Title: The Raven

Rated: M

Summary: AU. Castiel is given a choice: debtors' prison, or a lifetime as a servant of the king. With the help of fellow servant Gabriel, Castiel learns the ropes. However, there are no instructions in the manual that can tell him what to do when he meets one King Dean Winchester. Destiel, bit of Sabriel.

A/N: It's been a while, but I'm back! This is my first (published) attempt at a slow burn, bear with me. There will be smut galore (right now only Destiel) but we have to wait to see if the king and the servant hit it off. (; As for historical accuracy... I combined a few eras. It's not confusing, I promise. Enjoy!

Chapter One

Knock knock knock. "Soldiers of the castle! Open up!" Castiel flinched against the harsh knocks at his door. He was ready for this; the door was barricaded with a table and three chairs, which was all the furniture he had left, save his little cot in the corner and the sparse bookcase. He waited silently near the back door of the grimy little house, a bag of cheese and bread tied securely to his back. The soldiers would get in eventually, and then he would run. The horrors the woods had to offer would be better than the fate that awaited him if he were caught.

Something heavy hit the door, and a chair toppled out of the way. Don't shake, Castiel Novak, he told himself. Be strong. Another hit, and another chair fell to the ground. The raven-haired man opened the back door an inch, posed to run at any moment. The front door burst halfway open, a soldier tumbling into the table, and Castiel took off into the dead field behind his house.

Blood rushed in his ears and his heart pounded faster than his feet on the dry soil. He snuck a peek behind him; three soldiers were sprinting towards him and quickly gaining ground. They usually sent one or two soldiers, maybe, but not three. As he turned his head back around, Castiel's foot hit a poorly placed rock and he fell on his face, hard. He had just managed to prop himself up on his elbows and take a wheezing breath before he was pushed back down into the dirt.

"Tie him up," a gruff voice ordered. Castiel's wrists were bound behind him and he was hauled to his feet. The soldier who had spoken sized him up as he fought back tears. It would be debtors' prison for him. His land had betrayed him one last time. It wasn't his fault that the farm was left to him after his parents were killed. He wasn't a farmer.

"How old are you?" one of the soldiers holding his arm asked.

"T-Twenty," Castiel's voice wavered.

"And are you ill or crippled?" the same soldier asked.

"No," he answered more evenly.

"You will be given a choice," the first soldier that spoke, Maybe the head soldier? told him, sheathing his sword. Castiel tilted his head, confused. A choice? What, swift death by beheading or a drawn out death in the prison? A bird squawked overhead as they stood awkwardly in the yellow grass. "The first choice is, of course, debtors' prison until pardoned by the King." Castiel chuckled humorlessly. The King didn't pardon anyone. "Or," the soldier continued with a glare, "you may work as a servant in the castle. You are young and able-bodied. You will be provided with living quarters and food, if you pledge to work tirelessly for the King."

Castiel's jaw dropped open. Cells packed like sardines with dirty debtors and criminals, or a perpetually clean castle? Brown gruel or food from a real kitchen? "You may have a moment to think," the head soldier said dryly.

"Servant," Castiel blurted. "I want to be a servant at the castle."

"A wise choice," the head soldier motioned to one of the men holding Castiel's arms, and they re-tied his hands in front of him. A little of the pressure in the blue-eyed man's shoulders was released. "You may bring with you to the castle three personal items."

They were soon in the doorway of Castiel's tiny house. The castle men were silently watching him, probably waiting for him to select his three items. Castiel walked slowly through his house, most likely for the last time. He spotted a small painted picture on his hearth. It was of his parents smiling and holding baby Castiel in their arms. He turned away from it. His parents weren't worth remembering. He quickly chose his favorite storybook from when he was a child and his short-feathered pen, soft and emerald green. It was the most expensive thing he owned, and the pen he taught himself to write with. They went into the little sack.

"One more thing," the head soldier reminded him. Castiel almost told them there was nothing left for him to take, but a strange feeling brought him to the foot of his bed. He strained to reach under his bed with his arms tied in front of him, but with a grunt, he retrieved a cube-like object wrapped in a cloth.

"What is it?" the soldier narrowed his eyes. Castiel unwrapped the little cube- a box, small enough to fit in his palm. It was ornately carved and pieces of it were inlaid with gold. There was a muted gold oval where the lock should have been, and he had no key. He had never had a key.

"It's a family heirloom," the black-haired man told the soldier. It was technically true; his parents had guarded the box like it contained a treasure for his entire life. Something compelled him to keep it even after they died. They never opened it, and neither did he. He tried, but nothing would make the box opened. It couldn't be broken or burnt, and there seemed to be nothing inside it. "There's nothing inside it," his words echoed his thoughts. "Shake it."

