The names of the dwarves—I didn't choose them. I wanted to at least keep that part accurate, in reference to the Goodtimes movie. So I know they're weird…

Chapter Four:

The Dwarves

Snow White kept to the lighter part of the forest, running at a measured pace more acceptable to her protesting body. The fear had lessened by now, and she was starting to worry about other things, foremost of which being how she was going to survive out in the woods. She didn't know how to hunt, or fish, or build a shelter—in short, she didn't know the first thing about survival. She could cook reasonably well, but only when ingredients and recipes were provided for her. Perhaps if she just kept on going, she would reach the edge of the forest, and a town of some kind.

So preoccupied was she with these thoughts that she did not notice the cottage until she had practically reached its front door. It was pragmatically built, with a professional looking thatched roof and solid brick walls. Though it had obviously been made to be sturdy, it had a certain charming quality that soothed her frazzled nerves.

She approached the door, hoping fervently that the owners would allow her to stay long enough to catch her breath, and perhaps give her something to eat. It was a practical wood door, held together by plain iron bands as well as untarnished nails. Raising a weary hand, she knocked. "Hello?" she called. "Is anyone at home?" There was no answer. She went to the window, and peered inside. She couldn't see anyone, so she returned to the door. "Hello, can anyone hear me?" Still no answer. She pulled back the latch and cautiously opened it. "I said, is there anybody here?"

There was no one inside, but it seemed that someone had been very recently: the bowls of soup on the table had faint tendrils of steam rising from them. There was a plain, wooden table in middle of the room, lined with miniature chairs. There was a fireplace on the one wall, and a small room opposite it filled with beds. As she walked into the main room, she realized that the table was half as high as a normal one would be, as were the chairs and the beds. This must be a house for children, she realized. She counted the chairs; there were seven. It never occurred to her to wonder why seven little children were living alone in the woods.

The table was covered with delicious-looking food—breads, fruit, soup…. It was all simple, much unlike the elaborate banquets held in the palace. But her stomach complained just the same, after enduring so long without sustenance. "Surely they won't mind if I take a little something," she said to herself, taking a piece of the bread and devouring it. It was wonderful. She then sampled some of the fruits, soup, and a slice of meat, surprised at how good it all was.

"What nice little children must live here," she said thoughtfully, feeling weariness spread over her body. As she lay down across three of the little beds, she murmured, "I must try and stay awake… long enough… to thank them for their kindness to me…."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Even if Snow White had wondered how seven children could survive on their own in the middle of a forest, she never would have guessed at the truth. In fact, this house did not belong to children at all—but to dwarves. And as such, it was no great surprise that the house was empty; the dwarves spent all day in their mines. Contrary to popular thought, it was not diamonds and rubies that they mined, but more practical things, like iron and copper. They didn't enjoy carting their ores and metals to town, of course, but it was a necessary evil. They were self-sufficient for the most part, but wheat to make bread and cloth for their garments they had to get from town. But of course, Snow White knew none of this.

As she lay asleep on the dwarves' beds, she was completely oblivious to the fact that one of these dwarves, Robin by name, had just entered the cottage. It was his turn to return from the mines early and fix supper for the seven brothers. He didn't enjoy it—a pickaxe was a much easier tool to wield than a chef's spoon, in his opinion—but he didn't complain, as some of his brothers did. What was the point? Someone had to cook the food, and it was only once a week. He had been out chopping wood for the fire; Tadpole had neglected to refill the wood pile. Fortunately there had been enough to get supper finished, but that didn't make Robin any less annoyed with his brother. It seemed to him that, to live harmoniously and self-sufficiently, everyone had to pull his own weight.

In fact, Tadpole had been shirking quite a bit lately. When he gets home, Robin decided, I'll—

He never finished the thought. He had just noticed that his chair was a full foot away from the table. But that was impossible. He couldn't stand having anything out of place. There was no way…. Cautiously he pushed the chair in, wondering what was going on. Maybe there was a spirit in the house. Or a goblin. Usually the creatures from Satan's part of the forest didn't come this far north. Oh, if only his pickaxe were here instead of back at the mine!

Though a knife would do little good against a spirit, Robin was about to start towards the cupboard to fetch one when the door opened behind him.

"What did you fix us?" asked Sunbeam cheerily, striding into the room.

Toadstool filed in after him. "I hope it's not squirrel again—that was a really bad idea, Robin—"

"Quiet!" cried Robin in consternation. "There's something in here!"

