THE END: Rumplestiltskin Retold
By the time the rooster crowed the tenth morning hour, the miller had finished his first bottle of ale and was starting on his second.
"Yessir, gents," he drawled, "You should see my Isabel. A bonnie lass if e'er there was one. Pretty as you please, and smart to boot. But better'n that—,"
Here the miller paused to take another fumbling swig. "Better'n that, she can spin! Not wool, no sir, but straw. Straw, I tell ya! And what, you may ask, does she spin with straw?" His bloodshot grew round with importance. "Gold! Pure, bloody gold! Bright as day, fine as silk!"
"Yes, so you say," said the Captain of the Guard. He glared down at the drunken man from his saddle. "Miller, word of your fantastic claim has reached the King, and he has taken a particular interest in your story. Where is your daughter?"
"In the house, m'lord. I'll get 'er." Swaying on his feet, the miller turned to the thatched cottage behind him and shouted, "OY! ISABEL! Get your arse out here, there's people to see ya!"
A scrawny girl of about sixteen appeared in the doorway, hugging her arms tight to her chest as if to ward off a chill. She was unnaturally tall, and her blue eyes were so pale that they seemed almost colorless.
"Maid, is it true what your father says?" asked the Captain. "Can you truly spin straw into gold?" Isabel stared at the Captain, then turned to her father, her thin mouth slack.
"Um, what?" she asked.
"C'mon, girl," said the miller, throwing a nervous glance at the uniformed man. "Tell them. Tell them what 'cha can do."
The seconds ticked by, rapped out by the Captain's impatiently bouncing boot. The girl stared from one man to the next. Gazing at her father, Isabel's pale eyes suddenly grew hard. "I don't know what he's talking about," she said coldly. "No one can spin straw into gold—that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
The Captain's lips thinned into a satisfied line. "Just so," he said. Wheeling their horses around, the royal guards thundered away, leaving the miller in the dust. He turned, open-mouthed, to his daughter.
"You are so full of shit," she said, then turned, went into the house, and packed her clothes. That very day, she left home for the open road, and she lived happily ever after as a wandering minstrel.
THE END.
"C'mon, girl," said the miller, throwing a nervous glance at the uniformed man. "Tell them. Tell them what 'cha can do."
Isabel opened her mouth. "Well, umm, I—," The miller stared at her, his eyes dark and urging. She took a deep breath. "Uh, actually, I…" Withering under her father's glare, she sighed and whispered, "Yes. I can spin straw…into gold."
At the Captain's order she turned, went into the house, and packed her clothes. That very day, she left home with the King's men and traveled to the castle. The King himself greeted them in the courtyard.
"Welcome, my dear!" he cried, spreading his arms. The wind whipped his white hair beneath the crown, and his grey eyes were nearly lost in a mass of wrinkles. Isabel thought that he must be over seventy. "I have heard of your unusual talent," said the King as he escorted Isabel inside. "And I have decided that I'll help you put it to good use!" Opening a large wooden door, the King ushered the girl into a room large enough to hold Isabel's entire house. From floor to ceiling, the room was packed with straw, with space enough only for a single spinning wheel.
"Now, if you spin this roomful of straw into gold by morning, and if you spin two more roomfuls like it, you get to marry me!" The King grinned, and Isabel noticed that he was missing several teeth from his discolored gums. "Sounds like a pretty good deal, doesn't it? Well, I'll just leave you to your work." He turned to go.
"Wait!" cried Isabel. "Supposing if…supposing if I couldn't finish all the straw by morning. What would happen then?"
The King shrugged. "In that case, I'd have to assume you're either a fraud or just incredibly lazy. Either way, the guards would take you out into the courtyard and kill you." He brightened. "But what are the chances of that?" Then the King slammed the door and was gone.
Immediately, Isabel sat down and began viciously feeding straw into the spinning wheel. She worked the treadle, she spun the wheel, but all that emerged was a wad of mangled yellow weeds. Still, the girl was desperate; despite the fruitlessness of her efforts, she stayed up all night, trying in vain to spin straw into gold.
