[quote=@Odin] After the fight, Ketill had been brought to the healer’s tent. Although he did not quite need the medical attention, it was a welcome luxury. The woman, old and stern, had asked him to lay down, but Ketill had refused, instead sitting on a cushion and crossing his legs, sitting directly in front of the tent. The festivities continued outside, but something seemed to have dimmed the voices of the men and women now – something that Ketill was quite sure he had caused. And though stern the woman may have been, she did not dare ask him to lay down again, and instead sat down behind him, beginning to clean the wound of the raking axe that the man had left behind before his death. It was one of the few wounds, and wasn’t dangerous whatsoever, but making the trek back to the capital with an opened wound was probably on the bottom of Ketill’s wishlist. The process did not take long this time, when compared to the lashings he had received before. Her hands moved over the scars that had been left there, but she made no remarks, seemingly understanding that this was common place for slaves, especially those with Ketill’s nature. A regular house slave was often free of scars, or they were placed in places harder to see. After all, nothing was less prestigious than having a beaten and trampled slave. But Ketill was not a houseslave, nor a working slave. He was… somewhat special in that regard. She mumbled something under her breath about this ‘’Daab’’ in her tent, but Ketill did not speak up, merely looking at the tent flap that offered entry to the tent, looking at the flickering of shadows coming from the people around the fire. This continued while the woman patched Ketill up, becoming more bold in her mumbling when she found out that Ketill wasn’t particularly dangerous on his own as long as she didn’t purposefully taunt him. Never the less, she seemed wary of him, and with good reason. [hr] The next day, Ketill found himself waking up in the tent again. He got up, and looked around, finding himself alone, the woman having gone somewhere else for the time being. Cautiously he stepped towards the tent flap, and opened it with his hand, holding it up and peeking outside, finding two guards standing there. Brazenly he opened the tent further and stepped out, and only when he stood nearly next to the guards did they stop him. <[i]‘’Go back!’’[/i]> one yelled, pushing his hand onto Ketill’s chest. [i]‘’There is no escape from here,’’[/i] Ketill said, looking at the man. [i]‘’No horse, no water, only desert. I can’t escape. Let me go,’’[/i] <[i]‘’Back!’’[/i]> the man yelled again, pushing Ketill harder. His companion even went as far as to put his hand on his sword, perhaps as a threat or a preparation for when Ketill struck out. <[i]‘’Not so loud,’’[/i]> the same man hissed at his friend, who was yelling quite loudly. <[i]‘’We were told to keep him here, not to yell loudly and show everyone that we can’t control him with our swords. Not after our Sultana has shown them his power. May the Sawarim rest that man’s soul.’’[/i]> <[i]‘’How else will we keep him here? This dog can’t even speak our language.’’[/i]> [i]‘’I’ll go back. Bring me water,’’[/i] Ketill then demanded, before repeating the word in their tongue. <[i]‘’Water.’’[/i]> This surprised the two guards, but the surprise quickly left their eyes. After all, you did not live in the desert for years on end without learning the Sawarimic word for water. That would be as much a death sentence as traveling alone without a horse. The guards nodded, and Ketill was satisfied. He then stepped back into the tent and sat down on the cushion again, crossing his legs while staring at the tent flap, waiting for his ‘order’ to arrive. But, his order never arrived. Instead, the healer arrived back into the tent and started working on some things, ignoring Ketill for the most part. Not much later a new face arrived in the tent, one that Ketill had assumed wanted to stay as far away from a place like this as possible. It was coincidentally also the one face he did not want to see today, but much to his demise, it seemed that one of the gods enjoyed tormenting him with her presence. It was well known that some of the Gods had a cruel sense of humour, after all. She talked to the healer for some time, and after that discussion had ceased, the healer left. Najla then turned to him, and spoke his name. Ever the Sultana, Ketill thought, the way she spoke his name being nothing like how it was meant to sound. To her credit, most of the Broacieniens could not mimick the Northerners proper pronunciation, but to hear a Sawarim speak it had always been something of an annoyance to him. No attempt was made to even convey an attempt to do it properly, instead it was just assumed that they were speaking it the correct way, and if it was not the correct way before, then it would be so now. He did not have the strength to argue with it, however. Though perhaps she had expected him to stand up for her presence, he would make no such