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September 2014

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A new story

Yes, I am writing a new story - not that I'm not writing a gazillion stories already, but I don't let you read them *mwahahahahahahahaha*- a new short story, though it actually seems it's going to be not quite that short.

Anyway, some while ago, arooza and flummy_pumpkin were both complaining that my stories are always so depressing and sad and whatnot and I should write something funny for a change. So, all right, it took a while to come up with an idea, but here it is - you have been warned!!

Warning: This story makes no sense whatsoever, it's just some cracked up parody ^^
Disclaimer: I don't own Rumpelstiltskin or any other fairy tail character that might or might not show up eventually, however, I do own this particular story and all the rest of the characters including the whole wide world - oh yes, it will be mine, mine alone - MWAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

And here we go, the first part (you've heard right, it's so not finished yet) of



~The Princess in the tower~


A long, long time ago, in a far away land, there lived a small boy with the name of Bran. Ever since Bran could remember, he dreamt of only one thing: to become a true hero. The other children, and many of the adults, laughed and made fun of him, but Bran never gave up.
In the late evenings, when his father put him to bed, he would tell Bran stories of great and brave heroes, beautiful princesses and terribly evil foes. And every evening, just before he fell asleep, Bran would ask his father: “Can I become a hero?” and his father would answer: “You can be whatever you want to be.”
“Then how do I become one?” Bran would ask. And then, his father would smile, a crooked, little smile, with a twinkle in his eyes. “You save a princess, of course.”



