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Author's Notes: 'lo. After nearly two years of this first chapter just sitting here, all crap and short, I've decided to fix it. It's now slightly longer and a little more satisfying. My old writing is so crap, yeck. 'nyway this fic contains my OC, Reina, and it's in her POV unless stated otherwise. Enjoy. I think.
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I do not own any characters from Dragon Knights, seeing as they belong to Mineko Ohkami. I am not profiting from any of this, except the own improvement of my skill and being able to read wonderful crit from my reviewers. :P
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By lUmìKüu
Chapter 1 -
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.:oOo:.
This is my story.
My story that revolves around the Renkin Wizard whom I knew since we were children. No one else has the privilege of saying that but me. Because I knew him. He was a brother, my best friend, and he might of been more.
I am Reina Kashara, foster daughter of Ergo and Ulia Kashara, or something like that. (I've never been good at introductions.)
I am not a princess. I am not a noble. I'm not wealthy, even today.
I was a slave girl. I never had the desire to be a princess, nor a noble. But I do admit to wishing to at least have some pocket money to spend on my favorite sweets in the pastry shop…Anyway back on track. I suppose before we get on to the real story, I'll tell you a bit about how I was when I first met him. Then the story will flow easier.
At least it won't feel like a complete stranger is spilling her life story to you.
But even if I were a complete stranger, you'd listen anyway, wouldn't you? Because my life revolved around the One Winged Angel, as they call him now. Because I knew him. Because I know him.
Because I know exactly who he is.
My lady was wife to the prison keeper. The man's job was to feed and watch over the prisoner's till they were hung. Of course, as soon as I was given to them and was old enough to speak properly, they gave me the job of doing it. (so the old man could spend his time and wages drinking in the pub, instead of the gallows.)
I remember little of my past. Where I came from, who my parents were, the days before I arrived in this dreary, disease-ridden village. I didn't bother to ask anymore. My foster parents just glared and told me to shut up and continue working.
They didn't have much time for me. My Lady was too busy trying to keep her reputation of a refined, educated housewife. She couldn't dirty her dainty hands with the gruel they dish out to prisoners. She couldn't even look at a dying person without running out of the room, a hanky over her nose, claiming to have a pressing appointment. She didn't clean (I did that.) She just sat, looked pretty, and maybe went over to friend's houses to knit, or whatever it is that ladies do.
My Master was never at home. He might as well had slept in the pub and got it over with, seeing as he practically lived there. When he did come home, he was short tempered and left minutes later, stalking out the front door.
Basically is was all me. Cleaning, cooking, feeding, collecting the wages, sweeping, managing prisoners…I could go on for hours about what I used to do to keep the house presentable for guest, and to escape a beating…
Most of the time, I worked in the gallows. In the dungeon just next to the public execution house. It was dank, and humid down there. The stagnant smell of death always clung to the air, and it used to make my nose twitch in annoyance. It was all very depressing, and if I had been any older, I probably would have been one morbid kid. But you know how young children are. They could be standing in a battle field covered in mangled and broken bodies and the child would never fully understand the enormity of the situation. Ah, infantile innocence, those were the days…I really hated that place though..even today I look back and think of the dungeons, which were very like my own personal prison, and I frown in disparagement.
But that's where I met him, wasn't it? So I suppose if I must feel grateful for something in the dungeons, it's that it was the meeting place. Not a very cheerful place to meet someone who's life would forever be entwined around your own, but hey, that's fate for you.
The memory is crystal clear in my mind. I can still see everything as it was…I can still remember, perfectly, the day I met him…
--x-†-x--
A door slammed, echoing in the dark , dreary silence of the dungeon. The stagnant smell of death was in the air, and made my nose twitch with annoyance.
I continued to ladle steaming porridge into flat, misshapen bowls, most of which were nicked and chipped. There were only four prisoners down in the cells at the moment so I only filled four. I poured as much soup as I could, stopping when I thought it would spill if I tried to walk with it. I knew they were all going to die, but that didn't mean they couldn't have a decent meal before they met the noose…That is if you could consider the mush I was ordered to give out as "decent food" in the first place. (To me it looked like gray sludge. I almost felt bad giving it to pigs, let alone prisoners.) But somehow I suspected it was cleaner and better than what most of the prisoners had dug up in the streets.
I placed all four bowls on the beat-up tray and brought left the dungeon's kitchen through a doorway. I followed the stone wall to the main room. It was dark, and smelled something awful but I steeled myself and continued on to the first cell, wedged in one of the oddly shaped crevices in the stone.
First I checked if the prisoner was still alive, it was basic routine.
If the prisoner was dead, I'd tell the executioner. He'd come down, confirm, and get some men to haul the body away though I'm sure none of the bodies taken from these cells have ever been buried. They probably were just chucked in the river.
If the prisoner was alive, he got his food and he lived to count down to the day when he'd stand before the noose and the jeers and calls of the crowd so eager to watch him hang.
I squinted through the darkness at a man slumped against the opposite wall, unmoving.
Water dripped from the ceiling into one of the bowls as I kicked the bars (my hands were occupied).
"'Lo? You still alive?" I called to the man who twitched and turned his gaunt face to me. Hunger was written all over his face. Hunger and desperation.
That was normal.
I took a bowl, careful not to spill, and slid it through the small opening at the foot of the door.
"Your favorite, gruel." I said, trying to add a little humor to all the depression around me. It was a bad joke, and the man's dirty look as he scrambled towards the food, confirmed that.
