My second fic. Yep, I gotta have a lil' Castlevania goin' on.
I felt some sympathy for Sara, so I just had to write this.
This is how I thought Leon and Sara fell in love (aww), Well no more to say,
on ward! My writings kinda rusty. -_-
--------------------
A sunny bright day gleaming in old middle aged Clermont, France. A rare occasion for young unmixed maiden Sara Trantoul. She, a wealthy land owner's daughter, lived in the shelter of her cold unhappy home, never to explore the outside world.
Staring out of her paneless wooden window was her only luxury in her juvenile sixteen years of life. Sara was close to being an unwanted orphan, her mother died of giving birth to her, like many women of her time.
And, even though her father was a well known nobleman, he had a cold stone heart, wanting to give her away or possibly kill her himself for she being female. He long yearned for a son to take over his land establishment. But he kept his good for nothing daughter to do many various chores and buy things needed to survive at the local market in their vassals. None of the locals knew her hard life of yelling and beatings, she was always so generous, polite and pretty much down to earth.
Only if they knew.
"If only they knew.." She whispered as she closed the satin curtain guarding her window and strode to her broken, cracked mirror. Staring at the girl in the luminous reflection she gently brought her fingers to her pale face. She knew her father would pick her a husband, many young men adored her beauty. Even though she found herself haggard, without a single once of pretty.
But she was lovely, with chocolate brown locks falling shortly below her shoulders, eyes of a serene ocean, pretty pink lips and an ashen delicate body. She was the perfect wife in looks for any good man, but always with a melancholy expression surrounding her face meant she had a cruel life, with no love from a mother or acceptance from a father...no she always thought,
"I have no father.."
She slowly went to her wooden hollowed closet of ciderwood and grabbed a plain but nice light pink dress with purple silk bows on the sleeves. She wore her hair up in a small tidy bun not wanting to deal with it. It was always hard to wash hair in her days, it happened twice a year if you were lucky.
She creeped her way down the small spiral staircase as she met face to face with a tall, broad, bearded man with piercing brown eyes and a prominent scowl.
"It's a quater to twelve at noon, girl, you've awoken late as usual, no wonder I never can get my evening bread fresh...it's all your doing." He scolded
"I-I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again, I'll leave to market right away.."
"Now! Or we shall eat the mice, I am not having old flavorings. Get going, girl!" He shoved a basket in her hand and handed her a few pennies. "You'll never get a husband if you act this this every morning, you'll be accused of being a witch." He stormed off and shut the kitchen door loudly.
Sara took a deep breath to stop the welling tears in her eyes, then she began to head for market with confidence shutting the door quietly behind her. It took the damsel two miles to walk there, her home was on the lone green plains by it's lonesome quite away from town life.
Europe provided a world of striking contrasts for Sara. On the one hand were faith and chivalry were feudal lords dwelled in their domains, on the other hand drudgery, violence, and ancient pagan and magical beliefs plagued the lower class. Dark, filthy streets surrounded a majestic cathedral. Serfs lived in miserable huts below the nobles hilltop castles.
Sara trudged these streets with a smile on her face greeting the people she knew, everyone knew noble Trantoul's daughter well, many wanted her hand in marriage.
"Good Marrow, Sara!" A young boy with shaggy red hair and disheveled raggy clothes failed about greeting the brunette.
"Hello Philip, what's the big rush all of the sudden?" She giggled.
"Well," He started, his voice filled with excitement, "The lord is actually coming to town to tell about the great crusades. The urban pope preached about it to every French nobleman and church leader."
"The lord?" Sara asked, looking quizzical.
"Yes, yes, of course, silly! Our Lord Belmont. He has all the girls swooning!" Philip dashed off with a wave good-bye.
'Girls?' She thought, 'Isn't he just an aged man with children of his own? What girl would want that?' She had never seen Baron Belmont in all her years she had been there.
The baker sighted Sara, expecting the usual. Sara handed over her coins, and gently laid the bread in her wicker basket. She quickly passed through the crowds, she must be home on time or it be a slap on her pretty face from a rough hand.
She stopped in her tiny trail as she began to hear great horns playing all over the town, echoing in it's wake. A knight shouted to catch the ears of the villagers.
"Hear! Hear! The Baron has come. Baron Leon Belmont!"
Sara surely had to catch a glimpse, she was curious and what Philip told her had intrigued her. She pushed many out of the way with a swift rush, pieces of hair flowing out of her now messy bun. Two rows of about twenty knights held up spears with tapestries draped of them, as a young lad walked in between them. He looked about the same age as Sara, with piercing cobalt eyes and golden blonde hair styled with nobility giving him a feminine look.
He looked like a real charmer, what Philip said was right. Sara was the first in the crowed, heaving and staring at the lord. The Baron looked at the populated crowd cheering at him, but then his eyes went directly to a young girl with messy brown hair and a pink dress, she was gazing at him senseless. Leon gave her a confused look, she turned her face embarrassed and eventually left the hooting mob.
He slowly but firmly shouted at last, "God wills it!" The plebeians went wild as he turned back to his manor, thinking about that young lady he just saw.
/////
A happy Sara barged through Sir Trantoul's home.
"Father?! Father! I saw Lord Belmont for the first time!" Mr. Trantoul eyed the naive girl with bewilderment,
"How dare you speak as if I was your father, I'd be damned if you were my daughter, my blood. You may only call me Sir Trantoul, you wicked wench."
'Father, why couldn't I just call him that? My happiness has taken over, again.' Her face saddened immensely "Many apologies, Sir Trantoul.." She bowed lowly.
"You saw the Baron? And what of it? It doesn't matter what our lord looks like, I'm afraid your news is just empty worthless talk."
------------------------
Yeah it's sorta weird. What me to continue?
I'll probably be awhile for another update, I'm working on my other fic with heart and soul right now. lol
Thanks to world history, I could even make this fic. lol
What'cha think? ^-^;;