attempts, and nor did he look up to see her face, instead opting to simply look at the area between her crotch and her stomach. Although he knew that Najla never visibly reacted to him looking at her regardless, he did not want to appear like a lesser at this time. He would’ve not had any problems looking at her from the ground beforehand, but after last night’s performance, he felt like that score had been settled. She would have to acknowledge him as more than merely a slave at this point if she wanted his continued cooperation. [i]Temporary[/i] continued cooperation. Until whatever event the ravens had signalled occurred and he could take her life. As always, she started a discussion that had no real relation to what she wanted from him. He had grown accustomed to it by now, and had even been able to learn that this was likely something she had done in her time as Saina, too. To talk about things that did not matter in order to obtain things that did matter. Hollow her words may have been, Ketill decided to engage with them, as silence would no longer win him the battles like they could have done before. [i]‘’Your blood had no influence on the fight,’’[/i] he said, subconsciously touching a slice on his left arm with his hand. [i]‘’These are tribal men, I have fought against them before, under different circumstances. They were scary then, always appearing and disappearing, throwing spears and jarids at us, shooting their arrows, before disappearing in the dunes.’’[/i] Momentarily he recalled the vision he had during the early hours of the festivities the previous night, but he decided not to think about them, because they’d probably give him a headache. [i]‘’But one on one, they are pitiful excuses for soldiers. Your brother fights better. I don’t know why you made me train for this.’’[/i] During his answer, she had sat down under the guidance of a guard, who took up a position next to her while the other guard stood between them. She was wise to be careful, but not wise enough to see that Ketill had no intention of harming her here. After all, he wanted her to suffer like she’d made him suffer. Killing her in front of some guards and peasants was hardly suffering. She’d see her family burn before that. That was suffering. But he was now forced to look at her, as it would seem dishonest and unlike him to look away now. So he engaged in that confrontation too, staring at her eyes, ignoring her disinterested look. Although she asked suddenly, Ketill had predicted the topic already – there was no real other reason to speak to him so soon after the fight. [i]‘’Yes,’’[/i] he answered to her question. There was no other suitable answer. [i]‘The fire was there, and the man had to die. It was the easy option. Or would you rather that I had chased him around the camp a few more times? You wanted a show, right, to show your tamed brute? You got your show. Leave me alon-’’[/i] She would not heed his demand, instead coming forth with another argument as to the burning of his target. She appealed to her God, but did not seem to think that Ketill had nothing to do with that God. As if all those inside the desert would follow Sawarimic law. Perhaps he would be subject to their punishments, but he did not feel like he was obligated to follow the laws. [i]‘’The title of Sultana is ordained by the Sawarim, no? And you blessed me in order to fight that man, no? Then is my act of burning him not an act of God, or otherwise an act of someone supposedly in Gods’ favour?’’[/i] Her continuation of this argument earned a pained sigh from Ketill, who did not follow her train of thoughts as well as he could have before. She assumed there was purpose in his actions and although admittedly he burned the man in order to give the ‘show’ that she had sought, he did not do it because he thought himself a God. He did not answer her anymore, instead picking at a scab on his leg with his fingers, occupying himself while he stared at Najla with his hollow eyes, expecting her to give meaning to the words, but finding none. She did not take long to continue, seemingly understanding she would receive nothing from Ketill when it came to this subject any longer. Ketill found her too entrenched in her beliefs that he did this on purpose, and even Ketill himself wasn’t quite sure if he did it out of spite towards the Sawarim, or for pragmatism. Instead, she brought up his personality and the events that formed him. Something he didn’t want to talk about. Instead he listened to her, once more attempting to find meaning in her words, attempting to see why she was talking to him about this. It was not as if this mattered. The answer to her question was simple, but he did not answer it yet, instead letting her ramble about her own life. Her comment about slitting her throat when she was given to him earned a grin. [i]‘’If only the Gods had been so kind to me, Saina,’’[/i] he answered to that comment, unsure if she heard or not, uncaring about that fact too. It wasn’t a loose remark either, wishing