AN:

This chapter was updated on the 25/06/2015.

All right... So, the "actual" story begins here. Let's see how this goes...

Oh and:

James Birdsong: Thank your for reading and reviewing! :D

All right! Here goes nothing.

As always, happy reading! :)

A Long Way From Home

Four hundred seventy-nine years earlier.

The dull beating of hooves on soft soil disturbed what had been the perfectly quiet idyll of a beautiful morning. The early spring had the flowers blooming in all their colourful and dewy glory, the songs of little birds floated through the sweet, fresh air, and the sun's rays were just warm enough to render the heavy and cumbersome winter coats unnecessary. Out to enjoy the new freedom that came with the more favourable weather were two fine young ladies, riding their noble palfreys through the damp grass under the canopy of the forest. One was the Lady Galynda, graceful, elfin and beautiful, and the daughter of a Gillikinese margreave; the other was her lady in waiting and closest confidant, Lady Millifen. Not more than a few paces behind followed a huntsman on his chestnut gelding. The concerned Margreave had sent him to protect his precious child from the occasional dubious character, or wild animal. They travelled along their way, laughing and chatting and singing, until they reached a sunlit clearing where thousands upon thousands of tiny flowers littered the grass.

"Oh, just look at it, Millifen," Galynda gushed, "how lovely!"

She gathered the skirt of her dress in one hand, and elegantly slid out of the saddle to pick some of the pretty flowers, and weave them into a crown. Her friend looked on nervously, unwilling to dismount her horse.

"Come, join me," the Margreave's daughter pleaded, but to no avail.

She selected a violet and a pink primrose, and decided that they looked gorgeous together, so she went to find more of the same. Millifen took the reins of Galynda's horse, and slowly followed her across the meadow. As the huntsman arrived at the clearing, he wrinkled his brow in concern.

"It would be safer to stay on your horse, My Lady," he warned her gently once he had caught up with the young women.

Smiling brightly, Galynda turned to assure him that she would be fine, but in the same moment, a hissing sound, followed by a thud resonated through the space of the clearing. The smile on the lady's face vanished, as her eyes grew wider and her face deadly pale. She stumbled backwards, falling into the bed of flowers. A shrill cry ripped from her throat when the lifeless body of the huntsman dropped heavily beside her, the deadly arrow still lodged in his eye socket. Millifen urged her horse forward, and reached out with her hand.

"Galynda, quick! We must leave. Now!"

A second arrow was sent their way, and only barely missed the mounted lady's horse. The beast reared and fled, with Millifen holding on to the saddle in desperation. The other two horses likewise galloped for their lives. Now Galynda was all by herself, terrified, her chest heaving, and already imagining what it would feel like to die. Her eyes darted from left to right, searching for any clues as to where the attacker was hiding and who they were. One man detached himself from the shadows of the trees, then another and another few more. There were ten of them altogether, uncouth and wild by appearance. She knew she wouldn't stand a chance.

"Please," she whimpered and begged once the first man stood before her, "I don't have anything of value on me. The most precious thing I had with me was my horse, and you chased him off already. Please, let me go."

The man chuckled, and his companions joined in as they approached. He drew his sword, and poked it at Galynda's slender neck, forcing her to look up. Her breath stilled. She didn't dare to risk the slightest movement.

"This is a pretty dress you're wearing, little girl. Say, who are you?"

His face was ironically handsome – dark blue, well set eyes and moderately tanned skin, surprisingly free of blemishes, or scars. However, this did not distract from the coldness in his gaze. There was no doubt that this man had killed many in his life, and there was no reason why he should spare her.

He let his sword wander downwards. When he reached the neckline of her riding habit, the sharp blade easily cut through the laces, allowing the material of the bodice to loosen somewhat. Less restricted by her own clothing, and her tender neck no longer in immediate jeopardy, Galynda took a deep breath, and swallowed hard. Trying not to sound as pathetic as she felt, she replied,

"I'm the daughter of a margreave. Deliver me to my father, and you will be richly rewarded."

"Deliver you, and reap imprisonment and execution as reward?" The man smirked as he shook his head. "I don't think so."

