A/N: Hello again! Long-time no see, I know, but I've been super busy. Anyway, to anyone who reads this, if they're still interested (I hope), I'm back!

I thought I'd make up for my hiatus by answer a few questions from leavesfallingup;

Timeframe? Doesn't really matter in context at this moment in time but it's not here, not now (Please tell me someone noticed the capitalisation of Oblivion?)
Thomas's utter lack of concern? He's from a different place which I'll describe at some point in the near future – where he's from, social standing doesn't mean much, in fact, there's not much of a social hierarchy, so even though he's been told about kingdom 9 and various other places, it's just not the way he's been brought up so he doesn't care (wonderful to get an outside perspective isn't it)
Bryn's lack of caution? Although she's been brought up in what looks to be a reasonably strict environment, it's not as constraining as it appears – she's best friends with two of her maids, she runs away from her various tutors, hides, climbs up walls… (need I say more) When Thomas comes along, it's a situation she's completely new to. Kingdom 9 is composed of the estate. That's it. People don't often come to visit, but when they do, it's not for her. Most of the workers (with the exception of her maids and a few others) are older than her or she's known them a really, really long time. Thomas is a boy she doesn't know, and more importantly doesn't know anything about her. It's an opportunity. She doesn't know how she's supposed to act or expected to act around him, she's had no rules imposed on her – so she goes on instinct. And I would continue, but I've given enough of her character away so I'll stop there.

If you have a question ask, please? I want reviews, questions, encouragement, praise, critism, pointers – I like them.

Now what you've all been waiting for: Here's the chapter!

– Autumn

THREE

I awoke to the smell of toast and the lingering scent of thick honey as Charlotte placed the tray on my bedside cabinet.

"Morning Charlie." I greeted her groggily.

"Good morning Lady Bronwyn." Her tone was sunshine but her words were retaliation – she dislikes being called Charlie just as I dislike being called Lady Bronwyn. I ignored her choice of words because I had clearly brought it upon myself and decided to eat my breakfast instead, the sweet honey giving me enough energy to clear the mist from my mind and drag myself out of bed. What can I say, I am not a morning person, neither have I ever been, nor, I imagine, I ever will be.

Nonetheless, Charlotte drew my curtains to reveal the bright outside. I recoiled at the light intensity – it shouldn't be so bright this early in the morning. "Bryn, I'm told that you will be going riding this morning with Sir Reynard, his son and your father. So you better get ready, I'll be back in ten minutes." I heard the clatter of crockery as she lifted the tray and left my room, taking the warm honey scented fog with her.

"Thank you Charlotte."

I pulled on my riding gear which had been neatly, and rather conveniently, placed on bed and started searching for my boots when she returned. "Charlotte, I shouldn't have to put so much effort into using my eyes this early in the morning. Where are my boots?" I gave up and sat on the quilted duvet of my bed, tracing the coarse swirling patterns of the over-blanket with my fingers.

"Here you are." She replied after a moment as something has pushed into my hands. I laced up my boots (a task I could now accomplish even with my eyes closed) as Charlotte plaited my hair.

Minutes later, I found myself at the bottom of the west wing stairs, a ball of fur weaving around my legs in an unashamed attempt to gain my attention. It worked though – I would give him credit for that. I picked up Alby and carried him towards the lawn. The lazy cat needed the exercise, I had no idea how he managed to stay so slim. Once outside I deposited him on the grass where he proceeded to lie down and expected to be stroked. The lazy cat was clever, sometimes I wondered if it was really him running the whole house by the way he got everyone to do his bidding.

The midmorning sun created a warm haze that I bathed my face in to grow accustomed to its unusually bright intensity. But not all things last and I was soon at the stables knowing that my peaceful morning by myself had long gone, dried up in the sunshine like a wilting daisy.

There were many people in and around the stables, more than usual anyway. The stable boys were there along with a few other servants and the Reynards. So I waltzed into the stable to bring Ebony out into the sunlight with my father leading another horse in tow upon my exit.

It wasn't his horse (well of course it was his as he owned all of the horses; it just wasn't his favourite stallion). "She's beautiful." Peter said, seeming to just appear from nowhere behind me.

"Yes." My father agreed, "So take good care of her along with my daughter." At this request I turned in the direction of his voice and arranged my features into a look of confusion. "Sorry Bryn, Richard and I will join you for lunch, but have fun sweetie." He kissed my hair before withdrawing to the path that led back to the mansion, his steps fading as he left.

"So, where shall we go fair lady?" I laughed at his whispered comment, patting Ebony's nose and climbed into her saddle.

"I don't know good sir, how about the east wall, or perhaps the riverbank, I hear the flowers are beautiful around there this time of the year." I didn't quite manage to finish the sentence in my put on air before bursting into a fit of giggles again.

"Wait there's a river here?" He sounded genuinely incredulous.

"Of course. Come on Peter, to the river." I declared before trotting towards a path I knew would get us there. Maybe I should have galloped – it would have made my exit that extra bit more dramatic, but then again, I'm not really one for drama.

The ride was nice, I talked to Peter and let Ebony guide the way to the River Thyme. Once we arrived, I dismounted and headed to wall where shadows interspersed the light. After pulling away some of the greenery, the water gate was visible. "Where does it go?" Peter asked. We were so entranced by the flow of water that I barely registered the soft, irregular snip, snip, snipping noise that found my ears from a way behind us.

