The boy was born beneath an all-seeing star – shining, knowing. His people were wanderers, and they named him Alcott - “dweller at the old cottage”. The name was nearly a barb, as his home was where the wheels stopped rolling, on the edge of a family that feared him as much as they used him.
From his first memory, Alcott saw things no child should see. Past. Present. Futures that had not yet come to pass, and secrets no one was meant to know. In the circles of crowds, in the smokey bellies of old bars, they traded his gifts for gold. A seer child draws coin, and coin keeps bellies full.
When the visions came, they took him whole. His eyes would cloud, his body would go still, and he would drift somewhere between worlds. He could never speak the visions plainly — only the echo of what they felt like. Joy tasted like honey on the tongue. Grief like cold iron. Danger bit like a blade pressed to the spine.
Those he read often left in tears – of relief or sorrow or fear. But one who threw gold around carelessly left in a rage.
A lord, proud and arrogant in the shadow of his own importance, laughed at the camp, grabbing at the dancing women and spilling as much as he drank. He called for the “supposed seer” and jeered as Alcott drew near.
“This skinny thing? Looks like his sight couldn’t bring him a good meal. Tell me then, boy, what do your spirits tell you of me?” The man was rough, bold and sure, laughing with his cronies as he held out one smooth palm.
Alcott's eyes unfocused and the truth slid like oil down his tongue. “Your son is not your own.”
The crowd of the lord’s followers fell silent, terrified that the truth they had all suspected was being waved at the man like a flag before a bull – more than one in his kin going still lest his secret be exposed next.
The lord’s face curdled. His hand struck the boy before the words had stopped ringing about the room.
“Liar! Fraud! Thief!” The lord dragged Alcott from the tavern, his camp – his family – looking away as the boy cried for help.
“The devil’s gift always asks a devil’s price in the end,” they whispered, spitting on the ground to stave off the next wave of evil.
By dawn, Alcott’s neck and wrists were locked in the village stocks, a spectacle of insolence for the crowd to jeer at. The lord stood nearby, urging them on, his voice oily with false righteousness.
“Liar! Fraud! Thief!”
Rotten fruit flew. Mud splattered. Stones cut and bruised. The boy did not cry — not because he was brave, but because he was somewhere else entirely, lost in a vision that tasted of smoke and sorrow.
That was when the thieves arrived.
Studs stepped forward first, a mountain of a man with a heart too soft for the life he lived. He planted himself between the boy and the crowd, tree trunk arms crossed across his massive chest. Lupin followed, lean and feral, lips peeled back in a snarl. His eyes burned with such ferocity, even the arrogant lord stepped back.
And then Olwyn, lute across his chest, copper eyes flashing with vicious mirth began to sing.
"There once was a lord whose cock would not crow, and in his wife’s belly his seed would not grow.
She longed to be woken with hard wood and strong hands, but the lord was too limp to fulfill all her plans
So she spread her knees like warm butter on bread, and took each of his cronies – one by one - to her bed.
An heir! He was born, but whose could he be? Alas, tis a mystery to both you and me."
His voice rose like a blade wrapped in silk. The crowd, ever hungry for a better story, a better victim, turned on the lord. They laughed and gestured rudely at the lord and his groin.
“Gold won’t keep you from being a cuckold, m’lord.”
“Better a bastard than an unfulfilled wife.”
“All that gold and no wood to show for it.”
Laughter replaced jeers, the boy in the stocks forgotten. The lord’s face purpled, turning and stalking off as the ruckus crowd pressed in. As the square cleared, Studs snapped the hinge from the stocks with his bare hands. Lupin dipped his head gruffly in greeting as the boy straightened, wiping the remains of rotten fruit from his cheeks and straightening his stiff spine.
The thieves took Alcott back to the edge of the village where he remembered the camp had settled … but the camp was gone. His people had moved on without him, leaving him behind, leaving him for dead. Nothing remained of the camp and the only shelter Alcott had ever known. No waiting fire. No familiar faces. No home.
So the thieves became his home instead.
They walked him through the woods, to the home in the forbidden forest and Allcott smiled up at the house in the tree. Then his eyes went vacant, his body stiff and he blurted a warning.
“A curse long cast has set its hook. A man twisted by loyalty will chase his victim but fail to claim his prize. His betrayal will cost him dearly.” The thieves gathered close and stared at the boy who shuddered and stared. “A beauty so bright it burns will come. Hair like night. Lips like blood. Skin like cream. We will seek to protect her. We will fail. She will break every one of our hearts.”
He blinked and returned to them, his head twisting side to side, his fear at being rejected for seeing bad tidings welling in his body as the pain and rage in the vision seeped out of his bones.
Belden stepped forward, clapping the boy on the shoulder and looking him hard in the eye. “Life is full of failure and broken hearts, son. Together, we find the slivers of light between the shadows – as brothers. Welcome home.”
Alcott sighed, soul deep relief welling inside of him. Could it be? Could he be accepted here, as he was? Visions and all? The men took turns ruffling his hair or clapping him on the back. He was taken into the fold, a brother in a family of outcasts.
He thought often of his vision for them, wishing that he hadn’t had it, wishing he hadn’t had to speak it out loud. Perhaps this time – just this once – he was wrong.
But fate, once spoken, has a way of finding its mark.
***
I hope you enjoyed this origin story lore drop about Alcott, one of Snow White's Seven Thieves. To read the whole story, check out the links below.
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Snow White and the Wicked Queen: Chapter 1
Snow White and the Vicious Curse: Chapter 2
Snow White and the Seven Thieves: Chapter 3
Snow White and the Poisoned Apple: The Final Chapter
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