The Most Magnificent Beard: A Retelling of Rapunzel with a Bearded Twist

A Retelling of Rapunzel with a Bearded Twist | Retold by TaleTreasury

In a tall stone tower, far from the bustling world below, Zel stirred a bubbling pot of stew. Candles flickered around the cozy room, holding the encroaching dusk at bay. He knew Mama Gothel would soon call, for though she did not live in the tower, her visits were frequent—and never subtle.

Zel had constructed a clever pulley system with his long, magical hair. The enchantment in his hair could heal wounds, but it didn’t make the task of hauling someone up by his scalp any less painful. The pulley was his solution—after all, Mama Gothel had always said sharp objects were too dangerous for clumsy Zel to use. She had bought him engineering books instead.

Sure enough, as the sun dipped below the horizon, her familiar voice echoed from below.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”

Obediently, Zel fed his braid into the mechanism, bracing for the familiar strain. When Mama Gothel appeared at the window, she kissed the air near each of his cheeks and caressed his hair fondly.

“How’s my precious little lettuce today?” she asked.

Zel offered her stew, which she politely declined, grimacing. She stayed for hours, recounting her travels and warning him of the cruel, chaotic world beyond the forest. To Zel, who had never ventured past the woods, the tower was his sanctuary. The idea of leaving seemed absurd—he was too awkward, too vulnerable. Mama Gothel had made sure he knew that.

Zel liked his solitary life. He could wake when he wished, sing his original songs without judgment, and braid his majestic beard—a beard so thick and splendid that it rivaled even his enchanted hair. But even he sometimes longed for something… more.

Then, one day, a new voice called from below.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”

Startled, Zel assumed Mama Gothel had returned sooner than expected. He sloppily loaded his hair into the pulley, wincing at the extra tug on his scalp. But when the figure climbed through the window, it wasn’t Mama Gothel—it was a tall, broad-shouldered woman with eyes as deep and dark as soil, and a presence that filled the room.

“Who are you?” Zel gasped, clutching his tangled braids to his chest.

“Gisela,” she said, her gaze warm. “And you, sir, possess the most magnificent beard I have ever seen. What’s your name?”

“Rapunzel,” Zel muttered, confused and defensive.

Gisela chuckled, explaining that she had followed the sound of his singing and the strange ritual of letting down his hair. She spoke of kingdoms and wars—concepts Zel barely understood, having never read about them in his limited library.

Gisela’s visits became frequent. She brought food—fresh bread, cheeses, fruits—treats Mama Gothel never supplied. She helped mop the floors, albeit clumsily, and chatted endlessly about life outside: the markets, festivals, even the stars seen from valleys beyond the forest. She brushed and re-braided his hair and beard, transforming his usual knotted mess into shining, elegant plaits.

For the first time in his life, Zel understood what companionship meant. With Gisela, he was no longer lonely.

But when Mama Gothel unexpectedly arrived during one of Gisela’s visits, Zel panicked. He stuffed Gisela into the pantry, hoping to conceal his secret friend. Yet Mama Gothel’s sharp eyes noticed the picnic blanket and unfamiliar food.

“Where did you get all this?” she demanded.

“I—I saved it… for my birthday,” Zel lied.

Mama Gothel looked unconvinced but said nothing more. When she left, Zel freed Gisela, apologizing profusely. Gisela, ever understanding, simply smiled.

“I’m your friend, Zel,” she said gently. “I’ll never make you explain before you’re ready.”

But fate was unkind. The next day, just as Zel was serving tea to Mama Gothel, Gisela called from below.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”

The color drained from Zel’s face. Mama Gothel’s expression turned to ice. She commanded Zel to let the stranger up, and when Gisela climbed through the window, she barely had time to speak before Mama Gothel shoved her—hard—sending her tumbling from the tower.

“Look what you’ve done!” Mama Gothel spat. “I kept you safe, and now you betray me!”

She grabbed a fistful of Zel’s hair and dragged him toward the spiral staircase—one she had long claimed was damaged beyond use. But the door worked perfectly. Reality crumbled around Zel as he realized the life he’d been fed was a carefully spun lie.

Then Zel saw the dagger at Mama Gothel’s belt.

With desperation burning inside him, he snatched the dagger and, instead of striking her, began hacking at his own hair. The magical strands resisted, but Zel sawed and sliced, detaching himself from the very thing that made him valuable to Mama Gothel.

“No!” she shrieked, lunging for him.

They struggled, but Zel clung to the dagger, cutting until his heavy braids fell lifeless to the floor. With a final shove, he sent Mama Gothel stumbling back—right into Gisela, who had limped back, alive but battered.

In that chaotic moment, Mama Gothel vanished, leaving only echoes of her fury.

Zel stood trembling, hair now chin-length, beard still thick but ragged.

“I like it,” Gisela smiled, brushing a lock from his face.

“What about my beard?” Zel asked weakly.

“Still the most magnificent I’ve ever seen,” she teased. “We’ll tidy it up.”

“Can I come with you?” Zel whispered.

“Of course,” she said, taking his hand. “What else are friends for?”

Together, they stepped beyond the tower walls into the world Zel had never known—where danger, wonder, and real friendship awaited.

Moral of the Story

True friendship can free us from the prisons we didn’t even know we lived in. Sometimes, the courage to cut ties—literally and metaphorically—is the first step toward discovering who we are meant to be.