The Great Defender [open]

[Osir Shadii]

Moira was indeed a gentle woman. But with the way she looked at Osir, could he be sure of that? For the moment, he kept his silence and stood tall. Was he scaring the girl? Or was he being a bit too harsh? Whatever it was, Moira did not seem to appreciate his actions.

But still, she was speaking in a foreign tongue, and one of which he could not understand. Her quote must have been Irish, or so he thought and as he watched her patiently, he noticed that she and him were very much different in some points, and in others, similar. Moira was one that was both tough, but still caring on the inside. And with that, something made Osir admire her.

Osir then began to speak, only trying to seem calm. He did not want to strike anymore fear into the girl as he could see he was already doing that. "Youth, you don't need to fear me at all." Was what he managed to say, still not knowing her name.

[Layla Amisi]

Layla stood there, her eyes darting nervously from side to side though they were fixed on the ground before her. She would've shifted, but was too nervous to. It was a better thing that they were not positioned in a main hallway, for if that were to happen, there was no doubt that the slave would've been spotted with the royals and superiors and she would've undoubtedly be punished for such insolence. Hathor knows what they would do this time, take away her day's meal, give her horrible jobs, or even beat her. The guards seemed to enjoy the latter best, which was frightening. The slaves around the palace were extremely obedient for fear of their blows, which was no surprise. However, the slightest mistake or slip-up could lead to a beating. By far the most frightening weapon they wielded was the scimitar, the weapon they used when...

Layla was pulled out of her thoughts by the soft voice of the woman again. She claimed she was not a superior, which confused the little girl. Any other in the palace other than the slaves were higher in status, considering this man was the Pharaoh's general and the woman...well she did not know. However, when Layla heard the part that she would not get her in trouble, the child relaxed a little. That did not completely relieve her, though. Just because the woman wouldn't, didn't mean that any witnesses wouldn't. Layla hoped that she would keep her word, or there was no escape for her. When still she was too shy to say another word, the nice woman shot a look at the general and then crouched down. This movement caused the little girl to try to step back, but yet again she was stopped by the stone wall.

Eye-contact was forced between them now. Layla's soft brown eyes looked away slightly before she whispered quietly, "You should go. If they saw this..." her small voice trailed off. However, a sudden expression of shock cross the little girl's face when the woman took her chin in her hand. Higher-ups did not touch slaves, as they were considered filth. That hadn't happened since her mother was still alive. The very reminder made her sad, but this time, it was more or less comforting. She did not cringe or flinch at this touch, for it calmed her fear some. The woman's voice was soft, but she could only understand the first two words before she began to speak another language. This language quite interested her, though. It was fluent and fit together like a puzzle. The ring to it was musical, airy, even. Layla suddenly wanted to hear more, wanting to understand what she said. When would she be able to understand?

It did not matter, for the stroke against her cheek calmed the child. Something sparkled in her brown eyes. Perhaps it was hope, or the feeling that someone cared; that finally someone did not intend to harm her. Something close to a smile pulled at her pink lips. Layla looked up as the woman rose with a certain longing, but then gazed at the ground. If anyone had seen..."This isn't safe..." she whispered softly. She didn't want to get them in trouble because of her own wrong-doings. But when the general spoke, she looked up. He really had naught much say in their conversation until now. Layla was silent, but watched him warily, her brown eyes flickering to the sword sheathed at his side. He was still a soldier, a guard, a general of the army. And still, he was no less frightening.

[Moira Andriu]

Moira froze a moment as the child backed up from her, thankfully the wall was there. Well it was good for Moira, but for the terrified child it was a corner. The Irishwoman knew how the girl felt. Trapped in a cage, a wild animal backed into a place that they couldn’t get out of, surrounded by everything with no prayer to get free.
Pity creeped into her dove colored eyes. How the hell could they do this to a child? She barely looked old enough to even be a woman yet.

Anger boiled inside her, hidden behind the mask of calm. All that she lived for, all that she knew was falling down around her. This child, the country, the people, what was happening? So long she had only known one place, and one way of life, now her eyes were being opened, and she knew then she was going to prefer Ireland forever. If nothing else however long she stayed there Moira was going to protect that girl. She’d stand as a guardian angel the girl had been denied of.

She tossed a glare at Osir for calling her youth. “I believe she has a name m’lord,” the woman challenged. She turned her eyes back to the girl. “Don’t ye little lass?” She hoped the girl would tell them her name; she couldn’t very well keeping thinking of her as a girl. She sighed softly as the child said that Moira should go. “I’ll not go.” She said softly. “It’s safe enough with our permission to speak,” she tucked a strand of the girl’s hair behind her ear. “I’ll fight them off, how about that?”

Moira had seen the quick lighting in the girl’s eyes when she had touched her cheek. She knew that servants weren’t exactly handled warmly. A soft caress would have made the girl the slightest bit happier. One day, she promised herself, I’m gonna get ya outta this place. “Where’s your family?” the woman asked after a couple beats of silence. “Do they work here too?” Back home they kept families together even if they were servants.

[Osir Shadii]

Osir looked to Moira as she directed him to call the girl by her name. But how could he? How could he call her by her name if all he known was that she was a little slave girl? It was almost hard though, as Osir really liked Moira and now she seemed to be upset with him. Was it really his fault for taking orders from the great king Seti I? Or, could it have been his fault for not knowing the little girl's name? No.

