Estate
Fandom: Once Upon a Time
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Little Red Riding Hood, Rumplestiltskin
Summary: Mother never warned her that things worse than wolves lurked in the woods. Set prior to the wolf incident in Red's story. Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme.
With one hand, Amarantha balanced a basket against her hip. With the other, she fingered the handle of her knife.
The crunch of her boots in the snow was her only company as she walked. To her ears the sound was as loud as a hammer striking a forge. It was a wonder that no rangy beasts had yet slinked into sight, their jaws dripping in anticipation of a warm meal.
But she’d seen no animals since entering the woods, not even birds. It was like the snow had snuffed them all out, and Amarantha was walking on their grave.
“Good day, young lady.”
The knife was out by the end of “day,” and by “lady” she’d spun a half-turn to face the speaker. A man-no, a creature-- leaned against the tree behind her, with his hands stuck in his pockets as though he’d been there the entire time.
“Most would say, ‘Good day, sir,’” said the creature, looking at Amarantha’s knife.
“Who are you?” she said, without lowering it. “What do you want?”
His smile had far too many teeth for her liking.
“The name is Rumplestiltskin,” he gave a little flourish with his hand. “And I was merely wondering why a slip of a thing like you is wandering these cold, nasty woods alone.”
Rumplestiltskin. Even idiots knew that name. And only an idiot would have anything to do with the creature it belonged to.
She exhaled deeply. “I have something to deliver. I don’t need any help.” Then, as an afterthought, “But thank you.”
The corners of his mouth notched even further up his jaw. He tipped his head back and made a reedy sound that was more nostril than throat-a laugh, she realized. Then, with a little bounce of his hips he stepped away from the tree.
Amarantha retreated several paces, and then stopped. Her knuckles ached from her grip on the knife handle. True, the odds of her slaying the Dark One with a boning knife were roughly equal to the odds of her winning a wrestling match against a bear. But in either case she’d go down fighting.
“You can put that away, dearie, I mean you no harm,” said Rumplestiltskin as he ambled forward. “And you’d do none to me in any case.”
“Then what do you want? I’ve already said I don’t want to make a deal with you.”
He clapped a hand to his heart. “Can a man not exchange pleasantries with his neighbors?”
“You live here?” Amarantha looked around. She’d traveled the path from her mother’s home to granny’s since she was old enough to toddle, and never had she seen any sign of another human-well, another human-like being-living in the woods.
“When it suits me,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t go trying to find the place.”
He cupped a hand over his cheek and leaned forward as though to whisper. “I hear there’s nasty things awaiting little girls who wander from the path. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you dearie?”
The only thing louder than Rumplestiltskin’s shrill giggle was Amarantha’s pounding heart.
“Please let me go,” she said.
“Let you go? My dear, I had no intention of stopping you! Please, please continue! It would be terrible to keep poor granny waiting.”
She gaped. “How did you--?”
But there was that smile again, and she thought better of the question.
“Okay,” she said. Finally she returned the knife to its sheath, though she didn’t let go of the handle. “I’m leaving now.”
He waggled his fingers at her.
“Goodbye, Mr. Rumplestiltskin,” she said, backing up. “It was…nice to meet you.”
She curtsied as best she could. Then, without waiting for his response, she turned sharply on her heel and stomped down the path. She hoped it didn’t look like she was running away, though that was exactly what every muscle in her body was screaming to do.
Was he still behind her? The back of her neck went stiff with the effort of not looking over her shoulder to check. She didn’t know which would be worse-to find him still leering at her by the tree, or to realize that he’d gone and could now be anywhere, watching her.
“Wait!”
She yelped and recoiled. Her heel caught on something partially buried beneath the snow. She lurched back; her arms wheeled through the air, trying to help her balance, but she could already see how this was going to end. Only her version of the story didn’t include a pair of hands hooking under her armpits and righting her as though she were no heavier than the bread she carried in her basket.
