Chapter 1: Alternative Viewpoint
What I thought was a good day turns out to be horrible.
That day was a bad day. Really, that is the easiest, most reductionist, stupid way I can think of if someone asks me how the day went. It all started in the morning. I had been looking forward to it because I had exactly one class to attend – geography – after which I would be freer than the bird sitting on my window sill, gazing at me mockingly because it had wings and I didn't, and I may have forgotten where I was going with this analogy. Getting back to geography, my teacher had felt kind today, and gave me a few books to read on Carnava, and tourism in general.
"You are the Princess of this glorious land. You must know about it in as much depth as you can." He said to me.
I have several rants on Carnava, and I can safely say that I hate being here. I managed to convince my sister that in order to understand the world better, I should leave the country for university, and be incognito. Only 722 days left until the fateful day. Yay. Ahem, never mind that. I tend to ramble far too much. Bear with me until I figure out how to tell this story properly.
My name, as an introduction might be in order, is Elena Riesevelt von Hahnenberg, and it is the most pretentious name I have ever heard, except maybe my sister's, which is the equally, if not more, flowery, Sophia Lacrimosa Riesevelt von Hahnenberg. Heck, add a Sparklypoo in there somewhere, and no one would notice. She's Queen Sophia to everyone though, since she is actually a pretty cool big sis. Oh, and Lacrimosa means tears, or something to that effect. I do not know why she was given such a name. But I digress once more.
I've often been considered an arrogant person. I would like to quickly state that this is not strictly true. I just don't like other people that much. Being a member of the royal family shows you a side of people that isn't very pleasant. It shows you the part with the ass-kissing and the flattery, and after a point of time, you're jaded. Compliments feel faked. Smiles feel gratuitous and unnatural, and that warm, friendly voice I heard when pondering over my essay, felt obnoxious. The first thing that went through my head when I heard it was "No. I don't want another boot-licker following me around." Excuse my French, but people like that are merde. No. Worse.
I had honestly expected out dialogue to go as follows. Trust me, as this has actually had a precedent, and by the end of that conversation, I could have punched a kitten. No, wait, no. I like kittens.
Boy: AH MY DEAREST PRINCESS! HOW LOVELY YOU LOOK! HOW BEAUTIFULLY YOU PLAY YOUR FLUTE!
Me: Harmonica
Boy: YES. THAT. YOU LOOK DIVINE TODAY!
Me: Is that so?
And so on forth.
This fellow was different. Rather, he seemed to have no idea about who I was. It was refreshing; I'll give you that, but also a little disconcerting.
He was really handsome, I couldn't help but notice that, and he looked like a soldier, with his straight back and lean, strong looking frame. He had longish black hair, with an odd streak of silver running down the front – a well known sign of magic corruption – and beautiful eyes. They were a strange blue, almost ultramarine, and very piercing. The impression I got of him was that he was someone you could trust. It made me feel uncomfortable somehow. Itchy, even, that someone like that actually existed around me.
I asked him to help me with my essay. He raised his eyebrow, just one (a fact that to this day makes me jealous because I never figured out how to do it, and it looks cool), and agreed to take a look.
"I'm writing an essay. On travel in the Continent, though the point kind of is to encourage more tourists to Carnava. Problem being that there is no earthly reason why you would actively travel here from abroad." I said to him. Funny how many pauses that sentence had had.
He looked surprised, and mentioned that he rather liked the place – hence his desire to protect it. Well, awkward.
"You mean you aren't the victim of an elaborate ploy to force you into armed service because of your family name and its connexions with warfare, battle and specific links to the Magic Association that we all know and secretly loathe?" I cannot explain why I blurted that out. It was an opinion I had kept locked up in the deepest, darkest recesses of my cobwebbed memory centres, and believe you me, even my sister did not know. He looked appropriately shocked, although that expression was fleeting. Somehow, I knew I'd annoyed him. His reply to me was heavy with irony, and the rudest sentence thus far (though still really high on the politeness scale – this guy had the self-control of a, well, something with a lot of self-control).
Our discussion turned to Redwall Beach, courtesy my new-found "let's tell random people things I don't even tell my family WOO HOO" moment, and it came to light that he was the sort of person I disliked, for getting along with the Magic Association, and simultaneously, my favourite sort of person – the kind I had read about in books, and knew, maybe, two people who actually fit the description before the boy. He was loyal, and sure of his convictions. And at that moment, I realised something about him. I could trust him not to tell people what I said to him. I didn't know who he was, or why it was so easy to talk to him, or at least, say the things I'd usually leave unsaid. Even when he criticised my essay, it felt natural. Rather, he was ready to give me the criticism. Even though I knew what was wrong with that lovely piece of writing, it felt good to have someone else castigate it. Politely.
His actions when I was on my way back to palace left me floored.
"My name is Roland. Roland Gallia! Might I have the pleasure of knowing yours?"
Oh. He really didn't know who I was. All of that – that politeness, and that strange sarcasm was delivered to me because it was natural. I don't think I've ever felt so strange and ungainly, and yet so happy. I wanted to see for myself, how he'd react to knowing who I was. Would he be typical, and bow down to me, or would he stay the same? I was hoping and praying right then. My mouth felt unusually dry when I answered him.
"Elena. Elena Riesevelt von Hahnenburg."
His eyes bugged out as he processed this information. He could literally only stare at me as I walked away. And yet, somehow, he raised a hand, and waved. It was a small gesture. But it made me feel warm inside. I liked him immensely, just from this meeting.
