The Mark of a Knight

By: RosexKnight

Chapter Two

~ Ten Years Later ~

Spinning was not a bad profession. It brought back some rather fond memories for Rumpelstiltskin. His old spinster aunts had always said he should have made it his trade. He wondered, sometimes, if they could see him now, what they would think. It didn't make for a bad life. He and his son had what they needed, and had never been hungry. Though, he did sometimes long for the past luxury of having time on his hand to spend with his son relaxing and enjoying the day. But, he had his son and spinning wheel. That was all a spinner needed. And the wheel was better than a sword ever was. Felt better under his fingertips. The smooth grain of the wood and the creak of the wheel was a comfort as it turned and the wool turned to thread. It kept him focused. Helped him forget…

The air shifted, the hairs on the back of his neck immediately standing on end. He caught hold of the walking stick at his side and swung it around behind him. With a sharp thwack it came into contact with another bit of wood.

"Did you bring the sheep in?"

"How'd you sense that?"

The spinner rolled his eyes, turning to his son. Baelfire was a head taller than him, his shepherd's crook serving as the weapon he'd used to swing at his father with.

"Your footsteps weren't light enough." Rumpelstiltskin said simply. "And your breathing was not in synch with mine."

"But you weren't even looking."

Rumpelstiltskin grinned, leaving his spinning in favor of standing. Leaning heavily on his sturdy walking stick, he looked over his son. Baelfire had grown into a fine man of 28 and, with his father's training, a fine spinner and knight. However, he couldn't help but feel that his son was not ready for that title. He was still too hasty. Too headstrong.

Too much like he had been.

With a flick of his wrist, Rumpelstiltskin's walking stick hit Baelfire's crook. If it were anyone else, the weapon would have been dropped. But his son was clever. He let the bottom of the crook swing out from under him so he could bring the top down in an attack from above. Rumpelstiltskin was quicker, though, and parried the attack easily, causing the top-heavy weapon to fall back and tumble awkwardly from Baelfire's upper grip. When the boy turned back to his father the bottom of the walking stick was at his neck.

"Don't underestimate your opponent." Rumpelstiltskin said with a frown. "The slightest hesitation can be your downfall."

"I wasn't being serious." Baelfire defended. "I was going easy on you since your leg was hurting."

"Your enemies won't know. Or care. Every battle could be the last. That's the price for being a knight. Never forget that."

"Yes Papa."

"And there is no honor in attacking an opponent with their backs turned. You know that."

This time it was Baelfire that frowned. "Honor? What honor are you talking about?"

"The honor of a knight!" Rumpelstiltskin snapped, leaning again on his walking stick. "A knight's honor is his mark. It's the very foundation that-"

"I see no honor. There's none anywhere. The Ogres War might be dying down, but war is war. A knight is supposed to fight that war no matter the cost! Slay monsters, rescue princesses, beco-"

"A knight fights for the people! If you haven't learned that then all your training has been a waste of time."

There was a palpable tension in the air as the two glared each other down. The only sound to break it were the stomping of many hooves and the wheels of a carriage as a caravan passed, on its way to the palace.

"If you're running then you can't fight for the people at all."

The words cut Rumpelstiltskin to the core. Memories of the night all those years ago flooded him. He flinched at the mere thought of his son clinging to him as their house went up on smoke.

"I had my reasons for running." He defended lamely, as if that justified or explained anything.

Not for the first time, Baelfire fumed at his father's half-explanation. With a loud sigh, he dropped his crook, the wood clattering to the floor.

"Where are you going?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, his voice unreadable.

The boy paused for a moment at the door. Another caravan rode by their home, headed for the palace. There was apparently something happening there. Something that would no doubt require the attention of the guards.

"Bae?"

Rumpelstiltskin's voice was quieter now. Steady, but holding some doubts that bubbled to the surface. Baelfire frowned. It was those doubts and the fear in his father that he hated. His father was a knight. Had been a knight. And wasn't even brave enough to defend their home when he was called a traitor. The word constantly echoed in Baelfire's mind, and it was a word he refused to believe. Still, it was obvious his father didn't understand. Wouldn't understand. He was too set in his old ways, and the old ways simply weren't an option anymore. Baelfire wanted to be a knight. Like the ones in the stories he'd grown up with. He was more than ready, and yet...

It was with a heavy heart that he made his decision. And for it, he'd need a horse. The palace had so many. It'd barely notice one was missing.

"I need some air." Baelfire said. "I'll see you later, Papa."

With that, Baelfire stepped outside, and if his father called for him to try and be back before it got too dark, he pretended not to hear.