A/N: I have officially changed the names of Keilantra and Jerrold to December and Elijah. I still haven't thought of he name of the story, but it's fine as it is for now. Let me know what you think. Please, I really appreciate all your reviews. I like to read them and try to reply to them as much as I can. Remember, I add everyone who reviews to my alert list so that I can contact you later and remind you to read the next chapter. :)

Luv, Izzy

2. I've wasted all my Life

The walk from the Crouch manor to Ceitha marketplace was about an hour's walk there and back. So after December had awoken the other three "angels", Genevieve, Gwenevere and Gwendalyn, she hurried out the door.

A hooded cape must cover her head every time she had to leave, partly for warmth, partly for protection, and partly for hiding her dirty face, marred with scratches and burns. Some of which bled down her face for which she could not resist lifting her dirty nails to scratch, then smearing reddish-brown smudges across her face. A rucksack filled with bronze coins she stuffed into her pocket as she took off.

The thick blanket of snow made it even harder to walk and December had to lift her knees to her chest to even move anywhere. If she hadn't had the thick wool stockings underneath her petticoats and the boots that laced up to her ankles, worn out as they were, she probably wouldn't be going to the marketplace, no matter how much Lady Brunhilde pushed, prodded, pummelled, and punished. It was that cold.

Since the snow had just fallen a few days earlier, it was still soft and she sank deep with every step. She had to march steadily like this the whole way, until she reached the marketplace, where the snow had been shovelled away, to make room for people walking by.

The place was crowded, people all over the walkways and all over the long street that stretched between the shops, since no one bothered to drive their carts during this time of year anyway. Snow covered the rooftops and the wooden signposts and the tall lamp posts. The whole place sounded busy—people talking, bells ringing, shopkeepers parking their stands outside shouting out their goods, a fiddler playing a merry tune nearby for some money—all was happy.

December stared around at all the stores in the marketplace smiling, her eyes alight with excitement. The windows were filled with all sorts of things—toys, clothes, food, furniture, tools, magic items; the list was endless. Envy overcame her as she pressed her face against the ice-cold, fogged-up windows of shop after shop. She came to the General Goods Store and stopped outside, pulling out her rucksack to count her coins.

Before she could take one out and hold it in her hand, something banged into her arm, sending her to the cold ground. She rolled over and looked up to see a boy, probably sixteen or seventeen, on top of her. "Very sorry, miss," he muttered, quickly jumping up and taking off again.

When December came to her senses, she sat up to see what was left of her coins which she had dropped as she fell. They were gone. A second later, a mob of angry townspeople rushed past her, yelling, waving tools and utensils. December jumped up to join them. That boy must've stolen her coins!

Her fury fuelled her run, then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him turn a corner and head into a silversmith's store. The mob sped past, scattering to search for him. Slowing to a stride, she walked toward the shop where he had turned into. She was intent on retrieving her rucksack.

The boy's head peered out the door, dark auburn hair bouncing. He then exited the store, strolling along casually, the sack's long strap hanging out his back pocket. December walked briskly to catch up with him, then gingerly touched his arm.

"Now what do you want?" He swung around, and then a surprised look met his face when he saw a small, dark girl with a black hood staring up at him with her deep brown eyes. "Angel?" he stared at her for a while. "I thought you were..." He seemed to tremble. December looked confused.

"My name isn't Angel," she said. "I—"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I—"

"Oh," he looked disappointed. "Well, then, can I help you miss…" He paused questioningly.

"Miss Shonti," December managed.

"Miss Shonti," he repeated. "Sounds peculiar. Where are you from?"

"Just here—in Ceitha," December stared at the ground, shuffling her feet shyly.

"Oh. Can I help you?"

"Yes," December began. She took a breath. "I think you took my bag." Then she quickly added, "I mean, by accident, of course! I just realized it was missing and thought I would—"

"Don't have a bag. Sorry," he turned to leave.

"Please wait!" December ran after him and stood in his path. "I saw it. In your back pocket."

He pulled the sack out of his pocket. "But this is mine."

"No, sir. I think you must have gotten your bag confused with some other."

"Are you contradicting me?"

"No!" December immediately assured him. "It's just that I lost my bag and I really, really need it."

"You best go search for it then," he spun her around and gave her a gently push, but she turned back around to face him again.

"I have. Searched for it, I mean." She pointed at the bag he clutched. "I found it."

"This isn't your bag, Miss Shonti," the boy replied, still calmly.

"Yes, it is! I really think you must stop bluffing, zajen! I need that money!" She pointed a dirty accusing finger at his face. He seemed shocked for a moment.

"Just wondering," he paused. "Are you Miss or Mrs. Shonti?"

