A/N: Oh Esau. :3 So....my justification of Richard speaking ancient German is the name "Richard" itself, which was originally a very old German name. So it doesn't make sense in my mind for Richard to have been of Roman decent. This makes this setting about the 12th or 13th century. I believe Richard to be VERY old, older than the Black Rock, so that's what all this is. Old German can be called Gothic, Vandalic, etc.. but it wasn't called that until much later. So Richard speaks a very old German. Why he's on an island? I honestly do not know.

Chapter 3: The Brave One

A very, very long time ago

Blood fills his chest. He's been sick for days, coughing and spitting and heaving. He's the last one left. Left of the small group of men and women from a place that no longer has a name. No longer has borders. His skin is pale and his body shifts from bone-cold to scorching. Low moans escape his throat, gurgles and bouts of vomiting blood. He's from a time so old, he doesn't understand that the wound on his side is what has done this to him. He thinks he's being punished.

The man falls to his hands and knees and gives one final heave before collapsing, dead, on the ground.

When he wakes up, he breathes in deep. No blood. No drowning. He cries out for someone, the ancient German words falling off his lips roughly and painfully. He feels alive, but the fever persists. A cool hand runs a wet rag over his forehead and comforts him in his native tongue.

"Hush, Ricardus." It is a name he does not recognize, but he no longer remembers the one he had before. "If you rest, this will progress much more smoothly." He shivers and tries to be still. A feeling rushes through him, like the poison is being removed. A smile face above. "See? Rest now. You'll feel better if you do." Perhaps it is the voice of this man. Perhaps it is exhaustion. Ricardus falls asleep on the warm stone floor of a room he's never seen before.

Some time later, he hears footsteps. But they do not belong to the man who saved him. The heaviness of them is different. The sound of this man's breathing is strange. Labored. There is anger there. He kneels down. Reaches forward with one, slightly trembling hand, and is about to place it on Ricardus' chest, when the other man's voice rings across the chamber.

"He isn't yours."

"You! I told you-"

"Leave your anger for another time, brother. He is not yours."

"So he belongs to you?" The other man shrugs.

"Go home, Esau. You can try and bring him to your side some other time." The man called Esau stands quickly and casts one final look at Ricardus, then leaves. "You'll have to forgive my brother. He can be very... aggressive." He uses the word carefully. "I'm glad you're awake. You seem to be doing better."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Jacob. And you are Ricardus."

"That's not my name."

"Do you remember your name?"

"I-" He stops. Again, he doesn't recall what he was once called. Time before the illness is blurry and chopped together.

"I have decided to call you Richard, but Latin is my native tongue. It sounds better that way for me. But I will call you Richard, if you'd like."

"Richard."

"Yes."

"What does it mean?"

"It means brave."

- - - - - - - - - -

Richard begins his new life on the island by learning Jacob's language. "You learn quickly. This is good."

"Why do you speak Latin?" Jacob shrugs.

"Why do you speak what you speak?" Richard shrugs, too and that is enough of that. He is learning that Jacob is a simple man. One of great wisdom and one of many mysteries. Richard has not asked how he was saved and, truth be told, he doesn't really want to know. The fact that he is alive is a miracle and he doesn't question it. But he feels something else, inside. Something lasting and permanent. He's not sure what it is, but he's not curious enough to ask Jacob about much of anything.

But time passes. Days fade to weeks, then months. Two years pass. Two years with no questions, no curiosity, no wonders. Richard begins to feel nervous. He heals quickly from small wounds that should linger for weeks. He feels stationary in his own body.

And he wants to know how to get off the island.

It is either the bravery instilled in him by his new name, or the stupidity that he has yet to discard of that leads him to Jacob's home in the crumbling statue. He goes there often, but not with demands. Never asking for answers to questions he's never bothered bringing up before. And Jacob, being Jacob, knows he's coming.

"You have questions." Richard nods. "I have some answers." He beckons the dark-eyed man inside. They sit. "You want to go home. But I can't allow that." Richard opens his mouth to protest, but Jacob holds up a hand. "Your life was saved on this island. You serve it now, for as long as you live. When the time comes, you may visit the rest of the world, but that time is not now." He feels empty, suddenly cut off from the rest of the world. "Someday, I will want you to travel, for the world will change greatly over your lifetime and you will be witness to many startling things?

"How-"

"You are going to live for a very, very long time Richard."

And of all the news he has received, this makes him feel the worst.

"You may think this is a burden, and it is. But it is also a gift. You have the gift of eternal life. And one that will be rich in people and experiences."

"People?" Richard says, harsher than he meant. But Jacob is not fazed, smiling as he nods.

"I will bring people here, just as I brought yours. And I will prove that they are good. And you're going to help me do that. Do you understand?" Richard looks into the blue eyes in front of him. So much is in contrast here. Jacob and his brother. Richard's eyes and his master's. Things are strange and reflected. But he can't say no, not to the man who gave him life, however, punished by this "gift" he feels.

"I understand."

"Good. Now come with me. We have work to do."