Disclaimer: I giggle delightedly. Have you ever done it? It's a lot of fun. Err, anyway, same thing as last time. Blah blah blah. Err, what else? I'm to out of it to think right now. So, yeah. Enjoy the story. Oh, and I'm pretty sure I used the same slave collar from Trickster's Choice. I think. If I did, well, here's the disclaimer. And there's a song in here, it's not mine.Kudos to whoever guesses what it is and where it's from. Err, and review. Please.

A New and Miserable Life by Eveiveneg

Opening her eyes, the young woman sighed. Another morning, another beginning of a day in her miserable existence. She sat up and pushed her long hair out of her face. She was sore from a long and basically sleepless night on the stone floor. But she was used to it. Thirteen years of the same thing did that to a person.

Looking around the room, she noticed how little it had changed during her time here. The same cracks ran down the stonewalls; the same rats ran about on the floor. Bits of hay were scattered around on the ground, the only difference being the places and way they lay. The others in the room were still asleep. But that wasn't unusual either. She was always up early.

She personally couldn't see why this was true. The ground wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep; yet they would be unwilling to get up. Maybe they were just reluctant to leave the only bed they had. That made a bit of sense, though not the most. She knew why she wasn't comfortable there. She was the only one who'd had a different life than this. She'd lived with the gypsies for a short time, but it was enough to make her current lifestyle more difficult for her. Though she'd had to sleep on the ground, there was a blanket if it was needed. She'd slept with others who were happy for her to be there, and she'd been friends with them. But here you either served as a bed-warmer to some noble or froze to death. She couldn't bear to even think of being used like that, so she continually let the cold get her each night.

But why think of dismal thoughts right now? She had things to do. She could wallow in self-pity later. She pulled herself up and quietly got ready for the day. She smoothed out her tunic and breeches. They were a bit big for her, but she didn't mind. When she was done untangling the snarls in her dark hair, she braided it. She wrapped a rope around her waist to keep her breeches up. She didn't bother washing her face. There was no point. She'd be just as dirty by the end of the day as she'd been before. She tied her daggers into place, at her wrists, on her thighs, and one at the small of her back.

Glancing around, she saw no one was awake yet. She quietly exited the room, making sure not to step in… anything. She padded along the hall in her bare feet. She'd stopped wearing shoes a long time ago. But it wasn't when she'd lived with the gypsies that she'd stopped. Contrary to popular belief, gypsies weren't barbarians. They wore shoes just like any other person. It was when her boots had been stolen and she'd been unable to afford anymore during her time with the slavers that she'd forgone wearing them.

She stopped for a moment and looked outside. How she wished she could just go out there and appreciate being there. But she couldn't. She couldn't do what she liked anymore. Because she was a slave. It had been that way for thirteen years, ever since the slavers had caught her that night at the gypsy fair. About a week later she'd been sold off to Duke Kass. Her life progressively grew worse as she got older. She was handed more work because she was bigger and apparently more able than the others.

She shook her head to clear away those thoughts and continued on her way to the kitchen. When she reached it, she was unsurprised to find it occupied. She wasn't the only person in the house who got up early. Several cooks were busy preparing breakfast. The servants who were awake bustled about, helping the cooks. She really doubted if the nobles here knew how much work it took to prepare food.

She submerged herself into the flurry of work, soon forgetting her thoughts from earlier. As the sun rose higher, she hurried to bring food into the dining hall. When breakfast was finally over, she paused, taking a quick break. Leaning against the wall, she sighed in relief at the cool feeling of stone against her cheek. The day was very hot, even so early during the day. A servant passed by, ignoring her. She simply glanced at the woman before closing her eyes again. The footsteps slowed down and stopped, apparently greeting a friend.

"It's about time yer got back."

"I know, I know. That boy's so aggravating. If he weren't not the Duke's son, I'd beat 'em until he knew 'is place."

"I know what ya mean. Tis very annoying how he always be yellin' at us. We didn't do nothin' wrong. Only had the misfortune to accept these positions." One of them chuckled.

"Did ya hear 'bout the visitor tonight? Those mages."

"Whish ones? There're so many."

"The one's from Windin' Circle Temple. A whole group of 'em."

"Really?"

