A/N: Ugh. Ok I'm sorry if this chapter was slow and if it kind of dragged on but yeah. This is the first chapter of the story (I don't know when I'll put the next one up.) Anyways I hope you enjoy it and again I apologise if it dragged on a bit :) And... Err. Tatty Bye!
Reaver paced about his Millfields mansion as he did every day, a crease forming between his brow as he looked at the paintings in the hall. Tap, clap, clip, clop, went his heeled boots and cane on the luxurious marble of the floor as he continued to walk, stopping at one painting in particular.
Sparrow. The Hero Queen of Albion. A large, sad, heaving sigh escaped him as he studied the portrait of the woman. The one that got away... he thought. "You should've been mine..." the words escaped his lips, leaving him full of hatred.
"Eh... I didn't need her anyways," he shook his head violently, hoping that his lies would have some affect, alas, they had none. Reaver could have any woman... Or man... He wanted. They would all give in but Sparrow, well, Sparrow never did.
tap, tip, clap, clop, went his boots once again, the lonely echo of them sending a harsh chill down his spine. what a loathsome, lonely man I am, Reaver thought to himself, she could've changed that... changed me.
He stopped once again at another portrait, his brow raising slightly. The Hero Queen of Albion, it read, Hero of Brightwall, uniter of the lands and... he frowned slightly at the next part, and daughter of the old Hero Queen of Albion. A soft smile spread across his lips as he studied the portrait of the girl. She was... Beautiful.
She had high cheekbones and a sculpted face that ended with a pointed chin. Her hair was pulled back tightly in a high pony; her elegant gold crown rested on the top of her head. It was all tied to together with the sheen of her skin. Her subtle, white skin... She certainly did look like her mother.
"She- She's beautiful," he shook his head once again, his brow creasing and forming harsh, deep lines, "no! I can't be. It's impossible!... I could never."
He sat down at the large, plush seat on the other side of the hallway, strangely yet conveniently placed straight across from her portrait. "Those eyes of hers," he smiled wider and continued to study the portrait of the Queen, "they're brown. Brown like the marshes of Wraithmarsh," not the best, he thought as he stood up and chuckled softly, his top hat shaking slightly as he shook his head and began to walk down the large, wooden staircase and made his way towards the door.
"Where am I going," Reaver stopped and looked at his black gloved hand on the golden handle of the door as he slowly began to turn it and open the door, taking a few steps out, "I surely can't be dumb enough to go see her... Or cound I be?," a large smirk crossed his lips as his cane and boots tapped on the cobblestone of Bowerstone Road.
Off he went on the road to Bowerstone Castle. To her.