Cricket laughed, but Hedgehog folded his arms, looking predictably pragmatic. "Nice try, Robin. We're not falling for that one. If you fixed squirrel again, just tell us, don't try to—"

"No!" Robin interrupted angrily. "There's something in here—look, someone's been sitting in my chair!"

"That's ridiculous," Toadstool said rationally, making his way to the table. "Why, I've never heard anything so—" He suddenly cut off. "There's a bite taken out of my bread! Robin, why'd you—"

"I didn't do it!" yelled the accused dwarf, frustrated beyond belief.

Cricket, frowning, walked over to the table. He lifted a half-eaten cluster of grapes from his plate, then turned to Robin. "You hate grapes," he murmured, mystified; his eyes narrowed slightly, the subsequent shadow darkening their smoky hazel to an obscure brown.

The remaining dwarves started towards their respective places at the table, and one by one noticed unexplainable anomalies.

"Someone's been eating my soup!" declared Fawn.

"And drinking out of my glass!" Toadstool added loudly.

"And sleeping in my bed!"

Everyone whirled to look at Tadpole, who had walked over to the bedroom. The previous commotion had instantly turned to fearful silence. Hesitantly they approached the doorway, glancing at each other for a plan. "Do you think it's one of Satan's beasts?" Robin whispered.

"Give me that," Fawn ordered, gesturing to Robin's knife.

His brother was shaking too badly to effectively hand him the makeshift weapon. "You're going in there? Don't you remember that monster three years ago that—"

Fawn, ignoring him, took the knife and started towards the bedroom. He was the tallest of the brothers by almost two inches, and predictably the bravest. It was he that, three years ago, had killed the troll that had attacked them in the mines. Though it had been much larger than he, it had still been relatively small—what if this was something worse?

As he approached the sheet-enshrouded creature, his brothers crowded in the doorway, not sure if they should help or not. Tadpole, disgusted by their unsurety, grabbed a knife and pushed through to stand by Fawn. Sunbeam did the same.

Fawn smiled grimly. "On three?"

Tadpole nodded, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"One," began Fawn, doing his best not to seem afraid.

"It covers three beds!" whimpered Robin. The others ignored him.

Fawn raised his knife, poised above the mysterious mass. "Two." Tadpole's hand quivered slightly, but he forced it steady.

"Three!" yelled Fawn, and he whipped the covers into the air. His blade flashed downwards, ready to—

It was a girl.

A beautiful girl.

"Who is she?" whispered Sunbeam, his gaze somewhere betwixt bewilderment and enchantment. Her hair was long and trailed far over the beds, with a sheen of beryline blue shimmering on its perfect black, reminiscent of a raven's wings. Such a pure, unblemished whiteness of skin the dwarves had never seen—it was as if she had powdered her face in alabaster. But there was not a trace of makeup on her perfect features. Indeed, something so vain and ostentatious would have ruined her enchanting innocence.

Fawn frowned. "How did she get here?" Though all the dwarves—except perhaps Tadpole—were captivated by her beauty, he was still practical enough to overcome it.

"Isn't she beautiful?" sighed Robin, drawing closer.

"Yes," Hedgehog agreed hesitantly, "but what's she doing here?"

Fawn glared at him, pointedly setting his knife onto a dresser. "It's just a girl," he protested.

"Shhhh," warned Cricket, "you'll wake her!"

Tadpole was somewhat less enthralled than his brothers. What did it matter that she was pretty? That was how Satan performed his slyest evils—in the guise of something good. And even if she wasn't evil, she was trespassing! As his brothers continued to stare at the girl, he shouted, "Why should I be quiet?! She's the one that let herself into our house!"

"Tadpole, be—"

"I will NOT be quiet!" he yelled, stomping a powerful—but nevertheless puerile—foot that sent vibrations through the wood floor.

Despite this furious statement, he immediately fell silent as the girl opened her eyes.

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Snow White slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes. She must have fallen asleep; the children were home, judging from the noise. As she realized what had awakened her, she became uncharacteristically annoyed. It was very nice of the children to have let her come in and rest, but shouting was completely uncalled for. "Don't you know that it's rude to wake someone up by yelling?" she admonished firmly, shaking a reprimanding finger. It was for their own good—all children needed to be brought up to be polite, and so far, their actions had most certainly not been.