Many years had passed since his father had told him bedtime stories, but his words still rang in Bran’s ears – those, and the cuffing his father would give him.
Bran balled his hand into a fist at the memory – the last ear cuff his father had given him was not even a day old – but he’d show that old scarecrow what stuff he was made of and if it was the last thing he’d ever do. With the years, Bran had had to realise that his father was not as supportive of his dreams as he had always thought when he was younger. In fact, the old man just laughed to have a good laugh – at his expense. Even more the reason to prove him and the rest of the village that they were wrong.
His jaw set grimly in determination, he hefted his sword (a good, sturdy, hand carved stick) and mounted his noble steed (a pleasant, old gelding that used to pull a farmer’s plough) and set out to become a true hero.
It hadn’t been easy to find a princess in need of being saved from anything. Nowadays, most of them had already been rescued from whatever caused their dire and lived happily ever after, or at least that’s what they claimed. Everyone knew there was one or the other of them who secretly considered herself worse off then before and hoping someone would come save them from their marriage. A prince charming could just all too quickly turn into a real nightmare. Bran shuddered thinking of that fat pig of a king sitting the throne. It took one hell of an imagination to see that one as a dashing, courageous, young gentleman.
Anyhow, it might not have been easy but at last he’d found a princess. Right in the neighbouring kingdom, so they said, was a beautiful young princess locked into a high tower (of course, it always was a tower, that was just standard requirement, but seriously, why couldn’t it have been a nice little cottage for a change?) waiting for the one to free her from… well… To be honest, there didn’t seem to be anything she really needed to be saved from. But that didn’t matter! She was locked in a tower and Bran was going to knock down the door, save her from… from… her boredom, and become the hero he’d always dreamt of becoming. Perfect. Splendid. Fantastic. Now if only that old nag would get into second gear, they might actually arrive at the tower this century.
Hours later, a huge, dark tower finally loomed up in front of Bran. His heart began to pound nervously, his hands were slippery with sweat. At last, this was it.
Bran rode up to the tower unhindered. The grass had grown tall and wild, flowers stood in full bloom everywhere, but otherwise there was nothing that even indicated someone was living here. There was no light in any of the gazillion windows (well, it was still light outside), nor any sound to be heard. Bran had always imagined the princess to look out of the highest window, full of longing, singing a sad song about her loneliness. But perhaps this princess wasn’t much of a singer.
He slid down from the back of his horse and bound the reins to a nearby tree. The gelding hung his head down at once and began munching the high grass happily. Carefully, his sword (stick) in one hand, Bran fought his way bravely through the murderous sea of grass towards the enormous wooden door of the tower. Gulping, he reached out, grabbed the doorknob and…
It was locked. Of course it was, Bran had known this before, but he still could check it first, right?
Smiling confidently, Bran rummaged through his travelling pack and pulled out a crowbar. He wedged it into a crease between the door and the frame and began to push – or was it that he should pull? Which way was the door supposed to open anyway?
A low creaking sound encouraged him and so Bran put a bit more pressure on the door. The wood creaked again, then splintered right where the lock was. It simply fell out and the door swung open. Bran stared open-mouthed at the easily admitted entrance.
He shrugged, threw the crowbar aside, pushed the door wide open and stepped into the cool darkness of the tower. It seemed, he was just meant to succeed. Or, in fact, it might have been that the mouldy wooden door was close to collapse anyway, yet such a thing never fit tales of heroes well.
And so Bran began his long, laborious climb of the many, many, many steps to the top of the tower. In the middle, he had to take a break, so he sat down by one of the glassless, narrow windows and, enjoying the view, had a little snack and a few gulps of lukewarm water. The rest of the way, however, seemed to take him even longer and when he finally arrived at the top, wheezing and sweating, he had to stop and catch his breath first, whipping his forehead with a handkerchief.
And then, the moment had finally come, the moment in which he, Bran, the Courageous… Bran, the Brave… ah, he would have time to decide on the name later – the moment in which he would rescue his beautiful princess from her dull existence. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, allowing the view on a spacious, lovingly furnished room. The evening sun shone warmly through the wide windows. Bran took a deep breath, slicked his hair back, pulled himself to his full height and strut self-confidently into the room.
“I’ve come to rescue you, lovely princess!”
“Finally,” an exasperated voice exclaimed from behind him. A voice with a tone that was not exactly very princess-like – oh, well, a bit of a tomboy maybe? That certainly had a charm of its own. A voice far too deep to be precisely female – so what? His own aunt Milly sang bass in the choir. And, to be honest, it was somehow sexy, a woman with a deep voice.
Thus, Bran donned his most dazzling smile and turned around. And was struck dumb. His smile froze and he blinked like an owl at his vis-à-vis.
“It’s about time. I was wondering just how long you’d need to get up here.” Bran shook his head, then rubbed his eyes. Maybe it was the light playing a trick on him. He took a closer, more careful look at his princess. But it was no trick of light. What stood before him in a gorgeously embroidered dress, with a scandalous neckline, was definitely no princess – but a young man. Bran coughed a bit, trying to clear his throat.
“And you are?” he asked as pleasantly as possible.
“The lovely princess. Who did you expect?”
Bran opened his mouth but no sound, except a small squeak, came out of it. Oh, his father would love this. “That… you… I…who… you…” he sputtered helplessly. “Where’s the real princess?”
The young man snorted. “You’re ages too late for her, mate.”
“But-“ But what? What had he been thinking? It was his own fault for believing some hillbillies, there was no princess anywhere left waiting for her prince charming to save her. And then another thought hit him like a slap across the face. He scowled at the young man, fury boiling in his chest. “Who put you up to this? Was it my father? Or the boys?”
“Ha?” The false princess raised an eyebrow at him and crossed his arms in front of his chest, mimicking Bran’s pose. “No one put me up to anything. The princess you’re looking for is my mother.”
“Mother?”
And so, the young man told Bran his story. Which really began with his mother’s story, who had indeed been locked into this very tower, surrounded by a wall of thorns, guarded by a fearsome dragon. In a nutshell, it’s all been very dramatic and very epic, but all’s well that ends well. Now, the young cross-dressing princeling, he was the fifth and youngest so of said real princess. The problem with his mother was that she had a very twisted mind about romance and an endless desire to share her own oh-so-romantic love story with her daughter – only she had no daughter. And so, her poor, youngest son was simply put into a dress and locked in the tower to await his heroic prince to rescue him. Needless to say, with the exception of his mother, none of the participants was any happy about it.
“Man, that’s tough,” Bran said, clapping the young man’s shoulder sympathetically.
“Yeah, tell me about it. I’m Finn, by the way.”
“Well, Finn, now that I’m already here… I mean… how about we just leave this dreadful old tower?”
“Sounds good to me, but we should wait till tomorrow unless you like to camp outside in the forest.” Bran blinked stupidly, then looked out of the window. The sun had already almost set, only dim twilight holding the night at bay yet. He groaned involuntarily. “Well,” Finn continued, putting a sympathetic hand on Bran’s shoulder. “If you hadn’t been so damn slow getting up here, we could have been long gone.”
Chuckling, Finn went to a small stove set opposite them by the wall, took a kettle and filled it with water he had from god knows where. Bran shrugged to himself. At least he had a roof over his head for the night and probably Finn would also have something to eat for him. The rest could wait until tomorrow and maybe by morning, his false princess had turned into a real one. One could still hope. Though this gave Bran a nagging thought.
“Hey, Finn,” he said slowly and the young man turned to him. “You do have some… um… I mean... more, you know, manly clothes, don’t you?” Finn only rolled his eyes at him.



