Chapter Five: For the Good of Avonlea

From the time she was a little girl, Belle dreamed of growing up to be exactly like her mother. It wasn’t just that Mother was kind and beautiful. She was a scholar with quiet power. She shaped the kingdom’s policy on all matters, and because she was such an adept diplomat, she knew how to let Father bask in the glory. Only the closest insiders knew that Queen Colette was the real brain behind the crown.

Mother began training Belle to follow in her footsteps at so tender an age, she was too young to realize it at the time. First, she was introduced to the stories of Gideon in Her Handsome Hero. How Belle loved Gideon and his noble adventures! She read and reread those fables so often, she learned them all by heart. Then as she grew older, she understood that the adventures weren’t the important part. It was the way Gideon rose to his challenges, not just with personal courage, but with mercy toward others. It was truly a book about moral leadership.

Once Belle had reached the maturity to recognize that, Mother began encouraging her to study history.

“Read the views of many different kinds of people,” she advised. “That will broaden your perspective. And if you can learn other languages, so much the better.”

Belle read voraciously, quickly surpassing all her governesses. Some of them laughed at the notion of preparing the princess of so small a kingdom for statesmanship. “All she needs is the proper etiquette for balls and banquets,” they insisted. But Belle applied herself and attempted to master such diverse languages as Chinese and Elvish. She made her best progress with fairy language. That was how she earned her crystal necklace. 

“Blessed by the Blue Fairy herself,” said Mother on the day she presented it. “I’m so proud of you, darling.” 

But sitting in the carriage as it raced through the countryside, Belle couldn’t see what Mother was so proud of. Her selfish streak had reared its ugly head in Arendelle, and with catastrophic results. The memory of Anna hanging off that cliff made her sick to her stomach every time she thought of it. If she actually succeeded in executing her peace plan, her next big problem to tackle was organizing a rescue mission for Anna.

“Oh, Mother!” she thought. “The stakes are so high! What if I make another bad choice and hurt someone? Or many people? I’m not ready for this!”

But ready or not, she had to step up. Things couldn’t keep going as they were. Father’s alliance with the Le Gumes was failing. Rumpelstiltskin was their last hope, his reputation for treachery aside. Belle believed Madam Morraine, but she knew Father wouldn’t, nor would he defer to her opinion as easily as he did to Mother’s.

Yet she must take the initiative. So with pen and paper in hand, she attempted to compose her very first diplomatic letter. And already she was stuck.

“How do I address him?” she wondered. By his name? It seemed too forward. As “the Dark One?” It rubbed her the wrong way. Simply as “Dear Sir?” That sounded ridiculous. Who would call the Dark One “dear?”

She fiddled with the crystal on her necklace, hoping it might give her an idea, but it didn’t help. It was empowered to work with fairy language, not plain English.

“I’ll have to fill in the salutation later,” she decided. Recalling the advice of her favorite governess, the one who taught her to love writing, she launched in and wrote from her heart, masking her fear under a formal and dignified tone.

We are writing from the Kingdom of Avonlea where we have been overrun by ogres. Having read of how you achieved peace at the end of the First Ogres War, we now seek your help.

She hesitated over the next part. What should she offer him in return? She knew Father would have ideas of his own, but in this, she had to follow her own instinct.

We will pay any price for the peace and safety of our people.

She looked it over. It was brief, but to the point. And at a time like this, why be flowery?

If only she had magic of her own! Then she could disappear from this carriage and be home already! But for the moment, she had only her own human power to rely on. All she could do was settle back into her seat and reread Morraine’s tale. Perhaps it might give her an insight on how to improve the letter. At the very least, it could help her prepare for meeting Rumpelstiltskin in person.

Belle’s impression of Morraine grew stronger with each perusal. Even though she was wary of Rumpelstiltskin, she had spoken boldly and gotten what she wanted. She didn’t seem to suffer any negative consequences afterward, either. She lived a long and happy life. Then again, Morraine hadn’t asked for magic.

“And all magic comes with a price.” The words of warning echoed in Belle’s ear even without ever hearing Rumpelstiltskin’s real voice.

