The Mark of a Knight
By: RosexKnight
Rumbelle Christmas in July present for JudyMulder of Tumblr! Prompt: Fencing, "The Mark of Zorro" - Sir Rumpelstiltskin has been branded a traitor in the eyes of the Frontlands and has been in hiding with his son for ten years. However, when the very force that threatened to pull them apart all those years ago comes to his new home, the now-spinner must take up his sword once more and save his son from a fate worse than death. However, his son does not yet fully know the ways of a knight, and there is a certain princess there that makes keeping his identity a secret quite a challenge…
Chapter One
"But the brave knight wasn't afraid of the evil king…"
"He wasn't?"
"No. He leapt down from the top of the steps and scooped up the innocent man right by the scruff of his neck. Once he was safe he turned to the evil king and turned his sword on him. With a flick of his wrist he made it clear to the evil king that the people would not take his tyranny any longer. Then, he climbed onto his noble steed and rode away."
The boy's eyes were wide with wonder as his father pulled the wool blanket to his chin. "The brave knight is amazing."
His father only chuckled. "He was only doing what was right. All knights do. Or used to…"
"I want to be a knight when I'm old enough."
"You can one day. You'll get there. The world can use more Knights. There are so few of us now."
"Is that why you don't have many adventures anymore papa?"
He chuckled. "That's exactly right. I hear plenty of tales from other Knights, though. I'll tell you more But for now, sleep."
The boy groaned, but let his father kiss his brow nonetheless. "Goodnight, Papa."
"Goodnight, son. Pleasant dreams."
It wasn't until he'd blown out the lamp beside his son's bed and started into the main room that his body began to ache. He rubbed his shoulders, trying to smooth away the bruises that were no doubt there from his armor. His leg hurt the worst, and he practically groaned with relief when he sat on a settee by the hearth, stretching it out.
"I'm getting too old for this…" He grumbled to himself.
The fire crackled before him, and he was grateful for the peace it offered. His son didn't suspect that the stories he told were his own, and for that he was grateful. He relaxed into his chair, letting his mind wander through the night.
It wasn't always like this. Knights once had honor befitting of the royalty they swore allegiance to. There were no evil kings or ogres. Only pretty princesses with beautiful blue eyes smiling at him as he helped her onto her horse. Heaving a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Now was not the time to be dwelling on past, no matter how lovely the memories of his favorite princess was. She probably hates him for chipping her teacup anyway.
Perhaps, in another life, he wouldn't be sitting here alone with a sore leg, stewing in the feats of the day with an empty seat at his side. If he were a better man, perhaps he'd finally have a proper family. Then again, he had his son, and that was all he needed. Still, he couldn't help the thought that maybe it was time for him to retire and settle down after all. He snorted at the thought.
Yeah. Retire. And then he'd hunt down that pretty princess and settle down with her. And then he'd ride a flying boar.
A knock at the door snapped him from his thoughts. He frowned, his hand finding the sword he kept at his side at all times. The knock came a second time, and it was only then that he opened it.
"Sir Rumpelstiltskin?"
"Aye…"
The man at his door took a scroll from under his cloak. Behind him, Rumpelstiltskin could make out the dark figures of a horse and three others in the darkness. He shifted his weight to his better leg, his eyes squaring on the man before him unrolling the scroll. The crest of the Royal Family of the Frontlands glinted in the dim light of the fire and moon, and Rumpelstiltskin's stomach dropped.
"I am Hordor, Captain of the Guards of the Frontlands." The man said before turning to the scroll. "The Ogres War is upon us. It has been decreed by Prince James that every available boy at the age of 12 must report to the castle to be trained to be part of the Royal Army for the upcoming battle."
Rumpelstiltskin stood dumbfounded, the information not quite registering to him. Or perhaps it was that he couldn't believe it.
"We're here for Baelfire." Hordor finally said, tucking the scroll back into his cloak.
"No." Rumpelstiltskin said immediately. "Bae is my apprentice. He's to be a knight of the realms."
"Wake up old man. The age of Knights is over. If they were so important the kingdom wouldn't have Ogres biting at its ankles!"
Rumpelstiltskin remained silent.
