A Dance In Winter

1

Rumple's Little Spark

The first rays of the morning sun crept in through the cracked window pane of the dilapidated cottage occupied by the Prytani bondservant Rumplestiltskin Gold and his family and danced across the worn surface of the wooden floor. The cottage was a tiny affair, barely large enough in its one room to house the three occupants who lived in it. A braided rag rug made from scraps of worn cloth graced the floor and beyond that was a small hearth where a fire had died to embers. A rickety pine table stood in the middle of the floor, with two benches on either side of it. Wooden dishes and horn spoons and forks were piled atop them at one end of the table. A small clay urn with some wilted sunflowers was in the center of the table.

Along the wall beside the hearth were three straw stuffed pallets with faded blue sheets on them. Each pallet bore a member of the Gold family in it, the largest being Rumple, wrapped in his light green blanket, the next was Baelfire, his five-year-old son, and the third had Rumple's small daughter, Aileen in it, who was two. The children had kicked off their blankets during the night, and Bae sprawled half off his pallet onto the floor.

A battered iron cauldron was hanging inside the fireplace upon a rotating hook, and some shopworn fireplace tools leaned against the brick fireplace. Two crates were shoved on the opposite side of the pallets, and a small curtain could be drawn across that space for a measure of privacy, such as it was.

As the sun sparkled through the window, Aileen began tossing and turning again, her light brown curls plastered to her fair cheek as she whimpered in the grip of a sudden high fever.

Bae had woken to use the chamber pot and was going to fall back to sleep, when he saw his little sister moaning. He went to see if she were wet or something and when he touched her, found she was burning up. His dark eyes wide, he ran over to where his father slept and shook his shoulder.

"Papa! Papa, wake up! Aileen's sick!"

Rumple stirred, accustomed to waking at the slightest touch after a year of being bondservant to the arrogant and cruel Gaston deLyon, the Galatian lord who owned him. Rumple opened his eyes and blinked up at his son. "Bae? What's the matter?"

"M'fine, Papa . . . it's Aileen. I think . . . I think she's got a fever!" his son repeated.

Rumple arose immediately. Like his son, he wore a simple undyed linen smock and his feet were bare. He was a lean medium-sized man with shoulder-length silky brown hair and an animated handsome face with expressive brown eyes. Around his neck was a gold collar set with a single stone—a fire onyx, which bound his magic.

Like all collared servants, Rumple was a Prytani magician, born with magic's gift in a kingdom that had once been neighbors with warlike Galatia. Prytainia was a small kingdom, sandwiched between Galatia on one side and the Snowfell mountains on the other, a lush valley where the earth was rich and grew almost anything planted within it thanks to the earth mages who tilled the soil, and tended all the crops and forests, as well as the wild animals who lived in the kingdom. Prytainia was famous for its fine wool, beautiful spun clothing of rainbowed hues, and the magicians who dwelled there. Ruled by the Mage Lords and their Conclave, Prytainia prospered, trading with their neighbor and other kingdoms, offering their services as mages when they traveled outside their borders.

No one quite knew what had prompted Galatia's king, George, to invade Prytainia, except perhaps he grew jealous of the fact that the neighboring kingdom, though smaller than his own, was wealthier due to the fact that ruling family's Mage Lords could spin straw into gold, and the prosperous peaceful kingdom was like a precious jewel worn upon a naïve lady's hand. George also hated and distrusted magicians ever since almost being assassinated by a dark mage, Zoso, years ago. The practice of magic was forbidden in Galatia, and all of its hedge mages and witches had either been driven out or burned at the stake by the time George was married to his queen, Marian. Marian died giving birth to an heir, James, who was a rather sickly child, and George indulged him as his only heir and son. Until his death from a dragon's claws when he was eighteen.

A series of bad weather—torrential rains and then a wildfire had plagued Galatia afterwards . . .resulting in their crops failing and people starving.

