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The Miller had always been a liar and a braggart, but amusing with it. The Villagers accepted those tall tales for exactly what they were, small excitements in an otherwise humdrum life. Sometimes they'd ply him with alcohol and then the tales would flow impossibly freely, bold claims of one-up-man-ship that no one with any sense would ever take for truth.
That was until the day the Noble visited. Now Nobles, no matter how minor, were prideful creatures, they always had to have the best of everything, and while sitting in the tavern, drinking the best of the ale, he had been extolling the virtues of his wife to his captive audience.
"Ha!" The Miller had said, deep in his cups. "Well my daughter is the greatest spinstress there ever was." That wasn't as great a claim as he'd thought, and a few of his audience joked about how she was still unwed at her age. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. She's so incredible with that bobbin of hers, any man would be fortunate to marry her, and of course I couldn't marry her off to just any man with that talent of hers." The Villagers scoffed, and the nobleman scowled, and the Miller felt obliged to exaggerate his tale all the more. "Why, my daughter's such a fine spinstress she can spin straw into gold."
The laughter died, as the noble's expression turned to fury and the Miller laughed, oblivious to any. Any repercussions his words might have.
It was early morning when The Miller staggered home from the tavern, accompanied by the Noble and his men. They'd all been eager to meet his wondrous daughter, and his ego had been too inflated by these newfound friends that he didn't notice the danger in their smiles.
The Miller's Daughter had rose with the first rays of the sun, starting the chores of the day by fetching water from the well, when the men blustered up to her home. Her first instincts were to flee, no good come of this. And if she ran now, she might just escape her fate. But where could she run to? And what would happen if she were ever caught? She carefully placed the pail of water on the ground.
"There she is, my Millie, such a good girl she is." No one would have called the Miller's Daughter a beauty, sure she was tall and healthy, with strong limbs from carrying sacks of flour, clear skin, and all her own teeth. But there was nothing sweet and delicate about her, not of her face and certainly not the way she was glaring at all of the men.
"So this is your daughter?"
"Not much of a looker," one of the nobleman's entourage snickered.
"Yes, this is my dear Millie. You're not looking for another wife, are you? She's young and untouched and…"
"You swear that she can spin straw into gold."
"Of course, on my daughter's life, she's the most talented spinstress you ever did meet. She can spin straw into gold."
The Miller's Daughter knew she should have run as the wolves approached. "It's a figure of speech, My Lord."
"Are you calling your father a liar?"
And therein lay the trap, for if she called her father a liar she would be punished for disrespecting her elders, and if she didn't then she'd be punished for failing to perform a miracle. WIth more time perhaps she could figure out a way to escape this situation. Perhaps once they'd all sobered up they're realise how ridiculous it was. "No, My Lord."
"Then you wouldn't mind giving us a demonstration."
"I'll need…"
"Nothing. I'm a generous man, I will provide everything you could need at my home."
The Miller's Daughter had no choice but to allow herself to be lead away from the only home she had known.
—
The Miller's Daughter kept quiet, knowing that any words she spoke might dig this trap even deeper. If she were fortunate, when they all woke up sober, they'd forget all this nonsense and let her return home and they could all just forget this happened. But until then she'd to tread carefully and give them no reason to take further offence to anything she said or did.
So The Miller's Daughter was a good, obedient peasant girl, who kept her gaze dipped down and her answers short and quiet.
She hadn't expected the Noble's wife to be awaiting him when he returned home, nor her fury that he's returned with a girl, nor for their anger to result in her being tossed into a dank cell and left to rot.
She did not cry, for what use were tears? Her anger was all that kept her warm in these stone walls. The sole window was too high on the wall and far too narrow to offer escape. The floor was solid, the walls solid, and the door very certainly closed, and barred on the other side. She could hear no other living creature, not a guard at the door nor rats scurrying the walls.
There was straw in the room but it was old and mouldy hardly fitting for anything let alone spinning into gold.
"How am I meant to spin anything without a spindle or a wheel?" she exclaimed. Finally she sat down, on the least dank piece of straw, retrieved her meagre breakfast from her pocket and sighed. Common sense said she'd need to ration it, to eke out her existence for a few more meagre hours, but there was little else to do. She sliced the apple in half, set one portion aside.
"If there's anyone listening, please come, share my breakfast."
She felt so self conscious, not expecting a reply. It was only Princesses and Noblewomen who were gifted Fairy Godmothers to help them out of these sorts of situations. Plain peasant girls like herself were never so fortunate.
