Chapter 13
Thirteen
The nights were growing colder, but the little cottage was full of laughter and warmth.
In the morning, Snow kissed each of the men goodbye before they headed off to the mines to work.
There was still much to be done around the cottage.
Bernhardt taught him how to sew; he used to help make and maintain the costumes for his acting troupe.
They spent the afternoon in front of the fire, patching holes in warm clothing that would be needed for winter as Bernhardt recounted many a tale of his travels throughout the lands.
He had traveled much farther than anyone Snow had ever known, and his eyes took on a faraway look when he reminisced about those days.
“I know you were an actor, and Der was an apothecary,” Snow said thoughtfully. “Sigurd and Sigmund were carpenters. Was Grimwald a woodcutter by trade?”
“Indeed, he was,” said Bernhardt.
“And Dagobert was just a child when he was taken to the mines. What about Hardwic?”
“What about him?” Bernhardt asked, his eyes on his stitches.
“What did he do for work? I know he had a wife and daughter, but that is all that he has said about his past.”
Bernhardt chuckled softly. “Well, to be honest, none of us are entirely sure what he used to do. He’s never told us.”
“Wait. In twenty-two years, he has never mentioned what his life was like before coming to the mines?” Snow asked in surprise.
“Oh, we have asked him, of course,” Bernhardt said thoughtfully. “But he’s never given us an answer.”
Snow wondered what the rotund little man could have done that he did not want to talk about his past. Hardwic was always so cheerful and bright. But instead, he asked, “What about you? Would you go back to being an actor if you could?”
Bernhardt got that faraway look in his eyes again, the skin around them crinkling into a lifetime of lines.
“You know, lad, I’ve given it thought. I didn’t ever expect our lot to change.
I’m an old man now, and I expected that I would die in those mines.
But perhaps one day, things might be different.
” He gave Snow a bright smile that lit up his aged face.
“I don’t think I’d travel again. After twenty-two years, the others, they’ve become my family.
I wouldn’t want to leave them, perhaps never to return.
I’d like to stay close. But as to returning to the stage, well, that I could certainly do at any age. ”
“Would you perform something for me?” Snow asked. “You sang so beautifully last night.”
Bernhardt’s gray eyes lit from within as though a lantern had flared to life behind them.
He straightened in his chair, suddenly shedding the fatigue of the last twenty-odd years, his body taking on the countenance of a man half his age.
He held up his sewing needle in front of him and began to recite a monologue that Snow had never heard before, but it was so filled with drama and tragedy that it brought tears to his eyes as he watched the little man become what he had been before the Queen destroyed it.
At the end, Bernhardt gave a little bow, and Snow burst into applause.
“That was wonderful!” he exclaimed before leaning in to give Bernhardt a fond kiss.
“Thank you,” Bernhardt said, his face uncharacteristically red from the kiss and the praise. “It has been a long time since I’ve done that. But it felt good.”
“You did it so beautifully,” Snow said. “I am honored that you showed me your talent.”
Bernhardt had a bright smile on his face for the rest of the afternoon.
Snow wasn’t sure what woke him as he lay in the darkness, warm under blankets and multiple bodies pressed against him.
He heard a soft creak from the floorboards and realized that someone was up and had just walked out into the main room.
He did a quick count in his head, trying to find everyone around him in the darkness.
It was definitely one of the little men, and he thought it was one of the brothers.
He supposed he didn’t necessarily need to get up and check, but curiosity got the better of him.
He had to wiggle carefully to get the blanket off of him.
Next to him, Dagobert rolled over and mumbled something incomprehensible, but the movement allowed Snow to slide the blanket down.
Extricating himself from the pile of bodies was another task.
He had to lift up several arms to get them off of him, but luckily, no one awakened from his gentle touches.
He slipped off the large bed, his bare feet landing on the cold wooden floor.
He tried to keep his steps light on the creaky wooden boards as he crossed over in just the moonlight.
He peered into the main room and found Sigmund sitting on one of the benches, fully dressed, with a cup of water.
He slowly approached him, letting his steps grow a little louder so he did not startle the man. “Hello,” he said.
Sigmund looked up at him in surprise. “Hi. Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No,” Snow said, giving him a soft smile. “I’m just a light sleeper sometimes. You aren’t tired?”
