Natascha Bell, a woman of great poise and grace, who never did anything that wasn't proper, walked along in a sundress, straw hat and sandals, without a care in the world. Her husband, Deymon, carried a picnic bundle under one strong arm. His salt-and-pepper hair blew in the breeze as he walked, his sword rattling at his side. Ronnie ran ahead of them, heading up the grassy hill that they had planned to picnic at.
Deymon spread out a blanket neatly, and they sat down, unpacking the food. Ronnie took a nibble at a cookie, and her parents made no move to scold her as they might have usually. After all, they were there to relax.
"Daddy, where did you go this time?" Ronnie asked like she always did.
"Just making sure things are okay in the north, honey." Deymon answered like he always did. Natascha cut some sandwiches. Ronnie's father grabbed one and took a bite, smiling at his wife.
"Are things okay?" Ronnie asked. Deymon nodded reassuringly. Ronnie grabbed a sandwich and ran off into the trees nearby to eat it. She began climbing from branch to branch, chewing happily as she went. She could see her parents talking over on the hill, and continued climbing from tree to tree.
"Deymon..." Natascha said, approaching the subject gently, "When are you going to stop all this journeying north? Ronnie and I worry about you..." She already knew what her husband's answer would be, but she had to ask anyway. He was an honorable warrior of the Warrior's Village, from a long line of honorable warriors, and he could never desert his duty. He adhered strictly to tradition. So did she, as his loving wife and devoted caretaker. But sometimes, she just wished he could stay at home for a long time, never having to worry about the traditions of warriors and such. But it could never be.
"You know I have to, Natascha..." Deymon said with a sigh. "I can't break such a long tradition, and keeping the peace in the north has been a tradition for generations. Especially since the War of Succession ended, you know we can't let our guard down." Natasha said nothing, her eyes downcast. He put his hand on hers, attempting to reassure her that everything would be fine, like it always was.
Ronnie finished her sandwich, but continued to the next low branch, content to be playing out in the trees. Her parents usually expected her to act proper and ladylike, and that didn't include climbing trees most of the time. Her thoughts were interrupted by snickering beneath her. She looked down to see two boys staring up at her. Both were about nine, one of them with short black hair and bright hazel eyes, his face dotted with a few freckles, wearing a simple tunic and boots, with a wooden sword at his side. The other had brown hair, brown eyes, a tunic and mismatched vest he must have picked himself, and sandals. He was the one snickering.
"Hi, Ronnie." said the black-haired boy, waving.
"Yeah," snickered the second, "Hey..." Ronnie realized that the brown-haired boy was looking up her skirt, and attempted to block his view with her hands.
"Stop that, Biggs!" she cried. Biggs, however, seemed to be having far too much fun with his observation.
"Boy, Ronnie..." he giggled, "You sure picked the wrong day to wear a skirt with pink und--" He was cut off as Ronnie angrily kicked him in the face. He fell back on his rear, holding his now-bleeding nose and bawling.
"S-serves you right, Biggs..." the black-haired boy said uncertainly, probably just glad that he hadn't been kicked. Ronnie hopped out of the trees and glared at Biggs. Biggs' cries caught the attention of Ronnie's parents, who hurried over.
"What's going on over here??" Natascha demanded. The black-haired boy held up his hands in an innocent way. Biggs, holding his bleeding nose with one hand, pointed accusingly. Ronnie crossed her arms, frowning.
"S-she kigged me!" Biggs bawled. Deymon frowned.
"Ronnie..." he began.
"He was looking up my skirt." Ronnie said defensively.
"It's true..." the black-haired boy added. Biggs made a feeble attempt to hit his friend for snitching on him.
"Shu' up, Tristan!" he said, still holding his nose.
"Well, Ronnie, it's still not nice to hit other people, so let's not handle it like this next time, all right?" Deymon said.
"But he---" Ronnie whined. Deymon gave her a Look, and she silenced herself.
"And Biggs, I don't think your mother would be happy knowing you're doing things like that, do you?" Natascha scolded. "Come with me, and I'll get you cleaned up, all right?" Biggs stood up and went off with Ronnie's mother, sticking his tongue back at Ronnie before he went.
