What's in a name?

BY : Crazy-Cat-Lady
Category: Fairy Tales, Fables, Folklore, Legends, and Myth > Fairy Tales
Dragon prints: 15612
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction,I do not own Rumpelstiltskin. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons,living or dead, is purely coincidental

A/N: not sure how I feel about this story... we'll see how it goes.  It'll be a mix of romance and smut... maybe leaning more towards romance though, so if you're looking for a quick lemony tale, this won't be it.  Well, enjoy :)

This story has about 87K words

  This story begins once upon a time, in a beautiful far off countryside with a lazy meandering stream bordered by green swaying woods.  The countryside conveys an air of peaceful serenity, like the bucolic ideal playing in the imagination of an artist or poet.  Soft, faded greens and yellows paint the gently rolling hills, while the stream glitters as though all the stars in the night sky have fallen into it.  Fluffy clouds sit upon the horizon, looking as soft as the hair on a bunny's backside, and song birds can be heard, whistling their sweet mating calls.    


  By the gurgling stream is a mill, and near the mill is the miller's house.  The mill and the house have stood on that very spot for generations, and the millers have passed on their knowledge and traditions for as long as any of them could remember.  It is said, for example, that the woods that border the countryside is the home to the faerie, and as such, the millers have always left generous offerings of bread, milk and honey to the fair folk.  Certainly, there were no complaints to be had of their prosperous and peaceful lives.    


  The miller happened to have a daughter named Millicent who was extraordinarily beautiful, with long thick coppery hair, and dark shining eyes.  Her skin was alabaster white, with rosebud lips that were quick to smile.  She loved nothing more than flora of the countryside, from the swaying tall grasses, to the low lying purple flowers, to the slender quivering trees.  Moreover, she was very shrewd and clever, and the miller was immensely proud of her.  Though the neighbours adored her and her family, they had long ago learned to turn a deaf ear to the ongoing monologue of the miller as he extolled her latest feat.    


  In fact, the bragging of the miller had reached the ears of the faerie, and one faerie in particular took a keen interest in the miller's daughter.  He went by the odd name of Rumpelstiltskin.  Tall and lithe, Rumpelstiltskin would have been considered mysteriously handsome to mere mortals, but to the fey folk, he was rather ordinary.  His hair was as dark as the night, and more often than not, it was a tousled mess.  His eyes glittered with mischief, but he moved with a fluid and easy grace, and was as adept a prankster as any faerie.  He often partook in the offerings of the miller, but like any faerie, he never forgot to tangle their hair whilst they slept, or steal small useless trinkets that they left lying around.    


  As ageless as any faerie, he had followed the lives of the millers for generations, and found most of them generally unremarkable.  Millicent however, was an exception.  From the moment she was born, something about her struck him, and it was the first time he had ever considered taking her as a changling but he was reluctant to do such a disservice to a family as generous as the millers were to the fey folk.        


  When Millicent was but a child, Rumpelstiltskin would often steal into her room, and rather than tangling her hair, as he did the other members of her family, he would curl her wispy copper hairs into soft ringlets about her face.  Every so often, his touch would wake her, and she would look at him, with trusting childish eyes, and giggle as she reached out for his hands.  With a strange brotherly instinct that he didn't know he had, he would pat her head gently, and sprinkle a wisp of faerie dust over her face so that she fell back into a contented and sweet sleep.  A look of uncertainty would pass over his face as he watched her grow, while he asked himself, "should I take her as a changling?  Or should I not?"  The fey folk prized beauty, and even by fey standards, the child was exquisite.  Then with a shake of his head, Rumpelstiltskin would silently slip out of the house to make mischief with the neighbours, or revel with the faerie.    


  As the seasons passed and Millicent began to mature, so too did her intelligence and sense of independence.  Her love of plants and trees meant she often wandered the meadows and woods where he could catch a glimpse of her animated form, vibrant with life and joy.  Though the fey were usually invisible to human eyes when the wished to be, there were moments when her dark eyes would meet his, and his breath would catch, while he stood frozen and rooted to the spot.  Then with a reddening of her cheeks and a shake of her head, she would continue on her explorations, as though unaware that anything was amiss.  It was times like these that Rumpelstiltskin grew aware that something in his feelings about her had shifted to something deeper, stranger and more foreign to him.  As a faerie, lust, joy and laughter were familiar feelings to him, but the strange yearning and the tightness in his chest that he felt when he was in her presence confused his senses, and left him disoriented.  It struck him as a strange response to someone's beauty, though he had seen many beautiful beings before.    


  Millicent, like most of the other youth in the countryside, had a great deal of freedom as well as responsibility, and due to her cleverness and love of plants, she had learned a great deal of herblore.  More often than not, she was roving the hills, or wandering the woods with a basket in her arms whilst she collected various roots, leaves and flowers to later be dried out.  Though her father doted on her, and seemed to envision her destiny as that of a proper well groomed lady, he could not curb her free spirit, and love of the earth.  She never forgot her domestic duties, and her skills with a spinning wheel were unparalleled, yet spinning was seen as a chore rather than a pleasure.  


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