The soldier picked up the little carved box and shook it. No sound came from within, no rattling or thumping or even a change in weight to indicate that there was something inside. The soldier immediately lost interest and wrapped it carelessly in the cloth. "Alright then," he said, motioning to the door still half barricaded with furniture. "Let's go."

The soldiers were quiet as Castiel was placed in the little cart. Two sat with him in the back and one drove the horses. The shoddy carriage was uncovered, and the people in the village stared as he was paraded to the center of the kingdom. He thanked the lord his village was small and fairly near to the castle. The ride was short, and he was able to stave off the doubt and worry that settled in around him. Did they beat the servants at the castle? Were the servants' quarters like a prison? What would he have to do there?

As the sun sunk lower in the sky, the cart came upon the castle wall, twenty feet high and made of huge polished stones. The soldier driving whistled up to the guards, who gave a responding whistle before raising the iron gates.

Castiel barely had time to take in the lush green grounds and intricate design of the castle before the cart disappeared inside a stable. There were nine horses, Castiel counted, and three stable boys. The large animals stomped their feet and brayed at him.

The sun was setting rapidly, and the walk to the castle gave Castiel some time to think. He was escorted by one of the soldiers, who had untied his hands. "No use for it now," he had said. "Can't get out of these walls without us." The dark-haired man ignored the soldier's small talk. He decided he would just stay quiet, keep his head down. If he attracted no attention to himself, maybe life here would be good. Pleasant, even.

The corridors the two walked through were dark and stony, but clean and lit with many torches. A good sign, he thought. "...Anna." The soldier had been speaking.

"Sorry, what?" Castiel turned the corner.

"Anna," a petite redhead stood in front of him. "I am the Servant Keeper. Thank you," she nodded to the soldier, who handed her the little bag filled with Castiel's things and walked quickly away. "Please follow me." Castiel followed her up some stairs and through a larger corridor. Through the windows, Castiel could see the stars in the dark sky. They were the same stars that he always looked at from his own window. It was hard to believe though.

"The servants sleep two in each room, and there's only one vacancy left." She hesitated. "I apologize for him in advance. The tasks for each day are written out at the end of the hall, and as long as they are done quietly and efficiently, you are free to spend your day at leisure so long as you don't disturb the staff or visitors. I'm sure he'll give you a tour tomorrow." She handed Castiel his small bag and inclined her head towards a door. It looked ordinary, but Castiel was nervous. He looked back towards Anna, but she was already halfway down the hall.

The door looked weathered, but it didn't make a sound as it swung open. A man lay on a plain bed, looking pensively at a dusty book. Castiel shut the door behind him, and the man didn't look up. He was short, with long, dark blonde hair and a shadow of facial hair that seemed to darken in the flickering candlelight. Then the man did something Castiel would have never imagined- he raised his hand as if to turn a page, and plucked a chocolate out from behind the book and popped it into his mouth. Pale hazel eyes met Castiel's deep blue ones in amusement. "Hungry?"

So this man was to be his instructor, overseer, or something like that. He wanted to ask a thousand questions. What did he do now? What would be expected of him? Was life here okay? "How'd you get that in here?" is what fell from his lips instead.

The man grinned and set his book down, revealing a small cheese box filled with little chocolates. "I wasn't going to let them toss all these." He tsked. "What a waste. I offered to clean up." He popped another chocolate in his mouth and held out the box.

Castiel took one warily, like it would burn him. It smelled absolutely heavenly; Castiel couldn't remember the last time he had eaten chocolate. He nibbled it slowly, savoring it for as long as he could. "I'm Castiel," he introduced himself to this eccentric man.

"Gabriel, but you can call me Gabe," the man replied, getting up to light the candle near another bed. "Welcome home, Cassie." Castiel frowned at the new nickname. Cassie sounded so feminine. He pushed that thought away for now to focus on this new environment.

"Relax, Cassie," Gabe instructed him. "I can see you trying to think, and it makes my head hurt." The shorter man sat back on his bed and pushed the now closed box of chocolates under it. "Get some sleep, I'll tell you about everything in the morning."

Castiel laid down on his small bed, surprisingly soft for what he expected. Still, he was stiff as a board. Everything he ever did was first planned out, each potential outcome analyzed and prepared for. He had even had a plan for when he thought he would go to prison. But now... now he was in an entirely unfamiliar situation with no idea what could happen to him. He had never even seen the castle apart from the shadow near the horizon, and now he was expected to, what? Clean it? Cook in it? He didn't even know what being a servant entailed.

"Seriously, Castiel, go to sleep. It's not as scary as you think it is, I promise," Gabe reassured him before blowing out his candle. Castiel blew out his own and turned onto his stomach, pushing his hands under the pillow like he did at home. Breathe, he told himself. After the events of the day, Castiel fell asleep quickly.