Theonia (ASOIAF SI)

[void_petrichor]

Nizdar qo Triqea | Meereen | 255 AC

Lounging in the shade of his lowered palanquin, Nizdar qo Triqea watched the barbed leather whip crack into Aurion's back. The sound echoed in the empty fighting arena.

Gresdo brought the whip down hard, again and again. Twelve years as the slave overseer had taught the man how to draw out the most pain without killing or crippling.

Aurion stood immobile, bound upright to a wooden pillar. His screams tore through the air with every blow. Teeth clenched, he tried and failed to hold back his tears.

Stubborn brat, Nizdar thought. He enjoyed Aurion's torment for some time before flicking his wrist and commanding, "Enough."

The whip halted mid-swing. Gresdo bowed his head and stepped back.

Rising slowly, Nizdar crossed the arena floor towards the boy. Up close, Aurion's body was a brutal map of fresh wounds and old scars. Blood ran in rivulets down his skin, soaking the ground. He frowned as some dirtied the hem of his robe.

Seizing a fistful of his black hair, Nizdar wrenched Aurion's head back. Blood-red eyes met his gaze.

"What ever shall I do with you?" he murmured.

Aurion said nothing.

Nizdar slammed Aurion's face hard against the pillar. His lip split open, leaving a bloody kiss on the wood. Releasing his grip, Nizdar brushed his hand clean against his silken tokar. He stared at the boy and pondered the question that gnawed at him.

How do I punish my most prized fighter?

The answer had eluded him since his return from Yunkai. Aurion had used the lull in security caused by the trip to stage an escape. He had gotten far, killing multiple guards and freeing others, before being caught when some loyal slaves aided the pursuers.

A runaway slave was usually easy to deal with. A flogging, a public execution, or a few days of inventive torment reminded everyone of their place. But the scale of this attempt was different, with almost a fourth of the slaves being involved. Worse still, Aurion was no ordinary slave.

Thousands of children had been bred in Nizdar's fighting pits. They all needed decades of training before they could entertain the crowds with something besides their own quick and gory deaths. All except Aurion.

Born with an eerie maturity and a gifted mind, Aurion had dazzled the crowds with unique showmanship at an early age. Now, aged three and ten, he paired it with considerable skill at arms.

Like a sponge he absorbed all the lessons the gladiatorial instructors taught him and he did not content himself with just that. The boy constantly pestered his cage-mates for scraps of knowledge. Some had obliged, teaching Aurion of their skills and languages.

A Dothraki ex-bloodrider named Krollo had taught him horsemanship. An exiled Summer Islander called Xalthra had taught him the bow. Numerous others contributed as well.

Some of the slaves, who had been born in the pits or spent decades there, latched onto the young Aurion as if he were their own blood. Krollo oiled and braided Aurion's hair in Dothraki custom, and Xalthra outright adopted him.

Aurion's mind and maturity, paired with his training and his tall, stout frame, should have made him the perfect gladiator. But he was born with a deep, unyielding pride and a fearless spirit utterly unbefitting of a slave.

Even now, battered and bloodied and with his fate in Nizdar's hands, Aurion did not look afraid. In pain yes but not afraid. Unlike the others, he neither feared nor loved Nizdar, despite the spoils showered upon him after his victories and the countless beating he endured.

Nizdar knew he could break Aurion into submission if he wanted to. But he also knew a broken Aurion would be worthless. It was the boy's spirit that made the crowds roar.

He alone would insult the mob while dancing away from a charging elephant, felling it with stupendous horseback archery. He alone would spare an enemy who had nearly killed him, and draw thunderous applause.

Only unbroken could Aurion make him richer. And rich he had made him.

From every corner of the world, people came to Meereen to witness the fighting pits. And when they arrived, they came to Nizdar's arena to see the boy they called the Bloodbringer, a title Nizdar suspected Aurion had started himself.

Therein lies the dilemma. No self-respecting Great Master of Meereen would allow a slave to flaunt defiance. Yet no one would willingly destroy such a gold mine.

The sun glinting off the silver bells braided into Aurion's hair caught Nizdar's eye. A cruel smile curled his lips as the answer he had been looking for clicked into his mind.

"Gresdo," he ordered, "bring the Dothraki known as Krollo. Now."

Nizdar's smile deepened as he saw Aurion's body tense against the rope binding him. He will learn to fear me today, Nizdar vowed.

Gresdo soon returned with Krollo, bound in iron chains, trailing behind him. With the tilt of his head Nizdar signaled for him to be tied to the wooden pillar across from Aurion.

The Dothraki smiled weakly as he looked at Aurion. Speaking in his guttural tongue he barked out some words that made Aurion scoff. Curious, Nizdar turned to Gresdeo who translated.

"He remarked something along the lines that Aurion needs to cut his braid for losing and that he shouldn't have come back for the other slaves, even him, Great Master."

Nizdar drew his dagger and walked up to Krollo. With a single swipe he cut off the man's braid that went to the small of his back.

"You're welcome." Nizdar mockingly said. "For haven't you also lost your right to a braid as part of the failed runaway attempt?"

Perhaps already knowing the fate that lay in his future instead of glancing away like usual, Krollo met Nizdar eyes. His brown eyes seemed inhumane with how much they burned with hatred.

Nizdar took a step back in fright. His face flushed with embarrassment as he realized what he did.

"Whip," he shouted.

Gresdo placed it into his hand and Nizdar immediately got to work. He rained blow after blow against Krollos body. The whip tore through the flesh of his face, straight through his calf, and cut wounds all over his body. Krollo screamed in agony.

Aurion quickly broke his silence to plead.

"Great Master, please enough. I'll do everything you say. I will be your obedient puppet. Please just spare Krollo."

A slave dared to ask of me? Nizdar increased the strength of his blows. Aurion pleaded all the while but to no avail.

After a while Nizdar panted out of breath and told Gresdo to continue Krollo's torment. Krollo had been beaten so heavily that even the wooden pillar he was tied to was cracked.

In the lull of the whip being handed over Krollo bit into the oaken log before him and ripped a piece free. Chewing he turned his mangled head and spat the wooden shrapnel at Gresdo who neared to whip him. Screaming in pain the fat man stumbled back holding his hands to his eyes.

Krollos used that moment to quickly speak to Aurion, using the Meereen dialect of Valyrian to make sure his words got across.

"Son not of my blood listen well. You owe me a debt for the knowledge I have taught you and you will pay it with blood. With the blood of the Ghiscari slavers who thought to own a man such as I. With the blood of the Dothraki who sold me. And most importantly with the blood of Nizdar."

He paused as his body was wracked with bloody coughs but pushed through.

"Bloodbringer you named yourself to draw the crowds and Bloodbringer you will become. Live well my son and remember me not as this small slave but as the bloodrider named He Who Rides With Death."

With a savage smile that tore at the bloody wounds on his face Krollo slammed his head forward into a piece of wood that jutted out. It pierced through his eye, killing him instantly.

Aurion wailed and fought against his restraints, cursing as the half blind Gresdo began to kick at Krollo's corpse.

Nizdar returned after having retreated in fear. He grew incensed at meeting Aurion's anger-filled eyes.

"Unless you wish for the same fate to befall Xalthra you will lower your gaze like the dog you are."

Aurion obeyed, though his reluctance was plain.

Satisfied enough, Nizdar turned from him and made his way back to the palanquin, thinking on how to punish the other slaves.

He had caught every word Krollo spat at the boy but Aurion was no true threat in his eyes. Yet still he planned.

From now on the arena will grind Aurion to exhaustion until even the thought of defiance becomes beyond him.
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[ArPharazon]

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