I do not own any of the once upon a time characters.

The Light of the Sea

Rumpelstiltskin scowls. Those pesky magical insects had been driving him up and down the wall with their screeches for help for the past three months. Why would the damn creatures need help with dark magic? Why not go to the sorcerer, or Elsa, or the White Witch but no, Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin, please help us, Rumpelstiltskin! Three months of chants and cries for help. And yet even if he did help them, in a short matter of time they would be trying to ruin his life again. Not that it wasn't already ruined enough – they had taken Bae away from him! Gave the child a bean he should have never even known about.

Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin, please help us, we are trapped, please, we are dying, help us! He throws the table across the dining room. Fine. Perhaps the vermin have something good to offer him. The dark one prowls around the back of his skull, itching for a deal. You know that you want it, Rumpelstiltskin, just go take a little peak. Just to make sure that they don't have anything before you refuse a deal with something that holds the only power able to weaken you. You know how much you hate them . . . make them suffer.

With a flick of his wrist he is dressed in his giant cuffed dragon skinned coat with black leather pants. Fine. He would go see the little pests. Perhaps they could actually be sorry. Or, even better, he would make them so. They would make a fine decoration in the dark castle, strewn about the walls with pins stabbed through their throats.

With a poof of purple smoke he appears in a dungeon deep underground in King Neptune's cave. Trapped are the fairies in a haze of his magic, tangled in seaweed with bubbles of oxygen the only thing keeping them alive. Rumpelstiltskin smirks, satisfied at the sight. Clearly he isn't the only one annoyed with the constant chatter and gossip they seem to enjoy spreading.

"Now, now dearies," he says, pulling his hands up in his signature way. "I do think after three months of hearing your pesky voices I am tempted to simply relocate you to my bug collection. How does that sound?" The horrified look on their faces satisfies him enough. He turns to Rhuel Ghorm. "Now what do you little wasps have to offer for your freedom? Assuming that is what you want of course," he adds smugly. She frowns and he gets on one knee, baring his teeth at her. "Oh!" he exclaims, jumping up in delight. "Of course, how could I have not thought of that!"

"Thought of what," she responds nervously.

"You know," he says, bending again. "You really shouldn't think so loud." He stands as their heads all turn, watching him intently. "I shall release you if you grant me the source of your power." Gasps and whispers run through the trapped fairies, along with astonished looks and a few who just seem to pass out right there and then. Who knew what the object was – or even if he could handle it without protection. Light magic is lethal to someone as dark as him.

"Fine," Rheul Ghorm says. "Set me free and I will give it to you. I do warn you though, it isn't something that one like you would like to have in your grasp." He lets out a shrill of delight and with a few simple spells, she is released. She transports away and he follows with his darker magic.

The first thing he notices as he appears is the stench that floods over him. He keels over and tries not to hurl the rest of his breakfast across the already damp floor. He hears the sound of chains and follows the fairy down many alleyways and corridors. Her glow is his only source of light. No wonder they kept the object all the way down here. The moment one walked in the stench and noises would have been so repelling they would have been forced to turn. More chains have him stumbling after her.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she calls. "Are you sure you are ready? And are you sure you want it?"

"Dearie, I never go back on my deals," he sputters. "Your power is of no importance to me so shut up and lead me to whatever it is." She points down a hall.

"You will find it in the door at the end. Use a few spells and the door shall open for you. I will be waiting."

"Yes you will, dearie," he spits, "Yes you will." He walks down to the end of the hallway, and notices that it covered in several layers of dark magic. Why would fairies be using dark magic? Recognizing him as the dark one, the magic scatters at his touch, sending the door sliding open against the rocks. The entire building shakes at the motion that hadn't been used in centuries. How disgusting. Even he as the Dark One is appalled by the fairies use of dark magic.

The stench is even stronger as he steps in, peering into the darkness. He shutters as bouts of evil are poured through him at each step, as if he is walking through the depths of hell itself. He curses a few times and is about to call out Rheul Ghorm for a cruel trick when a small whimper echoes through the room.

He squints and notices something naked, shivering in the corner of the room.

"Dearie?" he calls out. It doesn't move, and he carefully approaches the small creature. "Hello?" He pokes it and it screams, rolling, grasping, crawling to the other side of the room. Its cries . . . her screams echoing through the building as anger boils inside of him. How could they do this? To a child? She is just a babe, yet is completely mutilated and naked and horrified. He goes to pick her up and she runs from him, crying. The little girl is drenched in her own feces. How could they do this? For the expense of magic? A child's suffering? He is forced to place a sleeping spell on her before he carries her out, cradling her limp body across his chest.

"Still want it?" Rhuel Ghorm asks, disgusted. He holds back his rage at the comment, along with tears and everything else he feels for the girl.

"Why?" he growls quietly. They began making their way out and the doors shut behind him. With a few whispers the other fairies are freed; although, he does not go to the extent to untangle them. The weaker ones will drown. Their death satisfies him. He ought to kill them all for the dear one in his arms.

"She is pure, a product of true love and a first born. Therefore, she produces light. We take her light to give us our magic leaving her to torment and rot away where you found her. We have no choice . . . without her sacrifice the world would have been left with you; and you, being the demon that you are, would have destroyed the enchanted forest with darkness." The fairy disappears, using the last of her magic before it is drained from her feeble body. He had never hurt a child . . .not once. If anything, it pained him to see the way they always ran from him in fear, and especially the way parents used him as a threat to get them to listen. He looks down at the sleeping babe before transporting them back to the dark castle.

