The sun was a soft shimmer in the sky as fall began to make its slow presence. Fall was a time of relaxation to the lackadaisical, a time of feast for the gluttons, a time of endless inspiration for the artists, a time of coming hardship for the poor. It was a less celebrated season, one that summer slowly sunk into and that winter was fiercely born from. Warm and sweet summer, so full of adventure and the only thing standing between it and the harsh and unforgiving cold of many months was this meager change of leaves and weather.
A boy savored this time of year. He himself didn't know why he liked it so much, but I will tell the readers now: It reflected his own heart. What was once a soul of summer, a soul of typical boyhood and innocence, was quickly turning cold. With no maternal warmth, it was freezing slowly, gradually. Like fall leaves weakly giving into winter's icy clutches, his heart was deadening.
The boy was only ten. His maternal warmth, the woman who held him close for so long, was gone four years ago. The man who proudly smiled at him and lovingly kissed the woman left shortly after. His heart had plenty of time to match his apathetic green eyes. A bundled little thing, wrapped in many layers of cheap cotton and linen, was the only source of happiness he had left.
She was small for her age, but healthy, considering neither of them had had a proper meal in many seasons. Her large cheeks that are often seen in little children were pink, as were her little fingertips and her toes. Her blonde hair that seemed to match his perfectly in shade was as well kept as clumsy boyish hands could manage. Her eyes were closed, as she was sleeping, but they were bright. To her brother, the opening of her eyes was like the sun setting off the horizon.
The townspeople were familiar to the children. Everybody knew bits and pieces of their story: An aspiring opera singer, a Frenchwoman, married an Austrian carpenter. They had simple and honest life, living in a cozy house he built with his hands in the forests that were close to the village. They quickly had their first son, a fiery and adventurous one he was. He preferred the quiet company of wilderness to the people of the village, so they saw little of him, but knew he was good.
Something happened after the second was born. The Frenchwoman was gone, and her whereabouts were the source of gossip for all. (Even today, bored housewives who don't want to mention the weather drift to 'that strange Frenchwoman who disappeared'). Something must've snapped in her happy marriage and she ran nowhere, becoming a beggar in the streets of Vienna. The man must've been abusive, crazy. Who knows what those poor children suffered! The townspeople discussed their story, but never bothered to help them.
If the reader has endless curiosity and must know, the Frenchwoman wanted to return to her home country, but the carpenter wanted to remain in the peaceful quiet of the forest he grew up in. Fed up, she ran away. Many unfortunate things happened to her, but in the end, she became a prostitute. The man worshipped the ground she walked on, and favored her above his children. He left them in a fit of depression and alcohol-induced lunacy. Neither bothered to think of the vow they made to each other, but some people are just selfish; a piece of metal on their finger won't change that. If only they had at least at the children's welfare in mind! But selfishness is only "me, myself and I". Getting back to the boy –
Every morning he brushes her hair, feeds her bread and gives her water. He wraps her in the many pieces of cloth until she stops shivering. In the early hours, he'd carry her through the town, to the fields, where old farmers with poor health need young assistants. The wives and daughters of the farmers look after the girl. They did this because she was easy to watch- She didn't get into trouble, she was helpful when necessary and if she ever did speak, it was only pure good-natured manners. A convenient, free and quiet worker.
At the end of the day his callused and cut feet ached, despite doing hard labor for years. His arms and hands were raw and red, despite all the plowing and digging he'd done over the seasons. One of his few wishes was that he'd eventually get used to it, but a child's body isn't fit for such duties, no matter for how long they do it, and so he continued to ache.
The only time when the ache stopped was when he picked up his sister from the wives and girls. Naturally, they didn't make her work, but her stomach was empty and she was tired from all the running she did throughout the day. He'd pick her up and she'd quickly rest her head on his shoulder and wait for them to reach home, meaning food. Once they were done with the small dinner, he'd have to sing to her.
Have to, because that was the only way to get her to close her eyes. His voice reminded her exactly of their mother, and she remembered (or tried to) how beautiful and long her hair was resting on her shoulder. It was a pleasant memory that instantly lulled her. He thought of their mother when he sang, and it left a bitter taste in his throat, but he only did it once a night, just for her. This was their daily life that they repeated over and over. Exciting and different things didn't happen, because neither of them needed anyone else but each other, and they were looking for fun or variety. Just food, work and each other.
The next day, they got up at the same time they always did. There was somebody else getting up at this time.
He was the only child of the Baron and Baroness that governed Silbersunne, the small city that was wrapped around the village, forest and farms. His family had been living there for years- the castle was small and old, still beautiful but its olden age showing. There were winding gardens around it, almost larger than the crumbling structure itself. These gardens were given better care and always had flourishing green plants, even during wintertime.
The hosts, the owners of this poor leaning building resembled their home well. They too leaned to the side, had a grey complexion, with ailing bodies and dispositions. Despite their money and status, they were considered ghosts of the town. They did not put on airs, they made themselves sparse.
