Chapter 35: Manumission
By the gods, it was cold.
Rhaenys thought she had known cold in Winterfell. The Wall had proved her wrong. She thought she had known cold at the Wall. The True North proved her wrong. She thought she had known cold in the True North.
But this, this right now proved all of her suppositions wrong. "A Dornishwoman wasn't meant to be in this cold," she mumbled, working at the straps of her armor.
A deep, throaty chuckle made her entire body seem to relax. "And here am I, thinking you were a dragon."
Smirk dancing at her lips, Rhaenys felt two hands touch her shoulders. A gentle touch, one that set her neck tingling even though protected by Valyrian steel chainmail. "Such is quite worse. We are warm, but prefer the warmth to the cold." She chuckled. "Not all of us have the wolfsblood, dear valonqar."
Rhaenys turned her head to the side just as the face of her brother Baelon attempted to do the same. "Mayhaps it is my duty then to keep you warm."
Her innocent look belied her not so innocent desires. He had always been a beautiful boy, but age had hardened him into essentially perfection. He looked completely a man, a Valyrian dragonlord but for his dark hair.
"How can any woman resist such an offer?" The raven hair only made him more irresistible, lips meeting each other in a heady kiss.
Baelon's hands yanked her up from the chair, kiss growing more desperate as she wrapped her arms around him. Their armor clinking together - hers was a mix of plate and chainmail while his was pure plate, the Targaryen dragon emblazoned proudly on both.
Both without the purity of Valyrian blood, yet Valyrian all in the same.
"BWAARM! BWAARM!"
She pulled back from him, suddenly paling. Her eyes widening as his narrowed.
"BWAARM! BWAARM!"
"Are they here?" Rhaenys murmured.
He nodded. "Let's get to the others." Rhaenys' features hardened as she went for her glaive propped against the wall. Behind her, Baelon sheathed two swords, one with a wolf's head pommel and one with a twin dragon crossguard.
The third boom didn't surprise her. "BWAARM! BWAARM!"
Eyes shooting open, the first thing that Rhaenys registered was a cool hand enclosing her fingers. "Don't you fuckin' die on me, Princess." Ygritte. That stilled her pounding heart. "I ain't gonna lose ye' just when I found ye'."
"Y… y…" she tried to speak, finding her tongue both dry and sticky as her words mumbled into nothingness.
A gasp. "Princess… yer' awake, thank the gods!" A soft pair of lips pressed to her forehead, and that made Rhaenys smile.
Until what had been a modest weight upon her stomach turned into the most intense shooting pain of her life. "Fuck!" That truly came out. "What the fuck is that…!" Her words shifted into an incoherent mess of Valyrian profanity as she tried to shoot up, arms flailing as she tried to push whatever was stabbing into her stomach.
Only her weakened state failed her, arms barely able to rise while a single hand of Ygritte's on her shoulder kept Rhaenys down. "Please, be still, love. Let her work."
"Let… let who…?" Her head still felt groggy, especially as Rhaenys tried to exert herself. "What…?" Blinking, trying to focus her eyes in spite of the haze that the pain was causing in her, gritting her teeth, Rhaenys noticed a hunched figure over her stomach. "Who are you?"
The figure's head turned, revealing a little girl through Rhae's glassy eyes. "I'm Leaf."
"Leaf?" Strange name.
"Aye." She bit her lip. "Gave us quite a scare there… usually a shadowcat's claws kill instantly but you're a tough one."
"But… what are you doing… here alone?" Leaf bit her lip and turned back to the wound, grabbing something to the side and sprinkling it into the open wound. Finally the searing pain managed to lessen as if by magic, and her vision cleared. Enough to see that this girl wasn't just some child lost north of the Wall or separated from her family.
No, she was something else entirely, something out of a nightmare, or perhaps a dream. 'Leaf' had skin the dark brown of frostbitten fingers yet without the necrotic pallor, more soft as silk to the eye. Upon the skin were dapplings of darker spots like a deer, head framed by large, pointed ears. As she rummaged in her pack, the exposed hands - red with Rhaenys' blood - only had three fingers and a thumb, all clawed though they looked filed down.