Page Break

The child awakes in his arms once they enter his bedroom. He had made sure before waking her that there be enough light in the room for her to see, but not too much. Who knows how old this child is . . . how long she had spent in darkness? She groggily opens her eyes and he notices that they are a beautiful hazel color, speckled in light blue, green, and brown. How unique.

Weak and exhausted, the little one begins to whimper, afraid but unable to run. He whispers softly to her, walking her around the room, needing to calm her before introducing her to the bath. The shock of it all could only make the experience more traumatizing.

"It's alright now, little one. I promise, I will keep you safe. I promise," he whispers. Feeling no pain in his gentle grip and sensing the calmness in his voice, her whimpers turn to soft cries. He shifts her a bit and decides to fill the bath manually, giving her time to adjust. Using magic would speed things up to a level someone as traumatized as her would in no way be able to handle. She begins to cry again and he rocks her a bit against his chest. Had she ever even seen water?

He pours a few sweet smelling vials into the bath, content at the bubbles that form at the top of the water. He begins to place her inside but she panics, splashing the water all over the place. He takes her out and walks her soaking body across the bathroom, praying that she quiet down.

The water seeps through his leather and he rids it with a flick of his wrist. She lays her head over his heart as he rubs circles on her back.

"It's alright, darling. Rumple's here. We are just going to take a little bath and you will be all clean and ready for the night. I promise, okay?" he whispers. She trembles against him.

An hour later, he sits on the side of the tub and tries once again to lower her in. She struggles and begins to wail as he sits her in the water, her nails digging into his arms. He sighs. Fail. Utter fail. But how else is the child to bathe? She is covered in feces and cuts that had to be disinfected and bandaged properly. There is no way around taking a good, long, bath.

With a sigh of defeat, he steps into the bath and cradles her against his chest. Her cries soften and he takes a washcloth on the bottom of the tub. He didn't know if her panic ended because of the exhaustion, or if he had managed to calm her. Whatever it was, he is grateful. He tries to clear her of the waste and blood that sticks to her skin and begins to hum, hoping that perhaps the noise will distract her from being bathed. The vials he had placed in the tub should relieve most of the pain. The girl is only in war with her fear.

Although the color of the child's hair was impossible to determine in its matted, filthy state, his shampoo is quick to clear it of its grim. Her hair is thick, and runs past her shoulders in little waves. Once he untangles it with his fingers and the aid of conditioner, he cannot help but notice rare color. It is a light orange, with a few light blonde strands running through across the locks. A product of true love and a first born. For all of those he had seen, this one certainly qualified as the most beautiful.

Rumpelstiltskin scowls, the memory of the fairies and their hidden darkness returning. He would have to place a spell on all the future children of this kind. Nobody deserves to be treated as brutally as the little babe in his arms. Next time – they would face the true wrath of the dark one.

He looks down and notices that she has fallen asleep against him, the soft splashes of the warm water and his heartbeat having calmed her. For the first time, she is filled with peace. Her little hands find their way across his neck as he stands, wrapping her in a towel.

"Shh, little one, it's alright dear, I promise. We are just going to dry you off a bit; just a little bit and you can go to bed." He lays her down on his comforter and dries her off, going ahead and taking the freedom to rub different creams across her shivering form. The cuts are not life threatening, but they needed to heal. She begins to cry as he dries her private parts. The amount of urine she had sat in had irritated the area badly and as he looks closer, he isn't at all sure that nothing more had happened to the girl. He was not able to prove it, but it was clear enough that she had been taunted in ways that are too evil for him to even wrap his mind around.

It isn't long before she is crying again, and he is forced to magically place a soft nightgown on her body. If it rubbed against the scabs, the pain would be nearly unbearable.

He picks her up again and lays her in a crib beside his own bed. He turns down the candles before cleaning the bathroom with a flick of his wrist and changing his bed sheets. He lays down, and listens to her cry and writhe on her little mattress. How long had it been since she had eaten? What do you feed a three year old? For all he knew, she didn't even know how to chew correctly.

He conjures some warm milk and honey, checking the temperature on his wrist before setting it on his nightstand. The child looks at him in fear as he picks her back up, laying her back against his stomach. She would need to sleep, and he knew he couldn't coddle her all the time. If it weren't for the torture she had endured, perhaps she would be able to sleep naturally. That must be it . . . the child must be unable to process the difference between when to be afraid and when to not be. It makes perfect sense.

As soon as she finishes the milk he pulls the covers over them, laying her on her side against his chest. She moves until her hand is over his heart, and it doesn't take long for her breathing to deepen, and her soft little snores to flow through the room. How had he ever come upon such a blessing? He didn't deserve to have her; to have a second chance at caring for a child. He begins to think of all the parents, and the children they had asked for. She should be in a real family . . . not in his poor excuse for a home. He rubs little circles into her back, a tear falling at the little ones misery. How could he have not sensed it? How could she have suffered for so long?

Hey! This has been a project I have been wanting to do for a long time; but haven't actually known how to go through it. I hate fairies and wanted to prove that they are not all light, and that they are actually very dark in many ways. What do you all think? Please let me know any thoughts, questions, or comments!