Chapter 33: Nymella Tolland

Leaping from the outcropping of rocks, Aegon angled himself perfectly to make contact with the pale blue water in an obtuse angle. Gliding through the surface with minimal splash. His hips and legs undulated and propelled him forward back to the surface, arms taking over as he swam to the edge over fifty feet away. The length of the pool was covered in mere seconds, and he finally righted himself, gasping out a breath as he rested against the side.

Claps resonated to his left. Aegon tilted his head to the side to find his cousin Ari and her ladies in waiting cheering and blowing kissy faces from their perch frolicking in the Water Gardens. Sylva Santagar was there, and her expression was rather appreciative - a sentiment the rest of them shared. Shirtless with his hard-won muscles displayed in full glory Aegon certainly made quite a sight.

He basked in the attention.

"Alright ladies, show is over," giggled Arianne, swimming towards him with a practiced breaststroke. Like her ladies, she was nude, and combined it was a glorious sight. "Seems the water brings out the best in you, cousin," she smiled.

Aegon nodded, sucking in a deep breath. "When I was young I spent a lot of time in medicinal baths, was the only thing that kept the rashes at bay. Uncle Aemon then suggested I swim in Dragonstone's coves, and I liked that even more." A shrug. "Guess the sea calls to me as much as the air."

"The Sea Dragon, they should call you. No wonder Asha Greyjoy fell into your lap." She grinned to him, even as Egg glared at her. "Anyways, have a drink with me."

Egg rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."

A shrug. "Suit yourself. You, drink please!" she called over, a young servant girl dashing forward with a tray. Accepting the drink from one of the servants, Arianne grinned at Aegon. "Seems you didn't notice her ogling you."

"What?" Egg blinked and glanced over at the girl who couldn't be any older than Rhaenys. Lo and behold, she watched him openly from over her shoulder, lip betwixt her teeth and eyes hungry. The Prince shook his head. "Ironic… been getting so many of those that I just tend to not notice them anymore."

"Please, I know you've taken at least three other girls to bed besides Lady Sylva since getting here." Arianne laughed as Aegon stuck a tongue at her. "And you didn't notice her cause you were too busy staring at my tits."

That unsettled Aegon a bit, shaking his composure - a newly won confidence. "I was not." A complete lie.

From the sparkle in her eyes, Arianne didn't believe him. "No shame in it. They are great tits, objectively speaking." His cousin arced her neck back, feet on the bottom of the pool as she cupped them alluringly. It would be enough to make a Septa lick her lips, that gesture. "Besides, for a Targaryen, admiring one's cousin is tame."

Rolling his eyes, Aegon sighed. "Fine, I admit it… must you expose them for everyone… a bit indecent?"

"I know you rather like my ladies in waiting swimming nude, cousin, and they would very much like to see yourself without that loincloth. You're embarrassing me." Her voice was in jest, however. "You are a handsome young lad, Egg, but forgive me if I say you are not my type?"

That surprised him. "Why? Because you prefer dark lovers?"

Arianne chuckled. "No, just the opposite." She looked off into the distance. "Forgive me if I am more drawn to… lighter lovers. My own skin is close to copper thanks to my mother, and your Dornish features… just don't get my cunt as wet as I'd like. Apologies, your Grace."

"Oh, shut up." Even in rejecting him, Arianne made him laugh. "So, who is your dream lover?" He thought for a moment. "If you say my kepa I will throw up."

"I won't say him…" She bit her lip. "He may be very young, but I know that once he's older and filled out, your valonqar could have me any time he asks."

"Younger brother…" his eyes widened. "You mean Jon?"

She nodded. "Aye, Prince Baelon. Mmmm…" She licked her lips, almost trying to irk him.

"Oh gross." I might just throw up after all. Luckily for those that cleaned the water he didn't, but it nevertheless drew his reaction. "Besides that, I beseech you to be careful cousin. Dany and Sans will have your tongue join Ser Ilyn's if you do seek to pursue him."

A shrug. "There's nothing treasonous about making an observation."

"Tell that to the jealous mind of two maidens in love," he jousted back. "Poor Lady Manderly attested to that when Dany sicked Syrax on her."

