Into the Woods fic: "After the Woods"
Mar. 5th, 2008 04:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardTitle: After the Woods
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bedlamsbard
Fandom: Into the Woods
Rating: R
Summary: Not long before he had only one child and a wife; now he had a child of his body and two not, as well as a young woman whose purpose he could not begin to explain, only that he had no idea why she continued to remain here with him, when it was clear that their intertwined lives held more trouble than they did hope or pleasure. Baker/Cinderella.
Disclaimer: Into the Woods belongs to Steven Sondheim, not me.
Once upon a time, in a far off kingdom, there lived a sad young baker, a woman who had once been a princess and was therefore no longer a maiden, a girl with a wolfskin cloak, a boy who had once slain giants, and the baker’s only child, a boy of a year. Not long before, the baker’s wife had died in the giant attacks that ravaged the kingdom, and he was saved from constant sorrow only by the distraction of Jack and Red Riding Hood, who sometimes seemed to require constant care. Cinderella was a great help both to him and to his child, whom she adored.
The fact that the baker’s wife had died had not gone unnoticed, but so many had died in the attacks that his sorrow was but a little sorrow, at least compared to those who had, perhaps, lost more. With the help of his friends, the baker rebuilt his cottage, the same cottage his father and his mother had come to so many years ago full of hope and promise. However, the cottage had been small even for the baker and his wife, and now he and his friends found themselves living practically in each other’s pockets; Jack and Red Riding Hood were constantly underfoot.
Not for the first time since he had returned to his village, the baker found himself storming off to the very outskirts of the woods, which no longer held the same terror for him that they had held once previously. Not long before he had only one child and a wife; now he had a child of his body and two not, as well as a young woman whose purpose he could not begin to explain, only that he had no idea why she continued to remain here with him, when it was clear that their intertwined lives held more trouble than they did hope or pleasure.
While few would be mad enough to venture far into the woods alone, the baker had found himself oddly at ease within the woods, for they muffled the sound that never ceased to emanate from his cottage: Jack arguing, Red Riding Hood complaining, the baby crying. He had come out here often enough that a stump covered in thick green moss had become his habitual seat, and he sat down on it now, his head in his hands.
Despite his previous adventures in the woods, the fact remained that the baker was a man unused to making decisions on his own, particularly important decisions. After his mother had died and his father had disappeared – or shall we say, run off screaming into the woods, since we now know precisely what it was the family that took the baker in had tried to cover up – the baker was taken in by a family that lived in the nearby village. This family, which had a number of children already and thus counted itself well-versed in the science of childcare, had repressed any individualistic tendencies the baker might have had. After all, he was just one more child among a dozen. They encouraged him when he showed an early talent for baking, however, and were perfectly willing to get rid of one of their daughters when she pronounced herself willing to marry the boy she had grown up with. She had been a strong-willed girl, and what she had wanted, she had been used to getting – at least until she and the baker married and moved into his (slightly dilapidated) family cottage, which had been left unmeddled with for the past nineteen years. It was there that she found that she could not, in fact, have everything she wanted, and when the baker was unable to provide the child she desired, she found herself bullying him as strongly as any of her brothers had when they had been growing up together. While it is not true that the baker had his first independent thought in the woods – he had a number of independent thoughts, and had even acted on a few of the smaller ones, including his insistence on moving back into his family’s cottage – it is true that the most serious of these was his most recent, and that thought would perhaps never have occurred if he had not been in the woods at the time.
Now the baker found himself – not alone, but not with the people he had counted on to make his decisions for him. Now he was the one who had to make decisions, and he and his makeshift family had come to a strange impasse, one of those points where life has come to a forking point. He was no longer a part of his old life, but neither had he yet acknowledged the existence of the new. For the baker, his life with Jack, Red Riding Hood, and Cinderella was still a transitory period; he did not consider it something that would last past necessity.
