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Rose Red	By : Le_Lethe Category: Fairy Tales, Fables, Folklore, Legends, and Myth > Fairy Tales Views: 9910 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: "Snow White and Rose Red" was originally written by the Grimm brothers. This is fiction. Any resemblance to person(s) living or dead is coincidental.

Chapter List
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A/N: Although this story is complete in its entirety I am only releasing it in small chapters to hopefully encourage reviews. I want to know how this kind of short, almost "one-shot," type story is going over. So please leave a quick note if you'd like the next installment! Thnx. -Lethe
P.S. This story was originally in "Originals" but the modifiers alerted me to the "Fairytale" subdomain so it is reposted here :)
Once upon a time, or so the saying goes, deep in the heart of the kingdom, there was a cottage where a mother raised her two children alone. He daughter she named snow-white, and her son, rose-red.

Outside the little family’s cottage grew two rose trees. One that produced the most lily soft white roses that any passing traveler could easily pick or brush, and the other that made roses red as blood which no man nor beast could touch or admire without the long curling thorns pricking their skin.

Red snapped the long dry limb off a low-hanging elm and switched it hard across the tall field grass. A small perverted pleasure filled him as the grass moved easily beneath his angry movement and returned sedately to their place. It was of no fault of his own that he had been sent out of the house – again – while one of his sister’s suitors came to call. Certainly he had no interest in the sniveling cads that came by the house every other day. But still he was blamed for his sharp temper and sharper tongue when they cornered him in the back stables hoping to see his pretty red lips on their pretty pretty pricks.

Red snapped the branch against the palm of his hand. The sudden sharp pain brought his temper down some, but not completely, not when he really wanted to break the thin whip of a limb over one or another said suitor’s head.

The woods butted up against the field he was traveling through and Red turned and split into the thin pines and maple trees as the low call of a suitor urged him home for some supposed bonding activity. The woods slowed his progress considerably, but the coverage offered a reprieve from the watchful eyes of his mother’s house.

Low briars curled between the trees wherever enough sun leaked through. Red stepped over these carefully, though his boots were of thick quality leather and protected his legs up to the knee from their sharp thorns.

The trees grew steadily thinner and the briar patches more frequent, the farther into the forest he trudged. A deep growl to his left sent the hairs over Red’s skin on alert.

Ducking behind a particularly wide maple tree, Red clutched at his vest above his heart. The muscle there thrashed against his hand and he consciously tried to slow it down.

Another growl rumbled through the trees followed by the ear-splitting scream of a bear. Red waited a moment, expecting a deer or some other prey to scramble past, followed by the murderous beast hunting it. When nothing else happened and the forest remained still and silent Red leaned out from behind his hiding place and looked around.

Past a few small pines, in a particularly large bramble, a massive black bear twisted and turned, snagging his fur and skin in the wicked thorns. With another roar the bear raised a paw as though to swipe at the foe tying him down, all the motion accomplished was another vine wrapping itself around the beasts neck.

Red watched it a moment more then bit the inside of his cheek and stepped out fully from his hiding place.

He approached the bear who had collapsed in an awkward pile on the briars and was breathing heavily through his mouth, pink tongue and sharp white teeth bright with saliva.

Red knelt at the side of the beast, heedless of the sharp thorns, and began to tug at the twisted vines. The brambles dug into his skin a moment before the vine lifted and he could drag it from the ground. Working his way around the back of the bear, lest the beast get frightened and strike out, Red pulled vine after vine from it’s root with slick red blood coating his hands and dripping down the fat thorns. When almost half were torn from the ground he gave one great pull and tore back the nest of brambles that had caught the bear.

Feeling he was free, the bear surged to his feet and stretched, snapping the last few thin vines from around him and swiping the rest from his head and face with a great leather paw.

Red scooted back, free of the briars and the enraged bear. His hands ached and twitched with the few small thorn still stuck in his skin, but the blood was mostly drying and they would be better with some poultice and a few days of rest.

He went to struggle to his feet, trying not to use his damaged hands too much, when a heavy shadow curled around him.

Glancing up Red found himself staring into the deep blue eyes of the bear. Fear wouldn’t let him move, though consciously he knew staying was a death sentence.

Minutes passed but the death blow never came. Finally Red pushed himself to his feet, then stood to his full height. The bear was still on all fours so Red was more than a foot taller than him, but he had no doubt, on his hind feet, the bear would be over six foot.

Trying his courage again, Red moved to step away but the bear leaned his head forward making Red freeze again with nerves.

The bear rubbed it’s nose along Red’s arms and down to his hands where the thorn wounds still leaked sluggish blood.

A hot rough tongue drug over his skin and Red squeezed his eyes closed.

“Oh please, oh please, oh please,” he whispered into the empty forest.

But the bear did nothing further. With a soft whuff of breath over Red’s sticky wet hands he turned and lumbered off into the forest.

When his legs would work again, Red hurried to the stream nearby and dipped his hands into the cool water. Most of the blood washed off easily enough and Red was able to pluck the last few thorns from his palms.

Then, wet and shaken and exhausted from his fear, Red stumbled back to his mother’s cottage.
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Rose Red