And it had been then that George had turned his sights to Prytainia to the east. Prytania had fertile land and was prosperous, trading over the mountains, and their Mage Lords were benevolent rulers who helped their people with their magic and believed a ruler's first duty was to their people. They had a small corps of household guards and no true standing army, just volunteers in case of an attack by the ogres. In contrast, Galatia had a large well-trained army, one of the largest in any kingdom in Fairy Tale Land, and they were equipped with the latest weapons and armor, including lances that were tipped with dreamshade and a special corps of knights bore weapons dipped in squid ink, which paralyzed the magic born.

George ordered the attack at midnight, and the Prytani were caught by surprise. The city fell within two hours, despite the Mage Lord families who awoke to defend it. Rumple's family, the Golds, were betrayed from within by his faithless wife, Milah, who opened the gates of the palace to Sir Gaston and his men.

Using their squid ink tipped weapons, Gaston and his company subdued the Golds and took them as prisoners. Those that didn't try and fight back, that is. Rumple been forced to watch in horror as the Galatians slaughtered his household staff and his parents because they were deemed "too dangerous" to live, beheaded and their remains burnt upon a pyre to totally destroy them and prevent them from "returning", even though no Prytani mage practiced the dark arts of necromancy. Rumple still had nightmares about that and woke screaming or weeping with his face in his pillow to muffle his cries.

Dragged back to Galatia in chains, Rumple soon discovered that mages were second class citizens in Galatia, scorned and regarded as abominations by most of the populace, especially the king. He ordered all the Prytani mages collared with special collars of obedience that blocked their magic, making the once proud magicians slaves to the ruling class of Galatians.

Rumple was now Gaston's slave, he and his children, even though neither of them showed signs of being able to spellcast yet. Thus they weren't collared, but the moment they showed any type of magical ability, they would find a collar about their necks too.

That had been a year previously, and Rumple still chafed under the rule of his harsh master, and dreamed one day of being free . . . and making those who had harmed him and his people pay in spades. There was an old saying in Prytainia—help a wizard and magic shall make you prosper, harm a wizard and his wrath shall make you weep, a wizard never forgets, so do unto him as you would wish to be done unto you. Plainly George and his ruling class had forgotten that little bit of wisdom. But someday, Rumple had vowed, he would remind them all of the error of their ways . . . and they would regret what they had done . . . forever.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he walked over to where his small daughter lay upon her pallet. "Hey now, my little spark," he crooned. Aileen's name meant "bright flame" and so he had nicknamed her "little spark". It was a tradition in his family to give children names pertaining to fire or something similar. Rumple's father had been named Robert-meaning "bright fame", and his mother Rhiannan-appropriately her name meant "little witch". Baelfire's name meant "little bonfire". Rumple's own name meant-"shining spinner of straw into gold"—quite fitting as that was one of his Mage Talents. The Talent to transform objects and living things ran in his line, as did a Talent for healing and foresight and potion making. The Golds had been the ruling Mage Lords of the Council of Seven, and Rumple was among the strongest mages in five generations.

Rumple gently felt his child's forehead. "Gods! You're burning up, dearie!"

He lifted his listless child, cradling her close, and grimaced as he felt her bottom. She was wet, having had an accident during the night. "Bae," he called to his son. "I need you to bring me some soapy water and a cloth. And then strip the sheet off the pallet."

"Papa, she wet the bed again, didn't she?" the five-year-old sighed.

"She's sick, dearie, and it happens. Now, please, do as I say." Rumple urged.

When Bae brought the water and cloth back, Rumple gently cleaned the little girl, who whined and squirmed, putting on some salve and then a padded cloth diaper. "Shhh . . .it's going to be okay," he told her, though he feared the fever was the first sign of something much worse. He dressed her in a clean yellow smock, like all slaves. In Galatia, slaves—meaning his people—were forced to wear yellow colored tunics and smocks, unless they were wearing their master or mistress' livery while working for them.

"Papa . . . m' hot . . .!" Aileen moaned pathetically.

"I know, dearie . . ." Rumple emptied out the dirty water and refilled it from the rain barrel he'd set outside the cottage door. Then he began to bathe his sick daughter, trying as best he could to bring down her fever.