"Well, there's no need to let something like that little brat ruin our day, don't you think?" Deymon said with a wink after they had left. Deymon didn't think very highly of Biggs Amell or his father, and Ronnie knew it. "Tristan? Care to join us for something to eat?" The black-haired boy, Tristan, sat timidly down on the picnic blanket.
"Thank you, Mr. Bell." he said, taking a small piece of food and taking a bite. Ronnie sat down as well.
"Boys are rotten." she said distastefully. A hint of a smirk flitted on the edge of Deymon's lips.
"Not all boys are Biggs Amell, Ronnie..." he said.
"Hmph." She said, expressing her disbelief. She glanced at Tristan, who was sitting quietly eating, and began to doubt her statement just a bit. They chewed in silence until Natascha returned a bit later.
"Oh, how nice. I see Tristan has decided to join us." she said with a warm smile. Tristan looked slightly abashed from all the attention.
"Ronnie, you and Tristan can go play if you want to." Deymon said. "Providing you don't kick anyone else." He winked.
"Daddy!" Ronnie said. She and Tristan ran off to go play.
"Biggs was all right?" Deymon asked his wife.
"Oh, of course." she replied. "I cleaned his face up before I took him home. Shirt's still bloody, but I suppose his mother has to do something, doesn't she?" There was a look of slight distaste on her face, as if she didn't approve of something. Biggs' father, Hollard Amell, was often drunk, and had married a far-too-young woman, a dancer from a seedy bar in Antei. It seemed like motherhood had come too soon for her, and she never knew what to do, even with her own son. Hollard obviously wasn't much help in raising Biggs, and so his mother often relied on the other women in the village, some of which were on their second or third children, for help. Natascha didn't mind helping out occasionally, but she tried to make it clear that she had her own child to raise.
"Well, that's good." Deymon returned.
"It's a nice day today..." Tristan remarked.
"Yeah..." Ronnie agreed, walking along. "I wish it could be like this every day. If it were this nice every day, Daddy wouldn't have to go up north..." Tristan glanced at her.
"He has to..." the boy said. "He's a grown man, a great warrior! Protecting the village is what he has to do! Same with my dad. I can't wait until I'm older, so I can be a great warrior like them." Ronnie did harbor a semi-secret enjoyment in kicking the snot out of certain things (like Biggs, for instance) but she didn't see what was so great about being a warrior and fighting.
"Don't you wish your daddy was home more?" she asked.
"Well...yeah..." Tristan admitted, "But I know he has a big important job to do, and so I just think about that..."
"I hear all the elders talk about how the big war's been over for years, so why do we need protection anyway?" Ronnie debated.
"I don't know, it's always been that way. I just know I wanna be a warrior like all my family was, and protect the village when I grow up." he said, walking beside her. Ronnie glanced at the wooden sword at the boy's side.
"What would you call your sword?" she asked curiously.
"I dunno..." he said, shrugging.
"You have to name it after the most special thing in the world to you, that's what my mommy said." Ronnie said. Tristan looked thoughtful.
"I'd prolly name mine 'Poffle', then..." he decided. Poffle was the name of his family's dog.
"You'd name it after your DOG?!" Ronnie asked, giggling.
"He's a great dog! Why not?" Tristan insisted.
"You have to name it after a GIRL, silly!" she laughed.
"I do? Oh, gross." Tristan said. Ronnie frowned.
"Not as gross as a boy!" she said. They took off running, chasing each other as payback for their respective insults to their gender. They fell and rolled down the hill, head over heels, laughing the entire way. It was just the beginning of their relationship...
*******
At age fourteen, Ronnie began to be just a bit peeved that women could not fight along with warriors. She was fully capable, after all--moreso than some of the men, though she dared not say it.
"Why can't I go along??" she demanded of her father.
"You know it's not allowed, Ronnie..." Deymon sighed. "Just as we men must watch the borders, the women must watch the village." Ronnie stomped her foot.
"That's a moldy old rule made up by--" she started on her tangent, just about to mention how the elders were all sexists, when her father stopped her.
