Just an idea that popped into my head last night. I'm not guaranteeing any give amount of chapters in a certain amount of time. I'll update when I do, and hopefully you'll still be along for the ride when I do.
I own nothing except Lira and other characters you don't recognize.
Takes place around seven or eight years before the movie. May or may not follow through with the movie. It'll happen if it does.
Chapter One
A lone girl watched as the village was engulfed in flames, sending smoke into the night sky, clouding the moon from view. She slowly sank to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest and watched in silence as all she knew was burned before her eyes. Her hands left gray imprints on the fresh snow, marring the perfect features of the nature that surrounded the chaos.
Rows of houses were overcome by the fire, unable to fight against the fiery inferno coming to destroy them. They did nothing as it swallowed them whole, leaving nothing but burned frames or embers behind in the wake of the flames. It didn't take long for the entire village to be taken by the flames, to be one step closer towards being forgotten. Someday soon a strong southern wind would come through the valley, taking with it when it went the ashes of the village. After years of the weather attacking the already broken down village, there would be nothing left to see. The place would be nothing more than a memory to those who had lived there.
Lira did nothing as her village was destroyed before her, not bothering to wipe away the single tear trailing down her face, living a clean trail through the mixture of smoke and ash plastered to her face. She didn't change her line of sight from the burning village as yells sounded behind her and the snow crunched beneath the feet of the attackers. She didn't protest or fight against the rough hands that grabbed her under the arms and pulled her to her feet.
She didn't look away from what was left of her life burning away as the Saxon pulled her roughly towards the forest. Walking calmly between the two Saxon's, Lira followed them peacefully towards an empty clearing where the rest of their party awaited them. A wince overcame Lira's face as the man twisted her wrist, forcing her to the ground on her knees. The man stared down at her with malice, a smirk painted on the Saxon's face perfectly, as if he practiced it in the reflection of a stream. He spoke to her in a foreign tongue, and Lira didn't bother looking confused.
It didn't take long for the man to become angry and he backhanded the girl across the face, throwing her into the snow painfully. Lira stayed where she had fallen, too exhausted to move, the nights ordeal attacking her senses and making her numb. She could no longer feel her fingers and her legs were starting to tingle.
Another man yelled at her, frustrated by her chosen silence, and kicked her forcefully in the side. Lira felt tears start to fall over her face and curled into a ball, ready to protect herself from further attacks. The men seemed to lose interest in her quickly and moved on to building camp. A fire was built, casting its shadows on Lira's face, flashing images of her burning home seared her mind and she looked away.
It did not take the Saxon group long to prepare their encampment but Lira paid no heed to them. She stared blankly at a patch of darkness between the trees. She wondered how long it would take to run into the darkness, to be lost in the arms of the forest. Where she would go was unknown, she had no family, no friends to go to for help. There was no one beyond the walls of her imprisonment that would be willing to help her.
A rough hand grasped the young girl's arm, forcing her to stand. Another Saxon man pulled her through the small camp, and Lira skipped a few steps in attempts to keep on up the larger, longer strode man. He paused at the entrance of a tent, the one that seemed to be largest, and no doubt held the leader of the camp. A bark of command called out from within and the man pushed Lira towards the flaps, ushering her forward.
She stared back at the darkness again, bidding it farewell. There was nothing for her there, in the unknown. She had better chances with the monster of a man residing in the tent before her than in the frozen emptiness of the forest.
Lira allowed the man to push her into the room, not bothering to cause a scene. Nothing but cooperation would help her now. A wall of heat hit her in the face harshly, like a slap to face rather than the welcoming hug of a family member. She walked across the purposefully laid furs that separated her shoe covered feet from the cold ground and was surprised by the man before her.
A young man, only a few years older than herself, stared at her scornfully from his place from a beautifully crafted wooden chair. He stood from his throne with almost a flourish and waved the man behind Lira away lazily. She felt the man nod and hurry from the room, letting in a wave of cold air into the overly warm tent as he left.
The man walked closer to her, almost daring Lira to back away, to show her fright like all of the other people he had pillaged had. Lira felt her stomach drop and her head grow light from the fear overcoming her body but willed herself to remain normal, to prove the man before her wrong. She jerked back slightly as he reached out a steady hand and grabbed a lock of her dark hair, pulling it up to his nose and sniffed it. He dropped it carelessly, and looked at Lira, smirk still faint on his face.
"What is your name, girl?" he asked in a surprisingly quiet tone, causing Lira to jump at the sound of his voice. His smirk widened at the sight of her fear and surprise but he said nothing more, waiting for an answer.
Lira studied the man before her carefully, taking in the light head of hair and piercing blue eyes, rugged and worn boots and the clearly used sword that hung grandly on his hip. It mocked her, showing how very small she was in the eyes on the man waiting for her name.
