The brief was to rewrite a fairy tale using only 2K words. I chose Rumplestiltskin because the tale had always bothered me. Why would the miller’s daughter want to marry such a nasty king? And what did Rumplestiltskin want with a baby in the first place?
The Miller’s Daughter
Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Alkia, the beautiful miller’s daughter followed a velvet-clad servant through the Great Hall of the King’s palace.
Atop a large dais, the handsome King sat on a golden throne. At his side, on a simple wooden chair, sat the Queen. There had been rumors of the green-eyed Rominortian Princess’s beauty, but they did not do the raven-haired woman justice. She was the most beautiful woman the miller’s daughter had ever seen.
Remembering her manners, the miller’s daughter dropped into a curtsy, as the King’s intense stare ranged over her.
“Your father was not exaggerating. You’re quite the Alkian beauty.”
“Thank you, your Majesty,” the miller’s daughter murmured self-consciously.
“We shall see if he also spoke the truth about your ability to turn straw into gold.”
“Your Majesty, I can’t-”
The King’s sharp voice cut off her protest. “For if your father did lie to the King’s own messenger, it would be the same as if he’d lied to the King. That kind of thing must not be tolerated, and he’d have to be executed.”
Fear gripped her heart. “Of course, your Majesty.”
“Excellent.” A cold smile spread across the King’s lips. “You will be taken to the dungeon. If all the straw is not turned to gold by sunrise, your life will be forfeit.”
The Queen quickly smothered a small gasp. As two guards took the miller’s daughter’s arms and led her away, she kept her gaze on the Queen’s sympathetic face.
The guards thrust the miller’s daughter into a prison cell deep beneath the castle. Her heart sank as she looked about the damp room. Piles of golden straw sat in drifts against the walls, and in the center of the room stood a spinning wheel and small stool.
The miller’s daughter sat down. Try as she might, the straw stubbornly remained straw, refusing to be spun, let alone, turned to gold. When her fingers were red and raw, the miller’s daughter gave up and sobbed. The echoes of her cries reverberated against the stark stones of her prison.
“Why is a beautiful lass like yourself crying?”
Nearly falling off her stool in fright, the miller’s daughter looked up to find an odd little man. He was as short as a child but had the face of a wizened old apple. Wearing layers of brown and green, he would have blended in perfectly with a forest floor but stood in stark contrast against the straw-filled cell.
“If I don’t spin this straw into gold by sunrise, the King will have me killed.”
“Now, why would our good King go and set such an impossible task?”
The miller’s daughter sighed. “My father bragged to the King’s messenger that I could turn straw into gold. It doesn’t matter that my papa meant I was clever with money. I’m afraid no amount of being clever will save me now.”
“No, poppet, but being lucky might,” the little man said with a twinkle in his eye.
“What do you mean?”
“I just so happen to know how to spin straw into gold. It’s my specialty.”
“Oh, please will you help me?” she begged.
“That depends. What will you give me in return?”
The miller’s daughter held up her mother’s silver bracelet.
“This will do,” he said, tucking the simple silver circle into one of the folds of his clothes. Shooing her off the stool, he situated himself next to the spinning wheel. With one foot on the treadle, the little man set the wheel to spinning and picked up a handful of straw.
Amazed, the miller’s daughter watched as he fed straw into the palm of his hand and gold thread exited his fingers to wrap around the bobbin.
“Why don’t you lay down, poppet? You’ve had quite the day,” the little man suggested.
Stifling a yawn, the miller’s daughter curled up on a pile of prickly straw and fell fast asleep.
The next morning, she awoke stiff and cold on the stone floor. The little man had vanished along with every piece of straw, and in their place was a basket filled with fat bobbins of gold thread.
The miller’s daughter picked one up, examining the beautiful thread. Heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor. Hastily, she put the bobbin back and tried to straighten her rumpled dress.
Surprise and wonder flicked across the King’s face as he threw open the door and surveyed the room.
”I see your father was not lying after all. Excellent. More straw will be brought in. Spin the new straw into gold, and I will make you my wife. Fail, and I will have you tortured and killed,” the King commented matter-of-factly.
The miller’s daughter’s blood ran cold. “What of the Queen, your Majesty?”
The King bent down and stroked a gold bobbin. “One more basket such as this, and I will have enough gold to raise an army and reclaim Rominorta from those barbaric northerners. My father was a fool to ever sign the peace treaty.” The King crossed to the miller’s daughter, running a finger along her jaw, much in the same manner as he had the gold bobbin. “The Queen will be dealt with. It is only right to have an Alkian beauty by my side when I fulfill my destiny.”
The King swept out of the room not waiting for her reply.
Efficient servants took away the gold and replaced it with fresh mounds of straw. A guard brought her a steaming plate of stew, a hunk of bread, and a thick woolen blanket. Gifts from the Queen to fight off the damp chill of the dungeon.
Alone once more, the miller’s daughter wept, thinking of the kind acts of the beautiful Queen, and the simple fact that she did not want to die.
Night fell, and the little man appeared once more.
