[Title] Nuestro Pasado
[Author] Jadedsilk (Mara D.)
[Series] Castlevania: Curse of Darkness
[Pairing] HectorxIssac (Not yet, but it will be.)
[Rating] NC17
[Beta] yubberducky
[Spoilers?] Yes. Violence warning. Yaoi warning for later chapters. Spoilers galore.
[Chatter] Going to be a fairly long fiction. CoD leaves out so much interesting information about character pasts. So I decided to take a wild stab and write about what might have happened. This is from Hector's perspective and should run right up to the beginning of CoD. Starts from the beginning with Hector's childhood. The first chapter has some violence and gore, considering the time period was exceedingly violent. If you are sensitive, maybe you should skip it?



He stroked his fingers through the stripy fur of the tiny orange kitten. It purred, rolling onto it’s back and swatting at his fingers, while somehow managing never to draw blood.

“Aye, ‘tis a funny thing that.” The dark haired woman said to the other standing beside her. “Kitten would let nowt near it and now lookit the beast!”

“That’s my Hector…so good with animals, like his father.”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“’tis a blessing I suppose if e’s to work the fields with t’others.”

“I know Mia…thank you…but I wish he had the option of…” His mother trailed off while Hector tapped the end of the kitten’s nose, making it flatten its ears and flex it’s whiskers in rebellion before pouncing his hand again.

“Summat better?”

“Well, yes…thank you for letting him come over to play with yours, he gets lonesome I know it…”

“No worries…alone as you are? You both could use all the help you can get with his father and all…”

“Please.” The woman interrupted, her voice pained and sharp.

Hector wanted to glance up at his mother but he was too polite for that. He didn’t want a swat for being nosy. It was just that he hated it when she sounded like that…like she might cry at any moment.

“Ahh…forgive me, t’ain’t your fault, that.” The dark haired woman said as His mother came to stand beside him. He glanced up at her only briefly as the kitten under his hands lay down, drifting into a tired sleep.

His mother smiled at him then as she knelt next to him, her silver hair catching the firelight and reflecting it back in eyes as beautiful as the bluest spring skies. Hector couldn’t help it that he wanted to talk to her. She worked in the gardens all day…he rarely saw her, so when she took time to let him play with the neighbor woman’s children; he was both delighted and saddened. He wished he could spend more time with her too. But here she was, and she was smiling at him. He gave her a smile back that turned into a frown as he considered the kitten.

“Mum?” Hector asked softly, gathering the purring beast into his lap where it had fallen lightly asleep on the rug. “The other children were so mean to ‘im. No wonder he doesn’t like to be pet.”

There was a moment of silence that Hector did not understand, and both women shared a look, one of both fear and pity over Hector’s head.

“How do you know that Hector dear?” The gray haired woman asked, clasping his forearms with hands that were gripping a bit too hard. There was something so afraid in her eyes, and Hector didn’t understand. “Such an imagination you have.” She said quietly, something in her eyes telling Hector he had best reply that yes, he was imagining things…like he never did.

She had also taught Hector never to lie, and so he was torn for the right answer.

“Perhaps e’s a bit too much like his father.” The village woman said again, earning a quick and defensive look from his mother.

Hector watched some sort of ghostly emotion cloud his mother’s eyes. It was always there, that look, when someone mentioned his father.

“Thank you Mia, I suppose we should go now?”

“You sure you dinnae want to stay for supper?”

“No, thank you, we should be off. Early to bed, early to rise.”

Hector knew then that something was wrong with him. He didn’t know what, but he was slowly beginning to understand. And he hated himself in that moment. It was the things he did that made his mother look like that.

~*~

“He has a stone.” Hector said as he stroked the silky nose of the minister’s carthorse. “No wonder he’s been a bit off his feed.”

The big man lumbered down from the cart, giving Hector a stormy look.

“I have never told anyone that…he is our only carthorse, and with my wife expecting, I have no wish to worry her that he might be unsound…I have told no one Hector Syldra…how is it that you know this?”

