Castle On a Cloud

Disclaimer: I own none of this

Look Down

The sky was dark with storm clouds and the early winter air was brisk and chilly, reflecting the moods of the prisoners of one of the most terrible in all of France. The food was terrible, tasteless and often bitter gruel. The conditions were even less pleasant, with filth and cold and stone. There were many a male there of different ages, colors and sizes, but they all wore the same filthy red prison uniforms complete with their prisoner number stitched on it.

None of the jailers addressed the prisoners by their real names, only those numbers were their identities there. They forced the prisoners to complete tedious and often hazardous labors every day. No matter the conditions of the weather—spring, summer, winter or fall, or even sunny, hot, cold, or rainy—every male did their share of work by breaking down and carrying enormous rocks, and pulling hard on rope to bring in ships from the sea for repair.

They were to speak only when spoken to, they were to wake up, work, sleep and eat when told, and keep their shackles on until told otherwise. Those who failed to obey were punished in terrible ways, whether it was through a beating or more years added to their sentence. Sadly, for some, their sentenced years meant nothing as not everyone survived long enough to taste freedom after serving in that jail for a time.

But despite it all, friendships were formed between the prisoners and they were able to communicate in ways that often escaped their jailers' notice. As they finished the day's labor, they began to talk amongst themselves, reminding each other of one of the biggest rules of the prison and other things.

Prisoners
Look down, look down
Don't look 'em in the eye
Look down, look down,
You're here until you die

William Smee
The sun is strong
It's hot as perdition below!

When one worked in the sun long enough, even the little heat of a winter's day felt like that of a blistering summer's, especially during when they were working hard as they were. Not to mention, most of the heat they felt came from illnesses or infected wounds they'd obtained from all the work.

Prisoners
Look down, look down,
There's twenty years to go

Frederick
I've done no wrong!
Sweet heaven, hear my prayer!

Prisoners
Look down look down,
Sweet heaven doesn't care

Leroy Grumps
I know she'll wait,
I know that she'll be true!

Prisoners
Look down, look down,
They've all forgotten you

Jefferson Hatter
When I get free, ya won't see me
Here for dust!

Prisoners
Look down, look down
Don't look 'em in the eye!

Gepetto Carpenter
How long, sweet angels,
Before you let me die?

Many a prisoner had a tragic tale, few had hope for freedom and even more longed to die. Sadly, death was often considered an act of mercy to many of the prisoners who'd been there longer than others. And no one could actually blame them, considering the life they'd been forced to lead, whether they were actually guilty or no. If the law found the slightest thing wrong, a person was jailed and sentenced to years of hard labor, and that was the end of that argument.

Prisoners
Look down, look down,
You'll always be a slave
Look down, look down,
You're standing in your grave

"Everyone, quiet. George King is coming!" whispered a voice, during one particularly hard day's labor.

All fell silent as he came into view.

George King, a guard of the prison, was a man who had no tolerance for law-breakers and even less for those who broke the moral laws set down by the church. He claimed to have strict moral principles he never forsook, and was cold with a heart of stone and saw who'd done wrong as the devil's spawn. Some believed he looked for the tiniest of reasons to lock someone up in prison. He was feared, hated and respected, depending on who was talking about him, beneath him or working with him. Though, in the prisoners' case, it was just fear and hatred.

His cold grey eyes fell upon the prisoners who were just finishing the day's work. Everyone was sore and tired and moving slowly back into their cells for their evening meal of cold gruel and bitter water.

"Now bring me Prisoner 24601!" he ordered.

A weary prisoner slowly approached George with an unreadable look on his face. His name was Rumpelstiltskin, and he was man who'd known a great deal of undeserved pain and suffering. He was rather tall with faded brown and grey hair and a beard like a rat's nest, his prison uniform was torn and covered in filthy muck, blood and soaked with sea-water, there was a prison number tattooed on his chest and his wrists were scarred from the chains he wore. He walked with a limp as his left leg had been damaged when he'd served in a battle during his youth.

"Yes, sir?" he asked, keeping his eyes down.

"Come with me. Your time is up and your parole's begun. You know what that means!" said George, as he unlocked Rumpelstiltskin's shackles and led him through the prison.

Rumpelstiltskin's heart leapt with both disbelief and relief as he slowly limped along with the help of his walking cane. I didn't think I'd live to see this day. How did this happen to me? "Yes, it means I'm free." He'd been ready for this day for so long now.

"No," said George, sharply. "It means you get your yellow ticket of leave. You are a thief!"

Anger immediately flared up in the pit of Rumpelstiltskin's stomach. "I stole a loaf of bread!"

"You robbed a house!" snarled George.

