Harold’s head jerked toward his wife. “What do you mean, ‘free our daughter’?” he
asked.
“We’ve been contacted by another magic user who said he
could put an end to Fiona’s curse,” Lillian replied, looking down at a tri-folded
letter she held in her hand.
Harold glanced out the back window and noted that Dama’s henchman was walking diagonally across the cart path
away from the pond, his eyes fixed on the royals’ departing coach. Might he have a horse nearby, and might he
attempt to follow them? Harold turned,
leaned his head out of the passenger window, and called to the driver, “Could
you speed up the pace, please?”
“Yes, Sire,” the driver said, and a moment later the
horses were moving a fast canter.
Harold settled back into his seat and looked closer at the
letter in Lillian’s hands. He noted that
it had previously been sealed with a wax stamp – wax that was the color of
gold. The two broken halves, when put
together, bore the crest of the family of Midas.
“It’s a letter of recommendation,” she explained, turning
toward her husband and handing it to him.
“It was delivered this morning by a…representative of the magic user.”
“What ‘magic user’?” Harold asked impatiently, snatching
the letter.
Lillian sighed.
“Rumpelstiltskin is his name,” she said.
“Rumpelstiltskin?!” he repeated incredulously. “That little villain who
spins straw into gold?”
“No, the younger one,” Lillian said, “the one with the
contracts.”
“Bah, I’ve heard of him.
He’s even worse!” Harold scoffed, feeling disappointed. “Really, Lillian, I understand how you feel,
but how could you trust such a disreputable person to even tell him about our daughter’s curse—”
“I didn’t need to.
He already knew,” she said. “This
morning one of his representatives flew into the castle grounds and—”
“Flew?”
Lillian sighed.
“Yes. She was a witch.”
Harold just stared at her for a moment, and then said, “So…let
me get this straight. This witch – greenish
gray skin, hooked nose, dark gown and pointed hat, and riding a broom, I presume?”
Lillian nodded resignedly.
“This witch,” Harold continued, “showed up, said that this
Rumpelstiltskin had learned of Fiona’s curse, and was offering to end it?”
“Yes,” Lillian said, and gesturing to the paper in
Harold’s hands, “and she gave me that letter.”
Harold sighed and then read the letter. “So,” he said when he’d finished, “King Midas
vouches for the efficacy of Rumpelstiltskin’s
magic. Ah, but look here: ‘Just be
careful what you deal for, for you shall surely get it!’”
“Oh, so what?” Lillian said, her patience
wearing thin. “What we want is very
specific: and end to Fiona’s curse and imprisonment. If we sign a deal and he grants us that, what
is the harm? Who gives a blast about his
bad reputation if he can do that?”
Harold considered her logic. “Perhaps,” he conceded, “still, the Fairy
Godmother asked us to wait a week—”
“And then disappears from Far Far
Away for days without a word as to why.
Frankly, Harold, I’m fed up with that woman’s assurances. ‘Just a little while longer, dear’…‘You must
have patience, dear’…‘I’m sure we’ll hear of her rescue any day, dear’. Her assurances are like the warnings from the
boy who cried ‘wolf’.”
“Ah!” Harold noted, “But the boy who cried ‘wolf’ was
eventually correct!”
“And so is a broken clock, twice a day,” she
rejoined. “Oh, Harold. This is our daughter we’re talking about.
She trusted us. And now, after so many years…my God, we
wouldn’t sentence criminals to the
type of imprisonment she’s suffered.”
Harold mulled over her words. “Perhaps,” he relented. If the devious little imp could release Fiona from her curse, then
beyond the great joy that would lead to, it would also mean that Fiona would
not be bound to marry Charming, a prospect that Harold had been dreading
anyway, as it would not only bind his poor daughter to the narcissist son of
that devilish Dama, it would eventually turn his
kingdom over to them as well. “Very
well,” Harold said. “What does Rumpelstiltskin
want in return for freeing our daughter?
Anything short of the kingdom itself, and he shall have it.”