Hector realized his mistake as he backpedaled, instead grabbing a stick from next to the hitching post, and picking up the horses front hoof. He tucked it against his knee, and then gently pulled back the overgrown frog. “See, there are stones that hide in here sometimes.” He said, digging the stick down into the groove further than it appeared he should be able to before prying upwards and dislodging a rather sharp looking stone. “Like that.” (He could explain a stone…but not knowing the horse was off his feed. Explaining that the Horse had told him wouldn’t have gone over well at all…he knew that well enough by age thirteen.)

The big man gave him a considering look, his fat face almost creasing with the effort.

“You are either a blessed child…or a cursed one. I know not which you be.” The man said as Hector let the hoof go to fall to the concrete.

“I just understand animals.” He said softly, scuffing his ragged boots in the dust. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth. God would really damn him for this, but he could think of no reason to be completely honest and have his mother get hurt as she had before.

/He had brought it back to life somehow…and some of the Elders had gotten angry.

It was a simple matter to touch it, to gather the warmth from the sun and strength of the earth and simply /fix/ it. The tiny bird that had previously flown to it’s death into the church window had sat up, hopped up and down appreciatively on Hector’s finger, and then winged away. For a moment, Hector had felt that he had done something wonderful. He had been old enough at age ten to understand the consequences of death, to know the thing had been so. To see it fly away well and whole had made his heart sing. For a moment he had stood in the harsh sun of a Romanian summer, and had felt part of himself fly away with the bird. Surely such a thing must please God…

It wouldn’t have been a problem, but the elders had /seen/ him do it. He had not known they were watching him from the window.

His mother had tried to reason with them, rather frantically, that it had simply knocked itself senseless…the Elders had called it witchcraft, and since Hector had been ‘too young’ to understand the consequences of his actions, they had had his mother publicly flogged. She still bore the scars. He had brought her water while she had recovered. And he understood then. There was something inside of him that was wrong, was evil. And never again could he believe his mother when she told him he had a gift. No, it was a curse. He didn’t know what to think of himself…but the things he could do…they must be bad. No wonder everyone hated them, no wonder the towns people were so afraid of them./

~*~

“Hector, you must go now.”

“Go?! But Mum…I can’t leave you?!”

“Hector, you do not have a choice. You must go now.”

“But I!”

“Hector, you must not hate them, they think you are in league with the devil. They do not understand your gifts. You are your father’s son, and there is no sin in that…or mercy…but you /must/ leave me and go.”

“Go where?!”

“Run for your life.” She told him honestly.

Hector quivered, tears forming in his eyes. They were pounding on the door, and the chair that his mother had forced under the knob was nowhere near enough to stop the horde of angry villagers.

“Hector, you have to go, go far away from here. There is a town…Cordova town…if you can find your way there you could get a job as a stable boy!”

There was the smell of smoke now, and their tiny house on the outskirts of town was now on fire. Hector could see where flames were coming through the thatch and burning fast….already raining down heavy black bits of straw.

The top of the door splintered inwards, and his mother cried out lowly in fear.

“You MUST go, but for now…be SILENT.” She said, terror in her eyes and her hands that were almost cruel as they shoved him under the table and away from sight.

He was mute now with terror, so it wasn’t as if he could bring himself to say anything anyway.

The chair finally came out from under the knob, splintering. As it did so, pieces of it hit him in the face where he was crouched, hiding.

The town priest was the first in the door, his rosary in his hand, followed by one of the town’s carpenters, a massive man with splintered hands.

“Woman, where is the devil’s child?!” The Priest growled, eyes narrowed.

“There is no devil here.” She cried helplessly, backing away against the far wall. Hector was sobbing silently now, tears streaming down his face.

“Where is he?! You have copulated with the horned fiend of the abyss, and have borne his pestilence - that thing you dare to call a child - upon this earth! Give him to us for the justice our Lord demands, and your soul shall be saved!"

“He /is/ one of God’s children! He is only a human! You are making a horrible mistake!”

