Bound

Punishment

Never-ending sea of green and blue . . . immense freedom. Endless happiness. A storm comes, moving slowly across the infinite horizon. It whips pleasantly at his face, his body, and he smiles, welcoming the caressing sensation – stone walls suddenly rise all around him. He shouts, unable to get out. He rages, he curses, he strikes at it; nothing works, the walls keep closing around him, suffocating him, killing him –

Hector's eyes flew open. Cold sweat was breaking on his back. It was light in his room, way past dawn. There was none of the overpowering darkness. He hesitantly lifted a hand, and touched his face, making sure that he was dreaming no longer. He had the oddest tingling sensation in his stomach, and he rolled over on his soft white sheets, intending to hurl. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. False alarm. Still perspiring considerably, he reeled back to his previous position, his eyes looking blankly up at the high white marble ceiling. His eyes scanned the surface, richly decorated with multiple crystalline chandeliers, making sure that they were not about to collapse on top of him.

He was afraid shut his eyes, even as the feeling of deep despair began to fade, fearful that the nightmare – well, a dream and a nightmare, for it started out rather enjoyably – might come back. As the details of the dream began to slip between his fingers, he tried to recall it desperately. It appeared that it held a message, of ominous sorts, almost. He looked around his room blankly as he thought, seeing the luxurious red-and-gold furniture, but drinking in none of the details. Something seemed amiss. But how could it be? Everything was here; his full shelf, almost as big as a wall, his plush scarlet royal chairs, his hand-carved dresser drawer, his rich mahogany work desk – everything.

His eyes at last landed on the rich brown doors, and his mind drifted to the empty sensation in his stomach. The two clicked together.

It's past breakfast time, he realized, his stomach growling, and the last thoughts of his dream were pushed out of his mind.

"Where is that blasted girl?" he growled, but immediately wished that he hadn't. Royalties weren't supposed to condemn, not even their own servants. And Lyn wasn't even his – she was Lady Fiora's, as she had so unpleasantly informed him.

For the past two weeks she had brought breakfast to his quarters and thus waking him up way too early, to neither of their liking; his morning peace was constantly broken by their endless bickering, starting after dawn, his breakfast time, to sunset, dinnertime. And not even dogs liked to be disturbed during their meals, let alone a crown prince of a powerful nation. He snorted, throwing the sheets aside and moving to his mirrored closet for a new set of clothes. He wondered how Lyn survived, as a slave, no less, with that sharp tongue of hers.

He glanced out the window as he changed into indigo tunics, and was surprised to find the sun almost directly overhead. It was almost noon, and still Lyn had not come? His stomach gave another painful growl. He could not wait for lunch; he was too hungry. He supposed that he would have to sneak down to the kitchens, for a quick snack. He sincerely hoped that there were no guards around the kitchen. Sneaking food was frowned upon, especially by his parents, though he had done it many times before. But this time, it was different. He was expected to act more responsibly, now that his fiancée (or so his parents wanted her to be) was officially meeting the nobles and introducing herself to the kingdom with his mother, as the wife of the future king of Ostia. Somehow, having a wife marked a milestone of sorts, and you were supposed to act maturely from then on.

He sighed. He didn't care overmuch, to tell the truth. But he did not want to disappoint his parents. Not now, when they were so excited and eager. He let out a low groan, being reminded of his difficult situation. How was he going to break the news to them? He did not want to get married. If defying them outright didn't work, he didn't know what would.

As he clasped his blue cloak around his broad shoulders, he cautiously pushed the heavy door, and it gave a high-pitched creak as it swung open. He looked left and right down the torch-lit stone hallway, and seeing no guards nearby, strode down the left corridor. Even though the sun was high overhead, with the torches almost-burnt out, casting an ominous, lingering shadow to the paintings hanging on the walls. Grey mist seemed to swirl gently before his image, and he felt a sudden thrill go down his spine as he walked the twisting and turning labyrinth.

