Disclaimer: Need I say it? Not Angie Sage

Hope everyone is enjoying being back at school! I sure am (not- the workload is horrific). Everyone had a good summer? Good! Now, I have a request for you! My story mainly centers around Merrin and Wren, but I want to know if there are any particular couples that you want to see. I can almost guarantee you that they'll be in my story already, but I could always add. :) Also, if anyone has any OC's that they have worked really hard on and think deserve a bit of screen-time, let me know. They won't get a massive part in the story, but you never know, they may turn up in a scene or something... ;)

Chapter 10: Strange Names and First Smiles

One of the things that most people think about when they think about Princesses, other than, of course, the beautiful dresses, priceless jewels, the palaces, and the handsome princes destined to ride in and sweep the princess off into a happy ending.

What most people don't think of is the responsibility of managing an entire Queendom on their slender shoulders, and Jenna Heap was more than feeling that responsibility; it was crushing her.

Sitting at her large, red, Oakwood desk, Jenna stared out the window at the night sky, tapping her quill lightly on the side of her desk and watching as the raindrops raced each other down the glass of her bedroom window. The night sky was almost as dreary as her own room, which she still had not designed to fit her likes. Still, she considered that, since she would not be in this room for very much longer, there was really no point.

She sighed heavily, nibbling daintily on the edge of her quill, a habit that she had picked up from Beetle.

Beetle…..

Jenna was puzzled. Very puzzled.

Not to say that this was not a rare occasion of late, as the Crown Princess of the Castle (not to mention a very valid member of the Port Witch Coven) had been running herself aground with the amount of duties she had to accomplish by her 18th birthday, and thus was extremely stressed. Why her 18th birthday? The 16-and-a-half-year-old Princess had barely a year and a half to go before her coronation, on precisely the eve of her 18th birthday, as was tradition- if the current Queen was willing to step down, and the Princess' Time Was Right- and preparations were already being made.

Jenna had already studied what she had dubbed, her "Little Black Book" (and what most of the Wizards, namely a Madame Marcia Overstrand, nicknamed, "The-End-Of-Privacy-As-We-Know-It-Manual") about 273 times, and it seemed as if every time she began to think that she was getting somewhere with this Princess stuff (she still refused to say the Q word until she was staring the situation in the face) when more duties piled on and she lost all control again. On top of managing expansion inside the Castle, the importing and exporting of food and necessary goods, laws and government, and the security problems, Jenna found that she had to deal with relationships with other queendoms (or kingdoms, entire lands run by men, to her abject horror).

As Jenna was raised in a humble one-room place in the Ramblings as the youngest child and only daughter of Silas and Sarah Heap, she really had no clue about any other region outside her own. Silas and Sarah had never seen the point in it, and thus had never learned geography, and Snorri Snorrelsen, the only person Jenna knew who was in reach and could be of some help in this area, had taken off with her mother back to the North. Not that Jenna had minded at first, three years ago, but now she was beginning to realize how useful Snorri would have been to her. Ah well.

Another problem was the Witches.

The very thought of them made Jenna cringe and shudder. Anyone, if she had mentioned them, would have done the same, thinking of the Darke that these women immersed themselves in, and the stories of the horrible deeds that they were fond of doing. If the Princess had talked of the Witches that she disdained with any person, they automatically would have assumed she meant the Port Witch Coven, without a doubt the most despicable of the Witch Covens. But she did not. Jenna Heap was a member of said Coven, thanks to an incident that occurred three years ago, and as such was perfectly comfortable talking about the Port Witches, although she did not approve nor condone some of the things they did. Jenna would modestly avert her eyes from those things, instead turning her contempt to the Wendron Witches, who she considered, like her adoptive mother, Sarah, DomDaniel, and Marcia Overstrand, to be a complete waste of space. But these Wendrons were outside Jenna's jurisdiction, and so were very dangerous, which was an opinion she shared with another young person of great power, the Chief Hermetic Scribe, O. Beetle Beetle.

Beetle.

