A/N: Leans heavily on Hall of Mirrors by Silver Pard AND a bit on The Fairest of Them All by TrudiRose, both on this site and both marvelous, and highly recommended. T for implied violence.
Once upon a time, in a far off kingdom, lived a handsome king and his lovely wife. Their kingdom was prosperous and peaceful. In fact, they had all they could wish for save one thing – a child. The king was riding out to the distant edges of the kingdom to check on the villages there, and in that bleak winter the Queen sat watching from her window for his return, sewing by the bright light of the full moon. She pricked her forefinger with the needle and stared at the dark red splotch of blood on the pure white snow layered on the ebony tree outside her window. At that moment, she wished with all her might for a daughter whose skin was pale as the snow, whose lips were as crimson as the spilled blood, and whose hair was as dark as the bark of the tree outside. She did not wish for her daughter to have a peaceful life.
Shortly after the return of the king, it came to pass that the queen grew heavy with child. She lived long enough to see her daughter fulfilled the terms of her wish, and to name her sweet child Snow White.
The King, lonely and alone, did not know what to do with a female child himself, so hired the best nurses and handmaidens and tutors the kingdom's gold could buy. Snow grew to age seven as a sweet and upright girl who knew her letters and her etiquette and how to run a peaceful prosperous kingdom. Nothing darkened her skies and it seemed her mother's mistake in wishing would not destroy her.
But wishes are unfair and fickle things. The king felt Snow required a stronger female presence in her life, and sought to take a new wife. Far from the north came his bride, Lady Grimhilde, known far and wide as the most lovely and enchanting woman in the entire kingdom. She brought wealth to the treasury and elegance to the throne room – the latter from training and the former from her seven dead husbands. So tragic, to be a widow so many times over, and so young!
Grimhilde and young Snow spent quiet companionable time together, though there wasn't much mothering going on, as she had never before handled children. When the King would try to engage them in a stronger relationship, the new Queen would skillfully turn the conversation to matters of state, insisting on "preventative measures" to protect them from other kingdoms, or unbound cities and villages which they could kindly conquer to tax and guide. The king was often away on such campaigns at Grimhilde's advice.
Each morning, Grimhilde would consult the magic mirror inherited from her first husband. It answered two questions for her each day. First, "Mirror Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?" because she was indeed quite vain – her beauty had gotten her far in life, so this information was relevant to her and her pride. Second, "What poses the greatest threat to me today?". For many years, the answers went "My Queen, you are the fairest of them all, and today's greatest threat is –" well, the French (all those revolutions), or the Austrians getting handy with her territory, or perhaps the Prussians trying to pull away into their own rulership again which was naturally unacceptable. And wasn't it lovely to hear her sweet mirror say my queen instead of my lady! She would thank the mirror and then send a message to her obedient husband about where he may want to turn his forces next. He was a kind man but not a bright one, her guidance was absolutely necessary.
But one morning, shortly before Snow White's sixteenth birthday, and shortly after Grimhilde's fortieth, the answers garnered were unexpected to say the least, since they were one and the same. "Queen you are full fair tis true, but now young Snow is fairer than you. She poses a great and mortal threat to the kingdom you protect." The mirror filled then with blood and fire and a pair of feet clamped within iron shoes. With heart heavy (even if prettier than her, her stepdaughter was the first family member she'd ever had who demanded nothing from her), she ordered her huntsman to take Snow deep into the Black Forest and kill her there, and bring back Snow's heart to preserve for her father, with some pretty lie about her death at the hands of an animal or rebellious group within the kingdom.
The next day, the huntsman took Snow white through animal trails deep, deep into the heart of the woods. He prepared to strike her down, but when she gazed in fear upon him instead he dropped his knife at her feet and abandoned her, urging her to "Run! Run! Never return and never trust the Queen, for she ordered your death. Go!" And he returned to the castle and she stared after him. She wandered the woods for days, eating berries without knowing they might kill her, cutting all her hair away raggedly with the forgotten knife after discovering somethings crawling in it, getting wet in the rain and freezing in the night and not drying properly during the day as the treetops were too thick to let the sun through.