"Coward," he muttered to himself, disgusted by his own uneasiness. "It is nothing but a trick of the eye!" Throwing back his shoulders and lifting his gaze haughtily in an effort to make himself braver, he marched – yes, marched; his bootsteps rebounded loudly off the rose-colored marble ceilings. But a louder, sharper echoes cut through his rhythm and drowned his footsteps, and Hector found himself halted before the corner that led to the kitchens, listening to the odd sounds.

"Filth!" a voice was snarling, and the quick noise came again. There was a sick, squelching-like sound following immediately. "That ought to teach you, wretched beast – running your mouth off at me –" It took him a split second to realize that someone was being whipped. Though he was a warrior, he detested needless violence; in other words, torture. Without thinking, he jumped into the scene, roaring blindly.

"Stop!" he bellowed, and the guard, who had the metal-tipped whip raised, stopped in mid-swing and gaped at him. A dreadfully battered figure stood in front of them, bleeding from head to toe. A dark circle was forming at its feet, about the size of a dinner plate. He cast it a swift glance, and looked back up at the frozen guard, horrified and furious. "Drop it!"

"But, sir . . . ," the guard fumbled hysterically, his face ashen. He was terrified of the prince, who, at the moment, had fire spitting from his eyes and teeth bared in a deadly snarl. He gathered up his courage to speak; after all, he had done nothing, merely his duty. "This-this girl, this filth . . . she spoke against me, sir, and the kingdom—"

"I don't care!" Hector growled, taking slow, threatening steps toward the guard. His hand moved menacingly toward the sword at his side, and his voice deepened sinisterly. "You do not raise a hand against the helpless! Drop it, lout, and run for your life before I decide to cleave you into two!" He didn't need telling twice. Nearly dropping to his knees, the guard scampered off with his tail between his legs. Hector watched him go, a strong disgust in his expression – until a thud from his back drew his attention. An aqua-blue clad figure was crumpled on the cold stone floor surrounded by broken fragments of once-fine china and clumps of food, the brightly colored robes slowly staining crimson. Cuts and bruises were everywhere on the delicate figure, and its teal hair was fanned about it, soaking in dark red. He quickly kneeled by its side, his brows furrowed with worry.

"Lyn! Lyn!" he called, not daring to break one of the society's major rules; that a nobleman may not touch a servant, no matter what. "Can you hear me?" Her eyes were heavily lidded, hiding her emerald eyes effectively. A light groan escaped her lips, but otherwise, she remained still. Hector frantically chewed on his lower lip, his mind running through his options. He couldn't run around the castle carrying her, looking for a healer. That was foolish as well as dangerous. What if she had broken something? He'd only make it worse. Plus, someone might see.

The only thing left, then, he decided, to move her to an unused room and bring a healer to her. He dashed toward the kitchen, which was a few hundred yards around the left corner, swinging open the wooden doors. A servant with a precariously balancing pile of dishes weighing down his arms cried out his alarm as Hector rushed by him. The prince, normally, would have apologized – well, he wouldn't have been caught running into the kitchen in the first place – but at the moment, he was a bit preoccupied. Grabbing the arm of the nearest available servant out of the mass that filled the vast space, a green-haired fellow, he quickly summed up what had happened.

"There's a servant who's been whipped senseless, and she needs help. Can you carry her to a room near mine?" he gushed hurriedly in his rush almost missing the flash of the man's somber eyes.

"Lyn?" he asked, his tone low. Hector nodded impatiently, too busy to wander how in the world the man knew. "Show me." Normally, Hector would have been annoyed at the imperious tone of his voice, but today, he just shot out of the kitchen, the servant following closely behind him.

"There," Hector pointed her out in the middle of the stone hall as soon as the turned the corner, but the man was already halfway there.

"Lyn," the servant called quietly, taking her hand as he kneeled by her side. He turned her arm so that her palm was facing up. With his forefinger and middle, he rested it gently on her wrist. Meanwhile, Hector stood a few feet away, feeling helpless in his usefulness-minus state.

After what seemed like a nerve-racking eternity, the servant set Lyn's hand down. Wetting his same two fingers slightly, he placed them over Lyn's mouth with a slight frown. Hector had barely counted to eight when the man stood up, still looking unhappy about something.