“I can’t let that stop me,” she thought. The circumstances were too dire. This wasn’t just a matter of correcting the historical record. People were dying in Avonlea! She had to act. “I will be as bold as Morraine when I meet him,” she told herself, “and I will stand by my letter. I will pay whatever price I must.”

On her next re-reading, a new phrase struck Belle: Rumpelstiltskin’s “personal grief.” She hadn’t noticed it at first. Compared to the drama of the war’s end, it was a tiny detail. And Morraine, strictly upholding her side of the deal, fulfilled Rumpelstiltskin’s instructions and left it vague. But it got Belle speculating. She guessed that like herself, Rumpelstiltskin had lost someone he loved at the hands of an ogre. The horrors of war took a toll on everybody.

The carriage reached the outskirts of her own war-torn kingdom by dusk. When the driver saw the ogres’ encampment, he pulled his horses to a halt. “You didn’t tell me there were ogres here! I’m turning back now!”

“You can’t just leave me in the middle of the forest!”

“I can and I will,” said the driver. “And don’t use this as an excuse to try and stiff me. For bringing me this close to ogres, you ought to pay extra!”

There was no point in arguing with him. She paid him, got out of the carriage, and started running with all her might. But instead of heading home, she ran to the village. It was downhill and easier to reach.

Belle was terrified, but she was also lucky. It was as though she was under the watch of a guardian angel. She reached the village without incident and ran to the home of her favorite people in town, the booksellers Prosper and Gabrielle Villeneuve. They had procured so many books for her and Mother over the years, they had grown to be close friends. In private, they dispensed with formalities like bowing and calling her “Princess.”

Like everyone else in town, they were hiding in their cottage. She had to pound on the door to get them to answer.

“Please!” she begged. “It’s me! Belle!”

“Belle!” exclaimed Prosper, unblocking the door and pulling her inside.

“Oh, my dear!” cried Gabrielle, rushing to the foyer and embracing her while Prosper boarded the door back up again. “Where have you been? The whole kingdom has been dreadfully worried. Many people even despaired that you’d been killed!”

“I’m sorry I worried everyone,” said Belle. “It was stupid of me to run away.”

“Anyone would run from ogres,” said Prosper, as Gabrielle took her cape.

“No, that’s not what happened,” said Belle, anxious to correct the mistaken impression. She followed Prosper into the main room, and they both sat down at the table. “I didn’t need to escape. I left home deliberately.”

“Why would you ever do that?” asked Gabrielle, sitting down beside her.

Belle sighed. “Because I was angry. Father tried to trick me. I can remember being in the library with Mother when the ogres broke in, but after that, it’s all blank. Except for those horrid men Father called ‘doctors.’ I’ll never forget them.”

“The Chamberlens?” asked Prosper, exchanging a dark glance with his wife.

“Yes. Do you know them? They can’t be the experts they claim to be.”

Gabrielle shrugged. “Who or what they are I can’t say, but I know they’re not to be trusted. What did they do to you?”

“Made me drink a potion to put me to sleep. And when I woke up, I got the eeriest feeling that something was wrong. The palace was as silent as a tomb – no servants, no Father. I wandered all over, and when I finally found everyone, it was in the remotest part of the palace, and they were all gathered around Mother’s. . .”

Belle gave a shudder. She could not finish the sentence. She did not have to. Gabrielle patted her shoulder.

“The official excuse given for your absence at the funeral was that you were injured,” said Prosper.

“But when nobody saw you for days, and word got out that your father was in a panic, rumors began to spread, most of them assuming the worst,” added Gabrielle.

Belle’s eyes welled with tears. “Oh, that makes me feel awful!” she wailed. “I behaved like a child! But when I realized I’d been force-fed a memory potion, I was wild to undo the effects. I’d read that Rock Trolls specialize in Memory Magic, so I ran off to Arendelle.”

Belle buried her face in her hands. She didn’t finish the rest of the story – how Anna’s aunt the witch conjured up a storm that caused an avalanche, how they had to cling onto the cliffs to save their lives, and how, when faced with the choice of reaching for the memory stone or Anna, she chose wrong and lost both. 