With a loud whistle, he called forth two more men the young woman had not noticed before. The short, plump one was leading a horse – a pitiful, gaunt creature; the other one was what Galynda could only describe as a giant, carrying a long rope across his chest. Galynda sobbed, and implored the outlaws to release her. But unmoved by her tears, they bound her hands and bound her feet, and they heaved her on top of the hack like a sack of potatoes. They mounted their own horses, and off they went, cantering along secret paths no one would be able to follow.

It was dark before they reached their shelter for the night, a seedy inn of some sort that smelt of rotten wood and skunky beer. The other customers seemed to mind the stench about as much as they cared about the bound woman. They were all cast of the same mould, Galynda thought bitterly when it became obvious that she would not find any allies here. Rough hands pushed her forward, in the direction of a rudimentary counter.

"Good evening, gentlemen," a woman in a short skirt and a tight corset greeted the party. "Oh, what is this?" She inspected the exhausted woman, and wiggled her dark eyebrows. "Did you bring me a new attraction for my small business?"

Galynda's heart skipped a beat. Would this be her fate? Mustering the feeble remainders of her courage, she looked the woman straight in the eyes, aiming for 'stubborn'. She failed miserably.

Smirking triumphantly, and licking her lips, the woman made to stroke her cheek, but the boss of the gang roughly slapped her hand away.

"This one's not for you, Yana. A pretty thing like her would only go to waste here."

She glared at him, not taking the insult lightly.

"Tonight, we're only here for a roof over our heads and some food in our bellies."

Huffing, the woman handed out a few keys.

"You know the way," she growled before marching off.

The man tipped his hat to her bare back, and waved a hand at his men. Galynda was dragged upstairs, where she was shoved into a pitch-black room. There, she left behind, while the men went downstairs to enjoy their meal. The floor was hard and cold. After all those hours of lying prone on that bony horse with its pronounced spine, her entire body was aching, and her current position certainly didn't help. Worse however, was the total lack of light. She felt disoriented, not able to even see her own hands before her eyes. The sounds coming from the other rooms and from the dining hall below appeared amplified tenfold, and they were not of the most pleasant kind. She would have been terrified, had she still had the energy for such strong emotions. Instead, she simply plummeted into a feeling of complete helplessness and hopelessness. She began to drift off, but she wouldn't find any decent sleep. Whenever she was close, a sudden noise would make her jump, and gasp.

When the door finally opened again and light fell on her face, Galynda hated how relieved she felt. The man with the dark blue eyes strode inside the room, opened the curtains, and lit the lamp that was sitting on the small table. She watched him closely, finding comfort in the fact that she could see at all. After this dreadful experience, she suddenly felt empowered by the idea that she knew what was happening around her. Without paying her any attention, the man sat down, produced a stained piece of pater from the pocket of his vest and the stump of a pencil from a leather pocket on his belt. Galynda, although still scared, had now reached a bizarre state of calmness. After watching the man for several long minutes, she gathered her courage and spoke.

"What are you going to do with me? If you're not going to demand ransom for me, and not going to sell me to a whorehouse, what else could I be good for? Perhaps you should know: I can neither cook, wash laundry, or mend clothes."

Most disturbingly, he laughed at that - not an evil laughter, but a genuinely amused one.

"Well, if you really have to know, your type is highly sought after by the Winkie savage kings. The girls there all have skin in the colour of shit, so golden curls and ivory skin like yours make the men there go wild."

Stunned into silence, the blonde stared at the outlaw. The man snorted, and ran his tongue over his teeth.

"Who knows, if you please your master and obey, he even might make you his queen. You should thank us for this opportunity."

He returned to writing his letter, note, whatever it was, tossed her a handful of bread to eat, and motioned for her to lie on the bed. For a moment, Galynda feared he might join her, but then he extinguished the light and made himself comfortable on the floor. How he could sleep there was beyond her, but why would she care? It was dark again, but this time, the moon was allowed to peek through the dirty window. Its pale light was just enough to convey a measure of security to Galynda, and so she eventually dozed off.

They left the inn before most of the other patrons had even awoken. After promising that she would behave, Galynda was allowed to sit in the saddle this time, mostly because excessive bruising would be unsightly and might lower the price they could sell her for to their Vinkun contact. Her riding habit was rolled up and wrapped in a cloth, while she was made to wear an outfit the boss had bought off one of the girls working at the establishment.