He used his knowledge of herbs to brew a small amount of yarrow tea, making an infusion which he added to a tub and bathed his cranky child with it, hoping the yarrow's natural properties would help sweat the fever out. The fever started to go down, but a few hours later, it was back up again, and he also saw telltale red spots on Aileen's body.

Bae gasped. "Papa! It's . . . the spotted plague!"

The spotted plague was an illness that had begun striking down the very old, young, and weak in Galatia. No one knew where it had come from, but it was whispered it was the gods' punishment for invading Prytainia and killing most of its Mage Lords and taking the rest off in chains to be slaves. But much as Rumple would have liked to believe that, he knew that was not so. His knowledge as an herbalist told him the spotted plague was a virus most likely brought on by poor hygiene and filth as well as heat and some kind of carrier, like lice. The Galatians, unlike his own people, did not believe in daily bathing . . . instead dousing themselves in heavy perfumes and giving themselves only cursory washings of hands, face, and feet every other day, but a full bath only once every two weeks . . . if that.

It had taken weeks for Rumple and his children to accustom themselves to the Galatians body odor, and sometimes Aileen still ran about holding her nose and saying, "Ewww! Stinky!" when someone passed her. Rumple thought it quite funny, but knowing that as a slave she could be punished for such disrespect to a Galatian, he had to scold her when he saw her saying such things.

Now he saw to his dismay that his beloved baby girl had fallen victim to the sickness that had claimed the lives of almost a hundred and fifty Galatians and Prytani alike last year alone. Terrified for the life of his child, he did something he knew he should never do—he used his magic in a forbidden attempt to bring down her fever.

Now Rumple was probably the strongest mage in Prytainia, and though the collar of obedience was spelled to block a mage's magic, it was dark magic, and Rumple's magic was strongest when he healed. His power, combined with his iron will, managed to circumnavigate his collar for a brief moment, and brought the dangerously high fever down to a managable level.

He breathed a quick sigh of relief . . .until the collar glowed a sullen red and pain swamped him as the collar punished him for using his magic without permission from his master.

Rumple crumpled to the floor with a soft cry as red hot knives of agony speared through him.

"Papa!" Bae cried, rushing over to him, then stopping when he saw the collar glowing. He knew, as did all Prytani, what that meant. "Papa, why? Why'd you do it?" he sobbed.

Aileen began to cry too, as if sensing her brother's distress.

Rumple writhed upon the floor for another instant . . . until the collar released him. Then he just lay there, thankful the painful seizure had left him able to control himself this time . . . probably because he had used healing magic instead of magic to harm. The first time he had tried to use his magic to hurt his new master, the collar had dropped him in his tracks for several minutes, making him scream and lose control of his bodily functions while Gaston and his cronies laughed and mocked him, calling him "Rumple Bumpkin, the Piss Poor Prytani."

"Bae . . ." Rumple panted, slowly sitting up, all his nerve endings still on fire, though the pain was fading. The collar punished . . . but it never incapacitated for long, for the Galatians didn't want to lose their slaves' usefulness. "Please . . . get me some water."

Bae ran to get a cup of water from the small pitcher, and brought it to Rumple so he could drink. "Papa . . . are you all right? You shouldn't have done that."

"I had to, Bae. Your sister . . . she would have died else . . ." Rumple sighed. He waited until he felt the pain ease and then got to his feet.

On her pallet, Aileen cried, a thin wail.

Rumple came over to her and picked her up. "Your Papa's here, little spark . . . shh . . . come stop your crying, it'll be all right . . . just take my hand, baby girl, and hold it tight . . ." he rocked the child in his arms, cursing the Galatians as he did so.

"Papa, tirsty," whimpered his daughter, and Rumple gave her some water. She was a bit cooler, but he didn't fool himself into thinking the plague was beaten. His magic had been a trickle, not the steady stream he would need to cure her of this disease.

"Papa, what are you gonna do?" Bae asked, tugging on Rumple's smock. "You gotta go to work in an hour . . . an' Lisle won't watch Aileen if she's sick."

