Here is the first part of a trilogy focused on Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. This is a prequel to the movie, focused on the Dwarfs and how six became seven. Enjoy.
The Dwarf staggered through the woods, his gait awkward as each step sent a stab of pain through his leg. He was weak, dizzy with exhaustion, and ready to fall into his bedroll. But he had to keep going. If they caught him, he was in trouble. He hadn't even stolen the goods because of that dratted cat. But he hadn't been caught yet, a small mercy. The woods were his current refuge, and they would have trouble finding him. He continued to push his aching, weary body forward. Just a little farther and he could rest his aching limbs, have a bite of supper, and plan his next move.
The moon was beginning to peek through the trees when things went wrong. He stumbled over a root and a searing pain lit his reality as his leg twisted. He gasped and hit the ground, his fingers clutching at the hastily bandaged wound. The bandages were soaked and more blood coated the Dwarf's grasping fingers. He groaned, too tired to do anything but lay there, whimpering and bleeding. He knew it wasn't good. He'd bleed to death before he woke up, but he just couldn't go any further or even sit up and reach his medical supplies.
After trying to force himself to move, he resigned himself to his fate. It was oddly peaceful as he accepted it. He'd never had anybody but himself, and nobody would mourn him when he was gone. It was better this way. He was tired, exhausted beyond the need for sleep, and his looming death felt like being tucked in to await the darkness.
As he lay there, breathing slowly, his ears caught a noise. After a moment, he recognized it as singing. A group of men was singing a jaunty tune, whistling in between verses. It wasn't the worst song he'd heard. It was homey, comforting, and he relaxed as he listened, his fingers tiredly slipping from his bandages. The singing was getting louder, and he wondered how close they would pass to him. It sounded so nice…
There was a startled yelp and the singing stopped abruptly. The Dwarf could see light through his eyelids, but they were much too heavy to lift.
"What in the world!" a man shouted.
"Oh, gosh! Is he dead?" cried another man, panicked.
"I don't know. Stay here," the first man said.
The Dwarf felt fingers brush across his forehead and his eyelid was opened. The light stung so badly after the darkness of the woods at night. He squeezed his eye shut again, feebly stirring as he tried to swat him away.
"He's alive!" a third man exclaimed. "He's alive, ain't he, Doc?"
Doc's fingers moved to his throat, pressing down to take a pulse. "Yes. He's alive." The hands trailed down to his bloodstained pants leg. "But he's wounded. We need to get him home and I'll take a look at him. Happy, come and help me."
Strong, steady hands grabbed the Dwarf and lifted him from the forest floor. He gasped in a breath at a stab of pain. The one called Doc murmured gently to him.
"Don't you worry. You'll be okay." Then a bit louder. "Dopey, grab that pack."
"It's a good thing we're so close to home," a fourth man said, yawning.
"Yeah," said another, sounding as if he had a cold. "That looks bad."
"Gentle steps and steady hands, Happy," Doc said firmly. "Ready? Okay!"
Each step was a small agony, but the hands held him steady. His awareness slipped for a while but came back when he was jolted.
"Drat!" Doc snapped. "Sleepy, open the door. Dopey, Sneezy, clear the table. Bashful, my kit. Come on, Happy."
There was a scramble of movement and a lot of noise then Doc and Happy grunted as they lifted him onto a flat surface. The Dwarf still couldn't open his eyes, but he stirred a little, his mouth dry and his throat parched. He let out a little croak then his body contracted as he coughed.
"Water," Doc said at once.
More movement then his head was tilted up and a ladle was held to his mouth.
"Come on. Drink this," Doc murmured.
He tipped the spoon, moistening the Dwarf's lips. The Dwarf parted his lips and sweet, cool water flowed into his mouth. He swallowed with great effort and took another sip as a thump sounded beside him.
"Good. Get soap. Boil water. Quick now," Doc ordered, still spooning water into the Dwarf's mouth.
After two full ladles of water, the spoon was taken away and he felt fingers at his throat, undoing his dark cloak.
"Bashful, help me undress him."
"Undress him!" Bashful exclaimed. "Gosh…"
"Now, Bashful!" Doc said.
"It's just a bit personal all of a sudden…"
Another set of hands, this pair hesitant, started working on loosening the ties of his shirt.
"I'm sure he'd prefer to be alive, even if we must disregard his modesty," Doc said briskly.
"If you say so."
When he was undressed, Doc probed around the worst wound, the one on his thigh where he'd jerked the arrow out. He'd thought he'd been hidden, that he'd have time to properly bandage himself up, but the dog had roused him and he'd had to make do.
"Gosh, that's a lot of blood," Bashful breathed next to him as the bandages were removed.
"Hot water. Bandages. And my suture. We've got to close this now."
The Dwarf shifted in discomfort as hot water was poured on his leg, washing the blood away. Small fingers slipped into his, squeezing gently.
"Dopey, what are you doing?" Doc asked.
