Chapter Text
Lord Equius Zahhak, heir to the seat of the Stronghold and a future member of the Five Great Lords of the Alternian Empire, rode into a village with no name.
Or perhaps it did. He didn’t know. The locals would tell him if he asked, but he tended to avoid talking to them if he could. Partially out of a slight disdain for the peasantry, partially because he found they were much more talkative around people who weren’t him.
Equius was a giant of a man, in size and presence. He wore a masterwork piece of armor that was designed to frighten and intimidate all who looked upon it, and it did that job quite successfully. His sword was long enough to cut three men in half in a single swing, a fact he had learned by experience.
In short, Lord Zahhak worked much better as a threat than a negotiator. Merely by sitting on his warhorse and looking vaguely menacing, he did the work of a dozen burly men with clubs. Villagers fell over each other to do what his officers said.
That was why he was in this dumpy little settlement. He was here for supplies and information, and he knew no one who had it would dare deny him.
Lord Zahhak's men had scoured the countryside for the rebels. A man of his position rarely entered into the muddy, dirty realm of the masses, but this was a particularly fearful quarry he was hunting. The rebel known as The Signless was a master at living off the land, so to keep his own men from starving Lord Zahhak had ordered them to take what they wanted from the locals. This had gone poorly in the past, and several villages now lay smoldering.
Two hundred cavalry clad in their navy armor and on the backs of snorting and heavily-muscled destriers stormed the small village. Lord Zahhak had ordered his men to do as they always did, and to summarily execute anyone who resisted.
It was then that Zahhak and his own personal guard came across a flock of fat, succulent sheep. Their haunches would make excellent meals, and their wool would go far if the campaign went into the winter.
Drawing his steel longbow, Lord Zahhak took careful aim at a nearby sheep. With an exhale, he loosed, and the beast's head split in two. “Take the entire flock,” he ordered, “And if you find the shepherd, bring him to me.”
The men did as ordered and set upon the sheep, bows and blades drawn and ready. They were cutting down the flock with quite a degree of success, when a cry interrupted them. “HEY!”
It was then a lovely girl rushed into view; petite, with long and wild dark hair. Her hair and her roughspun skirts streamed behind her as she dashed down the hill towards the lord and his men. She was a peasant, and had none of the refined beauty of a highborn lady... but she wasn't without her appeal, either. Lord Zahhak raised his thick, dark eyebrows at the trinket around her neck: a gleaming red stone on a gold chain. Not the sort of thing a peasant would have.
There was a rustling as one of his men drew a blade, but Lord Zahhak put up a hand. “Stay yourself,” he said, “She can harm no one but herself.”
Dismounting with a thump, Lord Zahhak strode over to the girl and looked down at her, arms crossed. “Well met. I am claiming your flock in the name of the Empress.”
The girl had a very fine face for her class. When she drew close, it became clear that she had amazing eyes - very large and such a dark, rich brown that they almost seemed to be a warm red. And right now those eyes were blazing. Showing not an ounce of deference for the highborn military man, she stormed right up to him. He seemed to be in charge, after all.
"Well met, indeed!" she said. Her voice was very bright and clear, and she enunciated remarkably well for a peasant. She also sounded furious. "These are my sheep! You've no right to storm in here like that!" The lord utterly dwarfed the girl; she only came up to about his shoulder - if that. Yet she didn't seem to notice at all. Her eye contact was dead-on. "I'll expect compensation for this."
Lord Zahhak swallowed a small laugh that assembled in the back of his throat. He had met a great deal of peasant girls in the course of the campaign, but none had the courage to march up to him and make demands like this one. Such internal strength was a rare quality, to be treasured.
That said, he wasn't about to take an order from the peasantry. “Your compensation is safety,” he said dismissively, “The meat and wool of these animals will be used by my armies to their fullest extent. Do not fear they will not go to waste. As for money I might be able to spare… Oh, twenty silver.” The sum was not one-fifth the value of the entire flock. Lord Zahhak did not believe for a moment she would accept the offer; he was far more interested in her reaction to it being made at all.
It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough, and the girl knew it. She was not stupid, not by any means, and she was livid that this man would even suggest such a thing. She was so horrified that he was intending to eat her sheep in the first place. Her family had always raised them for their wool; they felt like family members, especially now that the girl didn't have any living family.
She glared up at the man. If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead to the ground then and there. "Twenty silver?" she said incredulously, "Don't insult me, sir." Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "You leave my sheep alone. I don't care a thing for your armies. Feed them elsewhere."