One of the children—who looked oddly old, now that Snow White thought about it—folded his arms. "No."

"No way," said another. He was short enough to be a child, but that beard….

Why, they weren't children at all! But then, what were they? Before Snow White could determine just what they were, another one spoke.

"You think you can sit there—on my bed—and lecture us about manners?"

As Snow White turned to look at the one who had spoken, the other children—or whatever they were—chorused in agreement. He was about half as tall as she was, and wore a diminutive tunic and a pair of well-worn breeches. His hands were grimy, and so were his sleeves; his beard was jet black and somewhat more untidy than the others' were. There was no way he could be a child, as Snow White had thought. From his deep voice and mature features, it was clear that he was much older than she. What could he be?

The Queen had never bothered to have Snow White formally taught, so all she had to go on was what she had picked up from the palace servants. The cook had always enjoyed telling her unbelievable stories about the forests beyond the castle, filled with demons and faeries and—of course! They were dwarves!

Oblivious of her sudden discovery, the one that had said "no" to her lecture about yelling asked, "Who are you, anyway?" He was slightly better looking than the one whose bed she was sitting on; they all looked fairly similar, but this one had a kindlier look about him. His eyes were a grayish hazel, the same color as the rest of the dwarves', but somehow they held a more compassionate light.

"Oh," said Snow White, "yes—we haven't been properly introduced. Only improperly awakened," she added to the one who had so rudely shouted. "My name is Snow White."

The dwarves looked at one another, clearly confused. "True you are a bit pale, my dear," said tall one with an especially deep voice, who was standing closest to her, "but what's you name?"

"Snow White is my name."

"Snow White," one mused. "Kind of an unusual name, isn't it?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I've never really thought about it." She didn't know all that many people, as the Queen had never allowed her to leave the palace. After a moment of silence, she added, "May I inquire as to your names?"

"I'm Sunbeam," said the kindly-looking one. His decision to speak first made Snow White decide he was the leader of the group.

"Toadstool," another one said.

The deep-voiced one said, "My name is Fawn."

"You can call me Hedgehog."

"Robin."

"Cricket."

"My name is Tadpole, and you are still sitting on my bed!"

Snow White, unused to being so rudely addressed, jumped up immediately. "I'm sorry. I am pleased to meet all of you." She curtsied elegantly, more out of respect for etiquette than anything else.

The dwarves all voiced various polite replies, removing their hats and bowing to her. Tadpole was visibly late, and Snow White could hear him muttering, "Yeah, well…"

Maybe they were civilized after all. The servants at the palace may not have been schooled in courtly manners, but they had the courtesy to address her in a civil manner. It was nice to see that people outside the palace were the same way. In fact, she thought they were—

"Well, little Miss Rainy Day," Tadpole sneered, "have you ever heard of a thing called 'trespassing'?"

Maybe they aren't so nice, she thought regretfully. "It's 'Snow White'," she corrected him, offended. She had made the effort to remember his name (though she couldn't quite keep the rest straight; Tadpole was easy to remember because he was so rude) so why couldn't he extend her the same courtesy? "And yes, I have heard of it. I'm so sorry, but I knocked and knocked and nobody answered, and the door was open so I came inside. And I guess I just… fell asleep."

"On my bed."

"I said I was sorry! I was so tired from running," she explained, starting to cry, "and I had no place else to go. "I had to get as far away from the Queen as I could, and—" Voicing these statements made them suddenly much more real to her, and the reality that the Queen was out to kill her, and that she had no place to go…. She broke off, sobbing disconsolately into her hands.

"There, there," said the one with the deep-voice, patting her arm reassuringly—Fawn, was his name?—"don't cry." Another dwarf fished around in a drawer of the bureau and handed her what appeared to be a rag. It took her a moment to realize that it was it was being offered in lieu of a handkerchief, which she supposed they wouldn't have much use for. She accepted it gratefully.

"Why are you running from the Queen?" inquired one. "Not that you need an excuse, mind you."

Apparently the dwarves had heard of the Queen. "She is my stepmother," Snow White explained, drying her eyes.

"That's no reason to run away," protested Fawn. "I can understand that you might not get along all of the time, but still, that is no reason to run away."

"He's right," agreed Moonbeam. No, that wasn't it. What was his name…? Sunbeam—yes, it must have been Sunbeam. "You must go home. The Queen may not be the nicest person, but I'm sure she's worried about you."

