Chapter Text
Your boss said he'd make sure you get a “real good one” tonight. A bonus to go along with your promotion, if you will.
You don't actually care.
You're just here because it's part of your job — another calculated move that keeps him in your pocket so that you can secure a position as a knight in the palace.
You don't have anything to care about anymore.
You don't have any morals left either.
You're essentially dead inside.
You won't complain about getting a little relief — the only other outlet for your frustration being war games and military exercises.
You try not to take out your pent up anguish on the women employed in this wretched business, but it's easy to get a little rough when they take it so well.
You came back to Rholodite seven or eight years ago now. Being in the military meant it was inevitable that you'd have to put up with this aspect of the job eventually.
You tried making excuses that you were too young, too tired, too poor, too busy and so on, but they only worked for so long.
At some point, rejecting the offer came with consequences. Snubbing your boss implies that you take issue with his choices, and coming off as holier-than-thou is great way to get demoted.
You have too many items left on your checklist to get held back now. It's already been too many years — almost more than you can handle.
So here you sit, waiting in some ramshackle room for some sordid whore, drinking some vile shine and hoping it'll take edge off.
It doesn't.
Between your height and your drinking habits, you would need to drink half a bottle or more just to feel a buzz. In truth, you keep your tolerance high intentionally.
You can't afford to get caught off guard.
Hence you're not surprised in the least when the faint kerfuffle you heard begin upstairs ten minutes ago makes its way into the hallway and ends with the door to the room opened and slammed shut behind the girl who gets shoved in.
Tear-stained cheeks.
Pupils blown wide with terror.
Breathing shallow and ragged.
Stance defensive.
Arms curled into her chest.
Obvious rope burn around her wrists.
Swollen wounds from lashing visible beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown.
She can't be any older than Leyla — sixteen at most…
Your blood runs cold.
You grab the scabbard resting against the wall and sling it over your shoulder.
Her eyes feverishly search the space for an escape but find none.
She scampers away when you approach as if she could outrun you within the confines of the room.
You don't bother taking a second glance back before walking out.
Two steps and you've caught your target by the arm. No doubt she's the one who shoved the girl in.
“What the fuck is that?” you demand, pointing at the door you exited.
Looking you once over the madam answers cooly, “Your boss asked for the best we have, so I gave you the new one to break in. Is there a problem with the girl?”
“She's not the problem. How the hell did she end up here?”
The woman cocks a painted brow and replies haughtily, “The same way most of them do. Her father sold her to pay off his gambling debt. If you'd rather have a different one, we have plenty of others. You can take your pick.”
“How much did y’ pay for her?” you growl, patience running thin as your fingers begin to dig into her arm.
Snatching herself from your grip, she answers contemptuously, “What's it to you? Look if you don't want her, I have plenty of customers who do.”
“Oh, I want her,” you snarl. Out of this cesspool. “I'm takin’ her with me. So answer my question. What’s the price?”
“I'm not selling her, boy. She'll be worth a hell of a lot more over the course of a few years than the five silver coins I paid for her yesterday.”
“I don't think y’ heard me right,” you hiss and draw your sword from its scabbard. “I said, I'm. Takin’. Her.”
“Like hell you are!” she screeches behind you as you turn on your heel and slam open the door.
Shaking in fear, the girl all but collapses to the floor as you draw near.
Yanking the yellowed sheet from the bed, you stand her up forcibly and wrap it around her barely clad frame.
Too terrified to protest, the girl neither cries nor pleads.
Hiking her over your shoulder with one arm and bearing your weapon with the other you make your way out.
“You can't just run off with her! She's property of the establishment now!”
Pointing your sword at the woman, you reiterate for the last time, “Y’ will put the bill on my tab, and y’ will relinquish her to me. Do I make myself clear, Madam?”
You sheathe your sword once outside, relieved you didn't have to skewer those two drunkards she sent after you. Both hands now free, you cradle the trembling bundle of sheets to your chest.
You know that in your disgust you've been rough with the girl, but a dark road lined with brothels isn't a nice place for a chat in the middle of the night, so you make haste.