He was not the only one in the village who had taken in someone whose family or home had been lost in the giant attacks. Most of those whose homes had been lost were rebuilding them and would soon move back. While he had not consciously put Cinderella and the others in this category, he had, perhaps, unconsciously put them there, and yet they had shown no sign of leaving or of wanting to leave.
A breaking branch warned him of someone’s approach. Wary of the wolves that still haunted the woods – as well as other things, more mysterious, some of which he had seen in his previous travels – the baker had brought a sharp knife with him, and he sprang up with it.
It was only Cinderella, though, and she took her foot off the broken branch, looking shamefaced. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.
The baker put the knife away. When he spoke, it was sharply. “Who is with my son?”
“Riding Hood and Jack – he is asleep, and they are fond of him. All will be well,” she assured him. “I wanted to speak to you.”
“About what?” His voice was still sharp, and he was angry, waiting for something to strike out at.
Cinderella didn’t answer for some time. When she did, her words weren’t what the baker had expected. “Why do you come out here?” she asked. “After everything –”
The baker considered this question. “There’s an old story about these woods, that the souls of those who die here never leave. And – I haven’t found my wife’s body. Red Riding Hood has never found her grandmother. I don’t think – I mean, I don’t –”
“I understand,” Cinderella said softly. “My mother didn’t die in the woods, but she was buried here, and I often thought, that – well. I used to hear her, when I came here. Her voice. She gave me advice.” She paused. “I think she was the one who gave me the gift of bird speech. My stepmother used to tell me things about her, and I thought she was lying, but – maybe she wasn’t.”
“Have they told you something?” the baker asked, his voice worried.
“No, nothing like that.” She took a hesitant step towards him. “You miss her, don’t you?”
He looked down. “Every day.”
Cinderella took another step toward him, and then another, until she could reach forward and touch his hands with the tips of her fingers. “I don’t want to be your wife,” she said. “I don’t want to replace her. I don’t think I could replace her. But – I am fond of you. And I was married.”
“Cinderella?” the baker asked, and Cinderella tilted her head up and kissed him, softly and quickly, just a light brush of her lips across his mouth. She pulled back almost immediately, staring at him with wide eyes.
“I don’t want things to be awkward,” she said, “but – I want –”
The baker’s hands were shaking when he cupped her face, but his mouth was steady and certain. Cinderella put her hands on his waist and let him push her against the nearest tree, her fingers quick and nimble on the strings of his breeches. She helped him bunch her skirts up around her waist, moaning a little as he kissed the side of her neck.
They rocked together as he pushed into her. Cinderella stroked her hands up the knobs of his spine beneath his thin shirt, and she might have whispered something into the baker’s ear, but if she did, he pretended not to hear.
Afterwards, Cinderella pulled her skirt down as the baker did up his laces, his face scarlet. She smoothed the fabric down. “I hope you’re not angry with me,” she said.
“I’m not angry with you,” he said. “I – I have been wanting to do that for a very long time. It’s just that – she really is gone, isn’t she?”
Cinderella stepped over to take his hands in hers, and her voice was gentle. “Yes,” she said, “she is.”
“And you aren’t going anywhere, are you?”
“No,” she said, “I’m not. I wouldn’t leave you alone.”
The baker squeezed her hands and leaned down to kiss her. “I’m not alone,” he said. “I have you, and my son, and Jack, and Riding Hood – none of us are alone anymore.”
They went together out of the woods, holding hands. Jack ran from the cottage as they approached, and the baker stopped dead as he saw the cow as black as coal standing in his front yard, chewing her cud sedately.
“She just came out of the forest!” Jack exclaimed. “Can we keep her?”
The baker and Cinderella looked at each other.
“The witch did say I could have her garden,” Cinderella said. “I suppose we could expand the yard.”
“And the house,” the baker suggested. “Most of those boards are still good, just…shorter. And it would be good to have a ready source of milk and butter.”
“So we can keep her!” Jack said excitedly, and threw his arms around the cow.
“I suppose so,” the baker said, and Cinderella stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek.
“Let’s go inside and see your son,” she said.