"What are you?" Rhaenys murmured.
The creature looked to Rhae with slitted, mossy green eyes. "I am a child."
"A child of the forest, my love." Ygritte pecked her cheek, stroking the back of her palm with her thumb.
Gaping, Rhaenys could only recall the stories her muna told her of the Long Night. Of the pact made between the children and the first men, destroyed once the Andals invaded and drove them away. "You're… you're just a myth. A legend," she stammered.
Leaf gave Rhaenys a sidelong look - quite surreal as to such a human expression in what was akin to a beast. "I can assure you, I am quite real… and saving your life." Some language Rhaenys didn't understand came from her mouth, murmured as she ran her hands along Rhae's wound.
"What happened to me?" the Princess moaned.
"Shadowcat," Ygritte answered. Rhae closed her eyes, the memories hazy… aye, a shadowcat. While Rhae had speared it and cut at it with her blade, its paws had swiped her. Ygritte seemed fine, but… "Where's Nysar?!" She was panicking.
Behind, a shifting pillow made herself known as a long tongue licked up her forehead. "Comforting you," Leaf mused. "A fierce creature, and very providential. We are told not to interact with men, but one that can bond with a direwolf is an exception to me."
"You… you joined the fight…" Rhaenys remembered a blur that leapt on the beast just before she slipped into unconsciousness.
A nod. "Aye, you and the archer would've failed in subduing it. No fire, and no dragonglass."
"Dragonglass?" She moaned and shifted, the pain starting to return.
"She needs to sleep while I finish this. Ygritte, give her the draught."
"No… must awake…"
But Ygritte soothed her, kissing her lips. "Rest, Princess. You must heal." A cooling mixture was brought to her throat and Rhaenys drank it down in sips. Soon, a wonderful blackness collected her in its gentle embrace…
"Your Grace," began Ser Gerion as he admitted both Jon and Ser Arthur into the guest chambers that belonged to him. "I trust you've found yourself comfortable?"
"Physically, yes," Jon replied cryptically. That he had seen out of the corner of his eye coming in a slave being whipped by a well-dressed man did not make him comfortable in the other ways that counted. "Ser Arthur tells me it was a surprise for him to see you in Astapor of all places, Ser Gerion."
The golden-haired brother of Tywin Lannister nodded. "Aye. Didn't wish to do it myself, especially leaving Joy."
Ah, Joy Hill, his daughter. A quiet but charming girl, one of his aunt Myrcella's best friends. "How is she by the way?" Jon heard Arthur ask. "I recall before leaving that his Grace was considering a legitimization request."
Gerion smiled. "That request was granted. She is Lady Joy Lannister, and I am quite proud."
"As you should be," Jon smiled, leaning against a column. "Yet I am still baffled as to why you would be sent to Astapor. We have little trade with Slaver's Bay, and if it weren't for Daenerys and Sansa's friend I wouldn't be here." It had been the first thing they had told Gerion by way of explanation. The Lannister knight had been completely understanding.
He ran a hand through his hair. "About that… How much do you know of what happened since you were gone?"
Jon blinked. "Not much, to be honest."
Gerion bit his lip. "There was an attempted poisoning made on your father."
"What!" Jon's face contorted in horror - only the word 'attempted' kept him from falling apart. "Is he alright?"
The nod from Gerion was a balm to his heart. "Aye. There were deaths, notably Lord Blackwood and my brother's paramour, but the young heir to Hornhill saved his Grace in the nick of time."
"I should see to it that I thank this lad personally." He'd give him half of Dragonstone for this. "Did they find who it was?"
Gerion sighed. "They suspect that House Blackfyre has reemerged from extinction."
Arthur blinked. "House Blackfyre? Ser Barristan killed the last one."
"Of the male, not the female line," Gerion countered. "Things are worrisome to the Small Council, and when several of our ships were captured by pirates and the captain - a highborn of the Stormlands - was located here in Astapor, my brother wished that I come here. Fortuitous, no, that you came at the same time?"
