To feel his roots dig deeply, and petals part. It was best when the dirt was warm around him, and damp. It was blissful. It was simple.
It was the life of a rose.
These were the feelings that dragged him to the pub and the bottom of a deep tankard.
Sir Gaston, knight of the Frontlands, choked back strong liquor as the feeling to shy away from the alcohol overwhelmed him. This was poison, his body argued. It burned as it slipped down his throat, and boiled in his stomach. In this darkness, he wilted.
He craved the sun and water more often now.
I am human,his mind chorused, clenching fists and grinding teeth.'A man.' He had to remind himself more often of that, and fight the urges that sought to overwhelm him.
"Another!" he called to the barkeep. This was a night he would drink himself to oblivion. Again. There was only this to make him forget. Months and months trapped, his only movements the digging of rooted limbs, turning gratefully toward the sunlight, drinking in precious water to make his food.
And voices….
Here-If you'll have it.
"What?" Gaston jumped as the bar keep pounded another drink on the table in front of him.
"Gold. Wondering if you have it," the keep said. "Gotta pay, soldier. I don't care what horrors you're drowning, my family's gotta eat."
He handed over a few coins, not caring if it was too much. He could still feel the tingle in his limbs as the magic changed him, his vague sense of no longer being truly aware of the world. Breezes and words and temperature came to him, but never vision, or smell.
But he remembered her voice. I never really cared much for Gaston. He was right there and how she could say such things! She was his. Belonged to him, damn near. The little tart was meant to be his wife! Then there was pain, and wetness. It felt like a struggle to survive.
He heard other things too. Kiss me again, it's working! Then yelling. This means it's true love! So much of that bastard yelling, storming around and breaking things. Why won't you believe me?
He didn't hear Belle for a long while then. But the next time he did, she was the one yelling. He had been drifting more often now. Paying so little attention to the world. Her voice brought him back from his stupor. He heard Evil Queen captured me,and I escaped. Then gentle whispers, murmured apologizes. A day and night passed. Then suddenly he felt himself changing and growing, arms again, and more painfully legs (he was still missing several toes. It was, apparently, the best the Dark One could do.)
Belle looked different. Still beautiful, yes, somehow grander, but somehow terrible. Changed. Perhaps it was the leather pants she wore, the haunted look in her eyes, the straightness of her spine that made her seem taller, or the gold braided into her hair. Her face was taut and angry, and this anger was targeted to the beastly Dark One.
"An enchanted rose, Rumple? Really?"
He tried to get her to leave with him, but she wouldn't hear of it. Insisted that she stay, that she belonged with the demon.
That she loved him.
" Her 'True love,'" he muttered, draining his mug. "What crap." If Rumplestiltskin hadn't come into the picture, he'd likely be home at his lodge, pressing her down into a bed and having his way with her. Prepping her for children. She'd be his wife now, a noble lady, and not the Dark One's whore.
"You've been touched by magic," a figure at his side suddenly said. Gaston started, but only a little. The voice was gentle, male, and he didn't recognize the accent. Much like the person it belonged to. Short, and carefully veiled, Gaston could make out no part of the person save for eyes that glittered darkly in the candles of the tavern and a cheeky grin.
"What do you want?" the soldier asked, immediately defensive.
"I collect stories." The figure waved the bartender to fill their glasses with a pale, delicately manicured hand. "I can see that you're suffering. I'm merely here to offer assistance."
Gaston narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"I can offer you something to change your fate, soldier. We can rewrite this wrong," the hooded figure continued. "You've lost love, yes? Been bested by a foe?"
"Yes…"
"How would you change that, if you could?"
Gaston gritted his teeth. "What do you think you can do? You're small, obviously weak. The Dark One cannot be bested by the sword, nor the spell on her broken by it."
The cloaked man laughed a little. "They say, sometimes, that the pen can be mightier than the sword." From beneath his cloak he pulled out a rectangular wooden box. The soldier eyed him curiously as he opened it to reveal a simple pen and inkwell.
"You can destroy the Dark One?" He asked, not daring to hope it. "With that?"
"Oh no," the man replied. "The Dark One is far too powerful for that. You cannot destroy magic with other magic. But I can give you a tool to change your fate. I've been practicing that very thing."
He began to scribble then, dipping carefully into the glittering black ink and swiping it across the page. He then showed the paper to Gaston.
~It was then that Gaston, son of the Duke of the Frontlands, found beneath his chair a golden lamp, filled with the magic to make all his wishes come true.~
Gaston stared at the written words, brow furrowing as he reached under his chair. He sat up again with an oil lamp in his hand. The top was encrusted with jewels, emeralds and glittering diamonds. He could feel it thrumming softly beneath his fingertips, almost as if it were breathing.
"This is.."
"A magic lamp, with a genie inside," the stranger said, nodding. "He can shape the world around you."
Gaston was overwhelmed by the thought of it. It seemed suspicious. "What you want in return for this?"
The man smiled his cheeky grin again. "I just like seeing the ups and downs that make a happy ending. This will make a great story one day." He stood up then, gave a slight bow, and was gone.
A/N: Title taken from the idiom "If wishes were Horses, then beggars would ride."
I've had this idea for a while, but the introduction of the Author was really the puzzle piece to make it work.
Also some helpful advice from another writer. =]