I'm back! I've written a novel between the end of letters and now, and now I'm in the long and dreary trenches of trying to get it published. While I wait, I thought I would explore a story idea that I have had since my kids asked to watch How to Train your Dragon. I immediately said 'oh, I could Rumbelle this!" Scottish, disappointed father, dragons, lost leg, I mean, it's perfect! lol
I say 'inspired by' because I am taking it in a few different directions to make it feel a bit more 'magical'.
I will say here that I own nothing. Neither Once Upon a Time or How to Train your Dragon.
I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1 Blue Fury

Dark Forest. A few degrees north of the Gloomy River, and a three day ride from Demon's Bluff. It's located solidly on the top of Frozen Mountain of Misery, and it had been there countless generations. It was his village. The place where he caught his first fish, and sheared his first sheep. It was a hard land to live in. Perhaps It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the pests. While other villages might have rodents, his village had dragons.

His name was Rumplestiltskin. Names were special, given in hopes that your name would match your magical abilities somehow. Malcom had great plans for Rumple (for unfortunately his name had been shortened to mirror his lack of abilities). Rumplestiltskin was the name from the story of old legends, passed down from father to child, the great spinner of gold. For a sheep farmer, that was the story most asked for, and Rumple would go to bed dreaming of spinning wheels, and gold, and magic.

They were just dreams, however. Years passed and there was not a spark of magic in Rumplestilskin. It wasn't that he didn't try. For years, every night before he went to bed, he spent hours trying to conjure something that simply wasn't there. Every time a skirmish happened between the dragons and the people of Dark Forest, he would have good intentions. Stepping out of the dark, stone structure they called home, he would think tonight will be the night. He would step over the hill where the trees thinned and the sheep stayed and roamed and see the fire and chaos below. Flashes of light, magic, mixed with the fire of the dragons and Rumple longed to be one of the chaotic crew. He wouldn't be. All because of the incident one year ago.

"You're not going outside are you Rumple?" Malcom, his father, had stood that night with his arms crossed and his forehead knit in an even crosser look. Annoyed was most likely the better word. Rumple swallowed.

It was true he didn't have a drop of magic. He had tried, confronted fear and hoped that magic would mold it into something worth fighting with, but, of course, it hadn't done any good. He knew this, so he learned to do some other things. For one thing, his apprenticeship at the forge had helped him with his skills at making weapons. He wasn't particularly skilled at fighting with them (he might have been if his father had thought him worth his time. He hadn't, so Rumple was as skilled with the sword and dagger as he was with magic), but his blades were sharp, and if he ever got close enough he would be able to do some damage.

He was also wiry. He knew it wasn't the thing most young men dreamed of–he sure hadn't ever felt very proud of his size, but he thought he could use it to his advantage. Going in and out of places, quiet as a mouse and as quick and sly as a snake, he had frightened villagers many a time by sneaking on them in such a way. Surely you could do the same with a dragon?

He would have tried to say something like this to his father, if his father would have listened. Malcolm was looking at him with fierce, fiery eyes, impatient to be out, leading the men and weiding his magic. His father's magic was renowned in the village. In a flash he could turn the fiercest dragon back into an egg, turning back the time of their lives, and then ending them by cracking the eggs against a rock. Men and women would watch in awe as his magic flashed and encompassed a fire-breather, morphing it into something smaller and smaller until there was nothing left but the shell.

Rumple swallowed again. "No, I'll not go outside. I'll stay here."

"Too dangerous for you magicless ones." Rumple's father shook his head with a huff. Malcolm would have loved nothing better than if Rumple was one of them, but he was forever a disappointment. Rumple might have felt better (albeit, it would have been just as mortifying) if his father had wanted him to stay behind because he was really worried for his safety. Instead, Rumple was well aware of the reason that Malcolm didn't want him there–he was ashamed.

"I know, Malcolm." He was no longer even allowed to call him father.

Malcolm left him soon afterwards as the gong went even louder announcing that the dragons were coming nearer. Rumple's shoulders slumped a little as he saw the back end of his father, but raised his head, his nose and his chin and went for the stash under his bed with the weapons he had placed there.