Belle could have sat there wallowing in her own guilt for hours, but she stopped herself. She was being self-indulgent again. She must think of the kingdom. “How have things been here?” she asked, looking up.

“Terrible at first,” answered Prosper, “but then it got quiet. . . at least in the village. I’m sorry to tell you: the palace remains surrounded.”

Belle breathed in sharply. Gabrielle squeezed her hand.

“I wouldn’t have believed it possible,” Prosper went on. “I always thought that ogres just wipe out everything in sight. This looks more like a targeted attack.”

“Because the first ogre was hurt on palace grounds,” said Belle. “Oh, I must get to Father!”

“No!” said Gabrielle. “It’s far too dangerous.”

Belle shook her head. “I know it sounds mad, but I’ve got an idea for a peace plan. I’ve been researching how the First Ogre War ended.” She pulled her book from her pack and laid it on the table.

“Looking to history to find a path to peace,” said Prosper, picking it up. “Your mother would have been proud.”

Belle’s lips quivered. She’d been struggling to stifle her grief, only breaking down once in that brief moment with Stealthy. Now that she was with trusted friends, perhaps she should just give way.

“I miss her so much!” she choked. “How can I do this without her?”

Gabrielle put an arm around her and rocked her, as Mother might have.

They sat together wordlessly for a few minutes. When Prosper spoke up, it was with a plan. “If I’m correct and the ogres are leaving the commoners alone, I can bring you up to the palace in my wagon as long as you go in disguise. Dress as a peasant, and we’ll use the servants’ entrance. If it looks too dangerous, we can always turn back.”

“I have some old clothes you can borrow,” said Gabrielle.

“Oh, my friends!” said Belle, drying her tears. “Anyone else would make light of my ideas. Father probably will. But you understand. I have to try everything I can for the sake of the kingdom, just the way Mother gave everything for me.”

She followed Gabrielle into the bedroom. From the back of her wardrobe, Gabrielle pulled out a blue and white peasant dress and a coarse but sturdy cloak of yellow and green. Belle put them on.

“Look!” she said, pulling the cloak’s oversized hood over her head. “Nobody will even know it’s me!”

All three of them boarded the wagon. Prosper drove with his crossbow at his side, just in case. But like with Belle’s sprint through the woods, there seemed to be an aura of protection around her. She and her friends made it to the palace safe and unharmed.

“You’re delivering books now?” said the guard at the door. Belle pulled down her hood. “Princess!” he cried.

He hurried her inside, and as soon as the servants saw her, a great cheer rang through the palace. Everyone crowded around her and abandoned all sense of decorum and rank. The maids smothered her in kisses and hugs. Someone remembered to try and take her cloak and pack, but she clung to both. Then, a footman dashed off to call the king, and as soon as Belle could pull herself away from the maids, she was following after him. But Father heard all the commotion, and along with his own procession of servants and guards, was coming toward her. Belle ran and leapt into his arms. Everyone watching – servants, soldiers, and the Villeneuves – applauded.

“Oh my Belle! Thank the gods you’re all right!”

“I’m sorry I frightened you, Father. I will never leave in secret again.” She glanced back at the Villeneuves. “Can we honor my friends? They brought me here in safety.”

“You would honor commoners for a ride in a wagon?” sneered a deep voice from behind Father. Belle looked up and saw it was Gaston.

“And I have to marry that conceited clod,” she thought ruefully.

A sudden idea hit her. She pulled herself from Father’s embrace, stood before Prosper and Gabrielle, took off her earrings, and pinned one on each of them as though awarding them medals. Then she turned back to Gaston. “Will you escort my honorees home? A simple ride, but they may need protection. It would ease my mind if they had a guard.”

She didn’t look back to see how Gaston took it. She simply walked off with Father into a private room.

“Belle, where have you been? Do you have any idea how much you worried us?”

“I’m sorry, Father, but you never should have used that potion on me. What did you think would happen? Naturally, I went looking for what I was missing.”

“Did you find it?”

“No, but we can talk about that later. I found something else. I know how we can end the war!” She showed him her letter to Rumpelstiltskin.

He read it over. “Absolutely not, Belle. Anything but him.”