Hector cringed further under the table, the words tearing at something inside of him. He had always been shy and quiet….perhaps that was what really bred such contempt. He was strange /and/ he didn’t speak often.

“I’m a person. I’m a human…I’m a human…” He mouthed soundlessly to himself as the tears fell to soak his bare and dirty hands.

His mother had brought him up to never lie, and she led a life of example. She wouldn’t lie to him…these men and women…they all had to be wrong. His mother wouldn’t lie.

Even though part of him believed them, the part that had seen that lash rise and fall on his mother’s naked back…

“Where is he?!” The priest cried again. “God will damn your soul woman! Will you not answer an emissary of God?”

The smoke was getting heavy now, and his mother was starting to cough. It didn’t stop her from glaring defiantly at the man, a she-wolf with her teeth bared, protecting her pups.

“She must be under the devil’s curse!” The carpenter cried in the silence. “She is protecting one of the devil’s children! Free her! Save her soul from him!” The big man continued, drawing a hunting knife.

The cry was immediately picked up by the villagers outside, they were pounding on the walls, screaming in rage and breaking the house’s windows. Glass rained down on Hector’s head, and there was nowhere for him to go…he couldn’t even do as his mother asked because the villagers were blocking the door.

“Only pain will purify her…only pain will be enough to break the devil’s curse!” The priest continued.

“I’m a human… I’m a human…I’m a human.” Hector chanted, barely able to breathe for the fear. His vision was a blur of tears as the bigger man grasped his mother by the throat, and threw her down on the floor. She cried out lowly, and only because the wind was knocked from her. Had he cursed her?! Was that why she would say nothing?! Was it his fault?

The priest only blinked at the violence for a moment. “Save her soul.” He said darkly, something vile creeping into his gaze, as though the chants of the villagers had swept away his humanity, the purity he claimed in the service of a god that Hector did not understand.

He holy man dropped the rosary on the bare skin of her chest as she struggled, her eyes wide as the bigger man held her down by her neck. A few more villagers charged in now, holding her arms and legs and freeing the carpenter and his knife.

“Your last chance.” The man said, knife poised, looking to the priest for command. He got in a nod, and Hector’s stomach knotted. They wouldn’t do that…they wouldn’t!

Hector made eye contact with her, she looked down her arm at him, past one of the woman holding her down, and he understood. She fully intended to die so that he could escape. That was why she said nothing. It was for him that she faced this. It was for him that she did not fight…

She mouthed the words “Run” just before the knife fell, and a spray of blood actually hit Hector’s face from where he was under the table. She screamed hoarsely as the man yanked her entrails out in slippery bloody ropes.

For a moment, Hector couldn’t breathe, for a moment he froze, listening to her scream and, listened to them torment her again. /Where was he?!/ They shouted, /Monster!/ /Devil!/ /Witch!/ Hector could hear them, but for some reason it seemed as if he couldn’t. All he could see was her face contorted in a scream, blood pooling and flashes of slick pink and crimson.

The peasants were watching, half of them screaming for more blood like ravening vultures at a kill, the other half were frozen in horror, as if questioning whether they should even be involved in this act. Hector found himself moving, and he hadn’t told himself to. He was running and stumbling, he staggered out the door, shoulder checking body’s right and left through a thick cloud of smoke. He made it only a few yards before he stumbled to his knees.

He was screaming.

He almost could hear himself, dimly, as if from far away down a long corridor.

He turned around, and as he did so, a rock impacted his shoulders.

“There he is! Kill him! Burn him alive!”

And he ran, stumbling, aching. He ran. They were behind him, screaming, Rocks hitting him and making him cry out in fear. He couldn’t feel his body, he couldn’t tell other than by pressure, or when he was knocked from his feet that he was being hit at all.

All there was was blood. On his face, in his mouth, running down his arms and legs. No sound, just fear…endless mindless fear…until he was only an animal, until there was nothing but death on his heels and the need to flee as fast as his feet would take him.

He ran until he was well beyond the village limits, until he was deep within the forest, until he was tangled in the underbrush. There he finally staggered to his knees and was sick until he was empty and shaking, sweat soaked and shivering even in the heat of the afternoon sunlight filtering through the leaves.

