Linnea: a small, fragile wildflower, often called "twinflower", shaped like a pair of soft pink bells.

Its blossoms live for 7 days before they fall.

Chapter One

Little Bird

"Linnea, give me space to walk! You always follow me too closely, just like a little bird. You're going to trip me." The Queen turned to face her daughter and frowned, shaking her head. The little waif was so painfully weak, always clinging, head in the clouds, never paying any mind to her surroundings… The Queen could barely stand the sight of her, knowing in her heart that she might never possess the strength to protect herself from the world. There was danger everywhere, and Linnea, with her tilted green eyes—whore's eyes, the Queen lamented—lily-white skin (not a single freckle anywhere, my fault, her father is covered in them), red hair (that is her father's fault), and long, coltish legs, was just the sort of delicate morsel the world craved. Given the chance, it would swallow her up forever. She had to learn to be vigilant. She had to grow up.

Queen Lionheart, who had once been called Sparrow, won her new name when she passed through the Crucible of Westcliff and emerged a champion. She had long since begun to think of life as a vast crucible, an arena from which there was no escape. In life, one had to fight for every breath, had to earn the right to survive with blood and sweat. She had kept her Crucible title so that she would never forget the truth, and she would be damned if her children lived in willful ignorance. She was a Hero, but she was growing old; she would not always be there to teach them discipline.

She bent and looked her daughter in the eye, gripping her upper arms tightly. The girl winced, but she knew better than to try to pull away. "You are six years old, Linnea," the Queen said quietly. "I was already caring for myself on the street at your age. I fought every day simply to find food and shelter. You are a Princess, but I will die before I watch you grow into an indolent, spoiled weakling. The castle in which you so comfortably live was earned. Your brother understands that well enough. He is very strong, as boys should be. But you're going to be a woman someday, so you will have to work harder than he does, or you will never amount to anything. The Throne will go to Logan when I am gone. He is the Crown Prince. You are redundant. You are nothing, as far as Albion is concerned. You must become useful, or you will live in your brother's shadow for the rest of your life, and you will deserve it. You must grow strong enough to make something of yourself, and you won't do it at my heels, clinging to my skirt. Do you understand, little bird?"

The child lifted her face to stare at her mother, her extraordinary eyes swimming with confused tears. "But…you're wearing pants, Mummy. You said dresses are bad," she said in a small voice, dropping her gaze. "I didn't touch you at all, I promise. I'm sorry, Mummy, I love you, I didn't mean to almost make you trip. I'll be better."

Sorry, sorry, always sorry, and always promising to do better, but does she ever keep those promises? It's always Mummy this and Mummy that, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy! I hate it. Why can't she call me "Mother" as her brother does?

The Queen sighed in hopeless frustration as she followed her daughter's shameful gaze to the carpet. "Don't look down at your feet! Straighten your back. The way you walk makes you look like a victim, and if you look like a victim, someone will make you one. You look like easy prey when you slouch. So stand up straight and keep your eyes off the ground. I've told you before what men do to girls like you in dark places, and I thought I had made my point quite clear. Did you forget?"

Linnea stiffened. There was raw horror in her eyes, and that was good, Lionheart decided. "No, Mummy, I remember."

"Good girl." She stroked her daughter's long, lovely hair and smiled, vaguely considering cutting it all off again as she had when Linnea's soft baby curls had grown out. "I'm glad you remember. It's good to pay attention. What I tell you may save your life one day. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she answered quickly, but Lionheart could tell that she did not. How could she? She knew nothing of death.

That changes today.

"Come along, little bird," she said, standing up and walking toward the practice room. "I have something very important to teach you today. It's the most important thing you will ever learn."

Linnea hurried to catch up to her, careful to keep her distance. "Thank you, Mummy! I'll try really, really hard." Her desperation to please her mother rang out from every tremulous word like a string of chimes. She stumbled a little as she went, all of her focus divided between not looking at the floor and not walking too closely to the tall, pretty lady who was her entire world, who loved her even when she hurt her or scared her with the Bad Stories about the world outside the castle.

Lionheart lifted the latch and opened the door to the practice room. Though it was midwinter, the hearth was cold and empty, and the warmth of the little body behind her was almost soothing. She hardened herself against it. She was used to the cold, and so was Linnea.