The source of her confusion.

The very name of the young Chief Hermetic Scribe sent Jenna's mind reeling and her heart bumbling. For her brother's best friend was acting…. different towards her. Ever since they had rescued Beetle from the Sealed Chamber in the Manuscriptorium, Beetle had been colder to her. It was barely noticeable at first, with their normally relaxed and long conversations turning shorter and more rushed, like he was trying to get away. Then, as the months passed, Beetle had begun to avoid Jenna almost completely, and whatever contact they had was painfully formal, and charged with tension and unspoken anger.

Jenna was completely lost. She had no idea what she had done to make Beetle hate her so much, but she needed to make it up to him. In a year and a half, Jenna would be Queen of the Castle, and she had no clue what she was doing. She had just come to terms with how completely alone she was in this, and all Jenna knew was that she needed her friend more than she ever had before… she needed him. Not her Chief Hermetic Scribe.

She needed her Beetle.

Why, oh why am I so infernally stupid?

Merrin asked himself this same question over and over and over in his mind as he and the idiot girl made their way down the dirty, cobblestone streets of the Port, both of them limping slightly. Nearly 4 times, Merrin remembered coming within an inch of his death. He saw the flashing of the blade, the twitching hands, the bulging muscles, the rag- each time it was a different weapon, but Merrin could still see the same bloodlust in the eyes of his attacker, the same grim determination as instincts took over and it was kill or be killed. And each time, although Merrin had really no idea how he had done it, he managed his way out of the death-trap without hurting them, at least not too badly, although he did have some painful souvenirs to take with him, and they throbbed increasingly as he staggered up the road.

He could say the same for the girl, who he had identified as the know it all from Bertie Bott's Second Hand Wizard Cloak Shop down the Wizard Way. From the fleeting glances that he gave her as they walked silently along the street, she was limping, like him, and was bleeding from multiple places on her upper body. A rather nasty gash extended the full length of her right upper arm, and the torn shirtsleeve was already red with blood, but she didn't seem too concerned. She was clutching her small but heavy-looking knapsack to her as if she was afraid someone would steal it away at any moment, and she looked a little pale from blood loss, but apart from that, she seemed calm.

What a difference, Merrin thought dryly, between the girl who had shrieked like a banshee before I came, to this bleeding, calm one.

He knew which of the two he preferred.

Plus, he had no intention of ever doing something that reckless and insane ever again, regardless of the situation or the intent. Reckless was something that he had been before, and look where that had gotten him and all the others. Merrin's stub of a left thumb throbbed dully in some kind of sadistic reminder, and he glared at it in distaste. That, Merrin decided, nodding his head and setting his jaw, is never going to happen again.

Thinking about his old wounds brought him back to the present, and he winced almost invisibly at the pain in his lower leg. Something had gotten him there, Merrin knew, and gotten him badly, but he had no intention of preening himself in front of her, of all people. She'd probably scorn him; call him a coward, or worse, a wimp.

He shot a sidelong glare-glance at the girl, and was surprised and unprepared to find her bicoloured eyes watching him. Those eyes unnerved him more than he liked to admit, and Merrin immediately looked away, never one for eye contact. Still, he felt her eyes on his face even when he had turned away.

They kept walking down the streets without speaking, Merrin occasionally checking that they were going in the right direction; he didn't want them to get attacked again, for he knew that they wouldn't be able to take it a second time. Still, they had been going for over half an hour, and no one had jumped them yet. That was progress, Merrin thought, but it didn't prevent him from being exceedingly tense.

So when her voice broke the silence between them, Merrin jumped.

"Would it be out of place to ask where we may be going?" Her voice was hoarse from screaming, and flat, numb, and painfully formal. Merrin could have smiled if he was a different person with different memories, and if this were a different situation with a different person, but as it was not, he did not.