He was perfectly still, not knowing where he was, only knowing that it was suddenly quiet. He was so still that the only comfort was the strange sensation of floating he had, and the sound of his own heartbeat. He sat there, frozen, listening for sounds of pursuit. His hearing came back after a bit, the buzzing leaving his ears as he slumped against a nearby sapling. The longer he was still, the worse the pain became, and the worse the fear became. Were they still chasing him? He didn’t move even when the flies landed on his face to drink his blood, he didn’t move when a snake slithered by over his bare legs. He was only an animal, and he couldn’t think. There was no memory, no sight or sound that made him feel human. He just existed in the fear that made him too afraid to even shiver. He couldn’t comprehend, or feel, or breathe…

But as the day wore on, as he sat frozen, the pain began to return, the memory of that flash of silver, crimson and pink and his mother’s screams. The villager’s accusations. He was a witch, a monster, a demon. He had cursed her and that was why she was dead. He was a monster. A monster.

He curled his legs up to his chest, and whimpered quietly for his mother, his tears falling to make a sticky and stinging mess in the scabs on his knees. He was still so frightened that he did not move from the spot he had fallen. All day or all night. He stayed there, shivering, wide awake at the slightest sound, his whole body aching in pain. The next morning however, sleep finally overtook him, as the morning sun rose and the shadows faded, with them, some of his fear. When the sun was finally directly overhead, and the ground had warmed, he found himself falling into a troubled sleep.

He woke later in the afternoon to something pulling his hair.

He came to his feet with a hoarse squeak of fright, only to find a large and fat crow, eying him curiously.

“I’m not dead yet.” Hector whispered hoarsely. “Go away…” His legs were trembling weakly, and he could feel bones grinding in his chest. It should have hurt, but it was nothing compared to conflagration of pain in his stomach and chest, in his head. The funny dull throbbing ache that made his eyes water as if he might cry again at any moment. He waved his arms at the crow,

Of course, the crow did not move.

Hector tried glaring at it, he even tried to throw a stone at it, but that was just before his hand fell limp to his side, the rock rolling from his grasp. He couldn’t ever throw rocks at anything. Not after what they had done to him.

His mother was gone. He was alone, lost in the woods, with only a crow waiting for him to die so it could eat his flesh. He had nothing…nothing at all. He felt the rush of heat behind his eyes, the stinging in the back of his throat coming again, and so he covered his eyes with his hands.

He was bruised and battered in so many places...he was dirty and thirsty and he had nothing left. For a moment, he debated lying down until death claimed him. Instead, a low cawing sound caught his attention. There was also the patter of bird feet on leaves and the whoosh of wings as the bird flapped into the air before something heavy weighed down the toes of his boots.

He glanced through the cracks in his fingers, wet now with tears. Through the shining halo of his pale lashes and sunlight on wet, there was the crow. It was sitting on the toes of his threadbare boots, tilting its head this way and that, dark eyes curious.

Hector couldn’t help the tiny smile that it brought to him. Even through his tears.

He lowered his hands, and still the bird did not fly. He wiped his eyes on his bloody shirt sleeve, and then reached out to pet the feathers of its breast with a trembling hand.

It cawed contentedly, hopping up and down now, as if earnestly wishing to tell Hector something. And perhaps it was touching those silky feathers that reminded him of his mother, and her words to him. About Cordova Town.

“You wouldn’t…you wouldn’t happen to know where Cordova town is from here…would you?” Hector asked softly.

~*~

He made it to the town long before nightfall, losing his feathered companion long before the dirt road leading into the city became brickwork. He had watched her go with a great deal of sadness. She had been his only companion in a very long time, and she had told him about all the places that things had died, about where the tallest trees in the forest were, and where the water was the sweetest. She had warned him about the city, about the humans there, and so when she had finally left him, returning to her tall trees and sweet water, he was trembling in fear.