"Watch it, Ronnie..." Deymon said sternly. "We have a reputation to uphold." His gaze softened, and he leaned close to his only daughter. "I understand why you want to go, Ronnie. I know you're a great fighter, but it's just not done. You understand, right...?"
"I..." Ronnie said, not wanting to admit defeat, but weakening. "...oh, fine." She crossed her arms and looked generally teenager-angry, but Deymon knew his acknowledgement of her fighting skills had lessened her anger somewhat. Deymon walked across the main sitting room of the cabin, glancing at a portrait of some ancestor on the wall. He took down his prized sword, Natascha, and began to polish it like he always did. Natascha herself sat by the hearth, knitting something.
The silence was broken as the door flung open suddenly, revealing the distraught countenance of Mira Amell. Her apron was askew, which wasn't too unusual, considering she wasn't a very neat housewife by most standards, but her hair was a mess and she had a look of terror on her face.
"Deymon, Deymon!" she cried, rushing into the house.
"What is it, Mira??" Deymon asked curiously. Mira was no stranger to asking favors, but she wasn't brazen enough usually to burst into someone's home in the dead of night.
"It's..it's Hollard!! He's stone-drunk!" Mira gasped. Ronnie rolled her eyes behind the woman's back. What else was new?
"He's...usually drunk, Mira..." Natascha said gently.
"But he's never been like this! And now he's fighting with our boy! I'm afraid...oh, Deymon, he'll kill him!" she sobbed.
"I'm sure Hollard isn't going to---" Deymon said, trying to calm the hysterical woman.
"Ohhh, please! He'll kill him! He'll kill my boy!!" she sobbed, collapsing in a pathetic heap at Deymon's feet. Deymon grabbed his sword.
"All right, I'll see what I can do..." he said, marching out. Natascha picked Mira up off the floor and attempted to calm her down. Ronnie slipped out after her father, into the darkness. A few lights were burning around the village, and no wonder. Walking outside, Ronnie was surprised they didn't hear the noise before. There was a terrible din coming from Hollard Amell's house, screaming and crashing. A few people had also come outside their homes to see what the racket was. Among them, Ronnie found her sweetheart, Tristan Aegolas.
"What's going on, Tristan?" she asked, hoping that he knew more than she did. He looked worried.
"Hollard came home drunk and went crazy, no one knows why. He got in a fight with his wife, and then Biggs. I hope he's okay." Tristan said. Ronnie noticed that he, too, wielded a sword, prepared to go after his friend if need be. Deymon pounded on the front door. The response appeared to be nothing, until the door slammed open, and young Biggs fell out backwards. A bottle rolled out with him.
"You goo' fer nothin' shon of a bisch..." slurred Hollard loudly, shaking his fist. Biggs got up and wiped the blood from his lip.
"That's the last time, you drunken bastard!" he screamed back, picking up the bottle.
"Biggs, don't--" Tristan attempted, but the livid fifteen-year-old hurled the bottle at his father, scoring on the drunk's head. He passed out or was knocked unconscious, it was hard to tell which.
"Biggs..? Are you all right?" a warrior who was there asked, as Deymon checked to make sure Hollard was all there.
"I've had it with this piece of shit lifestyle you all adhere to here. I've had it with that bastard and I'm out of here." Biggs spat, storming off.
"Biggs! Wait!" Tristan called, running after him. Ronnie followed.
"Don't give me some stupid speech that I know you're going to, Tristan. I'm leaving and that's that." Biggs said darkly.
"...if that's what you want..." Tristan said, somewhat at a loss for words.
"It is. Bye, you two. You're the only ones worth talking to around this dump, but that's not enough." Biggs said, walking through the village gates and off into some new life, what kind Ronnie could only imagine.
"Bye..." Ronnie murmured. The truth was, she had never really like Biggs Amell, but she would miss their exchanges of barbs, their heated debates, even their fights. Well, a little. Tristan put his arm around her and led her back into the village, and their lives went on. For everyone but Hollard and Mira Amell, that is. They never were the same again, after Biggs ran away. But there was nothing to be done, though Mira ordered a search party to be sent after him. They all knew nothing in the world could bring Biggs back to Warrior's Village.
