(trumpets) Tada! I promised it, here it is! A new phic! And unlike anything you have ever read! A medieval retelling! Whoo-hoo!

I don't own anything you recognize, only the idea of a medieval retelling.

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Prologue: 1453

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The young woman ran.

She had no other choice, knowing that her pursuers were at her heels. She was dressed in rags, almost, to the noble eye – to the eye of a peasant, she was modestly dressed. She had long black hair and dark eyes, the former hidden beneath a shabby old had. Had she not been dirty and frightened, she might have looked pretty, but her features were much too strong to ever make her truly beautiful. In a bundle of fabric, she carried with her the only luggage she believed she would need – her child.

She was not one of those unfortunate girls who were left with an unpleasant surprise in the form of a great appetite and morning sickness after a love affair. Quite the contrary – she and her husband had been blessed when they had received news from the local doctor that she was with child. But her beloved husband was no more… an accident at the site of the new church in their village had robbed her of all she held dear in life.

She had hoped that the son she carried within her body would bear a semblance of him, so that she might at least have a living, tangible memory of her only love. The birth had been difficult, an agony nothing could prevent­… but it had been nothing compared to what the release from the pain had brought her. The midwife had crossed herself; any servant present had screamed and ran. And when she had been presented with her son, she herself had almost screamed. Not out of joy.

It was a miracle that the two of them had survived the two months of hell in the village. Madeleine felt that by now, she knew every name a woman could get called. The Devil's Whore, Satan's Tart, hell-spawned slut, witch… witch. It had been that last name that had driven the entire village against her. The pain, the humiliation, she could endure. But when they came to her cottage with torches, with weapons, she only grabbed her son and fled.

Madeleine had been a slightly childish woman before the birth of her son, but she had outgrown the pettiness almost overnight. The two sharp blows in her life – the passing of all family she had and the birth of… him – were more than enough to harden any heart, but to her, it had been almost like a whipping. But she was humble now… now when it was too late. There was no turning back.

She had considered killing her child, many times, but once the rest of the world had seen him, the midwife, even, she knew it would be useless. Besides, all knew of her pregnancy and a murderer, a woman that killed her own child, was to be damned to Hell! She didn't wish that, truly she didn't.

"There she is!" a hysterical voice shrieked behind her. Madeleine turned with the primal fear of a hunted animal and sped up. Her feet were bare, but instinct was stronger.

"Get her! Kill the witch!" someone roared and the rest of the crowd quickly joined in.

Madeleine ran with all her strength.

But in her heart, she knew they wouldn't rest until they had her and her son. Both of them wouldn't survive this day. She was weak, tired… just a woman, not past her teenage years yet. The crowd would catch up with her and if it wouldn't be this crowd, it would be the next, in another town, and another one, or the next one…

She was bound to her child, no matter what. She couldn't bear to kill him and she couldn't continue living with him dependant on her. All she could do was run once more.

There was a building ahead, hidden among the trees. With a sudden great hope, Madeleine recognized it as a convent. Nuns, religious women… a thought crossed her mind. Her son could survive this day if she could just make it there and leave him, then she could run to where no one knew her, where no one would accuse her of being a witch or call her anything equally wicked. They would both live and they would be safe.

With a last effort, Madeleine ignored the pain her feet felt. Her body protested, she needed rest, but she didn't allow herself to stop. Her life depended upon this, her and her child. It would be a sin to abandon him like that, but there was no other way. And leaving him among women of the Faith could hardly be worse than whatever fate awaited her poor child out in the cruel world.

In a way, it wasn't his fault that everyone feared him.

But to say that the fault was God's was blasphemous and Madeleine didn't dare think it, let alone say it. However, what other explanation was there? Her Charles had been perfect and she herself had no physical flaw either. How come the fruit of their great love had the cry of an angel and the face of the Devil, twisted and deformed, the face of Death and decay, and his eyes, yellow, shone like a cat's.