"If you refuse, you'll be branded a traitor. And hanged, Knight of the Realm or not."
The weight of the situation fell on him, and fear coiled in his gut. They wanted Baelfire. His son. For the front line. He knew all too well what that meant.
"Sir Rumpelstiltskin."
"No." The knight choked out finally, gripping his sword. "No you can't have my son."
"So be it."
The door slammed shut before Hordor could draw his sword. Rumpelstiltskin grabbed a nearby chair, barring the door.
Baelfire was already stirring from the loud noise. "Papa?"
"Here." Rumpelstiltskin jutted out a small pack to his son. "Grab everything you can."
"Papa what's going on?"
There was a loud slam on the door, the sound of wood splintering echoing through the house.
"We have to go, son. Everything essential. Now!"
The boy only nodded and began following his father's instructions, packing away his warm winter coat and a few other things from his room before moving to the kitchen. Rumpelstiltskin followed suit, grabbing his sword and shield once the essentials were packed away.
With another loud slam the door gave way, and Rumpelstiltskin whirled around with his sword only to meet Hordor's with a clang.
"Baelfire, get behind me son."
The boy followed his father's orders, clutching himself to his side. Hordor only chuckled, taking a step back. Rumpelstiltskin's eyes darted through the house. They were effectively trapped from any means of escape save for the back door, and once he made a move for it Hordor would have him.
"It's over, Rumpelstiltskin." Hordor said. "Give me the boy."
"Never!"
With another sharp noise their blades made contact. With a few swings Rumpelstiltskin forced the other back, but he could see two more entering. Hordor toon advantage of his distraction, parrying fiercely with a few short swings. Rumpelstiltskin found himself by the hearth, back where he started. There was little other choice. They would have to run.
With one fluid motion, Rumpelstiltskin caught the logs in the hearth with his sword, sending them scattering across the floor between them. Hordor stumbled back with a cry, the blazing logs hitting his feet and the embers scattering towards his arms. The fire crackled and caught, the nearby rug soon burning with the heat and embers, then the wooden table, then the chairs, and soon the entire house was blazing. Despite the growing fire between them, Hordor came at Rumpelstiltskin mercilessly. Rumpelstiltskin bolted upright to block Hordor's blow at his arm, but the quick movement proved folly, and he stumbled back with a new pain in his leg. Hordor took advantage once again, backing Rumpelstiltskin into a corner until the smoke became too thick for either of them. Coughing and sputtering, Hordor and his men were forced back into the thick smoke.
"Run, Bae!" Rumpelstiltskin called, darting to his son, "Out the back!"
The boy needn't had been told twice. In a moment he'd turned and pushed through the flames and smoke out the door. He didn't stop running until he was atop the hill behind the house, his father not far behind him.
Rumpelstiltskin's bones felt heavy, and his sword thumped to the ground as he coughed, lungs burning, desperate for clean air.
"Are you alright, son?" He asked, hands fluttering around his boy, searching for any signs of harm. He smiled when his son nodded. "Good. Good thing."
"You'll never be rid of me!" Came an angry cry from below, over even the roar of the fire. "I will find you, traitor! You'll never be rid of me!"
Rumpelstiltskin swallowed, bending to pick up his sword again. "Come, Bae." He finally rasped, clinging to his son's shoulder. "We have to go."
"I don't understand, Papa." Baelfire said as he followed his father away from the house they once knew, his pack of necessities and most prized possessions on his shoulder. "Why did he call you a traitor? Why did we run instead of fighting like a knight should? Like the brave knight in your stories?"
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell his son the truth. That the evil king wanted him for a soldier. That the brave knight stood no chance with an aching leg against three men. But his son was just a boy, naive to the darkness of the world. And, through his own sweaty brow and burning muscles and racing pulse another truth showed through.
"Because, son...I'm not a brave knight." He sighed, the words like sandpaper on his tongue. He kept his eyes forward, unable to meet the disappointment in his son's eyes. "And I'm getting too old for this…"
His son only nodded, turning back for a moment to fixate at the fire at the bottom of the hill. And if his father had a limp as they turned away from their old life, he didn't notice.