"Aye," Jon agreed. "Better chance we get to the bottom of this and save my friend." No arguments between the three there.
Arriving into the private guest chambers that Gerion had seen to that they were provided by their Astapori hosts - there were plenty in the massive citadel palace - Baelon found his aunt and cousin… instead of lounging around among the plush luxury, they were both on the balcony. Dressed in the gossamer silks of Essos. He stilled for a moment, gulping.
Daella, his Lysene beauty and first love, had opened his eyes to feminine beauty. Contextualized the looks his uncle gave his aunt Cersei. The looks his munas and kepa gave each other - that made him shudder - and seeing the bare upper backs of his aunt and cousin…
He couldn't deny that both were beautiful. That… did he want them like he did Daella? I mean, all three of us are so close?
"Jon?" He blinked and found a pair of violet eyes looking at him with warmth. "How long have you been there?" Sansa turned that moment too, adding grey eyes to the calculation.
He swallowed. "Um, just enjoying the view." Not wrong, but he hoped he wasn't blushing.
The girls looked to the harbor, to the sunset off to the west. "Aye, it is beautiful," Sansa replied, only to shake her head. "It's wasted on this vile place."
He sighed, walking to the balcony and opening his arms. It was but a moment before both his aunt and cousin were hugging him close. Jon closed the embrace about them tightly. "It is brutal, looking at it." The crucifixions were… sick. "We execute men for stealing or murder or rape, but never so brutally, and I doubt these poor souls have committed actual crimes."
Dany nodded. "I've talked to some of the servants here, ones that actually talk." Jon was sure that most slaves weren't rather chatty. "The 'crimes' causing death rate from mere insubordination to tardiness. Human life means nothing here." She nuzzled his shoulder. "And that witch sold Missy here."
"Dany, please," Sansa begged. "She will be fine, and we will find her?"
"Is that what you think, or what you merely wish to think?" Her tone wasn't biting, but resigned. "She's been here for weeks without us, who knows what those monsters have done to a young, pretty girl such as her…"
Jon squeezed the small of her back. "Dany, stop." His words were firm, and she quieted down. Looking at him with sad eyes. "We can't afford to think of that. We'll deal with reality when it comes, but for now she's fine and we will find her."
"Jon…"
"She's fine and we will find her. Understood?"
Dany bit her lip… and nodded. "Thank you," she whispered, kissing his chin. Jon… tried not to groan.
Guiding them both inside, he made sure both Sansa and Dany sat. Sansa shared one of the fluffy couches with him while Dany took the adjacent padded chair. For a small girl such as her, the cushions seemed to swallow her up and it made him smile. "Ser Gerion will bring us to his audience with the Good Masters tomorrow. We can request Missandei be given to us… but can only make that request as the Crown Prince and Princess of House Targaryen and a Lady of House Stark."
Sansa seemed to understand. "Means our identity in Essos will be outed. And we won't be able to travel incognito anymore under our assumed names." When Jon nodded, she sighed. "Bellegere kept our secret, as did Lady Shienna, Althor, and Baelgora. The Good Masters of Astapor won't be so loyal to us."
Dany shook her head. "I don't care if we have to go home, if we have to stop this. Missandei is worth ending our little adventure."
"And you'll enjoy being able to rule over everyone again, and not just me," Jon chuckled.
While she tried to glare, Dany ended up chuckling too. "Such a somber moment, and yet you make me laugh. Why is that your godly power, Baelon Targaryen?"
"It's a bit strange," Sansa giggled. "His tendency to brood is at war with his tendency to strut around confidently as if he were… well, the Crown Prince."
He shrugged. "I am sure you love me this way, aunt. Cousin." Now he watched them both blush.
Plopping onto the bed, Nymella kept her eyes closed as the wandering hands of the men that had carried her from the great hall finally left. Their jeers and whistles fading till all she could here were feminine cries. Still she kept her eyes closed, not wanting to ruin the wonderful day and evening with such intruders.
