Overnight, the peaceful kingdom of King Stefan was thrown into turmoil. The people were left without a ruler, and no official explanation was given to the townspeople as to how their king had died or what exactly had occurred on the night of his death. These conditions were the perfect breeding ground for rumors, and in no time at all there were almost as many versions of that night's events as there were people in the kingdom.
First, there was the rumor that a peasant girl had been brought into the castle, claiming to be Princess Aurora, the same Princess Aurora that, days after her christening, was pronounced dead by the king as a result of Maleficent's evil magic. Then, an even more ludicrous rumor was born saying that the girl actually was the princess, and that she had fallen under the evil fairy's curse that was placed on her the day of her christening. Some who had sons or husbands employed as soldiers added to the story by claiming that the king had set a trap for the creature that had cursed his daughter, but that she avoided the trap by sprouting fearsome, ten-foot long wings. The gossip became so absurd that the most bizarre version of the story ended with a dragon attacking the royal guard while the evil fairy lifted the king into the air and threw him off the highest tower.
Every one of these tales, and hundreds more, could be heard by taking a stroll through the local marketplace. The topic of conversation on everyone's lips was the night of the king's death, and what had become of the fearsome being called Maleficent.
"Did you hear that Prince Phillip was spotted in the kingdom the day before? He most likely slew the evil fairy after she killed the king!"
"No, the fairy slew the prince before she killed the king!"
"We'll just have to hear from King John himself to find out what the prince did."
"Why was the boy even here?"
"Perhaps he heard that the princess had returned?"
"You mean the false princess."
"I'd like to get my hands on that insolent girl claiming to be the princess. How it must have broken the king's heart to see someone impersonating his poor, dead daughter!"
"My brother cooks at the castle and saw the princess with his own eyes. She's alive I tell you!"
"So you're saying that when King Stefan told us that their baby had died from the fairy's magic, they were lying?!"
"He must have been. There was a girl there that night, my brother swore to me."
"It hardly matters. If she really was the princess, then she would be dead from the witch's curse by now."
"No, don't you remember? She'd just be asleep, not dead."
"Even if that were true, she's certainly not alive anymore."
"I heard that the witch obliterated her on the spot before she killed the king."
"I thought it was after."
"Either that or the dragon burned her to a crisp."
"What dragon?"
"Oh, that's rich. Your brother saw the long lost princess, but missed the giant fire-breathing dragon?!"
"The king was devoured by that dragon."
"No, the witch was devoured by the dragon!"
"She was the dragon!"
Regardless of the rumors, there were only a few truths believed by everyone in the kingdom: King Stefan was dead, and Maleficent was nowhere to be found.
The town ironsmith never had such good business. King Stefan had announced long ago that iron objects repelled fairies, but as hardly anyone had ever seen a fairy in their lives, no one paid much attention to the proclamation. But now that a fairy had revealed herself in the most ferocious way possible, by killing their beloved king, the ironsmith had to take on two apprentices just to keep close to the amount of orders he was receiving.
Only a rare few purchased weapons, of course. No one wanted to challenge Maleficent; they simply wanted to stay safe from her and any fairy-minions she might have at her command. Instead, people purchased items that they believed could ward off fairies. Iron doors, iron shutters, and iron locks were the ironsmith's biggest sale, but he branched out to alternative projects when a profit could be found in them. That was what started his line of special iron "charms" for the more superstitious folk; necklaces to place around a child's neck or chimes to hang in the doorway.
About a week after the king's death business slowed significantly, so when a hooded figure walked into his shop, the ironsmith greeted them with a warm smile and open arms.
"Welcome, friend!" he boomed from behind his counter. "What can I get for you?"
The person that entered the shop did not lower the thick brown cloak that hid all of their features. Instead, the stranger spoke hidden beneath the hood in a low, throaty voice that was clearly not natural for them. "I need some iron."
"You and every other man in the kingdom looking to protect their homes from wicked fairies, my friend." Faced with a potential customer, the ironsmith was willing to overlook rudeness. "The good news for you is that you've certainly come to the right place." He reached below his counter and pulled out an assortment of iron scraps, laying them all in a row.
Approaching the counter slowly, the stranger took a long look at the assorted iron the shopkeep had laid out. "What is this?"
"Materials for a fence," the ironsmith beamed. "With this, I can build a fence made of pure iron to put around your home. Sharp and sturdy, guaranteed to burn the flesh off any trespassing fairy!"
The customer made no indication that they approved or disapproved of what they were seeing. This surprised the ironsmith, as every customer he'd had since the king's death was more than happy with scraps, so long as they could be crafted into something that would keep fairies out. "This isn't what I'm looking for," the hooded figure finally said. A pale hand reached out from beneath the thick fabric and pushed the samples away.
"Well then, what else can I offer you?" The man gestured to the assortment of iron goods hanging on the walls of his shop. "I have locks, armor, anything you need for your home's protection."
The stranger followed the direction of the ironsmith's hand, taking in all the iron in the store. Silence desceneded onto the store, and the ironsmith began to regret welcoming this visitor into his shop. He briefly wondered if this person was perhaps a fairy in disguise, looking to curse him for providing the people with copious amounts of iron.
In a gesture that was so fast and so unexpected it caused the ironsmith to jump back, the stranger's hand came from out of the folds of the cloak again and pointed to the wall behind the counter. "Sell me that sword."
When he recovered, the ironsmith turned slowly to see what had caught the stranger's attenion. What he saw was a sword he had made not too long before the king's death. Like everything else in the shop, it was made of iron. Unlike most swords he made, however, this one was built for those of smaller build. It was certainly capable of causing harm to an enemy, but it had been designed mostly for younger soldiers to train before they were strong enough to wield fully-sized swords. "What are you going to do with that?" he asked.
The following sentence was spoken with a frightening amount of casualness as the customer's arm lowered back into the cloak. "I'm going to kill Maleficent."
The ironsmith widened his eyes. "Do you honestly think you can do what the king and his army couldn't?" he asked. He couldn't see much of what his customer looked like, but he was certain that this person did not have the strong, muscular build of a soldier. Most likely, he thought, this odd fish will be destroyed within moments if the witch ever catches on to this plan."
"I'm not paying you to hear your opinion on the matter," the stranger said firmly. That same pale hand came from the folds of the cloak again, but this time it carried a healthy sized satchel. The hand opened the bag and emptied the contents onto the counter, and soon the wooden surface was covered in gold coins.
"Very true," the ironsmith said, eyeing the pile of gold. Without another word, he fetched the sword from its display and handed it over the counter towards his obviously wealthy customer. "Well, I wish you luck, my friend. Perhaps if you are successful in your quest and bring back the fairy's head, I might see you on the throne someday."
The customer reached for the handle of the sword, but stopped at the ironsmith's words. When the stranger spoke next, the voice that came from the hood sounded offended. "I'm not going to kill her for political power. I have no interest in ruling this kingdom."
The ironsmith was baffled. "Then why," he asked, "would you risk your life going into the moors to slay such a powerful being?"
The stranger, still hidden under the hood, did not answer at first. Instead, those pale white hands reached out and took the sword from the ironsmith's hand. The knuckles grew even whiter as they tightened around the hilt of the sword, and the ironsmith felt an apprehensive fear creep up on him as the stranger seemed to stare right into his eyes.
"Revenge."