When Midnight Strikes-Sequel to Rumpelstiltskin's Reign (An FTRS/RAR AU)

V

HEATH

When Heath reformed, he was standing in the middle of a brightly lit room illuminated with green lanterns. Her curiosity was peaked by a desk in the corner, on which sat a small glass ball, glittering like a green star. There was a bed covered in deep purple sheets, an enormous black wardrobe, comfortable rugs, large chairs, and an enormous cooking pot on a large pedestal, filled with some odorous green emulsion. He wrinkled his nose, tossing a hand through his mud-coated black hair.

What a wild 24 hours. He'd never gotten in this much of a mess in such a short period. Though his dreams of showing his pride and resilience to the people who'd gotten him into this horrible place was still strong, he did not want to die before his great rebellion made a difference.

He was unsurprised to find no trace of Devin nearby. Rumpelstiltskin had made good on his word, then. Heath was a little startled at the overwash of sadness that enveloped him. Would he ever see her again? His fantasies of figuring out those horrible nightmares vanished with a few seconds of thought. He could only hope to glimpse her from wherever he was now.

Devin.

Heath pressed his hands against his forehead, trying to soothe the explosion of crazily patchworked feelings erupting in his brain. That dream, that awful dream. The way she'd looked at him. The way they'd woken up at the same time. The exact same time.

What did it mean? How did it all happen?

Heath took a deep breath.

Now was not the time for worry and panic. He could figure things out later, lying awake in his usual efforts to force away those terrible nightmares. Heath needed to prepare, to be ready to face whatever torture that stupid leader had concoted for him now. With a deep breath, he combed back some of his hair, dusted his dust-covered hands on his pants, picked some splinters out of his fingers, and tried to compose himself.
A bang sounded through the room as the door burst open. Heath gritted his teeth and barely suppressed a growl as Rumpelstiltskin walked into the room.

He was dressed in normal civillian's clothes underneath an oversized red velvet robe with pure white trim that trailed along behind him. He had three gold earrings in each ear, and was grinning enough to split his head open.

"Ah, Heathcliff. Good."

Heath's eyes darted to the clock. It was around 11 at night. All this time jumping and hither-thither magical travel was seriously throwing off his sense of time.

Rump snapped his fingers. The door slammed shut. Rump said nothing more, only kicked off his thick boots and stood in the center of the room with his arms out and his eyes closed, as if waiting to be levitated.

Heath wondered if the troll would open his eyes before he had enough time to smash the contents of that cauldron on Rump's head.

He was seriously contemplating his chances of doing so successfully when Rump chuckled and opened his eyes. "Oh, yes, I've forgotten." His eyes became serious again, and he snapped his fingers in an odd rhythm. Heath noticed as he did so that each golden ring on his finger flashed with every motion.

Heath blinked-and his eyes were forced shut, as if the air was forcing gravity to seal them. An image of himself kneeling before the little troll displayed itself behind his eyelids. Picture Heath began removing each ring from the king's finger and placing it in his outstretched hand, removing the robe and hanging it up on a coat rack, and bowing before the king.

Heath's eyes popped open fiercely, leaving his eyes burning with the snap-ness of the forced movement. Rumpelstiltskin was smiling, waiting for Heath to perform the tasks he had so deftly demonstrated.