35

Straw Into Gold

Rumple felt his heart plummet down to his boots as Cora brayed her challenge. Spin straw into gold? That was crazy! Even though he was a magician, he couldn't do something like that. Who'd ever heard of doing that anyhow? It was ridiculous. He met her eyes, seeing the bitter jealousy that lived in them, and he knew she had issued that challenge on purpose, hoping to see him fail.

The crowd was gasping, at Cora's effrontery at challenging a Guild master or a sorcerer, or at the fact that Rumple now had to prove himself capable of some great magic, he wasn't sure of. The only thing he was sure of was that Cora was going to make him into an utter fool.

Bae squeezed his hand then and yelled, "Go on, Papa! Show her she's wrong! You're a good sorcerer and a better spinner!"

Val hugged him then, her skinny arms grabbing his waist, and she cried, "You can do it, Papa! Just like Rumplestiltskin in my fairy tale book. You saved me, you can do anything. Just believe!"

He stared down at his children, who were the most important things in the world to him, who looked up at him with utter confidence and worship. "Bae, Val, I . . . I don't know . . . I've never done anything like that before . . ."

"You can do it, Rumple. I saw the way you handled that lout Gaston on the road," Jeff reminded him.

"That was different," Rumple protested.

"It was still awesome," Jeff encouraged. "And look how far you've come since."

"I can change clothes into other clothes," Rumple snorted. "That's not the same as spinning straw into gold."

Arrow nudged his sorcerer's hand, waiting until Rumple's brown eyes met his own blue ones. Rumplestiltskin, listen to me. You have the power. I would not have chosen you else. A grimm wolf chooses only the strongest magic wielders in the realms. You can do this. All you need to do is believe in yourself. And remember Gwydion's lessons. Focus, concentration, and belief.

"It's not that simple, Arrow," Rumple protested.

Yes, it is. It's as simple as you wish it to be. Imagine what you wish, and the magic shall make it happen. Think of how much you want this to happen, and it will. Trust me. You're my sorcerer. She wants you to fail, she thinks you're nothing but a crippled hedge witch, she wants to humiliate you in front of the king and the court and all of Avonlea. By Selene, Rumple, don't let her! Show her what you're made of, show her the spinner whose talent made him a master before he was twenty-five, show her that you're a true sorcerer, one of the strongest in all the realms. I know you are, Rumple. I believe in you, I always have. Now believe in yourself, sorcerer mine. BELIEVE. And you can do anything.

Rumple felt the sheer regard and confidence of the grimm wolf echo down the bond they shared. He found he was profoundly humbled by the amount of trust the familiar put in him. Yet still a part of him hesitated, despite the wolf's, Jefferson's, and his children's belief.

Then Cora sneered down at him, "What's wrong, Master Rumple? Cat got your tongue? Or are you too . . . afraid to answer my challenge?"

Rumple stiffened. But before he could open his mouth to answer her, Baelfire snapped, "Shut up, you hag! My papa isn't a coward!"

"Yeah! You are!" Val screamed, her small fists clenched. "And you're so ugly, that when you were born, your papa had to tie a steak around your neck to get the dog to play with you!"

People around them started snickering at the children's taunts.

"Baelfire! Valentina!" Rumple scolded. "Hush! Behave!"

Cora turned red. "You wretched brats!" she snarled. "Why I ought to—"

"Do nothing, Mistress Miller," Rumple declared coldly, stepping up onto the platform. "You will leave my children alone, or else you'll see what magic I can conjure . . . and you'll rue the day you tried to harm them." And he glared at her so fiercely that she stepped back a pace.

He approached the wheel that was set up on the platform, eyed the familiar basket of carded wool beside it, and then sat down at it.

"You go, Rumple!" Derek cried. "Show everybody how a master spinner and sorcerer can spin!"

Rumple looked over at Cora. "Have you straw, mistress?"

"Of course!" she said, and flounced over to a large object with a blanket over it. She uncovered it with a flourish. "See? Your straw, Master Rumple!"

"Bring it to me, girl," he ordered.

Cora grabbed half the bale and brought it to him, giving him a sneer as she did so. "Now we'll see, all right! See that you're naught but a charlatan who can barely light a candle!"

He ignored her, instead turning his attention to the wheel in front of him. His hands were sweaty, his stomach in knots. I'm a spinner. A master spinner. And only an apprentice sorcerer.

He felt all the eyes of the crowd upon him, and when he looked out upon the sea of faces, he saw strangers who doubted and scowled. He saw suddenly the pennants of the royal house and realized that the king and his household were among them. He swallowed hard, his throat dry as dust.

King Maurice was here. And so too were his court. He saw Gaston on the king's right, his handsome face twisted into a sneer. Then he saw Gwydion, who gave him a single glance that nevertheless conveyed one simple thing.

I believe in you.

And slowly, that kernel of self-confidence Arrow had planted began to sprout and grow. Gwydion knows what's at stake. And yet he believes in me. So does Arrow, Jefferson, Val, and Bae. Even Derek.

"Come on, sorcerer!" yelled one person. "Do it!"

"M-master R-Rumple!" Linnea called, standing near the edge of the platform. "Y-You c-c-an do it, sir!"

Several people snickered at the maid's halting speech, and one ignorant lout brayed, "Yeah, y-you c-c-can d-d-o it! Like she can talk!" and then he burst out laughing.

Linnea flushed, but she kept her eyes on Rumple, her gaze trusting and innocent.

"You leave Linnea alone!" Bae shouted, and would have rushed over and kicked the man hard if Jeff hadn't grabbed him.

Rumple looked at Linnea, and gave her a smile. Then his eyes were drawn back to where the king stood with his court.

