Ah, this chapter. :/ I'm not...too sure about it, yet I like it at the same time. Odd. Still, I had to put some more motion towards the main plot here and plant a bit of an idea in Esther's head somehow. I hope it wasn't too bad. The next chapter should be better, and, hopefully, easier to write.

I want to thank nemesis1807 for the encouraging words! Thank you! :)

As always, feedback is much welcomed and I hope to get at least one more chapter of this story and another one of mine before the first semester of classes start for me.

Alright, enough of me. Enjoy!

Something Familiar

Part Three

"Ah, artists, such a pompous lot they are," Sparrow heard Reaver say as she watched yet another artist walk out of the Throne Room, that crestfallen expression on his face that she was starting to become somewhat used to as they worked their way through the many people who showed up to impress her.

While she was still doubtful about her decision to have Reaver help her with this, she could see why keeping him around still had use. After seeing many painted landscapes, portraits of herself, and paintings of various objects, Sparrow found that they all looked somewhat similar. Reaver was the one who seemed to see the flaws in the ones that she wasn't too sure about, that or he was just gripping at any excuse to rip into a few of the hopeful artists that would wonder into the room.

"They all come in, speaking like they have crafted a masterpiece," Reaver continued, pulling Sparrow back to what he was saying, her elbow resting against the arm rest of the throne, her hand tucked under her chin as she looked over lazily at him, a rather non-regal like pose, "yet there are only a handful of them that seem to meet my approval. I daresay, you may have had some rather horrible portraits if I wasn't here to guide you along in the right direction, my dear queen."

"Well, I don't believe that I have met an artist yet who's arrogance surpasses your own, Reaver," Sparrow muttered, sitting up fully as Reaver gave her another grin.

"I should hope not, we are talking about myself," he said, "I do believe I earned the right."

"Jasper, please, do send in the next artist before I lose my patience with my adviser here," Sparrow said, looking towards the door where the thin, brown-haired man quickly bowed and left the room to collect the next artist.

"Oh, I apologize, is my advice bothering you?" Reaver asked. While his tone sounded apologetic, Sparrow would have to be an idiot to miss the obvious mockery.

"No, Reaver, everything you say before and after the advice is what is bothering me," Sparrow said with a small smile, Reaver simply huffing slightly at her comment and turned back towards the doors of the Throne Room, leaning on his cane, his grin still firmly in place.

Nothing seemed to bother Reaver all that much, Sparrow noticing that he usually took most of her little quips and some insults with a grin on his face and threw them back sometimes, though she could tell that he held his tongue in some cases. While Sparrow didn't necessarily enjoy being queen sometimes, she did enjoy the power the title brought from time to time. It was somewhat amusing to be higher up from Reaver, especially when she had once been running around and doing quests to get him to simply notice her enough so that she could recruit him into her band of Heroes, then there was the whole Shadow Court incident as well...

It was rather satisfying to watch him pick his words in front of her. Sometimes.

Sparrow straightened as the doors opened, Jasper leading in a rather young girl. She wasn't dressed as extravagantly as some of the other artists before her, a simple brown dress, her black hair pulled up tightly in a bun on her head, a few strands falling down to rest against the side of her face. Her gaze was actually anywhere but her and Reaver, out of fear or embarrassment, Sparrow couldn't tell. She took glances around the room, at the windows behind the throne, at Jasper, but ended up just looking down at her feet. She also carried a single piece of paper in her hands, she didn't carry a large canvas or framed painting with her.

Just a worn looking piece of paper.

How interesting...Sparrow thought to herself, though she was uncertain about the girl as well. She was pretty young, and didn't seem all the prepared. Though, aside from her shyness, she seemed to carry herself well. After a few moments, the girl looked up at her, a polite smile crossing her features as she bent down into a curtsy, bowing her head.

"Your Majesty," she greeted quickly, rising up once again and held her gaze for a few moments, her eyes flickering over to Reaver for a few moments before she continued.

"My name is Esther, I have come to show you some of my artwork."

Sparrow nodded her head in greeting, taking a glance over at Reaver, who would have usually been insisting that she show him the artwork by now, only to find that he actually seemed to be studying the girl rather intently. Though, he quickly seemed to move on and walked towards her, extending his hand to take the paper from her.

Esther quickly gave it to him, stepping back and folded her hands behind her back. Sparrow waited for her to ramble on about her piece, explaining what inspired it or how she made it, but she remained silent.