"You know Martells, we fear nothing. Not even dragons." A sentiment that Aegon felt was pushing the luck of his muna's family, but he said nothing, merely resting his head atop the lip of the pool and enjoying the water.

A joy that ended as a guard approached, clearing his throat. "Your Grace, your uncle requests your presence in the courtyard."

"Uncle Oberyn?"

"No, your Grace. His Highness the Prince."

Oh, so Doran wished to see him. He glanced at Ari, whose face was unreadable. "Do you know what this is about?"

"Truly I do not, cousin… my father tends to be tight-lipped." She looked to the guard. "Does he wish for me, or my brothers?" The last was said with slight trepidation.

The guard shook his head. "No, simply the presence of the Prince."

Sighing, Aegon hauled himself out of the pool, getting catcalls from Ari's ladies about his body and how he should drop his remaining strip of clothing. He answered it back by blowing a kiss to them before glancing at his cousin. "Keep them out of trouble, will you?"

Ari grinned. "It's more myself that they are keeping out of trouble."

"Of course."

He didn't take too long getting dressed. The desert heat managed to dry him off quick enough without calling Tessarion to breathe fire on his skin, while the servants had laid out his southern finery. An outfit in the Dornish style, but with the red and black accents of a proper Targaryen Prince. Both loose and befitting his standing. A grin in the mirror and he was off.

Ser Brienne waited on the other side, ready to escort him. "Tell me, Brienne. How do I look?"

She was professional, but smiled at him. "Enough to test the strength of my vows, your Grace." While he could've mentioned that Kingsguards could take paramours now, Aegon only laughed. Too many gave her the cold shoulder in the King's Landing court even though the Maiden of Tarth could battle Sandor Clegane to a standstill if she wanted to. Dorne was a perfect posting, and he admired her commitment to chivalry.

Something to keep him humble in the face of all the adoration of his muna's people.

Doran was seated when Aegon arrived in the courtyard, and several paces behind his uncle were a grouping of well-dressed highborns. "Nephew, welcome," Doran said, smiling and - with the assistance of a cane and Areo Hoteh - rose to his feet to embrace him. "Call your dragon," he murmured in Egg's ear as he kissed his cheeks. "Impress the Lords with your dragonriding skills."

Aegon nodded. It would be fun. Come girl.

"Honored Lords," Doran said, slowly guiding Aegon to them. "My nephew, his Grace Prince Aegon."

They each bowed or curtseyed. "A pleasure to meet you, your Grace," said Lord Allyrion, a noted ally of his uncle's. "I dare say the rumors spread about you are very much untrue."

His brow rose. "Rumors, aye." Likely that he was an invalid. Certainly all were eying him… quizzically. Hurry girl, they need to be taught a lesson.

'Most certainly, kepa.'

"I can say those rumors are greatly exaggerated, and false," his uncle stated. "His training has progressed well under the tutelage of those in the Red Keep and Prince Oberyn, while being among his Dornish kin truly have made him a fine specimen."

"I should hope to see how you stand on the sparring court, your Grace." That was Ser Cletus Yronwood, a rival of the Martells.

Aegon looked forward to facing him. "That can be arranged, Ser Cletus." He heard wingbeats behind. "That could be arranged."

At that moment Tessarion swooped by, her shadow cast against the courtyard. Many flinched and that many turned into all when the purple dragon slammed onto the ground and roared… well, almost all. Aegon, reaching out to stroke Tessarion's scales, noticed one woman not budging. Her stance not hostile, but firm. Unyielding. Truly Dornish.

"Do forgive Tessarion," he said pleasantly. "She tends to be a bit of a diva, don't you girl?" he asked in a cooing voice. Nuzzling the dragon's scales.

"An accomplished dragonrider as well, truly among the best Dorne has produced," Doran said, for once beaming brightly in pride. "Now, let us head back inside. A proper noontime meal awaits."

Hanging back, Aegon sidled up to the resolute woman. "You didn't flinch."

She looked to him, hazel eyes framed by bright red hair - a different shade than that of Sansa's but no less striking in its beauty. "I knew your dragon wouldn't be any danger to us."

"Is that so? I could've ordered her to burn you."