So when she heard the ominous rattling of bones she knew not what to think, and when the old man unfolded himself from the corner of the room, she didn't startle, but instead forced on a smile and said. "Welcome, grandfather, have you come to dine with me? I have but an apple and a roll but you're welcome to half."
"Grandfather, huh?" The Creatue smirked, seemingly amused by her choice of address. "I'll take it and your story too. What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"
The Miller's daughter tore the roll in half and offered it over. He snatched it from her hand like a starving creature and tore into it with too sharp teeth.
"From what I can gather, my father bragged that I could turn straw into gold, and the Baron has decided to make me prove it."
"And they never listened to you deny it?"
The Miller's Daughter's smile did not touch her eyes, her laugh a cold thing. "Oh that's the worst of it all. I never denied it because my some measure I can."
"Truly?"
"I know, it sounds preposterous unless you actually know anything about spinning. It wasn't straw I used it was flax. You'd think a miller would now the difference but apparently not. It's a long process to turn flax into thread, but there's a point, when you're combing out the fibres and it shimmers in the sunlight and it's so stunning it looks like gold. So he could have meant that. Or it could have been a turn of phrase, like is the Baron going to insist the next person claimed to have a silver tongue proves it in the same way?"
The Creature laughed.
"Well I'm glad my sorrow can bring someone joy," The Miller's Daughter spoke truly. "Of course it could just be that any thread made can be sold for money and all that amounts to gold too. But no, they have to take the statement literally and none of it has anything to do with me."
"Ask me for the key to the cell," the creature said.
"Oh Grandfather, that's very kind of you. But what help would that be? The door's bolted on the other side, and even if I can escape the room, and the house with all its servants and guards, the Baron knows where I live, and it's only a matter of time where he comes find me. They could have at least left me with a spinning wheel, how am I meant to spin straw with nothing?"
"Like that one over there?"
The Miller's Daughter knew better than to question the existence of a spinning wheel in a room she'd already searched, just as she knew better than to wonder how her 'grandfather' had found his way into the room when the only entrance was barred.
Instead she laughed with relief. "I must have missed it in the excitement of this day."
"What say you lay your head down to rest, and in return for the breakfast I will get started on your task."
"That's very kind of you, Grandfather," The Miller's Daughter felt her eyes growing heavy, exhaustion washing over her. The Creature sat by the spinning wheel on a small stool and began to spin.
She tried to keep her eyes open, to watch the trick of what he was doing but the spinning of the wheel, the repetitive thrumming lulled her to sleep, and the next thing she knew she was opening her eyes to bright sunlight as someone opened the door.
"What manner of witchcraft is this?"
"She's done it!"
And indeed where once there had been straw now there was a small pile of the finest gold thread.
"There's not much of it."
"We'd better tell the Baron."
"Excuse me," The Miller's daughter interrupted them. "Since the task has been completed I shall be returning home."
Of course it would not be as easy as that.
The Baron wanted to keep her of course, but his wife would have none of that, not even for an extra night and all the wealth she might create. Instead the wife insisted that such a talent should be sent to the King himself.
So the Miller's Daughter found herself bundled into a carriage, and escorted to the Capital. The best she could hope for was she'd be proven a fraud, the Baron and his WIfe would be humiliated, and her father would be punished for his lies.
The King naturally did not see her, he was a very busy man after all. But some Chamberlain or something had let her have a much finer prison cell than before. An actual spinning wheel was brought to her, undoubtedly borrowed from one of the ladies of the house. She was dressed and fed, and three sacks of straw were brought into her room, and she'd to gently rebuff all curious visitors who wanted to watch her work.
She barred the door on her side this time, and gazed at the windows. She could escape out of those easily enough, and disappear into the city. Who would remember her face with so many much prettier around? But where would she go and what would she do?
"Grandfather," she called out. "It's a finer meal this night than yesterday. The bread alone looks sublime. Come share it with me please and let us talk again."
And sure enough the creature emerged from the shadows again, and with the brighter light in this room she was able to better see him. She was careful not to stare or to cause offence. He was very much not human, his proportions all off, his limbs too long, his skin too sallow, but she'd already known that from the first day she'd spoken to him.
"You've come up in the world now, have you?"
"All thanks to you and your kindness, grandfather. But again they've asked the same of me. And again they've given me straw, not flax to work with. Could you possibly teach me how to spin as you do?"
"And what would you give me in return?"
"What do you want?"