“Nope, not sleepy at all,” Sigmund said, taking a sip of the water. “On the days when it’s my turn to stay home, I generally don’t sleep well leading into it. So, I get up early to go hunting.”
“May I sit with you until you leave?” Snow asked, gesturing to the bench next to him.
“Of course.” Sigmund waved his hand, and Snow sat. He had spent significant time with Sigurd, but not with Sigmund beyond their flirting. He wanted to get to know him better, as he did with all of the little men.
“Sigurd told me about your fiancé,” he said softly.
“Yes, he told me,” Sigmund said, fiddling with the handle of his cup.
“I’m so very sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Sigmund said, not meeting his eyes. “I am rather glad we were not married when they came for me. Who knows what they might have done?”
“Do you think about where he might be now?”
“Every day,” Sigmund said, looking up at Snow, his hazel eyes much more somber than Snow had ever seen him.
“Perhaps, one day, you can find him again,” Snow said softly.
Sigmund’s smile was small. “It’s been twenty-two years. I don’t expect him to be waiting on a wish for that long. He had a life to live and no reason to think that I might come back. I just hope he is happy, wherever things may have taken him.”
“I want to help all of you,” Snow said softly, reaching out to place a hand on Sigmund’s shoulder. “I don’t know yet what I can do, but what was done to all of you was monstrous.”
“You have a good heart, Snow,” Sigmund said, glancing down at the hand on his shoulder before taking the hand and squeezing it lightly. “Just by being here, you’ve brought light back into this dreary place.”
Snow smiled and held Sigmund’s hand with both of his. “You all have been so kind to me, when you had every reason not to be. I can never thank you enough for that.”
Sigmund grinned back at him. “Our lives may have gone to shit because of the Queen, but that doesn’t mean we’re already dead, right?”
“That’s right,” Snow said. “And I’m not dead either. I’ll find some way to help you all, and some way to repay your kindness.”
“Well, you could always suck my cock,” Sigmund said lightly, giving Snow a playful wink, the old Sigmund he knew returning.
Snow blinked. He knew Sigmund was teasing. But he had never done that before, and the idea of it intrigued him, especially with the thrill of being caught by the other six in the next room. “Maybe I shall,” he said before sliding off the bench and crawling beneath the dining table.
“What? Shit, Snow, I was just joking,” Sigmund said quickly, trying to push himself back from the table, but Snow reached up and placed his hands on Sigmund’s knees.
It was dark under the table, only moonlight from the windows illuminating the room.
It was almost like being in a warm, dark cave.
And he felt safe. Protected. Nothing would happen to him here in the darkness. He squeezed Sigmund’s knees lightly.
“I know you were, but I would like to try. If that’s all right with you.”
Sigmund glanced down at him under the table, before a wicked grin spread across his face. “Well, you do look absolutely gorgeous on your knees like that, Snow White.”
Snow’s face went pink at the praise. He slid his hands up Sigmund’s thighs to trace over the front of his loose breeches.
He could feel the man’s cock, already slightly hard, under the fabric, and he stroked over it with his hands.
He fumbled with the laces closing them, then laughed when all he did was catch his fingers in them. “Perhaps you should do this part.”
Sigmund chuckled and undid the fastenings, then reached in and pulled out his cock, already half-hard.
Snow couldn’t see it very well in the darkness of the room, but he could see enough to know he wanted it.
He leaned in, brushing his tongue up the underside of the head, giving it an experimental lick.
Sigmund sighed softly, the hand not holding his cock for Snow sliding down to stroke through the dark strands of the prince’s hair.
Snow let his tongue trace up and down, exploring it until the cock stood hard and firm in front of him.
He rested one hand on Sigmund’s knee, the other sliding down to hold the base of the cock as he cautiously slid his mouth down, taking in first just the head, giving it a hesitant suck.
Sigmund moaned softly, his fingers pressing harder into Snow’s hair.
Encouraged, Snow did it again, letting his tongue trace a little awkwardly up and down and swirl all around.
He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but it seemed that Sigmund was enjoying the movements.
Confidence was key, he was sure, so he put all his effort into the movements, making them firm and eager, even if they were a bit sloppy.