A/N:Thanks for the reviews! And speaking of reviews, I know it looked like I reviewed for myself, but that was just my retarded sister, bless her. She was writing one and something ridiculous probably happened to where she felt the need to write another and I was signed in on another tab. I just don't want to give the impression that I'm sad enough to review for myself. Or maybe I am if I needed to have my sister review... whatever. Sorry about that. Alright, about the story, I have a * down there with a comment you can read at the bottom of the page if you're interested to read my opinion on something. Please enjoy and review! But not my sister... she's banned.
Disclaimer: I don't own whatever recognizable fairy tales, Shrek, or Dreamworks at all.
Rumpelstiltskin was bored, and as things go, boredom has a way of toeing the line of insanity every once in a while. Spending all of your time in a cage has a way of doing that. In the first several weeks of his incarceration, he had spent nearly all of his time plotting his escape. At first, his ideas seemed solid enough. All he had to do was weasel some simpleton into helping him. But that had proved too difficult since after his return to this reality, Shrek had made it known to everyone in the realm just what kind of swindler he was. Funny actually... just how does everyone get off in believing him? No one other than Shrek had any memory of what happened in his alternate life!* No harm, no foul, right? Well... it seemed not everyone thought so.
Famous people, eh? Whatever.
Since pleading, deceiving, threatening ( and empty ones at that ) didn't help, Rumpelstiltskin then spent most of his time plotting revenge. Revenge on Shrek. Revenge on the tourists. Revenge on the nameless man who had built his cage... just about anyone and everything actually. It was quite amusing for a while but when he had exhausted every possible idea of villainous acts – things just went strange after that. It felt like he had vomited up every thought in his head and no longer thought of tomorrow, but just what he had in front of him that instant to pass the time.
Having nothing to do for so long with nothing at hand... gets to you. And as things went, Rumpelstiltskin came up with some pretty strange ideas to pass the time. At one point, he had tried and failed to train a circus of fleas to entertain himself, but they didn't find the cage very hospitable either. For a while he tried astral-projecting but gave it up as a bad job since he kept getting lost. And sometimes when he's just desperate for entertainment, he sings whatever little ditty comes to mind, usually to Shrek's displeasure. But his greatest form of entertainment so far has to be his autobiography which is still in progress... in his head. He was just starting chapter eighty-two, Aspirations Of Being Taller, when he heard the door to Shrek's house creak open.
It was either very late or very early; the moon already hanging high in the clear skies and gracing everything in shadow, but he didn't need torchlight to know just who it was that stepped out for a moonlit stroll...
"Well … fancy meeting you here," Rumpelstiltskin said by way of greeting as Fiona picked her way carefully through the semi-darkness; lantern swaying in one hand and a small basket in the other. So she had changed her mind, it seemed. They always do...
"Spare me," came Fiona's blunt reply as she hung the lantern on a low branch and illuminated the area marginally. "The only thing I'd like to hear coming out of your mouth is what you knew about me so-"
"What I knew about her – you mean." They both might look like the same Fiona, but that's as far as it went. For some reason, this seemed to be pretty important to him.
"Same difference," Fiona blustered with an irritated shake of her head. "I just want to know how I could have been..." And here she faltered as she ran a hand through hair with a frown. "How things could have been different if Shrek hadn't saved me. He never told me the details..."
That's the tricky thing with 'what ifs'. It can be amusing if you stop to think about all the ridiculous things that 'if' could be. What if's like... instead of bloody wars, kingdoms and disagreements were settled with a game of musical chairs? A childish struggle over the chair, a small tantrum later, and things would be settled. A simple and entertaining notion to think about. But what if... things really were settled at the end of a cheesy musical number? What of the bloodshed that comes after if the winner were a tyrant? Bit much... but then again, thinking about the 'what ifs' in life all comes down to the same thing: wants. No one's ever happy with what they're given. Always wondering what the grass is like on the other side. That 'what if' in life or path they took that could have given them that little patch of dirt.
On this side of the fence, Fiona's life looks to be much better... if a homely husband with equally homely children with a smelly swamp is what one would call better. Then again, it's all a matter of perspective. Perhaps the Fiona he knew wanted all that. If she did, she had never told him. His Fiona was just such a mystery to him actually. Shame how it all just ended so abruptly. If he could change things now, he'd –
Damn it all. He's always stuck on his own wants and what ifs as well. No better then the idiots he cons actually. No one ever learns.
"So, do we shake on this?"