After unlocking the door to your little rented apartment in the centre of town, you set her down gently on the bed and begin stoking the few embers still burning in the fireplace. When the kindling crackles and the chilly autumn air starts to warm, you fetch the wash basin and fill the jug from the water you boiled this morning.
As you kneel level to her where she sits with her knees curled into her chest she starts frantically babbling through tears.
“I'll do whatever you want! I promise! Just please don't kill me! The other girls said sometimes the new ones don't come back, but please! I'll do anything you want me to! Just don't kill me!”
Trained to remain stoic at all times, you don't show the shock you feel at the horrific image she paints as you hear her voice for the first time. Setting aside the items in your hand, you lay your palms face up in front of her so she can see your every move.
“Hey, it's okay. Y're safe now. I'm not gonna hurt y’. Y're never goin’ back there.”
It's obvious from her trembling gaze and shivering body that she doesn't believe you.
“I'm Luke. What's your name?”
“Honey…” she murmurs, voice hoarse and cracked.
Furrowing your brow, you ask again, “No, y’r real name. Not the one they gave y’ there.”
There's a long pause. Her fearful eyes glaze over with an emptiness you're all too familiar with.
“I don't know…”
“Y’ don't know?” you catch yourself repeating as an old wound reopens inside you.
“My father always called me girl… or just wench…”
Terrified expressions…
Absolute avoidance…
Complete silence…
You manage to beat back the memories of your mother threatening to well up just enough to find your voice once more.
“Alright. Honey it is then, I guess. ‘less y’ prefer somethin’ else?”
She simply shakes her head, tears still streaming down her round cheeks.
“Here. Wash y’r face.”
Pouring out the water over a cloth, you ring it out and offer it to her. A beat falls between her eyeing the item warily and unfastening her clenched fists from the linen sheet she holds so tight.
“They take y’r shoes so y’ couldn't run away?” you ask as she hands back the cloth, tear stains finally wiped away.
“Yes, sir.”
“Just Luke is fine.”
“Luke?”
“Mhm. Luke. Here. Set ‘em down and I'll wash ‘em for y’.”
Frowning at the trepidation creasing her pretty features, you quickly surmise what happened.
“They cut y’r feet so y’ couldn't get far even if y’ tried?”
You can't help the sigh that escapes when she nods and tears up again.
Sick. I hate this world and I hate living in it. God, I can't wait for this all to be over.
Standing up you gather what you need to treat the injuries and return to sit at her feet, then motion for her to drop her legs from her chest. You can't bring yourself to speak, but she does as she's wordlessly told.
As you dip her toes into the basin she flinches. As gently as you can, you scrub the dirt off with the cloth before rinsing each foot with clean water from the jug.
“They take y’r clothes too?” you ask, more to distract yourself from the nauseous feeling knotting up in your stomach than anything else because you already know the answer.
“Yes. They burned them…”
With only wild-flower honey for an antiseptic, you carefully coat each wound and bandage up her feet using the clean strips of gauze you keep handy for the rare occasion you get hurt in training. Finally, you slip a pair of your far too large woolen hose on her and tie them with strings beneath her knees to keep it all secure.
“I'll get y’ some new clothes tomorrow. Just rest tonight. Y'll sleep here in the bed. I'll be over there by the fire if y’ need anything.”
From the confused and scared look on her face you know what she's wondering.
“I'm not gonna touch y’,” you tell her plainly and rise to set the jug and basin on the table.
Voice riddled with even more fear despite trying to reassure her, she mumbles, “Then… why would you buy me?”
How else was I gonna get y’ away from there without cuttin’ down somebody and causin’ a scene?
“If you don't want my body why did you bring me here? How am I going to repay you… I don't have anything else…”
No… Don't cry again… I can't take no more tears today…
Falling to your knees once more, you pull her into your arms and squeeze her tight.
“Shhh. Shhh. Y’r body isn't something y’ pay with. Don't offer that to nobody, y’ hear? Y’ don't owe me for nothing. Just be a good girl and go to sleep for now, okay?”
“I don't understand… Why…?” comes a shuddered whisper against your shoulder.
In truth you don't know either, and maybe in the morning you'll regret not simply walking out alone. But that's a thought for tomorrow.