Merrin stared pointedly ahead of him, refusing to meet her eyes. "Yes." Was all he said, continuing on down the street in silence for another mile or so, until the throbbing pain in his leg caused him to stop, if only briefly, cursing his bad leg under his breath. Whatever had happened to it couldn't be good, Merrin noted, and tugging the pant leg up a little way, was unprepared for the sight of dark blood travelling down his leg. He pulled his pant leg down again, but not quickly enough, for the girl noticed it too.

"You'd do best to have that seen to, you know." She looked at him sidelong, her face betraying nothing but cautious, practiced concern. And it annoyed him.

"And?" He asked pensively, still refusing to look at her lest his face give away his discomfort, so his voice was muffled as he addressed his shoulder. "What would you know about wounds?"

"More than you." Was her cool, quiet response, "And enough to know that if the blood is that thick by now, the risk of infection is high. If you don't rest it soon, it's only going to get worse." The girl looked at him face on when replying this time, and Merrin could see clearly how her eyes stood out from the pale pallor of her skin. She'd obviously lost some blood too. Merrin looked at her with narrowed eyes, but said nothing. She was right, of course, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing so, and thus, drawing a long, ragged breath, began walking again, although it was labored and painful.

Pesky girl.

"We'll be able to rest around this next corner, ok?" Merrin snarled at her, more out of pain than anger. Another 10 minutes of long, agonizing silence had passed, in which the only sounds were the irregular treads of his own boots and the light, tired tapping of the girl's shoes, and Merrin thought he might as well say something. After all, he didn't want her preaching out more of this healing stuff- it was giving him a migraine.

The girl nodded, a jerky, brief motion. She was nervous, he realized, and, with added displeasure, afraid. Of him. The thought made Merrin sick to his stomach, for he remembered her screams of terror and her expression in the melee as clear as day, and hated to think that that could be brought on because of him. As they rounded the corner and Merrin spotted the painfully florescent pink door of the DollHouse, he was relieved enough to speak.

"Look," Merrin began, willing his voice not to shake and cursing it to high heaven when it did, "I-"

"Thank you!" The girl blurted out at the same time, looking almost surprised that the words had surfaced. "Thank you."

Merrin blinked at her slowly, his hand, halfway to knocking on the bright pink door, froze mid-knock, not sure that he heard her correctly. "I'm sorry?"

The girl looked up at him, eyes wide, and opened her mouth to reply, but Merrin didn't hear it, much to his mounted irritation, because at that moment, the bright pink door opened and, framed in the light, stood the imposing figure of Nurse Meredith. Merrin let out a shaky breath of relief; he had never been so glad to see Nursie as he was now. Nurse Meredith's eyes widened with happiness, and she gathered Merrin into her arms in a fierce half-hug (mostly one sided, as Merrin simply patted her back awkwardly, looking anywhere but the girl and praying that his face wasn't flaming up) before thrusting Merrin inside and in front of the fire, making him a hot chamomile tea and nearly fainting at the sight of his wounds like a real mother would. Evidently, Nurse Meredith had no qualms about letting her "gallant little hero" inside and in front of the fire, regardless of the 6 months he had spent out of her company.

For the girl, however, was a completely different story.

Something changed in Nursie's eyes when she saw the slight, bleeding thing walk through the door. It was like all the awkward tenderness that she had for Merrin disappeared and was replaced with a cold iciness mixed with fear. No matter that the girl in the hallway was clearly unsure, wounded, and no older than her precious boy, this girl reminded Nursie of the very people who scared her witless more than a few times too many over her management of the Dollhouse. The people who were the main landladies of the DollHouse until Merrin's 'dowry' of sorts convinced them to clear out. They very people who the precious Princess had unwillingly (at first) aligned herself with.

The Port Witch Coven.

And it was for this very reason that, about an hour later, Wren found herself tied to a wooden bedpost in a tiny, windowless room, tired, bleeding, and angry.

Very, very angry.

He must've been in on it. She thought, digging her heels into the floor and pulling roughly on the ropes that bound her wrists. They would not budge. Whatever Nursie looked, she was strong and capable- certainly capable of tying knots tight enough to prevent the escape of the captive, the knowledge of this brought Wren no comfort. She struggled all the harder, kicking her heel into the bed post in frustration when the ropes showed no sign of moving, bringing tears of pain and anger to her eyes.