"Yah. The Duke was so 'cited 'bout it I thought he'd jus' 'bout wet his loincloth."

"Sounds 'bout right."

"But it also means we 'ave to make this place pr'sent'ble."

"Ick. Today's not gonna be much fun."

"Is it eva?"

She sighed quietly. More work. That woman was right. Today wasn't going to be much fun. She got up and reentered the kitchen, where she was told to go fetch some food for the grand dinner party that night. She nodded, listened to the list and ran out the kitchen door. She didn't need money for this venture into the market. The shopkeeper knew the Duke and simply added it onto his bill.

She quickly made her way through the streets she'd known since she was a child. They didn't scare her anymore. As she jogged along, she let her mind drift. The Duke's family had been particularly nasty that morning. They must've been worried. Well, they deserved it. They treated all the servants terribly. And the slaves… It was awful to see. Though she'd been whipped plenty of times, too many to count, nobody had ever recognized her from before. She was very normal looking, except for her eyes, which she always kept turned downward when speaking to a noble, or anyone. Any person could mistake that for her knowing her place not to even look at another person, but she did it to avoid standing out. That was dangerous.

She was so deeply immersed in her thoughts that she didn't look where she was going. She turned a corner and ran right into them. She toppled over, utterly surprised. She lay there a second, contemplating what had happened. Stupid, she finally decided. Incredibly stupid of her not to look where she was going. Where did she think she was, Winding Circle Temple? Hajra was full of street urchins, mostly boys and girls forced to steal to live. Though it wasn't usually their decision to live in a gang, it was still dangerous.

Cursing inwardly, she almost didn't see the hand that was offered. Startled, she a fought the urge to look upwards, and instead took the proffered hand. She studied the hand, furrowing her brow. Golden-brown in color, strong, large, and callused, she decided it was a man's hand, a young man. Probably a traveler that was native to the area. A black marking caught her eye, but his hand turned and she didn't see it any more. Her gaze flickered up his arm. Covered in plain white cloth, durable and sturdy. Yes, this man was getting ready to go somewhere. Then she blinked. That was odd. The clothes didn't seem to wrinkle. Strange. She let go as soon as she could stand on her own without falling over.

Then she tilted her head so it was in shadow and spoke. "I'm terribly sorry for runnin' into ya, sir. Please a'cept my 'pology." She blinked. She hadn't heard her own voice in a long time, possibly months. It sounded slightly scratchy and small from disuse. And, she noticed, she'd picked up the others' ways of talking, the servant's way.

"Never mind that. You all right?" She nodded slightly. This kind of thing had happened before. A person would take an interest in her, wanting to get to know her. Then they'd see the slave collar and turn away in disgust. The collar was a metal ring with leather straps attached. Magic and metal bound the slave from going a certain distance. If the person went farther than a certain point, the ring would contract and start to choke them. If not found and brought back within the limits, they'd die. It was also an easy way to recognize a slave. It was extremely uncomfortable. It pressed into the skin and burned as hot as fire during the day, and was cold as ice during the night, but she lived with it. It was just one of those things that you had to deal with.

"You need to watch where you're goin'. You don't know who you could run into anymore." She nodded again, keeping her head bowed. Why weren't they recoiling from disgust yet? Had they not seen the collar?

"Why aren't you looking at me?" Now he sounded slightly amused. "Something wrong with my face?" Here she was tempted to reply that she wouldn't know since she hadn't looked at him yet, but she held her tongue. She knew what happened when you snapped at another. Beatings.

"I can't." She answered softly. "M' not allowed ta. Boot I hafta go, now." With that she slipped back into the crowd. It wasn't often that she had those kinds of conversations anymore. People distrusted others more easily now, though it was to be expected.

She purchased the food in the market and ran back to the Duke's mansion. When she returned, she was berated for having taken so long, and smacked accordingly. She didn't flinch as the cook's hand struck her face. It happened often enough that it had stopped affecting her altogether. She muttered an apology and went to clean the main hall floor. Her hands burned from the lye in the water, but she kept her silence. The sun began to sink, and by the time she was done, it was nearly dark.

