Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or Elisabeth.

A/N: Finally, the chapter's done! I've been really lazy nowadays when it comes to updating. Maybe I'll post faster if I get more reviews (hint, hint). Anyway, on with the story!

Chapter Eleven

A Friend

The tall brick building was exceptionally gloomy-looking. The past few months had been torture enough for Vladen, studying French under the ever-present eyes of his two aunts, Dacio and Mignon. His whole life had become learning French no leisure was ever allowed. Aside from this torment, Vladen was never permitted to speak of his mother. "Forget her," his aunts said. "She doesn't love you. We do." He just couldn't believe them though. Vladen had hoped that his life would improve at the boarding school, but there didn't seem much hope now.

The heavy door to the Paris Academy for Young Men swung open, and a staunch man, in his mid-forties, appeared in the doorway. Vladen clutched the handle of his carpetbag tighter.

"Ah, Madame Jetter and Madame Sommer," the man greeted. "Please, do come in." Vladen followed his aunts and the man into a hostilely formal parlor.

"It is so good to see you again, Monsieur Wischard," Dacio replied civilly as both she and Mignon sat on a settee.

"This must be the young man you were telling me of," Monsieur Wischard said, noticing Vladen.

"Oui." Monsieur Wischard circled Vladen like a predator eyeing up its dinner. The parlor was intolerably silent.

Finally, Monsieur Wischard said, "He will do." Another man, younger than Monsieur Wischard, stepped into the parlor. "Andrew, please show this young man to his room," he commanded.

"Of course, Monsieur Wischard," Andrew said. "Come," he beckoned indifferently.

"Now ladies, shall we discuss the price for your nephew's board?" Monsieur Wischard said as Vladen disappeared out of sight.

Vladen followed Andrew obediently up to a rather small, plain room with two bunk beds and a washstand squeezed in. Andrew pointed to the lower bunk on one of the beds and declared, "This is your bunk." Vladen plopped his carpetbag on the navy coverlet.

Andrew continued, "Dinner is at six o'clock sharp. You will stay here until then. Be sure you are in your uniform." He gestured to the plain brown pants and spotless white shirt that hung on a peg on the wall and left the room.

For a few moments, Vladen tried to come up with a method of amusing himself, but found himself at a loss for ideas. Passively, he got up from his spot on the bed, dressed himself in his school uniform, and sat right back down in the same place as before. He spent the rest of the day sitting the same place until a clock somewhere in the facility chimed six.

Anxious for a change of scenery, Vladen hurried down the stairs where he was greeted by a flock of schoolboys. The boy who seemed to be the eldest in the pack asked hostilely, "Who are you?"

Vladen replied in broken French, "My name is Vladen. How do you do?"

One of the other boys snickered and said, "Listen to his odd accent! Where are you from?"

"Sweden," Vladen said hesitantly.

"Up north! The land of the barbarians!"

"It's not the land of the barbarians!" Vladen's temper began to fume.

"Really, Barbarian?"

"Don't call me that!"

"Barbarian! Barbarian! Barbarian!"

"I said don't call me that!" Without thinking, Vladen sent his fist flying into the boy's face.

"Mamma!" the boy cried.

"God, what have you done?" the eldest exclaimed.

"Monsieur Wischard! Monsieur Wischard!" another boy called out. Within minutes, Monsieur Wischard was standing between Vladen and the other group of boys.

He said to the boy who'd called, "Hamlin, what is wr-" Seeing the boy Vladen had punched on the floor weeping he asked, "What happened to you, Aleron?"

Aleron whimpered, "He… He punched me! The barbarian!"

"I told you never to call me that!" Vladen said, his previously quelled rage beginning to fume again.

"Vladen!" Monsieur Wischard exclaimed. "Don't tell me you did this. This is not a good way to start off your stay here, young man."

"But-"

"No 'buts', young man." Monsieur Wischard motioned to a servant that stood in the corner. "Jean, take Aleron to the doctor." Jean obeyed. "As for you, young man…" He grabbed Vladen by the ear and dragged him down the hallway, through the kitchen, and to a door.

Monsieur Wischard opened the door with a loud creak and shoved Vladen into the dark room beyond. "Think about what you've done! I'll be back in the morning." The door slammed shut, and Vladen heard the click of the lock.

Once alone, Vladen realized the true nature of what he'd done. He immediately thought of his mother. "Mamma will not be happy…" All of a sudden, he thought, through the darkness, he heard the sound of his mother singing a sweet, happy song, one of the folk songs of Sweden. "Mamma!" he called into the darkness. "Mamma!"

"Don't call for her," a transfixing male voice responded.

"Mamma!" Vladen called again, frightened by the strange voice that was present in the room with him.

"She can't hear you," the same voice rejoined.

"Where is my mamma?" Vladen asked the voice, his voice trembling.

"Don't be afraid, Vladen…"

"How… How do you know my name?"

"Just consider me a friend."

"A friend?"

"Yes, a friend. I won't abandon you like the others have."

"Where are you? I can't see you."

"I'm here."

"Don't leave."

"I won't."

A/N: Please R&R!