As the princess of the Royal Kingdom (redundancy ahoy) of Carnava, I had to attend the swearing-in ceremony of the new Knights. My acquaintance was there as well, and I couldn't help stare at him, seeing as I didn't really know anyone else from the Knights. It made him uncomfortable, I could tell, but it was hard to look away. He looked so... stately and grand in uniform. Much more than when I met him. Even though he resembled the duck from that saying where the exterior is calm and the part underwater is kicking furiously against the current, it was a very calm exterior. As my literature professor would wisely comment to me, bless the old fellow, "The internal landscape is not reflected by the external landscape."
The ceremony ended with the pledge, which everyone took far more seriously than was usual. Rather, there was a distinct lack of tripping and general embarrassment amongst the new Knights. Good for them. Dull for me.
It's Schadenfreude. Cut me some slack. I can't be the perfect princess all the time.
I went back to the hill where I'd started this story. It was one of my favourite places in the world, and it felt like second home. I had this nagging feeling that I used to come here as a child, but somehow, I just couldn't remember.
I dozed off.
There was a sudden "Bang!" that made me wake up. I can't describe the sound very well, but if you've ever been unfortunate enough to be sort of near a terrorist attack, it's kind of like that. Scary, loud and worst of all, I could see the smoke streaming into the sky.
I got up in a hurry, hoping to get a better look, but I lost my footing, and found myself rolling down the hill instead. I vaguely recall letting out a scream that was somewhat stifled by the fall, before heavily crashing against someone's legs. I looked up at the person who broke my fall. It was him. My saviour. Well, sort of. I was glad to see Roland, at any rate. I wanted to tell him that.
He looked rather stunned, before asking me if I were really the princess. That riled me a little – why would I lie? And I was stunningly curt with him, as I ordered him to get his ass in gear and get to the palace, where the explosion had taken place. The girl with Roland tried to persuade me to let her stay with me, but I brushed her off. More than anything, I was worried about my sister, and Sir Richter, who was very nearly an older brother to me.
My safety didn't matter just then. I don't care how foolish or sentimental it may sound, but I needed them to survive.
I watched them as they left. Roland chose to run, which was odd - you'd think a horse would be faster. I suddenly felt my legs give way, and I collapsed onto the ground. What a mess everything had become. What an abso-fucking-lutely brilliant day.
I stood up again, once that jelly-like feeling had gone, and leaned against a nearby tree, with my eyes closed, trying to figure out what to do next. I had very few options that actually made sense. The first of course, would be to get to the Royal Villa. The second would be to get out of the country until things calmed down. Alternatively I could have found a machine gun and go all psycho on the perps, but that would have been silly. At least, so I thought at the time. I realised, only about ten minutes afterwards that I would have gotten off lighter if I had decided to raid the castle, so to speak. Some time passed; I might have dozed off even.
After some time, I stood up and stretched, looking out at the palace, which was no longer burning, though the smoke still covered the sky.
There was a cracking noise behind me, and then the distinct feeling that someone was holding a metal pipe to my back. No, not a pipe. A pistol.
"Right this way, if you please, little princess." A voice said to me. It sounded awfully pimp-like, not the sort of voice you would want to hear in a dark alleyway, or in my situation for that matter. Still, having a gun stuck in your back is a good incentive for listening to someone, so I headed right that way. He didn't remove the gun for even a second, and I didn't get to see his face, though I had a sneaking suspicion that he wore a turtleneck. I'm not sure why, but judging by his jackboots, a turtleneck seemed appropriate.
Well, I was terrified right then. Anyone would be. All I could think of was "help me" in what I imagined to be a very squeaky voice. He, the owner of the voice, pushed me down towards the path. I stumbled. This was met by a rough hand grabbing my arm to steady me, and an angry hiss. We trudged down the path towards a mangy looking horse. It looked old and worn out. Not the sort of animal I would assign the task of "getaway vehicle" to. To each his or her own, I suppose. It has to be said though, that that animal looked like it was about to expire at any moment.
There was a gunshot, and the pressure on my back disappeared. I turned around to the source of the noise, and there he was. Roland had a revolver in hand, still smoking from the shot, and he looked grim. His face was blackened, and his hair dishevelled. He'd seen better days, no doubt.
"Where did you learn to use a gun?" I asked him. Guns were not standard issue in the Royal Army, especially not for Knights.
"I had a friend give me lessons. Thought it might come in handy some time." He was surprisingly terse, though I guess I couldn't blame him after all that had happened. My lack of panic was stranger than his stoic reaction to the situation. "I've got a horse. We need to get to the palace, and then away from here."
"Alright then." I gave him a weak smile, which he returned, and we set down the path towards his horse. I'm glad to say that it looked significantly healthier than my attacker's. Roland turned back once we reached his mount, and then lead the other horse down towards us.
"No need to be wasteful."
"That horse looks kind of... not very healthy."
"I've seen worse."
I don't want to see that animal ever. I think I might cry if I do.
"So what's the plan?"
"We rendezvous with Sir Richter, Her Majesty, and a few other soldiers. We'll be heading to the Royal Villa near Farham from after that."
"Then let's go!"
A/N: Ha! You expected a continuation of Roland's story did you not? Author trolling aside, this was an intentional interlude, while I figure out how to progress Roland's side of the story to match the ending for this particular story arc.
This isn't a standalone thing either. Each chapter, as long as Elena is alone or without Roland at some point in the narrative, will feature a 1st person narrative detailing her side of the story. This is the only time where their events will overlap. The main reason I did this is to compensate for my sparse writing style in 3rd person – as she's an OC, her personality needs to be established firmly, as she plays a major role in the fic. I don't like the idea of her degenerating into a typical tsundere like Karen. I see her to be more of a warm but slightly aloof person. She likes people but isn't overtly demonstrative. I'll leave your interpretations of her, and hope that my writing can bring out mine, to you, the reader.
Plus, I like writing in 1st person.
Special notes: None really. There are a few references here and there, but I won't ruin the fun.