Adventurous she might be, but this was her wedding night. Only the one she loved was the one she wished to see in her new bedchamber.
Finally, the door shut and there was not a sound but the crackling fire and another's heavy breathing. "Nymella."
His voice drew her eyes open and she grinned. "My Prince," she murmured. Her clothes were ripped in all the right places - only a shrug of her shoulders found it pooling off her and leaving her naked for him. "Come here, and lose the clothes."
Silver hair flowing back, he advanced on her. A playful smile about his lips as that sculpted body and magnificent cock… oh, she wanted it inside of her. "You're stunning."
"You're beautiful," she replied, reaching out to tug him upon her. "Don't make me wait, just take me." Nymella gasped when his cock entered her, gripping his back with her nails. Biting his golden-olive skin with her sharp teeth as his cock stretched her so deliciously…
Groaning, Nymella Tolland spasmed around the twin fingers shoved up her cunt. Her legs were spread as if a wanton whore, tendrils of pleasure shining out like sunlight through a morning window as her palm brushed against her swollen nub. "Fuck…" She bit her lip, back arching. Riding out her orgasm with eyes shut and orange-red color dancing behind her lids.
Cream soaked her hands, and though conscious she continued to pleasure herself harder and harder to work out as much as she could.
Finally it was over, and she collapsed back onto the pillow. The hand not deep inside her going to still her beating heart. Gods, the thin covers had been thrown off while those below were soaked from both her sweat and cum.
"The fuck was that?" she murmured, finally finding enough energy to flip over in the large bed of the Lady of Ghost Hill… and find the covers cold and empty as usual. Nymella sighed.
Though when it had been warm long ago, she rather didn't enjoy the snoring, boorish presence of the man that had fathered her beautiful daughters. To say her intimate life while he had been around, a knight chosen by her father as sufficient to marry but not dominate his only heir, was lacking would be an understatement.
The only good thing about her to him was that she was young. Nymella shuddered at the memories, thankful he was dead. Her daughters didn't need that in their lives.
Cheek nuzzled into her pillow, the dream was brought back to her memory as the first tendrils of the sun appeared through the curtains. It had been a favorite of hers ever since being a woman flowered. In the days when all a Dornish girl wished to be was Elia Martell. Being wed to the gorgeous Targaryen Crown Prince that was Rhaegar. He had toured Dorne with his new bride and left thousands of broken hearts just from sight.
Nymella had been one of them, and her dreams reflected it.
But this man in her dream was not Rhaegar, even if a Targaryen. She knew the identity, but wished not to dwell on it.
"Mi'Lady," said her maid from beyond the door. "May I come in to draw your bath?"
She sighed and drew up the covers - modest for a Dornishwoman. "Come in." Best time to get dressed, and she certainly felt dirty.
An hour later Nymella emerged from her chambers. Whatever signs of her private debauchery were nonexistent, scrubbed and brushed away by the bath and her handmaidens. A simple gold necklace with an emerald dangling from it was the only jewelry she needed, perfectly positioned at the bodice of her green and gold dress. It went to her ankles but was light and flowy. Covering up everything indecent but still sleeveless and comfortable.
She was modest, but didn't intend to die of heatstroke.
By now the keep was bustling about, servants bowing to her. Nymella flagged one of them down. "Go find Prince Aegon in his chambers and tell him I will wait for him in the private dining hall," she said, sure he'd be sleeping the morning away.
"But his Grace is already awake, mi'Lady." That surprised her. "He is in the inner courtyard, training. Would you like me to…"
"No, I'll handle it."
Sure enough there he was training with the young master-at-arms of the keep. Training shirtless she noticed immediately. Silver hair tied up in a bun, his muscles rippled as he attacked with his training blade. Aggressive in his movements but also very economical. No tourney knight was he.
Ser Aegon Targaryen had been trained by warriors to be a warrior, and it showed.