"Do not change the subject, sir. I need that sack—right now," she muttered.

"Answer me first," he crossed his arms on his chest.

"Miss. Give me the bag now," she tapped her foot impatiently.

"I might," he teased her. "Come to the tent next to the bakery tonight at… eight."

"No!"

"Your voice goes high when you're angry."

"Give me that!" She reached to snatch the sack out of his hands, but his grip was firm. He smirked. "Fine," she muttered, and he released the bag.

"Promise?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, alright? I will."

"At a girl," he patted her on the shoulder and turned to leave. Did he think her to be some dog that he should be able to treat her this way? The more she thought about it, the more it fed her anger.

"Wait," she caught his arm.

"Yes, sunshine?" he turned around. She wanted to spit on him.

"Why would you want me to come?" She tried to control herself, but not to the point where she imagined dragon droppings falling on top of him. She tried to keep her face straight.

"I'm a simple man with simple needs, ok?" She looked him over. He did look simple—dirty rags for his breeches and shirt, dirt smeared over his whole body, dark auburn hair probably overgrown with lice.

"What if I told you that I wasn't that simple?"

He scoffed, examining her dirty excuse for a dress, her black cape riddled with holes, and her dirty, scarred face. "How complicated could you possibly be?"

That stung. December watched him walk away with intense odium for him. Tears stung in her eyes and her arms dropped lifelessly against her sides. Men and women shoved past her as if she were non-existent, but she stood her ground, pondering deeply.

She suddenly snapped to as she remembered what she was supposed to be doing. She turned around and started shoving through crowds of people to get to the general goods store. Insults flew at her, but she paid no heed.

The bell atop the door rung as December stepped into the shop, stomping the snow off of her boots.

"Ah, good morning, Ember!" the shopkeeper welcomed her.

"Morning, George!" December smiled, shivering from the cold. "It's freezing today, isn't it?" She made her way toward the inviting fireplace, warming her hands.

"Yes, it is; by far the coldest day of winter up to now," he leaned on the bench and poured the bronze coins onto the bench, catching one here and here that tried to topple onto the floor. "I need as much breakfast foods as this can buy."

George sighed. "Is that cow bossing you around again? I told you—don't let her wipe her feet on you like that. If you—"

"George, please!"

"Yes, right away," he began hustling around the area behind the bench, collecting her money's worth of eggs, fruit, meat, and brad. "I'm telling you dear, if you run away from that place, you could work for me, you know."

"George!"

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, putting all the condiments into a basket and putting them on the bench. He then threw a pair of wool gloves into the basket. "A little gift from me to you," he winked. "Your hands are turning blue. And don't let the witches steal them from you again."

"Ghada-ghada," December smiled thankfully, pulling the gloves over her hands.

"Don't tell me! That means thank you, hey? I once thought that 'thattu' meant thank you." He rubbed his red bearded chin.

December laughed. "That means go away, silly. You wouldn't get along well if you met up with an elf."

"As if I'd want to meet up with those wretched creatures," he spat, and then bent down to clean it up. December winced. George was her friend. "I don't see why anyone should bother to learn their language like you do."

"I learn it so that I can pick up important information if I ever need to," she lied.

George nodded, grinning. "I always knew you were a clever one, Ember. Very clever. Now run along before Lady Bunhide gets angry and yells at you—the breath would probably kill you first."

"It's Lady Brunhilde," she corrected, but she was giggling. December grabbed the basket and hurried out the door, George chuckling behind her.

George, December smiled. She knew that he meant well, no matter what he said or did. She ran through all the people, keeping an eye on her basket so nothing would fall out and a hand on her head so her hood wouldn't fly back.

She reached the outskirts of the marketplace, where the snow was heavier, and began to place her foot carefully, following the steps she took to get out there. The gloves worked very well—December was most grateful for them. They kept her hands warm as she ran the length home, lifting her knees up to her chest and stomping into each deep footprint, holding tight to the basket. She would be lucky if she got back in enough time to prepare the meal.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

The dining room was crowded, as it was every meal, with every important member of the royal household seated around the long dining table, but they were unusually quiet, after the events of the day before. They knew the king wouldn't tolerate the noise at the moment. Even after the occasional clink of the silverware against the dishes, everyone looked up cautiously at the king, wondering if it had disturbed him; but the king wasn't paying attention. He was deep in thought about what to do with his son, the future king of Endelia, caring for elves.

Elijah didn't know what to do with the elf child he had rescued the day before. He was left in Elijah's room, where he couldn't get into trouble. Jerrold had thought about what the child would eat, and he slowly and quietly pulled a honey bun off the table and into his robe's pocket. Abruptly, he pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'm finished," he announced.