"And why would you do that? Clearly you and your uncle wished to impress us with your prowess, your Grace."

His brow rose. Aegon liked this woman already - she seemed Viserys' age or older, but with an experience to rival that of his munas. "Forgive me, my Lady, but I haven't been told your name."

"Nymella Toland," she replied, keeping up with his pace as they formed the rear of the column… well, Brienne followed a bit behind.

"Lady of Ghost Hill, now I remember."

"You would do well to recognize those Lords and Ladies of Dorne by sight, young Prince."

He grinned to her. "Believe me, I will never forget this lovely face for as long as I live." The charm felt second nature to him, and considering how many servants or courtiers of the same age or even older melted at his Valyrian good looks, he expected it.

But Lady Nymella only wrinkled her nose. "Lechery is not a good look, your Grace."

Aegon paused for a moment, blinking as Nymella kept walking. Staring at the Lady of Ghost Hill as if she sprouted two heads. Ah, a challenge. He smirked to himself, transformed from the green boy Asha climbed into the tub with. Challenge accepted.

Fire crackling behind her, Rhaenys gripped the spear in her hand as she sat upon the boulder. Before her did Nysar sniff in the snow, picking up the scent of minor rodent or something, Rhaenys didn't truly care. As long as her wolf was happy. Staving off the boredom she felt.

Above, the stars shone brightly. It was a cloudless night for once, the brightness of the moonlight illuminating the hauntingly beautiful landscape north of the Wall. She enjoyed it as much as she could, having taken watch duty while Ygritte tended to their meal - a deer the redheaded archer took down earlier that day. They had both carried it back… not after sharing a deep kiss at the providence they had by finding the deer.

Rhaenys smiled to herself. Trapped up here with no one but Nysar, she'd expected death or long captivity to follow. Finding and meeting Ygritte, inexplicable as it was, was nothing sort of miraculous. It had to be fate, the crude wildling girl having wormed her way into Rhae's heart.

They had saved each other on more than one occasion. That built a bond, damning all else. Tessarion, if you sent her into my life… thank you.

Staring at the moon, she found herself lost in thought. Joyful moments with her family, whom she prayed she could see again. Lustful memories with Torrhen and Ygritte, though increasingly that of the former was being replaced with the latter - but such happiness was also filled with snippets of other memories. The moon, color of fresh milk… she could only find herself remembering one with the same colored eyes.

It was not pleasant.

"Lord Bolton, I don't care what your explanation is."

"Your Grace… this seems hardly appropriate to discuss…"

"No, this is very appropriate." She tried her best not to shake from the anger in her gut at hearing the story of the poor girl. The plight of many in the women's court had caused Rhae's heart to break, but none moreso than the girl that had simply married someone she fell in love with. "This woman's husband now rots in your dungeons for simply getting married. The right of first night has been illegal for over two centuries, you know."

Roose Bolton stared at her. "I take it that she never accused me of demanding that."

Rhaenys glowered. He was very much pushing his luck, voice irritated but milk-grey eyes giving away nothing. "She hasn't, but you're punishing her nonetheless."

"I am her Lord. She should not have married without my consent."

"Marriage is marriage, it's not in your purview, but that of the gods. You will release her husband at once and pay him fifty silver stags for his trouble."

For the longest time they stared at each other before Roose finally bowed. "At once, your Grace."

"Hey, Princess." Rhaenys shook, startled out of her musings to find her new lover looking down at her. "Ye' look like yer' thinkin' hard." Ygritte sidled up to her, sitting on the boulder and rubbing their sides together. A grin danced as she bit her lower lip seductively - nothing compared to the women of the King's Landing court, but somehow more alluring in how genuine she was. "Hope yer' thinkin' about what I'm gonna do to you tonight."

Rhaenys snorted, smirking a bit. She did look attractive, face flush from tending the fire and leaving her pale cheeks rather rosy. "Down girl," she murmured, nevertheless allowing Ygritte to push aside the collar of fur to kiss her neck. "Mayhaps now I'm thinking it."

"Mmmm… and not before? I'm hurt."

"Please, it takes more than that to hurt you."