"Yes… please." She moaned like a bitch in heat, rolling her hips as his violet eyes shone down on her. "Fuck a Prince in me…"
Nymella blushed where she stood, glad she was on the sidelines. Youthful though he was and a few years away from proper maturity, he was still as beautiful as his father had been, but with the Dornish skin tone of his mother. Nymella liked that, a proper blend of familiar and exotic. As the spar ended and the master-at-arms bowed to the Prince, his appreciative gaze showed it wasn't just her that thought so.
"Lady Nymella." She blinked, revealing him looking right at her. "Seems I did have an audience, Ser."
"That you did, my Prince."
"Tell me, did you enjoy, my Lady?"
Flustered a bit, Nymella composed herself. "Simply surprised at your skill, that you eschew the cumbersome showmanship of a tourney knight."
Aegon shrugged. "That won't help you in battle. My uncle taught me that."
"Prince Oberyn?"
"No, Benjen Stark… though I'm sure Uncle Oberyn would concur."
Right, Queen Lyanna is his mother too. Nymella needed to remember that, lest she offend him. Unlike rejecting his advances for her to become just another notch in his belt, such insults were truly counterproductive. "I would simply be here to ask if you wish to break your fast with me… as my guest of course."
He grinned, which made her scowl. "An offer I cannot refuse." He extended his arm out for her. Politely, she took it, even though she wanted to berate him. "So where are your lovely daughters this morning?"
"They're still asleep, though I hope they'll join us soon." Nymella narrowed her eyes. "You will behave… my Prince."
"Why wouldn't I?" He smiled. "I'm no brute, Lady Nymella."
"Men tend to be so when around beautiful women."
"But not priceless works of art." Aegon grinned again, which caused Nymella to roll her eyes. Could he be more cheesy? "I've been thinking though?"
She scowled. "Careful, your Grace."
He snorted. "Not of that, but the damage to your lands." This did Nymella listen to. "I think it's the work of… Euron Greyjoy." He almost spat at the name.
Nymella didn't begrudge him of that. "Lord Euron, the fugitive traitor?" She shuddered. "He hasn't been seen in years."
"I know, but this is more… intricate than a mere pirate or bandit. He's known for that - I'll have my uncle garrison the costal keeps with at least three hundred men each."
"Will that be enough?"
"It'll be enough till Tessarion gets there." The dragon took that moment to roar from the sky, and suddenly Nymella felt much safer.
"Mmmmm… my beautiful Prince…"
And that safety was a double-edged sword at times.
With a satisfied sigh, Sansa Stark affixed the direwolf pin she had not used since they had left Gulltown long before. Gazing in the mirror with a smile on her face. "Ah, much better," she beamed. However fun it was to travel incognito with Jon and Dany, by the gods it felt wonderful to finally be able to be a Stark in the open again.
If there was nothing else she had pride over, it was being a Stark.
Standing from the vanity table, she looked over herself in the floor-length polished silver mirror - clearly a priceless antique. Bathed head to toe in the opulent fixtures of the Astapori palace, she looked as stylish as her mother would insist, but the clothes picked for her did not match that of the North in the slightest.
Sansa looked completely different. Her outfit was of a mix of dull blue and grey, but her shoulders were bare. It felt… quite peculiar given she was now in a formal occasion, showing off skin both there and underneath her neckline just above her breastbone. The flair of the sea-blue outer skirt parted to reveal the grey inner dress of a much lighter material. It made her rosy cheeks blush the same color as her let down hair.
Gods, she felt so… exposed and naughty. Much like the whores in Caelia's brothel. Well, perhaps not that far.
Such a form-fitting, thin dress showed something else that made Sansa… if not scared then quite intrigued. While it felt like a whirlwind, her sneaking out of Winterfell had been many moons ago. Her nameday had passed without her even realizing it - Dany and Jon had, celebrating aboard ship two days before reaching Astapor - and with that came something that made Sansa blush again.
The dress accentuated a pair of budding breasts. Still small, but promising to grow. Her hips were beginning to flair outward and her waist inward, a perfect set of curves that would rival her mama's one day. Mama is so glamorous, and they say my blood mother was beautiful too. It was nervous, but also exciting.