"I know, boy . . ." he sighed. Lisle was his Galatian neighbor, not a noble, but an ordinary citizen, a wool spinner by trade. Rumple had taught her how to spin a stronger finer thread, though she could not, as he used to, spin straw into gold. She watched his children when he went to work for his master up at court. But he knew that if Lisle saw Aileen had the spotted sickness, she would refuse to come near the child.

But the Prytani seemed to have an increased resistance to the plague . . . perhaps because of their mage blood. A mage's power, once manifested seemed to protect them from most diseases and slowed down their aging. It was one more reason why the Galatians hated them, he supposed.

"I could ask Regina," Rumple mused. Regina was a Prytani too, a daughter of another Mage Lord family, the Mills, and she was the slave of a spoiled noblewoman called Ella Landon. But Ella rarely woke before noon, as she spent all her nights partying at the estate of one Galatian noble or another, and so Regina was free from her demands for most of the day. "She could watch you . . ."

Bae nodded. He didn't mind the dark-haired witch, even though she could be sassy and sharp-tongued, Regina liked children, though her own son had been sold to another Galatian lord, a man called Michael of House Tavish. She was desperate to see her son again, and had often made deals with her mistress to see the boy, Henry, for a few hours every week, on his day off. Her husband, Daniel, had been killed in the coup, and Regina hated her new masters with a fine and deadly passion.

Rumple knew that if she should ever free herself of her collar, the streets of Galatia City would run red with blood.

"Stay with your sister, Bae," Rumple murmured, and dressed quickly in his yellow tunic and plain white pants, he detested the color, for he thought it made him looked jaundiced as well as labeling him a commodity.

Then he went swiftly out the door and down two huts to Regina's small home. The slave quarters for those Prytani who served at the palace were all alike . . . and all close to the palace so the servants could attend their masters and mistresses as needed. They returned to their cottages during the evening, or as their masters allowed.

Rumple knocked upon the door of the small hut.

It was opened a moment later by a tall woman with dark flowing hair and high cheekbones in a shapeless yellow dress with a cord belt and sandals. "Rumple! I should have known it was you. Only you practice common courtesy any longer," Regina laughed, her voice harsh with mockery. "These Galatians wouldn't know courtesy if it bit their ass. Come in."

Rumple entered her home, which was just like his, except she was alone in it. "Regina, I've come to ask you for a favor. Aileen is sick . . . with the spotted fever . . ."

"Oh no! When did she start having it?" cried the Prytani mage in dismay.

"Last night or early this morning," Rumple told her. "Could you please watch her and Bae while I go and attend Master Gaston?"

Regina nodded. "I can . . .Mistress Ella partied hard last night . . . she won't be up and about till three in the afternoon, and when she does get up . . . she'll be lucky not to have the world's worse hangover, the stupid ass!" Then the witch smiled coldly. "And I'll make it last by slipping her a few things in her morning tea . . . so I can watch Bae and Aileen till you come home this evening."

Rumple smiled gratefully. "Thanks!"

"Don't mention it. We Prytani have to stick together . . ."

He clasped her hand. "United we stand . . ."

"Divided we fall," she finished the old saying.

"I'll bring them by soon," he promised. Gaston expected him at the palace in an hour to fetch him his breakfast and pick out his clothes and saddle his horse for his morning of hunting, and then Rumple had to clean his apartments and help serve the soldiers at their barracks mess hall.

An hour later, Rumple trudged up the road to the palace, wearing Gaston's red and gold livery, his collar glinting in the light of the sun. He prayed Aileen would be somewhat better by sundown. Then he wondered if he was on latrine duty this afternoon.

The soldiers loved when he had that chore . . . they thought it great fun to humiliate him by pranking him and mocking him, calling him "Mage of the Midden" and "the Golden Turd" among other things. And because they were Galatians and he a despised Prytani mage, he could do nothing save endure it.