"Sit down, boy," the king commanded. Elijah slowly sat down again. "Your mother and I need to have a talk with you," All eyes were focused on Elijah. Earl stared them down until they turned away and began to chatter to each other, filling the room with liveliness again. "I think that the reason for all your…" he pondered on the right word. "Questionable behavior would be that you are unsettled and lovesick. So, in a few months, I will hold a ball at the palace. I will invite all the princesses, ladies and courtiers possible. You are to have a bride by that night, whether by your own choice, or by mine. Is this clear?"

"Yes, father," Elijah muttered. "May I invite some of my own choice as well?"

"I must approve of them first. I don't want you inviting some of the peasants like last time. The event was a disaster." He shuddered.

"Thank you," Elijah rose again. "I'm finished now." He marched out of the room and through the winding passages to his chambers. He approached the door cautiously, aware of the guards around him. He slowly opened the door a driblet, slipped in, and then slowly closed the door.

He turned around and panic overcame him. He didn't know what to do with the child on his bed, his father was killing off all the elves, and now he wanted him married!

"Come, Aaron," Elijah called to the little elf, who had called himself Aaron. He crawled to the edge of the giant bed and slid off, running over to the Prince and standing in front of him. The boy had cinnamon skin, like most elves, and his hair was dark brown, mingled with blonde, in curls that hung over his eyes. Elijah had ordered the royal seamstress to make some little clothes, and now he looked just fine, in his little tights and doublet with a red robe hanging off his shoulders.

Elijah pulled the honey bun from his pocket and gave it to him. Aaron took it eagerly and looked up at Jerrold. "Ghada-ghada, fallom zajen."

Elijah shook his head. "I wish I understood." He went down on his knees so that he was eye-level with the boy. "I promise I'll protect you as long as I am able." Aaron smiled and stuffed the treat into his mouth.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

BANG! The loud noise of the door slamming open as December ran into the manor sounded throughout the entire household. She darted into the house, catching her dress and tearing it. Ripping herself free, she made a dash to the kitchen, catching her dress again. "Terri!" she squealed, putting the basket on the kitchen bench as the cook spun around, eyes alert. "Terri! Terri!" She hunched over, leaning on her knees, trying to catch her breath. "Make… breakfast… big… quick."

Terri understood quickly and took the ingredients from the basket and making whatever she could with them as December sprawled herself flat on the floor, panting heavily.

"Get up, girl!" Terri kicked her foot and December jumped up. "Chop these fruits, then throw these pixie legs into the pot. When you're done with that, boil these pigeon eggs." Keilantra did what she was told, often getting under way of the plump cook. Terri's gray curls lay all over her face, and her sleeves were rolled up her chubby arms, as she had just finished cooking breakfast for the entire household of servants.

In half an hour, the work was done, and all the food was loaded onto a few trays. December took two into her arms and made her way up the stairs. She pushed the door open with her back. The five ladies were all over the room, fast asleep. She put the trays onto the carved oak table in the middle of the room and took a look at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten. She climbed onto the side table beneath it and set it back to eight-thirty. She then jumped down and ran to fetch the rest of the trays.

When she had placed all of the trays on the table, the table contained a buffet fit for a queen—assorted fruits in golden syrup, forty pigeon eggs, fried pixie legs, jelly buns, strawberry tarts, slices of ham, rice, cream trifle, and fresh cranberry juice. Then she woke each of them up in turn.

She had to awake them in order, as she had learnt; else everything would go in disarray. If she perhaps awoke Lady Brunhilde before Lady Gwendolyn, Lady Brunhilde would punish her for letting her favorite little darling fall asleep; if she awoke Lady Gwenevere before any of them, she would devour the food in a trice.

So she awoke Lady Jacqueline first, since she was the most patient of them. She lay sleeping on a chair, hunched over. "Lady Jacqueline," December whispered, softly nudging her. "Wake up. Breakfast is ready." Jacqueline awoke, yawned and rubbed her eyes, stretching.

"Okay, December," she sat up straight. Genevieve was on asleep the edge of the bed. If Genevieve was woken after Gwendolyn, she would have another outburst. Not only was Genevieve the shortest-tempered, she was the most beautiful of the Crouch daughters. December could only dream of being as beautiful as she—the perfect blue eyes, like the water from a sparkling, limpid pool, and the perfect wheat-colored tresses and high cheekbones gracing her face. Decemberr gently tapped her.