She was about to return to the kitchen when she heard the muffled sound of weeping. She followed the sound until she found a young woman, crying. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and she was burying her face into them. Frowning, she approached her. "Miss?" She came up to her and crouched down. "Whas tha matta, miss?" The girl looked up, startled. "It's Lena. And who're you?" She demanded huskily.

"Jus a person passin' by, miss. Whas tha matta?"

She looked down, tears coming to her eyes. "Tha masta, he be wantin' me to-to dance for tha mage thas comin' tonight, along with tha otha dancers. Boot-boot," She shut her eyes. "Tha las' time I did that, th-tha men, they grabbed me an'-an'-" She buried her face in her legs again. She took pity on the girl. She knew what had happened to her. They had, or almost, raped her. Not the most pleasant of experiences. She herself had been fortunate in the matter, since men had never taken notice of her. She bit her lip. She couldn't tell the girl it'd be all right and she wouldn't be harmed, because that would be lying. She had no guarantee that it wouldn't happen again. Then a thought struck her.

"Miss, how would ya feel if someone traded places wit' ya?"

The girl started. "Wha-what?"

She smiled kindly at her. "I'd be willin' to trade places wit' ya. I take yer place as a dancer; you take mine as a server. What d'ya think?" In answer the girl flung her arms around her.

"Thank ya so much." She whispered.

She patted her on the back awkwardly. "Iss not a problem. Ya just have to point me in the right direction, I'll take care of tha rest."

She pointed. "The dancer's readyin' area is down that-a-way."

"I'm sure ya know where tha kitchen is." The woman nodded. "A'right. You head down there, I go an' take yer place as a dancer. If anyone asks, I'm sick an' yer fillin' in fer me. I'm tellin' the same to the dancers. I be seein' ya later." She gave her one last hug, then trotted down the hall towards the dancer's quarters.

It was probably one of the dumbest things she'd ever done. She'd heard enough stories to know what happened to dancers. But that woman was so hurt and scared that she couldn't help herself. Anyway, she'd seen them practice their routine enough times to know what to do. It helped that she used to dance with the gypsy children, so she was quick on her feet. She could also use the daggers she kept hidden to keep unwanted men away. Though slaves weren't allowed to own knives, she didn't care.

When she arrived at the door, she paused for a moment, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Then she opened the door blinking at the sight that awaited her. A dozen girls were running about, applying makeup, dressing, hooking on jewelry. She stared uneasily for a moment, then approached one of them.

"S'cuse me?" She asked softly. The girl turned around. She was shorter than her, but held a lot of authority.

The moment she laid eyes on her, her expression changed from one of excitement to one of anger. "Lena!" She hissed. "What were you doin'? Where were ya?" Startled, she opened her mouth to reply, but the girl continued. "Off with another man, weren't ya? Never mind that, we have a performance ta give!" She grabbed her arm in a surprisingly tight grip and called, "Missy!"

A girl came over to them. "Yes?"

"Lena was off with another one of 'er men. We hafta git 'er ready for the dance."

"C'mere." Missy pulled her over. "We hafta git ya ready for the performance."

The next hour was the most bizarre she'd ever been through. Missy slapped some makeup onto her, which she personally thought looked odd. It seemed to smother her face rather than make her look better. But to each her own, she supposed. A rather revealing outfit was thrown at her, and she donned it. Her hair was brushed until it shone and left hanging there.

Glancing into the large mirror, she sighed at her appearance. She looked like one a belly dancer from the gypsy carnival. A golden headdress kept her hair from falling in her face, instead causing it to cascade down her back. The tan-colored sleeveless shirt was decorated with yellow vines and ended just above her midriff. The thin, red skirt started at her waist and fell down to mid-calf. A light-attracting belt covered in fake gold held it up. Gold bangles hung at her wrists and the jewels in her hair flashed as she moved. But instead of looking alluring, she looked scary. Her lips were overly red and her eyes were nearly covered in kohl. She sighed again. She'd never touched makeup in her life and never wanted to again.

"C'mon! The master wan's us." Someone called. With a last uneasy glance at her reflection, she followed the rest of the dancers.

As she entered the dining hall, she could see that great effort had been put into making it look festive. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting colorful lights. Usually the place was dark and dim, with barely any light at all. There was to be entertainment that night, in honor of the mages' visit. The group of acrobats that had just been performing was now leaving, tossing a couple phrases of encouragement. She smiled slightly. Maybe people here weren't so bad. Maybe it was just her.

