|The Stories They Tell
Author: DorianGray91 PM
"They will tell stories about us," he said, "but they will not tell the truth. Not all of it." And he was right. They won't remember the aftermath, the new dangers close on our heels. They won't speak of the enmity growing between the two men I love, or the consequences of giving my heart to both. They rejoice in the light of a horizon that I have yet to see. Epilogue!Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Fantasy - Snow White & Eric/The Huntsman - Chapters: 20 - Words: 32,856 - Reviews: 229 - Favs: 122 - Follows: 162 - Updated: 01-03-13 - Published: 06-11-12 - id: 8207834
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This is my last update for at least ten days, going to Spain, sorry I couldn't write a better chapter but I'm knackered! Huntsman love xx
It's a harder way and it's come to claim her
And I always say we should be together
I can see below 'cause there's something in here
And if you are gone, I will not belong here.
Well, here you are, all dressed up like you're about to wake up and give me more grief. Am I right?
A darkling world that was in one moment so clear and believable, in the next was suddenly swirled away. I was floating, in the centre of myself, completely alone.
And then I could feel warm light on my face, feel the pillows under my head and the heavy duvet over my body. I woke refreshed and vivid with life, so swiftly and smoothly that it felt as though I had only closed my eyes for a moment.
It wasn't like any ordinary morning.
This one would stand out forever in my mind as one of the most disconcerting and moving of my short lifetime.
Even as my eyelids slid back and opened up my surroundings to me, I could only see one image - crystal clear and sharp as glass, echoing around my thoughts and delving into every recess - soaking me with a notion of absolute purity, of certain and unbroken bliss.
It was him. Just him.
My body felt infused and permeated with an external peace, as though a blanket had been thrown over my head, as though I had been lowered into a warm bath.
Everything that was good and hopeful about the world seemed to have been distilled down to this one point in time, into this one person - image of a person.
I must have been dreaming about him.
It must have been a dream to remember.
Too bad that I had forgotten it already. This pristine picture that I held onto now was just the dregs.
And the feeling I held onto was nonsensical, even though it felt so right.
A soft snoring to my left broke my thoughts and made me smile.
From dreams to reality, he was there. Always.
"Peter." I said aloud, beaming up at my turret ceiling, "Is that your name?"
I glanced at him as I finished speaking, and then jumped.
I nearly cried out in fright. But there was no need to be alarmed. Not really.
William was slumped in the chair that the huntsman had occupied last night. His head rested to the side, dark waves spilling over his forehead into his eyes. His lips were ajar, his face expressionless.
Despite the fact that he wasn't who I thought he'd be, my stomach flipped over as I noticed how very beautiful he looked, with the morning light streaming over him, half-silhouetting his form.
In his hand he still held a sword, glinting and lethal.
I was awfully, overwhelmingly glad that he hadn't heard me.
Then it suddenly occurred to me that I didn't remember having gotten into bed.
Had I – I hadn't – couldn't have – just dropped off midway through the journey back?
I could scratch a few glimpses of memory now. The thing I seemed to remember most was the feeling of strong, invincible arms on either side of my waist, holding reins in front of me… my head turned to rest against a broad shoulder… an unknown whisper in my ear.
But hadn't William been helping me off the horse?
As the pieces slowly clicked into place and I shuddered with the humiliation and awkwardness of it all, he stirred in his chair. I lay still, just watching him waking up.
He was undeniably beautiful. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, his limbs stretching out the stiffness, his neck arching back and making his hair tumble gracefully. His eyes finally opened, and he rubbed the sleep from them. So tranquil and still, like untouched grey wells, not their usual stormy, flashing selves.
The first hint of recognition as he looked around the room sent a shiver of pleasure through me.
The conspiring gleam in his eye, the dimple when he smiled for me as he registered my presence, almost made me catch my breath.
"I hope you slept well. You were an awful lot of trouble to carry up here." he joked, sitting up straight and stretching his back casually.
He seemed so at ease, compared with the last time he had been in here. Seeing me with the huntsman. Me being embraced by the huntsman, in no more than my night clothes.
Reflecting upon it – I could begin to see why William never looked at him in comradeship or even trust. Or even indifference.
Was I so obvious in my dilemma?
I tried, just one more time, to tell myself that there was no dilemma. That William was my future king and lover, by rights and by my desires. That there was no other.
And even if there was, it would pass soon enough.
It was just so easy to become temporarily besotted with a man who was hulking and harsh. Who kept saving my life, kept proving himself to be worthy – proving himself to be magnetic in his true, roguish personality.
A more attractive personality than I could ever hope to have.
With William's newly opened eyes gazing warmly down into mine, I suddenly felt cold. And crestfallen.
Because there was a flaw in my thoughts that I had never noticed before, and it was called Assumption.
What was the use in being besotted with somebody who probably thought I had as much personality as a brick wall? Who very likely didn't feel the same way that I did, not half as fiercely, or deeply? Who realistically didn't even know about my feelings for him anyway?
My feelings for him.
As soon as there was a danger of me losing my far flung chance, I was suddenly blurting out all of these dramatic things that I really wished weren't true.
Two minutes ago I would have denied all knowledge of feelings, even to myself, even if I knew it was false.
God, help me.
I forced a smile, all of these hazardous thoughts only taking up the slightest gap between William's words and my reaction.
"I'm sorry. I feel so pathetic." I grimaced.
"Don't. You don't have to shame yourself for anybody." he soothed me, tentatively reaching forward to hold my hand on top of the covers, "You've lived through the worst conditions any of us could imagine, for so long now. Even before all of this started."
The way he bluntly laid out the truth should have made me embarrassed, but it didn't.
I had been locked in a tower. And we both knew it. And I wasn't going to sit there and pretend that I was normal to my closest friend.
"But yes," he continued suddenly, breaking his grasp and grinning as he sat back, "you were rather pathetic. Snowdrop."
I wanted so badly to ask where the huntsman was, but the clench in my gut told me that it was not the thing to enquire of William. Not now.
"Would you like me to call your girls?" he said suddenly, as if he knew my eagerness to get downstairs and start the day – I urgently hoped he didn't know all of the reasons for it.
I didn't even register his faint hope that I would say No, stay for a while, before a "Thank you" was escaping from my mouth instead.
I immediately felt hideous.
I did want him to stay.
But I wanted to go to the Huntsman more.
"Very well." he quirked a smile through a disappointed expression, "I'll go to my father and tell him you'll be ready shortly."
The sword whooshed back into its sheath, he rose without any delay, and casting me one last wistful look, he marched straight out of my chamber, leaving me half desolate, half relieved.
What was happening to me?