5One of the coolest parts of the Rumpelstiltskin arc is the scenery. If you pay attention, you can find a LOT of the little incidentals that get tossed in, which aren't necessary to enjoy the show but add layer upon layer of richness if you catch them. Take 'Skin Deep,' for instance. "The Hunt for the Unicorn" tapestry shows up only twice - once in the reflection when Rumple is shouting at the mirror, and once more when a certain witch comes for a visit. Significant? I thought so. Other moments that had me cheering (and groaning, I freely admit) was the nod to Cuckoo's Nest at the end, and the sign for the Furnace Room (living hell,anybody?) on the wall.
I don't own Once Upon a Time, though I dearly wish I did. These people (writers, actors, scenery, lighting, music, everything) are brilliant!
Rumpelstiltskin may have been a monster, but still, he loved beauty.
His home was filled with it. Dark, heavy, expensive wood furnishings. Bright, delicate, intricate glass baubles. All of his metal work was dwarf-wrought. All of his wood work was elf-grown. All of his cloth work was made by the hands of virgin maidens, from the gathering of materials for dye all the way through to the final weaving. In all his waking and sleeping moments, he was surrounded by nothing but utter, perfect beauty.
Except for himself. Ugly. That was all he was. Ugly and twisted. A hideous beast. An ogre. A goblin. A monster.
Usually, his possessions could soothe his soul, their elegance making up for his lack. His spinning helped him lose himself, forget himself, his troubles lost in the hypnotic turning of the wheel.
Sometimes, though, when the foul fit came upon him, with his heart wrenching his soul and the full weight of his self-hatred rearing up and crushing him under hoof, not even his home could save him. He fled, tearing his clothes and beating his breast, riding the hurricane until it slammed him into the ground only to sweep him aloft once more to another shore with sharper, deadlier rocks. He could not die. He could not escape. He was foul, loathsome, and even he hated himself. Days would pass in torment as he tortured himself, desperate to make his body hurt as much as his soul, so that maybe his soul might find, at last, at long last, some relief.
It was after one such fit that he found himself in a small village. He was unsure how he'd gotten there. He always was, after one of these things. Being supernatural and unable to die did have a few drawbacks - hangovers tended to be monumental in stature, for one thing, and he didn't even have to imbibe.
It was a village of cloth makers. The ruler of that place loved clothes, the more the better, and he loved tapestries. Every village in the area had their own weaver, or several weavers, to fill the royal decrees, and it was into one such shop that a disoriented Rumpelstiltskin stumbled after he came to himself.
"Here, man," protested the master weaver. "What are you about, then, eh?"
Rumple pressed the heels of his hands into his temples and shook his head to clear it. When he looked up, his customary smile was on his face, the kind with just a hint of slime to the edge, as of a spider inviting a fly back to her web for tea. "Just passing through," he said. "Unless you've something you need that I can provide?"
The weaver glanced aside at his wife, a niggle of fear making him uncertain. "Well… Yes, there is something we need, but I doubt if you could help us."
Rumple's ears pricked. A Deal. Yes, that was the thing! It always cured him, better than anything. What he'd deal for, he didn't yet know, but that had never stopped him before. It was how he'd amassed his not-inconsiderable collection, after all. "Tell away, my good man," he wheedled. "I'm a man of many talents, hidden depths. I may have what you need."
The weaver was a simple soul. "Gold thread," he said. "The Emperor's birthday is coming up, and his new clothes won't be ready in time if we don't have the gold thread for the embroideries. The last shipment was destroyed - storm sank the ship. I don't suppose you'd have a spare spool about you?" he asked, hopelessly.
Rumpelstiltskin blinked. "Storm? Sorry about that. Well, if it's gold thread you want, there's nothing simpler. Do you have any straw?"
The weaver's wife pushed in front of her husband. She was sharper than he, with an ear for gossip and a head for business. "I've heard of you," she said. "You don't give something for nothing. A Deal with you is risky business."