A knock on the door interrupted her musings. "Come in." It could only be a few people… and when she caught a blur of silver-hair she knew it was Dany. "Is it time…" Sansa turned but stopped mid-sentence. Eyes widening. "Dany… You look… great."
It was true. Fate had been kind to the more petite Daenerys Targaryen, only a moon older than Sansa was. Her waist and hips had developed even more, and while her breasts were smaller they fit her frame so deliciously - it didn't help that Dany's dress was pure white, pleated and with sleeveless bands that met in a 'v' at a choker about her lower neck. A three-headed dragon pin was affixed to one of the bands. Sansa had to fight to keep from licking her lips, and all that steadied her was that Dany seemed to mirror her expression.
"You… look beautiful, Sans," was the reply, and it made them both blush. "And aye, we're ready."
"Is… Jon ready?" Sansa asked, receiving a nod. "Alright then, let's not keep them waiting.
Damn the gods, for why did Jon have to look just as handsome as Dany did beautiful? A proper Targaryen prince with that mop of dark hair just like his dragon? If his eyes widened at them, he hid it well. Gods, she hoped he was hiding it. "Our direwolves stay with us," he told them both.
It steadied Sansa, ruffling Lady's fur. "Aye." She walked to Ser Arthur and Ser Gerion - it steadied her as well to see Arthur in his regalia as well. A sense of normalcy in the midst of this atrocity.
The audience hall was as garish as the rest of the palace, decked in the sorts of bas reliefs and golden gilt that they thought rivaled Old Ghiscar at its height. "Allow me to do the speaking, your Grace," Sansa heard Gerion say to Jon.
Jon shook his head. "You will introduce me, but it is myself, Princess Daenerys, and Lady Sansa that will speak." Gerion nodded in understanding.
Attention directed to the three 'Good Masters' that sat upon their thrones - more like couches. Good at what? Murdering children, perhaps. "Behold, Baelon of House Targaryen, Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and Prince of Dragonstone. Father of Dragons, the unburnt, the Conqueror Reborn." Gerion gestured to them. "Daenerys of House Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. The second Mother of Dragons, the unburnt. Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, the Red Wolf." Red Wolf? Sansa liked that, and noticed Jon smirking at her. Dany's eyes sparkled as well.
Through their interpreter, a scantily clad slave girl, Kraznys began but Jon interrupted. "Let us dispense with translators," he said in perfect, if accented Valyrian. "And speak plainly."
The center Good Master, Master Kraznys, shifted in his seat. He certainly was as ugly as all claimed. "You speak Valyrian."
"It is our mother tongue, Master Kraznys," Daenerys said, though it was clear referring to him by any title disgusted her. "Lady Sansa can speak it as well."
A nod. "Alright then, as you wish." He waved off the translator, who scurried away.
"And we will require guest right," Jon added.
"You do not trust us?" asked another of the masters.
He looked to Sansa, who smiled. "A precaution." Her Valyrian lessons didn't fail her.
The bread and salt ended up coming quicker than expected. They didn't have to wait long and took the customary bites before Jon continued again. "We are told by Ser Gerion that your ships have been impressing our sailors."
"Your Grace," Kraznys began. "Pirates have impressed your sailors and sold them in our markets. When that was discovered we immediately freed them."
"Pirates? Captured massive grain convoys bound for King's Landing from Volantis?" Daenerys arched her brow. "I am not convinced."
"That is what I thought at first, but then I discovered the identity of their commander… a man by the name of Euron Greyjoy. He is a traitor and fugitive of Westerosi justice, is he not?"
The name was familiar to Sansa, but from the way Jon tensed up it was far clearer to him whom that was. As to Dany, who ever so slightly trembled. "You will turn over whatever proof you have of his involvement to Ser Gerion," Jon ordered.
Kraznys bowed. "Consider it done, and we will release your sailors to you."
It was then that Daenerys took a step forward. She looked much like her mother in that moment, regal and brimming with a gentle fire ready to erupt if needed - utterly captivating in Sansa's mind. "There is one other thing that has come to our attention."