A sheepdog lay beside the hearth, and at the sight of them he lifted his head and thumped his tail against the floor. A stern look from the Queen kept him in his place, but he wiggled with anticipation.

"Toby!"

Linnea, grinning, dashed toward him with her tiny arms flung wide. His tail wagged faster, and he panted, licking her face enthusiastically as she hugged him. She giggled and wiped her cheeks and nose on her sleeve, leaning away from his tongue.

"Toby, you have bad breath!" she scolded him. He dabbed her nose with his, and she giggled again, burying her face in his fur. He rolled onto his back and invited her to rub his belly, and she happily complied, blissfully content.

"I love you, Toby," she whispered, throwing her arms around him. He tried once again to lick her face, but she dodged and leaned against his shoulder with her fingers curled into his thick fur. He was warm and soft, and she hadn't been allowed to play with him at all this week.

Lionheart watched grimly, her arms folded over her chest. The child relied on her dog so much. He was her only friend, and whenever Linnea was unhappy, a few minutes with Toby always banished her sorrow and emptied her mind of the lessons her mother tried so hard to teach her. He was a crutch. His presence in her life fostered weakness. Today she would teach her about crutches. It had to be today, before the arrival of Lord and Lady Laurens, who had a small daughter of their own called Elise. Linnea had to be prepared to forego all distractions. Elise Laurens could easily become an even more dangerous crutch than the dog.

The swish of her muscular thighs as she walked to the high shelf above the mantle was not enough to divert her daughter's attention. Her love for her dog eclipsed even her fear of her mother. She reached for a small, velvet pouch and a parcel wrapped in stiff, brown butcher's paper and carried them to Linnea, who was now blowing air into Toby's nose and laughing as he sneezed and shook his head huffily. Goosebumps rose over the girl's pale skin, but she paid it very little mind. Her hands and feet were toughened from her many forced marches through the snow, which had begun when she was three. She could bear the cold. Nevertheless, it was clear that she found the warmth of her dog comforting in the frigid practice room.

The Queen knelt beside her, unwrapping the parcel. A fresh slap of beef bled over the thick paper and dripped onto the floor, and Toby licked the juice on the floor eagerly.

Linnea smiled euphorically at her mother. "You got that for Toby? That's so nice, Mummy! He's so happy—I can tell! Thank you very, very much!"

Lionheart could not return her smile. This was not the time. She passed the meat to the child and tossed the butcher's paper aside. She opened the drawstring pouch and sprinkled the powder within it over the meat in her daughter's little hands. Linnea did not question her, though curiosity was written all over her glowing face.

"Give it to him, Linnea."

Linnea hesitated, startled by the solemnity in her mother's voice, but she did as she was told. Toby sniffed at the meat, then took it politely into his mouth and began to chew. When he had eaten it all, he sighed contentedly.

"Can I take him out to play, Mummy?" Linnea asked. "He loves the snow. I'll go barefoot, too, Mummy, I don't mind!" she added with a shy, hopeful smile.

"No, little bird. We're going to stay here. Why don't you practice your pushups?"

"Okay, Mummy." She was disappointed.

Lionheart watched the dog as her daughter lowered herself to the floor on her belly and lifted her body with her skinny arms. This, too, she had done for several years, and her form was almost perfect. Almost. When she had done thirty, her mother beckoned to her.

"You can rest, darling. Sit beside me. This is your lesson today."

Wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, Linnea returned obediently and sat with her mother. Toby watched them with adoring eyes, panting and drooling heavily. Thick ropes of it dripped from his open mouth.

"Toby?" Linnea reached for him, but he lay his head on the floor and continued his labored panting. "Mummy, why is he acting like that?"

"Animals drool quite a bit when they feel nauseated," the Queen answered smoothly, her eyes locked on the dog.

"You mean…he's sick?"

"He is dying, Linnea."

Linnea's eyes widened until the whites were visible all around her green irises. She wrapped her arms around Toby and began to tremble. He whimpered as his tail lifted weakly, trying to wag for her. "He can't die!" she wailed. Her voice echoed shrilly through the empty room. "He's my best friend in the whole world! We have to save him! You're a Hero, Mummy, can't you save him? Please! I love him!"