The next morning, Bran woke to a persistent poking of his nose. Sleepily, he tried to swat whatever annoying bug it was away, yet it earned him only a much harder poke to his nose.
“Will you wake up, now, you stupid, useless, thick-headed oaf!” Bran groaned, irritated and slowly cracked an eye open. A pair of brilliant, grass green eyes stared back at him. Eyes that weren’t human. To be more precise, Bran saw nothing but green in front of him, with the exception of a black, thin, vertical slit that was the pupil. There wasn’t any white in those eyes at all.
With a startled yelp, Bran shot upwards. “What… what is that?” he cried. A tiny figure hung in the air in front of him, maybe the size of a crow. Translucent, iridescent wings fluttered rapidly, like those of a hummingbird, painting strange flurry patterns in the air. Its body was that of a human, its face resembled a woman’s, but it was a bit too sharp, the ears too pointy and those green eyes too green and too big.
“What do you mean ‘that’? I’m Pax, you big, ugly troll.”
Torn between fear and irritation, Bran got to his feet, squinting at the foul-mouthed bug.
“Stop it, Pax.” Finn’s voice came out of the huge cabinet by his bed. The young man appeared a moment later, wearing, to Bran’s endless relief, breeches, riding boots, a shirt and a coat, all of it in varying shades of green and brown. His shoulder length, dark brown hair was bound with a simple leather string in his neck. By and large, he was a very handsome young man, with that strong chin, the refined noble features, the tall, lean body – Argh! Damn him! Bran thought, his irritation flaring. Next to Finn, he looked every bit the country bumpkin he was in his tattered clothes, his untidy hair of unidentifiable dark, light, something colour and his stocky built.
“You’re ready to go?” Finn asked, holding a piece of bread and an apple out to Bran. He took both gratefully, his stomach grumbling hungrily.
“Yeah, I’m good.” He edged closer to Finn and lowered his voice to a whisper. “What the hell is this Pax-thing?”
“My fairy godmother.” Finn’s tone and expression were so serious that Bran did not dare doubt him, nor did he ask any further questions, instead he choked on his bite of bread and nodded as if he had never expected another answer all along.
The way down to the bottom of the tower was far more comfortable and easier than the way up had been and they arrived in almost no time at all, Finn striding swiftly ahead. The young man had to be more than just glad to finally get out and Bran didn’t hold it against him.
Bran’s old gelding stood, munching grass complacently, not quite where Bran had left him the day before. He seemed to have freed himself at some point, yet the docile beast had no inclination of running away.
“What the hell is that?” Pax cried, pointing at the big horse.
“What do you mean what’s that? It’s Buttercup, my horse.” The pixie swung around in mid-air, staring at Bran, confused.
“Who are you and where did you come from?” she asked, bewildered of the sudden appearance of the young man. Bran scowled, taken aback. Was the overgrown fly pulling his leg?
However, Finn answered her, with unending, nearly limitless patience in his voice: “Bran, that’s Bran, Pax.”
“Ah.” But Pax didn’t seem at all to remember Bran. Nonetheless, she turned back to young man as if she did. “So, Paul, you’re really sure that’s not a cow?” she asked as if talking to a small, slightly dim-witted child. It took Bran a moment to realise she was even talking to him.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he bristled. Finn put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t take it personally, Pax has the memory of a tea bag.”
“Oi, how dare you- oh, look, a butterfly!”
“And the attention span, too,” Finn added, watching his fairy godmother race a brilliant coloured butterfly towards the trees.
“Then how come she remembers you so well?”
“She’s my godmother,” Finn replied as if that would answer practically anything and Bran let it drop. He didn’t seem to stand a chance against the false princess’s infallible logic.
Though slow and without any grace at all befitting someone of noble birth, Buttercup was strong enough to carry them both and walk for miles without a break. Pax was alternating between Finn’s shoulder, the horse’s head and flying next to them.