"She has her pulse and she still breathes," he said slowly, "but it is shallow." Hector nodded.

"She needs a healer," he said, fumbling around his robes for a small, silken bag where he kept his money and such. From the indigo pocket he drew a golden key, as big as his palm, its handle encrusted with diamonds. "This is a master key," he said, handing it to the servant. "You know where my room is, right?" The man bobbed just once. "Good. There's an unused room if you continue down the same hallway my room's in. Take her to it. I think it's usually unlocked, but you never know." He nodded again, taking the key in silence.

With that out of the way, Hector sprinted down the corridors, leaving the two behind. After he had gone many steps, a disturbing notion occurred to him – what if the servant misused the key, and stole from other rooms? Too late now, he thought grimly, his perspiring hands curled into great boulders of fists.

Now which room was Serra's? he tried to remember, but found that he couldn't. He had tried to avoid the annoying brat of a cleric all his life, but at the moment, he wished that he hadn't.

"Where are you?" he growled under his breath, frustrated. He continued to race at top speed, and the paintings seemed to blur at his side. He glanced around at the hallways, looking for any signs of the she-devil's pink pigtails, when –

"Ow! Watch where you're going!" came a shrill squeal, as Hector tripped and sprawled onto the floor. He had knocked down a figure along with him, and stared down at it in disbelief. Of all the luck . . . !

"Lord Hector, I know that you are hopelessly in love with me, but would you please consider that I am a pure, virtuous, chaste cleric! I mean, the dignity of it all—!"

"Serra!" Hector cried hoarsely, scrambling to his feet. He gasped incredulously. He didn't know whether he was lucky or not. "Good timing. You gotta come with me!"

"—that means you must keep your hands off me, no matter how strong your desires are, and no, I will not come with you—"

"—a girl has been severely wounded, and she's bleeding badly—"

"—so that I could satisfy your lust, Lord Hector; that is unspeakable!—"

"—she needs help right away, you blasted woman!" Hector roared, and one could almost see a vein threatening to burst underneath the layer of his skin. Serra gawked for a moment, wide-eyed and surprised.

"How dare you, Lord Hector!" she shrieked from the ground, pointing a healing staff at him. "Is that any way to treat a noble lady!" He could argue the point, but he decided to drop it for now.

"You've got your staff. Good," Hector said roughly, offering a hand to help her up. "Come with me. There's a girl, wounded, and she's lost a lot of blood." Serra's amethyst eyes became as big as two gold coins.

"Why I never!" she huffed, straightening her white cleric dress out. "Then why didn't you say so earlier! Of course, normally, you should pay me for running into me and then demanding my services most ungraciously, but with my overflowing generosity, I will help you for free, just this once. Lead the way, Lord Hector!" He would have shot her a venomous look, except that he feared for Lyn's safety, so he merely jogged in front of her, leading her back toward the room.

"Slow down!" she shrieked behind him, and with a gritted sigh, he did.

"There," Serra said triumphantly, neatly tying the white bandages on Lyn's arm. "That about finishes it up." She beamed at the two somber men, then put her hands to her hips and huffed. "Now honestly, you two, can't you even crack a smile? She's okay now!"

A gloomy silence.

Serra rolled her eyes. "Okay, Masters Frumpy-Faces, I'm going to leave for now – Oswin'll get angry at me for being late again! – and Lord Hector, I'll come by tomorrow to change her bandages and give her medicines." She gave Hector a friendly pat on the shoulder, and with a girlish giggle, skipped out the wooden door. The green-haired servant continued to look down at Lyn's face in silence. Hector cleared his throat, feeling the need to speak.

"Uh . . . thanks for your help, er . . ."

"Rath," the man replied, so softly that Hector did not catch it the first time. "My name is Rath."

"Rath," Hector finished. His eyes drifted from Rath's face then to his clothes, brightly colored on the edges, like Lyn's was.

"I am also of plains of Sacae, as is she," Rath said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. Hector flushed scarlet – was he that easy to read?

