Third Person's P.O.V.

Picture this: Some old town with fancy-dressed ladies and fancy-dressed men, all sweating their butts off because they're wearing three thousand layers. Also, these fancy people are driven around in fancy horse-drawn carriages because no one can get off their sweaty butts and invent a car. The streets are stone with tall houses made from the same material. The building are close together though there are various alleys where abandoned children and poor homeless people gather what they can to live throughout the day. Above the fancy-dressed people and the homeless, are gray clouds looking as though they are about to pour any second. And all the woman just so happen to have umbrellas the same colors as their giant puffy dresses. Have you pictured all of that? Good, because that's our setting.

So, now we're going into one of these rat-infested alleys where a group of homeless boys, about 11 years old, stand around talking to each other. The dirt on their bodies are plain to see, their hair are all shaggy and a mess, and snot runs from their noses.

"Oi!" Says one boy, because apparently now this England or something. "Owen! Don't eat all the food!"

A chubby little boy with hair so filled with dirt that it was no longer blond, turns to the other boy, trying to hide the bread he stole from their small pile of essentials. "But I'm hungry!" He complained, as a boy this young would.

The boy who yelled at him, who seemed to slightly stand out from the rest, frowned and crossed his arms. His hair was black and almost down to his shoulders. Bright blue eyes shone from under the grime on his face. He looked beaten and bruised, and if you were part of this small group of boys you would know he looked that because he was the most mischievous of the bunch. He was often getting hit by people for stealing, or trying to at least.

"Too bad. I'm hungry too, but you don't see me stuffing it up my face." The boy leaned into the other.

"Chill!" Jumped in a third boy. His face was bright and happy despite the large red mark on his forehead. A ratty hat sat on his head. If you asked the group, you would know it was his prized possession because it was what cowboys wore. He liked to tell the story about the cowboy who gave him his hat and told him to stay happy, back when he had a family. "Just let him have a little. We'll survive I'm sure. You're good at finding food." He told the other blue-eyed boy.

The seemingly leader of the group rolled his eyes toward the little cowboy and turned to the last boy of their 4-person group. This boy had shaggy hair, as did the rest of them, but he was the only actual brunette. The boy had a chip in his tooth and also had blue eyes, like the leader and the boy with the cowboy hat. (Owen had very dark eyes, almost black.)

"Cody!" He barked. The boy jolted from his nap, leaning against a trash can. "Come on, we have to go before the baker finds us here. "

The little boy, who was a year younger than the rest of them, nodded and rubbed his eyes. Suddenly, he stopped and his eyes opened wide. "Run!" The boys understood before he even said anything.

The leader, had not been paying attention as well as the other three. The boy with the cowboy hat, Geoff was his name if you were wondering, and Owen flew past the leader, accidentally knocking the young boy on the ground.

Looking up, he saw a woman somewhere in her mid-twenties with coal black eyes and long hair to match. She wore the same dress style as every other women you saw walking down the street. Her top was a dark red and the skirt was black. Hanging on her arm was a black umbrella. On top of her head was a large, feathered red hat.

The women narrowed her eyes at him. "Little boy." She said with unneeded harshness. "Where are your parents?"

Suddenly becoming shy- No, not shy, but not wanting to give out anything said quietly, "Don't have any. Leave me alone."

The women stood straight, her eyes still narrowed. Slowly, her expression softened and held out her gloved hand. "Come. I'll take you to my home where we will find you a suitable place to sleep and eat tonight."

The boy stared at the hand, afraid of it. Hands had never been kind to him. For as long as he could remember, they had only slapped him or threatened him.

Slowly, the boy held out his hand and held on to hers. The woman helped him up and walked with him down the street. It was an odd sight to many passerbys. Of course, it wasn't uncommon for a woman to be holding her son's hand, but the lady was obviously refined. The little boy was wearing clothes that he had not changed out of for months. In any way, they were an unlikely duo.

"My name is Lady Heather. What is yours?" She asked him, holding the umbrella above both their heads when it started to sprinkle.

The boy paused, suddenly stopping Heather and himself. No one had really ever called him anything. The boy had always been without a family. He could hardly remember before when Geoff stayed with him. He could very well have come off the boats with the Spaniards years ago. The boys in his group had already had names from when they had families. Every now and then, they would really just call him boss because... well, he was the boss.

The boy pushed his hair out of his face and looked up at the surprisingly kind lady. "Don't have one."

Heather looked surprised. "You don't have one?" They started walking again. "Well, then let's call you... Duncan!"

"Duncan?" The boy wrinkled his nose at the name.

The woman sighed, but smiled. "It's a popular name and I think the name suits you just fine."

The-boy-now-named-Duncan nodded his head slowly. "OK. Duncan."

Heather smiled down at the boy.

Five Years Later

Duncan rested his head against the wall, so tired of being punished, listening to his mother, Lady Heather, complain about him to her husband. Spaniards had continued coming to their land during the war, and his mother had been very fond of one who had taken shelter in their house two years ago. They had gotten married spur-of-the-moment a month ago. Duncan had had a blast at the party (not really, that's sarcasm).

"I just don't get it. Five years I've raised him, he's 16 now, and he still gets into mischief! Bothering the baker and- and more for no reason! As if he's still poor! It's like he wants to get in trouble. Sometimes I seriously regret taking him in..." He heard his mother sigh and knew she had run her fingers through her hair like she always did when she was distressed.

"Shh. Mi amor, do not get so worried. The niño will come to his senses. Perhaps he just needs friends to show him. You do know he still- um, the word... hangs out... with the beggar boys, right?" Alejandro replied. His English was still not the best.

However, the poor-spoken question turned Duncan's life upside-down. Before we get to the next chapter, let me just sum it up for you: Stuck-up snobs, fancy parties, and a girl who wants nothing to do with this beggar.

So I wrote this story a long time ago and I was in the mood to write some fanfiction, so I decided to fix it up a little bit and actually continue the story, since I only got six chapters in before. I think I have a set plot right now. Let's just hope I keep it!

Thank you for reading! Please review, I really appreciate it. Also, if you end up finding mistakes regarding the plot or even spelling or grammar, please let me know. Like I had Alejandro as Heather's fiance before, so if I say that again, it'd be great if you could let me know. I try my best to review, but you can only do so much!