DISCLAIMER: Don't own :)
Such fun! Well, the last chapter- not so much. But this one is better, I promise!
"We're not going to the armoury, so stop asking." The Commander's voice was stern and thick with irritation.
The Cat sighed. It wasn't like she wanted to do anything, she wasn't stupid, but it would be so nice to be surrounded by weapons again! And if there was a chance to slip a knife or two into the sleeves of the ridiculous dress she had been stuffed into, well- the Cat wasn't one to waste an opportunity.
"What exactly do you think I'm going to do, with your watchdogs at my heel?" she asked, pursing her lips.
Gendry gave her a frustrated glare. "I am not taking you there," he said again.
"Fine," she sighed. "Where else is there to go?"
She had managed to convince him to let her out of her chambers for a tour. He had been reluctant, but she had pestered him until he gave up. She had already spied a dozen escape routes, but the castle was a maze of dead end stairwells and corridors that went nowhere, or led around in a loop so you were right back where you started. It was an old castle, though nowhere near as old as Winterfell had been, or even the temple in Braavos, but Maegor the Cruel had had the architects and builders killed so that no one but him ever really knew how it all fit together. It truly was a rat's nest; fitting, considering the people who dwelled here.
It was no wonder that no one had found her when she had ventured into the secret tunnels. She still remembered how afraid she had been in the dark, surrounded by imagined monsters, listening to whispers coming from that strange vault beneath her feet.
"You tell me, you said you've been here before," Gendry said.
"For business, not pleasure," she answered slyly, shooting him a menacing sideways look.
He glowered and wrapped a hand around her elbow to drag her out of the one of the pretty courtyards they had walked into. "Considering what your former business entails, saying things like that is hardly going to make me trust you enough to take you to the armoury."
She snatched her arm back and stiffened as she heard the two guards trailing them hefted their crossbows. "Can you tell your lackeys to relax?" she hissed. "I can't win this stupid competition with a bolt on my spine that I got for tripping over the hems of this bloody dress!" She flapped the flouncy skirts at him in emphasis.
He watched her with amusement, but did hold a hand out to the two guards, who lowered their weapons. "As a Faceless Assassin one would think you'd be used to costumes." He waved at her dress with an arched brow.
They crossed the corridor and passed the steps, heading out into the garden beside the Sept- which she noted was full of workers. "Never something as useless as this tent you call a dress!" she snapped. It was a ridiculous thing, with great billowing sapphire skirts, dagged sleeves trimmed with cream lace and a bodice laced so tight she could scarce breathe in the wretched thing! But alas, it was all she had to wear, as the tailor had not yet finished her clothes and her borrowed ones had been taken for washing. She watched as the construction workers carried a ladder through the doors. "Let's go see," she said, walking towards the building before he could reply.
She heard the commander heave a long, weary sigh behind her. No doubt he had better things to be doing than playing nursemaid to her, but she couldn't help but take a small amount of pride in just how vexed he seemed to be, how on edge he was every time she moved or opened her mouth.
"Fine- but quickly. And then straight back to your rooms," he said, catching up to her, tone strict. She rolled her eyes. He sounded just like her old septa!
She paused at the doors, great slabs of redwood, decorated with gold work. She could still smell the lingering scent of incense, and caught a glimmer of rainbow cast by the crystals hanging in the windows. "What are they doing?" she asked the commander.
"The king has ordered it to be refashioned into a temple for the Lord of Light," he answered.
She spied a bucket of candles, the waxes all different colours. She remembered stealing two, after her father had been arrested, one green and one blue. She considered pinching a couple, but knew that there was no way she'd be allowed fire in her room. Besides, there was no possible way of turning them into weapons.
"Will there still be services?" she asked, walking over to the alter for the Stranger. She stared into his face, and wondered what he saw looking back. Her septa had once told her that all people had an affinity for one or two of the Seven. Her mother had always said her youngest daughter took after the Warrior more than the maiden or mother. She had been wrong. The Cat was the Stranger's child.
Gendry shrugged. "How should I know?" he asked with faint irritation. She rolled her eyes; was there anything that didn't annoy this man? "Why? I didn't think Faceless Assassins were particularly devout."
She snorted. "Then you'd be wrong. They're even more fanatic than your red priestess is."
He raised a brow. "They? Not we?"
She pressed her lips into a frown. "I'm not one of them anymore. Never really was, truthfully." She reached out a finger to touch the Stranger's face. The stone was cold against her skin, but also... more, somehow. Like something living thrummed beneath the surface. "I still don't know exactly how it happened," she said quietly.
"Your capture, you mean?" His tone was carefully blank, but regardless of whether the Cat had ever truly been a Faceless Man, she had been trained like one, and it was no difficult thing to hear the curiosity in his words.
"I know I was betrayed," she answered, still not turning to look at him. "The mission... it was a set up. Right from the beginning." She dropped her hand and stared and stared into the rendering of the Stranger. There was nothing warm in her gaze. "When I am free, I will get my revenge. I'll storm right into the temple and slaughter anyone who had a hand in it." She would, too. But there was someone else she had to find first. Someone who's death she would draw out over hours, until they begged for mercy she would not give.
