[quote=@persianversion]
[i]No wonder these dungeons drive people mad.[/i]

Najla had only been made to wait for a night, but that night had taken a toll on her. She was exhausted from the lack of sleep, and was either too proud or too repulsed to lay down on the floor of the dungeons, so any sleep she managed to obtain happened sitting up, in the brief moments between her fears and prayers. Beyond exhaustion, she could still feel the man’s hands on her, in her, and each time she remembered his touch she wanted nothing more than to scrub her skin clean of it. It was an exhausting night, and though the heavy footsteps startled her, they were a welcome change.

Her gaze was at the bars long before Ketill appeared behind them. He didn’t seem angry with her, annoyed perhaps, but it was no consolation. She found herself frowning slightly at his words, and for a moment, she wondered if they had even told him what she was here for. 

She finally looked away from him as he opened the door, listening to the clinking of the door and the sound of his footsteps when he entered, standing before her. Taking his hand gently, Najla pulled herself off the floor, meeting Ketill’s gaze for a brief moment before she felt his hand coming towards her face and flinched.

No strike came, and Najla looked up once more, first to the hand that hovered mere inches from her face, then to the eyes of the man it belonged to. She wanted to whimper at the way he crushed her hand in his. He was far stronger than her, and she felt as if her hand would break under his. Somehow, Najla restrained herself, keeping her gaze firmly on Ketill, studying him. She could read nothing in his icy gaze, but he would be able to read hers easily: she was fearful, in pain from his grasp, and above all, confused. When he finally let her go, he’d be able to read relief in them, but only for a brief moment.

His words should have been frightening, but Najla had already felt them as the truth. It was his blade that frightened her again, and she backed up against the wall as the point was thrust into her chest. She hadn’t even seen him pull it out, and while it was certainly a showing of skill, Najla had no time to appreciate it. As he spoke, she tried to back away from the point of the sword but found she could back no further into the wall. Her unharmed hand grasped at the damp brick, and she winced as the tip pierced her skin. The droplet of blood ran down her chest, and her frightened gaze remained on him, waiting for him to push the rest through. It was not a pleasant notion, but Najla had expected little better. When he mentioned that he would pray for her, the confusion set into her expression again, lasting only seconds before it was replaced with relief as he lowered his blade. She exhaled, realizing that she had been holding her breath to keep the sword away from her, yet had no time to bask in this small relief before grabbed her arm, forcing her to face the mercy of the trial.

As they walked into the room of familiar faces, Najla made eye contact with none of them as Ketill shoved her towards the table. His words were stern, and Najla kept her head down as he spoke. He’d been right, she knew that, there was little point to this. She opened her mouth, ready to speak, ready to give a final defense before they took her life, when another voice filled the room. Before she could see who it was, she noticed that Ketill had dropped to kneel, and turned around to see who he had kneeled for, who would have asked him to treat her kindly.

Najla did not know he was a bishop, the rankings of the Monarchist church were confusing to her and she could hardly tell from his clothing, but anyone who was referred to as ‘your holiness’ must have been of great importance to their faith. Why he’d be asking a Servant to treat a Sawarim more kindly was confusing, and his next words to her even more so.

She shook her head softly when he asked if he’d seen her before, though the notion startled her for a moment. Najla studied his face, his mannerisms, his clothes, all of it, trying to find the slightest memory that might have procured something. He was far older than her, and so it was unlikely that she had seen him among her travels, and she could not imagine he had been brought to the court. When he shook his head, Najla was both relieved and worried, and began to think about what would have happened if he recognized her. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been the worst thing to happen, after all, they would have far more qualms about killing Najla than Saina.

Najla watched the bishop curiously as he advocated for her to speak, clearly surprised by the kindness he was showing her. Her time among Monarchists had done little to convince her of the gentleness of their faith, and to hear a man who was clearly so high up in their church advocate for her was surprising, and welcome. 

[i]Perhaps if they had all been so kind, I would have been more open to their faith.[/i]

Najla knew it wasn’t true. If they had all been so kind she would have been home among her family by now, still worshipping the same God she always had. At Ketill’s question however, Najla finally looked away from the bishop, first at Ketill, then at all those standing around the table, before she answered his question.
 
[i]“I could not sleep, my lord. I only hoped to clear my thoughts.”[/i] She paused for a moment, then continued again. [i]“It does not sound believable, I know, but I would not offer a lie to make it so.”[/i]

[i]“Who was the man you killed?”[/i] Najla closed her eyes for a moment at that, as if she was still comprehending the fact that she had killed a man. [i]“I never knew his name. He had tried to hurt me, before. The same man we had a trial for, the one with a broken nose.”[/i] She looked up at Ketill at that, adding more as if she were directly speaking to him. [i]“His friend, the one that had held me before, he was with them too.”[/i]

[i]“Why did you kill him?”[/i] Najla took a deep breath at that, then launched into the full story, answering their questions as she went. 

