» 10/1/2020 - ivar x targaryen oc «
In the great City of Pentos, inside of the Magister's extravagant mansion, there was a young princess. Her hair, silver and silky, tumbling down her slim back in loose strands and untangled braids. She barely re...
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It was the day that all the rations had finally run out that Visenya first saw the land where the savages had come from. Though, The home that Helga spoke of so fondly to Visenya in her stories wasn't as incredible as she had described. The mountains weren't any bigger than the ones described in the Vale back in the Seven Kingdoms. The trees were all the same, nothing like the unpredictable nature of Essos. And the capital city from which Helga came was nothing but a few hundred wooden shacks and huts made of hay, wood and animal skins. It paled in comparison of Kings Landing and its golden, sandstone structures. Not to mention, this foreign land smelled of stale cow shit, and it was very cold. So cold, in fact, that Visenya was digging her nails so harshly into the numb skin of her forearms as she tried to keep herself warm, barely feeling a thing.
When Bjorn Ironside and his men had gathered all of the slaves from the longboat and onto the dock, Floki had then led them, with a few men who had come from the city, to the mud and sand shore, and when Visenya felt the cool earth squish between her toes, she almost moaned.
It had felt like she had been on that boat for years, and the constant movement from the lapping waves made her forget what it felt like to be so still and to stand on solid ground. It felt incredible. Unfortunately, however, Visenya had no time to dwell in the bliss of it. Tyene and Olenna had to quickly usher her to move forward before one of the guards noticed Visenya was lagging behind the already moving line of slaves.
They didn't walk for long. They trudged barefoot through the mud and animal shit in the streets only for a short while before they stopped outside the longest and biggest house in the city. It wasn't as majestic or vast as Magister Illyrio's grand mansion, but it was still a sight to behold. A great, carved wooden structure engraved with strange mythological legends and stories, with two great wooden doors that opened with a heavy creak.
Before anything could continue further, a warm hand grasped Visenya's cold arm, and she turned to meet Helga's lovely brown eyes, which were filled with kindness and warmth. She must have run to catch up with them, because her breathing was ragged, and her cheeks were flushed.
The older woman nodded at her in encouragement. "This is where I say my goodbye's to you, Visenya," Helga said, and though she bore a smile, it was tinged with sadness. "May the gods light your path. I hope we meet again."
"Helga." Nearby, carrying a bag of his own spoils from the raid, was Floki, who had called his wife's name. He had separated from leading the slaves to go to conduct his own business. In replace of his departure was a gigantic, heavily scarred man with a long white beard and dark leather armour. He stood right at the front of the line of slaves, practically growling at anyone who came too close. Visenya swore someone nearby had warningly addressed him as 'Whitehair' when he had taken liberties on pushing one slave away from him. It made her nervous. He looked like a ferocious warrior and was terrifyingly animal-like. Like a wolf or an old bear.
