Work Text:
He’d never been much of one for words. Oh, he could throw them out there sharp and quick when he wanted to, could make snarky remarks in a tavern brawl that needled his opponents and brought a grin to his own face. But words usually backfired for him. That same face had sported plenty of black eyes and split lips to prove it.
For that reason, he said nothing to Snow White about his decision to stay. He figured that the fact he was still more than two weeks after she’d asked him to consider it should count as answer enough.
He had barely seen her in those first few days. She was kept constantly busy meeting with advisors and hearing petitions from loyal subjects. Everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of her- their beautiful, beloved princess long feared dead, now risen from the grave, who had ridden into battle astride a white palfrey to destroy the Evil Queen. Throughout the day, even during meals, her frantic schedule prevented him from being near her. The Duke and William and some other councilor were always at her side, whisking her from one duty to the next.
Nearly every night, however, she turned up at his door. Sometimes she was still dressed in her courtly attire, a wardrobe that had appeared seemingly overnight as every seamstress and tailor in the land had poured out of the woodwork to offer gifts to the new queen in hopes of securing her favor and future patronage. More often than not, though, she appeared at the door in a shift and a thick woolen shawl, as though she had attempted to sleep the night in her own chambers and given up. Always, she appeared weary. Often, she came so late that he was already abed and her knock would rouse him from his slumber. He took to leaving the door un-bolted so that she could steal in during the deepest hours of the night and tuck herself into the bed with him, nestled close against him. He quickly came to appreciate the sea beside the castle for the frigid swims he took each morning and the long runs he made down the beach to quell his body’s frustrations.
No matter how late is was when she came to his chambers, she always rose early in the mornings to return to her own before her servants came to wake her for the day. He rose as soon as she did and made his way to the beach for his morning constitutionals. It was an impossible schedule. He found himself exhausted, and he was accustomed to short hours of sleep and grueling days. How she managed it was beyond him. He asked her about it one morning as he helped her to fasten herself into the gown she had worn the night before. She looked at him with pale lips and haunted eyes and said hollowly that if she tried to sleep in her chambers, she got no sleep at all.
He put it all together a few days later when he overheard two of the servants gossiping the corridor.
“…and she never sleeps in the bed! Every time I go in to light the fire in the mornings, the coverings are undisturbed, an’ there she is, curled up in the chair with a wee blanket over her.”
“And not surprising it is, an older voice said sternly, “Considering what it is that’s happened there when she was a child. ‘Tis a marvel she sleeps at all, if you ask me.”
He froze in the corridor, floored by a sudden wash of realization. He knew she’s seen her father’s corpse, murdered and mutilated in his bed the night Ravenna and her army had taken the castle. She’d told him as much on the long trek through the dark forest. He’d never dreamed thought that they would that they would have put her in the same chambers. Yet it stood to reason- they were the Royal Compartments- Ravenna would have taken them as her own, using every effort to legitimize her rein, and they would have been restored to Snow White after Ravenna’s death. They might not even have known what she had seen there a decade ago. It was no wonder that she was unable to rest there, sequestered in a room haunted by the ghosts of her murdered father and an evil usurper of the throne. It might even have been the very room her mother had sickened and died in. It seemed that everyone was so preoccupied with restoring the past she had never experienced that they had forgotten what horrors lay in the past she had actually lived.
Fuming, he wheeled about and set off down the corridor in the opposite direction he had intended. The council meeting he was supposed to be at with the more incidental of the Queen’s Advisors could wait. They hardly paid him a passing glance as it was, and ignored his opinions even when he saw fit to give them. He had better things to do.
It was just past midday when he found what he was looking for. The room was in an older section of the palace, and so was not as polished as the rooms that had been added later. The she square-hewn beams that supported the floor above were visible in the ceiling, and the walls were stone rather than ornate wooden paneling. Yet it was spacious, with windows that let in tremendous amounts of light. There was a balcony too, that looked out over the sea and the curving coastline behind the castle. It might once have housed members of foreign royalty or a dowager queen during her son’s reign. It was obvious though that it had not been used for many years. No furniture beyond a chair and a handsome bedframe even remained.