His first thoughts on the city were that despite how crowded it was, it was terribly desolate and dark. It stank of straw molding, damp leaves and stone and death… Lion statues were everywhere, running water hissing in the gutters along the edge of the city streets. There were horses and carriages, carts, beggars and criers, and it more than overwhelmed him. He tried to avoid being seen, he was a fright to look at. He was also absolutely certain that if they knew who he was, if anyone so much as asked his name, they would know he was a monster and hurt him again.

He was dying to stop and drink from the fountain in the middle of the square, but instead he kept going. Every time someone looked at him in horror or pity, he again heard the cry of the villagers. /Monster/ /Demon/ /Witch/. And he kept walking, praying the ground to simply swallow him whole. He slunk past the stables and out of the town, away from the smell of food that he had no money for and the tantalizing sound of running water. He walked until he encountered a large hill that lead into what appeared to be the mountains. There was a vast castle there, far in the distance. Some lord or another no doubt. Like the lord he and his mother had worked for. More than likely this one was bloodthirsty and cruel as well…

The day was growing dim then, and he knew only one thing. He would not sleep in the city. He shivered in the early evening chill. He was so thirsty and weary that he found himself praying for death, and still he kept walking. He would sleep in the mountains; he understood the things that lived in the wilds far better than the city. He knew he was disobeying his mother, but he couldn’t help but think that she would not have made him stay in such a place that stank of excrement and death and dying hope.

He drew near the bridge of the castle where it met the main road when his vision began to blur. He was exhausted and it occurred to him that he could not go any further. He made it to the edge of the moat where he dropped to his hands and knees, shivering. Night was coming and he was cold and so very thirsty…but it was quiet here…and it didn’t smell like death. Actually the water in the moat smelled surprisingly clean, and so not bothering to hold his hair back, he simply lowered his face nearest a patch of dark green moss growing on some rocks, and drank. The water tasted like mountain snow, clean and clear and cold. His stomach cramped in pain, but he ignored it, even when he doubled over in misery. He was so desperately parched.

It was only when he became nauseated that he stopped, hunched with the cramping burn in his stomach and the grinding bones of his chest and arm. The tips of his hair dripped onto the surface of the water, making strange ripples in his reflection.

His reflection. His face was covered in scratches from thorns and brambles, there was a gash on his forehead just below his hairline, and soot and dirt stained his face. Blood stained his silver hair. His shirt was torn bloody and dirty, and the rest he could see just by looking down. Hector backed away from the water then, as if he had been struck. His hair looked just like hers…he looked like her now…was he a corpse too? Was he dead and just didn’t know it? He sat back heavily, pulling on knee to his stomach, letting the bottom of his other booted foot touch the inside of his thigh. It made his ribs feel a little better. Could the dead feel pain? Would he feel pain forever because God would not let him into heaven? Was he a ghost?

As the sun fell lower below the horizon, frogs began to sing.

He could hear them, but could the dead hear or not?

His heart was in his throat, even as one of the frogs made its way from the pond to sit on his knee, golden eyes winking at him, throat pulsing before it began to sing.

“Am I dead?” He asked the frog softly.

The thing turned to him, eyes as drowningly deep as the moat.

/Not dead. The dead are not warm./

Hector blinked.

“Are you sure?”

/Water comes from the sky, fire comes up, fire goes down, cold comes, warm comes… we sing…we know life and death. Not dead./

Hector was baffled into silence.

He was exhausted. To exhausted and in too much pain to stand, and so he tucked his hands under his armpits and hunkered down, trying to find some kind of warmth as carp began to stir the water, picking wayward mayflies and beetles from the surface. They crowded close to the shore, as close to Hector as they could get. They were watching him with unblinking eyes, showering him with glints of colorful scales in the moonlight. He would have waved to them, but his hands were cold.

They were a comfortable chatter in Hector’s mind, a strange stir of hunger and contentment, the reflexive tasting and smelling of their prey, the grazing of moss and plants.

He let their chatter help him drift off where he sat among the reeds, curled in on himself. He didn’t know where he would go; he didn’t know what he should do, but perhaps with some rest…

~*~

He awoke when the frog jumped from his knee, an exclamation of fright in its mind. There was someone standing near him and coming closer.

