Slaves don't need names, so for 9 years, she was nameless. Whenever she was called, it was a disdain-filled descriptor, "girl" being the most common. She hated it. She was the one most commonly put to tasks and chores because she was a bastard born into the slave trade. She didn't know if her mother was alive or even cared about her. She learned to do tasks without questions or comments, and when she actually picked up on the language around her, she could only speaks insults and curses.
Customers were frequent enough, coming to hand-pick half-orcs around her for manual labor. She came to accept that she would be a house slave for the workhouse, as no one would want a scrawny human. She never thought that a day would come where she would be one of the chosen to leave. But here she was, sitting in a carriage, heading towards the royal villa. The man that had bought her in the King's stead was speaking to her in the same tongue as the masters of the work house, but she didn't understand what he said. Slaves didn't need to be literate.
Arriving at the place, she was hurried to the servants' quarter. She was led to an older woman, who spoke to the man in the same familiar-but-unknown language. After a while, the woman turned and spoke to the girl in the language she understood.
"I'm guessing that you understand this language." The girl nodded in response. "Can you speak it?"
The girl looked between the man and the lady, hesitating before answering quietly, "Not very good." The lady nodded and talked with the man again, using the language she didn't know. After a bit of back and forth, the lady spoke to the girl once more.
"Your chores are very simple. You will fetch water from the well for the baths and kitchens at dawn. This will take many trips, and you will stop when you have been told by another servant. After that, you will report to me. I will tutor you to better your speaking skills." The girl nodded. She understood what she had to do.
Being a servant at the royal villa wasn't any better than the workhouse. After she became literate enough to speak and understand both languages enough to do her chores, she no longer went to that woman. Instead, she did even more tasks. On some days, it was harder than others, mainly due to lashes. Punishment happened a lot, but she never let out a cry. Not even when they pressed the iron to her thigh. Some of the other servants would help her take care of her wounds, since she was so young, and they told her that the branding happens to everyone. That it was their way of keeping track of their property. The girl didn't care. She knew her place. The next morning, she did her chores with no more than a grit jaw and a slight limp.
The girl never thought of escaping until her eighth summer. She received a small note and a few gold coins. The note was from her mother. She had tried to find her daughter only to find out that she had been sold already. The woman didn't survive long after that, but instead sent the note and money, hoping that it would find its way. And it did. The girl ran away that night, no thought about it. She ran away from the villa, trying to get as far away as she could. Three seasons she traveled, never staying in one place for long. This led to her life changing forever.
It was a cold night in the plains, and the runaway couldn't go on for any longer. She collapsed in a stable on a small pile of hay. When she heard the scream, it seemed that she had just closed her eyes. But there was still the fact of the shrill yelling about the boy in the hay-den. The girl was just getting onto her feet when she was face to face with a mature man. His face was worn and had wrinkles, but he did not look old. He looked at the girl, inspecting her. "Well, young man, what's your name?"
The girl was too shocked to correct the man of her gender. "I- I have no name, sir." The man seemed surprised, and continued questioning her about her family and where she lived. "I am an orphan, sir. I have no family and nowhere that I live." The man looked her up and down once more.
"How hard can you work, son?"
"As hard as you need me to, sir." Was the instant response.
The man chuckled at that. "Well then, you now have food and lodging. What should we call you?"
A small girl, looking about 4 or 5, popped her head out. "Papa, is the hay-den boy nice?" He reassured the small girl before snapping, as if he had an idea.
"How about we call you Haiden?" the man said to the runaway. She thought about it. She had never had a name before and never really thought about what a name could be, but now that she had the opportunity of a name. She could be more than just a slave taking up space.
"Haiden sounds good to me, sir," she smiled.
Haiden spent years with that family, even adopting their last name- Grae. To them, Haiden was the son they never had. They had 4 daughters; the youngest was 3 years younger than Haiden (and the one that named Haiden), the oldest was ten years older than Haiden. The family had really taken to Haiden, with the father trying to arrange a marriage with one of the younger daughters. Haiden refused on the ground that they were like sisters and a marriage to either one wouldn't feel right. (Not to mention the fact that Haiden was a girl.) Haiden grew to love the family, and they were all sad when Haiden left to enroll in the military.
It was a dangerous move, but Haiden knew for a long time that she wanted to be a soldier. She loved her nation and wanted to take up arms, so she joined the military. Her skills were average when she entered, but she spent many hours in perfecting everything. She practically flew through the different ranks, and is wasn't long before she was kneeling before the king.
Distant memories and nervousness caused her throat to dry and clench. Throughout the entire ceremony, Haiden had to remind herself that she wasn't a slave-girl anymore, and that to every eye here, she was a man who devoted himself to his land and lord. She rose and faced the crowd, the applause and the king saying "Sir Haiden Grae" echoing in her ears.
Damara had little wars, but Haiden often led troops on training missions when she wasn't off on an adventure, or doing something for the Royal Guard or King. She grew close to her men and they respected her, though none knew her secret. It was the one thing she would take to the grave. Even if her grave was unmarked or blank, in life she was Sir Haiden Grae, loyal knight and soldier to the King, loving son and brother, a man who worked hard for everything in his life. And to her, who she is in life is more important than who she might be in death.