Post by нαℓƒ~мσση on Jan 2, 2014 15:21:50 GMT -5
Throne had no authority. A young girl had grown up in this land, hearing
stories of the fearsome iron men marching and burning towns. They didn't just
kill, they slaughtered without mercy, without hearts. Yes, her lands were
dangerous too, with slavers on the constant prowl. But they weren't ruled by a
silly chair. That was what always made her giggle. She'd seen chairs made of
many different things, but never iron. Was it so magnificent that men fought so
mindlessly for it? Surely, they could just make more and everyone would be
happy.
That child grew up with her family, but no matter what, she always dreamed that
one day she'd be able to see this Iron chair so coveted. It wasn't that she wanted
it for herself. She wished to know why it was so amazing. Did it harbor magical
powers?
"Clea," Her mother scolded when she caught the newly turned
zero-and-twenty year old daydreaming again, "You need to fetch more water.
Jaree is thirsty, you know how he gets." Her mother was round with child
and close to birth- the midwife had been around a day earlier in preparation
for the new child. Clea smiled and stood up from her stool.
"Yes, mama," she answered and slipped on her thin shoes. She went out with a bucket in hand. The well was about two miles from their home and it could be quite the trek. But Clea had done it a thousand times and the walking didn't bother her. Her body was strong, especially her legs. Clea was a working girl. She used that time to dream about what it would be like to cross the sea over to Westeros. Clea breathed in the fresh air deeply and smiled.
That's when things changed for her. She hadn't even heard the slavers coming so when they grabbed her, Clea had little time to fight back. A hand covered her mouth, while others grabbed her arms, twisting them behind her back and making her drop the bucket. It thudded against the dirt ground. That was the last thing Clea remembered before a blow across her face made her black out.
♛♚
When she awoke next, she was in a closed black space. It rocked terribly and Clea felt nausea roil in her stomach. There were terrible sounds and smells all around her. She could barely move and when she tried, someone else grumbled at her to stop. She'd never been on a boat before, but she didn't imagine it to be as terrible as this.
♚♛
Her first glimpse of Westeros had not been as glamorous as she'd pictured it in her head. The port was dirty and grey, with dark clouds overhead predicting a storm. She, along with countless other men, women and children, was herded onto a cart. Her hands were still bound behind her back and Clea just shuffled along with the others, keeping her head down. Her mind was whirling with frightened thoughts of her family. How long had she been gone? Did they know? She couldn't even hope to get back now. They were a world away.
They were taken to a town with busy streets that stunk of human and animal wastes. People yelled at one another, haggled prices for goods and laughed with companions. It all went by in a blur for Clea. She felt dirty, having been packed like sheep with others for days on board a ship. She was hungry too and so thirsty that she couldn't even wet her lips. They lined up by a wooden stage-like pedestal. It was a slaver's market, she knew that much. Her fate would be sealed soon enough, when they pulled her onto that stage to be sold off like a fatten pig.
Clea was pushed by rough hands and the speaking slaver took her by the arm, presenting her to the crowd, "Here we have a young girl from over the seas! She can't be any more than one-and-twenty, with such a pretty little face! Her brown skin is surprisingly soft, gentlemen. A hard worker too, I'll bet," He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at the crowd. Her brown doe eyes watered against her will, but Clea did not cry. She kept her expression neutral the entire time.