And so they lived happily ever after.
For some time.
end
Author:
bedlamsbardFandom: Into the Woods
Rating: R
Summary: Not long before he had only one child and a wife; now he had a child of his body and two not, as well as a young woman whose purpose he could not begin to explain, only that he had no idea why she continued to remain here with him, when it was clear that their intertwined lives held more trouble than they did hope or pleasure. Baker/Cinderella.
Disclaimer: Into the Woods belongs to Steven Sondheim, not me.
Once upon a time, in a far off kingdom, there lived a sad young baker, a woman who had once been a princess and was therefore no longer a maiden, a girl with a wolfskin cloak, a boy who had once slain giants, and the baker’s only child, a boy of a year. Not long before, the baker’s wife had died in the giant attacks that ravaged the kingdom, and he was saved from constant sorrow only by the distraction of Jack and Red Riding Hood, who sometimes seemed to require constant care. Cinderella was a great help both to him and to his child, whom she adored.
The fact that the baker’s wife had died had not gone unnoticed, but so many had died in the attacks that his sorrow was but a little sorrow, at least compared to those who had, perhaps, lost more. With the help of his friends, the baker rebuilt his cottage, the same cottage his father and his mother had come to so many years ago full of hope and promise. However, the cottage had been small even for the baker and his wife, and now he and his friends found themselves living practically in each other’s pockets; Jack and Red Riding Hood were constantly underfoot.
Not for the first time since he had returned to his village, the baker found himself storming off to the very outskirts of the woods, which no longer held the same terror for him that they had held once previously. Not long before he had only one child and a wife; now he had a child of his body and two not, as well as a young woman whose purpose he could not begin to explain, only that he had no idea why she continued to remain here with him, when it was clear that their intertwined lives held more trouble than they did hope or pleasure.
While few would be mad enough to venture far into the woods alone, the baker had found himself oddly at ease within the woods, for they muffled the sound that never ceased to emanate from his cottage: Jack arguing, Red Riding Hood complaining, the baby crying. He had come out here often enough that a stump covered in thick green moss had become his habitual seat, and he sat down on it now, his head in his hands.
Despite his previous adventures in the woods, the fact remained that the baker was a man unused to making decisions on his own, particularly important decisions. After his mother had died and his father had disappeared – or shall we say, run off screaming into the woods, since we now know precisely what it was the family that took the baker in had tried to cover up – the baker was taken in by a family that lived in the nearby village. This family, which had a number of children already and thus counted itself well-versed in the science of childcare, had repressed any individualistic tendencies the baker might have had. After all, he was just one more child among a dozen. They encouraged him when he showed an early talent for baking, however, and were perfectly willing to get rid of one of their daughters when she pronounced herself willing to marry the boy she had grown up with. She had been a strong-willed girl, and what she had wanted, she had been used to getting – at least until she and the baker married and moved into his (slightly dilapidated) family cottage, which had been left unmeddled with for the past nineteen years. It was there that she found that she could not, in fact, have everything she wanted, and when the baker was unable to provide the child she desired, she found herself bullying him as strongly as any of her brothers had when they had been growing up together. While it is not true that the baker had his first independent thought in the woods – he had a number of independent thoughts, and had even acted on a few of the smaller ones, including his insistence on moving back into his family’s cottage – it is true that the most serious of these was his most recent, and that thought would perhaps never have occurred if he had not been in the woods at the time.
Now the baker found himself – not alone, but not with the people he had counted on to make his decisions for him. Now he was the one who had to make decisions, and he and his makeshift family had come to a strange impasse, one of those points where life has come to a forking point. He was no longer a part of his old life, but neither had he yet acknowledged the existence of the new. For the baker, his life with Jack, Red Riding Hood, and Cinderella was still a transitory period; he did not consider it something that would last past necessity.
He was not the only one in the village who had taken in someone whose family or home had been lost in the giant attacks. Most of those whose homes had been lost were rebuilding them and would soon move back. While he had not consciously put Cinderella and the others in this category, he had, perhaps, unconsciously put them there, and yet they had shown no sign of leaving or of wanting to leave.