"True." Wrapping her arms around Rhaenys, Ygritte merely stayed there. The two enjoying this impromptu embrace. "Food'll be ready soon. Just wanted some company."

"I shan't deny it to you," Rhae replied, kissing the crown of her red hair only to stare back at the moon and stars. It was peaceful here, in the True North. I understand what she says about freedom. There was no worries here about appearance or tact, just the two of them and Nysar. Mayhaps that was why their relationship had seemed to grow overnight. Without all those other worries, it seemed preordained they'd fall into affection and intimacy.

Something that wouldn't last once they got to Castle Black. Much would need to be figured out then, not all of it for the better, but Rhaenys put it off as much as she could.

"Wanna know what I'm thinking about?"

"If you'd like, but try not to be too boring."

She smacked Ygritte's shoulder. "Shut it," but both ended up chuckling. "It's a long story."

Ygritte made to rise. "Then let's get our food. Might as well hear it while eating. So that's what they did. With Nysar nibbling on the head and neck with her sharp teeth, Rhaenys ate slowly and told the story - apart from a few interruptions with questions on the context, Ygritte listened quietly. Her face unreadable till the end. "If you ask me, that Roose Bolton is a cunt."

Rhaenys laughed at that. "That's the sentiment of my Stark relatives - but he's very competent, especially in battle."

"Yeah, that's not necessarily mutually exclusive." Ygritte bit off a chunk of flesh and chewed it, trickles of juice running down her chin. "I think…" She swallowed. "I think he could be the one that got that little cunt to jump you."

Her eyes widened. "Surely you jest."

"Princess, I could've gotten away and saved me all the trouble by lettin' ya' die, but I saved yer' life. Why would I fuckin' jest." Rhaenys appreciated her bluntness, but rolled her eyes. "Dunno why I think so, but I've grown with many a man who doesn't like his cock cut off by a woman, especially a young woman. Sounds like he took a slight."

"Still, I doubt even he would stoop that far."

A shrug. "Fine, that's just the suggestion of a spearwife from the arse-end of the world." Rhaenys peered at her. "What? That's what you call it, don't you?"

"Sometimes," Rhaenys shrugged, only to smirk. Eager not to talk about Roose Bolton anymore. "I found the arses up here aren't so bad."

Now Ygritte was smiling again. "The arse of the Lord of Bones, then?"

Rhaenys groaned. "Only thing I wanted to do with that arse was to shove a sword up it. Now yours on the other hand… something else of mine is going into it."

"Oooh, I'd like the sound of that." Nestled under the furs of their sleeping bags but a few minutes later, Rhaenys did her best to show Ygritte what exactly she meant. From the new sounds leaving her lips, the Princess succeeded.

Eyes opening as the shudders finally began to ease themselves, Aegon panted, feeling a bit out of breath. He looked down at the young man underneath him, his breaths equally labored and fast. "Gods," spoke Maron, barely able to talk. "You truly are a dragon."

Chuckling, Aegon eased himself out of the tight grip and rolled off to the side, resting on his back with his hands behind his head. "Some say differently."

"Well they would be fools."

"Many have said that as well." He looked over at his lover, who looked completely exhausted. "That was rather enjoyable," Aegon deadpanned, smiling in Maron's direction. "Mayhaps we should…do it again."

Maron grinned at him. "My Prince…you're insatiable. Have mercy upon this poor smallfolk and his abused arse."

A shrug. "I suppose I could call upon Lady Sylva to join us."

"No, not her. She may seem delicate but she's a bitch to the servants," Maron scrunched his nose, turning over on his side to face Aegon - scooting closer to his lover and turned on his side to drape an arm across his abdomen. Aegon accepted the gesture and wrapped an arm around him. "If you want a girl to join us, the Fowler twins are pretty lecherous. Your cousin Princess Arianne pretty much would be up for anything."

A snort. "Ari, please. She prefers my brother Baelon to myself."

"Hmmm… Prince Baelon." There was a dreamy look in Maron's eyes, earning him a thump from the annoyed silver-haired Prince. "I jest, I jest. I prefer my men with a little color to the skin." Aegon felt fingers brushing his cock, causing him to groan. However, soon did Maron cease. His hand still remained where it was, but didn't move. "Or mayhaps you found one that truly has caught your fancy since you parted with Lady Greyjoy, my Prince?"