death upon her. More so it was based upon the knowledge that he’d be dead or in Broacien if she had never shown up. When she was about to leave, she spoke about his reasons for sustaining himself again, claiming to know why he did what he did. Regardless of what she thought, he would answer her before she could leave. Although the reality was that he purely sustained himself as an innate survival instinct, he would answer differently. [i]‘’I sustain myself because I can,’’[/i] he said, putting his elbow on his knee and resting his head on his head now, seemingly tired of the discussion. [i]‘’You sustained yourself because I made you do so. I protected you at every turn, believing in your capability to become useful. To pull your weight. Had I known you were a Sultana earlier, then I wouldn’t have accepted you as my slave. You are too weak. You can never become useful. Perhaps here you fulfil some use as the whore of the court, sent here to solve the issues with tribals, like there is no better way to spend your time. But I thought you were a merchants’ daughter, so you could cook, wash, perhaps maths. Things I cannot do.’’[/i] He stared at Najla more intently now, looking her up and down, not seeing her as a superior at that moment, gawking at her like some man in a tavern. [i]‘’But no, even that, you cannot do. Too weak to survive and thrive on your own. Pampered.’’[/i] When he was done staring at her, he leaned back and let himself fall onto a cushion behind him, in an attempt to annoy her with his lack of respect for her authority as a Sultana. [i]‘’But even that is a half answer, and we both know that,’’[/i] he spoke, putting his hands behind his head, further increasing his lack of respect for her. [i]‘’We both know what I want. It’s something you cannot give me and never will give me. But…’’[/i] He stayed silent for a few seconds, enough to make her begin to leave if she wished, but not enough for her to leave the tent in full. He then veered up again and sat up straight, locking eyes with her immediately. [i]‘’In truth, I sustain myself for the Raven.’’[/i] He looked at her in silence for a few more seconds before he grinned at her, and then let himself fall backwards. It seemed like last night had not done well for his attitude towards his master, but what had she expected? His hatred had been given space and release to fester and grow stronger, and it would almost seem that there was nothing she could do right when it came to Ketill – if she killed him she’d lose a valuable tool. If she let him live, she would live her days looking over her shoulder whenever she was around. There was no winning. Only loss. When she was about to step out, he’d speak up once more, and after that he’d finally give her time to leave in full. [i]‘’As for the man that was killed – perhaps you believe it to be my fault, but I did it in your name. If these tribals think ill of anyone now, it will be you, whether you see that or not. You let me do it, after all. You gave me the blessing that I needed to fight.’’[/i] She disappeared afterwards, and Ketill was left to rest, lazing about on the cushions, until new guards came to fetch him. That was a real surprise, as he had expected Najla to be quite angry with him for the rest of the day – or even week. [hr] When he was escorted into the tent, he was surprised to find the younger prince, Basim. Once again it seemed like Basim was going to pester him with questions, which Ketill would answer only because he felt like it. Basim gestured him to the water, waving him away like some nobleman rather than a slave, which was a welcome change in attitude. Ketill was surprised, but quickly adjusted, nodding quickly and stepping towards the water, taking a cup of wood and filling it with a ladle, before drinking the entire cup empty in a matter of seconds. He placed the cup on the table again and then stepped back to the tent flap, waiting for an order or command. But, rather, he was faced with another question, which was not unexpected either. The subject was not, either, but was much more annoying to Ketill than Basim might have assumed. Then again, Basim likely didn’t know that Najla had interrogated him not long ago either. [i]‘’It [b]was[/b] a clean kill,’’[/i] the stern voice of Ketill answered, the annoyance audible within. [i]‘’That you do not understand that is not my fault. I am not Sawarim. I have nothing to do with your laws. Punish me if you wish, [b]prince[/b], but you will not have my apologies, just like your sister didn’t get them. Or would you rather that I had let him crawl around while he was on fire for a while longer? I ended his suffering. He fought well, but not good enough.’’[/i] When he spoke the word ‘prince’ it almost sounded mocking, as if Ketill didn’t really believe such a meagre man to be fit for the title of prince. This was mostly because Ketill was annoyed with discussing this subject multiple times, especially since Basim didn’t seem to understand, just like his sister hadn’t. [i]‘’And speaking about your sister, I find it remarkable that both you and her wish to discuss this with me. She ordained me to fight. She didn’t tell me how to fight.’’