And it was then that he saw her.

Belle had come to the festival.

She was standing slightly to the left of Maurice, in a beautiful court dress of cloth of gold, with lovely golden shoes that glittered as if dusted with pixie dust. The gown accented her small waist and flowed down almost to her feet, belling out like the petals of a rose. Her hair was caught up in crown and some left to flow down her shoulders and back like a chestnut curtain.

He felt his heart quicken as he gazed at her.

Then their eyes met.

Even from across the square he felt her regard, her blue eyes captivated and enchanted him with their beauty and in them was a timeless wisdom . . . and something else he'd never dared to hope for.

Love.

She loves me, he thought in shock. Me. Crippled master spinner Rumplestiltskin.

Aye, she loves you, Rumple, Arrow sent. But more than that, she believes in you. Use it, Rumple. Use our belief, and let it make you strong. You are more than you think, you always have been. Just let go of what you think you know, Rumple. Let go . . . and believe.

Rumple took a deep breath.

He picked up the straw, examining it as he held it in his hands for a long moment, trying to visualize how he could do this thing.

People watching muttered, whispered, and called, "I don't think he can do it!"

"Look, he's hesitating!"

"Yeah, maybe that Miller girl was right!"

"He's nothing but a fake who cozened our sorcerer into taking him as his apprentice!" Gaston suddenly yelled. "He ought to be booted out of Avonlea like the hedge witch he is!"

"Be quiet, Gaston!" Gwydion snapped, glaring at the other man. "My apprentice is no fake! And he'll prove it to you and all the rest who think they know what true sorcery is."

"Gwydion's right," Belle spoke up. "Rumplestiltskin is a true sorcerer . . . and a better man than half of you here."

Belle and Gwydion's words served as the catalyst Rumple needed. Believe.

He shut his eyes, summoning up all of his will, all of his nascent power. Gwydion had explained to him that all magic relied on the will of the caster. The will and the strength of a magician's power and belief. He visualized the straw in his fingers becoming finely spun gold, like thread upon a spool.

Then he twisted it and laid it on the wheel, starting the treadle pumping with his foot. The wheel began to turn and he opened his eyes and glared at the straw as it went around.

Believe.

Believe. You can do this. They all believe.

Believe.

I can do this. I am a master spinner. And I can spin anything I want. Anything. Even straw into gold.

His hands worked more straw into the wheel, twirling it round and round.

As it revolved about, it began to sparkle and glow, as if in the center of a bonfire. The wheel whirred, taking the straw and spinning it faster and faster.

Rumple concentrated harder, forgetting the people watching, feeling only the sudden pulse of his magic surging through him . . . and out of his fingers into the straw spinning around and around.

There was a sudden blaze of light as the wheel pulled the straw along . . . and then a sleek strand of gold was curling about the bobbin, glistening and sparkling like an angel's tears in the sunlight.

The crowd gave an audible gasp.

"Rumple! You did it!" Belle found herself crying in triumph, almost jumping up and down, her whole face glowing with undisguised admiration.

Maurice turned to look at her in astonishment, for he'd never seen his shy bookworm daughter get so excited over anything save a new text. And certainly not over a man, and a commoner at that.

Gwydion began to clap loudly, and he flashed Gaston a sharp grin. "Charlatan indeed, my lord!"

"Papa! You're doing it!" Bae and Val were practically hanging onto the edge of the platform, their eyes wide as saucers.

Rumple found himself grasping more straw and spinning even faster, their acknowledgement of his skill buoying him up on a wave of triumph that filled him with pride and joy so great he was almost swept away. The magic flowed easily from him, transmuting the straw into liquid gold almost faster than he could spin.

Gold coiled about the bobbin in delicate fine strands, as fine as the thread he'd once spun from wool, piling up on the wooden spool, twinkling and glittering like a rogue star fallen from the heavens.

Rumple glanced at it, judging with uncanny precision when the bobbin was full and removing it from the wheel, and replacing it with another one with a mere beckon.

He continued spinning straw until the pile Cora had brought him was gone, then he held aloft the last spool of gold and turned to Cora, who was gaping like a half-wit at him, and said, "Challenge met, dearie!"

The crowd went wild, clapping and cheering.

"Rumple-stilt-skin! Rumple-stilt-skin!"

They chanted his name like a hero's, over and over, while he stood there, feeling their adulation wash over him in waves.

He bowed to them with a flourish.

His eyes found Belle's.

And then he did something totally unexpected.

He blew her a kiss, his eyes sparkling roguishly.

Belle grinned, then caught the kiss in her hands, clasping it to her heart.

Gaston ground his teeth together.

Maurice's mouth fell open.

Val and Bae scrambled atop the platform and ran to hug Rumple, who knelt to embrace them.

Val looked over Rumple's shoulder at Cora, who looked vastly disappointed, and cried, "Take that, you witch!"

Cora went red in humiliation, taking one step forward, her hand raised.

Arrow leaped up onto the platform, his long legs propelling him over Rumple and his family in one graceful leap to land between the sorcerer and the jealous angry young weaver. He bared his teeth and growled low and deep in his throat. Touch her, bitch, and you'll be missing some fingers! Now get, you spiteful wench! He gave a snarl and snapped pointedly at her slippered foot.

Cora shrank away and screamed, then turned and bolted off the platform, amid the laughter and jeers of the cityfolk.

The grimm wolf snorted and shook his head, curling his lip in disgust. Then he turned and trotted back to stand next to his sorcerer, his head held high. See? What'd I tell you? he sent to Rumple. Behold Rumplestiltskin, the sorcerer who can spin straw into gold! And that, dearie, is how legends are made!