[i]“I was returning to the castle when they found me. They said many things I don’t care to repeat, then told me they would help me repent.”[/i] She glanced up at the bishop when she said that, hoping a perversion of his faith would begin to turn him against the dead man, though she was not foolish enough to believe it would be enough on its own. With anyone else perhaps, but not with her.

[i]“I fought and I screamed, but no one could hear. They took me to the warehouse then, and pushed me up against the pole. Two of them tied my hands…”[/i] Her words drifted off, and she lifted her wrists for them to see. They were red, sore from the way she had rubbed them against the rough rope to escape. It would heal soon, but it was the only proof she had that they had held her as she described. [i]“Then he told them to get out. He said they’d ‘have their turns’ later. He kept saying he was going to show me what good Monarchists do.” [/i]

She looked down then, no trace of the anger she felt in her voice. She seemed ashamed of the words she’d speak, horrified by the notion that she had hurt him. [i]“Then… he started to touch me. I-I begged him not to, but he didn’t stop! He just kept touching me, and hurting me, until my ropes got loose and I…”[/i]

She trailed off here, and looked up at the group again. There were tears in her eyes, but she did not let them fall. It would not be enough to arouse their sympathy, she could not count on sympathy for these people. But whatever miniscule chance at life she had would not come if she showed remorse, and Najla felt none. She played the part, as if suffering over her actions, and it was only when they asked of his friends that she spoke up again. 

[i]“His friends were outside. I could still hear their laughter, but I was scared they would come too. So I left.”[/i]

At the mention of his purse, she shook her head. [i]“No, my lord.”[/i] She had wanted her explanation to stop there, but she could see that they did not believe her. [i]“My lord, I promise you! Check my person, my bags, anything. I only wanted to live, I had no use for his purse!” 
[/i]
When they asked about her return to the castle, Najla took in another breath, trying to steady herself before she spoke. “I don’t know. I-I didn’t know what to do. I knew I’d never be able to run from justice, but all I wanted was to be away from them. I thought I’d be safe here. I think it took some time for me to understand it.” Her voice grew soft, almost a whisper, though she knew they’d be able to hear it. [i]“I’ve never taken a life before.”[/i]
 
If anything, Najla was good at playing a part. She was not even ashamed of her actions, but she spoke as if she was frightened, both of herself and what she had done. She never shed a tear, yet her eyes were watery and large, as if she’d start crying at any moment. Najla knew she was not likely to arouse much sympathy with these people, who were indifferent towards her at best. But to show remorse, to convince them she wished she hadn’t acted, was her only option. She couldn’t tell them how she had spat in his face, or how she wished she had been able to do it a hundred times over. She had to show sympathy for that ugly man to get any for herself.

It seemed she would have none anyways.

The first vote was expected. Ignoring the words the commander spewed at her, her eyes went instead to the next man ready to decide her fate. His vote was expected as well, but as he spoke to her in their tongue, an angry frown appeared on her face. Najla did not know that the Hochmeister could speak the language as well, and in that moment she wanted nothing more than to return his words with venom. She wanted to tell him he’d end up no differently than the man in the warehouse, but luckily, the next voice silenced her before she could say anything and prove to these people how savage her people truly were.

At the female quartermaster’s vote, Najla glanced up at her, and met her gaze for a brief moment. Her expression had softened severely, a marked change from the way she looked at the slavedriver, and even seemed to show gratitude despite her worry. As the others voted to let her live, Najla looked around the table anxiously, trying to read what it meant on their faces before anyone could speak it. At the Hochmeister’s words, Najla felt her heart sink. Some small relief came when Ketill announced he would do it right away, but it was little comparison to the fear that engulfed her now.

[i]Should I tell them? Will they kill me if they know? At the least, if I tell Ketill he might send my body back-[/i]

Her morbid thoughts were interrupted by a new voice, and Najla turned to look at the bishop as he spoke. Her thoughts froze entirely at his words, and she looked over the table quickly, only to see Ketill and the Hochmeister nodding. Was it true? Could it be so easy? She looked at the bishop with an expression akin to wonder, only glancing away when the commander began yelling again.

The rush of thoughts in her head would not stop. She felt as if she were dreaming, for earlier Najla had been ready to pierce herself on the end of Ketill’s sword. Death had seemed inevitable, a relief even, and now, she was going to walk free. As the bishop took her arm, Najla barely registered who was pulling her away, and simply stepped to his side. His touch felt almost protective, the way her father would pull her back when she’d watch the guards train as a child. It seemed a strange thing to remember when she had just been inches from death, but it was the greatest comfort besides her execution she had known in the past day. 