"I broke a window pane!" argued Rumpelstiltskin. Grief and sorrow crossed his face. "My little boy was close to death and we were starving—!"

"You'll starve again unless you learn the meaning of the law!" interrupted George, growling.

"I know the meaning of those twenty years a slave of the law," snarled Rumpelstiltskin.

Rumpelstiltskin's beloved wife, Belle, a woman of great beauty and a heart as pure as gold, had died a year after their son, Baelfire, was born. He'd raised and cared for Baelfire as best he could with love and the money he made from spinning and tailoring, but they fell upon hard times when the boy was three. It had been a harsh winter and Rumpelstiltskin became desperate to save his little boy. He stole a small loaf of bread and gave it to his son, but Baelfire hadn't lasted long after eating the food and Rumpelstiltskin had been arrested soon after.

"You were sentenced to five years for what you did," said George, coldly. "The other fifteen years were because you tried to run! Yes, 24601—"

"My name is Rumpelstiltskin!" he interrupted, angrily. Had he not been mocked and belittled long enough? Could George King really be so self-righteous and arrogant that he couldn't even address Rumpelstiltskin by his own name instead of his prisoner number?

"And I'm George King!" said George, sharply. "Do not forget my name! Do not forget me, 24601!"

Oh, believe me; I shan't forget a cold-hearted monster like you, George King! swore Rumpelstiltskin, as he went on his way. He was able to change out of his prison clothes and into a simple brown attire of his size, given his prison papers and yellow ticket along with the few meager possessions he'd had when he was arrested. He had a long journey ahead of him, and he had no idea what kind of life he would lead now, but for the moment, he cared little. He was just glad to be free. Stepping outside into the late winter's afternoon and breathing in the brisk air stirred something inside him he'd thought lost forever.

Freedom is mine, the earth is still
I feel the wind. I breathe again
And the sky clears
The world is waking
Drink from the pool, how clean the taste
Never forget the years, the waste
Nor forgive them
For what they've done.
They are the guilty – everyone!
The day begins…
And now let's see,
What this new world
Will do for me!

But despite being no longer imprisoned, Rumpelstiltskin quickly found that he was still marked and cursed. He traveled through the night and into the afternoon of the following day. He had to check in every so often at certain places or else he would break his parole and become a fugitive of the law and risk being imprisoned again.

He traveled more than a hundred miles for several days, hoping to find food and lodging or a job. The journey was no easy feat with his bad leg, which had been severely damaged beyond repair when he was younger many years ago, but he was a survivor and he ignored the pain and aches as he journeyed onward.

Life was still difficult for him as while he had bought a little food with spare coins he'd found the most unlikely of places, it was barely enough to keep his hunger at bay. Worse, wherever he went, he was met with rejection and anger. No innkeeper would allow him a bed for the night in even the stables as no one wanted a marked criminal under their roof and no one would hire him even for the lowest of labors. Children even pelted him with stones when he stopped for a drink at a fountain.

Everywhere Rumpelstiltskin went, whether it was for food or lodging, he heard the same thing. "You broke the law, it's there for people to see! Why should you get the same as honest men like me?" and "You leave my house or feel the weight of my rod. We're law-abiding people here!"

Rumpelstiltskin was a marked man. People knew he'd broken the law from his papers, and knew him to be a formerly jailed magical practitioner. He was not fit to rest in even the stables in their eyes. He took what shelter he could in allies and caves, and rationed his little food.

Rejection countless times brought much discouragement and bitterness to Rumpelstiltskin's heart. Once, he'd been a gentle and caring soul, but that was no more. Twenty years of unjust and unfair imprisonment had changed him. He blamed the law for his problems. What good was the law when his darling Belle died? What good had the law done when he'd resorted to snatching bread to save his starving boy? None whatsoever. And now it was ruining his life. The law had been the source of his problems from the beginning and that hadn't changed.

And now I know how freedom feels,
the jailer always at your heels
it is the law!
This piece of paper in my hand,
that makes me cursed throughout the land,
it is the law!
Like a cur
I walk the street,
the dirt beneath their feet!

Several days after his release, Rumpelstiltskin's physical and emotional strength began to wane.

He came upon a small village, and after another round of refusal and rejection for food, work and lodgings, he found himself alone as night fell. As the darkness of the night grew, so did the cold. Rumpelstiltskin shivered and kept blowing on his hands as he rubbed them to keep warm after pulling up his coat to try and block out the chill. He could not make a fire as any wood was too damp and his hands were so cold, they kept shaking.

Having eaten what little food he'd been able to buy, he was starving. After all his walking and lack of proper sleep, he was exhausted, but he didn't dare fall asleep as to fall asleep on a winter's night as cold and bitter as this one, would certainly mean death.

