A/N: Evangeline McDowell wasn't always the undead mage we've seen in Negima. Once, she was a normal (more or less), little girl. Only a sliver of her past has been revealed in the manga, so of course, I have to wonder what her story really is. Here is my humble attempt to tell the early part of it.

Though short, this chapter is in the nature of a fishing expedition. If I think there is enough interest in this, I will continue. If not, I can go on to another project. I think five positive reviews is a fair goal for this chapter (and your's doesn't count towards the total Eternal-Longing). In any event, if you like the story let me know. If you don't, then tell me why; maybe I can use your input to improve. And if you don't have an account, get one, since I've never enabled anonymous reviews. If you're going to flame me, at least give me the courtesy to respond.

The story is set in the year 1460, and I am striving for historical accuracy. The following terms are used that may not be familiar. A sept is a family that is an independent branch or just a vassal of one of the larger Scottish clans. Gwyte means to lose one's senses or to be crazy. Glesga is another name for Glasgow.

I do not own Negima or its characters, although I would gladly take ownership if offered. Additionally, Averoigne and several other elements are borrowed from Clark Ashton Smith, a contemporary of H.P. Lovecraft (Cthulhu Mythos) and R.E. Howard (Conan and other barbarian swordsmen). I would also like to thank Eternal-Longing and Ambrant Arandel for reading this and their help in making it better.

A Mighty Fortress

The two-wheeled cart rumbled down a road that was little more than a dirt path hardened by countless travelers before. The ox pulling it, plodded at an even pace. Every now and then, the man walking alongside would strike the beast's flank with a switch whenever it showed the inclination to stop.

A fine mist fell from leaden grey skies as the cart continued its northward trek. The drover was wet and foot sore, but he kept his complaints to himself. Whatever he had to endure, it was far better than breaking his back in the lord's fields, or dying in battle.

He heard hoof beats from up ahead and noted a horseman approaching at a smooth canter. The servant recognized the rider as the leader of the men at arms who guarded the cart's contents.

"What good news?" he called out to the horseman. "I've a wager with Saint Peter that there's a dry bed ahead."

"You lose that one," the man laughed in reply. "There's naught but farmhouses."

The man at arms slowed his mount to a trot. Like the drover, he was weary after the long journey from Galloway. The steady drizzle did nothing to improve his mood, nor did the fact they wouldn't reach their destination until the morrow. "How is her ladyship?" the rider asked.

"She finally fell asleep not an hour past," the drover responded.

Ranald of sept MacDowell had served his chieftain well and faithfully for the past 10 years. Years that saw the further decline of the MacDowell family along with the rest of those allied with the MacDougall clan.

He was currently entrusted with escorting his chieftain's eldest, in truth only, child to Glesga. There he was to place her in the custody of the bishop. With him, she will remain an honored guest, though Ranald understood it to mean a hostage.

He rose in the stirrups to look at his charge. Only seven years old, the daughter and heir of the chieftain slept like an angel. Suddenly, he shouted for the man to stop the cart. The servant quickly pulled on the tether, slowing then stopping the ox. "What be the problem?"

The guard reached into the cart and hefted the child into his arms. "She's wet clear through," he declared. "Are you gwyte to let her lie in the rain?"

"I pulled a blanket over her," the man protested.

Ranald set the girl before him on the horse. She murmured something as he wrapped his cloak about them. "Then she kicked it aside."

"I think the last village we passed had a public house," he told the drover. "I'll gather the others and you can meet us there."

He didn't envy the man having to turn the cart about on the narrow road. Like as not, it would wind up in the ditch. However, that wasn't Ranald's problem. Bringing the girl safely and in good health to the bishop was.

All through the night, the rain continued to gently fall. Safely ensconced from the weather, the bishop's provost sat before the fireplace. The flickering flames sent shadows across his face, changing his appearance by turns from young to old, human to demonic.