He arrived at King George's palace, and went to the kitchens to fetch Gaston's breakfast tray.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Belle Farraher, daughter of Lord Maurice of Avonlea, was bored as she traveled in the coach her father had insisted she use, after her mare had thrown a shoe the day before and had to be left at the farrier's. They could not wait for the shoe to be put on because they were already late for King George's winter gala, and though they were not Galatian nobles, but amabassdors from the kingdom of Avonlea, Maurice knew they had to keep up appearances, and it would never do to insult the powerful king by being late by more than a day or two.

The farrier had promised to deliver Belle's mare, Delight, as soon as the shoe was put on, and Maurice had ensured it would be done by giving the man some extra sovereigns. Then they had continued onward to the palace.

He just hoped this winter gala was better than the last one.

Belle looked out the window of the coach, tapping her fingers on the sill, her book lying forgotten in her lap. This would be her first winter gala, and she prayed she wouldn't be bored to tears . . . or have to dance with some arrogant Galatian prig. Belle was twenty that spring, and had been university educated, a child prodigy who had attended the Avonlea University of Arts and Literature until the death of her mother three years before.

Felice had died giving birth to her son, William, just after Belle's entrance into adult society at seventeen, and since then Belle had stayed close to her father, Maurice, for she feared he might do himself harm, as he had loved his wife greatly and her loss and the loss of his heir nearly caused him to follow her to the grave with them. Belle had given up her studies to tend to Maurice for almost a year, and it was only recently that Maurice had resumed his duties as an ambassador.

Avonlea was a small kingdom to the west of Galatia, and they were careful to maintain cordial relations with the warlike kingdom, lest they too be taken over as had Prytainia. Avonlea's Queen, Aurora, and her Prince Consort, Philip, were cautious not to antagonize King George, and thus had sent their First Ambassador and his beautiful daughter to attend George's winter gala.

Belle, who had heard stories of the wild parties the Galatians gave, just prayed could get through the night without stepping on someone's foot. . . or insulting them with her frank observations. She knew one of her failings was her honesty . . . and another was her ability to see through a person's facades to their true nature, and then comment on it. Schooled as an academic, Belle much preferred her studies to any boring social gathering, but as the daughter of an ambassador, she knew she had a duty to her country. And so she would go to this ball.

Page~*~*~*~Break

By the time the bells of the Aventine monks cloister rang the evening hour, Rumple was weary from toting water to scrub the banquet hall for the gala and helping to muck out the stables. But thankfully Gaston was involved in wagering his shirt with a group of other rakehells, freeing the twenty-seven year old Prytani to go back to the slave quarters and pick up his children.

He arrived at Regina's and found the Prytani witch just pulling some corn cakes from the oven and some apple turnovers, which she had filched from the kitchen. "I'm back," Rumple announced after he'd knocked at the door.

"Papa!" Bae yelled, and ran across the floor to hug him about the knees.

He picked up his son and hugged him. "How's my little imp?"

"I'm good," Bae said, hugging his papa.

Rumple set him down and said to Regina, "And how's my little spark, Regina?"

Regina set down the pan with the turnovers, her pretty face grave. "Not good, Rumple. Her fever's returned . . . and she's not responding to any of my remedies."

Rumple felt as if he'd just been cut off at the knees. He had lost so much. He couldn't lose his precious daughter too. Not his little spark. "Isn't . . . there anything you can try . . .?"

Regina shook her head sadly. "I've tried all the herbal remedies I know . . . Rumple, she's too weak . .. and we can't use magic . . ."

"But . . . what can I do?" he cried, distraught. "I have to save my little girl! If I lose her . . . I'll surely become dust!" He nearly wept at the thought. He went over to where the child slept upon Regina's pallet, her skin hot and dry to the touch, listless, speckled with red spots, her little chest rising and falling softly.

Regina touched his shoulder. "There's only one thing you can do."

"What?"

"Go see Maleficent . . . the Shadow Witch . . .she alone can use magic in Galatia . . . and magic can save Aileen, it's the only thing that can."

Rumple opened his mouth to protest. Maleficent had been a Prytani once . . . and had been exiled for practicing necromancy. But it was rumored that she would agree to use her powers for anyone, to do anything . . . for a price.

And he was desperate enough to deal with her. Because for his precious child he would do . . .anything.