Finn didn’t talk much, he claimed his life in the tower for the last five years with only Pax as a companion was dreadfully boring. Instead, he wanted to know nearly every little detail of Bran’s life. When Bran had finally finished telling him his story, including a somewhat crestfallen comment about him remaining the laughingstock of his village now for the rest of his life, his throat was dry from talking so much.
“Hmm,” Finn hummed thoughtfully. “You know, just breaking someone’s door down has never made anyone a hero. It takes more than that. But that’s good, isn’t it? That means you still got a shot at it. And I’ll help you.”
“Really?” Bran turned around to look at the other, his hasty movement almost throwing the horse off balance. Buttercup stumbled and snorted, disgruntled, tossing his head.
“Sure,” Finn said with a smile, an unidentifiable strange gleam in his eyes. “If you want. Unless, of course,” his smile grew crooked, “ you would like to go to the palace and let my mother force you into marriage – with me. She’s very persuasive, you know.” The scandalised expression on Bran’s face, gaping like a fish, torn between disbelieve and shock, had Finn burst out laughing. Unsure if the prince had made a joke or not, Bran laughed weakly along.
He wasn’t sure staying with the cross-dressing prince and his foul-mouthed, ADS suffering pixie godmother was a good idea, but it had to beat being laughed at for the rest of eternity. And so, Bran and Finn agreed on making Bran a hero – come what may (which was the point Bran really dreaded).
They stopped for lunch on a small clearing, picnicking on the bread and apples and little cheese Finn had brought with them. During the hour of rest, Pax needed to be re-introduced to Bran six times, and every time, the pixie seemed less impressed. Bran began wondering if she was faking her bad memory just to annoy him.
His suspicion increased when they reached a small roadside tavern with the setting of the sun. Pax hopped into the air from her perch on Buttercup’s head. Hanging in mid-air, her tiny face split into a huge grin.
“I love that tavern! It has great ale. Let’s stay here for the night.” And with that, she shot off and was inside the tavern before either of them could so much as react. The two young men exchanged quick glances. Finn shrugged, so Bran steered the horse towards the friendly-lit house.
“Oh, so she remembers some tavern, somewhere in no man’s land, but she can’t remember who I am for more than five minutes,” Bran grumbled, handing the reins to an extremely small and dirty stable boy.
“What shall I say, she loves her liqueur.” Just that. That was all the answer and sympathy he could get. Liqueur, the miracle cure for a pixie’s forgetfulness. Maybe if he took a bath in a barrel of ale, Pax would finally be able to keep him in mind.
Bran sighed and followed Finn inside, trudging dejectedly after the young man. Here he was, stuck with a gender-confused prince and a selectively amnesiac pixie. Splendid.
Well, it still wasn’t too late to cancel their agreement and be on his way, but then what? He would never hear the end of it, his father would make sure of it. No, he would have to take his chances with them – he could always be laughed at afterwards.
Business seemed slow inside the tavern, merely a handful of people sat scattered around the round tables, looking less then there really were in the spacious room. They were in deep conversation or too busy staring deep into their glasses to spare them so much as a single glance when they entered.
Pax was standing on the counter, rubbing her hands together and bouncing back and forth on her heels, like a child waiting impatiently for a treat. They pulled their stools up to join her. A huge, burly man, more bear than man, leaned over a barrel, drawing fresh ales. He turned and put an enormous pint unceremoniously on the smooth surface of the counter.
“There you go,” he rumbled in a deep, bear-like, tenor. Pax clapped her hands delightedly. The pint was taller than her and twice as wide. But before Bran had time to ask how the small fairy was supposed to drink from it, Pax pulled a tiny, wooden box from her pocket and opened it. She took something out of it which looked like a toothpick in the first moment, until she began to unfold it. Once, twice. The toothpick grew longer and longer. Pax flapped her wings, bearing her into the air, her weird little stick growing ever longer – and just a tiny bit thicker. Then she plunged one end of it into the ale, set the other to her mouth and with one single draught, emptied half the pint. Bran gaped at her. Another pull on her straw and the pint was empty. Pax settled down on the counter, her back against the cool glass and patted her belly contentedly.
