Many, MANY thanks to Luthien, audreyii_fic, flameysaur, and justrumbelledearie for acting as betas, prereaders, and just being generally supportive and enthusiastic for a story I enjoyed writing. I hope you've enjoyed reading.

...

Maurice grimaced again as another bump in the road jostled his weary bones. For every complaint he wished to make, he reminded himself that his daughter had travelled this way alone, in the first blast of winter, and in fear for her life.

So he said nothing. He had no right to voice his discomfort.

Nor was he sure he had a right to make this delivery. Belle could always send him away, but the harvest had been the best in his memory. Some fields had lain fallow for two years before the refugees of war could return to work them. The finest crops sprang from fields watered with blood. Whether it was in honor of the dead or to help replace them, he did not care, but the granaries were filling and the storehouses bursting.

The delivery was for Longbourne in thanks for the care and maintenance of his refugees, and to offer to take them back home. Maurice strained to look back at the wagons behind his carriage. It was all carefully selected fruit and sweets, preserved lemons and other commodities only found near the rich coast—a sampling of their finest to tempt the inland stronghold into stronger trade agreements. Avonlea overflowed with riches, but war had damaged trade relationships.

He sighed and leaned his head against the padded carriage wall. Trade was not the only damaged relationship from war.

He dozed restlessly.

…

"My Lord, we are near."

Maurice snapped awake and straightened. "Thank you. How much farther?"

The guard patted his mount to soothe her prancing. "There are a few more houses, but you can see the Spinner's sign from here." He paused and signaled for a halt. "I've had the column disperse and sent the main wagons to the castle. Yours is still here, awaiting your command."

With a smile, Maurice unfastened his ornate cloak and took a more modest one from the corner. The shepherd he bought it from yesterday could afford a much warmer one now. "Good. I'll walk from here."

"My Lord?"

"Sir," Maurice interrupted. "No announcement, no escort, no arms. I wish to see for myself."

His guard frowned, but nodded. "Of course. I'll send two riders ahead quietly."

Maurice sighed. "If you must. I'll lead the wagon myself. The old nag pulling it isn't likely to rear up on me."

The autumn air crept under the light cloak and Maurice welcomed its crispness after the cramped carriage. Three weeks of travel and anticipation made him uneasy about coming here, but he might not get another chance after the winter set in. Not after what happened last winter.

The house was large, a cobbled together affair of wood and stone. It gave the impression of two houses stuck together by mutual agreement. He could see into the back garden where a jumbled group of plants showed off the season's last greens and plantings. A larger area was marked off with sticks and sturdy twine, clearly laying out future plans.

Maurice slowed and pulled the tarpaulin off the back of the wagon. The large baskets were in view, and in his rough cloak he looked like any man leading his wares to market, as long as no one looked too closely at his fine boots peeking from under the flapping cloak. He could not stay long today for he was expected at the castle. That was probably a blessing, so he pressed on.

As the guard had mentioned, the sign was large, easily seen even when two houses away. The placard bore a large engraved spinning wheel and loom, with a bronze inlay of the King's seal. Anyone who saw it would know this was an official business, recognized by the crown for special service.

A shriek rang out from the house, and Maurice's heart pounded. Belle.

"Bae! Put that back! That was for your papa!"

Childish squeals cut the breeze and a young boy cradling a small pie bounced from the house into the yard, giggling the whole way. "He won't mind! You got plenty more, and I know he likes pumpkin just as much!"

So it really was true, then. Belle would never return home to a triumphant welcome, would never wear a crown, nor claim a title. The arrangements had been made through the King. In return for rendering Belle powerless, she was completely safe from clerics and those seeking power. Was she safe in her home, though?

Then a sound he hadn't heard in years. Laughter. Belle's laughter. Maurice stepped more lightly, and gave the lead a tug.

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Fine, but you're not getting another one after supper!"

Maurice dropped the lead by some tall grasses so the horse would stay near as he walked ahead. The shutters on the house were open, and he hurried to see inside. The front room was large and open, with spinning wheels on either side and a loom in the back. Every inch of wall was covered with bolts of fabric and heavy wooden trays full of glimmering colors. Two dress forms were draped in creations of the finest cut, and the embroidery looked as though it were made of wrought gemstones rather than thread. It
was a cheerful riot of color and texture.

The rhythmic bump-scrape of spinning wheels grew louder as he drew closer to the door, staying to the side so as not to be seen. Not too soon, anyway. Two young women and a boy worked at the wheels as a little man, nearly forty to look at him, limped around the room. He held their hands around bolls of wool, used his staff to direct the foot pedal, and examined their products in a whirlwind of motion not to be expected from a cripple.

Crippled. Surely this could not be him.

But the man was careful, smiling gently when a pupil snarled the wool beyond repair and praising another when they tied off an end properly.

"Rumple!" Belle's voice called. She stepped into the big room from the hallway at the rear. "You'll never believe what Bae just did."

The man's face brightened and he stood. "Let me guess. He stole my pie, ran away laughing, and stepped on one of your carrot plants on the way?"

Belle walked to the man with an eyebrow raised and humor that Maurice had never seen flashing in her eyes. "He didn't step on a carrot."

"Good. He's learning." The man hugged Belle close and she raised her arms to wrap them around his neck. As small as she was, she did not have to rise up on tiptoe to hug him back. Perhaps that was far more telling of why she chose this life than anything else.

The pupils giggled when the man kissed Belle, but it was obviously not the first time they'd seen it. Belle smiled as she picked up a pitcher from a small table and filled cups with water while the man went back to his students. Maurice held his breath and scooted further to the side as she walked the room, her footsteps closer on the wooden floor.

With a gasp, the footsteps stopped. "Rumple? Do you see?"

A staff thumped on the floor. "What is it?"

Her voice trembled. "In the road. There."

"The cart?"

Maurice looked. His seal. When he lifted the tarp away, he'd uncovered Avonlea's seal on the side of the wagon. It was as good an announcement as any. He braced himself as he heard the door open.

Blue skirts fluttered at the doorway, swaying as Belle stopped at the threshold. She was waiting, perhaps as nervous as he was.

Maurice cleared his throat, and she jumped. "I bring goods from my lands to you, my lady." He spoke softly, not wanting to frighten her. "A sample from our best vineyards, farmlands and… orchards." Maurice took a small step forward. "If I recall, my lady likes apples."

A tiny step brought her into profile. Her eyes were shining and her smile was brilliant. The man stepped out behind her, concern wrinkling his forehead but not moving to stop Belle. He might already know that there was no stopping Belle. Maurice thought he rather liked him already.

Her lip trembled and she plucked at her skirts. "You remember?"

His daughter's eyes sparkled, caught in the overwhelming space between happiness and sorrow. This was no scraped knee or bruised ego he could soothe with words, but with his actions perhaps, one day, he could earn her trust again. Maybe in time she could even forgive him.

Maurice swallowed hard. "Of course I remember." He hoped the apples were a nice start.

...

The End.

Basically, I want my characters to end up happy little hobbits.

Thank you so much for reading. It's been wonderful.