“I realize,” said Rumplestiltskin before she could thank him, “that I have forgotten something.”
“Oh?”
He was close enough now that she could make out little flecks of gold in his skin, which itself was the color of lichen. From afar the two combined to give him an eerie, lizard-like appearance. Now, it was fascinating. Or it would have been if she wasn’t busy plotting the shortest path between her knife and his heart.
“Mhm,” he said. He made an elaborate gesture with his hand. When he uncurled his palm, in the center of it rested a figurine of a wolf. It was made of glass, or maybe crystal, and half-filled with a bright red liquid that Amarantha didn’t want to ponder too deeply.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A gift.”
“You don’t give gifts.” It was half statement, half question, and Rumplestiltskin bobbed his head in agreement.
“I didn’t say it was a gift from me, dearie. But it was meant for you.”
“Who’s it from, then?
He spread his hands. “That’s part of the deal: I can’t say.”
She looked from him to the figurine. Then, she shook her head.
Irritation trickled into his features. Amarantha sucked in a breath. But just as swiftly Rumplestiltskin smoothed his face into what Amarantha imagined was the best approximation of endearing one could do when in possession of that many teeth.
“Come now,” he said. “This charm will do you no ill. In fact, it will bring you good fortune! Just take care not to break it.”
“And what’s…that?” she pointed to the liquid sloshing in its center.
He dismissed the question with a flap of his hand. “Just a little something I mixed up. It’s what makes the thing magic, you see. Go on, have a look for yourself!”
Amarantha hesitated. This could still be a trick, after all. Never had she heard a tale of Rumplestiltskin where he was merely a delivery boy. Then again, if he had made a contract with someone, somewhere to do this, then it did stand to reason he’d be obliged…
She reached forward and lifted the figurine from his hand.
“Wonderful,” he said.
“Why would someone give me this?” she turned the figurine over in her hands. It was still warm from his palm.
“I can’t say.”
“Part of the deal?”
He tapped his nose and grinned.
“And all I have to do is wear it? And it will bring me fortune?”
“Fortune and security, my dear! You’ll need such things, alone as you are.”
She frowned. “I’m not alone. I have my mother.”
For the first time, the manic look on Rumplestiltskin’s face softened.
“Of course you do,” he said, gently. “Mustn’t forget her.”
He clapped her lightly on the back, making her whole body go tense as a bowstring. She thought she could feel the warmth of his hand even through the layers of fur and leather she wore.
“And, while we’re at it, we mustn’t forget granny either,” he said. “At this rate that bread will be ice by the time you get there! Be on your way, Little Red Hood.”
Amarantha didn’t bother pointing out that he was the reason she was running late. She tucked the charm he’d given her into the pouch at her side, then bobbed her head in farewell.
“Thank you, Rumplestiltskin. Goodbye.” Again.
He bowed his head in return and made no move to stop her. This time Amarantha made it quite some way before the urge to turn grew too great to resist. But when she did, she found herself alone on the path. There was nothing to indicate she’d ever been otherwise. Not even footprints in the snow.
She pressed her hand over her pouch. The wolf charm throbbed through the fabric, as though it had its own heartbeat. The realization should have terrified her, but the more she thought about the whole strange episode, the more thrilling it became.
Rumplestiltskin. He’d been here. She’d seen him. He’d touched her even, with those spindly hands that seemed frail enough to snap in a breeze, yet were told to be strong enough to break a grown man in half like kindling. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of the brief contact, then flushed deeper as she chided herself for her shameful thoughts.
Her knife remained sheathed for the rest of her journey, and its handle went unmolested. Amarantha had survived an encounter with the land's most ravenous creature. What was left for her to fear?
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A/N: I think we can safely assume that Little Red Riding Hood's birth name is not, in fact, Little Red Riding Hood. So I gave her the name of Amarantha, derived from Amaranth, an herb with vibrant red flowers. The name itself means "unfading."