"Ah, I see it is yet another mundane landscape," Reaver said, looking up from the picture, "one you haven't bothered to paint, either."

He seemed patronizing, as per usual with every piece that he looked at that day. Sparrow expected Esther to look away from him, to look sad or angry, but she actually lifted her head up slightly and narrowed her eyes as if in thought.

"I do see your point," she said after a few moments, "I wish I could have painted it as well, though after seeing that buying the simple set that I used to draw that landscape left me eating stale and lowly priced food for a week, I am almost afraid to see where a set of paints would leave my mother and I."

"And you believe this to be of royal calibre?"

"Yes, because I have an eye for detail," Esther said, pausing for a few moments to glance towards Sparrow, "that...drawing is apparently one of my memories, something my mother had to confirm because I was so young when I witnessed it that I couldn't remember it all."

"I wish to see it," Sparrow said, extending her hand towards Reaver, who looked back at her and walked towards the throne, giving her Esther's drawing. She took a few moments to study it, then paused. She could easily recognize the docks, as well as the figure of the Spire in the distance, though the dog, her dog, is what gave her pause.

...Yes, it was her dog

Esther had managed to capture her dog's longing in the drawing, so much so that it almost seemed fitting that there was no colour to it. Sparrow looked up from the paper in her hands to look at Esther, who seemed to be shifting from foot to foot, hands still folded behind her back. Some of her black hair fell into her face, her blue eyes staring at her expectantly.

Sparrow gave her a small smile, "thank you for your piece, Esther. Please, do stay in Bowerstone if you are able."

"Of course, thank you, Your Majesty," Esther said quickly, a grin fighting its way onto her face as she gave one last quick bow and left the room. She was barely out of the room when Reaver turned to look over at Sparrow with a raised eyebrow.

"You are considering that...drawing?" he asked, Sparrow looking back down at Esther's piece once again, taking in a few more of the details of the drawing.

She smiled softly at the thought of her earliest companion after Rose's death, she found herself wondering what it would have been like to have her dog sitting beside her throne, to have Rose walking the halls of Bowerstone Castle. She did have the choice to make that all a reality, once.

As much as she missed them, she didn't regret the choice she made. Her sister's death was finally avenged, and she had new things to focus on now. Finding a painter wasn't that much of a pressing matter, Sparrow didn't wish to spend too much time on it, but she found herself liking the distraction. Even if it was for a few days or so.

"I see potential," Sparrow said after a few moments, "while she may seem humble, she has confidence in her work. I wouldn't mind seeing some more."

"All I see is a little girl who knows how to use a pencil, she is most likely looking for something boast about to her simple-minded ilk."

"Yet, you held your tongue."

"Yes, well, it had been a long day, and as hard as it may be to believe, I do get tired," Reaver said, brushing off her comment in a way that made Sparrow wonder what was going through his head.

Dearest Mother,

I have much to tell you! Don't fret, most of it is good.

As I write this, it has been two days since I first set foot inside Bowerstone Castle. It is as beautiful inside as it is outside, and I think I carried myself very well, though I regret becoming a little miffed in my reply when her associate started to talk down to me. He had reason to, seeing as I didn't paint and I think that it one of the required things that I needed to have. Still, I didn't like the way he talked to me, and the way he looked at me.

There was something...familiar about him. Then again, he was Reaver. Perhaps I was just intimidated by him?

Still, regardless, I believed that my hard work has payed off. I have been commissioned to make a portrait of Queen Sparrow, it is a chance for me to work with paints and to prove that I am capable to do so. Though, I don't believe I am the only one who has gotten this opportunity, but I believe that it is a very good sign that I have made it this far.

The bad news is that, with this development, it means that I won't be coming back to Oakfield for another couple days, at least. Though, once this is finished, I will come back home to see you.

...I believe that is all I wish to share. You wanted to know what has been happening, and now you do. I hope that you aren't too worried about me.

I love you.

Esther

It was that child again.

Though, he couldn't really call her a child. While she wasn't a fully grown woman, she was far from the thin little girl in the photo. He had known it from the moment she walked into the Throne Room, and he wanted her gone from the moment her gaze met his own. Still, as Sparrow started to look into seeing more of her work, inviting her back to the castle to see if she could put together a portrait, along with four other artists, he found himself growing more interested in her. Reaver was growing steadily bored with this, waiting around for hours every day, watching people put together half-decent portraits. Since he couldn't deal with the artists the way he usually dealt with them when they didn't produce the results he wanted, which was shooting them and calling upon the next one, he was forced to wait until Sparrow picked one.

