Before we begin.
The point of view below is from someone who has been abused, so there are some small comments about that. I've kept it as light as possible, as I don't feel comfortable delving into it. From now on, if the situation within the plot demands it, I'll write things the same way I did in this chapter.
That's all. Enjoy reading.
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"They're… They're freeing us!" I heard a few hopeful cries around me, as I watched these 'liberators' finish off the Dothraki who were among us, the slaves, and then confront some of those who were coming back at us.
'Freedom…, huh?, how many times… I had wished to be free again, how many nights…, while these barbarians used my body as they wished…' I thought, while I remembered being raped almost every night since I had been captured on the way to Qohor for a business deal that my father had secured.
'How many times I screamed, even in their language, that I was in pain, only for them to keep doing it laughing…' Only my stubbornness and knowledge had kept me alive and prevented me from getting pregnant.
But even so, my spirit had been worn down, little by little each night, as the moons passed.
And now, with this supposed freedom, I couldn't find within myself the emotion I should have felt at this moment, like those who had been enslaved a short time ago.
I just…couldn't…feel… hope.
It was after more than an hour that the sound of fighting ceased, and the Dothraki surrendered.
Then our 'saviors' began to separate us.
The two men in the group, who were dressed in what appeared to be bronze armor over their chests and shoulders, wore helmets that covered their entire faces and were decorated with a patch of red hair. This red was also the color of the skirt they wore over their trousers, which ended at their armor-covered boots.
Each of them was in charge of separating the men and the wounded to different sides.
We, the women and children, were led in another direction by the remaining four women. They were wearing the same armor, only it was clearly designed for women and their helmets revealed a bit of their hair.
Although I understood them quite well, the others were a different story. They could barely understand them, so they followed their signs and gestures, even the occasional word they said, as best they could.
After we had properly separated, I saw how they called some healthier men to move and distribute the food that was in the carts, horse meat, mare's milk and cheese, blood sausages and some other things.
'This…isn't something slavers do…' I thought as I watched them freely hand over the food. A small emotion began to rise in my chest, but I didn't want to acknowledge it yet, not yet, or I… might lose myself.
We ate almost in silence, apart from the most excited, for a few hours. The food was small but filling. I could see around me that everyone had received something, even the wounded, who were being cared for by some healers and eunuchs.
Then word started to spread that they needed people to communicate with the Dothraki, but no one had come forward yet.
'They probably don't want to be around them…' I thought.
The man who was asking out loud was one of the last to be obtained as a slave. I had seen him when the Khalazar had left Qohor, he was a malnourished looking man, and he was speaking in a Low Valyrian common among the smaller traders of Myr. However, the man had no Myrian accent or any other that I knew. It was more like a Westerosi accent, perhaps some Dornish given his olive tone.
'They're looking to understand, Dothraki…' was what I heard him say in the distance. Then an idea came to me: I would see these people face to face, see if they were the liberators they seemed to be. I was the daughter of a merchant, I had been raised to understand and help in my father's business. I knew the common language, the Low Valyrian of Tyrosh and Lys, and, as a precaution, I knew a fair amount of the Dothraki dialect.
'…how little it served me…'.
I then raised my hand as the woman, now helmetless, who was with the Dornish man turned in my direction.
She looked Valyrian, with white-blond hair and icy blue eyes. She nodded in response and spoke to the man in a common tongue I'd never heard before, but the Dornish man seemed to understand it, and then he spoke to me as they approached.
"She says, 'We have to go with her on her mount to speak with Her Grace,' eh?" The man's eyes widened in surprise when he realized what he'd said.
I was surprised, too. I'd seen those birds riding, just like the Valyrians with their dragons.
She quickly led us to their mounts, and when I saw their mounts up close, it was even more surprising.
They were beautiful creatures, and then a memory came to me of the old fantasy texts my father read to me as a child.
'Griffon!' I said in my mind, the creatures were the spitting image of a griffon, half eagle and half lion, with white and red feathers on their bodies. Although their heads were strange, shaped like eagles, yes, but the area around their eyes was covered by a golden metal that connected to their beak. From these 'eye covers', they connected to a breastplate on their chest by means of chains.
Then another woman appeared, just like the one who was leading us, except for her bright purple eyes, she looked even more Valyrian than her twin.
They gestured for us to come closer; it seemed that it was true that they would make us fly with them.
A knot formed in the pit of my stomach from nerves and anxiety. I didn't think I was afraid of heights, but this was different. Flying on a mount, even if it wasn't a dragon, was something that only the ancient Valyrians and the Targaryen in Westeros could do.
And I, a merchant's daughter, was about to accompany a griffon rider as she flew through the skies.
Despite my nerves, I quickly climbed up behind the purple-eyed woman and grabbed onto some straps hanging from the saddles.
"Aaah!" I couldn't help but scream, as the griffon took off after a short gallop.
The view impressed me like nothing else had ever done before. The people looked small, the grassy field disappeared into the horizon, and the clouds looked so close that I thought I could touch them, but I didn't dare raise my hand to find out.
The journey seemed short. I had barely begun to enjoy the wind when I felt myself lifted slightly from the saddle, which made me realize we were descending a hill to meet their leader.
The griffon circled the spot before dropping to the ground and galloping to a stop.
I barely got off the faucet when my mind went blank. I had turned to follow the Valyrian woman when strands of bright red-orange hair adorned with blinking stars made me look directly at 'her'.
My mind couldn't put that 'being' together with a woman like me. There was nothing worldly about her, even if her hair wasn't shining like fire just like her crown, which was shaped like a sun, and the giant broadsword that seemed to be made of countless swords that she carried on her back, which was bigger than her.
It was her striking eyes, which left her being in the same space of my mind in which I left the myths and gods, in them there was red and orange like her hair, but also purple, gold and white, the latter painting the edges of her black pupil like a crown.
Her physique was no less impressive, a beautiful symmetrical face, with her eyelids and lips painted, a figure that would make all the women I had ever met, including me, die of envy, and her clothing, although somewhat revealing, was not even remotely what I had seen some bed slaves wear.
She made her modest, somewhat transparent, ornate white veils, open and displaying all of her legs, look like the most elegant of dresses; these were over what appeared to be armor made for her from a shining bronze that matched the bracers and shoulder pads she wore.
But it was the Dornishman's startled stutter that brought me out of my reverie about the female being in front of me and made me see what was around that being.
"Dra, Dragons!" he said, which made my eyes tremble, and my palms begin to sweat.
'Dragons… but that… only Targaryen's have dragons' I said in my mind. That was what everyone knew, and it goes without saying that they were known to be fiercely jealous of them, especially the old king, Jaehaerys, but… now that Viserys has ascended, and 'the queen who never was', Rhaenys, has a child with a dragon…
I mentally shook my head. I had gotten distracted by the Dornishman's babble about Targaryen and more dragons, but I had already returned my attention to the female being in front of me, and it was a good thing, because she introduced herself with a voice and accent that tickled my ears.
"I am Augusta, Ephor of Septimont, and…" I knew then, looking into those serious, yet kind eyes, that there was nothing left to worry about, and I could allow myself to feel free again, because I, Haela Helir of Myr, had found the sun that would light my path.
'Your Excellency, Augusta…'.