Work Text:
The Huntsman stared at the ceiling. How did it come to this? How did he become a pet for somebody horrible? How did he become nothing more than some slave, a toy, for someone like her? Instinctively, he grips the bedsheets, wishing for it to be a knife, his dagger. Anything sharp so he could kill himself now. Anything would be better than living this life.
Day after day and night after night, he would feel her hands on him. Her hands all over his body, a body that would constantly be shivering and shaking under the touch. For whatever reason, The Queen’s hands were always as cold as ice. Granted, it wasn’t far off her actual personality. She was on and off, hot and cold. Her attitude and mood depended on the day. It depended on who upset her or who made her day. The Huntsman takes a long breath in, closing his eyes and recalling everything.
As a punishment, he was kept as her pet. Her toy. Constantly, his body ached and shivered, but she’d always ignored that. Nobody else would love her, so she’d force him to.
He scorns himself for letting himself come in contact with this woman.. this monster. He can clearly remember his first night in this castle, this room, with that woman. He could say this with his whole heart, that he hated her more than any man could ever comprehend.
People like The Queen were the reason people like The Huntsman despised humanity. People like her were the reason people like him were weary of who they talked to, of who they got close to. Their statuses compared to one another was so.. obvious.
He was unmannered and unkept, eyes wild like a deer. He was somebody who belonged to one group, and it wasn’t a group that involved people. He was only involved with wolves. Edgy, sure, but they were a family. That was all that could matter to him. Those wolves were his home, they were his family. The Queen would never understand that. The man felt terribly homesick, he missed his family.
The first night she kept him here was clearer than the rest. It was the first night he’d actually been under a roof and in shelter. It was the first night he’d ever been with someone in that way, and it was the first night he felt entirely powerless and out of control. He felt weak and dependent. He felt empty. Like there was a void in his body. The Huntsman remembers the grip her guards had on his arm, and he remembers how he froze after she forced herself onto him, how he froze up after she nearly crushed his heart right in front of him.
He didn’t have any other choice but to listen.
She treated him like an object. She’d disregard his feelings, his needs. She took her feelings out on him. She tortured him just for the fun, just for the amusement of having somebody who would once consider himself as strong, as something to be afraid of, cower at her feet. He had no choice but to obey. To listen and submit to her.
The Huntsman didn’t love her. He never would, no matter what spell or curse she put upon him.
She mocked and made fun of his body. She humiliated him. She teased him with the hope of escaping, with the hope of getting far far away from her. He took those chances, he had hope.. But she stopped him at the last second and tortured him some more. It was like a relationship, a relationship that he would never ever want. One where he would rather die than stay in.
He’d given up on trying to run; he knew that he would never escape her icy cold grasp on his life. Like a chokehold she had on him.