Lord Zahhak was in fact very fortunate looks could not kill; that required steel and force, and he was quite resistant to those. With his armor, he was over twice this girl's width. He wouldn't even need his longbow, just his fists... but there was no need to harm her. In fact, he was starting to like this fiery and surprisingly well-proportioned peasant girl. “Fine then. I will spare what is left of your flock in exchange for two things: firstly that necklace around your neck. It catches my eye. Secondly, you, for a night.”
Lord Zahhak was tempted to allow his face to curl into a grin. He didn't smile often; this was a war, after all. But even war had its upsides, and this was one of them.
The fire in the girl sparked and her hand flew protectively to her chest. She was hesitant, but willing to part with that. It wasn't worth her whole flock; she wasn't that prideful or stupid.
But at the second command, her entire demeanor changed. She looked up at him, narrowed eyes going wide with shock. Oh no. There was no way that was happening. The lowborn girl took a defensive step backwards. When she shook her head no, her long dark hair waved behind her like a banner in low wind. The color drained from her already pale face. "No," she said firmly, "No, you keep away from me."
Lord Zahhak kept his face stoic. When he returned home, he had an arranged marriage waiting. Personally, he hated the vicious woman he was slated to wed, but he wasn't in any position to deny his duty. That didn't mean, though, that he couldn't have some fun while he was out here, two hundred miles from the Keep.
The girl's change in demeanor was pleasing as well. She was defiant to the last, and Lord Zahhak liked his women strong. But she didn't seem to understand the gravity of her situation.
His mailed hand shot out, faster than most would have expected. Lord Zahhak moved in heavy armor like most men moved in plain clothes, a benefit of his titanic strength and agility. The girl had no time to move; Lord Zahhak grabbed his small, pointed chin and held her in place. “Perhaps I was unclear,” he told her, “I was not making a request.”
The peasant ought to have thought through her next move with more care, but she didn't hesitate - the second his hand was on her face, she smacked it away. However, his chainmail was both harder and sharper than she had been expecting. Though she broke free from his grip, she'd torn a small (blessedly shallow) gash in her hand. It smarted and dark red blood welled to the surface to stand in abrupt contrast with her pale flesh.
She hissed in a breath through clenched teeth but did not dwell on it, preferring to resume her glaring. "I am not yours to command. And my flock is not yours to take," she said, unabashedly talking back to the lord, "Don’t you dare touch me." Certainly he could kill her with a word or a gesture. But her audacity alone was commendable.
And Lord Zahhak did have half a mind to commend the girl. Most of the peasantry was cowed into submission just by Lord Zahhak's mere presence. He was a large man even without the armor, with long white scars running along his neck and scalp. The peasants knew those scars had been inflicted by men a thousand times more lethal and dangerous than they were. There was no way this girl did not know that, on a whim, Lord Zahhak could have her tortured, killed, raped...
But he was not so cruel. He wasn't going to hurt her, nothing permanent at least. She needed to know her place, that was all. Lord Zahhak wasn't a sadist like that House Makara bastard. A hint of force would do the trick.
“You need to learn your place,” the man informed the girl. Again, Lord Zahhak's hand shot out. This time, it wasn't aiming for her face. His mailed hand folded into a loose fist the size of a small war hammer and, using only a tiny fraction of his tremendous strength, he punched the peasant girl in the stomach.
The action caught her completely by surprise. Perhaps she had been raised gently, or perhaps she had never encountered someone this accustomed to being obeyed, or perhaps no one had ever taught her what might happen to a girl with a mouth too big... But the look on her face spoke of unexpected pain. She doubled over, clutching both arms around her middle, wincing.
For a second it looked almost as if she was bowing to him. Tears sprang to her eyes, but the lass did not allow herself to cry. Beyond one gasping exclamation of pain, she didn't want him to know how much he'd hurt her. "Brute," she indulged in spitting the single word at the highborn man.
Lord Zahhak could not help but be awed at this girl's unflappable resolve. She was practically retching in pain, but she was still defiant. Breaking her wasn't even worth it. Force would not break her, unless he poured so much of it into her that he did irreparable damage.
The man took one knee, putting himself at eye level with the keeled-over girl. With one mailed hand, he removed his glove from the other, revealing his weathered, strong fingers. He then reached for the girl's face, much slower than before. With one finger, he wiped her eye of tears. “That is not my name,” he said calmly, unbothered by her glare, “I am Lord Zahhak. You may call me Equius.”
Unsurprisingly, the young woman flinched away from his touch. She was scared of him now, and she had good reason to be. He was clearly violent. Her family had been very kind - this was alien to her, and she wasn't quite sure how to handle it.
