Disclaimer: I do not own or claim rights to "Snow White and the Huntsman".

A/N: Dear all, I hope you enjoy this next chapter. I realize that the end of the last chapter was a bit unfair. The good news is that I have decided to extend this story by another chapter or two. The bad news is that this chapter also ends on a bit of a cliff-hanger.

Also, I would really appreciate reviews! Only now do I understand how nice they are to receive!

The Subtlety of Good Ale

For a brief moment, the huntsman did not speak, overwhelmed by her near-naked form. She smiled, but not serenely, perhaps pleased for the first time to have her beauty on display. This moment of reflection on his part was eclipsed by Snow, who surprised him by hurtling forward. With ease, she began to remove his goatskin jacket; she was a bit more timid with his breeches, but those too she helped him take off.

He laughed kindly and said, "Not so innocent now, are we?"

She did not respond but rather pressed herself against the length of his body, vining her legs around his lower torso. The huntsman responded swiftly; cupping her bottom tightly, he carried her over to the bed and gently laid her down. Her dark hair pooled around her head like a scorched halo and he watched her, silenced once more by an inextinguishable aura.

"I must to tell you a story," he said abruptly.

The emotions on her faced stalled; she tried to understand the context of his words. Snow tucked in her elbows and raised herself into an upward position.

"I did not take you for a storyteller," she said curtly; she could not conceal her unease.

"Aye, you are right. I have no gift for tales but this story presses on my mind." He trailed his hand along the hem of her shift.

Snow promptly realized that he was reluctant to touch her unclothed body. She decided that his desire to tell a story had arisen from some fount of reserve.

"Is this story about marriage?" she asked, now determined to speak openly about his doubts.

She added quickly, "I mean… is the tale about the relations between a wife and husband on the eve of their marriage?"

The huntsman smiled and answered freely, "The 'birds and the bees', you mean?"

Snow's brow crumpled in confusion and he saved her by saying, "never mind the 'birds and the bees'. All I meant to ask was if you knew about these kinds of marital relations. I do not mean to offend, god knows you are vastly cleverer than me, but what could you have learned about… lovemaking, locked up in a tower for most of your youth?"

She hesitated in her response and instead retrieved a grey woolen blanket from the corner of the bed. She wrapped the cloth around her shoulders and leaned against the bordering stone wall. The huntsman kept his hand on her exposed thigh, but made no move to warm her.

"I know some things," she conceded. "You are wrong about the tower. Perhaps I learned too much there. For many years, I watched as young women were imprisoned in cells like mine. Ravenna's guards and Finn, that is… you know, the queen's brother… they were not kind to these women. I did not witness these women's afflictions, but I heard the effects. Sometimes a woman would explain her hurt to me. Eric, I can tell that you are plainly upset. But know that I was never touched… not really."

She chose not to elaborate on Finn's sexual advances or the episode before her escape from the tower. She did not want to burden the huntsman with the past. She realized too that she had still not reconciled herself to Finn's depraved desire.

The huntsman placed his head in his hands, overcome by the truth of her words.

"That is no education. That is… that is violence," he said. Yet he did not apologize for this violence; he knew that no words could mend this kind of hate.

Snow sat in silence, relieved but unsure how to proceed.

The huntsman then claimed another woolen blanket and placed it atop of his and Snow's laps. He took her hand in his and she caught her breath, surprised by the force of a simple touch.

"Now tell me your story," she said gently.

"Aye? Perhaps another time."

"Come on… Eric," she demanded. "You cannot withhold a tale. You have made me curious."

"Does the queen demand it?"

"Aye, she does."

He hesitated and then answered, "I'm worried it shall displease you."

"Has that stopped you before?"

He laughed and responded, "You are right, of course. I like to see you vexed."

"Oh, and why's that?"

He leaned down and drew his mouth close her ear, placing his arm across her chest and his hand on her shoulder.

She caught her breath and tried to turn her face towards his, to entrap him in kiss, but he stilled her with his hands, saying, "now, now, a queen must have patience."

Snow's face burned and she was about to rebuke him for his provocations when he whispered hoarsely, "sometimes I take pleasure in agitating you, because I want to see your flushed face… yes this one. It satisfies me to see your competitive spirit and to hear the products of your quick wit. Sometimes, I imagine…"

He then kissed her on her neck and his hot breath caressed her chilled body. The effects of his touch were evident: she felt a deep ache inside and wondered idly how her desire could be assuaged.

"What is it that you imagine?" She responded after a moment's pause, her own thoughts clouded by her need for the huntsman.

"I become absorbed in the thought that perhaps your naked body flushes when you are vexed. And I imagine taking you when we are both…"

"… maddened?" She supplied.

"Aye."

This affirmation of desire acted as a catalyst; the huntsman latched his hands around Snow's waist and in a successive motion, he drew her onto his lap, with her bent knees positioned on either side of his body. She straddled him and rested her hand atop of his shoulders; her face mere inches from his own. Her bottom pressed against the huntsman's naked form and she could feel the hard traces of his ardor. He ran his hands against her inner thighs, roughly bunching the material of her shift against her torso. He stared for a moment at her exposed sex and then shook his head and trailed his hands from her thighs to her breasts. His fingers deftly skimmed over her hardened nipples. Dipping his head forward, he forcibly drew her chest to his mouth and through the thin material of her shift she could feel the moisture of his breath upon her skin. Leisurely, he returned his left hand to the apex of her upper thighs, and with a purposeful glance, he began to stroke her sex.