It seemed that she had escaped a death-trap only to be put in a prison.

Wren was frightened, too, more frightened than she had been when she was able to run away. She was trapped now, trapped like a bird in a cage, with no hope of getting out, and somewhere within her, some instinct told her that when she could not run, that when she could not fight, she was dead.

But she couldn't think of that, she couldn't let hopelessness overtake her, so she willingly supplemented with anger.

Wren was so angry that she didn't even flinch when the door opened slightly, casting a harsh light onto her face. She glared at the door, expecting Nursie, or maybe that bastard who had gotten her into this mess at the first. Of course, Wren was aware that he had saved her life back there, but she wasn't in any place nor mood to be kind, especially not in her current situation. So when a gangly-limbed body stepped through the door, Wren's lip curled in disgust and she held back a snarl.

He closed the door after him, locking it, much to Wren's alarm, and walked over to a chest of drawers that was painfully far from her, placing what looked like a tray of food on it. She blanched. Food? Wren hadn't remembered eating since the previous lunchtime, but she had quite forgotten to be hungry until then, curse it. The boy walked back to the door, and only then did Wren notice a distinct limp to his otherwise heavy movements, and he made a pretense of leaning leisurely against the door, and looked at her with almost triumphant eyes and brows raised, a slight smile quivering his thin lips.

"This amuses you, does it?" Wren said coldly, wincing when her voice came out hoarse, and endeavoring to keep her anger under control.

"Greatly."

"So you've found nothing else to amuse you in this hell-hole?"

The boy ignored that insult of his house and shrugged, "Not really."

"And so you've come down here to... do what? Laugh at me? Wound me?" Wren felt her anger rising again, and she found to her humiliation that she was trembling. "Or whatever else you brought me here to do to me?" She looked him in the face, glaring into his dark eyes, "I'd rather have taken my chances with that mob."

The boy's mouth opened in shock at what she implied, and his eyebrows snapped together and he shook his head vehemently. "No, I wouldn't... Wouldn't... I... No." and for a moment, he looked almost tragic, so tragic and disgusted that Wren would've pitied him in a different situation. But he seemed to regain his composure, adopting a simply scornful look that banished all thoughts of pity as he absorbed the insult.

"You would've rather taken your chances with them?" He laughed bitterly, "You're obviously not from around here, then. Either that, or you're an idiot. Or mad. Only an idiot would have been out in the Port at night, wandering the streets like walking the corridors of the Ramblings, feeling utterly safe. And only a mad person would take the 21 Gang over safety-"

"Safety?" Wren spat at him, her voice rapidly rising in pitch, "You call this safety? From the moment I walked into this goddess-forsaken place, I was tied up here like a prisoner and locked in without hope of getting out. My things have been taken from me, so I have been unable to treat my wounds, which will surely become infected if I do not see to them. And you come here and expect me to be thankful for it?" She struggled against her bindings like a wildcat in a cage, biting her lip against the pain in her wrists, and flinched when she felt hands grab her shoulders and stay her.

"Shutup." The boy hissed, glaring with eyes that flared black and green-specked fire, "Shutup, you idiot! You think she knows I'm down here? No!"

Wren blinked in surprise, though her eyes were narrowed. So he'd snuck down here... for what? To mock her? As angry and resentful as she felt currently, Wren highly doubted it. He wouldn't have brought her food if he meant to laugh at her... "So, why are you-"

"I'm here because..." the boy looked over his shoulder as if the door and walls themselves would judge him for what he was about to say, but he looked her square in the face when he said, "You're obviously a healer. A young one and probably not very good either, but my leg..." he faltered here, swallowing, "And my shoulders... and- Well, I'm hurt and I need attention. I'd generally go to someone of greater experience..." He faltered again, rolling his eyes at the dry, unimpressed look that she was shooting him, "But they're few and far between down in the Port these days. So, I really guess I'll have to make-do with you."