If I could kill one dragon, that would make my father proud of me, magic or no.

And it was that thought that carried him through the woods until he ran right smack into a two headed dragon. He didn't actually touch the thing, thankfully, but he took a step out of the woods and the dragon had flown right at the foot of it as he came out. Rumple was exposed. Most of the magic wielders were scattered down the hill and somehow this dragon had escaped them all. The dragon had done exactly what Rumple had wanted it to do, but instead of Rumple sneaking up and thrusting his dagger into the soft spot he had studied and researched, he was looking into the purple eyes of the fire-breather.

Rumple began to shake. He could not move, he couldn't even think. He thought that perhaps this was the moment he would finally get his magic, fear worked to spark it in some of them, but nothing ever happened. He just stood there and watched everything in slow motion. Rumple wondered how soon he could see his mother once he died, and if he would prefer the fire in the dragon's mouth or the sharp, piercing teeth to kill him. Before he could decide, Hook saved him.

With a metal hook shaped hand, he thrust it into the dragon's soft spot and with a sword cut off one head. The other head cried out in pain and then lost the ability when the other head was cut clean off. Everything happened in seconds.

"Always knew you weren't cut out for dragon slaying." The hooked man was laughing, the blue magic in his metal arm was mixed with the blood of the dragon. "Good thing for you I was here. You are about as good as those sheep." He pointed to the sheep on the hillside as the men tried to keep a couple of lingering dragons away from them. "At least they give us wool." Hook laughed again. Rumple had a sudden urge to run back home and crawl under the bed like he used to do when his father had a few too many drinks with the men and wished to show how disappointed he was with his son. Disappointment that always left red welts on his back and legs–sometimes his face. His nose was permanently a testament to his father's disappointment in his magicless state.

Instead, he told himself he was a grown boy of 17 and if he thought that what had just happened was bad enough, running back would be worse.

It didn't matter. The story spread like the fire through the village. Now, a year later, his father hated his son with a passion ("No son o' mine, I'll tell you. Mother was always nice to the men, look at him and look at me and ask yourself, is that a son of Malcolm the Mighty?").

His father was Malcolm the Mighty. Rumplestilskin was Rumple the Coward, and the name had stuck.

He looked over the hill. The night sky was bright with light from magic and fire, and just like his new name, he cowardly hid behind a tree. Dreaming, wishing, these were the only ways Rumple could get involved.

While he was too small to be brute strength, too powerless to be helpful in a fight, and had, only once, he would have argued, missed seeing a dragon literally in front of him, he did have good eyes. He saw the way the people used their powers to slay the dragons. There was Ruby Red with her jeweled pendant around her neck and no hood, the hood helped to hold the powers at bay until she needed it. Tonight, with the light of the moon at its brightest, she was allowed to change into her wolf form and grab at any smaller dragons, while her grandmother waited at the ready with her magicless bow and the hood draped across her arm to be ready to change Ruby over before she killed any of their sheep herself.

There were people who were magicless like him. There was Granny, but her skills with the bow and her fearless attitude were a necessary addition to the fight. There was also Maurice the Mechanic, who could not wield magic, but was a tinkerer, creating inventive catapults, bows for Granny, and other, very necessary items. He did not join the fight, but helped in his own way. Not like Rumplestiltskin. When he had the incident, his apprenticeship stopped, which caused Malcolm to roar and rage, threatening to use his magic and turn him into a baby and hope that maybe someone else would raise him. Rumple had gone to bed and had to lay on his belly, the pain was so bad, but the pain from his father's disappointment hurt worse.

Speaking of the magicless, when another round of light flashed Rumple caught a bit of blue from the corner of his eye. Belle, the Mechanic's daughter. She had two buckets of water over her shoulder and was carrying it to the magic wielders, not caring if she was hurt or the dragons around her. Rumple sighed. No one knew if Belle had magic or not, but she was invaluable because of her ideas about sheep protection and fire protection when there were dragons around. He had heard two names, Belle the Odd One, which Rumle hated, and Brainy Belle, her nose was always in a book, which caused the first name, but her knowledge helped the fight against the dragons, so no one hindered her presence, even if it was rather odd that she brought water and not magic to a dragon fight.