It took some effort, but she straightened up and looked at the man. Kneeling, he managed to be shorter than her. But not by much. He was truly a massive individual.
"...It doesn't matter what I call you," she said. Her red-brown eyes looked at him with something akin to revulsion. "You will not be touching me." Her statements were very clear. She only wished that she had the means to back them.
Lord Zahhak found himself in the peculiar situation of having to look up at somebody. This had not been a common occurrence in his life. Oddly enough, he rather liked it. He always had his chin pointed downwards, and it was surprisingly refreshing to be looking up at someone, especially one as lovely as the girl.
She clearly loathed him, but that wasn't an obstacle. Lord Zahhak got what he wanted, even if it took a little while. Obviously, his approach so far hadn't worked, but getting the girl to sleep with him entirely of her own accord probably went out the window when he killed her sheep.
“Very well.” He stifled a sigh at her stubbornness. Perhaps a clear, simple explanation would do. “You may keep that trinket around your neck if it will make you feel better. However besides that you only have one choice: your flock or your body. What will it be?”
"Forget-," the peasant girl started to say furiously. She clutched the gemstone encircling her thin neck and narrowed her eyes at the man.
But something made her glance back. She turned her head and looked over the formerly peaceful meadow. Her sheep, the only reminder she really had of her family and the only way she had to support herself, were greatly diminished in number. She could not afford to lose any more. She wouldn't survive the next year.
One of her flock was backing away from an armed foot soldier, bleating in terror. The young woman felt a sudden pang for it. For all of them. And for herself.
She turned to look back at Lord Zahhak. He was big, and she had caught on that he was not gentle. The peasant was not a very large young woman, and she was afraid of even attempting this. But... She could bear it. It was only once, only one night. She could get through it if it meant being able to survive. And she had a sneaking suspicion that this man would take what he wanted by force either way. Better to save her sheep.
She felt her eyes prick. She did not want to do this. But she blinked the feeling away furiously. She couldn't let him see her so weak. She stared at the grass beneath her feet. "...Only for one night? After that you leave me and my flock alone?"
In response, Equius turned to his men and raised a hand. “Stay your blades. We are sparing the remainder of this flock.” A few of the soldiers grumbled, but one glare from Equius and their blades returned to their scabbards.
Equius nodded approvingly. “Stack the corpses behind this young woman's cottage, they are hers… And somebody bring me my horse,” he added. He stood up, his armor clanking as the joints rubbed against one another. He should get it oiled tonight.
He then looked at the girl, who was once again teary-eyed. As strong as this young woman was, she was incapable of holding back her emotions. She had to be terrified beyond belief. Lord Zahhak had expressly told his men that they were not to rape any of the women they came across, on pain of castration. It would not do for him to fail to follow his own orders. No, he'd have to make her as comfortable as possible first.
Besides, he loathed the sight of a wailing woman.
Lord Zahhak again reached for the girl's face to dry her tears. This time, though, he hooked his free hand under the girl's backside and lifted her into his arms with only that hand. She inhaled sharply. She'd not been expecting that. The desire to twist and wriggle out of the man's grasp was extraordinary, but she forced it down by biting the inside of her cheek and looking away from him. Equius found her to be nearly weightless in his grasp.
Equius swallowed hard at the sight of her beauty. Her showcasing such impressive force of will had done nothing but make her seem more desirable in his eyes. “You have yet to tell me your name,” Equius pointed out.
For a second she entertained the notion of refusing to give him a name. It might be wiser to remain some poor, unknown peasant girl to him. However, she didn't think she had the energy to maintain that particular form of stubbornness. The last thing she needed was to anger him. "...Aradia Megido," she said, voice sounding dry and scared.
Her head turned to watch her poor dead sheep being gathered up and carted away. She didn't know what she was going to do with them now. She lived alone - she wasn't equipped to do very much with them. The thought of eating them repulsed her, but the young woman supposed that that would be what she'd have to do.
The soldiers rounded up the rest of her livestock and Aradia had to resist the urge to jump in. They were being too rough. Aradia was remarkably careful and gentle with her animals, and it did not sit well with her to see anyone else manhandling them.
Equius noted the change in demeanor. It seemed force was not necessary after all; just a demonstration of how weak and powerless this... Aradia girl was. He carried her over to his horse and placed her on the saddle as gently as he could. It wouldn't do for him to hurt her. After climbing on himself, he gestured to his men, who had finished moving the dead sheep. “Mount up. We are expediting to camp.”