"Your desire is mine, your Grace," Kraznys said, his smile quite unctuous.
"A friend of ours, we met her in Volantis. She was sold to you and we want her back."
He frowned. "I do not recall purchasing a slave from you."
"You did not."
"And what is this slave's name?" Not that he'd remember.
"Missandei of Naath."
Surprising Sansa, Kraznys immediately recognized the name. "What do you want of her? I paid a hefty price for her."
"We wish her freedom and are willing to pay for it."
Sansa narrowed her eyes at that, thinking back to what Bellegere told her moons ago. "Your words, used by a pretty face and a clever mind, they can burn as hot as dragonfire and move mountains." This slug didn't deserve coin for Missandei. Based on his… covetousness of her, Sansa had a feeling of what Missy was to him. Her hackles were raised, and she heard Lady ever so softly growl.
Before anything else could be said, she strode forward. "We shan't be paying for her."
His brow rose. "Oh?"
"Sans…" murmured Jon, but she ignored him and Dany.
"Tell me, Master Kraznys…" She made sure her voice was as innocent as could be. Using Lady's frightful stare to intimidate for her. "Is there any confirmation besides your denials that you didn't know it was Euron Greyjoy that sold you our captured sailors?"
He blinked. "Are you implying…"
"You at least knew they were Westerosi. It's obvious."
"My Lady…"
Her smile grew sweeter. "My cousins are dragonriders. You've heard of them, Syrax the White Beauty and Valyrax the Black Dread Reborn? It is such a shame if Astapor were to antagonize the Crown." She let a pregnant pause hang. "Now, if you'd let a token of your good faith come into our hands, say Princess Daenerys' friend…"
It was not a shock that a man in charge of an empire of slaves was a coward. "Kessa, kessa, of course." Certainly she was smiling internally.
Certainly Jon and Daenerys were greatly impressed by her - and truly that was all that mattered to Sansa. That and getting Missandei back.
I pray we're not too late.
Sleep was her only refuge.
The heat was unbearable even at night, but Missandei would not sleep nude - never fully nude, the leather collar always around her neck - as she usually did during such nights in Naath. The most cumbersome nightgown allowed to her instead, however scratchy the cheap fabric was. Missandei endured it, curled up in a ball as she tried to lull herself to sleep.
Sometimes her dreams were nightmares. Seeing her family be slaughtered by slavers, her aunt being torn away and used by those special clients she had seen at the brothels that paid well to make up for chewing up and spitting out a poor woman never to be used again… being one of those women, attacked by her new master and unable to do anything about it. Those were the worst, given she knew not what the pain would be.
Just that it would be the worst pain she could ever imagine.
Whimpering, twisting about in the bed and barely able to brush her frizzy locks from her face, Missandei scrunched her eyes shut. Pushing more happy memories into her mind. The idyllic days of Naath were a favorite, but over time those memories faded. Her parents' smiles and playing with her siblings hazy and harder to dredge up. Instead, memories of her friends were vivid, as if the next day. Larra saving her from the wrath of Caelia's goons. Teaching Alayne how to speak Bastard Valyrian. Helping Ned bathe his wolf and getting splattered with soap suds. That made her chuckle even while close to sleep.
Would memories with them be the last happiness Missandei ever have? It sure looked that way, each day that passed bringing her sooner to the time that Kraznys would come to collect the last bit of herself she had left - her maidenhead…
No slave quarters had doors that locked - and those were the ones with doors at all. While Missandei pondered how well she had it compared to the public slaves that worked on the labor projects on more than one occasion, now she couldn't as the door threw itself open. "Get up!" called her guardian, joined by two freeborn overseers.
She did so, scrambling out of bed… only to tremble and nearly fall from a shaky leg. "What… what do you want?" she asked in a murmur.
"Time to get dressed," she replied cryptically, grabbing some folded clothes from one of the guards. "Put these on and be quick about it."
They… weren't such horrible clothes if Missandei had to admit. A simple blue gown, open and flowing for the heat. It left her shoulders bare and was held up by a clasp around her neck that fitted underneath her collar, while the pleated hem fell to her ankle. It was truly unceremonious and spartan, but such were Master Kraznys' tastes.