It took him nearly twenty minutes to track down a troupe of servants, but once he had, it had taken surprisingly little time to convince them that he carried the instructions of the Queen. They scampered away to do his bidding so quickly it seemed almost possible he had imagined their presence at all.
Eight hours later, the place was almost unrecognizable. Furniture, rugs, and various knickknacks had been brought from various other rooms. A featherbed had been commandeered from Lord-knew-where and installed on the bedframe. The room had been swept and scrubbed until it practically gleamed, the years of dust and cobwebs banished by a handful of capable servants. He had supervised much of the process, even the parts that left him feeling undeniably foolish, like picking out draperies and bedcoverings from a selection that one of the maids brought him. Still, the result was something quite satisfactory.
That night he stayed awake in his quarters, waiting for her to arrive. The bells had already chimed midnight by the time he heard the familiar quiet knock on his door.
“I want to show you something.” He said a tad abruptly before she had even closed the door behind her. She looked startled. “Follow me,” he instructed and grabbed the candle. She never once questioned where they were going as he lead her down corridors and up staircases. He marveled at the trust she placed in him. Anyone else could easily have been leading her into danger. Then again, he doubted she would follow anyone else without question.
“You told me once that you’d seen your father when the Qu- when Ravenna was…finished with him.” He said as they climbed a wide set of winding stairs. The candle light bounced wildly off the walls and the planes of her face. He caught her flinch and mentally cursed himself for the abruptness of his words. She nodded mutely. They gained the top of the staircase before he spoke again. “Your chambers. They are the same ones that he had, aren’t they. That’s why you can’t sleep there. Why you never even try to sleep in that bed.” It was a statement, not a question. She came to a standstill.
“How did you know?”
How did he tell her that he had pieced it together from her skittish behavior, the gossip of servants and his own peculiar instincts?
“It made sense.” He said briefly. “I thought perhaps you might desire an alternative.” He put his hand on the handle of the door before them and swung it open. He’d instructed that the fire be left going, so there was a little light. He touched the wick of his candle to a few of the candles in their mirrored holders, and light bloomed throughout the room. She ventured as far as the doorway, and her mouth fell open in shock.
“This is beautiful.” She breathed, stepping over the threshold to explore the room. Her fingers trailed over the rough wood of the mantelpiece and the smooth coverlet of the bed in turn, and he felt himself beginning to grin. “You did this?” she asked. He shrugged modestly. Just then, she noticed the wide doors to the little balcony, and with a gasp of delight that brought a full-blown smile to his face, she darted across the floor and threw them open. The sound of the crashing surf floated up from below. He followed at a more sedate pace and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed casually across his chest, enjoying the sight of her so rapturously delighted. She leaned out over the stone rail to catch a glimpse of the white waves breaking beneath them. Then she whirled around and kissed him full on the mouth. He reeled back, pleased, and startled, and uncertain what to do with his hands.
“Thank you!” she exclaimed, laughing joyously “Thank you! It’s perfect.” Her joy was infections, and he found himself chuckling along with her. She turned back out to gaze at the moonlight over the black sea. A moment passed, and something crept over her. He watched her shoulders tense and felt his smile fade.
“What is it, Milady?” he asked warily. She glanced back at him, and he saw that her eyes had gone hesitant and uncertain.
“Does this mean… Have you grown tired of my coming to you, Huntsman? Is this your kind way of refusing me?”
“No.” He said, surprising himself with his vehemence. “No,” he repeated more softly, crossing to her. He hesitated, then slid one arm tentatively around her waist, holding her against him and tucking her head beneath his chin. “Even if it damned me to a thousand hells,” he vowed solemnly, “I could never refuse you.” He felt the tension ease out of her, and she slid her hand to rest atop his forearm. And then, because he was probably damned anyway, he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head and tightened his hold around her.
They stood for several minutes like that, looking out at the night sea in silence. Snow White finally spoke, a murmur that that didn’t disrupt the quiet so much as blend with it.
“Stay with me here tonight, Huntsman?” she asked. There really was no other answer he could give.
“Aye.” He murmured back gently. For what he’d said before was true. He could not refuse her. And if he had come to realize that neither did he want to, well, that was his secret.