Note before you read: The Promise does take place in the same world as Nether, and though you might see events that coincide with those in Nether, you do not necessarily have to read both stories to understand what is going on;; Recently I've been entranced with the idea of incorporating numerous fairy tales with one another. That being said, The Promise is based off of Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast and a story known as the Nightingale. My goal, as it always is, is to make the story "POP" in your eyes. To have you see exactly what is going on, remember it and want to reread it at least once—to want more of the story after it, to want to see fanarts of a fanfiction, etc. I spent many a night and intervals of days trying to edit and edit and edit this to make it one of the best stories I've ever written. Please remember that reviews are always appreciated, as well as constructive criticism. I really do hope you enjoy this one—Gale is my absolute favorite pairing. I hope I can convey my love for them to you.

The Promise

"They took her beautiful clothes away from her, dressed her in an old gray smock, and gave her wooden shoes."

Levy McGarden was born into a household that was exceptionally wealthy, especially for the times that this part of the country was going through. Her father, Bran, was a man of great standing, working as a businessman for Counsil member Ys. He was paid well and it allowed his family extra income when Levy's mother, a doctor, could not provide for everything. Despite the hard times, Levy was never without a smile on her face. She cherished her mother's ability to heal others and to keep the health upon their features, and her father's ability to help with the running of the country, though she did not quite yet understand just what he did—she never would, and that was not of coincidence. Levy was cared for as any princess might be, though she was the only one to believe that she was of divine birth. She was allowed to imagine her own stories, tell them to her willing mother and read books full of stories that some say all but ruin a child's head. Her father, at one point in time, spoke of such a thing to her mother, who chastised him for having thought the thing in the first place.

"Books are the stories we live when we are dreaming. They fuel our creativity and encourage adventure." Levy remembered the night they fought over whether or not she should be allowed to keep reading books from the bookstore as one of the only times her parents had ever argued. After that night, the subject was never spoken of again, and Levy was given two books for her birthday that year. One of a poor boy who fell in love with a rich princess, and another of a man who scaled a ladder to the moon just to reach the maiden living upon the thing. Her father crafted her a shelf where she could keep all of her books on and this brought a smile to the child's ruddy face.

But a year after her tenth birthday, consumption claimed her dear mother's life. Her father, being in Dyvyne some months of the year, was sent a letter by way of horse and came flying home when he heard news of Levy's mother's sickness. Unfortunately it attacked the woman much more quickly than the family would have liked (as they would have liked for it to have never happened at all), and her husband was not there at her deathbed when she fell into eternal sleep. Grief stricken and suddenly faced with the hardships of not having enough money to keep the lifestyle that he had once had, Bran and Levy sold off all of her mother's belongings save for a single dress, and some of Levy's own personal collection of books, which she held very dear to her heart. The only ones she kept were those whose binding had been worn off due to her constant rereading of them. Levy applied for a job and a week later was working as the youngest full-time waitress at the local tavern in Port Rile. It was hard, but it kept her busy. Her father returned to Dyvyne and started working overtime in order to supply what he could to the only daughter he had left. The next spring, however, he returned not with gifts, but with a new wife and two new daughters, both older than Levy was.

Of course Levy was astonished, but what could she do? Her father had had good reason for marrying into this new family. The woman was of rich standing and had an uncle who was on the Counsil and was a favorite of his—no doubt this is why she was dressed in much too lavish clothes for the Port. When her heels struck the wooden planks that were placed beside the carriage so as to not allow her expensive clothing to get soiled by the muddy streets of winter in the town, Levy could only stare. She was beautiful AND young. She looked the part of a goddess, and would have been viewed by the girl as such if she had not given Bran's true blood daughter the look of a venomous snake, coiled and ready to strike. After she was helped down, two girls a little older than she herself was also exited the carriage. With them came lavish gold-lined clothing that made their figures ever the more exotic-looking and attractive regarding shape and size.

For one week her father stayed with them, introducing them to life with one another, introducing them to one another and introducing a new way of life to those who had been born and raised in a town with white fences and marble statues. Levy had work every day except for Sundays, from the wee hours in the morning when the sun had still not risen until the sun went down. Her shift changed then, and she was allowed to go back home as soon as that golden disc disappeared into the horizon line. The girls, though, apparently had never worked a day in their life. Their mother and Levy worked together to prepare dinner each night, and Levy even went as far as to make them pastries for the morning. Despite the fact that all of these women were relatively different compared to her, she tried to see the good in everything that might come of this. If the woman was rich, then her father would have less stress on his shoulders with work. He would be able to come home more often. And having step-sisters would allow her to get more acquainted with the life of social living. Allow her to learn to share her things. Not that Levy had ever had a problem with sharing her things. She lent out books all the time to her friends and even gave some of her own hard earned money and home-made bread to those who were less fortunate than she. Needless to say, Levy did her best to accommodate the girls and their mother. She did her best to make them feel welcome—and she was doing a splendid job of it (or so her father said before he left).