"I'm not sure, I think it just falls into nothingness, endlessly flowing, always moving forward." Must be nice I added in my head – forever running does have its appeal.

He took my hand gently and I briefly froze, there was silence, the cusp of a memory teetering on the edge of my mind. Then I realised it was just out of courtesy and the memory fell, forgotten into the blackness. He led me back to the horses and dropped my hand in favour of stroking the mane of one of the horses. "Although your horses are good here, their manes aren't a patch on the Lion's!" He declared. Snip, snip, snip.

"Oh it's 'the' Lion now, is it?" I teased. "Say, which of the Rocks are you from? Where do does one find these horses with lions' manes?"

"Four. Demesne 4." He replied, bringing the tone of our conversation back to normal, of which I was quite glad – there's only so much teasing I can manage (I do spend most of my time by myself after all).

We spent a while in quiet, just lying there in the grass, absorbing the warm sunshine that has from the large opening in the trees, it pours through the gap like a silent waterfall, filling up my insides with its endless warmth. The grass felt soft underneath my fingertips and it smelled surprisingly sweet, like spring even though that time of year has long since passed.

After a while, I feel the fleeting need to ask about the place I have never seen, nor been to; "What is it like? I've never been to another kingdom before – even if it's not really a kingdom."

"It's larger than here, perhaps four of five times as big but you can't tell as it is walled off into sections. There are six sections; four higher living areas, one lower and a market place type general area."

"Okay but what's it really like, how do you know you're at home, why do you love it so much?" I was enraptured by this unknown place, keen to know what the place felt like not just a structural description. I wanted to feel the inner warmth of the place not its cold appearance.

"Hmmm… Well we live in one of the higher living areas and it is surrounded by a huge smooth silver wall that protects our own place. There's an apple grove near my bedroom window and I can always smell sweet green apples."

"Green's not a smell." I interject automatically. Snip-snip, snip.

"Oh but it is – it's the smell of home where it's always warm, a perpetual spring with fresh green grass and a pond. The inside of the house is big and open but feels cosy at night. We have a fireplace to chase away the night's chill so you can smell burning logs inside and huddle up next to the fire in a swath of blankets – I used to fall asleep like that all of the time when I was really small. Then there's the market place, I don't know much about the other areas but the market place is always bustling with people, there is a lake for fishing and you can always hear birdsong amongst the brightly coloured stalls."

"It sounds wonderful; I wish I could go there some day." We sat on the grass for a while, simply enjoying the sunshine, the feel of the grass beneath our fingers and each other's company. The rhythmic trimming of nearby bushes the only thing keeping the time.

After what seemed like an age, Peter spoke up and it took the wheels in my brain a while to turn and realise it was in response to my earlier comment. "No you don't. Because underneath all that, they're still not as free as the think they are." I gave him an odd look, I didn't understand. "The Families are still in charge underneath it all, controlling everything from behind the scenes without them even knowing it."

"But is a bird free when it does not know it's being kept in a cage? Ignorance is bliss after all." I spoke my thought aloud.

"I don't know but all birds yearn to fly. Either way, I'm going to be part of that someday, Demesne 4 may not be the most democratic of places but all we do is run our rock smoothly, nothing bad." I laughed at a thought of how oblivious he could be to some things.

"True democracy can never be created. It's impossible; utopia does not exist."

Peter gave me a weird look, "I would never have guessed that you'd be the pessimist."

"I'm not." I said, picking one of the flowers and casting it into the river to fall into eternity. "It's just that to form a utopia, nobody can have any motives and must do everything they do for the good of society – no matter how close you get, that cannot be achieved. Everyone has an ulterior motive whether they recognise so or not. It's human nature." Snip.

"So what would my motive be?" He asked tucking a flower into my hair; his tone curious, verging on flirtatious. I briefly heard footsteps fading away in the periphery of my hearing.

"I never said I knew what those motives were," I lightened my tone, "but I'd guess it wasn't to come and talk to me about politics in society." He laughed at that, a warm rumbling sound that made me smile. Once it was gone, I started to notice its absence; I missed the soft, sharp snips. That had been part of the comforting background noise moments ago, but now nature's music sounded incomplete as if missing a vital part, like a human without a head.

"I guess not, but who's to complain? Of course unless it's because your motive is to shatter my perfect view of Oblivion." The last part was sarcastic so I played along.

"Oh, I prefer the word enlighten, shatter seems a bit harsh." I hadn't talked like this with anyone in long time and I found that I was enjoying myself.

"You know, at first I wondered what someone like you would do all day here, but this place is so beautiful I don't think I'd mind if it was me."

"I paint a lot actually. I'm by myself for most of the time," I lied with ease, "so I thought I should try and acquire some skills of my own." That part was actually quite true – I try to acquire my own set of skills whilst and by hiding from my tutors and various other tasks I usually need to get done. I take out my pocket watch and run my fingers over its open face, trying to discern the time. "It's almost eleven o'clock, we should probably get back soon, and I have a hunch that they'll have nearly finished preparing lunch by now." I cast the petals from the flower in my hands towards the river; they twirled like dancers on the breeze, endlessly pirouetting; their finale before they came to rest on their stage.

A/N: Sorry about the rally long note at the top. I hope you liked the chapter.

– Autumn