Two days later, only six of the twelve men were still riding with them. More than that were absolutely not necessary for this excursion, so the others had stayed behind in hopes to rake in the one or the other booty in the meantime. Besides, fewer men would naturally arouse less suspicion. Galynda's hands and feet were also no longer restrained. For the time being, she had decided to obey her capturers. She was a smart woman, and early on she had realised that any ill-timed and ill-prepared escape would most likely end in tragedy. Riding on her own horse, the thought of simply galloping off taunted her, as it was so tempting. But she resisted. The old, worn out hack carrying her would not make it further than the next fork before collapsing.

By evening, they reached a small Munchkin village. While the locals were wary of any strangers that had came along, they did not think that anything was particularly amiss about the young woman travelling with the group of men. If anything, it made them appear less threatening, and so one of the farmers reluctantly offered his guest room for Galynda to sleep in, and his barn for the rest of the band. A few coins changed hands as a gesture of gratitude, and everyone settled down for the night.

Only one man was allowed into the house, sleeping on a fold-up cot in front of Galynda's door. To 'protect her,' of course. The owner, however, had insisted on choosing this man himself, so he had selected the one he thought looked most trustworthy, and least capable of slitting his throat at night. The young woman and her protector were both invited to share the family's dinner. Although her stomach was rumbling furiously, and her mouth was watering at the sight of a rich table, set with several platters of fresh meats and vegetables, and oven hot bread, Galynda did her best not to let it show. She contented herself with a slice of the bread, some cheese to go with it, and a cup of cider. The man didn't seem to have too much appetite either, except for the wine.

Then they retired. Instead of sleeping, Galynda lay in bed awake, thinking. This was the least restricted she had been since her capture. Her head told her that if she could not use this situation to her advantage, she would never see her home and her father again. However, as much as she had hoped and waited for an opportunity like hits, she was also terrified. She wasn't entirely sure if she would have the courage to actually attempt a getaway. Her contemplations were interrupted by a mighty thud against the door, a sound like if the guard who was watching over her had gotten off his bed in need for a piss, and taken the wrong direction on his way out.

Well, if that had been his plan, he must have changed his mind, for the next noise that followed was a rattling that sounded much more like a frustrated drunkard trying hopelessly to work a rusty, old lock. Or perhaps not too hopelessly after all. A little shriek escaped her lips when the man suddenly stood in her bedroom, his eyes twinkling in the dark. All of the men knew their instructions – no touching the merchandise, for a maiden who was no longer a maiden was practically worthless. Yet, in his drunken state, Galynda somehow doubted that he still remembered. Or even cared. The boss would have his head come morning, but by then it would be too late for her.

Struggling to breathe, and hearing her blood pumping in her ears, Galynda wanted nothing more than to scramble off the bed and find herself a corner to disappear in, but her useless limbs would not obey her. Her entire body was immobilised by the fear of what was to come next, and all she was capable of was watching the unkempt, filthy bastard loosen his belt, and stepping forward. He sat down beside her, and offered her a crooked grin, baring his mouthful of rotten teeth. He lifted his hand, first letting it almost gently glide through her hair, but then grabbing it, and pulling her closer. It was enough to elicit a proper scream from her, and she prayed that someone would have heard. The man's face slowly moved closer, and she expected a sloppy, wet, stinking kiss, but instead, he sniffed at her like a dog, nostrils flaring wide as he drunk in her alluring scent. She might not have washed for a couple of days, but to a wild beast like him, she still smelt like a woman.

Next thing she knew, he had pulled her off the bed, and slammed her against the wall. He pounced at her clumsily, knocking the wind out of her for a clock tick. Filled to the brim with sweet wine, he lost his balance, and they both ended up on the floor. He didn't seem to mind, and eagerly shoved her with her back against the bedframe, reaching for her skirt. With a lout clonk, the lid of the chamber pot sitting on the bedside table next to her hit the floor, and broke in two. That gave Galynda an idea. She reached up, however, her hand grasped at nothing but thin air. She swung her leg to give the wobbly furniture a good kick. The cold ceramic barely grazed her fingertips. Another kick, and she could finally grasp the handle. With a strength she could not even explain, she ripped the chamber pot from the nightstand, and smashed against the man's head. He gasped, and stilled. She tried to lift the thing once more to whack it on his thick skull for a second time, for good measure, but it was simply too heavy.