“What have we here?” The low and melodious voice asked him.

Hector gasped, finding his own voice had failed him.

The stranger came closer, nearer and nearer until Hector could smell cologne and fresh fabric. Until Hector’s eyes could focus in the dark. The stranger was a man, oddly pale and almost unreadable of expression. Ice blue eyes were considering him, long silver hair, braided neatly fell over one shoulder. He was well dressed and elegant, beautiful to behold with his beard neatly trimmed to a goatee.

“It is not every day that children stray so close to the castle.”

Hector was immediately afraid, What if this man knew!? He tried to glare fiercely at this stranger who talking about him like he didn’t exist, talking with graceful sweeps of his hands, calm and swaying steps and a brash but unassuming demeanor. He seemed as if he should command attention, and yet, he didn’t seem half as frightening as his appearance stated that he should. He was a noble at the least, far above Hector’s standing.

Hector told himself to get up, to run…but as he tried, his leg failed him and he fell back to sitting. There was something strange about this person, something that told him he should flee and yet at the same time intrigued him.

The man had moved, faster than Hector could blink. He was kneeling in front of him then, and a cool hand was touching Hector’s bruised cheek. Hector couldn’t help it when he whimpered. He was terrified. He wanted his mother back; he didn’t want to be here.

“What have they done to you?” That voice was asking him softly, those eyes meeting Hectors…Hector could not look away then, he could not look away and he was falling. Strong and careful fingers were stroking the hair away from the cut in his forehead, were feeling along his ribs and he could not move away. Somehow it didn’t hurt, even when the bones ground in his wrist under careful examination. When he looked into that gaze, he did not hurt.

This strange man had simply touched him and known his ache. Those eyes told him that they understood. The man was just as suddenly sliding arms around Hector, lifting him, and still those eyes had never left his. Like a wolf stalked lamb, there was no way that Hector could look away. Not when he was floating, falling, not when he was safe. He suddenly didn’t mind being touched, held. Suddenly he was safe and someone knew what it felt like to be Hector Syldra and there was no reason to be afraid.

A pair of cool lips touched his forehead, and before he could think twice that those eyes were no longer there, he was sound asleep.

~*~

He was warm and dry. He was wrapped in blankets, and lying on something cool and clean. Everything smelled clean, like lavender and dried flowers and summer sunshine. Whatever he was curled up on was soft, and someone was stroking the top of his head gently.

He wriggled his toes. His feet were bare, so that meant he must be sleeping in his bed. And yet…this did not smell like home.

“Come on little one…wake up.” A sweet voice said softly.

Hector finally opened one eye rebelliously to find himself looking up at an angel.

Silky white hair fell in delicate ringlets around a porcelain face. Warm blue eyes met his, and again, that hand stroked through his hair.

Hector took in a sharp breath, and sat up quickly before doubling over and wincing.

“Careful now, you shouldn’t move so quickly until your wounds have healed.”

Hector reached up with a splinted hand, and touched his forehead, feeling a bandage. A glance down proved he was in an oversized white tunic and a pair of clean leggings. The clothes were soft and wonderfully made…nothing like the clothes of a peasant.

He glanced around the chamber he found himself in. A fire was dying in the hearth, and warm morning sunshine and a hot breeze entered through an open window, promising a beautiful summer day. The room was astonishing, decorated in heavy black walnut furniture. Silk tapestry woven with birds and flowers and hunt scenes done in black and rose were arranged around the room. There was a heavy chair by the bed that he was in, and the woman sat upon it, smiling at Hector’s awe.

“My name is Lisa.” The woman said sweetly. “And you are safe here…no one will hurt you here…”

Hector glanced at her with wide blue eyes.

“You are the guest of Lord Tepes, my husband. Have you any parents?” She asked softly.

He wondered if he should be telling her anything at all, but then again, one should never lie to an angel, even if the one doing the lying was a demon.

Hector shook his head ruefully, unable to meet her gaze anymore.