Before and after Biggs left, only minor incidents occured in Ronnie Bell's life, and she was content that way. At age seventeen, she had resigned herself to be the dutiful wife to a warrior--but only for the man she loved, Tristan Aegolas. It was joked about around the village that Ronnie Bell would only act feminine for two people on this earth: her father Deymon and her boyfriend Tristan.
Soon enough, as predicted, 'boyfriend' turned to 'fiance�', and Ronnie was set to marry her love, Tristan. He nineteen, and she eighteen--the perfect time to marry and start a family together. All that was left before they were to be married was Tristan's Manhood Journey, which was required of all young warriors, and the naming of his sword. The sword-naming could come before or after the journey, it really didn't matter for once, and Tristan opted to prove his devotion by having 'Ronnie' engraved in his sword at once.
"Oh, Tristan! It's so beautiful!!" Ronnie gushed, as her fiance� showed her his newly engraved blade. She ran her hand gently down it, looking at her own reflection in the polished steel.
"Not half as beautiful as you are." he said with a smile.
"Stop that..." she said in mock-anger.
"Now the only thing left is to complete my Journey, so the elders will let us marry." Tristan said.
"Where are you going to go?" Ronnie inquired. She hoped to work it so that she could come along as well.
"I was thinking of accompanying your father to the north..." he said. That nixed her idea. If her father was there, he'd never allow her to come. Deymon had been recently summoned, for reasons unknown, to go to the Empire's capital, Gregminster. He hadn't had any business with Imperial officials, and no one quite knew why they would want him there.
"Be careful..." Natascha had warned after being told of this. "Big cities can be dangerous places if you're not cautious..." Deymon had laughed, assuring her that he would be safe. After all, his sword was always at his side and the Bell family heirloom, the Hate Rune, was always with him as well. He was packed and ready to go, but he had hung back because he had a feeling Tristan would want to accompany him. Not only would it prove a useful dose of culture, visiting the capital, but they could get to know each other better as future father-and-son-in-law, and maybe even get Tristan's obligatory journey of manhood out of the way.
"Oh, you were?" Ronnie said. "Trying to get in good with my father? Gain a little inheritance, perhaps?" She winked, obviously just toying with him. He grinned.
"Of course," he returned, winking as well.
In a day or two, Deymon and Tristan were ready to depart. A small crowd of well-wishers had gathered at the gates of the village, including Ronnie, Natascha, and Tristan's parents.
"Do me proud, m'boy." Tristan's father said.
"Come back a warrior, Tristan!" his mother said, wiping a tear from her eye.
"Good luck...take care, both of you." Ronnie said. Tristan kissed her goodbye, and her father did the same.
"Don't dally in Gregminster, dear." Natascha said. Deymon nodded with his usual smile. And they walked out of the village, heading northwards, first towards the Fortress of Lorimar, then to the lands beyond. It wasn't too notable a moment, their departure, but Ronnie would keep that image of the two of them walking out with her forever.
A month passed, with no word from either of them. Then two. Ronnie and Natascha weren't concerned, they knew such journeys took time, and business in Gregminster probably had delayed them.
"When your father went on his journey to Qlon Temple, it took quite a while." Natascha kept saying, reassuring her daughter. Another month went by, and it was time to be expecting their return. Ronnie found herself dressing up every day, despite the fact that she really didn't like dressing terribly fancy, just on the hope that it would be the day that they came back.
One sunny afternoon in late autumn, Natascha was at the counter, chopping up vegetables. Ronnie was wearing a lovely blue dress and sandals, and had put a flower in her hair just for fun. She was sitting on the floor of the main room, reading a book, when there was a knock at the door.
"Oh, Ronnie, that must be your father. Get the door." Natascha said, not looking up from her task. Ronnie jumped up, and ran to the door, opening it. Standing outside was not her father or Tristan, however, but a short, bent old woman, with more wrinkles than an old shoe, clad in a yellow hooded cloak. The hood was over her head, and her eyes were squinty slits. She leaned on a gnarled cane.