"I shall be leaving now," he said, standing up, and Hector's mind raced back to the master key that he lent him, and he glanced around, just in case Rath left it somewhere. "The key is on the table beside the bed." The crown prince could feel his blush deepening. He hadn't meant to appear to be so suspicious.

"Th-thank you again, Rath," Hector stammered, unable to look up at the tall man as he pushed the doors open.

"One must always help his fellow tribesman," he replied simply, and vanished from the corridors. Hector blinked in surprise. Not only was that man eerily silence, he also appeared to be a master of illusions. With a sigh he got up and closed the doors, making sure that they locked with a small click. He turned and glanced at the girl resting beneath robin's egg blue sheets, pale but serene, as Hector has never seen it. For once her face was not screwed up viciously from the hate of him and all his kind, hurling spiteful insults at him.

As he watched her, a final ray of the sun eluded the white curtains and fell in a single beam on Lyn's face in the dimness of the room. Her slender eyebrow gathered slightly, and with a frown, she turned over to the right. He pulled a wooden stool by her bed and gazed at her in peaceful silence. She didn't look half bad as he thought she did, he decided, when she's not angry. An intense feeling rose in him, even stronger than his fury at the guard, and it took him a moment before he realized what it was. Pity? Yes, he pitied her. Whatever was her life like, to make her so hateful toward all nobles? Surely Lady Fiora did not abuse her. What was her life like? He longed to know.

What were you thinking, when he beat you mercilessly? he asked her silently, to her dreams. What are you dreaming of now? Power? Freedom? He could not fathom. Rath said that Lyn was from the plains, too. Could she be thinking of the wild, savage lands that he heard so much about? What was her life like then?

"How did you end up here, Lyn?" He asked softly. "How did you end up in these hateful lands that you detest so much?" The unmoving face did not answer. He stared pensively down at her calm, still expression.

After a while, he got up, disappeared for a few minutes, then came back with a tray laden with a teapot, a cup of tea, a bowl of porridge, and a bowl of broth. He set it down on the small gold-rimmed table beside her bed, pocketing the master key as he did so. She would be hungry when she gets up, he thought, munching his way thoughtfully through a loaf of soft white bread. For now, he had geography lessons before dinner. But he would be back in the morning with more.

Author's Note: Oy everyone! (fall) I'm terrible. Sorry for the late update. I was playing other Fire Emblem game . . . one of the most pathetic excuses I've ever heard. (sigh) I loooove Lyon! I gotta write a story about him and Eirika – or can one of you? (bats eyelashes and cackles) 8D;;; (stolen smiley face) I am weird.

I also introduced two more characters this chapter. I hope they all stayed in character. :P I actually like the way this chapter turned out.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem. I can't believe I forgot this.

Lao Who Mai: (cackle) You don't like Hector overmuch, do you?

Miss Krux: I already gave away too much of the story in the summary. You must read on to find out XD Oy . . . I am terrible.

Wistful-Eyes: About time you got around reading this! (is kidding) Mwahaha. She didn't go unpunished. That's all I'll tell you for now, dearie. . . . So, how's the break so far?

Link015: You requested for a longer chapter . . . Ay. I hope this will suffice. I can't write long, though I do try.

Wandering Cat: Oh . . . my. I don't like Eliwood either, but I tolerate. Lol. I mean, you can't exactly kill him off. And all the mysteries surrounding Lyn's origin and other things will be clear . . . in the later chapters. (is vaguely hinting that you must read on and be patient with her terribleness at writing) I am evil.

kuzuryuzen08: He'll be here soon. (evil laughter)

Dreamer of Riddles (x3): Puppet Master. Not too bad. XD Well, I did want to emphasize their characters, but I didn't mean to blow them up, which I think is what I'm doing. I tried to put in more details XO Eep. I'm absolutely horrible at that.

azn pride alwayz: Hilarious? . . . I just hope that none of the devoted Lyn-fans read this. . . . (nervous laughter) I forgot that I'm a Lyn fan myself. XD

Reviews and constructive criticisms are always appreciated!