“I see we have another night of all this,” he commented, surveying the new piles of straw.
The miller’s daughter nodded glumly.
“Buck up now. With my help, you’ll get through this.” The funny little man clapped his hands. “Now, what will you give me tonight?”
“The King said he’d marry me if I spin this straw into gold, but I have nothing left to trade you,” the miller’s daughter whispered.
“You may have nothing now, but you could trade me something later.”
“What?”
“Your first born child.”
The miller’s daughter gasped. “Is there no other way?”
“That’s the way of things, poppet. There’s always a price,” he said, not unkindly.
With tears in her eyes, she agreed to the terms. Not waiting for the first wooden clack of the spinning wheel, the miller’s daughter turned away, wrapping herself in the blanket; a gift from the Queen she had condemned. The miller’s daughter cried herself to sleep.
#
Nine months later, the miller’s daughter swayed around the Royal bedchambers, a babe nestled in her arms. A silver crown caught the light from the roaring fireplace.
The little man appeared in the middle of the room, sweeping a low bow. “Your majesty.”
“Oh, it’s you. I was wondering when you would appear.”
Puzzled slightly, the little man pressed on, “I’ve come to collect my payment.”
“I’m afraid you’ve come in vain,” was the reply.
“Now, your Majesty, we had a deal,” the little man chided. “I turned straw into gold, and you promised your first born child in return.”
Smiling down at the babe, the miller’s daughter said, “That was the deal, yes, but the Princess is not mine to give.”
“What do you mean she’s not yours to give?” he demanded skeptically.
“She’s mine,” the Queen called, entering the chambers.
“My love, you need to rest,” the miller’s daughter fussed, cradling the baby with one arm while helping the exhausted Queen to a pillowed bench.
“How?” the little man sputtered.
“After you left, I realized that if the King went to war, thousands would die for his greed, and I simply could not trade their lives, or the Queen’s, for my own. Getting the guard’s attention, I begged him to let me speak to the Queen, and I told her of the King’s evil plans.”
“Knowing my late husband, I wasn’t surprised,” the Queen added. “Early that morning, the King tragically passed away. Heart attack, the Royal Physician declared.
“To thank our miller’s daughter for her help, I appointed her as my handmaiden. Over the next months, my stomach grew with King’s last parting gift, and we grew close. It turns out she has quite the head for politics and stratagems. I realized I loved her, as I had never loved the King. When I learned she loved me in return, we were married.”
“So, you see, the Princess is not my first born,” the miller’s daughter concluded, lacing her fingers with the Queen’s. “As it is, I may never be able to repay my debt to you.”
The little man cried out and began stomping about wildly.
The Queen threw a protective arm around her wife and child. “Call the guards!”
The miller’s daughter watched the little man. “I do not think he means to hurt us, my love. He’s anguished, not angry.”
After observing the little man’s tantrum more closely, the Queen reluctantly agreed.
“Little man, may I ask you something?” the miller’s daughter called.
The little man halted his wild stomping, glaring at the two women.
“Why do you want a baby so badly?”
“Because I love them! The way they smell, their sweet smiles, their tiny toes,” the little man exclaimed, heaving a sigh. “Years ago, I found a babe wailing in the forest. I planned to take him to the village to find someone to care for him. Only, I couldn’t give him up. He was such a happy wee thing, even though life had treated him so poorly. So, I raised him.
“Eventually, he grew old enough to want to make something of himself, and I struck a bargain with a blacksmith to take him on as an apprentice. He says my son will be a master of his craft,” the little man stated, pride swelling his chest.
“Last winter, my son married himself a sweet gal, and soon they will start their own family. My home, once so full of laughter, is empty again. Since I doubt I’ll stumble upon another babe in the woods, I thought I would trade my skill for one,” he finished miserably.
Moved by his tale, the Queen quietly asked, “Would you like to hold her?”
The little man answered in a voice strained by hope, “More than anything, your Majesty.”
The miller’s daughter fixed him with a stare. “You must promise not to harm her or steal her away.”
“I promise on my name. No, on my magic, I will not harm the wee Princess.”
The little man accepted the wrapped babe gently, a large smile stretching across his misshapen face.
Waking up, the Princess began to fuss. Rocking her slowly, the little man wiggled his large ears, and soon she had cooed herself back asleep.
After exchanging soft words with her wife, the Queen said, “There are those among the nobility who are less than pleased to have two Queens on the throne. And one of them Rominortian, no less. They would seek to harm not just us, but the Princess, as well. She is a true Alkian heir and needs someone we can trust to watch her. Would you take the job of being her nurse and protector?”
The little man stood quietly before inquiring, “Would I be able to visit my son?”
“Of course.”
The little man smiled down at the Princess. “Then, it would be my honor.”
The Queen smiled, resting her head on her wife’s shoulder.
Pressing a kiss to the Queen’s brow, the miller’s daughter asked, “What is your name? We can’t very well keep calling you ‘little man.’”
“Rumpelstiltskin, your Majesties. My name is Rumpelstiltskin.”
