"Kneel, Imp."
Once, Rumplestiltskin might have tried to resist the command. But now, two weeks after he was first summoned to the court of Sir Maurice by the pull of his dagger, he knows that such an act of petty rebellion is useless. He must plot to regain control of the dagger, but until then, his power will not allow him to escape any disobedience unpunished.
Even as he drops to his knees, his eyes turned to the stone floor, a twinge of pain shoots through him, a silent warning.
"Well, Dark One, have you changed your mind yet?"
Maurice's sharp voice fills the cell. Rumplestiltskin barely holds back a sign and settles for rolling his eyes which the knight will not notice. They have already had this conversation multiple times.
"Dead is dead, dearie."
He repeats the words, wishing Maurice would finally believe them. Though the man is blinded by love and grief, he fails to see how he cannot understand such a basic law.
"Very well."
He turns away, flicking the dagger in a languid motion. Pain, sharp and burning fills Rumplestiltskin, intensifying a moment later and tearing out the scream he'd been trying to hold back.
Silently, he vows his revenge on this man and his kingdom, and any near and dear to him.
Her father tells her of him the same day he falls so seriously ill. Later, she would wonder which of her emotions toward her father had been stronger; her fear for his health or the betrayal and horror that he had kept this from her her entire life.
He holds the Dark One's dagger.
She listens patiently while he explains how there had been another attack when she was just a baby, and he'd tried any possible way to save the kingdom. Almost all hope had been lost when Rheul Ghorm had shared her plan, and finally the control of the evil demon had fallen into his hands. The war over, he'd been placed in the dungeon.
He'd been there ever since.
Now, the Ogre war was at their doorstep again, and Maurice was too old and too ill to weird the dagger again. She must summon the imp, as much as he wanted to keep his daughter away from a demon such as Rumplestiltskin, there was no other choice if both Belle and the kingdom were to be kept safe.
Five minutes later, Belle was descending the rough-hewn stone steps into the dungeon, a torch gripped tightly in one hand and the dagger in the other. In the torch lit semi-darkness the name carved on the blade seemed to shift and gleam with a life of its own.
Rumplestiltskin
Their last hope. Their destruction, or their salvation, only time would tell. If they were mistaken, if the dagger had somehow lost its power.. then they would truly understand why he was known as a creature without mercy, but by the Gods, he would step over her lifeless corpse first.
Not that she had any doubt he'd hesitate in doing just that, given half a chance.
It has been a long time since he last felt the presence of a desperate soul.
Rumplestiltskin knows his prison now, well enough to know that the sound of frantic feet on the stairs is not the guard who just occasionally drops him a meal so he doesn't starve. (It wouldn't kill him, of course, but he isn't immune to the pangs of hunger that gnaw almost constantly at his hollow insides.)
Whoever is coming is desperate, and he would think that they wanted a deal. But he can almost feel the control of the dagger getting closer, in the hands of someone other than Maurice, apparently, because he detects none of the anger and self-righteousness that had rolled off the man in waves.
Only strength and courage. How odd.
He waits patiently, the mask of the snowman in place and a heavy feeling in his heart.
The last time someone had appeared in his dungeon, dagger in hand, things had not ended well for Rumplestiltskin.
All right, this is an idea I've been working on for quite a while, so I already have some ideas. Really excited for this one...
If anyone's interested, expect a slightly longer next chapter by Friday (6/5/16).