A Moonacre Fanfiction Peace on Earth

Footfalls made Ambrose leap to his feet. It'd been several hours. He'd begun to wonder if they'd forgotten about him. They would find his cold, lifeless remains sometime ages and ages hence, and then, ah, then they would remember poor, misunderstood Ambrose.

But no matter now. Someone was coming. He hoped it wasn't the guards. Anyway, he wouldn't see until they came in. Regrettably, there was no peephole in this door.

The feet stopped. Ambrose carefully fixed his face in a careless smirk, awaiting the squeak of the hinges. Instead, he heard a grating sound. Then he saw a tray had been pushed under the door. A tray of food. The footsteps started again, but they were going away.

"No, wait!" he rushed to the door. Silence. Had the servant paused? "I need—I want to talk to someone." He listened intently. Nothing. "Please, I'm dreadfully bored." The feet started again, but to his dismay, they weren't getting closer. "Come, now! Wait, come back! Well, will you at least bring me a blanket? Or a pillow? Why are you—argh." He could no longer hear the footsteps. Ah, what pitiful pastimes he had been reduced to, that a footfall would make his heart leap with joy. He cursed.

Nevertheless, they hadn't skimped on the food. It was the same quality he'd eaten every day for the past seventeen years of his life. Even in the darkest of times at Moonacre, the cuisine had never failed to impress. He ate quickly, and when he had finished, he bemoaned his haste. He ought to have saved some. Who knew when he would be fed next? Perhaps he would only get one meal a day. Unfortunately, they hadn't given him anything to drink, and he was thirsty. He cursed again.

Standing, he paced the small room irritably until finally he kicked the center bucket. Then howled in dismay. That was one sturdy bucket. Falling to the floor, he clutched his toe. He cursed the bucket. Why did it have to be so heavy? Well, it was full of water…

Oh, no.

If they expected him to drink from that thing…

But they hadn't given him a cup. What else could he do? And he was thirsty. Reluctantly, he neared the edge of the bucket. It didn't look too dirty. He crinkled his nose in disgust. He should be drinking wine and eggnog. Not this foul snow-water. Summoning whatever courage was in his being (not much), he lapped a little from the bucket. He found the water to be cold and refreshing. Great. He sighed. His standards were lowering already.

Hours passed. He watched the shaft of light fade until it was nothing more than a whisper of moonlight. Ambrose's stomach curled up inside of him. He wished he'd saved some of his midday meal. It seemed they weren't planning on giving him supper.

Not only was he starving, he was bored. Excruciatingly bored. Ambrose was not a hard-working lad, unless he had to pretend in order to gain a young lady's admiration. Even then, he put in minimal effort, relying on his good looks and gallant manner. He could even be downright lazy. But he never liked being bored. What a fine way to spend Christmas Eve. Not that it wasn't his fault that he ended up in here, exactly, but still.

The groaning of the stairs roused him from his thoughts of self-pity. Then he heard footsteps. At this point, Ambrose was too weary to pretend to be enjoying himself in here. But he was anxious for someone to talk to, something to do. He saw a light. They had a candle.

"Are you bringing me food?" The only response was the sliding of another tray under the door. "Don't you want the other tray?" Silence. "Otherwise, I'll just end up with a collection of trays in here. I might even be able to escape with them." He waited.

"Slide it under, then." A woman's voice. Young lady? Did he recognize it? He couldn't tell. He'd known too many women.

"Why don't you come in here and get it?"

"I'm not stupid." Her voice was indignant.

"I never said you were."

"Slide it under."

"No, I want to see you."

"Well, I don't want to see you."

"Why not?" Silence fell. Then:

"Do you really expect me to answer that?"

"Oh, come now, so I stabbed a guy. He's not dead. Plus, women like a bad boy. A rogue, if you will. I—"

"You stabbed Robin De Noir!" Accusingly.

"Yes…oh. Do you want to know why?"

"Silly boy, I know why."

"Do you now?" He began to pace the little room again.

"I told you. I'm not stupid."

"Well then, you must know that he was attacking me. I had no choice—"

"Liar."

"What?" He froze.

"You're lying. You were never in danger of your life." She chuckled. "Maybe just your ego. Robin would never kill you."

"Ah, well…" he didn't know how to respond. But he didn't want her to walk away. He neared the door. "Why do you think I stabbed him then?"

"Oh, I don't doubt that you two were fighting. Over Maria, I wager."

"And why do you think that?"

"I saw you at the ball. It was hard not to."

"So I danced with her. So what?"

"So, Robin and Maria had a falling out. About you. I don't know the details, but they were both pretty angry with each other. Maria was just using you to make Robin jealous."

"Oh, I don't think Maria was using me." If anything, it'd been the other way around. He leaned a shoulder on the door. "And anyway, how do you know so much?"

"I'm a woman." He raised a questioning eyebrow, then remembered she couldn't see him.

"So?"

"So, woman's intuition rarely fails. Robin danced with me after his fight with Maria. You and I, we're two sides of the same coin. But I at least had the decency to respect him. I've known—I know he loves Maria. I wasn't going to fight Maria for him. That's not—it's not right." He smiled slyly.

"But I think you like Robin."

"Of course I like him. Who doesn't? Yourself excluded."

"That's not what I mean. Are you jealous of Maria?" He waited for her to reply.

"I am, yes." She paused. "But that doesn't mean I'll act on my jealousy. It's not the first disappointing love I've had, thanks much." Was she…had Ambrose and this girl been in a relationship once? He couldn't tell, because of this confounded door. Odds were, they had been. She went on, "I pride myself on having a little dignity. I like to think that I love Robin enough to want him to be happy. So you see, I'm not going to snatch Robin away from Maria." Ambrose didn't know what to say. Thankfully, she kept speaking. "At least if I had, I would be acting out of love. I doubt your motives were the same." She scoffed. "Maria's rich. Money. It's what you're always after, isn't it?" The bitterness laced in her words was inescapable.

"Well—but I—let me explain!" But her shoes were already taking her away. He racked his brain desperately for something to keep her talking to him. "Didn't you hear how I saved Maria?"

"Oh, very heroic." The girl's voice echoed in the stairwell. Then he could hear her no longer. He knocked his head into the door angrily, then squeaked. That was a hard door. The girl's words echoed in his mind. He was always after the money. Well, it was true. He could hardly deny it. Was that such a bad thing? To want the best things in life? Really now, who could call that a crime?

A/N: Cherished reader,

Hi! I'm happy to have gotten this chapter ready so quickly! Hopefully this trend will continue…keep your fingers crossed! What do you think of Ambrose? I'm curious. How do you see him? Are his motives worthy [in any way, shape, or form]? Does he have any redeeming values? What do you think of the servant girl? You can probably guess who she is. Do tell me your thoughts in your reviews :)

Love,

Ponygirl7