A breaking branch warned him of someone’s approach. Wary of the wolves that still haunted the woods – as well as other things, more mysterious, some of which he had seen in his previous travels – the baker had brought a sharp knife with him, and he sprang up with it.
It was only Cinderella, though, and she took her foot off the broken branch, looking shamefaced. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.
The baker put the knife away. When he spoke, it was sharply. “Who is with my son?”
“Riding Hood and Jack – he is asleep, and they are fond of him. All will be well,” she assured him. “I wanted to speak to you.”
“About what?” His voice was still sharp, and he was angry, waiting for something to strike out at.
Cinderella didn’t answer for some time. When she did, her words weren’t what the baker had expected. “Why do you come out here?” she asked. “After everything –”
The baker considered this question. “There’s an old story about these woods, that the souls of those who die here never leave. And – I haven’t found my wife’s body. Red Riding Hood has never found her grandmother. I don’t think – I mean, I don’t –”
“I understand,” Cinderella said softly. “My mother didn’t die in the woods, but she was buried here, and I often thought, that – well. I used to hear her, when I came here. Her voice. She gave me advice.” She paused. “I think she was the one who gave me the gift of bird speech. My stepmother used to tell me things about her, and I thought she was lying, but – maybe she wasn’t.”
“Have they told you something?” the baker asked, his voice worried.
“No, nothing like that.” She took a hesitant step towards him. “You miss her, don’t you?”
He looked down. “Every day.”
Cinderella took another step toward him, and then another, until she could reach forward and touch his hands with the tips of her fingers. “I don’t want to be your wife,” she said. “I don’t want to replace her. I don’t think I could replace her. But – I am fond of you. And I was married.”
“Cinderella?” the baker asked, and Cinderella tilted her head up and kissed him, softly and quickly, just a light brush of her lips across his mouth. She pulled back almost immediately, staring at him with wide eyes.
“I don’t want things to be awkward,” she said, “but – I want –”
The baker’s hands were shaking when he cupped her face, but his mouth was steady and certain. Cinderella put her hands on his waist and let him push her against the nearest tree, her fingers quick and nimble on the strings of his breeches. She helped him bunch her skirts up around her waist, moaning a little as he kissed the side of her neck.
They rocked together as he pushed into her. Cinderella stroked her hands up the knobs of his spine beneath his thin shirt, and she might have whispered something into the baker’s ear, but if she did, he pretended not to hear.
Afterwards, Cinderella pulled her skirt down as the baker did up his laces, his face scarlet. She smoothed the fabric down. “I hope you’re not angry with me,” she said.
“I’m not angry with you,” he said. “I – I have been wanting to do that for a very long time. It’s just that – she really is gone, isn’t she?”
Cinderella stepped over to take his hands in hers, and her voice was gentle. “Yes,” she said, “she is.”
“And you aren’t going anywhere, are you?”
“No,” she said, “I’m not. I wouldn’t leave you alone.”
The baker squeezed her hands and leaned down to kiss her. “I’m not alone,” he said. “I have you, and my son, and Jack, and Riding Hood – none of us are alone anymore.”
They went together out of the woods, holding hands. Jack ran from the cottage as they approached, and the baker stopped dead as he saw the cow as black as coal standing in his front yard, chewing her cud sedately.
“She just came out of the forest!” Jack exclaimed. “Can we keep her?”
The baker and Cinderella looked at each other.
“The witch did say I could have her garden,” Cinderella said. “I suppose we could expand the yard.”
“And the house,” the baker suggested. “Most of those boards are still good, just…shorter. And it would be good to have a ready source of milk and butter.”
“So we can keep her!” Jack said excitedly, and threw his arms around the cow.
“I suppose so,” the baker said, and Cinderella stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek.
“Let’s go inside and see your son,” she said.
And so they lived happily ever after.
For some time.
end