The following morning, the King strode in to find a numb and exhausted Isabel slumped against the wheel, surrounded by a roomful of straw dust. The King shook his head. "How very disappointing," he pouted. "Oh well." Then the guards took Isabel out into the courtyard and chopped off her head.
THE END.
As soon as the door slammed, Isabel sat down and began viciously feeding straw into the spinning wheel. She worked the treadle, she spun the wheel, but all that emerged was a wad of mangled yellow weeds. After an hour she gave up, and threw herself down onto a nearby pile to nurse her bleeding fingers. Several more hours passed, and the mountains of straw remained, and soon Isabel could no longer fight down the fear and despair that was coursing through her. Curling herself into a ball, she did something she rarely ever let herself do: she cried.
"I wish…" she murmured through her tears. "I wish…" But the rest was drowned out by her sobs.
All of a sudden, Isabel felt a warm hand on the top of her head. "You know, you really shouldn't cry like that. You're making your face all blotchy."
Isabel started up with a shriek. The little man who had been sitting at the top of the straw pile leapt up as well. "Who are you?" screamed the girl. "How did you get in here?"
The little man held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I promise I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help."
"How can you possibly help me?" asked Isabel, stepping closer. Moving slowly, the man slid down from his perch. He had a great mass of black hair curling from beneath his green hunter's cap, and silver rings through his ears. His eyes were blue like Isabel's, but so dark and rich that they could be mistaken for violet. If he had been standing next to Isabel, the little man would have only reached mid-way up her thigh.
"You may not believe this," he said, keeping his respectful distance, "but I can spin straw into gold."
"Yeah, right." Isabel snorted.
"It's true," the little man protested. His voice was warm and clear, almost musical. It flew through Isabel's racing thoughts that he was probably a good singer. "If you want," he continued, "I could spin this straw for you." The girl stared hard at him.
"Alright then," she said. "Let's see it."
"Well I'm not going to do it for free," quipped the man. "But I'll tell you what—that's a really nice ring on your finger. Trade?"
Isabel handed the little man her ring, and he sat down on the stool. Picking up a handful of straw, he began to feed it gently into the spinning wheel, working the pedals with his feet. To Isabel's astonishment, a thin, glimmering strand of gold began to wind itself into the man's hands.
In just over an hour, the little man had spun the entire room's worth of straw into one great pile of gold. Afterwards, he and Isabel lounged on the silky thread and exchanged stories. Their easy, avid conversation lasted long into the night.
The following morning, the King found Isabel standing in front of the heap of transformed straw. Overjoyed, he took her to the next dust-filled room, merrily reminded her of his death threat, and locked her in. Isabel waited breathlessly for the little man's arrival; she could hardly wait to finish the previous night's discussion. Sure enough the man appeared, spun the straw into gold thread in exchange for Isabel's necklace, and then kept her company until morning.
Shortly after the King had locked Isabel in her third and final room, the man appeared at yet again. Without speaking, he set right to work, and within half an hour the entire room glowed with golden light. Isabel stood, watching him.
"I don't have anything to offer you this time," she said quietly.
"Yes, I know," he murmured. He paused, staring at his feet. "You'll become queen tomorrow."
"Yeah, I guess," said Isabel. Somehow, the prospect didn't seem so appealing.
"Isabel—," The little man swallowed, and took a deep breath. "You know, it seems to me—well, this king. Always with this talk of killing you if you don't spin straw into gold. And then there's the rather spectacular age difference." With obvious difficulty, he met her pale eyes. "Not the best marriage partner, in my opinion," he said, his mouth twitching into a nervous smile. "All I'm saying is, if you want to—why don't we get out of here? You and I."
Isabel stared at the little man with the beautiful violet eyes. When she smiled, it was full and genuine.
"I though you'd never ask."
Working together, they wove the thread into one great golden rope. The little man stood on Isabel's extraordinarily high shoulders and secured the rope to the room's single window, and that very night Isabel and her strange companion made their escape from the King's castle. They hit the open road, where they lived a very loving, happily ever after.
THE END.