All he knew her as was a Hebrew, and a girl under which was given orders to follow on a daily basis. "What's your name, then? And, please do not be so alarmed by me--I do not harm the innocent." Osir said, trying to smile again. Hopefully that would help little Layla to see that he was a friend, not foe.

Should I even be talking right now? I only seem to make Moira angry at me when I do. And I shouldn't be seen with a slave--I mean the girl--for it would be my certain demise to be caught! Pharaoh Seti will have my head! But what should I do? Osir thought, soon looking down the hallway for a sign of someone coming.

[Layla Amisi]

The young girl pressed herself against the stone wall, feeling like a frightened animal that was trapped with no escape. Her brown eyes darted around nervously for some kind of comfort, but there was only but the walls of the palace and their grim reminder. The grim reminder of who she was and who she would forever be, a slave in the hands of God. Layla's muscles tightened as she was ready to flee this scene. This could cause her demise if she was seen speaking to any higher status around the Palace. Her gut instinct was to run, run as far away as she could from these strangers, but Layla was glued to the stone floor. Her leg moved as though she were going to shimmy away from them and fly, never to look back.

However, when the fair-haired woman with white skin looked back at Layla, the little girl stopped in her tracks and froze again. She nodded slowly, carefully at the question. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper as she studdered. "K-ken..." It was in her own language, something she would later kick herself mentally for using when around them. "Layla." The slave whispered once more in response. Her brown eyes continued to wander among her bare feet as she studied the floor below. The little slave still did not believe that this was safe, for her body language presented just that. Just because they said it was, didn't mean it was. They didn't understand. Well, she didn't at least. The general most likely understood, as he probably watched slaves' punishments daily. Sadness suddenly washed over her.

Something of a flashback of Layla's mother abruptly consumed her when the woman pushed a curly lock behind her ear. Another thing her mother would do. The little girl's heart throbbed in remembrance of her family and their kind gestures of compassion. She rarely recieved those anymore, if even not at all. However, the speak of fighting off the guards scared Layla, and shocked her at the same time before remembering that there was a sword in the woman's hilt. A woman fighting was a rare sight to see, and now she was to experience one. In Egypt, such was forbidden, Layla knew. The slave suddenly had the curiosity of a five year-old to know where she hailed from. Were all as pale as she? Did all have the fair hair and strange talk like she? Layla was distracted from her sadness by this curiosity, but it soon returned at yet another disheartening question.

The little girl's heart sank within her chest. There was absolutely no one. Not Issa, not her mother nor father. None of her childhood friends and their families. Now Layla refused to look back up, her entire head turning away from the adults before her. A lump arose in her throat, threatening to conjure up tears within her eyes, but she held them back. She forced herself not to make mental images of her deceased family, for it would only bring more pain. Her voice lowered to something barely inaudible.

"Dead."

[Moira Andriu]

Moira smiled at Osir, a small gesture of gratitude to helping her with the girl. She couldn’t block the hurt in her heart as the girl backed further into the wall, like an animal caught in a trap; she had the same eyes that rolled around as a rabbit did when its foot was caught in a snare. She heard the first word all though vaguely as the child stuttered and knew it wasn’t the same language. “Layla?” Moira asked with a kind smile. “That’s a pretty name.”

She knelt once again, dove gray eyes holding onto the face of Layla. “My names Moira,” she said gently. “That’s all you need to call me. Whenever ya need me I’ll be there,” she added. It was risky, especially with Osir right there, but this little girl needed her, or she needed Layla. “Oh,” Moira murmured as the girl said her parents, her family were dead. “Aye, I know what that’s like,” she lifted Layla’s chin once more. “But you always haveta remember little one, someone’s waiting for you, somewhere out there, underneath the same big sky.”

How could she tell the girl to keep a little prayer in her pocket, and she was sure to see the light someday, that there would be joy and happiness, and her little world would be warm and bright, with someone loving her. It was hard as a young girl to understand the things Moira met, she knew that. Something her mother used to tell her was out in the world there were fifteen people you had never met that loved you, that somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight someone’s thinking of you, and loving you that night.

[Osir Shadii]

Osir could feel a sort of pain wrench at his own heart now, as he listened to the girl mention that her parents were dead. That was a sad reality. Especially for someone so young. But even so, all Osir could do was remain a silent for the moment, only soon after to realize that the girl had told them her name. "Layla? Well, you won't need to worry around me--like I said before, I will not harm anyone innocent."

He tried to sound a bit more kindhearted than before, but it was difficult. Osir wasn't used to a situation like this, and of course, it wasn't in his nature to talk to slaves. But he couldn't help but feel a similar sort of hurt in his own mind--as he really did not spend a lot of time with his parents, either. Unless it was his father, whom was also a part of the Pharaoh's services, some time ago.

Osir didn't know his mother all too well, as she was taken from him when he was still a boy. Death. It was a terrible fate really. And his father was changed into a completely serious person after that. It was near everyday that Osir would have training lessons with his father, and whether it was with a sword, or without one, it depended on his father's mood. But still, some part of him couldn't help but feel sad for the little girl. "I am Osir, by the way." He told her, trying the calm routine again.