Lillian bit her lip.
“That’s…what he wants.”
“Excuse me? What…is what he wants?”
“The kingdom itself.”
“What?!”
“That’s his price.
He’ll take nothing less.”
“But…but…that’s absurd!”
Harold sputtered. “Even if he fulfilled
his part of the bargain, we can’t just turn our kingdom over to someone like
that! We have responsibility to our
subjects! Not to mention it would be
robbing Fiona of her birthright.”
“Harold, right now we are robbing Fiona of her very life!” Lillian said. “As for the kingdom…yes, I understand
perfectly what you’re saying. But it’s
not like he could run roughshod over the peoples’ rights anyway, even if he
were so inclined. Ours is not an absolute monarchy.”
“That’s true,” Harold conceded. Their position had become more ceremonial
rather than administrative over the years.
Plus there was the Manga Carpal – the document
meant to ‘stay the hand of a whimsical monarch’, granting the people certain
rights and holding the king’s actions accountable to the Council of Barons.
“And, if Fiona isn’t freed,” Lillian continued, “then how
much longer would our familial reign last anyway? We’re both getting old, Harold. And…” she blushed and looked away, then
continued softly “…and she is the last of your bloodline. I’ve not even been able to bear you another
daughter, let alone a son.”
“Lillian,” Harold said, his voice
also soft, as he laid his hand on hers.
“I’m sure that’s not your fault.
More than likely it’s mine.” Here Harold was sure he was speaking the
truth, as he strongly suspected that the inability of the couple to produce
further children was part of Dama’s spellcraft, to ensure that Fiona remained the only blood
link to succession. “But…Lillian, think about what’s being proposed here.”
“I have,” she said, then turned and faced him again. “And I’ve been thinking of our daughter. My conclusions are clear; if you do not
accept this offer, I shall attempt to free Fiona myself…directly.”
Harold’s brow wrinkled in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”
“I shall don armor and attempt to rescue our daughter like
all the knights before who have attempted to do so. It may not make her entirely human, but at
least it would end her imprisonment.”
Harold’s mouth dropped open. He stared into her eyes, hoping this was a
bad jest, but found only hard resolution there.
“Lillian, don’t be absurd,” he said.
“Absurd or not, that’s what I shall do,” she said with
conviction.
“You’ll be killed!”
“Likely. But perhaps not. I’m
not bereft of fighting skills myself, you know.”
“No! I shall not
allow it!”
“To stop me, then you would have to lock me away also. I shall not continue to live the life of
monarch while our daughter rots. My
conscience will no longer allow it.”
Guilt rushed over Harold.
If Lillian thought she had a
tortured conscience…still, he felt he had valid concerns. “But if Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t end her
curse—”
“Then the contract would be void, and we’d be left the
same as we are now,” she said. “Isn’t
that the worst that could happen?”
He frowned while he considered a while longer, weighing
all factors – emotional and practical – and then, tilting toward the former, at
last he said, “Very well, Lillian. I’ll
do it.”
“Oh, Harold!” she said with grateful relief, taking his
hands in hers. “You’ll see, you won’t regret doing this!”
“I already regret doing this,” he mumbled. “But I’d regret not doing it even more.”
There was another streak of lightening and clap of thunder
as storm clouds blotted the already darkening evening sky. It set such an appropriate mood, Harold
thought sarcastically.
Harold tried to assure himself that he was making the
right decision, or at least the best he could under the circumstances. There was no good decision to be had, only a choice among evils. Was he truly choosing the lesser one?
As the coach pulled up to the gates of the “Crone’s Nest
Carriage Park,” Harold felt his resolve start to fade. Two witches opened the creaking rusty iron
gates, and the coach started meandering down the rutty dirt path between
dilapidated homes made from old carriages or other materials, with menacing
looking denizens, nearly all witches, who stared at the royals from their yards
with expressions ranging from contempt to hostility. Harold began to regret not bringing a contingent
of secret service knights along with them.
