It has been a very long time. I don't own Hey Arnold. I don't know what to name this. If anyone has any ideas, feel free to share them :) This is an AU set in the past.
It was the thundering of horse shoes that woke her from her sleep. It had been a dreamless sleep. The festivities of the Spring Equinox had been exhausting. She had drank and eaten then gone to bed while everyone else still enjoyed themselves. It was still chilly in the nights and evenings, so she was fully dressed. Not too long afterwards she heard the first screams. Then she could smell smoke.
Helga sat up in the dark, and looked towards a window. There was light. No, not light, fire! Then she heard the fighting, metal clanging against metal. Were they being raided? When all their fighters would be drunk? As she pushed off the blanket the door to her hut flew open and there stood her mother.
"Helga, we need to move, now!" she said, then disappeared from sight. Grabbing a cloak she threw it over her shoulders and ran out the door and into a nightmare.
Huts were on fire, horses with soldiers were riding through the village, cutting down men and women. She took off around the side of her hut and made a run for the field. Was her sister okay? Her father? Where had her mother gone? Suddenly she was falling towards the ground with a thud. She had tripped over something. Looking back to see what it was she covered her mouth to prevent her scream from being heard. Her mothers wide eyed face looked back at her, separated from her body. She looked around hurriedly. She didn't have time for this! The village was burning, people were being slaughtered. Pushing herself back to her feet she took off at a run, and picked up the pass when she heard hooves getting closer and closer. Was a horseback rider going to kill her? Trample her? She veered sharply to the left and into something solid, which would have caused her to fall back onto her backside if it's arms hadn't grabbed her to keep her from falling.
"It's a girl," a man's voice said. "Just a girl." She was spun around and faced the person on the horse who had been riding towards her.
"Put her with the others," the voice on the horse said. "She came from the Chief's tent. She may be valuable."
She was confused. What was he saying? Was the man holding onto her going to kill her? She was spun around and flung over a shoulder and carried away. She tried to escape by wriggling around. A hand hit her bum.
"Stop it or I'll drop you," he said. "You don't want to be lying on the ground with horses running around."
She stopped wriggling, but turned to pounding her fists on his back, little good it did. He was wearing armour. Metal armour. But if that was the case . . .
Her blood froze in her veins. There had been rumours coming up from travellers telling of a massive army from a kingdom that was taking over the world. They murdered, raped, destroyed, enslaved. But they should have been safe all the way up here. Hardly anyone came this far North, except the hardiest of traders from the South.
She heard a creaking behind her, and many sobs, then was slid down the front of the man who was carrying her. She looked up into bright green eyes, shaggy wild blonde hair, and a weird shaped head. Then she was pushed roughly into a. enclosed wagon and the cage door was shut.
She looked around. There were six other girls in there with her.
"Where are your mothers?" she demanded. They looked at her frightened.
"Dead," one of them told her, crying. "She's dead, so is my father, and yours, too."
Helga looked around at the girls. None were over eighteen. She saw a couple of small children hidden under some blankets in the middle of the girls. Then she heard a baby cry. 'So the children and babies are okay,' she thought with relief.
"They're going to sell us," one of them said hysterically. "We're going to be sold into slavery! Or prostitution! I don't want to be a prostitute!"
It caused a couple more to cry.
"They killed my husband," one of them told Helga. "We've been married only two weeks!"
"My sister?" she enquired. "Is she dead too?"
The one who had mentioned her husband's death nodded.
Helga sat back against the wall of their cage.
She was alone.
….
….
"The blonde one is a Chief's daughter," his friend told him, pointing at the blonde who was glaring out at him.
Arnold was taking his turn on guard duty, with his best friend, Gerald, a young black man from the Southern parts of the Empire. His country had been absorbed years ago.
"She was the one who ran right into me," he told him. "Wriggled around, and banged on my back. And now she has the gall to glare at me, to boot!"
Gerald laughed.
"And to think, after this you go home to be married!" he teased. Arnold rolled his eyes. Ah, yes, Delilah. Obedient, home-bound, pretty, the perfect woman according to the Empire's definition. Only good for breeding. He made a face. "Not looking forward to it, I take it?"
"Not really," Arnold admitted. "I don't know her well at all."
"What did you say her name was?" Gerald asked.
"Delilah," Arnold answered. He looked over to the cart of girls. They were set for sale. He eyed the defiant blonde again. She had trouble written all over her.
