Disclaimer: The characters and world belong to JK Rowling, top quote to Rachel Bloom & creators, and song lyrics are from "The Girl I Left Behind Me". Everything else is mine.
A/N: HUGE thanks to iNiGmA who dried my tears of frustration and kept me going with this story that didn't want to be written.
We're told love conquers all, but that only applies to the heroes
- Rachel Bloom
Xxxx
With locks that shimmered beneath a summer sun as if the strands had been crafted from gold themselves, Alcyone captured every wandering eye of the village. Her incomparable beauty tugged at the heart strings of everyone who set their sights on her and devastation when they earned not a glance in return. Her brown eyes were reminiscent of the oak tree that flourished beneath the shadow of the castle upon the hill, interspersed with golden rays that shone down from above. Although many had strived for her beauty, none could win her heart.
Xxxx
A resounding thud drew her from her thoughts. What was once white ceramic burst against the ramshackle wall beside her, reducing the bowl to little more than shards and dust. Her frail hands shook from the impact and she wrung them against each other, pulling at her spindly fingers.
"Ya' filthy little squib." His voice was caustic, eating away at her as he approached. The embers inside taking hold, erupting into a raging fire that shown from his eyes. Merope shrunk backward at the look she had come to know, the ice of her being melting with his flame as he stole another part of her. "Stupid bitch." His lip curled upward. The few teeth in his mouth that remained had been stained with tobacco. Marvolo lifted a hand and her eyelids slammed shut, expecting the slap, the stinging of her flesh as his palm was dragged across her cheek.
There was a metallic clang and then a clatter as the pan she had been stirring hit the floor. Stew splattered across her bare feet, burning what flesh it touched and staining the hem of her already speckled dress. "Start over. Don't burn it this time."
She turned with little more than a nod, words escaping her in his fury. He stomped away from her in a huff, words mumbled under his liquored breath. Merope squeezed her hands tightly, willing the trembling to cease. Her shaking lips were pressed into a line and her eyes squeezed shut. A lilting hum escaped her lips, quiet so only she could hear.
Her golden hair in ringlets fair, her eyes like diamonds shining, her slender waist, her heavenly face, that leaves my heart a pining. Words whispered by candlelight with a smile repeated in her mind, her mother's sweet voice bursting from the recesses she contained it in. When the song had calmed her did, she open her eyes, staring at the mess that had been made.
When the pot had been filled again, set on the wood cook stove to boil, she crouched. Her fingers scraped across sharp slivers that threatened to burrow beneath her skin as she collected them into a pile. She'd stopped caring long ago at the cuts that appeared, the bruises. Days that were worth living for hadn't existed in some time, but she had no way to escape. She was of age, old enough to leave her father and brother to rot, to chase after the fabled love stories she had been told. Only the lack of resources held her here.
She had little money, and no real way to earn it, no one she knew, and no where to stay. These walls barely contained the storms that raged outside it, the wind that battered the siding, the rain that spilled through the cracks. But, it was protection nonetheless that she wouldn't be able to find elsewhere.
The three of them survived on the bare minimum, but without it, they would have perished long ago. It was more than she had beyond this town.
Her hair was lank, an unpleasant, ratty dark brown that hung around her face. The ends were split and uneven and she knew little of how to care for it. Her mother had braided it down her back when she was young, but the memory of how to do so had fled her.
Merope's eyes were dull, the brown of a decayed tree that had been left to rot for far too long. She was too thin, every bone in her body protruding through her papery skin. The result of never having enough. Her clothes were stained and dotted with holes. They hadn't been washed in some time, and now possessed a dirt she would never be rid of. She'd been made shabby by circumstance, unlovable by genetics. All she wanted in this world was someone who could love her and to love them in return.
But, her father. He was the ever-present thorn in her side. Her brother, Morfin might have had a chance once. She had fond memories of when they were younger, rare memories, even, of her father smiling. Of when they had lived on the edge of happiness. But, when her Mother had left this earth, she, Merope, had been blamed. She had fought against them, had begged them to believe the circumstances were different, but after years of distance, she couldn't be sure. Had it been her that caused her Mother's death in the field that day?
It was the thought that plagued her, had destroyed all of them. She clutched the golden locket that hung just above her décolletage, grazing the tip of her blue, tattersall dress. The cool sensation of gold pressing into her skin, warming her despite it.
"Aren't you done yet?"
The shout of anger made her jump, her hand jerked from her neckline back to the mess she tried to clean, cutting her finger finally. She wrapped the hem of her dress around the slice, urging the blood to stop. The stains it held were already irreversible, what was a little more?
