A/N: So I have recently discovered Moana while babysitting one of my nieces, and now I see why she is obsessed with it. Then again she is going on three. Lol. The music is amazing, the art style is amazing, and needless to say it has inspired not just the physical appearance of Justine but also the culture behind her character (which is touched on later in the story). 'We Know The Way' is by far my niece's favorite song, and so since I had to learn it (which came naturally after watching the movie 6 different times in one day) and sing it often with her, I decided to use it here.
Disclaimer: I do not own 'We Know The Way' by Lin- Manuel Miranda and Opetaia Foa'i.
7.
Justine went about her next few moments in a daze, barely paying Lillian any attention. Though she was snapped out of her roaming thoughts when Ivan himself appeared once again, just before bed and fully clothed. His skin smelt like the sunflowers he loved so much, his hair now damp and drying.
"Will you not retire to bed?" He asked, watching as the girl read beside a lit candle.
"I will, soon enough." Justine said with a grin. "Are you going to bed now, Sir Ivan?"
"Da, at least I will try." He answered. He gave her head a pat, "Dobroy nochi (good night)."
"Erm… good night."
The Canterbury Tales was one of Justine's favorite books, more specifically The Wife of Bath's Tale. It was so much easier to relate to, being a slave and a woman, in a world dominated by men. Be them knights, nobles, or just ordinary run of the mil men. At the end of the day they were still men, and if any woman wanted to live a long and happy life, she would have to do right by them.
It was only a few hours later when Justine decided she had had enough reading for one night. She went and brewed herself some tea and made a glass for the knight as well. Ivan typically went to bed late anyways, so he should still be awake. Either reading in bed or in his study, The Song of Roland was by far his favorite.
When Justine found his study empty, she turned on her bare heels and headed in the direction of his bedroom. She stopped abruptly at the knight's bedroom door, heart suddenly racing, hands trembling as she held the glass as best she could. There, through the crack in the door, she could see her master. She could see the wide span of his back, his pale skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat. Thin legs were wrapped tightly around his waist to keep him in place. Ivan grunted as his hips continued to snap forward roughly, and Justine heard Lillian moan as her back arched.
Justine shut her eyes, turning away. She suddenly felt short of breath, her heart now heavy in her chest. She would've cried if she wasn't so shocked.
So disgusted.
Justine sat the glass down on the kitchen table and grabbed her cloak off the nearby chair, wrapping herself up in its warmth before stepping out the back door. A rush of cold night air brushed passed her, and she turned her head to shield her face in the warm fleece lining of her hood. She marched over to a tree stump and sat down, pulling her legs to her chest.
For a moment Justine just sat there, the image of Ivan's bare back and rear, burning itself into her mind. His back bore scars as well, though these were large and came from deep wounds. The way his muscles tensed and relaxed, flexing under alabaster skin. The air was thick with the stench of sex and his musk.
Her chest ached, it flat out hurt.
It was a pain she had never experienced before, and Justine didn't like it at all. A quiet sob tore from her lips as she lowered her head, she hadn't even realized that she had been crying.
Justine felt stupid, naïve.
Ivan was a royal knight, was close to the king himself, and heaven awaited him. He had a family, nobility, and an even brighter future ahead of him than she couldn't even dream of having. Most importantly, Ivan had an even more powerful family he would soon be married into (even though they were the demon seed of Satan himself). His life was destined for greatness, while hers was… well, Justine just didn't really know.
Once a slave, always a slave. Very few of them were freed, and the mass that weren't faded into distant memories once they died. No one remembered slaves, no one missed them once they were gone.
Justine lifted her head, a gentle breeze blew her hood off of her head. Thick hair was tussled by the wind, flowed loosely about her sides. She held up her hand to the starry night sky, tilting it ever so slightly as the millions of tiny speckles created a map. Just like it did all those years ago, when she was small enough to sit in her mother's lap. Her mother, warm against her, sang a song her mother had once sung to her. Telling of their people, of their travels, of those very stars that twinkled beyond her grasp.
"Tatou o tagata folau e vala' auina. E le atua o le sami tele e o mai. Ia ava'e le lu'itau e lelei Tapenapena. Aue, aue! Nuku I mua Te manulele e tataki e. Aue, aue! Te fenua, te malie, nae ko hakilia mo kaiga e." She sang.
Ivan left the bathroom quietly, careful not to disturb the spent woman sleeping on his bed as he reentered the bedroom. He padded over to the chest in the far corner of his room, but stopped when he heard a faint yet defined singing coming from the backyard bellow. Curious, he unhooked the latch and pushed the glass open. There, standing atop a tree stump, was Justine.
Her nightgown and the hem of her cloak ruffled about her legs, her lose hair riding the currents of the wind as her arms stretched out above her head.
"We read the wind and the sky, when the sun is high. We sail the length of the sea, on the ocean breeze. At night we name every star, we know where we are. We know who we are, who we are~."
Lost amongst her own melody, the girl was in a world all her own. Her full lips parted, her dark eyes closed as she remembered days long gone, with cheeks stained wet.
Ivan's brow furrowed, he couldn't imagine what would have her so upset that she would cry over it. Let alone what would posse her to be singing outside in the middle of the night. Then again, there wasn't much that he knew about her, was there?
True enough Ivan knew some things, but who was Justine really? Who was this young woman he bought to take care of his home and needs? It was almost like a stranger had been living with him for the last few months. His gaze fell to the young girl below, surprised to find that she was staring back up at him.
Neither said nothing as their eyes met, the moonlight shown beautifully on his pale skin and hair, and Justine found herself struck by just how handsome the man was. At this, she smiled woefully at him.
Yes, she was very naïve.
