What if Mother Gothel in Rapunzel had a change of heart?… Just what if?
A fan fiction twist by Bird Ale
Gothel woke with a strangled gasp.
Her hands flew to her chest, clutching the damp fabric of her nightdress as though her heart might tear itself free. Sweat covered her skin, and her clothes clung to her aging body like the fur of a wet dog.
The room was completely dark.
Not the peaceful darkness of midnight. This darkness seemed alive. It pressed against the walls, gathered beneath the bed, and waited in the corners.
Dark.
Just like the dream.
Gothel sat frozen, listening to her own ragged breathing.
It was the third night in a row.
The same tower.
The same terrible fall.
The same moment when the ground rushed toward her—and everything went black.
Gothel had never considered herself a fearful woman. She had faced wild beasts, armed guards, bitter winters, and several men who believed that waving a sword made them interesting.
Nothing had frightened her.
Until now.
She had spent her entire life protecting the two things she valued most: her beauty and her freedom.
When she was young, her parents had presented her with one suitor after another. Some were wealthy. Some were handsome. One had been both, although he laughed like a sick donkey.
Gothel had rejected them all.
Marriage, in her opinion, was simply captivity decorated with flowers.
She had beauty, grace, and freedom. She was not willing to surrender any of them.
When her parents insisted that she choose a husband, Gothel chose something else.
She ran.
She left her childhood home before sunrise and never saw her mother or father again.
For years, she had told herself it had been worth it. She had escaped their rules, their expectations, and the life they had planned for her.
But now, trembling alone in the darkness, she found herself longing for something she had buried long ago.
“M-Mama,” she whispered.
The word felt strange on her tongue.
“Mama…”
A sudden wail shattered the silence.
Gothel nearly leapt out of her skin.
“The baby!”
From the other side of the room came another furious cry, followed by an offended little shriek.
Rapunzel was awake.
Of course she was awake.
The child seemed personally insulted by the existence of silence.
Gothel groaned and reached blindly toward the bedside table. Her fingers knocked over a cup, brushed against a comb, and nearly found their way into the flame before she remembered that the candle was not yet lit.
“Where is that miserable match?”
Rapunzel cried louder.
“Yes, yes, I hear you!” Gothel snapped. “The entire kingdom probably hears you!”
Her fingers finally closed around the matchbox. She struck a match, and a tiny flame sprang to life.
The candlelight pushed back the darkness, but only slightly.
Gothel turned toward the cot.
Rapunzel stared at her with enormous green eyes. Tears rolled down her round cheeks, and her lower lip trembled.
The baby looked frightened.
For once, Gothel could not blame her.
“Hold on, little worm,” she muttered, approaching the cot. “I need you alive because of your hair, but your cries are worse than the nightmare I just had.”
Rapunzel answered by screaming directly into her face.
Gothel recoiled.
“How can something so small produce so much noise?”
She lifted the child awkwardly. Rapunzel squirmed in her arms, kicking one tiny foot free of her blanket.
“There, there,” Gothel whispered, forcing sweetness into her voice. “I have you.”
The words left a strange taste in her mouth.
“I have you all to myself.”
She ran her trembling fingers through the child’s long golden hair.
At once, warmth rushed into her hand.
It travelled up her arm and spread through her entire body. Her aching joints strengthened. The deep lines around her eyes faded. Her grey hair darkened, and her skin became smooth once more.
Gothel turned toward the mirror beside the bed.
A young woman stared back at her.
Gothel touched her face in wonder.
There she was.
Beautiful.
Strong.
Alive.
The flower’s magic was more powerful than anything she had ever known. It was not something she could imagine surrendering.
She had sacrificed her family for freedom. She had stolen a child for youth. She had convinced herself that every terrible choice had been necessary.
Because freedom meant nothing if death eventually took it away.
And Gothel had spent her entire life trying not to die.
Rapunzel’s cries softened into tired little whimpers. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she released a small yawn.
The sound was gentle.
Trusting.
Painfully innocent.
Something inside Gothel shifted.
She looked down at the child in her arms.
Rapunzel’s tiny fingers had curled around one of Gothel’s.
For reasons she did not understand, Gothel felt as if she could not breathe.
Then the candle flickered.
A cold wind slipped through the narrow window.
The flame bent low.
For one terrible second, the room disappeared into darkness.
The dream returned.
Gothel was standing at the top of the tower. Her hands reached desperately for the window ledge as she fell backwards.
Her fingers caught nothing.
Above her, Rapunzel watched from the window.
Not as a baby.
As a young woman.
Her golden hair had been cut short, and beside her stood a young man holding a broken piece of mirror.
Gothel fell.
The tower grew smaller.
The sky vanished.
Then came the darkness.