"Umm, Isabel—," The little man swallowed, and took a deep breath. "You know—that is, I was wondering…," He fumbled, faltered, and then sighed, staring at the ground. "Never mind." Meeting her pale, surprised gaze, he said brusquely, "The payment. Obviously you're out of jewelry, but promise me…promise me your firstborn child, and we'll call it even. I've always wanted—," He paused again, and swallowed hard. "Someone to care for."
Isabel looked away. Something about this had the mark of really bad parental skills. Still, the man had been extraordinarily kind to her, so if she got pregnant…Isabel snorted, thinking of the King's wrinkles. What were the chances of that happening?
"Deal," she said. The little man nodded, and with a single leap launched himself to the top of the shimmering pile of gold. Sweeping off his cap, he bowed low before her.
"It has been a pleasure, m'lady," he grinned, and in a swirl of shining thread, he disappeared.
The King was so giddy over his third pile of gold, Isabel thought he might have a heart attack. Secretly, she wished that he would. Instead of keeling over in heart-constricting convulsions, however, the King took Isabel straight to the church, and they were married. Unfortunately, the old man had had more vigor in him than Isabel had given him credit for, and as time passed it became apparent that she was pregnant.
Isabel gave birth to a lovely baby girl, and when she awoke the following morning she found the little man sitting by her bedside.
"Greetings, Your Highness," he smiled warmly. "It is good to see you again. I have come to collect my due."
"Yes, about that…" Isabel stammered. She held the baby close. "I—I know what I promised. But you see…when I first saw my little girl…"
"You mean my little girl," the little man frowned.
Please understand." Isabel's pale eyes were strained. "I just can't give her up."
The man regarded her, his violet gaze inscrutable. "I can see that this is important to you," he murmured. "So, tell you what—you have three days to guess my name, Isabel. Three days. If, in that time, you cannot guess my name, you will have to make good on your promise."
Isabel nodded fervently. "Three days."
As soon as the man had disappeared, Isabel called her most trusted carrier bird to her. She instructed it to fly throughout the land and collect a list of as many names as it could find, particularly names of people under four feet tall. However, the southern window where she normally released the bird was under construction; instead, she launched the bird from the northern window.
If Isabel had paid attention during state meetings, she might have remembered the reports of the fierce nomadic hunters who had been particularly active in the north. If she had remembered, the bird may have not been shot down and used for stew meat.
Three days later, the little man returned, with Isabel no closer to guessing his name than before. Knowing she could no longer escape her promise, Isabel gave him her child, whom he loved and looked after to the very end of his life.
When the King found out that his wife had bargained away their firstborn, he shook his head. "How very disappointing," he pouted. "Oh well." Then he had the guards take Isabel out into the courtyard and chop off her head.
THE END.
Isabel nodded fervently. "Three days."
As soon as the man had disappeared, Isabel called her most trusted carrier bird to her. She instructed it to fly throughout the land and collect a list of as many names as it could find, particularly names of people under four feet tall. The southern window where she normally released the bird was under construction; Isabel tore of the board that covered the open space and launched the bird into the air. The bird flew throughout the land, and by some lucky chance it discovered the little man's name.
When the man appeared three days later, Isabel was holding Amelia in her arms.
"Have you discovered my name?" the man asked.
"Yes," Isabel whispered. The man waited, his clear gaze on her face. Isabel traced a finger down her baby's smooth cheek, and cleared her throat. The word was a breath, a ghost of a word.
"Rumplestiltskin." The little man looked down, a convulsive shiver coursing over his shoulders. After a moment his face found hers again, and he greeted Isabel's answer with a small smile.
"Yes. Yes." Turning abruptly, he began to make his way to the door.
"I'm…sorry." At Isabel's voice, he stopped. "I know you had hoped that this would be a new beginning for you. I'm sorry that it's actually the end."
The little man turned, his violet eyes meeting her pale blue ones. "Endings and beginnings," he murmured. "You would be surprised how little difference there is between the two. If you look closely, I'll bet you couldn't even tell the one from the other." He gave Isabel one last, tiny smile, and spun away. In a whirl of golden light, he disappeared as Isabel stood on the steps, trying to puzzle out what he meant.