Their only pride, the only thing they gloated over was their single son. God had not sent them any children, but that was fine. What little affection they had in their souls was given to him, but it wasn't enough. Children need constant love and sun, not the occasional cracked smile on the chapped lips of the one called mother, or the less frequent gaze of approval on his father's dull eyes.
He himself was vibrant. He was a "pretty boy", a type that was quite popular in France nowadays. It was amazing something so bright came from two beings so damask. His eyes were so colorful, so blue they were violet. His chocolate hair was wavy and soft to the touch, like candy for the fingers. It never had a maternal hand stroke it or rough fatherly hands muss it. He didn't long for it because he never had it. A sad kind of ignorance.
Most days he was sitting on the stool, the stool he hated being it. It was strange for this boy to hate, as he was usually so aloof, so indifferent. This room, the stool, the instrument in front of him was the first taste of hate this child ever got.
He didn't hate the music; he found it soothing whenever one of the visitors would play. But he didn't want to do it himself, despite his parents' urging and later forceful voices. The boy felt like he was an imposter whenever he played. The guests poured their soul into their playing, their soul at the tip of their fingers. He felt nothing when he played, and he knew his music was stale. Typical. Ordinary. He hated being average.
He knew he was supposed to be playing, his parents were waiting for music he found disgustingly drab, but he tried to drag it out as long as possible. His eyes glanced to the window, the massive bay window that was that cold room's only source of light. It engulfed the corners and walls in sunlight, showing off its marvelous view: The most extravagant part of the gardens, the entrance. He watched a variety of people pass to and from the gardens, as well as pass it. Some poor, most rich. All of them he never remembered even if he saw one person several times over the course of a week or month.
Normally he did this every Sunday, but today he had relief. It was the week of his birthday, and as a "treat" his older cousins from Germany decided to pay a visit. He didn't care for their rough attitudes and strange smells, but they were saviors from the cold room. He followed them wherever, thinking about how odd their accents were as they talked to him, whom they quickly figured out was pointless because all his responses were monosyllabic and spoken in a far-off voice.
"Roderich," The older of the two, the one who was the loudest and had the most disturbing smile, if you could call it that. "You're like a little girl, just look at your figure! You need muscles." And his chest rolled with a mocking chuckle.
"Don't listen to him." The youngest simply said. He was solemn and Roderich found the flashy royal clothes he wore didn't go with his personality. A military uniform of some sort would suit him better.
That's how the visit went for the whole week. The eldest, Gilbert, making the most annoying and rude comments with the youngest, Ludwig, giving minimal comforts right after. Roderich was silently wondering if the piano room would be better than this pair.
Come Sunday, Gilbert had enough of just sitting in a rotting palace drinking imported tea. He was a man of impatience and fire; someone also not suited for royalty. He sauntered up to Roderich, asking, "Know how to ride a horse?"
"...No."
"Well, now you're gonna learn."
So, without him really having a grasp on what was going on, Roderich was on a brilliant white horse, lagging behind the two brothers. Lagging because his clumsy, inexperienced hands were making the horse irritated. She didn't care for new riders and wanted very much to speed past the two horses in front of her.
He tried to keep up, and the two conversing rather than watching him. The conversation was more Gilbert chiding Ludwig than talking, but the younger responded, so they were having an avid back and forth of the older whining and the younger sighing and rubbing his temples. It didn't take long before his horse got a mind of her own and wandered off despite his tugging on the reins. He was just an eleven-year-old snot, and she was one of the oldest ones in the stables. He certainly wasn't going to boss her.
So, when she knew he wasn't paying attention, she went to the left as the other boys took right. He hardly noticed her change of plans until he was in the air and thrown on the ground from her bucking.
The boy groaned, stumbling up, watching a flash of white disappear into the thick greenery of the forests. There would be no chance of her returning. He sighed, more bothered by the dirt on his clothes than being stranded. If he thought hard enough, he could find his way home.
He began to mentally retrace his steps, starting with his embarrassing fall, when a sudden string of melody entered his head. He thought he was daydreaming the notes at first, but as they got louder, he realized it was someone singing.
It definitely was, and Roderich considered it being a young girl. But did anybody live in this forest? Maybe she was lost? But nobody sang when they were lost. He went in the direction of the light but firm voice, listening to the lyrics as they floated through trees.
"Rain won't keep me away..." Now there was a more high pitched voice singing. There must've been two people. Within ten minutes, he had finally found the source, and it took him off for a second.
"The gusts won't make me sway..." A skinny little girl was singing along with a slightly thinner boy. Their clothes meant they were peasants, but Roderich didn't immediately notice. The boy had an amazing voice, very high, but so clear. He barley noticed the thin cotton clothes hanging off their hungry frames or their cut feet or swollen red hands. He certainly didn't notice the girl spotting him and her eyes going wide. He only came to earth when the boy's soft singing stopped dead. Roderich was met with hard eyes.
"What?" The boy's brow dipped down and the girl held onto his hand for reassurance. Roderich was never spoken to in that tone of voice, so he didn't respond until the boy snapped. "Well, what do you want?"