At the head table, where the Duke sat, there were faces belonging to people she didn't know. She'd lived at the house long enough to know the residents there, so she guessed theses were the mages the two servants had talked about earlier. Glancing down the line, she noticed one person in particular. He was younger than the rest by at least a decade. A lock of black hair fell into his face, but he didn't seem to notice. He had dark skin, golden-brown in color. He must be somewhere from the south, she thought. She couldn't see his eyes since they were flicking around from face to face. Something about him touched a chord in her memory, but she quickly shook it off as the musicians began to play.

Her feet began to move along with the music at the same time as the other dancers. She swirled her arms around in half circles, smiling. This was what she was good at. She hadn't danced since she was a young girl, but apparently she still could. The dancers formed a circle, joining hands. At a nudge from one of the others, she stepped into the middle of it and crouched down. The dancers began to walk, slowly at first. Then they started to go faster and faster and faster, until they were just a blur to her. The music picked up a speedy tune, like the notes themselves were running. Then the girls slowed and gracefully fell down on one knee, still holding each other. Without even thinking she rose, raising her hands in the air as she did so.

Though she didn't realize it, many men had turned their gaze to her. But she took no notice of it. All she focused on was moving along with the music. She twirled her hands and began to lower them, grabbing hold of each arm. Slowly, she began sliding them down her body as if hugging herself. They eventually got down to her legs, and she moved her hands to her left leg. She lethargically pulled up her leg until it was parallel with her body, toes pointing upward. Letting go of her calf, she balanced on one foot for a moment, the lowered it. Hands came up from two of the dancers and she bent her leg until her bare foot rested on their palms. She let her weight go down into the left leg, then pushed herself onto their hands fully. They grabbed onto her leg as she propelled her other leg onto the ground in front of her. She landed gently and she felt her leg being released.

Her eyes had been closed and now she opened them. Unlike her other movements, her gaze flittered from person to person faster than lightning. Her eyes stopped half a second at the young mage, who was currently staring at his plate. As if sensing her watching, her looked up. Her eyes flew to the next person before he could get too good a look at her.

She took a small step forward, then another, switching her hips as she walked. She stopped and brought her right hand up to her eyes and the other held out horizontally. Forming an arrow with her fore and middle fingers, she drew it across her eyes as she looked towards the outstretched arm. The music began to play an alluring melody, slow and soft. Her movements were like the song, smooth and meant to seduce. Then the music changed, becoming more fiery and fierce. She began to move faster and faster, making it more difficult for the people to focus on her.

With one last spin, she stopped and gracefully fell on one knee. The room applauded, filling her ears with noise. Suddenly she could hear more than just the applause. Voices, everywhere.

'That was so well done.'

'Talented, that one.'

'She's so beautiful.'

'She'll be my next conquest.'

'Lady Aria is so lovely. This girl is nothing compared to her.'

Glancing around, nobody else seemed to notice the voices. Her eyes widened. These voices were inside her head.

'I want her. She'll be willing to keep me company tonight. She is a slave, after all.'

'Who is this girl? She seems so familiar…'

She glanced up towards where this voice seemed to be coming from. It was the mage. He was staring at her in a baffled way. Their eyes met. She was amazed to see that they were green, a very startling green. They watched each other for a moment. She realized who he was in that instant. Not only was he one of the youngest people to ever become a mage, he was one of the four. Three girls and a boy, bound together by magic. This was that boy, and what's more, she remembered him. Not from stories, but her own memory. Thirteen years ago she read his palm. It had been one of the most incredible things she'd ever seen. He'd had a great future ahead of him. Now, she realized, it was even greater than she'd thought. She hadn't known what exactly would happen, but she knew now. He'd survived an earthquake, protected Winding Circle from invasion against pirates, helped put out a terrible forest fire, and brought an end to the blue pox plague of 1036. She had never imagined that the boy Roach would become this man. But it just showed miracles happened. She wondered if he remembered her.

Before she could try and find out, she heard something behind her and snapped back to reality. A voice was calling her. She stood up and joined the other dancers, casting a last glance at the young man. He seemed to be thinking as he watched her, furrowing his brow. She turned back to the others and exited with them.