Or perhaps, just heavy enough. With a last twitch, the man's body collapsed in itself. Eyes wide, her breaths coming in short gasps, Galynda stared at what she had done. There was some blood, but not all that much. The man didn't move a muscle, and his eyes were closed, so it was difficult to tell whether he was dead, or merely unconscious. The blonde had no desire to find out. She didn't quite know how she would feel about having actually killed someone, and certainly didn't intend to risk her only chance at escape by making sure that her tormentor was alive and well. So she pushed him away from herself with trembling hands. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she staggered to her feet. Nausea overcame her as everything that had and might have transpired registered in her head. Fighting the rising bile, she stumbled to the window.

She immediately realised that the window was not an escape option. It was low enough to climb out, but only fifteen, twenty feet away was the barn the other men were spending the night in. The thought of informing the owner of this house crossed her mind, but in the end she was too scared that he might not believe her, or that he might have no interest in helping her, or that he might be too scared to do so once he knew who his guests were. It wasn't worth the risk. It couldn't be that difficult to find a way out, she told herself.

After wandering through the house aimlessly for quite a while and finding all doors that led outside to be locked, she finally discovered a kitchen window on the south side of the building. Beneath it ran a small stream, which meant that her clothes would get soaked. What a small price to pay. She climbed on the windowsill, and jumped.

The water wasn't deep enough to cushion her fall. Landing on her bare feet, she was unfortunate enough to twist her ankle. She hissed in pain, but there was no time to complain. Following the river upstream, she began her long, solitary march, hoping to be as far away from the village as possible by the time the first sunlight would wake the outlaws, and alarm them of her disappearance. The house was barely out of sight, and her lower legs already began to feel as though they were about to fall off - that's how cold the water was. But the water was her best friend right now, she knew. First of all, as she lost the feeling in her feet, she also forgot about the pain in her ankle. Secondly, she had been out hunting with her father before; whenever the dogs had lost track of their prey, it was because a river or lake had obscured the scent.

By midday, she reached a point where she could no longer follow her chosen path. The stream had led her along meadows, and fields, and into the thicket of a dense forest. Now the trees had thinned, and revealed a clearing. The water gathered in a small pool of clear, crystal blue water. There was a cliff, overgrown with moss and hedges and small trees, and from that cliff poured a waterfall. Galynda looked around, worried. It would be impossible for her to climb the rock, but perhaps she no longer needed to. She had come a long way already. How could they possibly find her here?

So she stepped out of the water, and stretched out her arms towards the warming sun. A tired and relieved sigh spilled from her mouth as she slumped into the grass. She certainly deserved a little break. She began massaging her frozen legs, and they began to tingle rather unpleasantly. If she had to get up the next moment, she was almost sure she would not be able to, even if her life depended on it. Despite the hot weather, a shiver ran down her spine, and she realised that she had to rid herself of her wet clothes. Still a little self conscious, she stripped down to her chemise, reasoning that the thin material should dry quickly enough, even on her body. The dress, she spread over a low-hanging branch. Then all she could do was wait and rest.

She didn't dare close her eyes, no matter how much her body craved the sleep. She wiggled her toes, glad to feel the life slowly coming back to them. She yawned, and immediately reproached herself sternly. Once again, she surveyed the area. There had to be something she could do to keep her mind occupied. Moving closer to the water of the pool, she could see her own reflection. The young woman staring back at her looked familiar, but not at all like her. The golden curls on her head looked matted and lacklustre, her skin was grimy and oily. On a normal day, she would have broken out in tears, but she was past such minor worries now. Her only real concern was how she would find her way back to her father. Goodness knew how far from her Gillikinese home those varlets had dragged her already. Chances were that she was walking only further in the wrong direction.

She sighed, but nearly choked on the sound. Behind her, the rustling of leaves made her heart leap into her throat. Trying to tell herself that it was only some deer, or rabbit, or wild hog, Galynda remained perfectly still. The noise drew closer and closer, yet not in a threatening way. Whatever it was moved carefully, maybe almost as scared of her as she was of it. If it had been one of the men who had captured her, she was certain that he would halve already seized her. What she soon saw appearing next to her own mirror image was definitely not what she had expected.