Precisely. (a weekend freewrite)

I turned. Mr Hallaron walked over. He'd put his hat on and was pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
'I told you we'd meet again, little lady,' he said, in that gravelly voice he had.
And he was right, he probably had, although I hadn't been able to remember it for five years. But I suppose that's how Mr Hallaron's magic worked, you only remembered what he wanted you to remember. I stood up straighter, even now at fourteen, I was still a good deal shorter than him. I had hoped that someday I would be tall enough to stare him in the face, because the huge gap unnerved me. He would often stare down his long craggy nose at me and he always made me feel like he was an inch away from picking me up with one hand and throwing me down in the darkest pits of Hell. Although Mr Hallaron was not a man of violence, he had damnation written all over him and I didn't like that. Especially since he just wouldn't let me be.
I'd first met him when I was eight, he'd been coming to the park, always sitting on the shaded bench.
'That's my favorite, too,' I told him one day and he'd smiled. His wide, scary grin, that would haunt me throughout my days.
'Is it indeed, little lady?' he'd asked and that had been the beginning of our...friendship, of sorts. We'd talk, not a lot though, every time I came to the park. Somehow, he was always right there, on the shaded bench and after some time I got it in my head that he was following me. Not like really following, but you know, appearing there whenever I did and I kept wondering what happened with the people on the shaded bench when he showed up? Did they go poof?

'You are protected, little lady, and you are my charge. Your father has done a very bad thing and he's now being punished for it.'
'But my father's right there,' I told him, pointing to the tall man with the glasses and the mustache who was getting me ice-cream.
'No, he's not,' Mr Hallaron said simply.
'Why is he being punished then?'
'Because he's done a bad thing and there are always consequences, little one,' he whispered and then I ran off to get my ice cream and I thought that would be the last time I saw him. But here he was again, standing in the hallway in my school, there for Mrs Picking and everyone else to see.

The doors slid open soundlessly, revealing the complete and utter chaos that I had been sent to fix. To be honest, I hadn't quite known what to expect when Mr Hallaron told me we'd be going for a trip. I knew I should never trust a stranger, but then, he wasn't one. I'd met him in park years ago an somehow, I always had a feeling he knew me well. Much better than I knew him. I suppose I trusted him in a way. Besides, I never got that thing about my dad completely out of my head.
'Gentlemen,' Mr Hallaron said, waking in behind me. I peaked at him and noticed the doors had closed just as swiftly as they had opened. They made me think of a very elegant office, one of those uptown buildings where all the suits worked. But this was an office of a very different kind, it seemed.
They all had something of Mr Hallaron in them, although I couldn't quite tell you what. Perhaps it was the shape of the nose, although if I looked closer at them, they all looked quite different. Hair was different, eyes were different. Some had suits and a hat, like Mr Hallaron, others wore leather jackets and one even had a helmet on.
'Battle of Agincourt,' he said, winking at me, when he noticed me staring.
'Huh?' was the only thing I could manage.
'Jesus, Hallaron, you've been promising us this girl for years, this can't be her, what kind of destined one doesn't even know what the Battle of Agincourt was?' said one of the leathery ones, staring at me. And then I got it, what they all had in common with Mr Hallaron. it was the eyes, only it wasn't the eyes themselves, but something in the back of them, like a roasting fire. And this one's was on full blast as his eyes dug into my own. He was sitting down and I was pleased, I could stare him in the face. And I did not like an insult.
'I know what the Battle of Agincourt was,' I said, in my best ice-voice. 'I was just wondering why you're wearing a replica of a helmet from that battle.'
I had practiced and perfected six ice-voices in my life, with gradual levels of intensity. And I thought them quite good. Sally Biggins never gave me any trouble at school, and the only teacher who still asked for homework was Mrs Picking.
I'm good, I thought as I watched the color drain from the man's face. Not that there was much color there to begin with, he'd just turned a darker, quieter shade of death.
'It's not a replica,' he said quietly, not quite looking at me.

The phone began to ring and that was the first time I noticed it, there in the corner on a table with a pot of coffee. Funny though, 'cause no one was having any.
Mr Hallaron walked around me and over to the phone in that strange way he had that made it seem like he was floating.
'She's too young,' I heard someone whisper.
'No, she is not,' Mr Hallaron said, in his own ice-voice.
And then, he answered the phone. He was talking about me, I could tell by the way he kept glancing at me, although I didn't know what he was saying. He seemed to be using a strange language and an even stranger voice. Occasionally, his eyes would do a sweep of the room and they'd meet another pair of eyes and he'd nod.
Eventually, he put down the phone and stared at me with a grim look on his face.
'It was your father,' he said, quietly.
'Did the school call him?' I asked, angry. I hated making a fuss, and the school were really only exaggerating.
'Not that father, your real father. I told him that you were well and that you will not be making any trouble. You won't, will you?'
'What the Hell does that mean?' I yelled. I did not like Mr Hallaron's tone of voice, all of a sudden and I was done with this playing.

'Precisely,' Mr Hallaron smiled, taking off his hat. 'After a fashion, of course. But yes, in your rather primitive, forgetful understanding, Hell is precisely the word.'
He gestured for me to sit down on the only empty chair at the table. When I did, Mr Hallaron seemed taller than ever, towering over me like a giant in a dream.
'I trust you remember, little lady, that some years ago, I told you something about your father.'
I couldn't speak, I couldn't even nod, because suddenly, I saw where he was going with this.

'You have heard the story, although in a very childish fashion, I believe. After all, you humans only know a fraction of what went on back then. But I'm sure you've heard about your father and are aware of his..transgression.'
He waited, and I realized he wanted me to say something, to show I understood. I shook my head slightly.
'Let me assure you, little lady, that we all felt your father was...wrongly imprisoned. And if there was punishment to be given, we felt we should all receive it, not just him. Instead, we were all forgiven, in a way. Things were never the same, how could they be? Not after...But I'm babbling aren't I? Forgive me. The fact is we never forgot our allegiance to your father, although we forswore it. And we kept our contact with him. Fourteen years ago, he let us know he'd fathered a daughter on an Earth woman. Not directly, of course, since part of his punishment is to never leave his kingdom, but he did let us know you were his. And since that day, I took it upon me to protect and look after you.'

'Why?' I whispered. I was just playing along, because that's what they told you to do, in all the movies, the victim who plays along gets a nicer treatment You should never go angering madmen, I kept telling myself.
'Now, girl, there is no need for such talk,' one of the leathery men said. He had a full red beard and sparkling eyes and he kinda reminded me of an uncle I'd never had. 'We are not madmen and you are clearly not a victim.'
'Why, you ask,' Mr Hallaron said ignoring the man. 'because I knew that this day would come, sooner or later. I knew that one day, you would be ready.'
'For what?'
'For the fight to resume, little lady.'

This story may also resume...at some later day. I shall see. In the meantime, check out @mariannewest, our brilliant host of the freewriting challenge!

Thank you for reading,