“He’s our only hope! Our army can’t beat the ogres, and neither can Lord Le Gume’s. We need magic. Rumpelstiltskin’s magic.”

“Do not say his name! Don’t you know he can hear everyone who says it?”

Belle didn’t know that, but it was welcome information. “Good! I want him to hear! We need him to come!”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. He’s crafty, and he’s dangerous!”

Belle was about to make a snappy retort when Morriane’s words came back to her. He keeps a hand in all sorts of palace intrigue. . . he’d turn a commoner into a king.

“Father,” she said slowly, “you’ve dealt with him before.”

His silence was as good as an admission.

“How much do we owe him?”

“Nothing! I kept my end of the deal!”

Belle looked at him skeptically. “Tell me the truth, Father. Please.”

He sighed. “I’ve always said you were way too clever for your own good. And mine.”

He did always say it, and she always hated it. It was as though her intelligence were an inconvenience to him.

“That’s why he wanted to erase my memory,” she thought.  “To make me more docile. Then I’d marry Gaston without complaint.”

It was maddening to think so ill of Father, but it was the only way to make sense of his behavior. He gave himself away with that intense interrogation after she woke up from her potion-induced sleep. What did she remember? How old was she when she last saw Mother? He made it as plain as pikestaff: something tragic had happened, and he was trying to hide it from her.

“Father, you could not trick me about Mother’s death, and you cannot deceive me about this either.”

At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. “All right, I will tell you. But I’m not proud of it.” He heaved another sigh. “A long time ago, when you were just a baby, and Mother and I were still commoners, I wasn’t. . .held in high esteem in town. You know I was a tinkerer.”

“And King George paid for your inventions with territory until eventually you had your own small kingdom. That’s what you always told me anyway.”

“Yes, well, I got . . . a little help making that first contact. But I paid the price, I promise you.”

“How much?”

“Belle, you’ve got to understand. He plays with kings like they’re pieces on a chess board. For whatever reason, he wanted to bankrupt King George, so I was set up as his creditor – one of many. I grew rich and powerful, but never too powerful. As long as I remained a thorn in King George’s side but not an overt threat, the Dark One’s terms were satisfied. To put it his way, our interests were aligned. I just had to limit my expansion and follow your mother’s counsel.”

“But, Father, you did try to expand, and that was against Mother’s counsel! You broke the deal, and that left us vulnerable!”

“Belle, please. . .”

“Father, mark the letter with your seal right now! We must get his help. There is no other way!”

He cringed.

“If you do not stamp it, I will go find him myself! I just proved I can travel alone!”

“No, Belle, I will not have you going out there again. It’s not safe. I’ll sign and stamp it as you wish, but we will change your offer of ‘any price.’ The gods only know what he’ll twist that into. We will offer him treasure.”

Belle jumped from her chair and threw her arms around Father’s neck. “Oh, thank you, Papa! You’ll see! It’s what’s best for the kingdom. You will not regret it.”

And so, the letter was signed, stamped, sealed and dispatched. Once the news of its contents spread through the palace, everyone praised King Maurice’s sage plan. They all agreed that only the Dark One had the power to get rid of the ogres.

Belle did not bother to claim credit. Mother wouldn’t have. Besides, preparing for Rumpelstiltskin’s visit was a much wiser use of her time. Unfortunately, her maid wasted over an hour by insisting on dressing her in a ballgown.

“You should never have let Sir Gaston see you in those peasant clothes,” she scolded. “Now we have to dazzle him until he forgets all about it.”

Belle submitted to the inevitable fuss over her hair and dress. It wasn’t worth fighting over. But she bolted to the library the minute she could. She spent the rest of the evening researching more history on ogres, then reviewed Morraine’s tale until she practically memorized it, and finally, because she wished more than ever that Mother were there, she returned to the old, familiar lessons of Her Handsome Hero.

The later it grew, the more violent the ogres became. The palace walls shook from their fighting outside. Messengers kept coming with worse and worse news until everyone was on edge waiting for Rumpelstiltskin. When he didn’t show, the guards locked the gates, and Father despaired.