Aegon took a deep breath and sighed. "Aye, there's one… a woman a bit older than me. Lady Nymella Tolland."

Maron whistled. "Nymella Tolland. You dragons sure like a challenge. Be lucky I'm not a jealous lover."

"Do you know about her?"

"She's pretty notorious. Married young to one of the landed knights by Prince Doran and had two daughters - one seven and the other four - but he died shortly after her second daughter was born. Many suspect poison."

"Was he an arsehole?"

"Reportedly a child buggerer."

"No loss, what else?"

A shrug. "She's rejected all marriage offers since. The Ghost of Ghost Hill, they call her, which is a shame because she's very beautiful." He cocked his head up at Aegon, still stroking the Prince's cock. "Did she turn you down?"

"Didn't even get to that point."

"I see…" The lad thought for a moment. "Women like that tend to respond better if you talk to them one on one. I know for a fact through a kitchenhand I know that she likes to take a walk near the orange grove."

"Orange grove?"

"Yeah, few like to go there but the servants. Makes for a secluded spot. Mayhaps you can go there and wait for her in the evening."

Aegon nodded. "Tomorrow. My plate is full tonight." With that he pounced, and the fun resumed.

Taking Maron's words to heart, Aegon sat beneath one of the orange trees the next evening, waiting patiently for Lady Toland to arrive. His lover was not wrong. Away from the swimming pools, flowers, and athletic courts, only an errant kitchen servant or two showed up to disturb his solitude. They picked oranges and didn't even notice him, silver hair shrouded by the wide straw hat he wore. "What Prince would they imagine wearing a straw hat?" he asked himself, chuckling. His muna likely would've freaked at how… unrefined he looked.

It worked for his great-grandfather - now it worked for him. Baelon and Dany could use one in Essos.

So relaxed he ended up that it wasn't till he heard a gentle humming that he looked up… and saw her. Aegon's mouth went dry at the sight of Nymella Toland. If she had been a striking beauty before, she was… something else now. Carefree and smiling, she wore a lime green dress in the Dornish style - oh how Aegon loved Dornish dresses on girls. Exposing their skin and accentuating curves so lusciously. Nymella's didn't go to the lengths of Arianne, but combined with her free red hair and the gentle smile on her face, it simply made her stunning.

Aegon hadn't seen a more beautiful woman since Asha. With that, he sprang to his feet and put on his best grin - one that he recently found could make a woman melt. Thank you, Asha. "Good evening, my Lady."

At his words Nymella jumped, face contorted in fear… only to notice it was merely Aegon. Fear changed to annoyance before her mask went up. "Your Grace."

He chuckled. "My apologies for startling you. People usually notice my approach."

"Quite, my Prince. I can believe that."

Frowning, Aegon approached. Growing close, he noticed she was holding herself back. Eyes planted on the ground. "As your Prince, I can promise you that anything you say to me will be just between us."

"I don't know what you mean, my Prince."

"Please, Lady Nymella. I know you're intelligent as you are beautiful. Speak frankly with me." She looked up and met his eyes. "I can make it a royal command if you like."

With a sigh, suddenly the annoyance spread on her face. "You're here just to see me, aren't you?"

Aegon resumed his grin. "Am I that obvious?" He laughed, picking an orange from the tree. "You do have the right idea. A walk in this secluded place is beautiful."

"A walk, aye." Nymella crossed her arms. "A walk I take so I can be by myself, not accosted by lecherous boys as a young widow would be everywhere else."

"Ach, you wound me, my Lady." Aegon clasped his breast, as if struck there. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Nymella roll hers. "Is talking to me truly such an ordeal?" Circling her, damn him if her beauty wasn't close to irresistible. A redheaded version of Ashara Dayne.

Her glare was murderous. "The greatest ordeal since by your reputation, you only wish to add me to your list of conquests."

"They are not conquests, my Lady." Perching against one of the trees, he angled his head down, only for his eyes to flicker up to her - a gesture he'd seen his uncle use all the time to charm women. Even after being together for so long, the expression made his aunt Ellaria melt. "I can assure you that none of those girls ever left my chambers with any complaints."

