in faster than the foaming, heady alcoholic drink sloshing in his mug. Memorizing every detail, for his memory did not do her justice.

Every inch of creamy, porcelain skin, velvety soft to the touch. Every rich curl of chestnut hair, the inviting fragrance teasing his nostrils. Every sparkle of her wide, wondrous eyes that understood far beyond her years. Every hint of an illuminating smile on her rosy lips as she conversed with the pathetic dwarf, the same that would later provide hospitality to one desperate, forsaken Snow White.

From here, he could listen to her beautiful voice as it professed the virtues of love. That voice echoed, matched with other words he'd rather forget.

She was rightfully his, was she not? But he had made his choice, had tossed her from the gloomy enclosure of his castle. He had stowed the chipped cup on the highest shelf of the cupboard, he had nailed the drapes in place once more.

He had harshly driven her from his castle, but it wasn't his fault. If she hadn't dared to kiss him, if she hadn't been foolish enough to allow that wretched Queen to poison her mind…

Why did you come back?

At first, I wasn't going to…but something changed my mind.

….would his beauty still exist in his castle, in his presence?

Golden-gray fingers curled around the handle of the mug as he mentally fought back the wall of disturbing memories that threatened to subdue him.

In the shadow of the cloak, his dark dangerous eyes returned to the lovely maiden as a shift in atmosphere descended around her. The dwarfs had departed, leaving the beauty all alone to her troubles.

As he watched, a malicious snarl twisting his crude lips, three drunken men swarmed around her, their clumsy, greasy fingers settling upon her fair skin. Touching her, taunting her, hurting her…

To react in defense of her honor would not bode well for him; he was not yet ready to face the inevitable agony and accusation that would flicker in the depths of those pure eyes.

On the other hand, the beauty was rightfully his—he'd told her it was forever and there was a point where he'd meant it. She would forever be his and he always made a habit of protecting what belonged to him.

…

Belle watched the poor, lovesick Dreamy leave the tavern with the other dwarfs, the heartache rapidly returning. I do hope he finds his happiness and never makes the mistake of letting it go, she thought as her traitorous mind revealed to her images of him.

Lost in thought, Belle did not hear the thudding footfalls of the three men until their muscular, meaty bodies flanked her on every side.

"Look what we have here," one of the men boasted as he leaned down to her level, his sloppy clothing and unruly beard filling her vision. Belle scrunched her nose; his foul breath stank of onions and alcohol. "Are you lonesome, sweetheart?"

Low snickers traveled between the other two men. These men were most certainly drunk and Belle did not wish to uncover the dishonorable intentions circling their minds.

"No, thank you," she replied, squaring her shoulders with confidence and holding the bearded man's cloudy gaze.

A second one slapped his heavy, sweaty fists against the table. Belle did not flinch. She refused to show fear to these men. Besides, she'd dealt with far worse.

"Just feast your eyes on 'er, boys! A fresh, fine maiden for the takin'. A rare treat in these here parts of the forest." The slurred drawl wrapped around Belle, the second man's moist mouth close to her ear.

"Please. I don't want any trouble—" Belle attempted to stand, but the third man's hands weighed heavily on her shoulders, forcing her back down.

"You hear that, boys? The little beauty don't want no trouble," the third man roared. The first man leered at her, his dirty fingers tugging on the loose curls of her hair. "Me thinks she don't enjoy our company."

The third man's hands squeezed Belle's shoulders a little too fiercely. The second man tilted his blond head at her, hungrily licking his chapped lips.

"Perhaps we should make her enjoy our company," he suggested while the bearded man fingered the buttons on her blue dress.

Allowing her fear and instincts to control her, Belle grabbed her mug and launched the liquid into the bearded man's face. Sputtering, the man stumbled away from her, wiping his eyes free of the burning alcohol.

Jumping up, Belle slammed the mug into the third man's jaw, sending him reeling backwards.

Her actions were feisty and quick, but not that quick. The blond one came up behind her and wrenched the mug from her grip. Hands curled around her arms and wrists as the men surrounded her, angry. Angry, drunk, and dangerous.

"You little witch," the bearded man hissed, droplets of alcohol staining his face.

"You're going to pay for that, I say," the third man threatened, his jaw already swelling. There was a smooth, silvery sound as the men brandished their weapons. Knives. Sharp, blood-stained knives.

"I say we play with her first," the blond protested, running his slimy fingers around Belle's waist.

"I say we flay her fair skin. Skin as pure and fair as that could be worth something," the third man replied, harshly grabbing ahold of Belle's chin.

"Please, no," she cried out, her arms trapped in the grip of her tormentors. Please, someone help me! But everyone in the tavern had turned a blind eye. The men inched closer until their bodies were all she could see.

"What do you say, boys?"

"Let the fun begin!" The men eagerly reached for her clothing, the knives coming a little too close to her skin—

"Get your filthy hands off her."

Belle's eyes shot open wide and she scoured for the one who had spoken. That voice! I know that voice!