Silence, but his hand was lifted.
"Oh. Yes, that's good. Squeeze his hand."
Dopey obeyed, and the Dwarf squeezed back weakly, oddly comforted by the small hand.
"Okay. If you can hear me, stay still," Doc said.
The sharp prick of the needle barely registered. The wound itself throbbed. The Dwarf stayed still, breathing slowly. He was impressed by the steady hands. Apparently Doc was a doctor, and he was very good. It was a comfort to be cared for, for once in his life, and the Dwarf reveled in it. He was so lonely, with more acquaintances than he knew what to do with and not a single friend or relative in the world. In fact, he wasn't even sure if this was a fever dream brought on by his collapse. It probably was, knowing his luck. But while he was dreaming it, he decided that he would enjoy it.
Dopey continued to squeeze his hand, and he twitched his fingers every once in a while to let him know he was still awake. Doc finished the stitching on his leg then moved to his other wounds. The Dwarf knew he had a terrible bruise on his side across his ribs from hitting the ground wrong after jumping from a window. His ankle was twisted and swollen, cuts and scrapes covered his face and hands from the thorns and branches he'd shoved to try and get away, and he had other lacerations and a black eye from the fistfight with the burly man who'd grabbed him before he'd jumped.
Doc probed every wound, gentle and mindful of his patient's pain and discomfort. He administered salve to the Dwarf's bruises and cuts, bandaging some of the worst ones. The Dwarf was so tired, and as the time passed, he began fading in and out of consciousness, awoken only by Dopey squeezing his fingers every once in a while. Finally, a gentle hand brushed his forehead and he forced his eyes open, wanting to see the kind men who were helping him. What he saw were six faces that were most assuredly not human. In fact, they were his size.
'Dwarfs…' he thought blankly as he struggled to stay awake. 'They're… they're Dwarfs… Not men…'
Surprised, he raked his eyes over the lot of their staring, curious, worried faces then focused on the one hovering over him, the one called Doc. He wore spectacles that were perched on his nose and he had the most intense brown eyes that no doubt saw far more than most. He had a short, neat mostly grey beard streaked with red, which meant he was pretty young. If he had any color left in his beard, he had to be a little older than the Dwarf himself, who bitterly cursed himself for being a Dwarf because he was losing his black hair so quickly. Humans always mistook him for being far older than he was, and he despised that.
Doc smiled kindly. "There now. You can rest now. You'll be okay."
The Dwarf wanted to thank him, but his couldn't. He was far too tired. He couldn't go any farther. As he closed his eyes to fall asleep, he wondered what death was like, and he was glad to have had a such a nice fever dream before he slept forevermore. He tumbled into oblivion and knew no more.
Doc watched the Dwarf sleep, his curiosity burning. He recognized some of the wounds, like the arrow wound. What had this poor Dwarf been doing to have been so badly wounded?
"What now?" Sneezy asked.
Doc turned toward the fire to see Sneezy, Bashful, Sleepy, and Happy standing there, staring at the Dwarf. He knew why. The Dwarf had obviously had a rough life. Even Bashful was openly staring at the naked stranger, not a hint of color on his cheeks. Dopey was still holding the Dwarf's hand, and he tilted his head at Doc, asking the same question.
"He needs bedrest," Doc said.
"Who's sleeping down here?" Sleepy asked blearily.
"I will," Doc said. "He can have my bed. Happy, help me get him upstairs."
Without a word, Happy helped Doc to carry the Dwarf upstairs. He was surprisingly light, and Happy grew worried as they tucked him into bed.
"Do ya think he's had enough to eat?" he asked Doc once the Dwarf was settled.
"Not lately," Doc said grimly. "He's too skinny. And that's not going to help him heal."
Happy nodded. "Then I'll get up early and make a good, hearty breakfast."
"No guarantees he'll wake up in time for breakfast. Better make the usual and we'll have a good lunch," Doc said, smiling and patting Happy's shoulder.
"So we're not going to the mine?" Sneezy asked from the doorway.
"You all can. I'd better stay here. He's not going to be able to do much by himself."
Dopey shook his head intently and pointed at himself then the floor and crossed his arms.
"Dopey's right. We'd better stay here," Bashful said, stroking his short, red beard. "I feel awful bad for him."
"Yeah. He looks roughed up," Sleepy murmured. He turned to eye his bed then placed a hand on his stomach as it growled. "Guess we'd better get some dinner."
"A cold dinner of bread and cheese will be fine," Doc said.
As the others headed for the door, Doc looked down at the worn, weary face of the unknown Dwarf in his bed and carefully adjusted the blankets, tucking them securely in. The Dwarf murmured softly and relaxed back into the straw-stuffed mattress. Satisfied that he was comfortable, Doc turned and went to leave. He left the door cracked just in case, looked at the wounded Dwarf one last time, then headed downstairs to clean up the mess on the table and get something on his stomach.