Snow White shook her head, starting to cry again. "But you don't understand—she wishes me dead!"

"Dead?!" exclaimed three dwarves at the same time. The others seemed just as appalled, but somehow they didn't seem surprised.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's true. The royal huntsman says it's because she is jealous."

"Well," said Sunbeam, "I can't say I'm terribly surprised—the Queen is a very vain and evil woman. Every time we go to town—which is fortunately seldom—we have to hear at least one person talking about her latest atrocities. Though I'm certain that the gossip has been grossly exaggerated, the basis must be true. All the stories speak of how she cannot stand for anything to be more beautiful than she is."

"Which you definitely are," added Robin.

Snow White smiled. "Why, thank you."

"There was one story," continued Sunbeam, "about a girl in a village somewhere near the palace who everyone declared was the most beautiful girl the world had ever seen. They crowned her 'Queen of the Rose,' or something like that. Three days after the celebration, the girl disappeared. For a long while no one knew what had happened to her, but six months later, a neighbor found one of her earrings in the mire behind the palace, where all the garbage is dumped."

Snow White was horrified. "And—and you think that the Queen—"

"I remember one story," Fawn told her, waving away her exclamation, "about how a maid, on her first day in the palace, got lost and found herself in a dungeon. And down there were twenty girls, all with perfect lines of scars on their arms and legs, each an inch apart—"

"The maid ran away," Toadstool cut in, earning a glare from Fawn, "and hid in the town where we sell the ore we mine—"

"We're miners," Cricket explained to Snow White.

"—which is how we found out about her story," Toadstool finished. "That is, before the Queen had her silenced."

Snow White shuddered. The dwarves continued discussing the Queen, but she was too horrified to pay any more attention. What other horrible things would she learn? To take her mind off of her stepmother—whom she had previously thought only good things of—she studied the various dwarves. Tadpole was leaning against a dresser. He was the only one of the dwarves to have lines across his face indicative of a perpetual frown. The current scowl on his face clearly one of disgust. Well, that was alright; in time, she'd show him that she was a person worth liking.

Cricket—at least, she thought that was his name—was standing to the right of Tadpole, seeming to be the most jovial of the lot. In fact, he didn't seem to be taking anything seriously, even the quite sobering conversation about the Queen. He just listened amicably, munching on a cluster of grapes he'd brought from the other room. As another dwarf related a tale concerning the daughter of a miller up in Ghent, Cricket noticed Snow White looking at him and winked affably. She smiled back; he would be very easy to get along with, if the dwarves allowed her to stay.

This brought a terrible thought to mind—what if the dwarves wouldn't let her stay? She shuddered; what horrors awaited her in the forest? "Where will I go?" she wondered sadly, hoping beyond hope that they would offer her a place with them.

The dwarves fell silent, all talk of the Queen suddenly seeming irrelevant in comparison to the issue at hand. "Why," Hedgehog said, surprised, "you can stay with—"

"Are you going to include the rest of us in making that decision?" demanded Tadpole.

"Oh—yes," stumbled the dwarf. "Snow White, would you be kind enough to excuse us for a moment?"

"Of course," she replied immediately.

The dwarves left the room, and Snow White could hear them talking—albeit quietly—all at once. For the most part she could not distinguish what they were saying, although she did hear Tadpole's voice muttering, "Ah, I don't know…."

Snow White tried not to listen, thinking that it would be unforgivably rude. They would tell her their decision. But what if they didn't let her stay…?

The dwarves filed back in, led by a smiling Sunbeam. "You can stay with us!"

"Here? Really?" exclaimed Snow White, overjoyed.

"For as long as you like," assured Fawn. "We'll protect you from that—that—" Sunbeam elbowed him, none too gently, effectively silencing his potential profanity.

"Still," Tadpole protested, "I don't know, brothers. We don't have much extra room around here."

"Oh, please," begged Snow White, jumping to her feet. "I would love to stay here with you! I won't take up much room; and in return I can cook for you and clean the house and mend your clothes and—"

Tadpole interrupted, eyes narrowed. "Hang on, hold it! If you're a princess, like you say you are, how come you know how to cook and clean and sew?"

"The Queen didn't allow me to have any servants," she shrugged.

The rude dwarf considered her thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, fine then," he conceded at last. "You can stay—for a little while, at least. But," he added, eyeing the wrinkled sheets of his bed, "you'll have to find someplace else to sleep."