He normally would have, but things were happening so quickly, and he had
been in such a hurry to elude Dama’s henchman. Harold began to fear that he may have been in
such a hurry to escape the frying pan that he’d leapt into a fire. But the witches simply watched and stayed
their distance…for now.
“I’m sorry I didn’t summon any guards,” Lillian said,
seeming to read part of his mind. “The
witch asked me not to. She said it would
be too intimidating and upset the aura or some such.”
“And you believed
her?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “But I didn’t think it would be wise to
advertise our willingness to bargain with such a person anyway, in case the
deal fell through. I did tell Sir Hoariman
where we would be going, but to keep it to himself,
and to see that we weren’t interrupted for anything short of war or word of our
daughter’s rescue.”
Hoariman, the head of the monarchial
protection service, was a good man, Harold knew, and one of the few entrusted
with the secret of Fiona’s curse. Harold
just hoped Hoariman wouldn’t be in the position of
having to affect his and Lillian’s
rescue before this business was done.
Eventually they stopped in from of a curiously egg-shaped
carriage with hand-drawn signs in its unkempt yard with proclamations such as,
“Magical Contracts”, “Deal of a Lifetime”, and “Dreams Can Come True!”
“I don’t know about this, Lillian,” Harold said, his doubts
reasserting themselves. “The Fairy
Godmother said only True Love’s kiss
could break Fiona’s curse.”
“I don’t trust that woman, Harold,” Lillian stated
flatly. “This may be our last hope. Besides, he does come highly recommended by
King Midas.”
“But to put our daughter’s life into the hands of such a person?” he protested. “He’s devious, he’s deceitful, he’s…”
Harold looked into Lillian’s face and again saw the pleading
expression of forlorn hope there. Harold
sighed. “He’s a possibility,” he
relented. “Very well.”
Lillian squeezed his hand gratefully as the driver’s attendant
opened the coach door. As they stepped
down onto the bare dirt one of the witches hurried over to the door to Rumpelstiltskin’s carriage/home.
“Ahem…greetings, royal Sires,” she said, bowed briefly,
and pulled on the door handle. It didn’t
open. She tried again. It still didn’t open.
Harold and Lillian tried to keep forced smiles on their
faces as they shared uneasy glances with each other, and struggled to retain
the smiles as they looked about themselves nervously at the circle of witches intently
watching them.
The witch at the door gave an embarrassed
smile, said, “Um, excuse me,” and then grabbed the handle with both hands and
jerked backward. The door flew open and
the witch lost her balance and tumbled into a mud puddle beside Rumpelstiltskin’s carriage.
She quickly got up, rushed beside the open doorway, and, ignoring her
dripping gown, grabbed the door handle to hold the door open, and announced,
“Welcome to the magical chamber of Rumpelstiltskin, where happiness is only an
inkblot away.” She then bowed and
gestured them inside.
“Well,” Harold whispered into Lillian’s ear, “this is it.”
The royal couple moved forward. As they passed the witch, Lillian asked,
“Aren’t you the…representative who met us at the castle?”
“Yes, Queen Lillian” the witch replied.
“Booboo isn’t it?”
“Um, Baba, actually, Queen Lillian.”
“Ah! Yes. Sorry.
Well, thank you, Baba.”
“You’re welcome, Queen Lillian.”
Lillian nodded, and then turned to Harold. “Are you ready?” she whispered.
“As I ever shall be, I suppose,” he whispered back, his
regrets about acceding to his wife’s arguments growing deeper.
He paused to allow his wife to enter first, since it was
too narrow for both of them. The steps onto which she trod, slightly rotted, creaked and bent
ominously, but held. After Lillian had
completely ascended the steps, Harold carefully followed her into the imp’s
carriage.
Harold stepped up beside his wife and found himself
looking with her around the cramped confines of the carriage’s
interior. It was not only a carriage and a home, but an office, with various
scrolls organized in a second-hand cabinet behind an aged wooden desk. The place smelled of musty paper, mold,
and…bird residue. But there was no one
there.
