Thanks to the workshop crew and all my reviewers for being so patience, and to Trudi for beta-ing me. This is 'thoughts' chapter, so nothing much happens i'm afraid, but its needed! Enjoy!

Chapter Twelve: Prisoners

Darkness. For hours, darkness and nothing else, then it weakened and parted. Fuzzy outlines of shapes, intense blurriness. Then, light came and separated shadow from substance. Senses came next…the coarseness of rope at her wrists, the choking taste of cloth and some unknown matter in her mouth, the dull throb of her brain and the tightness of skin on her face from tears that had long since dried. Bit by bit, Raisse regained consciousness. Every unfamiliar sound and smell began to register, and before long, she had gathered enough information to realise she was a prisoner, though where and of whom eluded her for the moment.

Her hands were bound behind her back and something else that pressed into her spine. Something cold and solid…iron maybe? She was sitting upright on a wooden floor. A cramp in her bottom suggested she had been there for some time. She shifted her weight, wincing as she did so, and looked around. Faded wood surrounded her on all sides, except for the far wall which had what looked like a small window covered in black cloth near the ceiling. The room was bare, cold and dark. No sound came from outside, and the lack of slivers of light which would have been caused by the gaps between the curtain and the wall told Raisse it must be night time.

What a fitting end to such a day! she thought dryly.

Resigned to her situation for the time being, she leaned back and began to think, for thinking was all she could do. She thought of her bedchamber and the embroidered blankets on her bed, and the way the sunset looked every evening from her window. She thought of her parents, her mother and the fairy-tales she'd read her every night of her childhood, her father in royal blue and the dance he reserved for her at every ball. Her horse, Puck. Her life, and how much she loved it, and how much she took it for granted.

What happened to me?

She had not properly thought of the day's events yet, nor of him. She had embraced the fear like an old friend. It was easier. She'd let her heart beat fast and her head pound so she would not have to search inside either one and discover the truth. She'd worn out every sense and motion so that nothing else could function. She'd collapsed on her soft, inviting bed and slept with her eyes open. Now, they were dry and surely deceiving her. After all, what business had the Princess of France with her arms bound in little more than a big wooden box?

She no longer knew what was real and what was not. Those eyes…had they been real? Remembering them brought fresh tears to her eyes. The rocks…they had been real, and so had the water. The terror, and the extreme cold. The awful realisation that she could do nothing but sink. The sensation of drowning. She recalled how the water rushed in and swirled like a torrent around her. The intense pain as her lungs flooded that got worse and worse and worse until it stopped.

Nothing, conscious but not, drifting…Raisse struggled to remember the rest, thought she knew there was something. Suddenly, it struck her. She had been dead. A deep icy coldness began to envelop her from within. Maybe she still was, though the rope burns and the headache begged to differ. Was she in purgatory? Was this her trial, her day of judgment? Strangely, she'd never really imagined the afterlife to smell so strongly of horse excrement, and feel so damp and stale.

But…she had been brought back. Bright. So bright after the sweet darkness. It hurt…and that's what had been wrong. The pain had returned. Even now, it still singed the inside of her lungs and her stomach muscles throbbed beneath her bodice.

Then, she'd seen him…only he was no longer him. Of that, she was almost certain. He'd done something that was unnatural, and wrong. Her body had tingled with magic…at least, she thought it had been magic. She knew magic existed but it was rare to behold. Chip…he shouldn't have it…he should not know…and it was tainted. Impure. She could still taste it at the back of her throat. Intoxicating and vile.

And he'd used it on her. He'd gone against the divine laws of nature and…brought her back. She was the thing that was not real. She was not meant to exist still. Surely he had condemned her to wander like a shadow through a life that was no longer hers, forever indebted to a light that might not take her back.

Suddenly, she felt numb. She was empty. She was nothing. She sat, staring straight ahead and contemplated her fate.

What is to become of me?

……………………………………………………………………………………

Chip sat on his bed. His anger had vanished with the sound of footsteps outside, growing fainter and fainter until an unwelcome silence filled the air. Just him, alone, to make sense of it all.

Who am I?

He had known, deep in his heart he had known all along, but it didn't make him feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse. He'd ignored the nagging doubts all his life because he had been afraid. Now the doubts were made flesh. They were real…but who was he?

Charles. Chip. His name hadn't changed, but it had lost its meaning. He wasn't a D'Arbigne, he wasn't a Potts, he wasn't even a Dudley. He had no last name, and without a last name, what was the point of a first? And he had no mother. His birth had been her death. His very existence had destroyed her. She must have hated him.

Why had he been born? What was his purpose?

He had nothing. No mother, no father, no identity. Just a maid who'd taken him in because she had no other choice, and a family he didn't belong in. Oh, and a horse and the clothes on his back…which he'd probably lose too once he was found guilty of whatever Raisse had accused him of.

His solemn demeanour was suddenly shaken by a bout of anger. How dare she? He'd saved her life, risking his own and putting himself through…whatever he'd put himself through, and she had repaid him by accusing him of such a foul crime.

Spoilt little brat! he thought bitterly. Crafty demon in angel's guise. He thought of her, warm and comfortable no doubt in her rich soulless bedchamber, and wondered if she was smiling. Then he remembered the words from mere minutes before. She was missing.

Where on earth could she possibly have gone, and why? It was, of course, perfectly in character for her to cause a scene and become centre of attention, as usual. It made no sense for her to make herself disappear, though. He wished he could disappear. Taken against her will, then. But, by whom? He smirked. No doubt he would be a suspect if he was not behind solid iron bars.

He thought hard.

With Raisse gone, could they even try him with the alleged offence, falsehood though it was? Could her disappearance seem proof that something else was amiss, and with whom? What would they do with him until she was found? Would he just be left alone to rot in unanswered questions and revelations?

He would go. When they released him, he would go…and far. Far away so nobody else could get hurt…and he would forget he was ever Chip. He would start again and make himself anew. It wouldn't be that hard…would it? Surely it would solve everything. Of course, he'd have to get out first…

He sat and stared at the wall, focusing on the grooves and indentations in each stone. He saw the mortar between each one and its neighbour, and how it had been smoothed by an unknown finger from an unknown man centuries before. He imagined he could see through the wall and visualised the sky on the other side…dark, starry perhaps, with a round, shadowy moon.

He'd used to love star-gazing, lying in a field and watching as day turned to night, and the moon appeared from underneath a translucent veil. Feeling the grass tickle his skin in the darkness…the smell of evening…

He'd taken Raisse once, when she'd been ten or so. Never again. She'd made him point out all the twinkling lights and the shapes they'd seemed to make, then she'd demanded that he tell her she'd called 'star stories' until the clouds rolled in and obscured their vision. Her incessant chatter had ruined the mood for him, and he'd ushered the princess back to the castle prematurely.

How he longed to see them now. The tiny window in the cell showed him nothing but blank indigo.

Perhaps he'd go to the coast and see it all reflected in the ocean. Or climb a mountain until the stars seemed within reach. He suddenly realised he'd lived his whole life within the castle and its grounds being a son, a servant, a playmate…but never just a man. He'd taken the blame when things went wrong, he'd done anything asked of him, he'd become a teacup for ten years because of somebody else's mistake, he'd saved the life of a princess and then been accused of desecrating it. He'd never seen the ocean, visited a far-off land…fallen in love.

For the first time in hours, Chip smiled. A life without rules, without chores, without boundaries….

What will become of me?