"In…in a…in a minute." Merope stammered, wanting to shout back that it would already be done if he hadn't thrown the first batch to the floor. What they had this time could hardly be called soup. What vegetables they had been able to buy now lay scattered across the floor amongst the bits of glass. In his hatred, her father had wasted what food they had, leaving little else to go in the pot.
She was half tempted to serve them anyway, to watch as the glass cut the gums of her father and brother, claiming that she herself wasn't hungry. What ingredients she had left could do little more than flavor the water. She wouldn't be missing out on a meal. It would serve them right for the way that they treated her. But, she knew the beating that would come after her, and that wasn't worth it.
The water had been tinted an interesting mixture of green and brown, a result of the vegetables she had been able to salvage and the chunks of mystery meat she hadn't yet put in the stew the first time. It was scooped into chipped, ceramic bowls, as equally dirty as the rest of their surroundings.
She sat beside the people that were little more than acquaintances these days, mortal enemies if she wanted to be dramatic. Little attention was given to her brother as he talked, his hands waving wildly as he relayed his "heroic" tale of how he slayed the great beast, the grass snake. She was sure she'd see the poor animal's body nailed up someplace to serve as a warning to the world in a few days time.
She listened to her father boast about his incredible son, thankful to have one child that was worthwhile as he drunk from a bottle of alcohol, they hadn't had money to purchase. That likely hadn't been purchased.
That night she huddled beneath her tattered blanket atop the worn and lumpy mattress that would never be replaced. Her stomach ached, yearning for a meal she hadn't had in days. One that was more than just flavored water. One that they could have had, had her father not ruined everything like usual.
Merope faced the wall so no one could see the hot tears that ran silent down her cheeks, her throat sore from containing the cry that threatened to break free. The words of her mother's song played like a record in her mind, willing herself to sleep. As tiredness finally set in, she thought of nothing but her knight in shining armor that she still hoped would take her away.
Xxxx
Edmund the Enchanting's attempts to woo her were spurned, for Alcyone held no interest in the man. He grew frustrated in time. No one had denied the prince, not once had his attention been unreturned or his wishes unanswered. Yet, the fair-haired maiden defied him. She ignored his requests to stroll with him in the gardens surrounding the castle grounds, to join him in the courtyard, or even beside the lake. She returned his gifts in contempt and his affections were of no interest to her.
His council tried to reason with him. They told of other beauties that resided in the village below the castle, of princesses in far away lands. But, none could compare. He had made her his quest and, in his selfishness, had lost sight of everything else.
Xxxx
The summer sun beat down on her, beads of sweat pulled from beneath her skin to drip freely from her forehead as she worked. Her fingers worked hard, scrubbing dirty fabric across a washboard in desperation, trying to rid them of any sense of shabbiness. It was a useless attempt, shabby had never been the word to describe them, villagers choosing much crueler words instead. Never would she be a fair maiden beside her husband. No cloche hat, no tailor-made dresses, no expensive jewelry hanging around her neck. She was stuck instead with clothing that had gone out of style more than a decade ago – her mother's clothes – and an heirloom with no meaning that hung around her neck.
As she worked, she dreamed of finer things. Soap bubbled up around her fingers, the tips long ago calloused from such work, but sore all the same. Her skin was cracked and dry and stung in the suds. If it gave her any reprieve, it was the cool water against her otherwise too warm flesh. How refreshing it would be to dip herself inside this basin, to let clean water flow over her skin. How she dreamed of the oceans her mother told her of, of the waves crashing over her and pulling her under. Even fear of the undertow couldn't placate her desire.
A light trill of laughter broke into her thoughts, her imagination crumbling. There would never be sand beneath her toes, the tickle of seaweed across her ankles. She instead was faced with prickly weeds below her bare knees, scratching at skin that had lost its tenderness in a time she could never remember. Merope would live her life as a bystander, listening to the clop of horses coming up the dirt road, rather than on one herself.
She gazed up beneath the fringe of hair that hung into her face. She wiped at the strands that clung to her forehead in sweat, wiping away the salty drips that threatened to fall into her eyes as the laugh came again, followed by the name she knew so well, "Tom".
Cecilia came into view first, her blonde hair shimmering beneath the sun, specks of gold glistening within the strands that danced around her shoulders. Her full, red lips separated with a smile of laughter as she tilted her head backward at some unheard joke.