She allowed her eyes to trail down the man's form, looking for more hidden weapons, and saw the hilt of a dagger protruding from his boot. She was in no doubt that more lay hidden beneath his heavy winter gear, close at hand for whenever the time called upon them. She looked back at the man's waiting blue eyes and knew he was becoming impatient with her, his nose twitched in apprehension.
"Lira," she said finally, her voice low from the lack of use and coverage of grunge.
The man held out his hand to her, and Lira backed a step back in reflex. "Stefan," he inferred, hand still waiting for hers, palm up.
Lira looked at it uncertainly, not at all sure what cruelty would ensue the moment she put his hand in hers. She knew that a man such as Stefan could not be trusted; he was a murderer, the man that had just destroyed her one and only home. He did not deserve her trust; neither would he ever earn it. A man such as himself knew that as well, knowing his tries for trust would always be in vain.
After a few moments and realizing that Lira had no intention of taking his hand, Stefan let it fall to his side with a frown. He gave a small shrug and turned away from her, walking to a table that held a map upon it. His fingers danced across the smooth surface and he turned back to flash a small grin. "I am truly sorry if any of my men cause you harm. They do not always understand the meaning of 'do-not-harm'."
Lira looked at Stefan in slight shock, not bothering to keep her face blank. He was a Saxon, was not the entire meaning of their existence to harm anything and everything standing in the way of their advancement? Yet, this Stefan character expected her to fall at his feet after a simple and completely untrue apology.
"You burned my village, killed my people, kidnapped me and attacked me. All in the same night," Lira said in a soft yet heated tone. "And you say you're sorry?"
Stefan gave her a stern and almost angered look. "I'm trying to make things right with you before this goes any further," he said, walking closer. "My soul is black enough without the added guilt of a girl. I wanted to do this before you're given away, to know that this was not intended, and I am sorry."
Lira looked at him confused. She didn't have time to question Stefan's words before the flap of his tent was lifted and two men entered into the room, a tall man between them. Lira felt her heart go cold at the sight of the tallest man, knowing without hearing his name who he was.
Cerdic paid no attention to Lira as he briskly walked into the room, his hunched stature frightening her to the core. The commander of the Saxons stopped before Stefan who looked slightly sick to his stomach at the sight of the older man. Lira jumped as Cerdic lashed out and backhanded him across the face and began yelling at him in Saxon.
Stefan did nothing to defend himself against the words of abuse coming from his better, only standing tall and waiting for Cerdic to cease in his ranting. Lira watched in awe as he stared straight ahead, focusing all his attention on the tent wall just above Cerdic's head, appearing as though he was paying close attention to raving man.
Cerdic leaned in close to Stefan maliciously, and whispered threateningly to him before turning away. He gestured to the two guards behind Lira and she felt her body grow cold at the feel of their hands on her arms. She looked to Stefan pleadingly only to find his back to her as he concentrated on the maps laid out on the table.
"You have my apologies," he called to her as Cerdic walked from the tent and the two guards started pulling Lira along forcefully, she looked back at Stefan a last time before the warm tent was left behind and Lira was face to face with the cold once more.
The two men were easily stronger than Lira, and she knew any attempts to fight would futile. She walked limply between them and allowed them to push her into a barred wagon, and fell to the dirtied, wooden floor in a heap. Pulling her torn sleeves further down her hair-raised arms, Lira crawled into a corner of the wagon, resting her head against the bars tiredly. She jerked against the wall as it started to move out of camp.
"They got you too?" a voice asked from the opposite corner of the wagon, startling Lira.
A young boy, a year or so younger than herself at around fifteen, stared out at her under a mop of brown unruly hair. He would be a tall lad, Lira guessed, if he wouldn't be cramped into the small corner, strong as well. Obviously he was well trained, possibly a farmer or soldier. He was easily not a Saxon, the hair gave him away, and his position of imprisonment confused Lira. Could he be another survivor of an attack issued by Stefan or Cerdic? It seemed the only logical answer to Lira's questioning.
The boy's pale eyes stared at her unguarded, awaiting her answer. It seemed that everyone that night wanted one thing or another from her. "Yes," she answered finally. "They got me too."
The boy nodded his shaggy head. "I'm Heath," he supplied kindly, giving her a soft smile.
"Lira," she said softly, glancing out towards the snow covered landscape as it passed by the wagon peacefully. If only she could be out in the snow, free like a bird.
"Don't worry about a thing, Lira," Heath said in a comforting yet strong voice. "I won't let anything happen to you," he reached out his hand, leaving his pinkie waving in the air. "Pinkie promise."
Lira laughed and linked her smallest finger with the boy's and they shook on it.
Their simple words seemed trivial and childish to Lira, but it was strangely comforting.
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