Shopping, it was something she despised doing and yet seemed expected of her by the flighty-minded girls she called "friends". Not that she thought much of them, Rowena had always considered herself far above most everyone she knew. It wasn't her fault, it was how she had been raised. Pampered, spoiled and treated with the deference due to someone of a high caste, though she was of the merchant caste. Perhaps her mother had been grooming her to one day land a companionship with an Ubar, elevating her caste and by extension that of her family; her mother had grand designs, ideas she implanted in Rowena's head from the time she was old enough to form thoughts. Her mother's companion had been no less indulgent of her. He was not her father, the tale of that union and nasty separation was well known. Her mother, a beautiful and well-sought after woman, had companioned within her own caste, to another merchant. Unfortunately, he was more companioned to his work than to her, and when the time came to renew the contract, her mother opted out of it, taking Rowena with her, and infecting the young girl with a bit of her own bitterness at being second-trumpet to his caste-work. The man she called "Father" bore no relation to her, but he had never fathered children of his own, and inheriting a daughter as beautiful as Rowena had bent him into the point of extravagant, lavish treatment showered upon the girl. No, Rowena was not entirely at fault for the way she was. Nor was she quite as vile as she allowed those around her to believe. The loss of her true father had left an indelible mark upon her heart, and it was safer to keep everyone at an emotional distance by the lofty and haughty behavior she tended to display. It was only when she was alone in her chambers that she would be more herself, removing the mask she wore like protection around her.
Suitors came and went, each sent scurrying back to their own homes, defeated by the impenetrable walls she had so carefully constructed around herself - she could have been of the builder's caste, so sturdy were those palisades. They were bland and boring men, none brave enough to stick around long enough to chip through the hardened coal surrounding the diamond within. And so none could find what truly lay within her.
Shopping... yes, Arcadia and Bella had insisted she accompany them that day and she stood in her room, attended by myriad slaves who dressed her and combed her hair, piling it high upon her head in the latest fashionable discomfort that was all the rage. Not like anyone could actually see it as she wore a full veil that covered hair and face, save for her eyes. Petticoat, dress, apron, over coat. Gloves. Nine veils. NINE. It was ridiculous in her opinion, but society expected it. Delicate shoes trimmed in gold thread, gold beading, not merely a gold color, but actual gold. Rings over gloves, also gold. It was more than an ahn just to get dressed. She could not believe her Father was going to make her travel with those two to the Sardar. There was not enough ka-la-na in all of Ar to make that a pleasant journey. And the date of departure was mere weeks away.
A retinue of slaves followed as she left the house, including an armed male slave - her father's insistence that he accompany them; in truth, each of the women was accompanied by an armed slave who had been well-trained in the art of combat and protection. The irony of it all? Rowena was not unkind to the slaves that served her, she wasn't friendly with them either, but did not go out of her way to be vicious with them as Arcadia and Bella tended to do. What a different story one might hear if they sought out the woman's personal slaves to learn the sort of woman she was, rather than the vapid 'friends' she was forced to endure. One might even discern that she was truly a kind person who had simply learned a method of survival in a world that was harsh and unforgiving.
She had been unaware that they were followed. What would the outcome have been if she had realized it? Would fate have been altered? There would be questions that plagued her in the near future, what if she had accepted the proposal of one of those suitors - would she end up where it seemed the Priest Kings intended her?
Days later, her father had come to her, another suitor at the door. She was not even interested in meeting him. The upcoming travel to the Fair was on her mind, and she really wanted to find a way out of it, at least a way out of traveling with those two harpies. She did wonder, after the man had left, if she should have at least met him. Secretly, deep in her heart, she had hoped to find a companion who lit her soul on fire, what if he had been the one?
The weeks passed all too quickly, a flurry of last minute preparations for the journey, including her own - she had made arrangements for an additional wagon to follow behind them, and at first opportunity, she would free herself from the company of the other girls and travel in her own wagon, with her own slaves.
The day upon them, she loaded a trunk of the less valuable clothing in the caravan; having put the things she would actually wear in the secret wagon. Of course, her mother and father had thrown a fit about the choices of garments she had let them see her pack - how would she ever attract the eye of a suitable companion at the Sardar dressed as if she were the daughter of a peasant? And off the wagons rolled, the last words exchanged between she and her family, unpleasant and distant because she had her own plans and could not share them.
Halfway there, she finally managed to cause enough of a ruckus that Arcadia and Bella got nasty with her, and she used that as the pretense for going off on her own. It was the fateful mistake that would alter her destiny.
That first night, sleeping softly on the overstuffed bed in the wagon, surrounded by her own things... her slaves outside, around the wagon, she dreamed - they were dreams she would never tell another soul, almost a portent of what was to come. What she had not known? The armed slave, charged with her safety... had eaten some very poorly cooked tarsk, and he was quite sick. Perhaps it hadn't been poorly cooked, but deliberately poisoned to incapacitate him - who could really say? Regardless of the cause, she slept thinking herself safe when in truth, she was completely vulnerable.
She awoke with a terrified scream, muffled by the large hand of a man... a hand that held a rep cloth.. a rep cloth soaked with capture scent. Within ihns, she was unconscious. Her trunks raided, everything of value packed up and carted off - including her, perhaps the most valuable item in that wagon.
Days turned into weeks. She had been stripped and put in white silks by a female, a gold belt about her waist and between her legs. Otherwise, she was mostly left alone as if someone had very specific instructions that she was not to be touched in any way. Over land, and then by sea, they traveled... an island far off the mainland, deep in the Thassa, the ship docked at port and she was taken into the city, delivered to a slave house. Weeks of fear, worry, regret and recriminations of herself weighed upon her every waking moment, the beautiful and proud free woman.. left wondering if any moment might mark the end of the life she had known.
~Rowena of Ar~
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