Mother Gothel sat with her side draped over the cushion and frame of the chair at the room's center, the chair with the broken chains splayed round its legs. New sunlight bathed the valley circling the tower. As its rays crept through the front window they washed Gothel's cool expression with warmth. Her right arm slung over the chair's back. Her left she held out from her lap. The right fist supported her cocked head. The left dangled the key to Rapunzel's broken chains. Ahead, in the darkness, a gaunt shadow moved. Its long golden hair shivered grey in the dusk at the chamber's back. Its yellow clothed back hugged the mirror before the stairs to the bedrooms. Gothel narrowed her eyes and held the key out to it.
"How did you locate this?" she murmured. "And furthermore, how did you disenchant it?"
"I did not," responded Honey Lemon coolly.
"Then who did?" hissed Gothel. Honey Lemon shrugged, adding, "There was a dragon."
"There was a dragon!" gasped Gothel in affected shock. "Well, that is a surprise, seeing as there is only one documented dragon on the face of the earth- and that happens to belong to the man visiting us today!"
"I told you," returned Honey Lemon. "I only know what I heard."
"And how do you know what a dragon sounds like?" snapped Gothel. Honey Lemon said that she did not know. "But the boy speaking to it knew," she added. "I assume the splash of purple light that splayed under my bedroom door belonged to it."
"What a grand hypothesis!" Gothel barked, flinging the key at Honey Lemon's chest. The girl caught it with a yelp and cradled it helplessly. Outside, a shadow blotted out the sun. The trill of thundering leather resounded through the valley. As Honey stood hunched over her bedroom door key's tiny frame, her keeper swept through the kitchen to hunt for the rest of the chain. One drawer after another wrenched open and slammed shut as the reverberation of men's voices strengthened in the valley below. Finally Gothel ripped open a cupboard and the keys flew out. As she caught them in her arms she flung them to Honey Lemon.
"Get your sister," she snarled. Honey Lemon bowed and scurried up the stairs behind, knocking on Clover's door to warn her that she was coming in. As she undid the latch and swept inside, cries of "hellos" sailed from the air below. The sound of tinkling bells rang again and again. Sweeping back and forth in confusion, Gothel put her hand to her head and groaned. She glanced out the window, counted, and clapped her fingers. The bells rang once more. Then the voices in the valley dissipated and the sound of footsteps on stone rose. Soon the slabs at the chamber's center sunk. Two foul heads rose in their stead. One scalp held the matted dreadlocks of Drago Bludvist. The other, the mangy curls of a dark young man with auburn hair and startling teal eyes. As Gothel glanced at the young man's lean frame, she blinked in surprise then grinned. She turned her pearly whites to Drago, who lumbered towards the kitchen to refill his water pouch.
"My, my, Drago!" she sighed with a clap of hands. "I did not know your army employed such beautiful young men!"
"It does not," Drago growled. He dashed a round of cups and saucers from the drying rack to the ground so he could rest his arm on the kitchen counter. Then he undid the cork on his water pouch and bashed it against the nozzle of the sink. Gothel snapped her fingers and told him that the pouch was full. Sure enough, when Drago held it to his ear, the slosh of fresh water chugged within. With a hiss Drago spit against the ground and returned to the room's center.
"How do I know this is not poison?" growled the thug.
"If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already," Gothel murmured. She had a wide, thin smile. Drago laughed and spit again, making Gothel curl her lips. As she stared at the black slime oozing from the bottom of his boots, Honey Lemon and Clover stumbled from the bedrooms behind. They stepped side by side towards Gothel's back. When they were assembled, Drago signaled for his attendant to return down the stone steps sunk in the room's center. The young lad disappeared. Honey Lemon's eyes trailed after him in curiosity, but snapped back to attention when Drago stepped towards her. Before he could reach for her face, Gothel held her hand against his arm.
"No touching yet," she murmured. "What have you brought me?"
"We bring a flower from the Queen's garden," Drago boomed. Then he smiled.
The auburn lad returned up the stairs with a girl with a sack over her head. Her voice was muffled by some sort of gag. Her clothes betrayed royalty, but they were befouled by dirt and ash, crinkled around the waist by rope that extended into the auburn lad's grip like a leash. The girl stumbled from side to side in oblivion, cawing any wretched syllable she could. When the auburn boy was commanded, he slipped the sack from her head and she blinked around her in horror. She had a soiled cloth jammed between her front teeth, tied with rope around the back of her head. It cut into the sides of her lips and made them bleed. Her blue eyes grew wide with terror. Her cheeks were bathed in soot. Her black long hair lay mushed and tangled where the rope had been driven around it. Her hands were tied behind her back, and when she lunged forward she was tugged back under the auburn lad's grip. It was the princess of Corona. Gothel screamed in delight.