“Ah, that hit the spot,” she sighed, a tiny burp escaping her throat. “One more!” she ordered the bear-man.
“Coming up. And what about you two?”
“Get me a cool cider. Bran?”
“Eh? Ye-yeah, same,” Bran stuttered, staring still stupefied at the empty pint and the small pixie.
The cider was cool and refreshing and after a good dinner of cold meats, fresh bread, fruits and cheese, all three of them felt content and relaxed.
A small commotion at one of the corner tables broke their serenity. A dark, gnomish figure yelled incoherently at the men with whom it had been playing cards and jumped agitatedly to its feet.
“Urgh, goblin,” Pax spat, disgusted.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” the bear-man grumbled in accord. “Bad for business those, but you better don’t turn them away if you want to have any business at all.” The goblin gathered several gold and silver coins into a small pouch before stomping angrily towards the counter. He hopped onto the stool next to Bran and his eyes locked with Pax’. For a long, tense moment they glared each other, Bran could swear he even saw furious bolts of lightening between the creatures’ eyes. Then, all of a sudden, Pax snorted disdainfully, crossed her arms in front of her chest and turned away from the goblin, all haughtiness. The goblin looked offended for a second, then pounded the counter, demanding ale.
“Hey, Finn,” Bran whispered, leaning closer to the young man next to him. “What exactly do goblins do?”
“Oh well, you know. This and that.”
“This and that?”
“You know,” the goblin interrupted in a scratchy voice, “I can hear you.”
Bran gave him his best apologetic smile and looked appropriately abashed. “Sorry, it’s just, I don’t think I know any goblins.”
“Nah, of course you wouldn’t. We don’t mingle much with your kind.” The arrogance in the goblin’s tone made Bran blink. It reminded him of a story his father used to tell him.
“Oh, hey, wasn’t Rumpelstiltskin a goblin?” Finn exclaimed. Bran smiled, that was the story he had just been thinking of, about this ugly, dwarfish, mean creature trying to steal some queen’s new-born or some such.
“Yes, yes,” Bran agreed happily. “He could turn straw into gold, didn’t he?”
“You… you know Rumpelstiltskin?” the goblin rasped. Bran turned back to the creature. He was suddenly looking rather meek, tears brimming in his big, round eyes.
“Um…yes?”
“Really? He’s… he’s my cousin.”
“Oh. Um… nice.”
„I didn’t think there was any human who knew him, he was a very shy and solitary goblin, you know. I’ve been looking for someone who knew what happened to him. So you know?”
“Oh that,” Bran waved a hand dismissively. “You could have asked anyone really. Every John, Jack and Joe know—“ The goblin suddenly started screeching furiously, jumping from his stool and stomping the floor. His face was contorted with anger.
“Who told you that name?” he screeched. “The devil told you that!!”
“What? Name? You mean ‘Joe’?”
The screeching became louder. Mist rose through the floorboards where the goblin was stomped the floor. And suddenly, with a last screech and a loud popping noise, the goblin vanished in a cloud of smoke.
Shocked and confused, Bran looked from the spot where the creature had vanished to his companions. Finn grinned widely and even Pax seemed impressed. In fact, the pixie had no idea who that young man was and where he had suddenly come from, but one goblin less in the world made the world a much better place for her.
“Look at that,” Finn laughed. “We might still make a decent hero out of you. Way to go, buddy.” He pounded Bran’s shoulder, not caring or answering the young man’s confused questions about what exactly he had done. Nor did anyone else explain it to Bran, but the rest of the people inside the tavern broke into spontaneous applause, some of them coming over to congratulate Bran and the bear-man served them fresh cider on the house. At the end of the day, Bran, however, still had no idea what had happened.