Nymella snorted, almost disgusted. "Typical. You're no sadist or pig, but you are arrogant - which shocked me because I know of your health… issues." Aegon said nothing, so she continued. "A giggling maiden might find your charms irresistible, but I am a woman grown."

"Ask the attendants to my cousin. All of them are about your age and they rather enjoyed my company - it was at the same time." He smirked, but internally… aye, he had been working his way through the Water Gardens pretty blatantly. Not that he was truly guilty about it but… mayhaps the attention was getting to me. He was sounding like a less bitter Viserys, which was not a good look.

For her part, Nymella was close to steaming. "You are a crude, shallow young man. Punish me if you will, but I won't drop my smallclothes and let you fuck me, Prince Aegon. I am no whore nor am I a weak woman." With that she turned and attempted to walk away.

"Wait." Aegon, not wishing to be parted of her company, grabbed her wrist. When she swiveled around to confront him, he backed up with his hands raised. "Apologies - I truly wish to talk." One did not merely 'talk' to a woman that looked like Nymeria Tolland, but to put her at ease Aegon was willing not to try and pierce her with his cock for the purpose of speaking with her.

Nymella crossed her arms. "Alright, my Prince. What is it that you'd like to discuss?"

Now that he had her attention… Aegon was drawing blank. "Um… so… you're from Ghost Hill?"

Brow rising, suddenly Nymella laughed. "Oh." She placed her fingers on her mouth to stifle the giggles. "Apologies myself, but that was amusing. You did all of this and that was the only line you had?"

"Well, you distract me with your beauty."

Thankfully, she was smiling. "As long as that is all you say, I shall take that as a compliment, my Prince." In spite of their age gap, she talked to him as one would an equal. Aegon saw the same with Lord Garlan and his wife Lady Melissa, and appreciated it here. "Yes, I am from Ghost Hill… and yes, I love being there and living there. If it were up to me I'd never leave my lands."

"Interesting, then why are you here?"

That drew a frown, a sad one. "I came to petition Prince Doran for coin… and soldiers. Pirates have been plundering my lands and killing the smallfolk under my care."

"Pirates? The royal fleet dealt with most of them years ago."

"Ordinary scum we could handle. These were organized, like an army - burned everything down and stole the rest away… then ambushed my banners. It was brutal." She shook her head. "And your uncle hasn't given me an audience."

"Well, you have an audience with me." He watched her eyes widen, and saw an opening. "In fact, I think I should inspect the damage myself."

That made her eyes widen even more. "But, to get to Ghost Hill is a week-long ride…" She was interrupted by a far-off roar… then a second one getting closer. She gasped in realization. "No, I am not riding on that lizard."

"Fastest way to get there," Aegon grinned.

"For you, perhaps. You were raised a Targaryen - in spite of your Dornish mother, Queen Elia embraced their ways. You know little of ours."

"Hmm." Aegon shook his head. "Never took you for a coward." When she glared at him, Aegon knew he had her hooked.

Had she been asked only moons before, Missandei would've said that the slave pens of the auction house to be how she pictured hell… or hells. The filth on the ground, the rusty chains used to keep the slaves in pens, the lack of food or working privies that contributed to the first issue. It was the stuff of nightmares for the girl that had grown up knowing not but freedom and an idyllic peace in Naath.

That was her answer, but the answer had changed. For the younger Missandei had never known Astapor.

A name on a map, but one to her synonymous with hell on earth.

To the untrained eye, one of the many glorious port cities of the old Ghiscari Empire and later the Valyrian Freehold was an oasis in the middle of the desert. High walls had long since become almost ornamental with statues and gilded towers, joined in such by the wealthy neighborhoods and gardens filled with all sorts of exotic greenery and fauna. Jutting out into Slaver's was the Great Citadel, topped with a massive statue of the Glorious Harpy. A patron goddess of the Ghiscari people - and thought to have been a real species long since destroyed by the dragons of Valyria - the statue could be seen for miles and served as a demonstration to the majesty of the Good Masters of Astapor.

But all was simply a front. A glittering veneer to hide the rot within. For Astapor was a city run by exploitation and bondage. Run on the backs of slaves, a miserable sort of exploitation.