The goblin held a hand up to his heart, mocking a mortal wound. "You cut me to the quick, madam!" he cried. "I'm a businessman, of course I don't do something for nothing. But I'm a fair man. I'll tell you what. Gold thread for, say…" he glanced about. These folks weren't desperate enough to cut a harsh deal, his nose could tell him that. Simple, then. "A tapestry," he said at last. He pointed. "That one."
The weavers turned to look. It was a white beast on a dark green background, ringed about by a fence. "That old thing?" sniffed the weaver. "We've not been able to off-load that thing in six months, not since the commissioner backed out on it. Sure an' it's yours, if we get the thread."
"Excellent!" Rumpelstiltskin clapped his hands. "It's a Deal. Well, just lend me a spinning wheel and a bit of straw and you shall have your gold."
The weaver set him up in a back room, and the goblin went to work. The wheel spun, turning out golden thread as fast as he could press the treadle.
Eventually, the weaver's daughter came to him, bearing another basket of straw. She was a beautiful girl, hair as black as ebony and a pale complexion that was well-suited to this high northern clime. He looked up from his work as she entered. "Congratulations," he said off-handedly as she bent to place the basket beside him.
She looked up into his face, startled. "What?"
He nodded at her flat belly. "What are you, two months along?"
The girl paled, her already white skin going translucent. "I'm - I don't - How do you - Please don't tell my parents!" Her whisper was panicked. "They don't know!"
"Ah," he nodded. "A bit of fun and then, oops!" He inhaled through his nose. Yes, she was desperate all right. "I'll tell you what. I don't normally do things out of the goodness of my heart, but I can take that baby off your hands. You won't need to worry one bit. You just need to do something for me."
"Anything," she promised, and Rumpelstiltskin nearly sighed. Young people, they truly didn't know how to bargain. So innocent, so naïve. So stupid.
"Call it a promise then," he said. "I'll come to you someday, and you'll do me a favor and then we're quits. Bargain?" She nodded, pathetically eager, and Rumple went back to his spinning. He would do a simple transfer - take the babe from the womb of the weaver's daughter and put it in the womb of a childless woman. There were several he could think of who would be happy to Deal, one of them a queen. Yes, he rather thought that this child would do well as a princess. He would stop by the castle on his way home.
He had finished his fifth spindle by the time his straw supply was exhausted. He gathered the bundles up and handed them off to the weaver, who exclaimed happily at the sight and feel of so much quality gold. "Why, I could make a whole suit out of this!" the man declared.
"I wouldn't recommend it," Rumple commented in passing, but the weaver didn't hear him. Nor did the wish-granter much care; he had his eye on his new tapestry. It was beautiful; it would fit well with the rest of his décor. Now, the only difficulty would be getting it home…
"It's called 'The Unicorn Hunt,'" said a voice by his elbow. He looked down to see who spoke.
The pale weaver's daughter nodded at the picture. "They say that unicorns are the rarest of beasts, and the purest. The only humans they will let near them are virgin maids. Shy they are; even with a pure girl, it takes a long time for it to trust her enough to let its guard down and come near. That's how they captured it, see - the hunters baited their trap with a girl, then bound the beast when it came to her. The commissioner ordered four pictures to tell the story, then decided he didn't like this one and left it behind."
"Fascinating." Rumpelstiltskin wasn't really listening, busy calculating the mass of the thick roll and how much effort it would take to get it where he wanted it. Sure of himself at last, he snapped his fingers and the entire thing disappeared in a puff of smoke.
The girl gasped and stepped back. Rumple turned to her and bowed. "Pleasure talking with you, young lady," he said. "Your problem should be dealt with by next week, if not sooner. I will see you again." And with that somewhat ominous promise, he stepped behind a thick support beam and vanished.
Foolish story, he thought to himself as he walked briskly down the lane outside of town. Normally he wouldn't waste time walking, but, true magic was best augmented by slight of hand, and transporting the tapestry had depleted his reserves. What sort of idiot beast would let itself be caught by a pretty face?