There was the sound of the quick scampering of feet behind
them, and then Baba stepped up beside Harold, turned to face the royal couple,
and, gesturing woodenly toward the interior, recited, “Most distinguished and
honored guests, welcome to the abode of the wishbringer,
the shepherd of your dreams, the one, the only…”
There was a bright flash from between the royal couple and
the desk, sending Harold and Lillian into each others’ arms, each with a short
shriek. Then, when the smoke cleared, they
saw —
“Rumpelstiltskin!” a little unruly haired, pointy-eared
imp said with a flourish from the seat he had suddenly appeared in behind his
desk. A bolt of lightening and clap of
thunder from outside accented his dramatic entrance.
Baba left, closing the door behind her and leaving the
royals alone with the imp. Harold and
Lillian, each slightly embarrassed by their reaction to what was basically a
simple magician’s trick, released each other as Rumpelstiltskin scampered from
behind his desk. Harold saw he was
wearing plain work clothes and odd curly-toed shoes.
“Welcome, Your Magnificences!” Rumpelstiltskin said enthusiastically as he
approached the two. “You can’t believe what an honor it is to finally meet the king and queen of the…well, the
most celebrated kingdom in all the land!”
He turned to Lillian. “Mrs.
Highness,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it, but keeping his beady eyes
on her the whole time.
Harold saw Lillian’s attempt to suppress her revulsion at
the feel of the imp’s lips, even as she managed to respond with a polite, “How
do you do?”
“And now for the esteemed King
Harold!”
Rumpelstiltskin said, holding his hand up toward Harold. “How are you today, Highness?”
“It’s…‘Your Majesty’…actually,” Harold said.
“Oh, sure, sorry ‘Your Majesty’, whatever you say,”
Rumpelstiltskin said, still holding his hand upthrust
toward Harold. “Trust me,
I know how important a name can be to a person.”
Harold nodded, and ignoring the imp’s ignorance of
protocol, took the small, thin hand, and shook it. The handshake was firm and confident enough,
but there was an odd clamminess that put Harold off somehow. As Harold drew his hand back, he felt as if
he’d just petted a snake.
“And I love what
you’ve done with the kingdom since you took it over,” Rumpelstiltskin said as
he turned and headed back around his desk, “you can trust me to keep it in good
shape, once we take care of the business of your daughter’s curse.” He glanced back as he was about to look
through his contracts. “Please, please,
have a seat!” he invited.
“You think…you are competent and capable enough to run our
kingdom,” Harold said.
“Of course!” Rumpelstiltskin replied, not
looking back as he pawed through bunches of scrolls. “Now, let me just find where I put that
contract…”
Harold looked over at Lillian, quite aware of the doubt
that was showing in his face. His
wife’s, however, still held that pleading expression, silently egging him
onward. He nodded, and the two took
seats in old and not entirely steady wooden chairs set before the desk.
“Just how did you learn about our daughter’s curse?”
Harold asked.
“Oh, trade secret,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “I keep my ear to the ground. Ahah!” The imp
triumphantly pulled out one of the scrolls and turned back to the royal couple.
“And you think you can get around the stipulation of True
Love’s First Kiss when all of the finest magic users in the land failed?”
Harold felt himself warming to the challenge, and tried to ignore the warning
glance that Lillian was sending him.
“With due respect, Your Majesty,” Rumpelstiltskin replied, with a hint of reproach, “you didn’t try all
the finest magic users, for you didn’t try me!” But then suddenly the imp was all smiles
again. “But hey, we all make
mistakes! So Fiona spent a few more
years imprisoned than she needed to.
That’s all lava under the bridge now, right? The important thing is,
you don’t want her to waste any more
time away from home. Think about having
your daughter back with you, how nice it would be if she were returned to you,
ogre free, a beautiful woman, twenty-four seven, someone that would make you
proud.”
