Disclaimer: I don't own Black Butler or any of the characters in this fan fiction!
Pairings: Mainly Sebastian/Ciel, but there WILL be others pairings.
Warnings: Multi-chapter, AU, Medieval/Renaissance-like setting, most likely historically inaccurate, OOC, un-beta'd, death/gore, mentions of torture, boyxboy, explicit sexual content, and very irregular updates.
A/N: Before you start reading this, keep in mind that I am not an expert on the Dark Ages or Renaissance period. I'm not doing any research besides Googling small details every now and then. Other than that, I'm just taking what I already know and putting it down. This isn't a novel; I'm just writing it for fun, so it doesn't necessarily have to be accurate imo. I mean to begin with, the main pairing itself makes this whole thing totally inaccurate. Also, to make it easier for me and for some readers, the characters in this fic don't talk like they would in those times. Just pretend they are. c;
I should also let you know that Sebastian is a bit younger than he appears to be in the manga. And lastly, the setting is NOT England. It's just some made-up kingdom.
Anyways, I think I'm going to enjoy writing this story, so I hope you enjoy reading it. :D
There was once an insignificant village that rested between two tiny, chicory-covered hills, where the houses were built up of nothing more than mud, stones, and hay. This was, without a doubt, the poorest town in the entire kingdom. No more than one-hundred persons dwelled in the outskirt village, and even so, the houses were packed full. Like most peasants, the people that settled there were forced to work day and night and give at least one-third of their harvest to the lords and to their king. In exchanged for their sacrifice, they were offered protection if rumors of war were to arise.
Within the little village lived the Phantomhives; a happy couple named Vincent and Rachel, and their 14-year-old son, Ciel. After multiple miscarriages, Rachel and Vincent were left heartbroken, and for this reason, the two of them considered themselves blessed to have just one son. Though he was small, and weak, and poor in health, they loved him dearly—more than anything.
Despite his weakness, half of the teenager's day consisted of hard labor. His one errand was to purchase some fodder with the very little money his family possessed, and to toss the smelly feed into the animals' outdoor pens. Along with this, he was to meet his father and the other men and word in the fields when he was finished. Like other boys his age, his wardrobe consisted of a filthy, loose-fitting linen shirt and a pair of baggy, brown shorts. Occasionally, there would be a day hot enough that he would have to wear his cotton-made shoes lest his feet be burned by the scorching ground.
The boy lived a modest life yet his father had taught him to stay proud no matter what; to keep his chin held high in the air. The husband and father was a proud man himself (proud of what, though, no one quite knew). Rachel on the other hand was a humble, hard-working, and quiet woman; the perfect wife to protect.
The thatch-roofed house in which the family lived was not only theirs, but it was also Alexis and Francis Midford's—Vincent's brother-in-law and sister—and their children Elizabeth and Edward. It was no rare occurrence—especially in such a miniscule village like theirs—that living arrangements weren't the most comfortable.
A tidy stack of hay was placed in the livestock quarters—where the animals stayed in the wintertime, that is—on the far side of the room. Nearby, there were two beds pressed together to preserve space. These two hay beds could only hold four bodies, so the seven of them rotated each night to make things fair. Only a couple feet away was the fireplace with the hanging cauldron where the food was made, and beside that stood a petite and rickety table. And that was all that made up their house.
This was not a bad life for them, because this is the only life they'd ever known. They could not even imagine what wonders there were to behold inside of the king's castle or inside of the lords' manor houses. In their case, ignorance truly was bliss. Once one learns what lies beyond those walls, their homes will seem like a dirty, smelly hell of their own.
There was one mighty king that ruled the land, and every soul in the kingdom revered him (though no one knew who he was). His age as well as his physical identity was unknown to everybody in that village, and yet they loved and adored this mysterious man. Even the proud Vincent Phantomhive respected the man he'd never seen. Vincent's parents had taught him, and therefore he had taught his son that both the pope and the king were to be regarded highly.
"Vincent, where is Ciel? Has he been with you?" Rachel asked her husband in worry, her hands clenched tightly together in front of her breast.
"He has not been with me all day. We shall go search for him," Vincent answered immediately, seeing his wife's distress.
And so they went to search for their son. They stopped to ask their neighbors and friends, they searched in outhouses and in the fields. They searched until the sun began to sink in the sky. Just when they were about to assume that their boy had run away from home for good, Vincent spotted a head of bluish-gray hair ducked to rest upon a pair of bruised knees. He sat hugging his knees with his thighs pressed to his chest in front of the stream, his eyes following the constant flow of water.
"Ciel, is this where you have been all day?" his mother asked in exasperation, unsuccessfully running a hand through her tangled, blonde hair.
"Yes," he answered simply in a low voice, his small body not moving at all.
"Ciel, you had us worried sick! What have you been doing here all day?" Rachel inquired again, her hands on her hips as she spoke.
"Thinking," was the only response the two parents got. The boy's hand aimlessly fiddled with grass in which he sat, disrespectfully not giving his parents his full attention.
"Is something bothering you, son?" Vincent asked the young one in a patient voice, a frown etched onto his face. Ciel was never much of a wanderer or a dazer. He was usually always focused and sharp-minded. So Vincent could easily tell that something was wrong.
"I've had this feeling all day," the boy drawled. "I have the strangest feeling that something bad will happen soon." With that, the boy stood up and walked away from the stream, past his parents, and in the direction of their home. Ciel's dark cobalt eyes looked even darker in the evening when the sun was low in the sky. His face, though dirty, was free of any blemishes and was smooth to the touch. It was no wonder every mother in the village dreamt of their daughters marrying the young Phantomhive.
Vincent and Rachel exchanged apprehensive glances before following their son's lead and heading back to the village for dinner.
A/N: Feedback would be awesome! :D