"Violet, another flower!" she beamed, throwing her hands around the girl's shoulders. Before she could give the princess a proper hug, the young girl reeled her head back and cracked it against Gothel's skull, making the witch stumble back and trip over the broken chains at the chamber center. She barely saved herself from falling through the hole in the middle of the floor, evading it with a tumble and gasp. When she righted herself Drago burst into howls of laughter. Princess Violet lunged backwards and cracked the auburn lad in the head as well. The rope let slip. With a lurch the princess tumbled down the stone steps at the room's center before Gothel could snap her fingers. As the girl howled in displeasure, a raging wind rumbled from the bottom of the tower. Up burst the princess on a bed of storm clouds that pitched and twirled her through the air until she was flung onto a dress hook. There she hung by the rope gathered around her waist. Gothel snapped her fingers again. The hurricane disappeared, and the gag and rope disintegrated from the princess's face. Immediately, the tower filled with her cries.
"YOU FOUL COCKROACHES OF VICE AND DISGRACE, I WILL FETCH MY FATHER'S UNCLE, WE WILL SEE ABOUT THIS, I HATE ALL OF YOU, COME AND GET ME I WILL RIP YOUR GUTS OUT WITH MY TEETH-"
Before she could say anything else Gothel snapped her fingers and Princess Violet fell into the most peaceful slumber she had ever encountered. As she hung lifelessly on the coat hook by the window, Gothel adjusted her nose and snapped her fingers so that the auburn lad's righted itself as well. As the boy padded at the once bloody mess in wonder, he gasped. Drago glanced towards Violet with a grin.
"Drago likes her!" he boomed. Gothel rolled her eyes and returned to the chair at the room's center. There she lounged as she spoke with her guests. Because she had the chance, she also snapped her fingers and disintegrated all the spit Drago had hocked on her carpet. In return, he hocked again.
"I hope you will excuse me for my impoliteness," Gothel hissed. "But it has been an excruciatingly tiring week. The girl I promised to you previously fell from our window when I was away. There is her blood against the alder outside." Lazily, Gothel pointed from the wide window. Drago and the auburn lad peeked out of it together, Drago with a scowl, the auburn lad in silence. Gothel narrowed her eyes as she watched his glance. The irises held such a startling mix of blue and green.
"But," she murmured, "I have others." With her foot she kicked Clover and Honey Lemon forward. Then she pointed to Violet. "You may have her, either, if you like. I do not care, as long as I am left two."
Drago looked from the sleeping Violet, to Clover, to Honey Lemon, who stared back without expression. Then he sucked his gums and stepped towards the auburn lad. "Which you like?" he asked gruffly. The auburn lad blinked at him in surprise. Then he turned towards Gothel and her flowers with a hard glance. His eyes swept from Violet to Clover quickly. But when they settled on Honey Lemon, they softened.
As Honey Lemon stared at the auburn boy, she noticed the warmth of his skin and the freckles dusted across his nose. His eyes were big- a hard, storm sea green- but his face was feminine. His hair was dark at the tips but grew soft and light at the roots, as if it were dyed. His body was lean but muscular. His hands were clenched into white fists. He had a rapier at the side of ashen grey breeches tied at the knee. His legs were bare, their hairs were soft, and he wore tough leather boots caked in the same black slime as Drago Bludvist's. As Honey Lemon glanced back to his face, she was caught off guard. His expression was tense. With a blush she turned away. Drago Bludvist laughed ahead of her.
"Decision made!" he boomed and pointed to Honey Lemon. Shattered from her reverie, she glanced towards Gothel in horror. The woman snapped for her to return to her room. Without thinking she let herself be pulled by Clover. She was led up the stairs and into her bedchambers. The door was shut tight, and not a word was heard from either flower for the rest of the evening. When Gothel turned back to Drago she snapped her fingers again. Violet rose from the coat hook through the air as if suspended by waves, floating on an invisible bed to the room where Rapunzel had slept. When she was inside, the door shut, and the pop of bedsprings resounded. Gothel sighed.
"We shall let her sleep for now," she murmured. Then she tapped her finger to her chin and stared at Drago. "You will now leave my tower so my flowers can prepare. Your party will return clean-shaven, washed, rubbed in scented oils and laden with food for the feast. The bonding ceremony shall be held at the base of the tower. Your army shall depart before the rise of dawn. Now go." With the swish of her fingers, a rumble came from the tower's innards, and the stone steps began sinking further and further through the ground. The auburn lad descended them first, and Drago followed. Before disappearing he hocked and spit one last time. Then he retreated through the tower amidst a thunder of laughter that dissipated to hissing sighs the further he tread through the tower's bowels. Slowly the stone steps rose, until finally the tower's high chamber returned to its normal state. The darkness caused by the great dragon's wings disappeared, the roar of their leather receded, and twilight bathed the tower chamber in brilliant golden light, settling against Gothel's feet like kisses. As she sat half in darkness, she pressed her finger to her chin again.