He was a portly man, obviously used to comfort. He raised a silver goblet to his lips and made a face as he sipped the near vinegar that passed for wine here. Not at all like the vintages of his home in Averoigne.

He had come to this backwards kingdom from his native France just a year ago and was lucky to fall into this position. The previous provost had died a few months prior, and the bishop was frantically searching for a replacement. Having a man with his talents released the bishop from the daily chores of running the cathedral. In return, his faithful servant received a free reign here.

Despite the fire, he shuddered from a chill draft. Untold years weighed upon his shoulders like a thick, woolen mantle. No longer did he look at his reflection; his graying hair held little of the black he had in younger days. If only he had his book.

Again he damned that miserable excuse for a priest who had stolen it from him. Brother Ambrose had come as a spy to investigate certain allegations made against him. The fool managed to find his book and was taking it back to the Archbishop as evidence of his misdeeds. He stopped the priest in time, but lost the book in the process. Without its power, he could no longer hold back the years.

The fire sputtered then released a shower of sparks that illuminated his face. A crescent-shaped scar showed an ugly red against the pallid skin of his brow. His eyes, two dark orbs that glistened like pools of deep water, narrowed as a thought occurred to him. He might not need the book if the child was indeed a mage.

Rumor had it that the MacDowell girl was descended from a long line of witches. If true, he knew spells that would allow him to drain her energy and use it to rejuvenate himself. Such a path would only offer temporary relief, but it might give him enough time to locate his precious book.

Evangeline snuggled deeper into the covers. Although the mattress had seen better days, it was far more comfortable than the floor of the cart had been. If only the man with her didn't snore so much.

She opened her eyes and stared at his back. This past winter, she and some of the other children had stumbled across a bear's den. As she listened to the noises her protector made, she was reminded of the sounds that issued from the cave.

Unable to go back to sleep, the child placed a small hand on the man's shoulder and shook. "Are you sleeping?" she asked. Receiving no answer, she shook a little more vigorously. "Ranald, are you sleeping?"

Annoyed, she sat up. The man at arms was being inconsiderate to say the least. She'd have to take strong action to amend his manners. Evangeline leaned over, careful to avoid the naked blade they lay between them. She took the fleshy part of his ear between her teeth and clamped down hard.

Ranald exploded from the bed, shouting bloody murder. Evangeline pulled the bed covers over her head and giggled uncontrollably. She heard his shouting subside and felt a tugging on the blanket. The man looked down sternly at his charge as she tried to stifle her giggles.

"The chieftain's daughter you may be," he said with a steely glint in his eyes, "but I can still take a switch to your withers."

"You wouldn't wake up," she accused. "Eight robbers could have broken in and spirited away with me without you waking."

His expression softened a little. "A mere eight wouldn't be a match for you girl."

He grabbed his trews and pulled them on. "I'll have them bring up some hot water so you can wash."

A look of distaste crossed her face. "Wash?" she cried in dismay. "Why do I need to wash?"

"You're being presented to the bishop today," he told her. "I won't have you shame the whole family by appearing like a ragged urchin."

He started to pull on his boots. "You'll wear you best dress and all your petticoats as well."

"But Ranald, they're so hot," she whined.

"You want to make a good impression don't you?"

"I doubt the bishop will care what I look like," she countered. "You could present a three-legged stool and as long as it was the heir, he'd probably be happy."

"Come now girl, this is a holy man we're talking about," he reminded her. "Of course he cares about you."

"Then why is he being the king's gaoler?"

Ranald turned towards her, a look of deadly earnest on his face. "Never repeat that again," he warned her. "You're walking into a den far more dangerous than Daniel faced."

The girl swallowed hard in response to his words. "Your life will depend upon what you say."

He quickly finished dressing and retrieved his sword. "I'll see to the water," he said while heading to the door. "Best clean everywhere or I'll take a brush to you myself."

As he walked out of the room Evangeline stuck her tongue out at his back. The door shut behind Ranald with a finality that made the child feel more alone than she ever had.