Wings of Time

No Such Thing as Slave

The Pharaoh didn't know what to think of the pale girl shuffling about his chamber with her white head bowed. She made not a sound except for the crackle of the brass chains against the floor as she carefully polished ornaments, walls, floors, and organized the large bed. Now and then his eyes would fall on the bandages wrapped about her arms and legs and he'd grimace. Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to send her to the servant quarters with the rest of the slaves. While slaves were well treated in the palace comparatively to the rest of the world, the overseers and masters were far from forgiving when one didn't follow or snap to their orders quickly enough. But it was only because she couldn't understand Egyptian. And with that thought, Atem tried to force down a twinge of guilt. So far he had failed to find another of her tongue. That left only him that could understand her, and in turn, her him.

Thus, here she was, his personal slave as shown by the brass cuffs and following chains about her ankles. For the past week she had yet to speak a word to him, and the king almost feared her voice had been beaten out of her completely by the whips and fists. Or even worse, it could be her hate towards him that stopped her mouth. Somehow, that bothered him more.

"Your name is Aleah, correct?" He oddly loved saying the name because of the feel the foreign consonants had on his tongue.

She picked up her head from the side of his white, linen sheets to give him a baleful stare. Such blue eyes, lighter and brighter than Set's ever could be...he shifted uneasily.

"Why do you still refuse to speak to me? Have you forgotten your words in such a short time?"

In answer, she looked back down at his pillows, rearranging them perfectly for the third time. He didn't know how long he could take this.

"Aleah, come here."

Dutifully, she left the pristine bed and shuffled towards him, threatening to trip over her chains more than once before kneeling at his feet. She took her face to the smooth, granite floor. It made his stomach sink even more.

"No...no, please rise. I just wanted to talk to you."

She rose. But her eyes were empty and emotionless as they stared unseeingly at his chest. He dared to touch her face and lift it to him, but she refused to meet his eyes. What if she did hate him? Well, so what? Perhaps she sought an apology—something he could not give. But what should he say to draw out her words? What had happened to make her so still and cold?

Looking at her strange, exotic blue eyes and her peculiar thick mane of platinum blond hair, her words on that first night rang through his head:

'I must have gone to the ancient past. But this can't be real, this place just can't be real! How did I get here?'

Could it be possible that she was telling the truth? Set and Isis had both sworn to her honesty, having tested the waters of her mind with their millennium items, but still he could not grasp it. In fact, he had been so bemused and enraged by her determination to tell him such ridiculous lies that he had thrown her to the side as a servant to be dealt with by others. He figured that her language was of some Grecian dialect and had presumed someone would eventually understand her. But, even if she were from a land so foreign she wouldn't know of Egypt, adaptation to another language and culture would be hard. Forget about the future. And then he realized just as solidly as when she had accidentally fled into his chambers, bleeding, torn and scared for her life, just how alone she really was.

Pressing his lips tight and furrowing his brow, he reached within his belt and took out a small, brass key. Her eyes didn't even flicker to it, such was her defeated state. She flinched as his fingers touched along her ankle and put the key to the cuff.