In the distance there was the sound of hoof beats. The neigh of horses. Gothel gasped and stood, groping about the chamber in fear. She glanced out the window. Drago's troops had gone. As she turned, the shadows within the tower lengthened and shivered, until one of them took on the shape of a tall figure with a crown of crinkled spikes. As it loomed to the ceiling above Gothel's head, she grabbed the chair back at the room's center and gulped, settling her other hand to her mouth.
"Is it you?" she whispered, drawing closer to the looming darkness. It stood still, except for a flicker like a candle flame. A shiver. And it spoke.
"Gothel," the voice whispered. "Have you found the girl?"
"No," Gothel returned.
"Who was in your chambers?"
"Drago Bludvist," whispered Gothel. "Are you to speak with him tonight?"
"Yes," whispered the dark figure. It was quiet in thought. Then it murmured, "I grow wary of the flame at his side."
"The boy?" whispered Gothel. The dark figure stood, silent and flickering.
"If Drago dies," whispered Gothel, "How shall you reach Arcadia?"
The dark figure flickered black fire, shivering back and forth. As Gothel watched it advance and recede, she set her hand above her brow and groaned.
"Working with you is a nightmare," she sighed. Then her hand fell to her side. "But I suppose you would take that as a complement."
Again, the figure lacked response. Gothel threw up her hands and went for the kitchen.
"Fine!" she murmured. "Have it your way." Then she put on some tea. As she worked, the dark shadow traversed the walls, rising from one curve to the next until it met with the steps to Violet's bedroom. When it reached the door handle and bent close the shadow sunk through the wood and disappeared. When it returned it contorted and stretched. Then it leapt and skittered from wall to ceiling until it reached Gothel's side. When she happened upon it she stopped. Silver gold bulbs twinkled at her where eyes could have been. As she screeched, she dropped her tea.
"Where are the third and fourth?" the figure whispered.
"What?" Gothel croaked.
"The third and fourth," repeated the figure. when Gothel understood she sighed and hid her shaking hands.
"Dead and gone, respectively," she returned. "One fell from the window. The other escaped on the back of a dragon." As she said this she snorted. Then she sipped her tea.
"A dragon?" the shadow whispered. Gothel giggled.
"That is what Honey Lemon told me. The one being handed to Drago Bludvist."
When she turned with a smile to relay the event fully, she frowned. The shadow had gone. Warm twilight returned to the tower, and the darkness within grew soft. Gothel swept from corner to corner, picking through everything to see where the shadow had hidden itself. But it was no use. Nowhere in sight. With satisfaction she plopped onto the chair at the chamber center and snuggled into its crook with her tea and saucer carefully in hand. The ghoul had barely mentioned the fire haired princess. Perhaps its plans had changed. Gothel clucked her tongue as she stirred her sugar with her finger.
"Now the real question," she whispered, "Is what interested him so much about that silly dragon."
Giggling again, Gothel sipped her tea and sighed. The twilight turned to darkness. For these few short moments, she was finally alone.
The sun was but a sliver in the sky when the bonding procession began. Drago Bludvist's choicest soldiers gathered in two lines on either side of the tower base. The way before them was lined with floating white and blue will o' wisps. Enchanted lavender buds draped the corsages of Drago and his men. His face was bathed. His hair was pulled back with black string. He wore the robes of high king Fergus, their tartan washed and dried in the past evening's waning sun. The stench of death clung still. He wore red glass beads at the tips of his dreads and his prosthetic arm was polished with oil. The auburn lad had washed his hair as well. His curls were tied back with ribbon from his dark skin. His eyes were cool. Both men wore the same perfume. The third, nameless attendant had managed to wipe away a little of the scum from his brow. His hair was greased back from his scalp with lard. He wheezed as he breathed through thinning teeth. The rest of Drago's top twenty stood on either side of the tower. Drago, the lad, and the third man hung in a crescent around the procession's end. The way was doused in flower petals. Violets. Gothel's victory lap.