After many days and thinking she would die, she fell into a clearing and saw the sun again at last and last and fell dead faint on the soft moss around a small, handsome cottage. Later that evening, as the clearing was growing dark, seven small men marched into their glen and discovered her there. They debated but eventually decided to drag the dirty wretched creature into their home and see what could be done to help it. As it turned out, a hot bath and a thick broth and a warm bed did much to help her, and she told them her tale and why she had run in a bitter voice too old for her young years. They agreed to let her stay with them in a cot below the stairs if she would take over the chores of the house and glen. So she stayed.
She had no place else to go anyway.
Many days and months passed, and each morning the dwarves warned Snow not to trust anyone. It was an unnecessary warning, as really, no-one should trust Snow. She was a hunter now, a prowler. And though sometimes travelers between kingdoms around the forest had come through the glen, they never came out again. At least there was always stew for Snow and the dwarves.
Back in the kingdom, the Queen was worried. Her huntsman was missing and her kingdom's people were disappearing in the wood, and when she that morning asked her mirror her questions had gotten the reply "Queen you are full fair tis true, but in the cottage in the glen, with the seven little men, lives Snow White, who is 100 times more fair than you." And the mirror filled with blood and fire and a pair of feet clamped into iron shoes. The queen searched for the glen on her maps and searched her magic books for a solution to the problem.
More months went by and the Queen came in magical disguise to Snow White, and offered her a cart full of lovely clothes, stopping by 'on her way through the wood'. Snow had been so long from finery that she selected a lovely corset and asked the peddler to lace it for her (not that she could pay but what the peddler didn't know would kill her after the lacing was done). Grimhilde laced the corset tight tight tight until Snow couldn't breathe, and then left the girl suffocating on the soft moss of the clearing as the sun slowly sank below the trees.
The dwarves arrived and found Snow and unlaced her from the corset in time for her to gasp a long terrified breath. She had so long been the hunter that she forgot what it was to be the prey, and had dropped her guard. The dwarves tisked and scolded and warned her again to trust no one. She heartily agreed.
Soon the Queen turned to her mirror again and to her dismay saw blood and smoke and feet in iron, along with the words "Queen you are full fair tis true but in the cottage in the glen, with the seven little men, still breathes Snow White, who is one thousand times more fair than you." She returned to her books.
Again she came in different magical disguise, with a basket of beautiful combs – ivory and tortoiseshell and glass and gold. Snow had grown less cautious again as time went by with no further attempts on her life, and she truly did miss the lovely trinkets of her kingdom. But she remembered the warning the dwarves had given her that morning, and only opened the window to lean out and speak with the elderly peddler woman. The woman cooed over Snow's perfect black hair, once again grown long and shining, and requested to comb it out as it would set off a jeweled comb she had to perfection. Snow was a princess still and did enjoy flattery which she never got from the dwarves (and often got from her victims) and allowed the queen to comb out her hair. Grimhilde selected a poisoned comb from her basket, and combed Snow White's lovely hair, weeping internally at how gorgeous the girl had grown and wishing she could take another course but things were set now. Snow fell onto the floor of the cottage, poisoned and weak.
The dwarves returned to find her beyond even her usual pale complexion, weeping blood and panting shallow breaths. When they found no corset they searched around her person until the comb came out, and she coughed and shook and came slowly back to life as the source of the poison was removed. The dwarves took time to wonder at Snow White's intelligence – hadn't there been one attempt on her life already? Hadn't she learned her lesson? She certainly thought she had now if not before.
This time the Queen did not wait. The very next morning she came to the mirror and almost shouted her questions at it. But, "Queen you are full fair tis true, but in the cottage, in the glen, with the seven little man, still stands Snow White, who is ten thousand times more fair than you." Blood. Smoke. Fire. Iron. The queen, for the very first time in her life, swore aloud. The girl was a cat, impossible to truly destroy. The very universe seemed on her side. What was needed to prevent the coming calamity was a way to disable her as long as possible, without trying so actively to kill her. Back to the books it was then.
It was a while before she hit upon the solution, which was probably a good thing as it meant Snow forgot enough caution to not stab any peddler on sight. Snow was making a feast for the dwarves, it was one of their birthdays – the one who usually wore orange, all this time and she still couldn't pronounce their names. Dwarven language is rough on royal vocal cords.
"That smells wonderful!"
Snow nearly jumped from her skin at the cheerful voice. She glared at the lovely young farmer girl and considered if the knife she was using on the apples was sharp enough to kill the woman if it was thrown. Probably. But…she looked too pretty to be her stepmother in disguise frankly, and she had a basket of apples, enough for a whole other pie.
