We under the hill felt my brother's demise. The invocation Ilias had layered in his last words rang as a fatal alarm to myself and my companions. Through rumors and whispers, we learned of his deal with Reabnor and the wall of protection over his grandchild. One subtle loophole in James' contract could subvert his intentions, so we waited for an opening, vigilantly following the Reabnor's fortunes. Two years passed - Raisley Reabnor became the blushing bride to the Heir of the Manor, George Hammond.
The first fruits of Reabnor's threefold intent were blooming. Only two more workings were left to complete Ilias's contract. My heart simmered within from the delays, but I knew that James thought himself invulnerable from attack - the word of the People is never broken by honorable faeries. Especially after James had violated our honor, we were determined to outmaneuver him while maintaining the famed dignity of the Hill. Our course was clear, we only needed to wait for the pieces to fall into place. Time was our friend, it would only strengthen the illusion of cooperation with the human's bargain.
Upon the third anniversary of Ilias Rumpelstiltskin's fading, Raisley bore a son to George, swelling her father's heart with pride. What doubt James had held as to the foul play of Ilias's side faded when he saw his infant grandchild. The People were bound by the contract not to harm the child. His lineage was secure - He had outsmarted the fair folk. That night, he celebrated the joint victories of his first grandchild and his triumph over us. He told his story with a self-satisfied smirk on his face to anyone who would hear. He was a hero among men, his brilliance and resolve had faced nature down and forced it to look away.
That night was also remembered under the Hill, we were excited as well, but our intents were grimmer - the foundations were to be laid for our counterattack. We would make sure they never forgot Ilias Rumpelstiltskin. I volunteered for the keynote to the plan. It was sacrificial, but my brother deserved to be avenged, despite the fact that he had turned his back on us at the last, he was still of the Hill.
The circle of my companions surrounded me, weaving the symphony of mortality over my fair visage and form. It was a dull pain that suffused my limbs, rendering them weak and frail. The embers of righteous justice caused me to endure this ritual of cleansing and grit my teeth until I felt them no longer. I, Anduin, would be the undoing of James Reabnor's well laid plans.
Under cover of night, my faerie companions escorted me through Hill's borders one last time. "Remember!" They chanted, "Remember Rumpelstiltskin..." As they stole into the Lady Raisley's bedchamber, I saw her for the first time. Her beauty and innocence lay like a shadow on her sleeping face. Her father's story had troubled her, for she had nearly forgotten her meeting with Ilias, dismissing it as a girlish fantasy.
As they lifted the newborn boy from his bassinet, I recall feeling pity for my new guardian. Her end should be painless and sweet, like a twig drifting in a calm pond. "Remember Rumpelstiltskin..." whispered the last of my friends, settling my infant form into the cradle in the child's place. "Remember!"
Years passed, and James loved to tell me of the tale of how he had captured a faerie and made it promise to give me life. He loved me, thinking of me as his very own wish come true. "Didn't have a chance with me, My boy!" He would always finish, nudging me with a self-satisfied smile. I always felt sympathy for the faerie whenever he told it. It wasn't until my seventeenth year of living in the company of mortal men that I relearned the reason why it had nettled me.
That tale of Rumplestiltskin the fool grew ever more outlandish as James's memory became mixed with his imagination. But on my seventeenth birthday, I was presented with the original contract, the iron scroll Ilias had died writing, in recognition of my manhood. When I unrolled its contents, the runes on the paper triggered my memories of who I was.
That day, I made everyone know as well, reminding them with my actions why they had feared the hidden race. As I swung the bloodstained scroll as a bludgeon into James' forehead, I like to think he revisited that fateful day when he crossed my brother and dealt him an ill hand of fate.
Faeries have learned from my dead soul brother's example, they will not return. Humanity is too volatile and dangerous to be trusted near their power. I am mortal now, able to feel the mortal's pain - the waxing and waning of the years will bring about my final end. And though my brother's legacy lies broken and scorned in that flippant falsehood, it is enough that I know the truth, and will die with it as well.
Signed,
Anduin Rumpelstiltskin Hammond, Lord of the Manor.
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