"A meal a day for everything I know of her," Rumpelstiltskin held out his hand through the bars and couldn't help but be vaguely reminded of the days long before the magic ink had fallen into his lap. Felt so... off to be holding a promise now through a simple shake of a hand. Makes him wonder if he'd still be imprisoned if he had never started writing contracts...
"Agreed." And without another complaint, her hand engulfed his own in a short, but firm handshake.
"You better not have cooked me any of that backwater, ogre swamp food now," Rumpelstiltskin said snidely, his eyes following the drop of Fiona's hand as she wiped off his touch on her nightgown. Funny that... his Fiona had done that as well... at first. "When I said a meal, I meant something I could stomach."
"I'm not like you, Stiltskin," Fiona sighed and stooped to open the basket. "Twisting words isn't something I do for kicks."
Rumpelstiltskin chose to ignore that comment and turned his mind to more important matters; like eating. Fiona passed him a still steaming, golden brown mince meat pie and none of her witty little remarks seemed to register anymore. He could barely restrain his impatience as she searched the basket to hand him a spoon before he dug in; manners forgotten. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he probably looked like a right animal, but it didn't really matter anyway. Things like personal hygiene are no longer a necessity when you're stuck in a cage. The gravy that clung to his now, slightly whiskery face, could only be an improvement.
"'S real good!" He managed out when it became apparent that he indeed needed air or suffer a humiliating death; choked by thick gravy. "Y'know... I was a bit of a cook myself. Maybe it's been way too long, but I think -"
"We're not on a date, Rumpel," Fiona said with a roll of her eyes, but he still caught the small smile at tugged at her lips as she passed him a goblet of sweet smelling wine. "I gave you what you wanted, now it's my turn."
Oh, right. The deal. He wolfed down a few more mouthfuls to take the edge off and wiped his mouth on his sleeve before washing his throat down with a swallow of wine. Damn, did that hit the spot. Now where to start?
"The Fiona I knew, liked the color green," he stated and dug around for the biggest chunk of carrot he could find. Strange how you dreadfully miss such simple things like carrots only after it's gone.
"That's it?"
Rumpelstiltskin chewed slowly and finally looked up from his meal, trying his hardest not to smirk at the dumbstruck look on her face. It looked as if she had swallowed a fly and was trying by mere thought alone, to tempt it out through her nose. He had to admit, these small moments were the best in his line of business. That confused look they give as they mentally go over the contract to see just where they had overlooked something. But they didn't, of course. Shock sets in as the whispers of their stupidity creep up their veins and it makes everything just... worth it. Everyone seems to think that they're so clever, and maybe they are... but not as clever as Rumpelstiltskin.
"Never said it was going to be a long winded biography," Rumpelstiltskin shrugged and snorted into his goblet despite himself.
"You have got to be kidding," Fiona grasped the bars and gave a shake that almost upset the wine.
"Old habits die hard?" And he couldn't contain himself any longer; he laughed. Laughed harder than he had in ages. Laughed for the first time since he couldn't remember when and for a second, he wondered if Shrek could hear.
He laughed louder still just to be sure.
"You little -"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm kidding!" He choked out in his snorting fit of laughter; edging as far away as he could from her outstretched hands. "Couldn't help myself, 'You've got to be kidding' she says. Ha!"
"Very funny."
"Alright, relax! I've got you covered," Rumpelstiltskin took another sip of wine and cleared his throat. "Our story story starts off, like so many often do... Once upon a tim-"
"Yeah, I know that part," Fiona narrowed her eyes and gave him her now familiar frown. "Skip to the good stuff."
"That's no way to tell a story," he replied coolly, swirling the last of wine delicately. "You're going to hear me out, or what?"
Fiona stared him down with a one-sided frown, but said nothing. With another sip of wine, Rumpelstiltskin began.
"Once upon a time..." and here he paused with a wistful sort of look that rewarded him with another roll of her eyes. He ignored her; you just can't tell stories without a bit of dramatics right? "A princess walked in through my doors and spat on my face..."
It's funny how one remembers the tiny details in life but never the whole grand scheme of things.
Rumpelstiltskin could perfectly recall everything that day; right down to what he was wearing. He was dressed in the smoothest of silks and velvets; forest greens and aquamarine blues that brought out the color of his eyes and made his hair flash like fire in the bright rays of sunshine that drifted through the stained glass windows. It was late afternoon and his servants, or rather – his slaves – were busy picking up the mess from the party that lasted well into the early hours of the night before. He was lounging on the sofa, head in Baba's lap, while she fed him a late breakfast of fruit.