Cats were always associated with witches.

She hid herself among the trees and quickly ran to the back exit of the monastery. At once, she wrapped the child into the bundle, knocked on the door hard, gently laid the child on the doorstep and departed. She lingered for a moment, as if deliberating whether to kiss him goodbye, but she found not the strength.

After all, she would kiss Death one day… but this was not that day.

Madeleine fled, as if she had just passed the convent by. But the crowd was quick, more were gathering. One of them, a religious fanatic, had a crossbow with arrows that had been put in a fountain of Holy Water before the crowd had assembled. The maniac crowd encouraged the man and he didn't hesitate. He was a great marksman. He hit his target effortlessly.

Madeleine felt the air rush out of her lungs unnaturally. The pain, she almost didn't feel. Somehow, she felt glad that she was being put out of her misery. No longer would she need to allow herself to be chased by the hounds of guilt, by the Furies that would never let her rest for abandoning her own flesh and blood. Her child would be safe with the nuns.

Her son would live… with that thought, she collapsed into darkness.

X X X

Sister Antoinette had been the nun who had opened the door into the night when Madeleine attempted to outrun her pursuers for the last and final time. She was a woman of twenty three summers and at once recognized the bundle on their doorstep. The baby made no sound, even as the nun picked up the bundle.

Mater misericordiae! Mother of mercy!

She almost dropped it when she saw the face of the child. It was utterly hideous and a woman who had not seen cruelty and hatred in the world would have screamed. But Sister Antoinette knew better. She prayed in her mind that God would forgive the mother of this child for abandoning him, because he was not responsible for the tragedy of his visage. The rest of the child's body was frail, but strong and while to any other nun he would look like a Hell spawned creature, Sister Antoinette felt her compassionate heart take over.

She herself had given into passion once and given birth to a daughter, but the passion had been unwilling, she had been forced into the sacred act of creating a soul by an uncaring man. Afterwards, she had given birth to a beautiful girl, but felt that she couldn't support her family alone, thus she had entered the convent. The child, unfortunately, died, but the nuns taught her that it was a lesson to learn.

She had never learned that lesson. Truly, she was a new nun, new enough to have slightly more worldly and humanistic views than the others.

And then the child cried and Sister Antoinette felt that her heart had stopped. It hadn't been a shriek of a hungry child, but a melody of a voice that made her almost believe that the Lord himself had been once more reborn in this child, so that he might see if men had learned the lesson he had so sought to teach them so long ago. The good nun clutched her crucifix with one hand while carrying the child in another. Looking around fearfully, she took him into the building.

The rest of the nuns weren't around, so she quickly went to gather what clothes she could find for him, what food she could find. And then, she remembered that in Venice, it was the custom to dress up in masks for a carnival, a ball. For this child, the mask could prove a savior, so she quickly went to search for whatever fabrics she could find that wouldn't scratch his cold skin too much. Skilled enough in sewing, she was done within the hour.

An hour later, the masked baby seemed like any other child. Sister Antoinette smiled to herself as she rocked him. One could get used to anything and fix everything when they simply sat down and thought for a moment.

"Physical beauty is nothing in the eyes of Our Lord." She repeated in a whisper. The boy looked at her with some curiosity in his intelligent eyes. "You will need a name…" she realized quickly. She looked at him again, deliberating with herself. She was a well-educated nun and thus decided almost at once.

"You are as pale as the Scandinavian people and be certain that you will be the only man ruling in this building." she said, "Erik… that will be a nice name for you, it fits both. We nuns learn what we can from Latin texts, you know."

The boy cried again, clearly slightly sleepy. Sister Antoinette understood. Almost at once, he had agreed and assumed the role of the commander. And the nun found herself obeying, almost instinctively. God only knew how long Erik would rule her life – and rule it he would, because no other nun would dare take care of him besides her. This was merely the first day of a long journey set before her by God.

She accepted the journey willingly.