Harold reluctantly found himself imaging just what
Rumpelstiltskin was saying, and he felt a lump start in his throat as he did
so.
“Can’t you just see it now?” Rumpelstiltskin continued, his voice now tender and empathetic, almost
melodic. “A carriage arrives in front of
your luxurious retirement castle by the sea, and Fiona gets out. You recognize your beautiful young daughter
immediately, as she does you, not just from mere looks, since it’s been so
long, but from that special, unique bond that parents share with their offspring. You stare at each other for a moment, and
then your only child smiles with joy and races across the immaculate lawn with
long, loping strides into the waiting arms of your wife and yourself. Won’t that be wonderful? Won’t that magical moment be worth a king’s
ransom?”
Whether some sort of witchcraft or his own imagination,
Harold truly could see the scene in his mind just as Rumpelstiltskin described
it. Harold felt Lillian’s hand again clasp
his. He looked over and saw a tear
running down her cheek, and then noticed there was one running down his own as
well. “P-perhaps,” he admitted, wiping
the tear away with slight embarrassment.
Suddenly a large white goose jumped between the monarchs,
honking loudly and startling the royal pair.
“Down, Fifi, get down!” Rumpelstiltskin
ordered, and Harold watched the obnoxious bird slink away somewhere beneath the
table. When the king looked back up, he
saw that Rumpelstiltskin was sliding the unfurled scroll with elaborate writing
on it across the table to him. “As you
can see, everything’s in order,” the imp said.
“So you’ll put an end to our daughter’s curse,” Harold
said, still not quite believing that this little creature could succeed where
so many had failed before.
Rumpelstiltskin smiled a not entirely pleasant smile, and
said, “And in return, you sign the kingdom of Far Far
Away over to me.”
Another flash of lightening appeared outside, and thunder
boomed.
Harold had one more rush of misgiving, and turned to his
wife. “Lillian, this is madness!” he said in a whisper that came
out a bit louder than he’d wished.
“What choice do we have, Harold?” she pleaded. “Fiona has been locked in that tower far too
long.”
The choice, Harold knew, was to simply decline the preposterous
notion of turning his kingdom over to this little imp and to wait and to trust
in Dama, as he had waiting and trusting for so many
years, waiting for his daughter to be freed – if ‘free’ could truly be applied
to the bearer of the title ‘Mrs. Fiona Charming’.
“It’s not like she’s getting any younger,” Rumpelstiltskin
injected casually from his seat.
Harold glanced over the contract. He saw the key clause there: ‘The signing of this contract will result in
the immediate, complete, and permanent removal of the cause of Princess Fiona’s
unhappiness and imprisonment.’ That
surely referred to her curse. Its complete and permanent removal? Just like that? What a joy, what a relief that would be! Still—
“But to sign over our entire kingdom?” Harold protested once more.
Surprisingly, Rumpelstiltskin sighed impatiently. “Well,” he said, “if your kingdom is worth
more to you than your daughter…” He then
reached over and started to slide the contract away.
Harold saw it literally slipping away – a chance to
finally end Fiona’s curse without having to rely on the ‘good faith’ of the
vile Dama and her self-absorbed progeny. Harold realized he was dealing with a choice
of evils here, and both had their eyes set on his kingdom. Would this little being really be worse for Far Far Away than
Charming and his scheming mother? Harold
wasn’t so sure. One thing that he was sure about was that he was tired of
Fiona being in the crosshairs and having to pay for the sins of her
father. Although he wished he could tear
the contract up in the face of the smug little runt, if he were offering to
free her now—
Harold rose and slapped his hand on top of the contract,
staying it in place. Staring at Rumpelstiltskin,
he stated, “Nothing is worth more to
us than our daughter.”
Rumpelstiltskin smiled.
“I knew you’d see things my way,” he said.
Harold sat down heavily and pulled the contract back
before him. He felt Lillian slide her
hand into his again and squeeze. He
looked over and saw her smiling reassuringly at him. He returned the smile weakly.
