Book 3: Dragonfire

Chapter 5 - The Pits

Lyon's wounds mended over several weeks thanks to the hands of the skilled healers of Meereen, though no amount of skill could completely heal the long marks that would forever mar her back. Nor would it make the memory of the past- had it been weeks or months? Lyon couldn't recall.

Never in Lyon's life has she been beaten into submission. Not like this. And she didn't see her captor for some time after that. He didn't visit her as she healed, but one of his guards always lingered nearby. The guard often had a hand ready on the vicious blade at his side, as if he would cut her down in her path should she flee. Lyon wouldn't have gotten very far anyways, not with the collar around her neck that fastened to a crude chain leash that they enjoyed dragging her by. One strong yank and she would be sent to the ground. Not to mention they itched something fierce. It drove her mad somedays, especially with the weight of the chains binding her face down to a bed, unable to defend herself if the guard across the room got any ideas about the position she was in.

During the first wakeful days of healing Lyon hadn't taken her eyes off of him in the case he acted on any thoughts. He had had the audacity to laugh at her. As if he would ever lower himself to her level. She wanted to hate him, but couldn't find the energy. Lyon stopped watching him after awhile.

The guard was a constant shadow over those weeks. As were the healers that dressed her wounds, collars like her own clutching their throats. They came and went, always in silence. Lyon briefly wondered what the Slaver had done to keep them from speaking to her. Those thoughts were always interrupted by the memory of a whip cracking and searing pain. So, she stopped wondering.

When Lyon had healed enough to stand, she was allowed to walk circles around the room to get her strength back. It was tedious, mindlessly walking in circles for an hour at a time before being forced to rest and eat stomach-turning gruel. Her strength came back faster than she wanted it to. Idle thinking always lead to the anticipation of what would happen when she had finally healed. Calling it anticipation and not outright fear was being generous. The more weight she gained and the more her wounds healed, the more fearful Lyon began to feel.

It was during one of her leashed walks that he finally showed himself. No word of greeting. He simply appeared at the doorway as she walked in bitter circles around the room.

"Grab her and follow me." He ordered, that fake friendly demeanor gone. He was in a foul mood.

Lyon knew better than to fight back when one of the guards grabbed her this time.

"Her grace, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, has done us the good fortune of reopening the fighting pits. That is where you are being led to, slave." He said. No more Rauros, this was yet another name she would come to live with.

Lyon followed in silence. How long had the trip to Meereen been? Long enough that Daenerys had conquered it in the time it took Lyon to get there and heal from her wounds. She was so close to the Queen, yet Daenerys Targaryen was as unreachable as ever.

The Slaver stopped and turned to face her. He eyed her chains, then gestured to them.

The guard didn't need verbal direction as he unlocked first the chains at her feet, then those binding her wrists, and finally the slave collar around her throat. Lyon fought the urge as long as she could, then began to scratch the pale flesh of her neck furiously.

"You should be thanking me." The Slaver said.

"Thank you, Master." She hated that she couldn't say it faster, and hated herself for thinking that.

Content with her response, he began to walk and talk. Lyon had no other choice but to follow as he exited the villa to stand on a balcony. Sprawled out below them was the city of Meereen. It was the first time she had layed eyes on the city. Perhaps Lyon would have marvelled at the city's beauty, but the occasion was soured by the company. From the balcony she could see the Great Pyramid and its neighbors in all its glory, the sun beaming down at the stone and sending light glinting off its surface.