Endless.
Silent.
Final.
The candle flame rose again.
Gothel found herself standing beside the cot, gripping its wooden rail so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
Rapunzel was no longer in her arms.
Gothel looked down sharply.
The baby lay safely beneath her blanket, sleeping as though nothing had happened.
Gothel touched her own face.
Still young.
Still alive.
For now.
She slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.
The dream was not simply a nightmare.
It was a warning.
Perhaps it was even a memory of something that had not happened yet.
She stared at Rapunzel.
Without the child, Gothel would grow old.
With the child, the dream might come true.
Either way, the darkness would find her eventually.
For the first time, Gothel wondered whether staying alive was the same thing as truly living.
She thought of Queen Arianna waking every morning in the palace, hoping someone would return her stolen daughter. She imagined the empty cradle, the unanswered questions, and the grief filling every room.
Gothel had never allowed herself to think about the queen before.
It was easier to steal a child when one pretended the child belonged to no one.
Rapunzel shifted in her sleep and made a soft sound.
Gothel looked away.
“This is ridiculous,” she whispered. “I am not becoming soft.”
The baby sneezed.
Gothel frowned.
“And you are not helping.”
Rapunzel smiled in her sleep.
A small, helpless smile.
Gothel’s expression tightened.
The child did not deserve the lonely life Gothel had planned for her. She did not deserve to grow up hidden in a tower, believing that fear was love and captivity was protection.
Gothel knew something about being trapped by another person’s choices.
She stood abruptly.
“No,” she said.
Her voice sounded stronger this time.
“I will not fall from that tower. I will not spend the rest of my life waiting for death to climb through the window.”
Gothel crossed the room and pulled an old travelling bag from beneath the bed. She stuffed in a cloak, bread, a bottle of water, several coins, and a hairbrush.
She paused and added a second hairbrush.
Rapunzel had a great deal of hair.
Then Gothel stopped.
What would happen when she reached the palace?
The guards would recognize the princess. The king would demand answers. Queen Arianna would want to know who had stolen her child.
Gothel imagined herself standing before the royal family.
Your Majesties, I kidnapped your daughter because her hair keeps me young, but I have recently experienced personal growth.
Yes. That would go wonderfully.
They might imprison her.
They might execute her.
Or worse, they might hold a long royal trial filled with speeches.
Gothel hated speeches.
She glanced toward the window.
She could still change her mind.
She could remain in the tower, keep the princess, and pretend the dream meant nothing.
Then the candle went out.
Gothel froze.
From somewhere below the tower came the unmistakable sound of a branch snapping.
Someone was outside.
She moved silently toward the window and peered into the forest.
At first, she saw nothing.
Then a shadow moved between the trees.
A horse snorted.
Metal flashed beneath the moonlight.
Royal guards.
Gothel’s blood turned cold.
“How did they find us?”
Behind her, Rapunzel began to stir.
Another branch snapped.
Closer this time.
Gothel snatched up the travelling bag and wrapped Rapunzel tightly in a blanket.
“Well, little flower,” she whispered, lifting the child into her arms, “it appears our journey is beginning sooner than expected.”
Rapunzel opened her eyes and reached for Gothel’s nose.
Gothel pulled her face away.
“Please do not make this more difficult than it already is.”
The baby grabbed her hair instead.
Gothel sighed.
“Wonderful. I am about to risk my life returning a kidnapped princess, and my greatest enemy is currently drooling on my shoulder.”
A voice called from the forest below.
“Search the tower!”
Torches appeared between the trees.
Gothel tightened her hold on Rapunzel.
There was no longer time to plan.
No longer time to hide.
She had been given a second chance, but she had no idea whether it would lead to forgiveness—or directly to the executioner’s block.
Pulling her hood over her head, Gothel opened the hidden passage at the back of the tower.
Cold night air rushed inside.
She took one last look at the room that had been both her sanctuary and the beginning of her downfall.
Then she stepped into the darkness.
This time, she was walking toward it willingly.
She was returning Rapunzel to the palace.
And somewhere deep within the forest, someone else was already waiting for them…
Hey Rapunzel fans! Where do you think this story is headed? How about you give it a try and write the next chapter? Who could be waiting deep within the forest for Mother Gothel and Rapunzel?
So if Mother Gothel returns Rapunzel, where does this leave Eugene Fitzherbert, aka Flynn Rider, in terms of destiny?
I loved it! The details, the writing, everything was perfect. I was there, I was Gothel, feeling what she was feeling.
We sincerely appreciate your valuable feedback, Foyinsade. At Pens and Cribs, we are grateful for the time you dedicate to reading these stories and sharing your insights. We eagerly anticipate the opportunity to publish your stories here as well.