Rumple had given her another name. Belle the Beauty–he watched her sometimes. The area his sheep grazed looked over the Mechanic's small hut. He sat there, doing the only thing he could do, in a village such as theirs, the thing that children with no magic and no skills could do, and watch the sheep and care for them and their wool throughout the whole process. He sat there, wished, dreamed, and watched. Belle cared for her father, and cared for anyone who happened upon the hut. She smiled, comforted, and generously gave to anyone who came by. In the moments she wasn't doing those things, she was reading while tending her sheep. With no son, Belle brought her sheep to a nearby field a little lower than Rumple's. If she ever caught sight of him she waved. Rumple always froze. Dragon or beautiful young lady, Rumple was a coward through and through. She probably thought he was rude, he supposed he was. Now she was doing what she did best, care for the people, and while Rumple angrily heard them whisper Belle the Odd One on occasion, no one could deny the kindness she gave to everyone.

A noise and a flash interrupted Rumple's thoughts. It was a high pitched noise right above him, and a blue flash caused Rumple to look up. Blue Fury! A dragon with a blue tint to its midnight scales. The most dangerous dragon of all the dragons! Rumple froze as he could hear its high pitched screech of fury nearby. Rumple had not come empty handed. While his apprenticeship had ended, he had kept a few weapons under his bed, hoping to one day prove himself worthy of being Malcolm's son. Tonight he brought a tiny bow fitted with the sharp dagger like arrows that he had so carefully crafted. Fitting one of the arrows with shaking hands, he waited until he heard the noise again and shot basically blindly into the dark. When he heard the screech cry out in pain, he gasped. He had shot a Blue Fury. He wanted to run and tell his father, but knew he wouldn't be believed unless he had the dragon's head in his hand, so he followed the direction he thought he had heard the painful screech, but after walking over a mile and finding nothing, he walked back to his house dejected.

Before he got to his house, walking back through the edge of the forest where the battle had died down and the men were bragging on their conquests and the women were chatting about how to do things the next time, he was stopped by none other than Belle (the Beauty) and asked if she could give him some water. She must have already started walking back to her home, not staying behind to hear the heroic deeds that had been done that night, and saw him walking in the same direction.

Rumple froze, again.

"N-No?" He tilted his head. Why did he need water? He didn't fight. He did wound a Blue Fury but no one would believe that, so he wouldn't say anything about that.

"Alright." She sighed (almost sadly?) "It's hot tonight with all the fire, you know. Just thought I would, anyway–nevermind." Her head dropped and her eyes went to her feet. Being a disappointment to his father was something he didn't like to think about (he was reminded often enough) and the way the other young men would tease and ostracize him felt very lonely. Making Belle sad seemed a fate worse than any of those things. He didn't know why she wanted to offer water to a nobody (worse than a nobody really) like him, but he felt compelled to amend his statement.

"I-It was, hot, that is. I guess, well, I guess I could use some water, thank you." He finally got all the words out, though they sounded bumbling as they came out.

Belle smiled (she was such a beauty when her eyes lit up like that), and dipped the little cup in the water and handed it to him.

"I saw it." She stated, and Rumple looked at her curiously.

"I saw the Blue Fury." She explained and Rumple felt nerves and something else in his chest, he wasn't sure.

"You saw?" He asked, which was stupid, since she had just said so.

She nodded her head.

"A Blue Fury! Do you think you wounded it?" Her face scrunched up, and looked like she might be worried. Perhaps she was worried it would attack them because of it.

"I think so, but it flew off and I couldn't find if it ever fell. Probably didn't wound it badly enough." The words were coming out stiltedly still, but at least they were coming.

Belle nodded her head again in understanding. "You did well tonight, Rumplestiltskin." She finally said and Rumple's chest went all warm and fuzzy and he wasn't sure if he wouldn't faint from such praise. He hadn't been called Rumplestiltskin for years and no one had ever said "You did well" his whole life. That Belle (the Beauty) had said it, was almost too much.

"Thank you." He squeaked the words out. Thankfully she only smiled and said goodnight. It was good, as he didn't think he could manage any more words. He walked on clouds the rest of the way home.