"How much for the apples." Snow spoke shortly and didn't really use question marks.
"I'll trade you for that recipe and comb! It's so pretty." Snow had cleaned the poisoned comb and used it. She fingered it gently now, considering. That was a good deal, it wasn't like she needed the comb.
"Done."
The girl took the comb, listened to the recitation of the recipe a few times over, then placed the basket on the windowsill and left. Snow pulled the basket closer. The apples were so fresh and juicy. Right on top there was one gleaming gold and blush pink, fit to burst with ripeness. Snow took a bite.
When the dwarves found her that evening, pale and faint, they combed her hair and cleaned her skin, unlaced her corset and checked for wounds. But there was nothing. Her cheeks still held their faint rosy color, she looked simply sleeping without breathing. They didn't cry really – they were too stoic for that on the whole, but in the end they could not bear to bury such beauty in the ground. They crafted her a coffin of glass, edged in their gold and decorated with their gems, a true work of art.
It sat in their glen, and she did not rot or fade. The queen had done her work well. Snow lay there, not dead, not living, not able to cause the destruction forseen. The mirror had told her so. "Snow White still lies pale and fair, in the glen with sun and air, but once again your rule is true, there is no beauty fairer than you." And she had seen the coffin and wept, but there was no blood, no smoke, no fire. She breathed, truly took a deep free breath, for the first time in years. She should have known better. You cannot halt a prophecy, only delay it a little while.
Several years went by in peace and prosperity, the forest no longer a land of death under Snow White's rule. So it came to pass that even the nobility of other lands rode through. And a man named Ferdinand, who was a prince in a distant kingdom, passed the coffin of Snow White. He saw much in her face – a beautiful artwork, a maiden he could have loved, a fierce determination and haughty pride appropriate to a princess. He spoke with the dwarves, and made a deal with them. Protection from any kingdom ruling their home and caverns, visits to and supplies from the palace when they wished, and he would buy their artwork that was Snow White. They agreed. Art was not meant to be hoarded and hidden away.
He gathered a carriage and pallbearers to bring her to his kingdom. On the way into the palace, one carrier tripped, knocking all down. The coffin fell hard onto its end but did not shatter – those Dwarves did good work, certainly! – and then something strange occurred. The girl within the coffin opened her bright eyes, pushed the lid open, and gracefully stepped out. She was barefoot and the morning sun lit her dress to look as pale as her skin. She peered around. She did not look afraid. She took a step towards the prince over a piece of apple, and took his hand.
Grimhilde listened to the announcement of her fellow monarch's wedding. She was invited. But she felt in her bones that something was deeply wrong. For the first time in a long while, she consulted with her mirror. "Should I attend this wedding?" No rhymes, no games. But the mirror would only reply "Queen you are full fair tis true, but Prince Ferdinand's bride is fairer than you." Smoke, fire, iron. It didn't matter how she worded the question or asked anything else unrelated. Finally she screamed in frustration and threw the mirror down. Out of the cracks floated a soul, the prophet trapped within, who sang his rhyme once more before fading away at last. She lay in the wreckage of her foreknowledge and cried.
She still attended the wedding of course. She knew she had only delayed the inevitable. It was hardly a surprise in the end to see her stepdaughter standing at the altar. At the reception afterwards, Snow welcomed Grimhilde with a hug and a kiss as were given by Judas. She cried out to all and sundry, false tears brimming, how this woman had commanded her death to take control of the kingdom rightfully Snow's, attempted assassinations by her own hand once that had failed, and at last locked Snow in enchanted sleep only for her to finally be rescued by her "dear, sweet Ferdinand". All the guests looked at the Queen in horror. Ferdinand held his weeping new wife, and demanded the guards apprehend Grimhilde. Snow screamed hysterically that she was a traitor, treasonous, probably had led her father to his death 7 years prior. Ferdinand declared it so, and she suffered the punishment for such crimes. Bolted into iron shoes and stood on red hot coals, she burned within and without, watching the demon in her stepdaughter's eyes dance with glee until Grimhilde was dead.
Within the year King, Queen, and Prince had all died in moments of terrible, accidental tragedy. The populace, who loved their perfect and pale Princess, saw no problem with her taking control of this country in addition to reclaiming her own throne.
Peace did not come to either land for a long, long time.