"Lady Genevieve, wake up," December poked her, then poked her harder. She began to shake her until Genevieve flickered her eyes open. Keilantra left her alone to fully awaken and proceeded to awaken Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn wasn't as pretty as Genevieve, nor as flirtatious, and the fact that she was already twenty years of age and not yet married proved that. Long dark brown hair fell down her back and freckles were sprinkled across her nose. Her lips were large and full, and her mother had always assured and reassured her that they were beautiful and tempting.

December clapped her hands in front of Gwendolyn's face and she snapped awake. "Lady Gwendolyn, breakfast is ready." Gwendolyn nodded and sat up on the edge of her mother's bed, where she had been lying at the foot.

Then she awoke Lady Brunhilde, the headmaster of the pigs, in which she had to sprinkle water from the wash basin in the corner.

Finally, she had to awaken Gwenevere, who had just sprawled herself on the floor, snoring loudly. Her chubby arms were spread wide, and her stubby legs were folded underneath her. Dark brown hair was matted all over on the top of her head and her nightgown looked most disturbing in the position she was in.

She was the hardest to awaken. Even after shaking her, splashing her with water, and pinching her she wouldn't awaken. December looked around cautiously. The rest of them were still half asleep. She then abruptly slapped Gwenevere smartly across the face. The sound of skin resounding on fat got everyone out of bed, and Gwenevere slowly began to sit up.

"Lady Gwenevere, breakfast is ready," December told her, getting off her knees now that her duty was done. Gwenevere's eyes widened and she leapt up, running to the table to grab a third of the saucer of pixie legs, three jelly buns, eight pigeon eggs, and four slices of ham, all meshed together between her two giant hands.

"December!" Lady Brunhilde stood up and walked toward her. December looked at the old lady towering over her, intimidated. "Why are there no dishes and no cutlery here? How do you expect these lovely young ladies to eat their food like this? Just look at poor Gwenevere! She has to eat it with her hands! Her hands!" Gwenevere had already stuffed a quarter of her meal into her mouth.

"So sorry, lady," December apologized innocently. "I was just going to get them now." She turned around and ran out the door and back to the kitchen to gather the dishes and silverware from Terri, retelling what had happened.

"Did she really say that?" Terri raged. "Unbelievable! 'Poor' child! If that witch is poor, then I'm married to a caterpillar. They don't deserve what they've got! You might want to hurry, dear, before she finishes it all with her hands!"

December nodded and made her final trip to the bedroom, placing the utensils on the table. Then they all tucked in, without a word. It was a grotesque sight, especially Gwenevere, whose food barely travelled from the serving dish to her saucer before it was stuffed into her mouth, washing it all down with cranberry juice.

Genevieve was the next one, chewing but once or twice before she swallowed. Lady Brunhilde wasn't necessarily hard to watch, but she was messy, crumbs falling from her mouth and all over her bed, and sauce dribbling down the corners of her mouth. Jacqueline was a steady eater, barely pausing to take a breath before her next bite, avidly spooning it all into her mouth, pausing occasionally to dab the sides of her mouth with a napkin.

Lady Gwendolyn would have to be the most polite, having had personal tutors teach her etiquette, which the rest of the girls were still attempting to learn. She daintily took the cutlery in her hands and nibbled the food bit by bit, occasionally sipping her cranberry juice.

But the noise of the lot was unbearable! Crunching, slurping, swallowing, and the disgusting noise of Gwenevere's stomach haunted December. She decided to look at the floor instead and try to ignore it all. She wasn't sure whether they wanted her to leave or stay to clean up afterwards.

She must've begun to daydream, because when they had finished breakfast, she was still staring at the floor, counting the many colorful fibers of the carpet. They began to get up and move around, talking and getting dressed and ready for the day.

"Wake up, wench!" Gwendolyn shook December out of her daydream. "Clean up this mess and get to the rest of your chores!" December looked at the vast mess they had made during the absence of her mind in disbelief. Then she nodded and began to stack the empty dishes together. She stacked the trays one on top of the other and put the rest of the dishes and cutlery on the top. Terri would have quite a job to do.

When she arrived at the kitchen and Terri saw the dishes in her arms, she gave a sigh of exasperation. "Just put them there, dear," she pointed to the tub of water on the floor.

"I think they left half their breakfast on the floor upstairs."

"Sounds just like them. Go clean it up," Terri began to wash the dishes as December grabbed a rag and a bucket of water and went upstairs.

She tossed the cloth into the bucket, took it out and began to scrub the food stain out of the expensive purple carpet. The ladies ran to and fro, dragging heavy gowns around before throwing them on the floor in disgust and hurrying to find a different one. December stood up to see dresses lying on the sticky table. She winced, lifting up a dress with one finger and saw the food sticking to it underneath.