However when her father did leave, Levy's world flipped upside down even further than she had thought it ever could. She was kicked out of her room, and one of the girls was put into it. Levy was placed in what used to be a servants quarters back when Port Rile was richer of a town. Now it was just old money that was ruling the place. The room was small, cramped and cold, especially now that the seasons were getting much colder. Her only warmth was a ratty old blanket that she had been graciously given and the fireplace in the corner that was always filled with cinders, which made both herself and the room dirty no matter what she tried to do in order to fix it. She uttered not a peep of this to her coworkers. Why? They had their own lives to worry about. Levy did not want to burden them with the trifles of her own life just because she was a bit uncomfortable. Besides, she was the youngest. Giving up her room to the older daughter was a sign of respect, was it not? And perhaps it was best to help them feel more at home; even if it did cause her backaches when she wiped down tables, washed dishes and carried heavy trays at the tavern. The unfair portion of her story began as soon as she got back from work though. While she was willing to give up her room and her objects of luxury to the new girls, she did not appreciate the fact that she was forced to clean the house, forced to do the cooking and the cleaning up of the place afterwards. Despite this, she kept her lips zipped, as she always did. For weeks and weeks she prayed quietly for her papa's return. For she missed his company. She missed her true family, but would never admit to such.

For five years this continued, her father visiting every so often, always with small tokens in tow to give to his family. Usually the clothes were for the step-sisters, jewelry for her step-mother, and a book for Levy. Not that she minded. This was what Levy loved, books. She could not care that she wore much of the same clothes each week and her newest piece was a hand-me-down from the oldest of her step-sisters. It had been given to her a year ago just because it was out of style and the girl could not bear to be seen wearing it.

By letter, word arrived that her father was going to be back within five days' time; and suddenly time flew on wings of glass. Levy was more sociable at work, she smiled more and she visited the old man at the bookshop more often as well. At the tavern she spoke to travelers and learned of some of their stories, making sure to remember the most interesting ones so that she may delve into a land of fantasy and adventure later if she had the time to just sit and think for a while. She earned as much as she could and when the day came that her father was to return, she took off work and came running to the door, throwing it open and embracing her father's tall frame as quickly as she could get her arms around him. She inhaled deeply, memorizing the scent that she already knew by heart once more. He stunk of smoke, of pipe weed, of leather and of sweat. He laughed heartily and roughly ruffled her hair, just as he used to do when her mother was still alive. This caused for a twist in her gut and she pulled back slowly, allowing for her step mother and sisters to greet the man they called their own as well. Levy forgot her small pricks of jealousy as soon as it came to be her turn to greet her father. It was bittersweet and Levy would remember his warmth for a while afterwards.

After dinner and a long talk with her step-mother, Bran came in the room to speak with his daughters. He went to the eldest first.

"I am to return to Dyvyne soon… I'm afraid I was not given considerable time for leave… when I return, I shall send gifts!" This caused a light to spark in both the older girls eyes and they looked at each other hastily, grins plastered on their sharp features. "What shall I send back?"

"I WANT CLOTHES!"

"Yes," said the other, "clothes and jewelry—lavish things that will grab the attention of the boys at school!" Bran only laughed at this, nodding his head in approval. Obviously money was not as big of a problem as it had been mere months beforehand.

"And you, my daughter? What would you like?" Having addressed Levy, his chocolate eyes bore into her intensely. "I think… a rose would do for a very fine bookmark." Bran smiled gently and genuinely. Trust his blood daughter to be of the more modest sort.

"Of course, I shall find dresses of the latest fashion for you two," he said, nodding his head towards the two older girls, and then turned to Levy once more, "and a rose for Levy." He then stood up, turning his back to them and going through his bedroom door, not to be seen until the next morning. However, her step sisters sneered at the words she had said for her father.

"A rose… how bland."

"You can buy those at the local market for less than the cost it will be of buying one in Dyvyne."

"Perhaps that is so, but I want one that papa has picked out for me."

"Strange. You are so strange." And with that, the two girls, as if in sync with one another, got up and left Levy to her own.

That night, Levy took parchment and a quill with a bottle of ink and began to write down the story of the man who was going to take on a winter trek to the Magnolian's in order to confront a dragon. She wrote of how he had come to be there, and why he was searching so desperately for the creature. He had fallen in love with one of the merfolk's most beautiful maiden's and was on a quest to earn her favor and her hand. She fell asleep on top of the thing, forgetting all about the candle beside her that she had been using for light. However it was not to be an object of fear, for the wind snuck in through the panes and extinguished the flame, allowing darkness to consume the room.