But what should I care if I live or die? No one else seems to. Should I care? There's no point. One lone tear escaped him as he thought of his beloved wife and son. Would death be so terrible, if it means I get to see them again?

The wind picked up and a thick snowfall blew around him, making him grow even colder and wetter than ever as he shivered.

As he began to drift off to sleep, there was a gentle shaking of his shoulder. Rumpelstiltskin's eyes opened and he saw a young man with ginger hair and glasses, carrying an umbrella and dressed well, beside him.

"Pardon me, sir, but I saw you outside my window. You look frozen and half-starved. Please, let me help you," he said. "My name is Archie Hopper; I'm the bishop of this town."

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated. "You're kind, monsieur, but you'll risk your reputation as a good man if you take me in for the night. Have you no idea who I am? I'm a convict fresh from prison and one who deserve no kindness or pity," he said, bitterly. As if for proof, he showed Archie his papers and yellow ticket.

But Archie shook his head. "The past is the past and in God's eyes, we are all His children and we are all equals. Please, sir, let me help you," he said.

Rumpelstiltskin could not believe what he was hearing. Is this man a saint or blind to what's before him? I am a monster and yet he's so insistent on helping me. After a moment's consideration, he finally nodded. "Alright," he said. "I'll come, but I may need a little assistance to stand and walk. My leg was damaged a long time ago and it hurts worse than usual in this weather."

"Of course. Take your time, monsieur," said Archie, kindly. He placed Rumpelstiltskin's arm around his shoulders and helped Rumpelstiltskin to stand. Once on his feet, Rumpelstiltskin was able to walk on his cane, but he kept a firm grip on Archie's shoulder as they crossed a few slippery patches of ice.

"Come in, sir, for you are weary," said Archie, as he helped Rumpelstiltskin inside the house where there was warmth, food and a bed. "And the night is cold out there. Though my life is very humble, what I have, I have to share. There is wine here to revive you. There is bread to make you strong. There's a bed to rest till morning. Rest from pain and rest from wrong."

"Thank you," said Rumpelstiltskin, gratefully as he warmed himself by the fire. He felt the coldness leave as quickly as it'd come and his stomach grumbled when he smelled the food Archie placed on the table. Though it was a common meal to some, it was a banquet in his eyes. "Believe me, monsieur, this is paradise to what I've known for the past twenty years."

Archie smiled as he beckoned for Rumpelstiltskin to join him at the dinner table. "Come. We'll say grace and then you'll have your fill before you sleep tonight."

Rumpelstiltskin took his place at the table before bowing his head and folding his hands in his lap, out of good manners if nothing else. He could not help but wonder why the Bishop asked the Lord to bless him when he said grace, but dwelt little on it as he ate the finest meal he'd tasted in twenty years. As he lay in bed that night, warm and comfortable, Rumpelstiltskin's mind wandered to the night's events and the silver in Archie's cabinet.

He let me eat my fill
I had the lion's share
The silver in my hand
Cost twice what I had earned
In all the years I've lived
That lifetime of despair
And yet he trusted me.
The young fool trusted me!
He's done his bit of good
I've played the grateful serf
And thanked him like I should

Now the house was still and Rumpelstiltskin could not help but allow his bitterness and anger overtake what goodness he had in him and consume him. How could he resist the silver he knew was little guarded? Archie would make up for it, wouldn't he? After all, he was a highly respected citizen of the town and could easily replace it. Besides, it wasn't as if Rumpelstiltskin was ever to get a job and earn a thing, being a former convict, and how was he to survive without money?

Believing he had no other choice, Rumpelstiltskin took the silver from Archie's cabinet, and took his flight into the cold night just before dawn.

XXX

Rumpelstiltskin had not gone far into his journey when he bumped into two constables, who spotted his sack of stolen goods and prisoner identification.

"Oi, where'd you get this, criminal?" demanded the first constable.

"Get your hands off me!" yelled Rumpelstiltskin, as they grabbed him. "This is an outrage! I've done nothing wrong!"

"Your papers and stolen goods say differently, thief!" growled the second constable. "Where did you get this?"

"I'm on parole and have done no wrong!" growled Rumpelstiltskin. "I've stolen nothing! It was a gift! I spent the night at the bishop's last night and he gave it to me as a gift!" It was a lie, and he could only hope the police would believe him.

But to no avail.

"Well, then, you won't mind if he confirms your story."

Rumpelstiltskin was then dragged to Archie's house, where the man was reading the Holy Book, and flung to the floor after receiving a whack on the head with one of the constables' baton. Rumpelstiltskin didn't murmur or whimper in pain, knowing he deserved it and would receive worse once he was back in prison.