“Oh you poor darling…you are of course welcome to stay here. We would like you to. But…have you a name?” She asked quietly.

Hector turned to glance at her again, his hands clenched in the blanket he was wrapped in. He opened his mouth to tell her Hector. That his name was Hector. And nothing came out. Not a sound.

He stared at her, perplexed, took in her intent expression, and again, he found he could not speak. Just silence.

“Oh lamb, you’ve lost your voice…it’s no matter…would you like to break-fast with me? My Lord has had a long night and sleeps now, I would welcome the company.

~*~

He had not realized that he was so hungry. He watched this ‘Lisa’ with worried and curious eyes. She had spoken pleasantly to him throughout the meal she had provided him, and he had tried to answer her again and again, but still he was unsuccessful. She had not taken offense, and instead simply talked. Talked about her son, younger than him she said, about the castle, about how busy her husband was, about how beautiful the day was, and after a fashion, she managed to worm a smile out of Hector.

She was friendly, sweet. He had never met a woman like her. He was as afraid of her as he was drawn to her…just as he had been her husband. He smiled for her because they would never have taken him in if they had known what a monster he was; and they didn’t know it yet and liked him. He smiled because her joy in life, her gentleness was infectious.

When he had finished his plate, he stood, bowing to her as his mother had taught him, and he had picked up his plate, holding out his splinted hand to her for hers.

She had laughed at him then softly, and told him that there were servants for that. She must have meant the men and women he had seen here and there, cleaning and dusting in the rooms and halls. He had heard of servants, and yet he had never met one.

He had set the plates back on the table, and had knelt apologetically, hoping he had not stepped out of place.

She had laughed at him then, a peal of sweet and soft clear sound that made him want to lie at her feet for the rest of his life and just listen to her speak. Her soft hands had helped him up, had steadied him as he had swayed wearily.

“You need not kneel before me, I am no goddess.” She said softly. “You have the run of the castle but for my lords chambers, and the doors there are locked while the sun is high, so you need not worry about straying somewhere you aught not.”

Who was this Lord…and why did he sleep during the day? Wasn’t that strange? Why were they just letting him stay here, surely they would want him to work with the servants? They had bathed him, given him a place to sleep and food to eat, and he would gratefully serve them if they so wished it. He tried to tell her that, speaking politely to the floor. Again, his lips moved, but no sound came.

She kissed his forehead apologetically then, lifting his chin.

“Your voice will come back to you little one, when the time is right. I will patiently await that day.” She said just before she headed for the dining hall door. “I must go pick some herbs in the forest…go now and play as you like. Meet the servants, they all know of you. Perhaps you may even meet Adrian. No one here will hurt you…explore, I know boys love to…there are gardens in the inner cloister as well…perhaps you would like to go there to see the birds and butterflies?”

Hector gave her a tiny smile, and felt just the smallest bit of hope rise in his chest. Maybe they really would let him stay here. Maybe they would let him become a servant and stay, and perhaps they would not hate him as everyone else had. Not everyone was alike, were they? The Lord of the castle was obviously not like others…

“We will take lunch when the clock strikes two, if you wish to join us, now run along! The room you were staying in is yours should you become tired…You still look exhausted…but there is too much for you to see on such a lovely day as this to be standing here while I talk…go now…go…” She said, shooing Hector.

He gave her a broad smile, and then made his way obedient, barefoot and curious out into the hallway they had just come down. He knew his way to the room that she had said was his from her, and now where the dining hall was…

He was afraid for a moment now that he was without her…but she had said it was all right if he looked around, and that there was another boy, her son, that was only a year younger than Hector. So he wouldn’t be alone for long?

~*~

Next Chapter:

((Chapter Two))



Want to know what I was thinking when I wrote this? Want to know what my references were? Want to see a timeline? This is probably mostly incoherent, but if you want to take a wild stab at what the heck I was thinking when I started writing this? Well, here you go. There will be spoilers there, obviously, so tread with care.
 http://jadedsilk.livejournal.com/135921.html#cutid1