Merrin really didn't mean it to come across as so offensive, but he knew of no better way of asking for help than belittling the person he was asking, thanks to DomDaniel, and thus his request was unkind and critical. Wren didn't care- well, she did, but she was learning to ignore some of the things that the dark boy told her. She knew an opportunity when she saw one, and this one was perfect.

"Why, thank you." Wren quipped dryly, looking back at him, "But I cannot offer my limited services while my hands are tied. My feet are not as adept at tying bandages and stitching as they should be. Obviously, another of my failings."

The boy ignored the sarcasm and took out his dagger- a new, sharp one with a dark hilt- and approached her. Wren swallowed hard; she was no fan of knives, and sucked in her breath as the boy held the sharp edge in front of her neck, his dark, haunted eyes staring at her pointedly. "If you try to escape, healer, I'll use it." He needed to say nothing more; they both knew how good he was with that knife, and how fast he was on his feet; wounded or not, he'd catch up to Wren before she got to the front door.

Wren clenched her teeth and pushed her chin out, willing her voice not to quiver and betray her fear "Just cut me free. Every second you're wasting threatening me is only increasing your chances of disease."

Merrin cut her bonds expertly, frowning at the red welts around her wrists from where the rope had rubbed her skin, and threw the ropes to the side as they fell away. He heard her sigh of relief, and as he staggered to the sit on the bed, he watched as she rubbed her wrists and winced. She grabbed her knapsack, unpacking little packages wrapped in protective covering; salve, a needle, and various herbs and remedies he had never seen, let alone hope to identify.

The healer worked efficiently, applying salve to the wound on his leg and pretending not to notice when Merrin flinched as she stitched it up, bandaging it with strips of her own blouse afterwards. Merrin stared when she did this, but the healer appeared not to be perturbed by the tears in her clothing. She worked her way up his body, treating his wounds while saying little but giving him quiet instructions and murmuring to herself. She didn't even blink when he took off tunic, sitting only in his trousers, blushing madly, as she worked on his torso, shoulders, and neck, leaving the slash on his right cheek until last.

Merrin couldn't believe how gentle she was being. All the healers he had known had done their jobs with an impatient roughness that made him flinch and often hurt more than the original wound had. But now, this young healer's thin fingers applied salve to his cheek, light as a butterfly. Merrin looked at her from the corner of his eye while she worked, biting her lip slightly in concentration and her eyes narrowed while she put a small strip of fabric on his cheek.

"That one may leave a scar, I'm afraid." She informed him, pursing her lips in annoyance, "As well as the one on your leg- they're too deep and left too long unchecked." She gave him a thin-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes and sat on the bed, tearing more at her shirt as she began to treat her own wounds with the same business-like calm that she had done with him.

Merrin watched her momentarily, wondering if he could simply walk out the door without saying a word. That's what DomDaniel would've done, no doubt what everyone expected him to do too. But he had left that world behind him. "Thank you for treating me."

"You're welcome." Was the only reply.

Merrin looked about him, standing up and stretching, and finding, much to his delight, that he felt much better. He looked over at the chest where he had left the food, then back at the healer. She must've been starving.

"It's not poisoned, you know."

The girl looked up at him, surprised and confused, "I'm sorry?"

"The food." Merrin suddenly felt extremely awkward, standing around the bed speaking about poisoned food with this wounded girl treating her own wounds. She was a healer; she would've doubtlessly been able to tell whether her food was poisoned or not. Great. Now she would think he was an idiot. He waited for the disparaging comment to come.

It didn't. The girl simply looked at him, confused but amused, and a small smile appeared on her lips. "That's good to know."

What could he say to that?

Silence again stretched between them, but it was almost companionable, broken only by the replacement of the vials and material into the knapsack, and the food being set onto the bed. She ate quietly and quickly, with no regard for table manners, practically wolfing her food down, much to Merrin's amusement. After the food was finished- almost as quickly as it had appeared- a hesitant conversation started, consisting mainly of quiet questions and short answers, and Merrin felt his frown disappearing. But some of the questions that were asked couldn't help but be long.