When the men before her quieted down, Najla looked up again at the bishop. [i]“Thank you, my-”[/i] She stopped, realizing suddenly that she didn’t know his title. Ketill had referred to him as ‘your holiness’ but he was not holy to her, though perhaps he should have been, considering he had granted her life. In place of a proper title, she offered him a small smile, only to be dragged away by Ketill. 

She felt as if she were in a daze even as he pushed her into his room, unable to comprehend the sheer range of emotions the night had brought upon her. She had killed a man, a Monarchist, under the roof of the Servants, and they had let her off for it. She was going to continue the expedition. Someone besides her would soon find out about Jalil, and Inaya would tell the Sultanate that Najla was alive and at Coedwin. 

[i]I’m not going to die. Ya Sawarim I’m not going to die.[/i]

She only wanted to fall to her knees and begin praying, but Ketill’s harsh voice pulled her out of her spell rather abruptly. The sharp fear pulled her out of the haze, and Najla’s frantic thoughts began again. The slavedrivers threat echoed in these thoughts, and Najla knew that he meant it, though she had never considered that Ketill would agree. 

[i]“Your holy man just gave you my life, and you would sentence me to death again?”[/i] Her use of the term holy man might have been humorous, had her life not been at stake again, though it was certainly a strange deviation from her usual manner of speaking. She spoke the Broacien tongue well, and somewhat formally, as she had first been familiarized with it through the work of tutors, yet she stumbled over the titles of their religion.

[i]He’ll kill me. If not the slavedriver, then one of the men he rents me to. The commander will be among them, and without Ketill he’d gladly slit my throat after he’s had his. They all would. I’d have lived only to get fucked before death.[/i]

[i]“My lord, please! I did not want to kill him, I had no choice, you know what he would have done to me! The slaver will only do worse, the men will-”[/i] 

[i]My suffering won’t matter to him.[/i]

Her words stopped abruptly, as the realization silenced her pleading. He was not the bishop who had saved her, nor was he the commander that so desperately wished to see her dead. Ketill did not care if she lived or died beyond how it affected him. She’d known this before, but Najla could not understand how a man would try to save her from death while condemning her to a fate worse. There was a long pause, and for Najla it was tainted heavily with fear.

Pleading didn’t matter to Ketill. Nothing about her did beyond what she was to him. She provided no skills he did not possess, or that would aid him, and beyond her knowledge of the Sawarim language, he’d likely have an easier time without her. She needed him far more than he needed her during this expedition, and if it hadn’t been apparent to her before, it was now. 

She broke the silence, finally, and while her voice wavered slightly, there was a fierce determination in it now, none of the morbid resolve or begging for pity he would have heard before. Her expression might have been familiar to Ketill, it seemed to hold the same bravery Sawarim warriors conjured when they were about to slit their throats, and were forced to pretend they did not fear death.

[i]“Giving me to the slaver would be a mistake. No matter how much gold he offers you, I can give you more. Whatever he offers you, I can give you more.” [/i]

She stepped forward, ready to answer Ketill’s disbelief at her statement, whether it came through his eyes or his words. Part of her told her to stop, to hold her tongue. She’d made it this far on the blessing of the Sawarim, surely she would make it farther on this blessing? Perhaps a year ago, Najla would have been brave enough to hold her tongue and take this risk, but that Najla had been captured and her life had been given over to a Servant twice now. 

[i]“My name is not Saina. I’m not a merchant’s daughter.”[/i] She paused after that, but only briefly, assessing his reaction before she continued. [i]“My father is Ali al-ibn Wahad, brother to the Great Sultan and a commander in his army.”[/i] She hesitated again, knowing that he would not believe her, but there was no fear in her expression now. She only studied him carefully, waiting to see what he believed.

[i]“Were there ever rumors in the south of Najla al-ibn Wahad and her brother, Jalil? So few knew where we were going, but the Servants of all people are not blind to the goings-on of the Sultanate. Some Sawarim here must know, at least. Ask, they will tell you, Najla and her brother disappeared over a year ago from the Sultan’s court, and have not returned since. I was a lord’s captive for a year before they gave me to you.” [/i]

She did not mention what happened to her brother, though he might have assumed on his own. Najla would not be able to say his name again, both out of sadness and the fear that Ketill would hurt her if he knew her brother had tried to murder a lord.

[i]“I gave them the name Saina when they took me, but believe that I am telling you the truth now. On my God, I swear it. My name is Najla, I am the niece of the Great Sultan. Do not give me to the slaver. Keep me, ransom me, I could give you whatever you want. Ketill, I could hand you that fucking banner you’re after. But I will never let another man touch me as that beast did. If you give me to the slaver, I will slit my throat before he lays a hand on me, and you will be left with nothing.”[/i] 

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again, meeting Ketill’s gaze once more. [i]“I don’t know how to convince you of my identity, I lost all I had during my time in captivity. I have lied to you before, but I am telling you the truth when I say that if you condemn me to death you will have lost a valuable captive.”[/i]

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