Summary: The story is far from over, but has only just begun.
Disclaimer: I don't own Into The Woods.
Author's Note: This is a non-canon story full of twists and turns to where the Baker's Wife lives and her moment with the Crown Prince is far from over. It is based squarely on the movie, which was a delightful treat to see.
Rating: T
AFTER EVER
Home. The bakery.
In the last two days, it was difficult for the Baker to see either in the same degree. Haunting memories of his wife lingered like a layer of flour on the wooden table set in the back end of their little shop. Each corner of room replayed vivid details of her warm smiles, and industrious fortitude that rattled painfully in his mind.
Only the maddening pleas for aid in the form of friends and neighbors distracted him from his own grief. Out of mercy, he pulled open the storage pantry, and for the last two days, he and Cinderella dispensed: bread, sweet cakes, and cookies. Anything to bring some comfort to the people of the village.
"He's sleeping," came a soft voice, her smile faint. Cinderella entered the shop with his son bundled in her arms. The sweet babe was blessing out of a curse laid on his household. His innocent loveable face, tugged at his heartstrings, and for a second he was ashamed. He had come close to abandoning his child.
Just like your father, a cruel thought hissed in his mind.
"I'm not my father," he rambled out.
Stunned, Cinderella tipped her head, before saying. "No," she approached him to deposit the child in his arms. "You are not."
The little face scrunched and tiny arms stretched before the babe settled contently in his father's arms. The Baker's breath hitched and laughter trickled out.
"His wet nurse thanks you for bread. A far greater payment than silver at moment."
The Baker gaped blushing at the idea of a wet nurse. "I'll see to it that she's has all that she needs Cinderella." He blanched. "Sorry, Ella…right?"
She nodded and looked away sadly. "My stepsisters called me Cinderella. Always teased me. Called me 'Dirty Cinders' or Cinderlass." A well of tears burned underneath her mink like lashes and she rushed to wipe them away. "I don't want to be Cinderella anymore."
"And you'll never will be, I will always call you Ella. I promise," he said gently. They stared at one another for a few moments, a sense of compassion and understanding passed between the two. The Baker cleared his throat. "Where are Jack and Red?"
"Oh," Cinderella walked to window and peered out. "Fetching firewood."
"I heard the Crown Prince has rallied the soldiers and they've gone to river to get water. Since the well in the center of village has been destroyed, it could take days before it is repaired."
"That's noble of him," she replied, mindlessly taking a broom to sweep the floor.
For the next hour, they labored in silent unison, clearing up broken bits of glass, throwing out broken furniture. They were outside when in the distance they saw wagon racing away.
"Isn't that King's Steward?" The Baker asked. "Now, where is he off too in such a hurry?"
"Careful you bumbling fool," hissed the Steward at the young cowhand driving the cart through the village. It bumped and jerked madly on the old dusty road; the wheels groaning and squeaking in effort as the horsed hauled the wagon to the outskirts of the woods. His pinball eyes twitched about the heights of the trees looking for signs of any movement beyond the ordinary. A raven cawed in the distance causing a ghostly chill to race up his spine.
"'Pologies mi lord," said the boy. "Tis hard wi' these fallen trees in the road? The giant…"
"Yes! Yes!" Barked the Steward, the knuckles of his hands paled white as he gripped the railing. "Just get us to the Royal Hunting lodge in one piece."
"Yes mi lord," and the boy whipped the reigns urging the horses to trot faster.
Hesitantly, the Steward looked past his shoulder behind to spy the peasant woman lying in the back. She was bundled in uniform coats with her head resting in the lap of old soldier. He met the Steward's gaze. As though reading his mind he said, "She's well for now but we must hurry. Her wounds may be more severe than they look."
At this, the Steward whacked the cowhand in the back of head. "Faster you fool! Faster!"
"Yes mi lord," he whimpered.
Cracking the reigns the horses whinnied and charged on in greater haste. The wagon bounced and surged off the ground from the increase in speed. Despite it brining a bright morning, the leveled trees and underbrush darkened the grim shadows the woods seemed even more terrifying. The extent of the giant's attack was terrifying, even worse was when they left the woods and were in open country.
The carnage was evident.
Another chill raced up the Steward's spine; a sinking feeling coiling in the midst of his stomach. Something told him the danger was far from over and that before long the people this country would suffer an even greater loss. Flippantly making a rude noise, he tossed the omen aside, and stared straight on ahead. Ignoring the few vagabonds who'd recognized him and ran out to the roadside begging.
"Be off miscreants," he cried smoothing the edge of his mustache, before caressing a royal pendant of pure gold. It was given to him by the King.
An hour past noon the cart rumbled into the great courtyard of the Royal Hunting lodge. Erected in the last century by the Crown Prince's great grandfather, a man with a great passion for hunting elk and deer, the estate was built of grey stone and oak. Although impressively large, it was simple in design and furniture.
The dead King was extremely tightfisted and frugal.
"Hurry! Come quick!" He hollered to the trope of servants coming out of the lodge. "Quickly now, take her inside," he seized the front shirt of a stable boy. "Send for the doctor caring for the King and see he does all in all to save her life. Or the Crown Prince will have your hide."
"Yes sir," the boy raced inside after the men carrying the woman into the house.