"I-I… Sorry." He stammered, his face heating as he pulled at the hem of his tunic. "I just heard you… So I just came a bit closer…"
The poorer boy was acting like the richer one had overheard secret military plans. "So you were spying on us?"
Roderich wavered. "I-I'm sorry…?"
The girl's sweet eyes fell upon him, and he went from fear from the boy to shyness from her. He'd never spoken to a girl before. She said with a honey-like voice, "Brother, he's just saying your singing is good."
Roderich wasn't the only one affected by her. The urchin boy's glance softened on her, but it didn't stop his frown. He said nothing; so she continued, turning to Roderich. "What's your name?"
His bashfulness made his voice quieter than normal. "Roderich von Edelstein."
The poor boys' frown went to an outright sneer, making Roderich even more uncomfortable. The girl hardly noticed as she continued, "It's nice to meet you Herr von Edelstein." She did an honest curtsey with childlike clumsiness and a torn dress.
Out of habit, Roderich bowed his head as if she were a lady and not a waif. "My name is Vanessa Zwingli." She put on a small smile and he couldn't help but smile back. The boy's glare deepened as this exchange of names went on. Expectantly, the two turned to him. He had a sulky look of 'what, me?' but grumbled out, "Vash... Vash Zwingli."
"It's nice to make your acquaintance," Roderich nodded his head, hoping extra politeness would put him at ease, but the blonde hardly budged. Vanessa took up conversation. "Herr von Edelstein, I haven't seen you here before."
"Th-that's because I'm not usually." Roderich said, instantly remembering the incident with the horse and he cousins. Were they looking for him? To be honest, these scraggly dolls were better company than those tin soldiers. "We're here all the time!" Vanessa piped, and her brother audibly groaned. She turned to him questioningly, puzzled by his sour face. "Brother…?"
"Of course he's never here, sister, just look at his clothes. He reeks like nobility."
Roderich instantly flushed from the attack and Vanessa turned on her heels. "Brother! I realize that, don't be rude!"
"Why should I be polite?" He refused to growl at her, instead directing it to Roderich. "Why are you even talking to us!"
"I…" Roderich's jaw stayed suspended for a second. "I… Well, because…"
"Because he liked your singing, remember brother?" Vanessa said in a much quieter but still bothered voice. Vash seemed even more bothered by that and was about to belt out some other angry comment when Roderich quickly spoke up. "I-I should be getting back… My cousins might be looking for me…"
"Go ahead." Vash leered like a predator despite his sister's continued disapproving look. Roderich was about to awkwardly turn and leave, thinking a formal goodbye would only irritate the boy further, but Vanessa was disappointed. "Do you know how to get back from here?"
Roderich paused. "…Ah. N-no, actually…"
Vanessa smiled. "Oh, just follow the trail with the least amount of trees and most dirt. That's how we get out."
Roderich didn't want to express the fact that those were incredibly vague directions, and a fleeting thought went through his head, vague peasant directions…He quickly scolded himself and nodded gratefully to her. "Thank you Frau Zwingli." He took her hand and gave it a quick peck, earning him a beaming smile from the girl and another audible grumble from her brother. "Um… Herr Zwingli?"
Vash's dagger eyes shot at him. "Hn?"
"What… What was the name of that song you were singing?"
Taken off guard, Vash's eyes widened and his face visibly flushed. "I-I… It… It's called…"
Vanessa spoke up, "In Your Sky."
Vash looked away, the red spreading to his ears. Roderich smiled, "Thank you." And left.
Half recalling the young girl's instructions and half thinking about the two, he managed to see the tip of his castle from the sky. He thought about the melody the boy had, and wished he had stayed hidden to listen to the whole song. He'd never heard such a sweet tune before; he kept replaying what little he heard through his mind. And for the first time since he ever discovered the piano, he itched to play something.
"Roderich!" The loudest of the brothers approached him. "We were looking for you!"
"We found your horse," The younger once brought the calmed mare.
Roderich's feet awkwardly poked at the ground. "I… I'm sorry, she threw me off…"
"I can tell." The oldest eyed the boy's dirtied white clothes. "So your parents got a new one."
The brunette looked up at him, eyes wide and surprised. "A… new horse?"
"She's in the stable." The man's wide grin seemed to break his face. "Try not to piss this one off, little prince." And he pinched and pulled Roderich's cheek with his pale fingers.
His brother shooed off his hand, asking, "What will you name her?"
Roderich rubbed his cheek, mumbling, "I think… Himmel."
Chapter 1 of a story I've been meaning to post up for a while; this is an AU in Austria around... gosh, sometime 1600-1700 xD Of course, I know nothing about Austrian/Swiss history in that time period, so ... eh... -fail- Btw, 'Himmel' is 'sky' for German. It just sounds cute to me c:
If you're wondering why the text is so detailed and flowery, well, I was reading Les Miserables while writing this xD I love the book, it's just sooo long... Urggghhh.
I hope you enjoy this latest bit of AustroSwiss, soon to be full of typical angst/drama I love to write :D
