Caveat
Emptor
Disclaimer – I do not own Gundam
Wing. This fic is written purely for
non-profit entertainment purposes.
Relena walked through the throng of
people, noticing the unabashed stares of the many who turned their heads to
catch a glimpse of her. Perhaps it was
merely because ladies of her station were not seen in this sector of the
markets that her presence prompted such attention. Or perhaps it was due to the tall, silent guard that kept a
constant vigil by her side.
“It is your beauty,” her companion said as
if reading her thoughts. She smiled in
return. Trowa rarely spoke, but when he
did, it was only to lend a voice to truth. He was not like some of her
acquaintances that idly paid such compliments.
“My lady,” the soldier’s voice lowered as he continued. “I do not feel that it is wise for you to be seen amongst the slave vendors. The merchants here are not like those you would normally deal with.”
“Trowa, I have nothing to fear. Not when I
am escorted by one of Caesar’s finest guards.” She watched his jaw set as his
eyes continued to rove over the crowd – no doubt searching for any signs of
danger. She had not lied; he was one of
the best, and often assigned to keep watch over her when she went out.
The dusty marketplace twisted into large
knots of commerce, alive with a thousand different sounds. Merchants shouted their wares amidst
numerous wooden carts, and vendors plied their trade. The young woman observed all, her expression mild and purposely
appearing unaffected by the bustle of the crowd. Inside, however, sadness tore at the depth of her heart. All around her, human souls were being sold
like chattel; human lives were being treated like they were dispensable. What had drawn her to this corner of the
market at all?
She stopped a moment, to gaze at an odd
little man whose wares were obviously more suited to the Gladiator
trainers. The slaves were all shackled
together in a line, a motley bunch of warriors – dirty and barely clothed to
show off their muscles. Various scars
upon their bodies told of lives that had already seen too many battles.
The little man, his hair long and grey and
a beard that grew pointed on the end of his chin, leered at her and limped in
her direction.
“Ah, my Lady, perhaps I can interest you
in something? A new addition for your… private collection perhaps?”
Trowa moved in front of her, his hand on
his blade. The old man gave an unsettling cackle. Allowing herself to be ushered away, she froze, as what she had
thought was a mound of tattered rags stirred.
On second glance, she realised that it was
indeed not rags, but a man. He was
crouched on the ground, and unlike the other slaves, was restrained not only
with wrist and leg irons but also a thick iron collar around his throat , which
was chained to a solid post. As she
stepped closer, the man lifted his head and glared at her through his thick
mane of dark brown hair. His dark blue
eyes flashed dangerously at her, and he bared his teeth, not unlike the wild
animal he was being treated like.
She gasped; the sense of sadness, and even
some guilt, choking the air from her lungs.
What could have happened to bring a man to this? His face was certainly not unattractive, but
his bottom lip had been split and a large bruise ran down the left side of his
face. On closer inspection, she saw
that his hair was crusted with dried blood and the tattered shirt he wore did
little to disguise the fresh lash marks across his back.
“Please,” she whispered, as she crept
towards him “I mean you no harm.”
Extending her hand, she touched her
fingers to his forehead, starting slightly as he flinched. Before she could do more, however, an arm
grabbed her waist and she found herself being dragged backwards.
“You would be wise to stay away from that
one, My Lady,” the little man cautioned.
“He is quite mad. You would have
no use for him. Quite a waste of your
coins.”
She frowned at him, as she glanced towards
her escort. Folding her hands, she gave
the merchant her most regal stare.
“Who are you to suggest what I have or
have not use for?” Her tone was deceptively serene.
“Oh course, My Lady,” the man simpered. “I
would be honest and say that I would sell him to anyone if it meant I would see
the back of him, but I could not live with myself if this wretch were to harm
such a fine lady as yourself.”
“Name your price. My welfare is none of your concern.”
The man glanced nervously at Trowa, who appeared
somewhat uneasy himself.
“I could not possibly accept payment for
him.”
She frowned at him, her displeasure
obvious.
“I will not be denied. If you will not sell him to me here, then I ask
you to bring him to my home and my brother will arrange payment.”
“Your brother, My Lady?”
“Yes.
You should not have any trouble remembering his name. Just go to the palace on the hill and ask
for Caesar.”
The old
man visibly blanched, as he stuttered his acceptance. Turning back to her new acquisition, she touched her fingers
against his shoulder. As she began to
move away, she heard his words - soft, yet still menacing.
“I will kill you.”
******