Prologue: A Hero's Beginning
She was five years old when she first fell in love. No, it wasn't a person because what does a child know of love. It was stories that she fell in love with.
It was always the fantasy that won her heart. It always had such a regaling quality that, as a young child, Ivy Hart was thoroughly captivated. Even enthralled enough for the overactive child to settle down long enough to devour the enchanting fairy tales. She would consume whatever her mother read to her just before bed and her appetite never quite satiated.
Ivy's mother didn't know what made the stories so awe-inspiring to the five year old but they were. Nothing was safe from from Ivy's grubby hands and child like imagination. Ivy loved the spoonful of sugar that made these fantasies so much sweeter, so much more potent.
It was by complete accident Ivy stumbled upon Arthurian legends. King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table where everything Ivy could ask for in a story as a child. Her mother smiled secretly, finding the irony in her daughter's love of valiant knights and noble kings.
Ivy grew quite fond Queen Guinevere. For without her, King Arthur wouldn't have any knights nor would he even have a round table. Ivy would often create her own fantasies within the realm of Camelot and it's brave knights. It wasn't always exclusive to Arthurian legends and myths either. More often than not Ivy would also include other fairy tales because nothing was off limits to a child with an imagination running rampant like a wild fire and a heart for adventure.
More than anything Ivy wanted to be the beautiful princess locked away in an ivory tower cursed by an evil witch just waiting for her iron clad knight to rescue her. In her make believe, Ivy would wait by the tower's window waiting for her knight to beg and plead for her to throw down her long dark tresses so he could rescue her. Ivy's mother often had to play the part of gallant knight when her father was away on business.
Her father had been particularly amused when Ivy dubbed her father as a knight with a wooden spoon in the kitchen. Ivy hadn't understood why she had sent her mother into a fit of giggles when she had dubbed her father Sir Lancelot, the bravest in the land. Her father smiled and simply stated Galahad was a far better knight than Lancelot would ever hope to be.
Ivy always looked forward to the knightly adventures she had with her father in between business trips. It had been her father's idea to turn a tea cup into the Holy Grail because who would expect that? Ivy and her father received more than one stern talking to by her mother for using an entire roll of aluminum foil for a suit of armor. Her father often enjoyed watching his daughter run about in their backyard wrapped in foil and a crown tangled in her hair.
Ivy was nine and her love only grew stronger.
Her mother still ended the night with a story, though more often than not it was one in which both Ivy and her mother concocted on the spot. Her mother would joke, saying Ivy had exhausted a thousand years worth of legends in the span of four years. It didn't matter to Ivy as long as her mother told her a story before bed.
And every night that's exactly what Ivy got.
Until one night, she didn't. Her mother had left her at home to watch television which was a rare occasion for Ivy. The young girl's mother allowed her an hour of television while she took a stroll in the park with a man she'd claimed as an old friend. Ivy hadn't minded the interruption much as she watched Mary Poppins. She hadn't noticed an hour became two and then three or four.
In fact it didn't strike Ivy as odd at all until it was hours past her bedtime. She was sleepy and hungry and a large part of her confused. Ivy waited and waited and waited. Home alone and terribly afraid. Ivy didn't know who to call and even if she had, she didn't know any telephone numbers to call. It really struck Ivy as odd when her father burst through the front door, wide eyed and bewildered, home days before he was expected.
It wouldn't be until she was older would Ivy recall he was covered in blood. Ivy was never certain if it was all his or not. She was too afraid to ask when she got older.
Her father nearly wept at the sight of his daughter curled up on the sofa half asleep. He wasted no time scooping his daughter in his arms. This was the first time Ivy had ever seen her brave knight of a father weep.
Her father sat her down on the sofa once more and smoothed down her long hair. Kneeling before her, Ivy's father shook with emotion uncertain to her. She didn't see it then but under the surface a lethal storm was brewing in her father's blood.
Everything became very jumbled and confusing for Ivy. There was a lot the nine year old didn't understand. She didn't understand why her father was afraid. She didn't understand why her things were being packed and shipped away. Ivy also didn't know why she spent a lot of time with her father's close friend and co-worker Merlin. She didn't understand why everyone grew very tense whenever the young girl asked for her mother.
After being sat down by her father, Ivy did come to understand one thing. Her mother was dead. Ivy's father tried to explain as best as he could to the nine year old that Ivy's mother was killed by a very bad man.
This was something Ivy sort of understood. She didn't understand the concept of death or the finality of it. Ivy could somewhat grasp that her mother was gone. it did nothing to soothe the pain in her little heart but she understood. Understanding and acceptance however do not go hand in hand. Ivy spent her days listless without her mother to entertain her wild imagination and games. She grew frustrated with her father when he didn't get storytime right when it was time to bed. The nine year old slept little when the bedtime stories stopped all together because who would slay the dragon lurking in her closet? Or would the knights ever find the Holy Grail?
No one would read to her when she moved in with her father's work. He worked too much and was home just as little. Moving would teach young Ivy that her father was indeed a valiant knight and thanks to Ivy's late mother, she learned not to wait for a knight to save you from your ivory tower.
Ivy Hart shed the idea of becoming a princess who would throw down her long silky hair for someone else to save her. She cut down that idea like Dame Gothel chopping off Rapunzel's fine golden tresses. Instead a new fantasy took hold in the young girl's heart. She would become the knight that saved herself.
Hi! So this is my first crack at a Kingsman story. This is only to give a back story of the main character Ivy and such. Let me know what you think!