The moment she set foot out of the door, a large, meaty hand grabbed her wrist. Spinning around, her face came in contact with the other hand. Startled more than anything, she stumbled to the ground. As she was yanked back up, she heard the voice she dreaded most: the voice of the Steward of the house.

"What do you think you're doing here? Well?" He demanded. He slapped her again. "Sneaking out on your kitchen duties to flaunt your body off, and in front of the mages!" She blinked. What? Skipping out on duties? What about Lena? "Miss Lena here informed me of your ventures. Told me you knocked her out and took her place. Foolish slut!" He smacked her cheek. Her gaze flickered to the side. There was the dark-haired girl, all traces of her tears gone. She was smirking at her, dark eyes cruel.

She'd been tricked, she realized. Lena hadn't wanted to perform tonight, wanting instead to gain men's attention. So she'd sat in the corridor, pretending to cry. In reality she'd wanted someone, specifically her, to come and take pity on her and switch places. They looked enough alike so nobody would suspect anything. When she'd gone off to perform her duties, Lena had gone off to sell her body to men. An hour later she went found the Steward and told him this story. He'd been furious and went to find her.

Masking her hurt before anyone saw, she turned back to the Steward. His eyes were blazing, his mouth in a tight line. Not a good sign. She had to explain. "Sir, I-" She began. He smacked her again. "You shut your mouth."

"Sir, you're mistaken. I-" She started again. He dug his hands into her wrist and drew her closer.

"Do you know what we do to little whoring liars like you?" He hissed. Oh, she did. She knew all too well what happened. "We whip them. We whip them until they can't even move." She felt fear rise in the pit of her stomach. Oh no. Oh no, not again, not again.

He began to drag her through down the hall. She struggled, digging her heels into the floor. "Sir, you're wrong. If you'd just listen-" He cut her short by slapping her again. "Shut up, slut." He sounded so much like a snake. An evil, conniving snake.

He pulled her into an empty room and flung her down on the ground. She landed on the stone floor, inhaling sharply as it hit her bruises. "Ready for your whipping, whore?" He asked, a cruel smile on his face. She got up on her knees and looked up at him, simply staring. He fidgeted for a few moments before turning away. Instead he went to the wall and took off a long coil of leather. "Not so brave now, are you?" He sneered. She just gazed at him solemnly. She wouldn't back down, no matter what. He unfurled the whip, letting it fall to the ground. She recognized this one as the cat's tail, the one with nine lengths of leather attached to it. He approached her, trying to make her frightened. But she wouldn't be intimidated. She refused to be.

He went around behind her. With a crack of the whip, he brought it down on her bare skin. She went down on all fours, holding back a cry of pain. He pulled his hand back and snapped it down on her. She gritted her teeth to keep back her screams and closed her eyes. It was so painful. It hurt so badly. She just wanted it to stop. 'Stop it!' She screamed inside her head. 'Just make it stop so the pain will go away!'

But he didn't. He kept smacking her back with the long cords of leather. She felt something wet trickle down her back. She knew that wounds had opened there. It had been a long time since her last whipping, at least five years. She'd lost track of the days that had passed. The old scars from them had healed and had faded over time. But now she'd have new scars to show off.

She imagined her old home, with the gypsies. She pretended she was still there, safe with them. Emory would act as a father to her, keeping her happy, or as happy as it was possible to be. Cybele would be there too. She'd been a dancing teacher, and had taught her how to dance. By now she'd be fifty-nine, but still in good shape. She was too exuberant not to be. And all of the gypsy children. They'd be around her age. There'd be other kids, ones she didn't know. How was her friend Maria? Were handsome young men courting her? As a child she'd always been something of a beauty. How about Rowan? How was he? Was he becoming a warrior? And Siri, what was she doing? Was she in training to be a midwife just like she'd always wanted? Did any of them even remember her?

This thought brought tears to her eyes and she fought them back. No use crying. The Steward would just think he'd caused her to do so. She wouldn't let him have the satisfaction.