Her golden hair in ringlets fair. The line rang inside her again, a sickening feeling brewing in her stomach. An association she had never made. Her washing stopped; her attention drawn instead to the tears that stung the corners of her eyes. She had grown accustomed to the rides Tom and Cecilia would take, to the flattering smile that formed on Tom's lips, making him impossibly even more attractive.
Her heart gave a flutter of distressed want inside her chest, a beat of desire at the sight of him. His black hair was parted on one side, flowing like waves of ink as the light curls hung over his forehead. The way he brushed his hair back into its place with a careless flick of his fingers set her alight. His hickory shaded eyes danced with slivers of amber beneath the morning sun. But, those glances, those smiles, those gestures, the chiseled beauty in Tom's face were all reserved for only one woman, and it wasn't her. It wasn't Merope.
Merope wanted to flee, to run inside her home as a frightened child might. She wanted to escape the loving looks that so quickly turned to ones of hatred as they neared her. The comments of distaste on such a situation, such "people".
Cecilia didn't care to look past the decrepit house, to the people inside. She didn't bother to read the pleas on Merope's face as she begged to be taken away from this place. No, the Gaunts were a hovel to be dealt with, wiped away as if they had never existed. Never had the thought crossed her shallow mind that just maybe this wasn't how Merope wanted to live.
Tom spared her, for that Merope was grateful. He diverted Cecilia's comments of disgust, not agreeing that such a place should be demolished. But, her comments weren't met with disagreement either. He agreed that her, Merope's brother, was mad, that her father wasn't much better, but nothing had been given about her. She chose to believe that Tom felt something for her, that his heart yearned inside his chest just as hers did. She couldn't settle on the idea that she was simply unremarkable, less than ordinary.
Then there a tumble, a refined shriek, a muffled thud of body hitting dirt, a loud exhale as his breath was forced from his lungs. And Merope was up. She didn't know what she intended, what she could do, but her steps formed across the weedy garden, approaching before she fully even knew why. And the dappled Colt was running, leaving its rider sprawled across the ground.
"You're…you're hurt." The words escaped her mouth in a hesitant tremble, and she crouched beside him. He held one hand in the other, rubbing at his skin and she suspected it had been caught in the reigns.
"You must have spooked him." The voice was cold, coming from high above as Cecilia hadn't even bothered to dismount her horse.
"With a barrel and…and some water?" Her eyes flicked back to her washings. She realized then that she was sopping wet, the purple of her dress nearly black. She felt the warmth of blood creeping up her throat and filling her cheeks at her appearance. Focus on your breath, she reminded herself, the voice of her mother once again ringing in her ears. Tom won't like a stutter; it isn't a sign of a refined young lady. Ignoring the fact that no bit of her signaled "refined", she took a series of deep breaths, calming herself before she spoke. She had waited for a chance to even speak to Tom for years. Ever since the moment she had first laid eyes on him and unladylike emotions had flooded her being, now, it was here. Merope wasn't going to let Cecilia stand in her way, nor the sweat and dirt that clung to her, and certainly not her stutter either.
"You best get his horse." She sounded her words slowly, avoiding either of their faces until she could be sure it was under control. "I doubt he can sit beside you in such unnecessarily extravagant attire you choose to wear or the fact that you seem incapable of riding a horse properly." She nodded to the fact that Cecilia rode sidesaddle, rather than straddling the horse with both legs.
Tom was speechless, seeming to enjoy the interaction while Cecilia's expression had soured. Her mouth was puckered to the side as if she'd eaten a particularly sour lemon. "It's for the best." Tom interrupted. "Father won't appreciate Danford getting hurt."
Cecilia made yet another face, consenting not only that she would fetch Danford, but that the two of them would have a chat about this later. Merope couldn't help the smile of satisfaction threatening to cross her features. She rose from the ground, a hand lifted out to the man still sprawled across the dirt. He gripped it, using little of his own weight to stand and nearly pulling her over on top of him. The sound of trotting hooves resumed, the filly and her rider heading past the end of the little town the three of them called home.
"Let's get you a drink, shall we?"
Tom glanced to her ramshackle home, incapable of hiding his distaste, shame sparked in the hollow of her stomach, but she pressed forth. "The water comes from the same well as yours, I expect." It was true, with only one well in town, he'd be hard pressed to find another water source that she didn't share. Another thought occurred to her. "And…and I'm alone." It was true for most days. Her father pissing his time away at the pub, her brother out hunting for his next victim, muggle and animal alike. She wasn't sure which statement had done it, but the flicker of a smile lifted his lips.
"Yes, lets."