“He could be on his way right now, Father,” Belle assured him. And if he wasn’t, she’d go out and find him herself. Even if that meant breaking her word to Father and sneaking out again.

But before she could even begin to plan how she would get past the guards, there came a loud pounding at the door. “It’s him!”

The guards unlocked the door. Everyone looked around expectantly, but the hallway was completely empty. Confused and disappointed, they all turned back. What would they do now?

“Well, that was a bit of a letdown!”

And there he was, sitting in Father’s throne and mocking them all like an enfant terrible.

Belle had never seen such an odd-looking man. Not only was his skin yellowish-green like Morraine said, it was scaly! His claw-like fingernails were long and black, and his scruffy hair reached his shoulders, yet he was not as repulsive as she imagined. His leather suit with its feather trimming was outlandish to the point of eccentricity, but it was expertly tailored. And he carried himself with an almost hypnotic grace and gallantry. Belle felt like she could stare at him endlessly. But she caught herself and remembered Morraine’s words: I could not let myself be sidetracked. Not by his questions, not by his taunting, and not by the sheer intimidation of his bizarre presence.

“I must listen to his words carefully,” she resolved to herself. “If I can pick up on his double meanings, I won’t fall into his traps.”

His banter made it difficult. No matter how many times Morraine mentioned his jokes and giggles, she was not prepared for how distracting they would be! In the midst of this discussion of life and death and war and peace, he – the person holding the key to it all – had the light-hearted air of a court jester.

But it was when he and Father began negotiating a price that Belle was really thrown off. He did not want gold. He did not need treasure. He asked for her.

“No!” protested Father.

Gaston blocked her with his arm. “The young lady is engaged to me,” he declared.

“Perhaps so,” she thought, “but I am not your possession. Nobody decides my fate but me.”

Of course, none of these men seemed to acknowledge that. Nor was there much difference, really, between her impending marriage to Gaston and what Rumpelstiltskin was asking for. She was just a bargaining chip either way.

But Rumpelstiltskin made it clear that he wasn’t asking for her hand. He wasn’t even suggesting something more untoward. “I am not looking for love,” he said disdainfully. “I am looking for a caretaker. . . for my rather large estate.”

Now, that was different! She could actually work to earn the aid she was asking for. She would not have to compromise her body or her heart!

She wanted to hear more, but Father would not consider it. “Get out!” he commanded. “Leave!”

Rumpelstiltskin made to walk away. Gaston pushed her further back, out of the negotiation.

“Does Gaston actually believe he’s protecting me?” she wondered. “This man just said he could single-handedly take care of the ogres for us. Gaston is no match for him.”

Rumpelstiltskin locked eyes with her as he passed by. He seemed to be answering Father, but she knew whom he meant to address. “As you wish,” he said.

“Here is my chance,” she thought. “I must speak up now.”

“No, wait!”

He stopped and turned around. Belle thought of Morraine again, asking for what she wanted even when she was nervous inside.

“My family, my friends, they will all be safe?”

“You have my word,” he bowed.

“Then you have mine. I will go with you. . .forever.”

“Deal!” he laughed.

And that was it. Her freedom for the safety of the kingdom. Done, just like that.

Father begged her to change her mind. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t want to say goodbye either. It was a terrible price to pay. But people’s lives were hanging in the balance. This is what the kingdom needed. Leadership meant making sacrifices.

She did not shed a tear as she separated from Father. She was determined to remain perfectly stoic. She simply stood beside Rumpelstiltskin, waiting for her first command as his servant. But strangely, he said nothing. He merely inched his hand toward her, his eyes asking permission to touch her.

“The customary sealing of the deal,” she thought, remembering the handshakes in Morraine’s account: one between him and the ogre and then one with Morraine herself. He always sealed his deals with a touch.

She cocked her head in acquiescence. What else could she do? His fingertips grazed her arm as they walked out together.

Belle did not look back at Father or anyone else as she left the palace. She made her choice, and now she had to live with it. She’d done the brave thing, and now bravery must follow. She would rise to the occasion and face her new, uncertain future all alone.

Author’s Note: Gabrielle Villeneuve is the real-life author of La Belle et la Bete (Beauty and the Beast).