[/i] Basim’s next remarks didn’t make it any better. [i]‘’Be that as it may, I killed under her orders. And unlike you, I did not have a chance to decline coming here. I did what I was told to do. I am a tool to be used at her discretion. You seem to not understand something, prince.’’[/i] Although he did not use the word prince mockingly now, he was still somewhat talking down to the boy, as if he was lecturing him. But how couldn’t he – Basim asked him to explain, and so he did. [i]‘’You seem to view your sister as a woman with remarkable morals. I advise you to get rid of that vision soon. I am here to do her bidding – everything I do, I do in her name. So when I burned that man, I did it as her tool. Now, do her morals still seem to be as good, then? To think that I am here to scare some tribal nobodies into submission?’’[/i] He asked the question not really expecting an answer, and even if he did receive one, it would be a lie, because Ketill realized full well that Najla was well-liked within her family. [i]‘’It would not surprise me, prince, if you are here purely because she saw a use for you, either. You may be her family, and she may see you as more than a tool, but that is what you are to her ultimately,’’[/i] he continued, looking Basim in the eyes. He was dead serious now, and seemed to have gotten over his annoyance with the topic, instead getting to talk about the reality of the situation as he saw it. [i]‘’Though I doubt she brought you here to fight tribals like I did. Maybe just to seem smart. That’s what you are good at. Whatever it is – you’re here for a reason more than being her brother.’’[/i] Basim then continued to inform him about having to fight again – which was not at all surprising. Why else would she bring him here. To kill a peasant? Some nobody? Impressive as the fight may have been, Najla was smart enough to realize this would hardly be enough to get what she wanted. Because there [i]was[/i] an ulterior motive here. Ketill did not react, but even if he had, he wouldn’t have had the time to utter a word, as Basim was quick to continue with something that pressed his mind more heavily. It showed that despite his calm demeanour now, he was eager to ask and tell more. A bit predictable, perhaps. A welcome change from Najla, who did and did not as she pleased. [i]‘’I did not know she prayed, or wanted to do so. She never told me. I also never forbade her from doing so. Perhaps she did not understand. I never knew she was a Sultana, as she told me she was a merchants’ daughter. I knew she was Sawarim – she did not convert. If she had converted, I would have released her. I would have refused to have a Monarchist as a slave. The only reason I kept her then, even as a Sawarim, was because she was given to me as a gift.’’[/i] His expression was not very expressive at that point, and it would be hard to pinpoint how he felt about this – if anything, he was telling cold hard truths, facts that could not be contested. Or at least, that’s how it’d sound. For Najla, there would’ve been enough reason to doubt what he would have done. Ketill watched as Basim moved around, stepping to the water now after exchanging words with his guard, who seemed upset that Basim was so carelessly approaching the Daab al-Broacien. [i]‘’Regardless, I would have let her pray,’’[/i] he answered his question. [i]‘’Does that strike you as strange, prince? That I am not so savage as to denounce her God as invalid? It should strike you strange. In this desert, the only God that exists is Sawarim, and anything else is uncivilized, is it not?’’[/i] After his answer, Basim revealed his secret, showing the Monarchist cross. Ketill’s eyes flashed at the sight of it, but not because of gratitude. His hand curled into a fist as he struggled to stop himself for walking over there and grabbing Basim by the neck to chastise him for being so foolish. [i]‘’You’re a fool to bring that here,’’[/i] Ketill answered, not yet walking to the cross in favour of waiting for the guard to relax. [i]‘’Are you trying to get me killed, prince? Because I can assure you there are more efficient ways of doing that, like stabbing me between the ribs.’’[/i] He sissed the words between his teeth. He wasn’t sure if he was angry, annoyed, or both at the prince. He understood what the prince had done – to do him a favour – but he did not expect the prince to be so ruthless as his sister. He had expected the young boy to be kind hearted and thoughtful, careful and thorough in his deeds. Not so brash as a young horse that did not understood the dangers of crossing a deep river yet. [i]‘’Not only are you endangering us both, it is without reason too, prince. You are two years too late. The Monarch is not real, and if he is, he is dead at the hands of my Gods. This cross is little more than wood for the fire to me.’’