Toby was trembling now, too. Lionheart grabbed her daughter by the collar of her thin shirt and dragged her away from him. She did not hold her, but she maintained a firm grip on the shirt. The dog began to thrash on the floor; he was having a violent seizure. Greenish red foam dripped from his muzzle and he whined pitifully, his eyes rolling over in his head to gaze beseechingly at Linnea. He tried to wag his tail again, but he could not lift it more than a few inches from the floor. His whimpers turned to cries of pain, and Linnea struggled to escape her mother's grasp, reaching for him. But she was strong, and her daughter's fingers could not even brush his coat.

"Toby!" she sobbed hysterically, her quick, shallow breaths whistling in her throat. "Toby, don't die! Oh Mummy, Mummy please, please, please! I'll do anything! Save Toby!"

"He cannot be saved, Linnea. He is bleeding inside because of the poison. It is a slow process, but Toby is dying, and there is nothing that can stop that, now."

"Poison?" the girl cried, not understanding. "What poison?"

"The poison you fed to him, my daughter. It was in the meat."

Toby lay very still, heaving for breath. A mixture of drool and blood pooled on the floor beneath his head. He was still gazing at Linnea, who had dissolved into shocked tears.

"M-m-mummy," she screamed between huge sobs, hugging herself and rocking as she watched her dog's death throes, "he d-didn't do anything! He doesn't deserve to d-die!"

"I know. You are so beautiful, little bird," her mother said softly, tucking a lock of her red hair behind one ear and kissing her temple. "It has been a long time since you last cried. You are becoming strong, and I am very proud of you. Today you have learned about death. Death is inevitable. Anyone you know and love can be snatched away from you at any time. For this reason, you must never allow yourself to rely on anyone. You cannot have a crutch in life, or you will fall apart when they leave you. You must be self-sufficient."

She stood and left the room, allowing her daughter to watch Toby's death in privacy.

It took two hours. Linnea was resting her head on his side, listening to his heart. He was so strong. She could almost feel him fighting for his life, fighting to stay with her, and for a moment, hope returned to her. Maybe he wouldn't die… Maybe it was only a Punishment Game. Then she heard his heart stutter and stop, and she forgot how to breathe. She pulled away and looked into his eyes. They were strange…the pupils had grown so large that she could barely tell what color his eyes had been.

"Toby…" the sound was fragile. She was shivering before the empty hearth, stroking her dog's fur. It was still warm, but she could not chase away the chill. It was inside her. She stared at him for a long moment, then lay her head down again and breathed in his scent, and cried.

Sir Walter Beck found her that way an hour later.

"What's this?" he asked, shocked, kneeling by her side and lifting her into his massive arms.

"Toby's dead," she whispered. "He isn't coming back."

Walter sighed and hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry, Princess. He was a good dog. I know you loved him very much, and he loved you, too."

When at last her tears were exhausted, he offered her a warm smile. "You know, I came here to tell you good news."

Linnea simply looked up at him. Her green eyes were swollen and her nose was red and sore.

"Lord Laurens and his wife are coming to stay at the castle for a while. And as luck would have it, their daughter is six, just like you. You even have the same birthday! She is a very nice, pretty girl. I think you will be great friends—think of it, Linnea, a friend to play with! Would you like to meet her?"

Linnea shuddered, remembering what her mother had done to her last friend, and shook her head.

Walter frowned, deeply concerned. "Why not?"

She could not bring herself to say the awful words. She could not tell him what she and her mother had done to Toby. After a long moment, she raised her eyes to meet Walter's. More tears fell, even though she felt as though she had used them all up, and she sniffled and wiped her nose against the back of her hand.

"Walter? Can I ask you for something? Something important?"

"Of course." He smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Go on, then. What can a grumpy old man do for such a lovely Princess?"

She drew a deep breath and quaked all over. "T-teach me to b-be a Hero," she begged, her chest spasming with the strain of holding her agony at bay long enough to ask for this sacred thing, the thing she wanted more than anything else in the world. "I don't wa-w-want anyone el-else to die." She took a deep breath. "Please…please, Walter…. Teach me how to be a Hero."

A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review this story. If you like it, please be sure to follow/favorite and leave your feedback. This is an intensely personal tale, with experiences drawn from my own childhood, and it has been incredibly cathartic to write. My most heartfelt thanks go out to my dear friend, angelacm, who gave me the courage to be myself and tell this story.