"You're my favorite, y'know," he winked conspiratorially up at her and she blushed a darker shade of mucky green.
"Oh Rumple, you're too much..." she simpered, and not for the first time, he wondered if she would still bat her eyes at him like that if he still lived in the Crone's Nest...
But it didn't really matter anyway. Trivial things like affection never mattered when you were king. And so, he pushed those old thoughts aside and relished the taste of fresh strawberry his cleverness had earned. That's what you do; relish the good things in life... because usually... good things never last.
"Ah, ah – I want my grapes peeled. Wh-" but before he could say another word about his ridiculous request, the doors to the great hall swung open with a shout.
"Mr. Stiltskin!" Cried one of his witches, some... Darla or... Doris.. or whatever. Most definitely a 'D'. "This woman says she's the princess and demands to see the king."
Rumpelstiltskin shot up in an instant, confused for a moment on just who this madwoman might be.
"Let go of me! Where is my father? Who are all of you? I said – " and here the madwoman threw one of the witches over her shoulder and onto the ground. " – let go!"
"Ah, Princess Fiona! How's unemployment suiting the dragon?" He jumped up onto the table to get a better look at her. She didn't look like much of a princess. Her once lovely dress was scorched, torn, and travel worn. Her hair was loose and wild, cascading past her shoulders from wind and rain. "You're a bit early. I wasn't expecting you for at least another year! That won't do..."
"Early... what? I demand to see my father," Fiona insisted as she wrestled with the remaining witch at her elbow. "Where is he?"
"You – let go," he snapped his fingers at the witch who had a look on her face that plainly wished nothing but a thousand painful deaths to Fiona. "C'mon, sit down and take a load off! You look like you could use a bite to eat Princess... I'll have Baba bring us some wine."
Baba caught his gaze and nodded sharply, scurrying past Fiona who eyed him warily before sinking down onto the sofa. Her eyes took in the extravagant hall and décor in apparent distaste. It was a bit much, but Rumpelstiltskin had the notion that if you've all the money in the land, why not go all out? It's what it's there for anyway.
"Care for some grapes?" Rumpelstiltskin offered a plate before she could start ranting again. "I've got green, purple, yellow ones – those are my favorites."
"Um... the green ones," she plucked the vine from the plate with a delicate hand. "Look, thank you, but I'd like to know what happened since I've been away."
"Any reason why you like the green ones?" He ignored her completely, trying to buy a few moments of time with any and all innate conversation until Baba got back with the wine.
"Green's my favorite color," she gestured at her dress offhandedly but he didn't think that was the whole reason why. He supposed that she probably had to get used to green, what with all the time spent actually being green as well.
"I think mine has to be... gold, I think," he mused airily and popped another grape in his mouth with a grin. "It's the color of my trade you see and everyone always wants at bit of that."
"That's nice, but I want to know—"
"Your wine, Mr. Stiltskin," Baba appeared with a glass decanter with two crystal goblets and poured a measured dose for Fiona.
"Thank you Baba, pour me drop too. A bit more – that's it," Rumpelstiltskin raised his glass in a polite toast; Fiona plainly irritated that he kept dancing around the topic she wanted to discuss. "Long live the King."
He knocked back his drink with a well-practiced flick of the wrist; eyes locked on the wine that passed Fiona's lips. That was just too easy. Are all princesses so naïve? No wonder they're always running into trouble. There needs to be some sort of support group for such things like that. A twelve step program where you earn a chip for every poisoned apple you turn your nose up to or something. Ah well... this princess will learn soon enough about what sort of world she lives in now. Perhaps she'll even miss the dragon's keep.
"So... Mr. Stiltskin, right?" She ventured, and he nodded, eyes lingering on the last dregs of wine that still clung to her lips. "What happened to my father's kingdom? How could he have let everything... go?"
"How should I put this...?" Rumpelstiltskin frowned softly as he poured himself another glass, deep in thought. "Uh... you're father isn't king anymore? No? How about... I vanished them into another plain of existence? Too harsh?"
The sound of the crystal goblet crashing upon the floor as it slipped from her limp fingers, echoing through the vast hall was her only reply before Fiona found her voice. "W-what are you talking about?"
"Oh, only that they traded their entire kingdom to make all their troubles go away... and so I did," Rumpelstiltskin shrugged in a 'sucks to be them' kind of way. "Sad really... They did it all for your … ah... little green secret. It was such a problem you see, so I sent them elsewhere so they wouldn't have to live with the guilt anymore. Can't say I didn't give them what they wanted."