I sighed and moved on to the next cell. The woman inside had heard me coming and was already gripping the bars, waiting with a starved face for me.
I said nothing. The sight was sad.
I had barely finished slipping the bowl through the opening before she grabbed it away fiercely and had begun to eat.
The man in the third cell was dead. I had expected this, he had had a terrible cough when they brought him in.
His dead body did not shock me. Though I was a child, I had seen so much of this, in the streets as much as the dungeons.
It was normal, in a twisted way.
I had just finished pushing the bowl through the fourth's cell opening and was halfway back to the door to the kitchens to put the tray back and clean up when I heard a commotion near the stairs that lead out to the street in the opposite direction.
Turning around, I dusted off my itchy brown dress and head towards the source of the noise, curiosity getting the best of me. I could see a few guards circled around something that was blocked from my view. They were laughing boisterously and one of the spear-wielding men kicked at it savagely.
Flung by the force of the guard's kick, a boy slammed against the stone wall. I quickened my pace when I saw him. He couldn't have been much older than me and I could see blood trickling down his face. Another guard was moving in for another attack but I called to him angrily.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?" My angry voice echoed through the room and the guards stopped abruptly, turning to face me.
"Reina, z'at you?" called one of them. Though it was too dark to see his face, I knew it was Tobias. He was one of the Baron's guards. He was fairly young to be serving, but he was strong and fairly good looking. He was known for his sharp tongue and hard hand when he had a little too much to drink.
"Tobias, I'm going to remind you and your lardy friends again that it is your job to bring the prisoner here, not to beat them up in the process, you great lump." I hissed, pushing past him and going to the boy, who was sagging against the wall. He was okay, but his lip was bloody and he was muddy like hell.
I got back up and Tobias tugged my brown hair playfully.
"Come on, Reina, loosen up. The little brat got what he deserved. Tried stealing from Jirl's bread shop." He jerked his head towards one of the other guards with him. "Ha, the fool. Of all the bakeries, he went and stole from the one who belonged to a Baron's guard. The little f-"
"Lovely. Listen, your job here is quite done. I'd appreciate it if you took your leave now." I said acidly.
"Ah what cheek, 'course I always liked that about you. How old are you today then, Reina?"
"I'm eight." I hissed.
"Ah, too young to be married off then." He said as walked away, laughing his booming laugh. His friends joined in and their laughter echoed off the damp walls as they climbed the steps and exited the dungeon.
I frowned. Turning back to the boy my expression of displeasure changed into that of concern.
"Hey." I said softly, putting my hand on his shoulder. His head snapped up, but did not turn towards me. He stared at the opposite wall.
"You…ok?" I asked, helping him to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily, and clutched his stomach with one chained hand. "Ah, is that where he kicked you? Gods, he could have really hurt you…Are you sure you're ok? Your lip is bleeding." I informed him.
Using the same hand, he wiped hastily at his mouth and winced, darting back to grab his abdomen. He still hadn't looked at me.
I studied him. He had grayish dirty hair that lay flat on his head and over his eyes. His clothes were rags and he looked like he had rolled around in a mud puddle.
A regular street urchin, just trying to survive, I deducted. Recalling Tobias's comment on the bread store, I furrowed my eyebrows sadly.
It was not a crime to be hungry. I didn't think it fair to be hung just for trying to steal bread. Everyone was hungry in these times. The poor boy just had the misfortune of being caught.
I took the keys from the rope around my waist and led him to his cell.
"You'll be in this one, then." I said slowly and awkwardly. No matter how many times I done it, it still felt awkward leading prisoners into their final "home" before they were hauled off to the noose.
The boy seemed to except his fate well, as he just walked into the cell without a fuss and I closed the door and locked it.
"My name is Reina. I'll be bringing your meal shortly…If you want it?" I said, changing my well practiced line into a question.
The boy nodded shortly, staring into corner of the cell. Something in his face brightened slightly. I could tell he hadn't had anything to eat for days.
"Right, I'll be right back then." I turned and headed back to where I had put down the tray on the ground. There was that fourth bowl for the dead man in cell three. I picked it up and brought it back to the boy, slipping it through the opening.
He took it carefully and looked at it suspiciously.
"I know it looks like week old vomit, but it's filling." I offered, with a shrug, then I let out a small gasp. "Oh right, I need your name" I said, taking out a battered little book from the only pocket my dress had. It was the prisoner inventory.
He didn't look at me but stared at the corner again, bowl still in his hands. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. It seemed like he was searching for his name, as if he'd forgotten it.
"K..Kharl." He mumbled, but it was clear enough for me to understand. The name he had spoken seemed entirely foreign to him, it looked like it had been along time since those words had left his mouth.
"Right." I said, scribbling that down under the last name in the book. I closed it and dropped it back in my pocket.
"You should eat that now." I said pointing to the porridge in his hands, "While it's still hot, cuz it doesn't taste as bad as it does cold."
He still wasn't looking at me but I saw a very small, shy smile cross his face for a moment or two. It seemed very out of place in the prison, but it also seemed to brighten everything momentarily.
And though I was standing in a dungeon where condemned prisoners were waiting to die, suddenly, I didn't feel so dispirited.
It was like a cloudy and downcast day and the sun just decided to make a brief surprise appearance through a gap in the clouds before it disappeared again, hidden by gray.
It eased me ever so slightly, and hesitantly…I smiled back.
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Author's Notes:
Finally. A better, updated first chapter. I know first impressions are everything, after all.
Read on and review, if you're kind.