No slave could afford to put their own desires first. Only their master's.
Certainly the loose skirts were perfect to hike up to get to her naughty bits. As such, tears fell from her eyes. "No crying!" came the order.
She shook with a sudden anger. "If you wish me to stop, then hit me." A flinch, Missandei expecting a beating but she didn't care.
Yet no beating came. Odd, but as the guards led her away, the worst pain was yet to come.
Deeper and deeper did they push into the palace - to areas where most slaves were forbidden. The walls went from bare to very lavishly decorated in the motif of Old Ghiscar. Frescoes of ancient battles, of beautiful yet beastly harpies with animal wings and claws combined with the faces and breasts of beautiful women. Certainly commissioned by lecherous men, and in gold leaf no less. They were framed with silk curtains, truly a waste.
The heads of large birds framed the doorway upon which they stopped. "Your Master awaits," said her guardian. "This is the end of our relationship. May the gods be with you."
Missandei gulped, suddenly left alone. Alone to face the greatest pain. Steeling herself, resolving to meet her slow torture with dignity, she reached for the latch and opened the door.
Only to face the one sight she had never expected.
Mayhaps master Kraznys would've been clothed with a drink for her. Mayhaps naked. Mayhaps hidden until he ambushed her. Mayhaps with his wife, or other men. All sorts of horrible possibilities. But what had Missandei simply halting where she stood, mouth agape, eyes wide, and essentially frozen in time was the sight of her friends. Alayne was seated, fingers drumming on the arm of a couch. "Missandei." She rose, smiling. "She's here."
Larra, her silver hair unbound in lustrous sheets, was pacing but stopped to look at her with the most enchanting of smiles. "Missy." The Naathi slave barely registered when Larra embraced her, still convinced this had to be another dream. "Thank Tessarion you're alright."
"We thought we'd never see you again!" While Larra's eyes merely watered, Alayne was openly crying as she joined the embrace, the two sandwiching a still silent Missandei. "You're safe now."
She finally found her voice. "What are you… doing here? Is this real?" Her eyes frittered between the two, trying to remember every detail. Her dreams would have them hazy, but this was too vivid to be one. "What did you do?"
"We purchased you, or at least I did," Larra said with a little distaste, only to smile widely. "And now I free you."
Everything still felt as if she was caught in a riptide. "What? Free?" Why were Missy's words failing her?
Both girls pulled back. With a nod from Larra, Alayne - who had grown at least an inch since they last saw each other and remained the same height as the willowy Missy - reached for Missandei's neck. She closed her eyes out of instinct, but felt something fumble underneath her jawline until…
A scrape of leather and a weight was removed. Objectively slight, but for Missandei it was as if an elephant was removed from around her neck. Eyes opening, she saw Alayne holding her leather collar, dangling from her hand. "We free you," the redhead spoke, tossing the coller into the hearth. It sputtered sparks as the flames began to eat away at the symbol of her bondage.
Jaw going slack, Missandei reached for her neck with trembling hands. No matter how well treated a slave was, no matter their status and wealth and love their masters had for them, they were still property. It was what united the dregs of the mines with the beloved nursemaids and powerful bureaucrats, that their masters were gods over them. Such a symbol was the collar, not tight enough to restrict air or movement but firm enough to never be forgotten. Missandei had forgotten what it was like to be without one, a sign of her servitude.
But her fingers now brushed upon the bare skin of her neck for the first time in years. The haze disappeared. The doubts went away. The mystery was gone. "Missandei, you're free," Larra proclaimed.
In no dream could she have imagined this.
For the first time in their presence, she smiled. Truly smiled, lips quivering and eyes watering. "I am free…"
"You are."
The sob was unavoidable, as were her legs almost failing. Larra rushed to her first, but then Missandei threw her arms around her friend. Burying her face in her shoulder. "Thank you!" And there she continued to cry tears of joy, embraced by her two friends.
They had come for her, and now she was free.