~End of Part I~


Continue to The Big, Bad Wolf

Comments

Hahahaha :D Now that's what I was talking about! ;) I love it. Can't wait to read part 2. :)
Nyaha, have to write it first ^^
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Btw, totally off topic, Photbucket now has free unlimited storage! How amazing is that!

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Prepare for party comments/posts/whatevers. :P
W00t ^^

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van der beek
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Ouch reminds me I still need to read the last part of your vampire story :/ I'm so poor really -hides in corner-
Need to print this, sorry...my patience for reading on a screen is not very pronounced or whatever lol Bear with me :) I come back, promised, to both.

That'll be an idea, one day :D http://www.bod.de/index.html

But YAY on another story or what do you say banzai...

Edited at 2011-06-05 04:26 pm (UTC)
Oh no!!! Really now ;_;
Okay, I'll believe you. Then you better print it, I can't really read that much on screen either, it's too exhausting for the eyes.

Yay - Banzai!! ;D

Hmm, would be an idea, I guess, who knows, maybe I'll do it once if no one else wants to publish any of my stuff - buhuuu - no, but maybe that stuff I've posted here ;)
What oh no?

-nods- tomorrow at work lol yeah at times long texts seem rather blurry. A reason I can't understand the people who read with such an eBook. Not just that it's blasphemy it's not that nice.

First I wrote Bonzai lmao but it seemed wrong.

lol certainly I'd wait for a published edition. I'd go and buy it in my bookstore and then you'll get it back for signing -nods-
I write an extra comment. Story related lol Could it be you've watched Tangled? Just wondered... :D Lovely movie, hope the DVD price drops soon lol

Anyway that's one great piece of writing. I really enjoyed it and sat there sniggering. That godmother's cool lol and long live extra lang straws lol I just wondered where all the ale ended, that tiny thing can't have a belly huge enough -giggle-

And I also don't know what had upset that goblin that much lol
Nyahahahahahahahaha - yes, I've watched Tangled!!! And more than once, I've bought the DVD with money I still had from Christmas ^^ I love that movie *sigh*

:D I'm glad you liked it and the jokes did actually work ;D

Where she put all that ale? Well... she's a pixie, she's magical. Period. ;)
And well, that goblin... must be a family problem that thing with names - just like his cousin - Rumpelstilzchen ;P
Yeah I totally loved it too. I have a bunch of Icons on my harddisk I'm just not happy with them hmm

Definitely, I couldn't think of something better. Perhaps a mega burp lol But then she is a female it's a better Situationscomic :D

lol long live magic, if you don't know why or what it always works, banzai...or so

I wouldn't even admit to be related to such a cousin, stealing the Queens baby, tsk ;)
Huhu! Hier möchte sich ein neuer Fan melden! :D
Hab grade The Princess in the Tower gelesen und mich könglich amüsiert! *Daumenhoch*
Freu mich schon drauf, die nächsten Teile zu lesen. :)


Nyaaaaahhh *rot werd*
Danke :33333
Ich hoff dir gefallen die anderen Teile genauso :)
Ehre wem Ehre gebührt! :)
Ich werd's dich wissen lassen. ;)