A rumbling echoed within the tower, and the stones lining its base rearranged themselves to create a doorway. Out stepped Gothel in a brilliant, navy velvet cotehardie and gown. Her curls were woven with deep blue flower petals. From behind her stepped Clover and Violet in single file. Violet stumbled through a trance, her blue eyes swimming with waking sleep. She bent and breathed deeply through scattered dreams. Clover walked lifelessly, drained. She and Violet wore beautiful pinks and blues. When all three women made their way to the head of the crowd, a sprinkle of golden stardust burst from the tower cavity behind and circled every will o' the wisp, changing each orb's color while tinkling soft music. The men surrounding gripped secret daggers in mistrust. Gothel burst with harmless laughter.
From the tower's cavity stepped Honey Lemon. Her long golden tresses were woven in braids around her head save for one ponytail high on her scalp. Flowers hung secured in its tresses. The sheath was parted in the middle and curls dipped on either of her cheeks. Her green eyes stared ahead without target. Her wedding gown was lavender and gold. Rapunzel's. Her feet were bare. When she reached Drago's side and breathed through her nose, she reeled back in revulsion. Gothel snapped her fingers and golden light sliced and disappeared beneath the Honey's nostrils. Her shoulders relaxed. Gothel draped her shaking hands over Drago's metal limb and sealed their touch with blue ribbon. Then with raised head and outstretched hands, Gothel appealed to the elements and their pagan gods. The light faded from the valley completely. And the bonding feast began.
As the will o' wisps and wedding decorations disintegrated to nothing, the cavity in the tower base rumbled and closed. Bursts of firecrackers pealed through the air from the tower's scalp and made Drago's men howl with excitement. Before them an earthen platform raised. Violet, Clover, Honey Lemon, and Gothel jumped upon its moss blanket and danced. They encircled each other in their arms, Violet entranced, Clover detached, and Honey Lemon furious as she twirled around her captor one more time. In triumph she lifted her head and brushed past Gothel's shoulder, jumping high through the air and kicking her legs to either side as she leapt from the stone to the ground. When Gothel snapped, Honey dashed towards Drago and called out to the auburn lad, reaching forth her hand for him to take. He shook his head, but she called him again, and Drago heaved him up.
"I don't know the steps," the auburn lad warned. Honey responded that there were no steps. She grabbed his hands and swung him around, until both of them circled each other with mad frantic sweeps. The lad's curls broke free of the string tying his hair and flowed on either side of his warm, sharp face.
"You are beautiful," Honey announced. The lad grimaced and turned. Honey turned with him.
"You are the most beautiful man I have ever met," she boasted. "I hate men."
"Me too," hissed the lad in response, trying to flee her. But she twirled him in circles again and again; until the lad was so dizzy he could hardly move. He jumped from one foot to the other, lost in excitement and wonder, trapped in a swirling bright world of flowers, light, and stone. When he righted himself, he swirled before the hard face of Honey, her cheeks brilliantly bordered with lavenders. As he blinked out at her in wonder, she drew close to him and slid her cheek astride his ear.
"Do you like him?" she whispered. The lad glanced towards Drago.
"I hate him," he said. Honey's eyes brightened.
"Can I trust you?" she gasped.
"No," the lad hissed. Before Honey could respond, she was shoved towards Drago, who clamped her by the waist and swung her savagely from side to side, sweeping her around in a violent waltz. As she held onto her head with her hand, she used the other to clutch at his prosthetic side, clinging to the foul tartan of Fergus' cloak. The tug of the stormy blue green cloth made the auburn lad's lips curl. He spit and stumbled away. As his back receded from view, the mossy platform widened, until nearly every man in the party was sailing across its back in some crude dance. As the auburn lad peaked over his shoulder to watch, he shook his head. Then, turning away, he lolloped towards the alder at the tower base, unnoticed by any.
"Can I trust you?"
The lad stumbled and slid down slippery rocks. His feet met with water. The river at the alder's side. Beneath the tree's bent frame was a crumpled flower with gold and purple petals, some sort of iris with pointed sepal leaves. It was dry and faded now. Stained black and forgotten. When the auburn lad picked it up and smelt it, he sighed. Iron. Then he threw it down and knelt at the water's side. In its reflection he touched his dark, unrecognizable face.
"Who are you?" Juri murmured. She swept her fingers through the cool stream. With each day she lived as the auburn lad, she felt more and more like herself and less like a "he." It scared her. Something was wrong. Something was coming for her now, but she did not have the courage or desire to stop it.
"I should have killed him already," she whispered, clutching her rapier close. With a gasp, she whipped around and glanced up the side of the mountain, towards the base of the tower. Standing with her back illuminated by light and her front shrouded in darkness, was the witch. As the auburn lad scrambled up towards her, Gothel set her hand on her heart and stepped back. Her eyes clouded and her brows furrowed. The lad rushed past her towards the party and Gothel watched as he walked, perturbed and alone for the second time that night.