"Tell his reverence your story! Let us see if he's impressed!" sneered the first constable.

"You were lodging here last night! You were the honest Bishop's guest!" said the second constable. "And out of Christian goodness, when he learned about your plight, you maintain he made a present of this silver—"

"That is right," interrupted Archie, shocking them all. His face was kind and soft as he helped Rumpelstiltskin to stand and placed a salve and bandage on his head wound. "But my friend, you left so early. Surely, something slipped your mind. You forgot, I gave these also. Would you leave the best behind?"

Archie stunned them all further by picking up two silver candlesticks from the table and placing them in Rumpelstiltskin's bag.

"So, messieurs, you may release him, for this man has spoken true. I commend you for your duty and God's blessing go with you," said Archie.

The constables obeyed, having nothing but respect for him and no proof Archie's claims were anything but true. But upon their leave, Archie turned to Rumpelstiltskin with a very serious look in his eyes.

"Why did you do that?" asked Rumpelstiltskin, before Archie could speak. "Why've you been so kind to me when I don't deserve it? Why didn't you turn me into the police?"

"Because as I told you, in God's eyes, we are all His children and we are all equals. Everyone deserves a second chance at fixing past mistakes," said Archie, gently. "You are so much more than what you believe. But remember this, my brother; see in this some higher plan."

"I don't understand," said Rumpelstiltskin, confused.

"You must use this precious silver to become an honest man," continued Archie, as though he hadn't spoken. "By the witness of the martyrs, by the Passion and the Blood, God has raised you out of darkness. I have bought your soul for God."

Rumpelstiltskin didn't understand any of it, but nevertheless, he thanked Archie for his kindness and went on his way. But he did not get far before he came upon a church. Overwhelmed with guilt and shame, he went inside and knelt before the statues and wept. "Oh, forgive me. Please, forgive me," he murmured, as he wept.

What have I done?
Sweet heaven, what have I done?
Become a thief in the night,
Become a dog on the run
And have I fallen so far,
And is the hour so late
That nothing remains but the cry of my hate?
The cries in the dark that nobody hears,
Here where I stand at the turning of the years?

Rumpelstiltskin could barely look at himself as he was full of disgust and self-loathing. What had he become? Was this the man Belle had married? Was this the father Baelfire had known before the boy was lost to him? What would his wife and son think of him, if they could see him now? Was there truly nothing but anger and hatred in Rumpelstiltskin's heart?

If there's another way to go
I missed it twenty long years ago
My life was a war that could never be won
They gave me a number and murdered Rumpelstiltskin
When they chained me and left me for dead
Just for stealing my boy a mouthful of bread!

So much bitterness and pain had been a part of Rumpelstiltskin's life for longer than he'd cared to remember. Part of him had wanted the ones who'd caused him so much grief and agony to suffer as he had, and yet part of him hadn't cared. But which part of him was stronger—his anger or his compassion, he knew not, only which parts had grown. Anger had been his life in prison, and he'd found true compassion when he'd been freed of his jail.

Yet why did I allow this man,
To touch my soul and teach me love?
He treated me like any other
He gave me his trust
He called me brother!
My life he claims for God above
Can such things be?
For I had come to hate the world,
this world that always hated me!

Take an eye for an eye!
Turn your heart into stone!
This is all I have lived for!
This is all I have known!

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't entirely true. He'd known goodness and kindness when he'd had a small, but mostly happy life as a spinner with his wife and son before they'd been taken from him. And Archie's actions kept whirling through his mind and he could not stop thinking about what would've happened to him had Archie not been so gracious and merciful.

One word from him and I'd be back
Beneath the lash, upon the rack
Instead he offers me my freedom
I feel my shame inside me like a knife
He told me that I have a soul,
How does he know?
What spirit comes to move my life?
Is there another way to go?

Rumpelstiltskin took a deep breath and decided what to do. Archie could've easily turned him away or thrown him back into jail, especially after what he did, but the good man hadn't. He'd reached out, given him hope and reminded him of the man he was before his losses. There was but one path for him to take.

I am reaching, but I fall
And the night is closing in
And I stare into the void
To the whirlpool of my sin
I'll escape now from the world
From the world of Rumpelstiltskin
Rumpelstiltskin is nothing now
Another story must begin!

As Rumpelstiltskin tore up his prison papers and yellow ticket, he silently swore then and there that he would live by Archie's teachings for the rest of his life. Though he knew he was putting himself at risk by breaking his parole, he cared not for it. He would be another person entirely. He would be nothing like the former convict he was now, of that much he was certain. That man was gone and would soon be forgotten…