Anyway, here's an Epilogue for you, Miss Giggles. Enjoy!
* * * * *
“Your Majesty.” She was sitting on the grass under the apple tree, her
hands in her lap, watching the pup he’d brought her play with an old slipper. He
was happy that she was peaceful, and felt blessed when she looked up and smiled
at him.
“Huntsman.” There it was – the little light in her face he’d first
noticed on her coronation day. He shuffled and bowed as she rose and came to
greet him. She was barefoot, and her feet, like the rest of her, were small,
delicate, and white. Snow White. She
was Queen now. Never his…
“Huntsman, where have you been hiding yourself? I haven’t seen you for a
fortnight.”
“I’m sorry, my lady. There was something I needed…needed to see to.”
Her smile became quizzical, but it never lost its brilliance. “Of course.
You’re free to come and go as you choose. You aren’t my servant, but my friend.”
She was always making little gestures like that these days; he wrote it off as
her happiness, and tried not to read more into her hand on his arm or her smile
during dinner. This time however, when he tried to step away, she tightened her
grip and stepped with him. “Huntsman…why do you never call me by name?”
“You’re Queen now, my lady.”
She waved her hand dismissively, less a monarch than the stubborn girl
who’d threatened him with his own dagger in the Dark Forest. “But before that
even, you never called me by name…”
He had, though only in his mind. A pale
face, a limp body in the snow, a dark shadow bent over her… It gave him
nightmares, to match those of his wife’s death. He forced the memories aside and
focused on her sharp face. Her eyes were very clear in the spring light. The
puppy roamed at their feet, tugging on the hem of her skirt and sniffing his
boots. “You were a Princess. I am a huntsman.” And a drunkard. A wastrel. He thought it every time he saw her
walking with William, or dancing with another man at a festival. He kept hoping
it would keep the jealousy down; he must have succeeded, for no one had come to
warn him that a Queen didn’t marry whom she chose, but whom her advisors and
her subjects chose.
She stepped into him and he stiffened, automatically moving to grasp her
shoulders and push her back. Proximity was dangerous. And lead me not into temptation… She was temptation, same as the
ripe apples she gathered herself and shared with all the castle and village
people.
“Will you not say my name, dear friend? Please?”
His hands closed around her shoulders, delicate wings of bone under his
rough and dirty fingers. Though childlike she had an uncommon strand of
strength in her, like tempered steel. Those were the images he had in his
heart: the white gown she’d worn on her deathbed, and the steel armor she’d won
her kingdom in. The woman and the warrior.
“My lady, this isn’t a good idea…”
“I think it is.” Her hand was cool, her fingers light as wind against his mouth. She
looked at him, not quite smiling, not quite frowning, and he wasn’t aware of
shifting his stance from combative to protective. “Please, sometimes with all
the ceremony, I just want to be who I was with you, before.”
“Snow White.”
The country lauded her for saving them from Ravenna, but he lauded her
for moments like this, when her eyes were clear and she was able to smile like
she’d never known sorrow. He didn’t think; he didn’t make a conscious choice. As
much as their other kiss had been love and farewell, so was this one love and
welcoming.
She kept her eyes open, one hand curling in his dirty shirt. Over his
heart. She looked for his soul, as he’d taught her, and he felt slain and
reborn when she relaxed and dropped her head to his chest.
“I never thanked you, for saving me.”
The ends of her hair tickled his fingers and he played with it, just a
little. Just to please himself. “I don’t need thanks.”
“Why do you say things like that? Aren’t you as deserving of appreciation
and affection as anyone? You have done more noble things than I, yet I’m
revered and you are forgotten.”
“I wouldn’t want your status,” he said without thinking. “I’m a simple
man at heart, my lady. Nobility is for the rich and powerful.”
“You are noble, Huntsman. You refused Ravenna –”
“Out of stupidity.”
“– and you rescued me. Repeatedly.”
“Taught you to rescue yourself, which you did in the end,” he corrected
her. Her laughter was unexpected, and for a moment he basked in the pleasure it
brought him as another might bask in a sunbeam.
“Yes, I suppose so. But not without you.” Her laughter turned into a
charming little grin. “Will you tell me your name, Huntsman? I should like to
use it.”
He hadn’t used his name for years; first out of grief and then out of
habit. She was waiting, so patient, so gentle, and he couldn’t think of a
reason why he shouldn’t tell her. He didn’t have far to bend to speak in her
ear; she shivered at his warm breath on her neck.
She listened, lashes lowered to hide her
expression, then tipped her head towards him and smiled. “Thank you.” And this
time when she kissed him, neither of them stepped away even when apple blossoms
fell on their heads and her pup tore the hem of her gown.
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