"Can I help you??" Ronnie inquired. The old woman said nothing, but produced a long package from the folds of her robes. Ronnie took it, puzzled. "What is this?" Still the woman said nothing. Ronnie began unwrapping the package.
"Ronnie, who's at the door?" called her mother.
"Oh, it's--" Ronnie said, stopping as she glanced at the package's contents. It was a sword---no, two swords. Swords that Ronnie knew too well. One had Natascha engraved on the hilt. The other had Ronnie. Both were bloodstained. Ronnie gingerly removed the blades from the wrapping, her eyes wide. She almost dropped everything as the last piece rolled into her hand--the Hate Rune. The one her father had never taken off as long as she had lived. The smooth, round crystal that somehow told Ronnie something was terribly, horribly wrong.
"W-what is this?!" she cried, looking at the old woman. "Has something happened to my father?! What about Tristan?! Why don't you SAY something?!?" She was getting more hysterical by the moment. The only response the woman gave her was silence, again. "Where's my father? Where are they?!!" She nearly grabbed the frail woman and shook her, but was stopped by her mother's trembling voice.
"What's the matter, Ronnie? What's going on?" she asked.
"What happened, please tell me!" Ronnie asked the old woman, "Are they coming back soon?" The old woman shook her head sadly. Ronnie's eyes filled with tears.
"No! No, you're lying!! They can't be gone, they can't!!" she screamed. Ronnie heard a cry from her mother, and ran back in. Hearing the news, Natascha had accidentally cut her finger and was bleeding. Ronnie ran to her mother.
"N-n-no, Ronnie...! Is what you're saying true? What happened to Deymon? Where is he?!" she cried, shaking. She was oblivious to her bleeding finger. She pushed past her daughter and as soon as she saw the two swords and the rune crystal, she collapsed into a heap not unlike Mira Amell had once before, on the same wood floor.
"Oh, D-Deymon!!" she sobbed miserably. A million things flew through Ronnie's mind at once--her father and boyfriend, were they gone? Maybe they were hurt somewhere. Maybe an enemy had hired that woman to trick them. They couldn't be gone, they couldn't. If they were gone, where were their bodies? No, it couldn't be. But Ronnie knew in her heart, as did her mother, that it could be. His sword and his rune were the two things Deymon Bell would only part with in death. Ronnie wept bitterly, but unlike her mother, she wasn't going to give up without some answers. She stalked over to the front door to interrogate the old woman some more--but she was gone. Ronnie ran outside, looking around frantically.
"Where are you?! Come back..! Come...back..." she cried, falling to her knees in despair. Her only link had vanished without a trace. The destroyed sobs reached the ears of other villagers, who came running to see what was the matter.
"Ronnie? Ronnie, what on earth...?" a woman asked, kneeling next to her.
"T-they're g-g-gone..." she sobbed, over and over.
"Who's gone? Not...not your father?" The volume of Ron's cries increased, indicating they were correct. "And...Tristan too?" She nodded, tears streaming down her face. "But...HOW? Who told you?" Ronnie just shook her head. She was overcome with grief, and after a while, she couldn't hear anything but her own breathing.
The mysterious deaths of the two warriors hit the village hard, but none harder than Ronnie and Natascha Bell. Over the next year, questions of every kind flew through Ronnie's mind. She wanted to know How? and Why? She deserved to know. At her age, nineteen by then, she had a small chance. She, possibly, could pick up the pieces and start from scratch. But it was too late for her mother, Natascha. She was too set in her ways. Her whole life, she had been a warrior's wife, and nothing else. Without the warrior, she had nothing. She fell into despair, and on the anniversary of the deaths, almost to the day, she died, most said of grief. That truly left Ronnie...with nothing. With nothing left to live for in Warrior's Village, Ronnie realized there was nothing stopping her from venturing into the world for the truth, wherever it was. So she packed a few essentials, as well as the swords, which she couldn't bear to part with, and had the Hate Rune bound to her. It felt wrong, at first, using her father's rune. But she vowed to use it to find out what had happened, and that made her feel better. After taking care of her last affairs, she left, traveling north, towards Lorimar Fortress, like her father had before.
She had no inkling of what was in store for her.