"You called them the 21 Gang?" The healer asked him, almost embarrassed, "I... I'm not familiar with them."

Merrin blinked back at her, his mouth set, "I gathered. Most people outside past dark are either foreigners, idiots, or mad. Perfect targets for the 21 Gang." He looked at her, and the healer noticed his eyes hardening, "The 21 Gang are ex-members of the Young Army- you've heard of them, doubtlessly-" he didn't wait for a reply. Everyone around the Castle in any direction- even to the Badlands- had heard of or lost a son or daughter to the Young Army, a rigorous training programme created by the Supreme Custodian and approved (although no one ever mentioned it lest it disgrace her memory) by the lovely Queen Cérys. The programme was designed as a fool-proof war tactic- for children given to the army as babes would know no other life but that of war and weapons and death, and those who were not apprenticed at the age of 11 would be sent to the Army as older expendables- and the training was laborous to and far past the point of cruelty. Most of the children who were taken to the Young Army were never seen again, and countless families had been affected. That was why, when the Rightful Heir had returned to the Castle to take her place as Princess Jenna, the Young Army was the first thing to go (other than the Supreme Custodian, of course, but we all know that story). Anyway, even in the depths of the Wendron Forest, the Witches themselves had been affected by the Young Army, often having a few of their own taken, and they themselves kidnapping some of the young girls for retribution, making them Witches to save them from turning into mindless war machines. So the healer knew of the Young Army well.

"They're ex-members of the Young Army," Merrin explained, "Whose families had been exiled or had not picked them up after the programme was disbanded. Sometimes, the families did come to get them, but could not bear to keep them because of what they had become, so the kids are left to wander the streets." He sighed, "They set up camp in Warehouse 21 of the Port, the older kids setting up a system of rules and whatnot, and basically, they've been there ever since- stealing from local shops, mugging people, the like. They've gotten worse as the group's gotten older, though, and their needs are somewhat more... expanded." Merrin swallowed, his eyes narrowed at the bed in disgust. "Sometimes it's just the girls in the group- but they've gotten boring, I guess... they're starting to go for local girls..dragging them kicking and screaming to the warehouse and kicking them out after they're done, generally pregnant. They go for the ones that wander around at night, easier targets" He added, with a sideways glance in her direction.

The healer was frowning, clearly troubled. That could've easily been her, one of those girls the gang dragged kicking and screaming to the warehouse. She took a shaky breath and nodded, looking up at him.

"Thank you." She murmured, "For saving me, that is."

Merrin stared back at her, mouth slightly open, forehead creased. He couldn't remember the last time someone had said that to him. Thank you. Something so plain and ordinary that it was so often taken for granted, but Merrin couldn't remember someone turning that thanks on him. It felt... good.

"You're welcome." He muttered, looking at the ground in front of him.

A small silence stretched between them again, broken when she girl spoke again.

"I have one final question."

"Yes...?"

"What is your name?"

Merrin blinked in surprise. Another phrase so ordinary, so friendly, that he didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth to give his usual response to the rare question, but was surprised again when he gave neither of the responses he expected himself to give.

"Merrin Meredith."

What?

He couldn't have just given her that name. That was his... his... slave name. The name he spent ages denying. He couldn't look at her. He knew what he would say to such a name. Merrin- a strange name. Meredith- worse, a girl's name. He couldn't receive the ridicule from her that he knew would come, but somehow he forced himself to look at her, where he was infinitely surprised by her simply smiling at him- another first.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Merrin. I'm Wren. Wren Ellawyn."

A strange name. Perhaps not quite as strange as Merrin, but still strange. Merrin liked it immediately.

Then, if only to add to the many firsts and surprises of that night, Merrin felt himself smile for what felt like the first time ever.

"It's good to meet you too, Wren."

Thanks for reading!

Keep a lookout for the next chapter~