John
Maren

Court of Bradai Maith, Tonate Proper


The next person to speak to the king was almost looked over, but she held her hand upward to make sure the people in charge of the impressive line of commoners coming to speak their piece noticed the insignificant child. 


Maren stepped forward as some chuckles went through the crowd. What could a mere child want from the King of the Southern Isles? She wore the same dress she was brought in, it was a fine light blue, and the fabric was more expensive, but the ends were dirty, and her feet were bare. She had pulled off her shawl to reveal her shoulders, covered in raised Oldtongue symbols scarred into her from a young age.  She was northern, emaciated, and pale. She bowed lowly, her hair falling from her shoulders to curtain her round face. 


"Da king of the south." She murmured. Realizing she couldn't be heard, she raised her head. "Uh... Hallo, King!" She said confidently, and the crowd chuckled once more. "I have come from no home, and no hope, and I have come to talk to the King who is... You're a good king!" She fidgeted, looking around at the whispering crowd. "Uh... Uhm... Because you take care of your people like a real papa! You don't be better, you are all good together." She wasn't certain if she was making sense, but she knitted her fingers to prove the point. 


"I have come from... A bad place with no kings. And coming from... That place, I don't know how to talk or act for you. I'm sorry. B-but... A lot of people say I'm special! And I want to help... You. And Puck, and your... Your friend, there! I wanna help them too!" She pointed at Silas. Perhaps he would remember her from the ball. "I have tasted your... Your surf... Surfer... Sufferin'! I feel your hurt, you're made... Mads... Madness. And I can... I can try and help, see?" She pointed to her scars.


The crowd had continued muttering, but few were left laughing. 

"...Because I need your help. I was told it's called a tr.. Trade."
Rhonda
The Pirate King, Bradai Maith
The Court of Skulls

He was just about to get up and leave for his midday lunch when a little girl wandered onto the floor of his court and became a petitioner. One the servants that had been summoned to move his desk away from his throne took a step back, unsure as whether or not to proceed with his orders. 

"Just a drink, vhen," The King said softly, and the servant nodded before heading back behind the dais. They returned a moment later with a goblet of chilled rum. The girl looked simple and poor, not unlike the urchins that ran around his city, but her accent was not that of the Isles. It was not uncommon for escaped slaves to come to his city and request audience. More often than not, he met with them when he could, because all slaves were brothers. But very rarely did a _child_ ever demand an audience. 

When she spoke, she spoke to him directly and then to Silas, whose veneer of utter boredom shattered when she showed his scars and talked of his suffering. If he was interested in what the girl was saying he did not show it, only propping himself upon his elbow slightly when she mentioned Puckgordon, his apprentice. 

His court was laughing, and as usual, he was in no mood to laugh. 

"Oi!" The King shouted, "I'll 'ave no laughing!" His face turned sour, "Snickering and _cackling_ at a little girl, aye? Aye?!" 

When they calmed down, the King set the goblet on the desk and grabbed his quill. This was all out of order.

"Firstly, I must know your name," The King said, "And I must know your reason for coming, and 'ow you got 'ere. I do not do business wiff little girls like yourself, aye, but if you want my 'elp I must 'ear you out. So, state your name, where you're from, why you're 'ere. If only because I must 'ave it in my ledgers. If you do not, I must send you back to wherever you came from."
John
Maren

Court of Bradai Maith, Tonate Proper


Maren swallowed her nerves as Bradai defended her, the chucklers weaved into the crowd were shut up subsequently after the King's holler. She felt those nerves starting to emerge again as he told her what she had to declare.


"....Uhm... Before I say anything, King! I want you to know I never got to make a choose before!" She held her hands together tightly. "My name is Maren. I don't have no other name. I was... I'm from *Way* Over there." She pointed North. "Over water and ground. And snow." She said, unsure of what to call the Witherlands. "Where people are scared to go." She nodded. "I was freed from a hole by my brother Enoch, before I drowned in it by the water. My father put me there cause I dropped... I dropped his meal." She felt her lip tremble, but she shook her head and looked at Bradai with glassy eyes. "But I was brought here by... By... The sk... The Skaggerlies. But I didn't have no choosing. He said I was good luck. My father had made me into a vessel." She dragged her fingers over her scars again, her bottom lip pushed out with fear of what would happen to her. 


"He said I was good luck, but he was hurted cause of what he done. I'm special, but I'm not good luck. He never loved me, no one ever loved me. But he bringed me here. He never hurt me, but he didn't let me go. I'm sorry, King, if you don't want to help me, will you still let me go?" She was on the verge of tears. "Even if I wanna help, I wanna be free... More than anything... Want someone to loved me."