She closed her eyes, trying to relax. She was overwhelmed by the feel of his hands and mouth, coupled with the intensity of his predatory stare. Snow then realized that this was something that he excelled at… perhaps comparable to hunting, or combat. Physical contact came naturally to him. She was not startled to learn that their quarrels aroused him. It made sense.

As the pace of the huntsman's fingers quickened and her arousal mounted, she began to angle her body against his hand. As he watched her stir and writhe astride him, he took pleasure in her display of power; he found that he quite enjoyed the vision of her above him.

Snow could barely breathe; she placed one hand on his shoulder as an anchor. As the tension in her groin intensified, she petitioned for some kind of release. She pressed herself against his upper torso; the forward motion of her body, united with the huntsman's mouth on her neck, her cheeks, and her chest, enacted the desired effect. Snow only now opened her eyes; she had forgotten she had closed them. Crying out, she watched the huntsman break into a smile at the sound of her release. He captured her in his arms and she settled against his chest. Resting, she realized that this was their first embrace. He had never held her before.

"That was faster than I had expected," he said. She could tell that he was trying to withhold laughter.

"Did I do something wrong?" She tried to suppress the doubt in her voice.

The huntsman seized her forward so that their eyes were level; he looked startled by her question.

"God no… no of course not." He ran his hand across her brow. "I just meant that I am pleased that you were so affected by my touch. It was… well, it was too much, really; I almost let go, myself. Believe me, I died a thousand deaths watching you… like that."

Snow nodded, relieved that she had not somehow made a fool of herself. She kissed him and he enfolded her into his arms.

"You know," she said, "I now understand what this means."

"Aye? Cuz' I have no bloody clue, myself." He cradled her head and stroked her hair.

She paused a moment and considered how to frame her answer. She wanted to tell him that she had never kissed a man before him and that before him she had never dreamed of sex, had never wanted to. Before she had met him, sex had meant violence and death. Sex was not even redeemed in married life. She remembered the myths about Ravenna; the worst tale had been that her own father had died beneath her naked form. Ravenna had killed him while he was still inside her. For so many years, this had proved to her that even the most intimate kind of love could still contain a sort of evil. No… She did not know how to tell Eric these concerns. Or how to tell him that she now understood what sex could mean. That it could mean everything, really.

More than that she wanted to tell him that she was not afraid of the consequences of their love; she itched to say that she did not care what the council said about their union.

Yet instead of exposing these truths, she answered, "I love you. And I want to be with you tonight."

"Are we not together now?"

When she did not respond he added, "perhaps it's time for that tale."

"You are afraid of the council," she leveraged, dismissing his diplomatic effort.

He stiffened but did not release her from his arms. "Aye, perhaps you are right. But I am not afraid of what the council can do to me. I can handle their threats. Or worse. But I cannot abide the idea of these… men… harming you. I fear that being with you, in the manner you desire, will only serve against you."

"Be honest. Do you fear the consequences of being with me openly? Or do you only fear the consequences of taking my maidenhead? Remember that I am more than a body."

"It would serve the council to remember that last bit," the huntsman responded heatedly. He raised her chin so that she could see his anger. He added, "I have seen the way society treats women… or perhaps the council renames this abuse 'tradition'. I have heard men use that word many times before. Often to justify death".

She was sure his words referred to some particularity; she could not mistake the scorn in his voice.

At last he said, "I want to share a story. But, please… do not mistake its subtext."

Snow wanted to ask what this meant but hesitated, afraid to derail his momentum.

He persisted in his tale: "I had a friend… her name was Anna. We were close when I was fifteen. Her father was the local butcher and I used to sell meat to him. Just scraps, not good stuff. But he was okay, because he let me talk with Anna. I don't remember how we became friends. It is not easy for me to get close to others. But she was special. I can't remember much about her, but I do remember that she was brave. She wanted to be a soldier like me. Would have too, if she had been a man."

He paused and Snow waited, fixated on the sparse details of his past.

"There is not much else to say. Anna confided in me. She told me that she had met an older man, some merchant. He was not staying long in town, but had promised her that he would make an offer. She told me he said was in love with her. I promised to keep her secret but was afraid of what would happen if her father found out. Or if the community knew that she had been intimate with him."

"Did she tell you that she had slept with the merchant?" Snow asked.

"Aye, she had to. She was with child and was scared. The merchant was a real pisser. A drunk too. He did not make that offer and when her father learned the news of her pregnancy, he disowned her. Just like that. And the community did not entreat to help her."

"What happened to her? Did she stay with you?"

He shook his head and in a low voice answered, "My own mum was opposed to the idea. Perhaps scared of what the other women would think. Could not change her mind. That summer I went to the war; never saw Anna again. Came back two years later and she had left. Or was dead. Her Pa couldn't say."

She did not know how to respond to the end of his tale. There was too much sadness in it.

He relieved her discomfort by saying, "listen… I did not want to share this tale, in part because it is not my intention to demonize sex. God knows sex can be glorious… perfect… transcendent, even. And in this immediate moment, actually… in every moment I share with you, there is nothing I would rather do. Perhaps hold you. This is quite nice. Haven't held a woman in a long time."

She smiled broadly, amused by his display of affection. It was unlike him to be so open.

He continued. "But I chose to share the story, if only so you would understand the reasons that I hesitate over these matters."

"I am not Anna," she whispered.

"No. You are in a far more precarious situation. You are the queen. Your body matters to the entire world, and not just to some backwater community. If the council discovers that we are intimate and unwed, the repercussions will be great."

She did not miss a beat. Snow responded earnestly, "then we should marry."

TBC…