Meanwhile Rumpelstiltskin was making preparations for the
signing. He closed the shutters and
pulled out a bottle of invisible ink, part of the label worn off, and plopped
it on the table. Sitting back down, he
called, “Jump, Fifi, jump!” The large goose leapt onto his lap, and he
yanked a tail feather out, causing the goose to honk a protest. The imp then dipped the goose feather, now a quill,
into the ink, which trailed a golden luminescence as he pulled it out. He then held out the quill to Harold. The king took it, looked down at the
contract, and was about to sign.
Suddenly Harold thought he heard something behind him,
where the door stood, as if someone had just burst in. He quickly turned, but there was no one
there. He glanced over at Lillian, who
had apparently done the same thing.
“Did you hear
something?” he asked her.
“I…I thought I
did, but…” she shook her head. “I
suppose I was mistaken.”
“If so, we were both
mistaken,” Harold said, and turned toward Rumpelstiltskin. “Did you hear—” he began, but saw that the
imp was sitting with his head leaning back, and his eyes closed.
“Are you all right?” Harold asked.
Rumpelstiltskin straightened his head and opened his
eyes. “Huh?” he said, apparently
disoriented, then, “Oh. Ah-yeah. Sorry, Your Majesties,
I was just contemplating the responsibilities I’m about to assume, and all
that. I really am taking this quite
seriously, you know.”
Harold raised an eyebrow dubiously. “Did you hear something just now?” he asked.
“Oh, probably one of the children outside being careless
with a ball,” Rumplestiltskin said. “The playful little
devils.”
“Hmmm,” Harold muttered noncommittally, looked back down
at the contract…and again hesitated.
“Just sign it,” Rumpelstiltskin assured him soothingly,
“and all your worries will disappear.”
Yes, Harold thought.
So many worries. How wonderful it would be to make them all go
away…and to have Fiona back, whole and human, once again. He looked over at Lillian. She nodded her assent. Harold then took one last look at the
contract, sighed, and then signed his name at the bottom with a flourish.
It was done. Harold
looked over at Rumpelstiltskin…and saw a sinister grin had spread across the
imp’s face. Then Harold looked down at
the hand that had signed away his kingdom…and it started to disappear. He dropped the quill, but his hand continued
to dissolve. Then the rest of his arm
began to dissolve as well. There was no
pain. There was
simply…literally…nothing.
“Oh!” he heard Lillian gasp from beside him, and quickly
turned toward her. To his horror, she,
too, had begun to disappear. She looked
at him with terror in her eyes.
Harold realized that he had chosen wrong – chosen
terribly, tragically wrong. He had
underestimated the evil little imp. Now
not only would his daughter remain trapped, but his own True Love would pay for
his idiocy as well.
As they reached desperately for each other, the former
king and queen of Far Far Away vanished from
existence. Harold’s last thoughts were
regrets that he had turned out to be such a complete and abject failure as a
husband, a father, and a king.
Upon the monarchs’ dissolution, the king’s crown and the
queen’s tiara tumbled upon the tabletop with the signed contract. Rumpel, who was now adorned in Harold’s royal
attire though adjusted for his smaller frame, chuckled and picked up the
crown. “Ah, King Harold,” he reflected,
his voice light and thoughtful. “You
failed to understand. The cause of Princess Fiona’s unhappiness
and imprisonment was not the enchantment that changed her into an ogre. With unconditional love, acceptance, and
support for who she was, ogre or human, she could have
been perfectly happy. No, the cause of her unhappiness…was you. You, and to a lesser
degree, your wife. You two just
couldn’t come to grips with your daughter’s…imperfection. And you were surely the cause of her
imprisonment when you both acceding to the Godmother’s scheme. That lack of understanding and failure to be
accepted – that was Fiona’s true curse. And thus, we learn an important lesson on
accepting each other for who we are, and on the value of unconditional love.” Rumpel then laughed, flipped the crown in the
air, caught it, and said exultantly, “How’s that
for a philosophical profundity?!”