After what seemed like an eternity, the whipping stopped. "You'd best have learned your lesson, little slut." He hissed. He rolled the whip back up and hung it on the rack lovingly. With a last glare at her, he left the room, slamming the door behind him. She pulled herself up after a moment, catching her breath. She couldn't stay here. She managed to get herself up after a long pause and stumbled to the door. She opened it and slid out, shutting it quietly behind her.

She glanced around carefully. The Steward wasn't there any longer, and no one else was in sight. She started running down in one direction. She had no idea where she was headed, but she knew she couldn't stay in the house. Seeing a door, she flung it open and scrambled out. A blast of cold air hit her. She was outside. She sighed with relief and began sprinting again.

Minutes later she burst into a small garden area, with a pond and lots of flowers. The water reflected the moonlight, and lit up the place. It was beautiful She walked over to the water's edge and collapsed on the ground. She stared at the moon, feeling tears run down her cheeks. Why was she here? Had she done anything to deserve this life? Glancing down at the water, she saw her reflection. A sad young woman with an olive complexion looked back at her. Black hair fell over her bare shoulders. It was too hard to even watch her. She closed her eyes and let the tears drip down. Hugging herself, she began to sing softly.

"Heo naefre wacode daegred

To bisig mid dageweorcum

Ac oft heo wacode sunnanwanung

Thonne nihtciele creap geond moras

And on thaere hwile

Heo dreag tha losinga

Ealra thinga the heo forleas

Heo swa oft dreag hire sawle sincende

Neo ne cuthe hire neortan lust."

She paused for a moment, then whispered the last line.

"Neo ne cuthe hire neortan lust."

She heard something rustle and turned around slightly. A tall figure was standing in the bushes. She squinted then sighed to herself and looked back at the water again. A few moments later the young mage Briar Moss sat down next to her.

"Nice night." He commented. She nodded. Something about the voice seemed familiar. Then it hit her. It was the voice of the man she'd run into earlier that day. "That was a nice song." He told her. She nodded again. It was one of her earliest memories, and a favorite of hers.

After a few minutes of silence he spoke again. "You don't talk much, do you?" A corner of her mouth came up in a sarcastic smile. She shook her head. In the corner of her eye she could see that he had an amused expression. "That was an interesting dance you did. I've only ever seen one person dance as well as you did, and he'd been taught for two years by one of the best teachers." Startled, she glanced at him. He was watching her intently. "Where'd you learn to dance like that?" She shrugged and turned back to the water.

It was quiet again. She listened to the nightingales chirp there soft melody. It was relaxing. They sat there a long time in a companionable silence. Then he offered a hand. "I'm Briar Moss. You might've heard 'bout me." She cast him an amused glance. "I see you have." He announced. She stared at his hand for a long moment, then shook it. She let go after a second and returned to gazing at the pond. "What's your name?" He asked. She bit her lip. Should she tell him? Or not? What could he do with it? Would he tell the guards at the palace she'd come out? That would result in a beating, or maybe another whipping. She closed her eyes in pain at the thought. She looked at him again. He seemed to have given up on her answering and was looking up at the sky. After a few moments of inner debate, she made a decision.

"Arwen."

Briar looked over at her, startled. "What?"

She kept her eyes focused on the water in front of her. "My name is Arwen."

She felt his gaze on her, as if assessing the name. "Thought you'd never speak up." He finally commented. She smiled slightly. She remained there a long time, letting the air just take her away. She rose high above the ground, soaring with the wind. Her eyes closed as she flew away from her body. She saw the city of Hajra below her, lights winking in the windows. Turning around, she saw the Pebbled Sea. It was amazing, the moon shining down on the water. It almost seemed like there were two moons instead of just one. Far in the distance there were islands, just tiny specks. She sighed happily. Then pain flashed through her, bringing her back to her body with a thump. She let out a small gasp.

"What's wrong?" Briar was watching her worriedly. "What happened?" She shook her head. He was fixing her with a sharp gaze. "You're lying. What's the matter?" She shook her head again.

She glanced up at the sky and cursed in her head. She stood up swiftly. He sighed and looked back at the water. She walked to the edge of the garden, then looked back at the young man sitting there peacefully.

"Good-bye, Briar Moss." She said softly. He spun around with an astounded look on his face and opened his mouth to speak. But no one was there.