He looked her up and down, assessing, and finally his gaze set upon her throat. "You wear a charm. I shall take that, and in return I will spin this straw into gold."
"It was my mothers, and her mothers," The Miller's daughter unclasped the necklace. It was far from the finery the court ladies wore. "And now it will be yours. Thank you, grandfather."
The Miller's Daughter tried again to watch the creature work. But with the business of the day, and the softness of the bed, and the hypnotic whirl of the wheel she once again found herself drifting off. She tried to bite her cheek, and pinch her skin, but even that did not stop sleep from claiming her.
When she awoke, the creature was gone, the gold collected, and she had an audience with the King.
The King was a handsome man in the prime of his life. So it was said, so it must be true. He had a life cursed with sorrow, for three wives now he'd had, and three had died, and no children had been borne of any of those unions.
"Millie, isn't it?" And no, Millie it was not. That was just the nickname she'd be given as the Miller's Daughter, which had been repeated so often she'd almost forgotten her birth name herself. "Well no matter, that's such a common name. If you are to be my Queen then it shall be Lyudmilla, a far more regal name."
What?
"Long since have I looked for a wife, and if the fates have seen fit to have our paths entwined, then surely it is meant to be. Once with your talents was surely destined to be a queen. Of course," and he lowered his voice to a threatening whisper, "you do know the penalty of lying to the King. If it turns out that your talent is nothing but a fabrication, the law itself will see your lying tongue cut out, and then your head severed from your neck."
The Miller's Daughter shuddered, and marrying this man was the furthest from her wishes, even as his pleasant demeanour returned. There was no choice. There never was a choice. This would be her fate.
—
The Miller's Daughter knew the cost for the third night would be steep. Such was the way of things.
"Your firstborn child."
It would have been so easy to accept that deal but instead she spoke her truth. "I do not wish to have children."
"And yet still, you will have them."
"The King's likely infertile. He's been married thrice and has no issue, nor any rumours of bastards."
"Cursed by his first wife, but the wording of that curse makes you the key to lifting it."
"That makes so much more sense of why he'd wish to marry a no one. I do not wish to marry him. I do not wish to be Queen. I do not wish to have his child. And if I did have his child, then surely my wedding vows would conflict with my promise to you. And even if I find a path through all of that, he would kill me if I were to give his first-born child away.
"So, Grandfather," she said. "I have three things to offer you and one I want in return. Queen Lyudmlla. The King's devoted wife, and mother to his children. This is my future and I offer it to you. Millie, the Miller's Daughter, who can spin straw into gold. This is my present and I offer it to you." She barely voiced her third name. "This is my name, my mother's name, and hers before her, and I offer it to you."
"You fool," The creature said. "Now you have spoken your names I can claim them as my own."
"You who have never lied to me. Who have always been true to your word. Who I can trust and rely on more than any in my life. You who came to my aid when I had no hope. I do not believe that trusting you is foolish. Trusting my Father was foolish. Trusting that turning straw into gold twice, would be enough was foolish, and expecting them to ever stop asking me - oh I could certainly talk my way out of it. How can a Queen be expected to work? Oh no the magical talent was tied to my purity. But I don't want to. Trusting the King will not have me killed at his slightest whim would be monumentally foolish. But trusting you, no, I know you keep your word."
"I haven't given you my word yet."
"I know, Grandfather. But still let me make you the offer. In exchange for my three names I would like another. Please, give me a name and let me free of this prison."
The creature smiled, a malicious smile. "I believe I know the perfect name for you."
—
The King awoke early that morning, excitement for the days events thrumming through him.
His guards opened the door to her room, and the whole place shimmered with gold. Truly she was a miracle worker, his Lyudmilla, his wife, his queen, and mother to his children. He looked around and there was no sight of her, the bed was empty.
"Lyudmilla, my lovely," he called out, and there was no reply. She must be shy, or preparing herself for him.
A figure unfolded from the corner, far too tall, rattling bones clashing as it moved. "I curse you," the hag raised a finger pointing it at him. The guards were frozen, useless. "May all your straw turn into gold." That didn't sound like much of a curse. "And may you choke on it."
—
Once upon a time, in a land far away there was a Kingdom where there was no straw. No thatching for houses, no bedding for warmth, no fodder for the animals. And while it's said the streets were paved with gold, that gold was useless. Gold did not keep you warm. Gold could not be eaten. Gold in such an amount was so utterly worthless.
Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a creature called Rumpelstiltskin and all her dreams came true.