At least he wasn't the one posing.

His cane tapped against the ground as he walked towards the gardens of the castle, half of them off limits due to the expanding of the castle. Still, it was much more stimulating than sitting in that stuffy room with an equally unbearable Sparrow. That is, until he spotted young Esther sitting on a bench, reading over something in her hands with a slight frown on her face.

Even with his slight interest, Reaver honestly wanted nothing to do with her, just like every overly dressed and talkative artist that sat before Sparrow. Still, he was certain that she was the child from the photo that he had spent maybe a half a day of his attention on, there could be some amusement brought out of the situation.

He was unbearably bored, anyhow.

"Ah, my dear Esther!" he exclaimed, his smile growing at just how much the youth flinched at the sound of his voice, watching as Esther turned her head to look at him with startled and slightly alarmed eyes, "I was starting to believe that I wouldn't be seeing your face today. Shouldn't you be inside with the rest of your ilk?"

"My ilk?" Esther said slowly, raising an eyebrow.

"People of your sort," Reaver said, Esther frowning slightly at the condescending look he sent her.

"I know what ilk means," Esther stated, clearing her throat a little as she folded the letter in her hands, "I am just taking a few moments to collect myself and deal with some personal matters. Do you need anything, Mister Reaver?"

"Can I not make simple conversation?"

Esther's mouth twitched upwards slightly, standing from the bench and straightened out the front of her dress, "you can do whatever you wish, Mister Reaver. I should be getting back, I don't want the queen to think that I refused her offer."

"There is another person before you, and I do believe that they seem to be more interested in conversation with our dear queen than doing their job. I wouldn't fret about missing your turn," Reaver said, gesturing towards the bench, "do sit."

"What do you need, Mister Reaver?" Esther asked, her voice surprisingly sharp, "I am sure there are plenty of more interesting people to spend your time on. I would like it if you got to the point."

"My," Reaver said, his voice disapproving, yet the expression on his face was more amused than anything, "from the way you carried yourself a few days ago, I thought you would have much more manners than this."

Esther looked away from him, clearing her throat, "You're right, I apologize. Let me rephrase: I would be delighted to talk with you, Mister Reaver. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"You had mentioned that you lived with your mother," Reaver said, "and, from what you had said, it seems that you are rather poor. Where do you live, then?"

"Oakfield," Esther said simply, "my mother and I do well for ourselves, also. I thought that I would take this opportunity to make us some more money, regardless."

"You claim to be well off, yet you can't buy yourself a set of paints."

Esther smiled, though it was bitter, "you are still hung up on that, then? As I said, we do well for ourselves, I didn't say we were well off."

"What about your father, then?"

"I don't have one," Esther said, sounding like she had recited the phrase many times before, her expression indifferent and looked like she wanted nothing more than to walk away from him.

"Everybody has a father," Reaver said, brushing off her answer, leaning forward on his cane slightly with a look in his eyes that made Esther even more uncomfortable. He looked like he knew something about herself that she didn't.

"I'm aware," Esther said stiffly, "though, I have never met my own. I find it easier to think that I simply don't have one. Why are you so interested in this? I doubt that my upbringing will effect my ability to run pencil across paper."

"You have stated that you are poor, therefore you may not have the experience in painting," Reaver said, "I only wish to know more about you, seeing as I am the queen's adviser in this little project."

"Well, now you know," Esther said, crossing her arms, a small smile crossing her face, "are you hoping to make a little donation?"

"Ah, but I believe I have already left quite the little donation on your family already," Reaver said, turning around to head back into the castle, "I would hurry along now, you wouldn't want to make a bad impression, would you? Tatty-Bye!"

He raised his hand in a half-hearted goodbye, leaving Esther to watch him go with a confused expression on her face. After a few moments, she simply shook her head and started to walk back into the castle, trying to put Reaver's words out of her head, but they seemed to be circling, picking away at her focus on the task at hand.

Maybe her mother and Reaver had met before already? That was the only thing she could come up with. Still, how would he know her mother if he had never met her before?

What a frustrating man, Esther thought to herself, I really hope that he won't be present for much longer.