"Thinking of making a purchase?" Gerald asked.
Arnold shook his head. "There will be enough woman at my home, no need to add more."
…
…
"Look at them, those pigs," she spat.
"Don't anger them Helga, please," begged one of the girls. "We don't want to be beaten!"
"Or raped," another said.
"Or both," a more authorative voice added. "Keep quiet, heads down, keep the children still. Don't draw attention to us in any way, and maybe they'll forget we're here."
"Not likely," Helga muttered. She crawled closer to the side the blonde man who had put her in here in the first place was. She watched as the black man beside him laughed. Helga had never seen a man with skin so dark. She felt embarrassed to stare, but it was so strange. She wondered if there were more soldiers with his skin colour . . .
She saw the blonde man look her way, frown a little then look away. As another man joined them, he got closer to the cart. Helga gathered as much saliva in her mouth as possible. She pulled herself up until she was level with him. When he looked at her again she smiled. He started to smile but never did as she spat what she had in her mouth right in his face. He looked appalled, while the two men beside him laughed. He glared at her, and pointing a finger at her spoke to her angrily.
She had no idea what he said, but she knew it was a threat of some sort. She made a rude hand gesture, and almost laughed at the look on his face. Guess he wasn't like all the others. She turned her back on him, listening with a smirk as he ranted and raved to his friends who just laughed.
"You'll pay for that," one of the girls said. Helga stared hard at her. Her name was Ronda. Helga glared at her.
"What do you know?" she asked.
"More than you," she said, putting her nose in the air. "I travelled, unlike you. I know a bit of his language. About time someone put you in your place. You think your so great because you were the chief's daughter. Guess what? Now your just another girl destined for slavery, just like the rest of us. Your nobody."
All the girls went quiet, and looked to see how Helga would react. She was known to have a quick temper.
"Know all's know nothing," Helga told her.
"I'll always know more than you," she said back haughtily. "I hope it's a public flogging."
Helga raise a brow. "Flogging?"
"I've heard they flay people," one girl, Sheena, said in her squeaky voice.
"I'm more worried about my virtue," Gloria said.
"What virtue?" Helga sneered. Gloria glared at her.
"Helga's right," Ronda spoke up. "Everyone knows you-"
She stopped talking as one of the men started yelling at them. Some of them cowered. Helga caught sight of the blonde man looking there way. She glared at him, then looked away.
…
…
"She's in for a world of hurt, that one," Gerald noted, also watching the blonde.
"Not our problem," Arnold said, looking ahead and trying his best to ignore her. But unwillingly he glanced over again.
She hadn't cowered when Sergeant Qwartz yelled at them all to shut up. She was defiant, and she would learn a hard lesson from her Master if she kept that up. Or die while he tried. If there was one thing cultured men did not like, it was defiant slaves and servants. And her glaring was getting on his nerves. She had even spat at him! Spat! It was disgusting to be spat at.
Yet, at the same time, he kind of admired her spirit. Suddenly he noticed the column halt. He and Gerald pulled up their horses and waited to see what was going on. Sergeant Qwartz was riding back up the column.
"Pick a prisoner," he told them. "Carting them like this is slowing us down. Strip your girl or child, check for any concealed weapons, then put her on the horse with you!"
He rode further down to the men further back.
Arnold watched some of the other soldiers sneer and leer. He knew what they would be thinking. He looked over at the girls who obviously had no idea what was happening. Except maybe the one with black hair. She looked a little worriedly at the men.
"Arnold? Man, what are you doing?" he heard Gerald's voice call out. It wasn't until he grabbed the blonde girls arm and dragged her out did he even realize what he was doing.
She was hitting at him, dragging her feet, and yelling.
"You've picked a feisty one there, my friend," one of the older men joked.
"Best keep an eye open boy with that one in your tent!" joked another.
"Likely as bite ya!"
"You have too many problems breaking her in, hand her to me. I like breaking 'em in!"
Arnold ignored the laughs and jokes and barbs, but noticed that she had stopped fighting. She was looking at the men curious. He shook his head, and climbed on his horse. He pulled her up in front of him.
"You don't want to know what they are laughing about or saying,
he murmured in her ear. He looked over at Gerald who was shaking his head.
"Brave or stupid," he said. "I just don't know what you are anymore."