"You – you curly toed freak!" She lunged at him and lifted him clear off his feet by his lapels.
"Watch who you call a freak y-"
"Give me back my parents!" She spat in his face, but before any of the witches could rush to his aid, her hands weakened their hold and he slipped from her grasp as she sunk to her knees. "G-give them to me..."
"You don't get a happily ever after, Fiona," he wiped his face with the cuff of his sleeve in disgust. "No one's saved you this time."
"You … your eyes..." She gasped at last and fell limply onto the rich marble floor.
"My what? Eyes?" Rumpelstiltskin asked no one in particular and the witches shrugged back.
"What should we do with her?" Baba asked as she toed Fiona's back in apparent boredom.
But what was it about his eyes that captured her? Were they crusty or something? Why did she – oh. His eyes were green of course. Her favorite color...but why would she bother to look? His original plan was to just lock her up in the dungeon safely out of the way. It was the best idea that secured him his place on the throne when Shrek finally shows up. The seasons were passing so quickly and that fateful day when Shrek signed the contract was fast approaching. Letting her go would be a risk he couldn't take since she'd be easily found and the terms of the exit clause could successfully be achieved. But isn't True Love is impossible to flourish within twenty-four hours anyway? The chances of that are slim to none. Maybe he's just being over-cautious...
Perhaps... he should leave it to chance. A deal with himself then.
"Baba! Can you guess the color of my eyes?" Rumpelstiltskin turned away and waited. She looked at him every day. Watched him intently whenever he spoke. Doted on his every whim... surely she would know. If she guessed correctly, down into the dungeon Fiona goes. If not... well... he could always catch her another time.
"W-what?"
"My eyes, witch! What color are they?"
"Uh...brown?" Came her quivering reply and Rumpelstiltskin couldn't help but let out a small sigh.
A stranger who only spoken to him for merely a few minutes; a stranger who now in all possibility hated him with everything fiber of her being, could note the color of his eyes before slipping into dreams. And Baba could not.
"Tie her to a tree at the edge of the forest a little before dusk and let the villagers make what they want of her," he said finally and called Fifi over who swept to his side in an instant with an affectionate honk. That's his old gal; always making him feel better.
"At dusk, Mr. Stiltskin?"
"Yes," he sighed again, already growing tired of the subject. "You see Baba, my eyes aren't the only thing that's green..."
"... and that night, where a princess was tied to a tree, instead stood an ogre," Rumpelstiltskin paused to lick the plate clean, suddenly not feeling so well at ease under Fiona's piercing stare. "The villagers found her like I knew they would, and they reacted in they only way they knew how..."
"And then what happened?" Fiona said quietly at last since she was surprising silent throughout his whole tale.
"Well... I guess she eventually found the rest of her own kind. At least in part anyway," he licked the last dregs free of the goblet, and as usual, wished for more. Always more. "She learned to be an ogre; fight like one, eat like one, live like one. It was the only thing she could do since mankind wouldn't accept her. The blow was too much I guess. First the tower, and then her parents, and now she was caught in the middle of two races full of hate for each other. So she picked one. Nights turned into nights and no one was the wiser. It was our own little secret."
"Of course it was your secret too," Fiona gained her voice back. He knew it would happen but that didn't help him prepare for it anyway. "If the people knew I was the princess they-"
"She."
"- would have revolted and it would have been the end of you!" She finished over him.
"Maybe... but she didn't and there it is," he held out the plate and goblet though the bars, obviously tonight's tale was over. He only hoped she wouldn't spit in his next meal. If there was going to be one anyway.
She packed away everything again without another word and for some strange reason, the last taste of the wine felt dry in his mouth. Sour and foul. He should have lied. Should have made up some fairyshit story and not have been so honestly harsh with her. Not because he cared; no – never that. He just wasn't so sure he'll have another meal tomorrow.
"Thank you for being honest, Rumpel," Fiona sighed as she blew out the lantern, obscuring her face in darkness once more before she turned to leave.
"How would you know if I was telling the truth anyway?" He called out, curious as to why she'd even trust a word he'd say.
Fiona paused but didn't turn. "Because... I like the color of your eyes too."
A/N: Thanks for reading, please review! You have no idea just how much that motivates a procrastinator like me.
*: I thought that it was some bullshit that Rumpelstiltskin got locked up in the end. I mean, just why did he get punished? It was basically Shrek's word against his own. Rumpel even said himself that no one would be the wiser since it was a magical transaction that would only alter Shrek's reality. But whatever. At least he wasn't killed and for that I'm grateful. Then where would I be?