Missandei saw it first hand, even from her residence in the Great Citadel itself. "Head down," hissed her handler, an older and graceful house slave with a collar of felt - inlaid with a few rubies. Such spoke to favored status, one of the few in her new master's household. "A lowly cow like you is lower than all but rats."

She had long since grown fluent in the Ghiscari dialect of Bastard Valyrian - Ghiscari itself was still touchy for Missandei, but it wasn't spoken in the palace… Especially the household of Kraznys mo Nakloz. The slaves were expected to speak Valyrian, among other things. Missandei could, but the others quite illiterate were unable to at the worst of times.

Many crosses bearing broken and tortured slaves littered the causway towards the palace as a result. "Do not look at them, do not even give them any sign you think them more than dirt," her guardian stated firmly. But Missandei could see under her fearsome exterior was a disguised terror. Every slave had it, from her to the lowliest laborer.

And soon, Missandei has it too.

Those masters of Volantis could be cruel or kind, but all tended to be rather recognizable. Not so in Astapor. So dependent was it on slavery that aside from sword-armed guards, not a single person in the citadel with less than obvious wealth or prestige was without a collar. The Good Masters were obvious - men in flowing robes of linen or silk, often bald and with jeweled rings in their ears or brows. They laughed and bantered together, seeing their slaves as nothing but furniture.

Except for women of course. Missandei quickly could tell the mistresses from the slaves by more than just the collars. The former were gaudily dressed in jewels and silks but rather conservatively. Those older than mere maidens were reserved and all treated female slaves with contempt. As for the latter…

"Why are they so made up?" she asked one day of her guardian, pointing to a group of slaves striding around with… well, what was arrogance for an Astapori slave.

Stupid question. "They're pleasure slaves, like you will be, foolish cow."

Missandei burned in embarrassment, for it was obvious on second look. They were skimpy in dress, their collars styled with black leather and faces covered in paint. Each showed as much skin as possible and exaggerated their movements when greeted by any freeborn. Especially their own masters or mistresses.

Some were no older than Missandei, or even younger. That would unsettle her, except for the simple fact…

"Master Kraznys doesn't have any pleasure slaves."

"You're his."

"But where are the others?"

"He only has one."

That didn't help her confusion, especially since she was dressed the same as any young Astapori girl… outfits that even were more suited for someone five years younger. "I'm not dressed the same, mistress."

That was the first time she looked upon Missy with anything not derisive or annoyed. It held… pity. "Kraznys… his tastes are not normal. He delights in corruption. In the innocence of a young girl being stripped away by his depravity." Missandei felt her blood go cold in that moment. "If your wits remain and you do not break, he keeps you. If not…" The crosses outside needed no further mention.

It took all her will to ask another question. "Have," she croaked. "Have any survived."

Her guardian's expression was sad. "One." That was that.

Let back into her chambers, as soon as the door was shut Missandei made for her chamber pot. What little food she had been served was voided into it, the dry heaves wracking her body in painful spasms. She shook long after, numb. Hot tears coursing down her eyes.

The gods had been lucky to her, providence to grant her a mistress that didn't seek to have her just flowered cunt sold to the highest bidder… only she did, and now the days counted by before she'd lose the last bit of hersel left - her maidenhood.

But she had prepared for this. Stolen from the kitchens and hidden under her dress, a thick monstrosity that Ghiscari children wore, the knife was not large but it would do. Never would she see her native land again. Her parents and sister likely butchered in the raid, aunt sold off to be raped by her Volentine masters… only the gods knew where her friends had gone.

"They likely forgot me… I am a slave, I am nothing to them." It would be easy, to slit her wrists. To deny the loathsome Kraznys her body and die with dignity. Missandei raised the knife, slowly going for her wrists…

Only for the blade to merely touch her dark skin. Her hand shook, but was unable to finish. Unable to do the deed.

Why? Even she didn't know. Fear, foolish hope… or something else entirely.

Knife forgotten, Missandei threw herself on the bed and wept. Praying to the Valyrian gods, whom her friends had worshiped, that a miracle would save her. A miracle she nevertheless knew was impossible.