She felt like gagging, but took the dresses into her arms anyway and put them aside to clean later. She wiped the table off and stripped the bed of its covers. Then she gathered up the gowns and the duvet and left the room, leaving the ladies to fight over which gown went with whose eyes and which broach would make who fall over.

She ran the heavy load downstairs, almost collapsing from the weight. She dragged them outside, gathering dirty snow and threw them down in the collection of other dirty clothes, cloths, and blankets. "Penelope," December got the woman's attention and pointed toward the new addition to her family of laundry to wash.

"Ugh!" the short woman screeched. She tugged on her long blondish-gray braids and kicked the snow up. December awkwardly turned to leave, but Penelope began to rant. "I stand out here all day, every day, cleaning, scrubbing, and washing! I clean for everyone in this household and just as I think I'm almost caught up in the laundry, more comes! And I'm freezing my rear out here, even though I believe I have at least eight petticoats and two under dresses and wool stockings! I don't understand why I don't just leave and find another home to work at!"

"Penelope, Lady Crouch is giving you your pay this afternoon," December reminded her.

"Alright, then," She turned back to work and began to scrub again. "December, take this," she handed her a basket of clean servants' dresses. "And when you're done, bring me another bucket of hot water from the kitchen."

"Sure," December turned and headed back into the manor, and climbed up the stairs, to the end of the hall, and up the ladder into the cramped servants' quarters. There she laid all the dresses on whoever's beds they belonged. She lowered herself down the ladder and turned to see Gwenevere right in front of her.

"Ember, it's an emergency! Take my horse and run to fetch Darren! Hurry!" She turned and ran into her bedroom, slamming the door. Darren was the boy courting her. He had been courting her for four years. Keilantra shoved that aside temporarily and went to the kitchen to fetch Penelope's water from the stove.

"Here, Penny," she called as she hauled the bucket our and poured it into the large washtub.

"Good girl," Penelope had evidently calmed down a good deal.

Cinnamon had already been saddled and prepared for riding when December arrived at the stable. Bobby, the stable boy was there, grooming the other horses. He adjusted his beret and smoothed his dirty clothes before he approached her. "Hi, December," he muttered quietly.

"Hi, Bobby," she walked toward Cinnamon and he followed. "May I take her?" She gestured toward the chestnut-colored mare.

"Yes, of course," Bobby replied. "You're looking very nice today, Ember."

"Ghada-ghada," she smiled at him and undid the look on Cinnamon's pen.

"It sounds pretty when you say that, December," he blushed. December took a deep breath as she mounted Cinnamon. She silently screamed as she looked at the ground—it seemed so far away. She took up the reins in her hands and walked the horse out of the pen, her eyes widening with the daunted swaying.

"Wait, Ember," he called after her before she left the stable. "Could you do something for me? We're out of hay for the horses, and I was wondering if you could—"

"More chores," December rolled her eyes.

"I could do it for you if you want!" Bobby quickly assured her. "You don't want to break your fragile back hauling—"

"It's fine, Bobby. I'll do it," she spurred Cinnamon out of the stable and onto the road. "I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered to herself. The horse began to trot, then she spurred it faster and faster, her knuckles white from gripping the reins. She felt herself slipping of the saddle and began to scream, pulling herself up and gripping the horse's neck, holding on for all she was worth.

Of all her incidents she had had while riding on a horse, never before had she been so sure that she was going to die as this time. She pulled herself properly into the saddle, trying to find the stirrups, only to find she was slipping again. She was relieved to see Darren's manor coming nearer.

"Whoa!" she shouted above her panicking thoughts. She tugged tight on Cinnamon's reins and Cinnamon halted suddenly, almost throwing December off. Her eyes showed a look of panic as Cinnamon flung her forward against her neck, before December leaned back in the saddle. She took a deep breath of exhaustion, fright, and relief. Then she swung her leg over and lowered herself onto the ground, solid ground.

A/N: OK, so I didn't get my five reviews, and I decided to continue anyway. I am going to get those five reviews. That's right. So nobody gets muffins until I get those reviews. Understand? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please tell me what you think about the new characters (George, Aaron, Bobby, etc), and the new settings (not exactly new, but different), and the new characteristics of the characters. I want long reviews, people. I don't mind constructive criticism either. Thanks, guys.

Luv, Izzy

Review Replies

Midnight Pearls: I can't wait until I update either. :D

InChrist-Billios: Thank you very much. Here's a muffin. (throws muffin) Rest assured that I will be including her language a lot in this story. I've even started writing an elvish dictionary. Yay!

ReviewsR4Me: As I have said, I've made some changes. I didn't want to make the chapter too long, so I have put the rest in this chapter.