The men turned to stare in confusion at a cloaked man, his face hidden beneath the hood. Belle desperately wanted to throw back that hood, to gaze into his eyes and know it was truly him. Somehow, she could sense the cloaked man's eyes watching her.

"Excuse me?" The bearded man challenged the mysterious figure, the knife at his side gleaming in the dim light of the torches.

The cloaked man never faltered. With swift, familiar steps, he traversed around the group like a vulture. Belle was reminded of another time, what seemed like ages ago.

And the answer is…yes. I can protect your little town. For a price. My price…is her. Belle's heart rose in her throat. It was him.

"You heard me," the cloaked figure shot back softly and the men erupted with peals of nervous laughter. The blond one narrowed his eyes.

"Tell me, is she your tramp? Well, I hope you don't mind, but us men are borrowin' her for the night," he retorted, snaking a hand across Belle's rosy cheek. She grimaced, craning her neck away.

"Oh, but I do mind, dearie. And I suggest you leave her be," the cloaked one's rich voice was tinted with menace and threats. Belle hardly breathed. If these men were smart, they'd listen. Except they did not possess one smart notion in their drunken heads.

"Or you'll do what? Kill us?" To this, the mysterious being did not respond, but Belle could feel the tension of power in the air. Fools as they were, the men turned their backs, chortling, and focused on Belle once more.

It all happened in a flash, before the men were given a second chance to blink.

The bearded man's skull connected with the table, making a sickening cracking noise. He fell to the floor unconscious, perhaps even dead from the brutal impact.

The third man's knife came flying through the air, but the cloaked figure dodged, sinking his own jagged dagger into the man's chest. Blood spurted in a crimson stream before he crashed into another table, breaking it in half.

The blond had dropped to his knees and crawled away, only to cower in the corner as his would-be executioner took careful, deliberate steps towards him, the dagger stained with the blood of his drunken friends.

Belle had collapsed onto the bench of the table and now shot from her seat. In an instant, she was tugging on the arm that held the fierce dagger.

"Please…don't kill him," she begged the cloaked man whose true name lingered on her tongue. He half-glanced down at her, the shadow of the hood shielding his face. "The man is drunk. He isn't in his right mind—"

"Seems to me he knows exactly what is going on," the figure retorted, inching closer to the trembling man. The blond curled in on himself, eyes boggling with fright, recognizing death. Belle kept her hand on his arm, insisting.

"Please…this man is a monster. He has no choice but to behave the way he does. You have a choice. Do not follow in his steps," she pleaded. Perhaps she was deliberately using her way with words to goad him, but the figure paused all the same.

You are not a monster, she had once told him. This was his chance to prove it. Please…

Abruptly, the figure gripped a fist of the blond hair and dragged the man to his feet, swooping in until the blade rested beneath his chin, a few drops of blood shed.

"If I ever catch you looking at her again…this blade will cut out your heart and you will watch as the blood pours from your body. Do we understand each other?" The blond man nodded, whimpering as he stared down at the pointed blade at his throat. A dark laugh escaped the cloaked man. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you. Do we understand?" The blade sunk a little deeper and the blond screeched.

"Yes, yes! I-I'm sorry. It'll…it'll n-never happen again!" The cloaked man released the blond. Wrenching his boot back, he thrusted his foot into the man's chest, knocking the air from his lungs.

"I'll hold you to it. Now leave," the cloaked man demanded through what sounded like gritted teeth. The man half-crawled, half-stumbled away until he dashed out of the tavern. Belle could not stop gazing at the cloaked man.

"Thank you," she whispered, edging closer to him. One of her hands stroked his arm and the cloaked man wrenched it away, stalking past Belle and disappearing into the cold night. Belle stalled only for a moment before following him.

Once outside, with gentle snowflakes floating through the wintry air, Belle scanned the night for him. He was nowhere to be seen—it was like he had vanished into thin air. The snow beneath her feet was undisturbed. The silence of the night was taunting her. He was gone.

"No, wait! Please!" Her voice was carried with the wind, but it was no use. Hers was the only voice dancing in the night. No, he was here. He was here. "Rumpelstiltskin!" She called out to him desperately, her heart wracking in her chest.

The silence answered her—he was gone. Soft, slow tears dripped down her rosy cheeks, but still she smiled. I don't want you anymore, dearie. That was what he had told her in her dungeon.

Now, the pain of it was almost gone as well, for she realized something then. You lied. You must care…or you would not have made yourself known to me. You would not have rescued me.

Standing there alone in the snowy night, Belle imagined Rumpelstiltskin reminiscing about her as well.

This was the memory Belle replayed in her mind as she carried on towards her father's castle, as the Queen captured her for dark purposes, as the curse descended upon their world.

This was the memory she replayed because it meant that there could have been a happy ending for her. It was proof that her beast might truly have loved her once.

…

Well, there you have it. I hope everyone enjoyed reading it.

Just so you know, the quote in the summary comes from the creators of OUAT. I tried to put the link for the creators' article in here (which contains the quote about Belle and insight into future episodes) but fanfic's acting up again. /= Still, pretty easy to find online if you search the quote about Belle.

Now, that review button is calling your name. Press it! (-;