[/i] He glanced at the guard, who seemed to still be inspecting Ketill, and relaxed slightly, realizing that being uptight only made things worse. [i]‘’You are young, prince, and you are eager to learn. So allow me to show you why you are a fool.’’[/i] Without even thinking about it, he stepped closer, and extended his hand towards the prince with an open palm, as if expecting an item. [i]‘’Give me your dagger.’’[/i] Though the guard might have raised some qualms about this, Basim would undoubtedly hand over the dagger, which Ketill would take and then step back, offering some space to calm the guard. He unsheathed the dagger and raised it, putting up his other hand for the prince to see. [i]‘’This is Audrun,’’[/i] he explained, before putting the tip of the dagger on the back of his hand, before carefully carving a figure in it, deep enough to draw blood but not deep enough to cause lasting damage. The rune was not sharp, and was made with an unsteady hand, and represented little more than the idea of Audrun in Ketill’s head. But it would have to be enough for Basim – he did not understand anyway, and could not see the glaring imperfections in the rune. Once Ketill was done, he wiped the dagger on his pants, and sheathed it again, before wiping the back of his hand on his pants as well. He inched closer to Basim, and extended both hands, one holding the dagger, the other showing the back of his hand, the rune now somewhat more clear without the blood covering it. [i]‘’He is the All-father and rules over man. He has a wife, and many sons and daughters, who are infinite and continue to be birthed. He is wise and knows all wisdoms of men, because the ravens fly for him and spy for him. He did not create us, but he is certainly involved in the shaping of man. See it as… a herbalist mixing ingredients.’’[/i] The explanation was somewhat vague, especially as it had been a while since Ketill had spoken to a seer or seiðsmann to teach him the stories of old. But again, Basim would not know this, and had little reason to doubt him. [i]‘’He is the one that guides me, and his wife and children,’’[/i] he then said, looking at the cross before pulling back his hands after Basim had grabbed his dagger again. [i]‘’So you understand why this cross is meaningless, and is not worth anything except a threat to my life,’’[/i] he said slowly then, to make sure that Basim understood, before adding, [i]‘’.. and yours, of course. They may not kill you for having this, but they will remove you from the eye of the public. You will be an outcast, a sympathizer of the Monarchists. For no reason other than your stupidity.’’[/i] Slowly Ketill stood back, and walked towards the water, taking the ladle and splashing some water over his hand. He put the ladle back and quickly grabbed the cross, hiding it inside his pants, after which he pretended to wipe his hand on them again to avoid drawing the eye of the guard. [i]‘’So I will take care of this, because I do not trust you enough to get rid of it completely. And you will not speak a word of anything I told you in this tent to anyone. Especially Saina – or Najla, as you know her. You are lucky that the Sawarim guards are dumb as oafs, and do not speak my language. I will leave now, and you’ll forget I ever visited. For your own sake and mine.’’[/i] He looked at Basim with a serious expression then, before he bowed his head lightly to please the guard. Basim would have to be really stupid to believe that he did so to honor him, since he knew Ketill and his personality by now. But the guards were easily fooled. They still believed that a sword could control the Daab one day, if they tried hard enough. Ketill was returned to the healers’ tent, where he sat down again, this time with his a hand inside the pocket of his pants, holding on to the cross. He figured there were numerous ways to get rid of it – he could just dump it somewhere and hope nobody found it. Burying it underneath the healer’s tent was likely the most suitable option, but he could also plant it in someone’s belongings. If he didn’t know better, he would have planted it in Najla’s items, but there was little to gain from that. She could have explained the cross as being something she received from a tribal here as an offering for her to burn, or something. The lie she would tell wouldn’t even need to make sense – none would question her as a sultana. With Basim it was little different, though Ketill thought he lacked the subtle nature Najla held, and he would be unable to lie effectively. But, in the end, Ketill decided to just dig a hole. He began digging with his hands, pushing aside the loose sand at first before he reached the more coarse, thicker sand that was underneath, damp from the water of the nearby oasis. It wasn’t much more wet, but it made the digging a little bit easier. He pushed the cross into a hole and pushed the same back to where it came from, making sure to make it look smooth as he could so that nobody would suspect a thing. Now, the only thing that could betray him was Basim. [hr] [/quote]