Gendry was quiet for a moment, and then said, "you shouldn't expect honour in such company."
Her laugh was cold, humourless. "What is honour?" she mused. "Is it a man's shield, or his sword?"
"How do you mean?" he asked. "What's the difference?"
The Cat turned to face him. Her expression was as cool and unearthly as the Stranger behind her as she said, "If a man uses honour as a shield to hide behind, is he still honourable? If he uses it as a sword with which to cut other men down, is it still just?" She cocked her head.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Gendry asked, broad shoulders stiffening.
"I'm trying to decide which type of man you are," she answered evenly.
The commander swallowed, caught up in her stare like a deer in a trap. "Come on," he said after a moment, reaching out to grab her sleeve. He began pulling her towards the doors, half a step ahead, as if he didn't want her to see his face.
Nobody noticed when her free hand darted out and grabbed a screw driver. It was gone from sight a heartbeat later, stashed away in her voluminous sleeves.
Later that afternoon, once again stowed away in her chambers, the Cat sighed and stepped out onto the balcony, turning her face up into the warm summer sun. She would never get used to feeling of sunlight warming her skin. It felt like a mother's kiss.
She had stowed the tool in her bodice when no one was looking, in case Gendry thought to ask her to keep her hands where he could see them. She later transferred it to her mattress, using the sharp head to rip a hole in the bottom. It was still there, nestled in the soft feather filling. It had been hard not to grin at her own triumph, as Gendry dragged her out of the Sept. The Commander was not as clever as he thought he was.
It was no Needle, but it was a good deal better than her makeshift spear. If jammed beneath an ear it would do as much damage as any knife. Stuck between the ribs it could puncture a lung, or rip open a gut if she aimed a little lower. Either would buy her enough time to finish them off, grab whatever weapons they carried and run.
The Cat was just debating how good it would feel to steal back her freedom and leave that arrogant prince without any champion at all, when voices drifted up to her balcony from the garden below. She looked down, half irritated that her peace was interrupted, half intrigued by whoever the voices belonged to.
It was a group of girls. The first one that caught her eye was perhaps the prettiest girl the Cat had ever seen, save for her sister. She wasn't as striking as Sansa, with her bright copper hair and stunning sapphire eyes, but there was a certain gentleness about this girl that made the Cat's breath hitch. She had softly curling brown hair, and brown doe eyes set into a pale as cream face, save for the lovely pink blush that stained her cheeks. She wore a sheer gown of ivory silk and Myrish lace, with sea pearls sewn into the neckline. A delicate belt fashioned after a rose cinched an impossibly small waist. She was flocked by three other ladies- all younger versions of herself, their gowns beautiful, but not quite so magnificent. The Cat stepped into the shadows of her balcony, straining to hear their conversation.
"Father says I shall have an audience with him sometime this week," the pretty girl was saying. With her superior dress and the way she walked half a step ahead of the others, the Cat decided she must be their leader, of sorts. In her years learning how to observe her surroundings, the Cat had learned that all groups, be they friend, family or business, tended to defer to one person- either because they were smarter or richer and more comely than the others. "I can scarcely wait; the last time we spoke, I couldn't help but feel there was a connection between us."
The Cat pursed her lips. This was the sort of talk that had always bored her, but she supposed any information she might pick up could be useful to her.
"Oh, Margaery, Margaery, he will simply adore you!" the youngest girl seemed to squeal, clapping her hands together.
"Oh, hush now, Merry, you don't know that," said the pretty girl- Margaery- but she looked pleased by the praise. "Perhaps if we were to wed, I would be able to secure matches for all of you, too."
"It would have to be Elinor first," said one of the other girls, a petite thing with rosebud lips and a sweet voice. "She is the eldest of us, and the only flowered woman. It wouldn't be right for Megga or Merry or me to wed before her."
Margaery patted the girl's hand and tucked it into the crook of her arm. "I'm sure we'll find her someone decent, Alla, though she does so have her heart set on that Alyn Ambrose. Perhaps we'll find you a dashing knight too- would you like that?"
The girl blushed prettily, and plucked at a flower growing an a bush.
The last girl, who had not yet spoken, giggled. "I shouldn't worry about Megga marrying first," she snickered, in a way that made the Cat wonder if this Megga was unfortunate looking.
Margaery looked at the girl. "Don't be unkind, Alysanne," she chided, though a smile played around her lips. "There are plenty of suitors for all of us."
Merry leaned down, grasping Alla's arm as she inspected her shoe for a stone, or something of the like. The Cat snickered silently, imagining that she had a long, twisted toe nail that was digging in. Her snicker stopped when the girl said, "I wonder if that new girl is here looking for a suitor. I heard that the Prince rode all across the kingdoms to find her, and she rode into the city on the Lord Commander's horse." The Cat stiffened and leaned forward an inch.
Alysanne sighed. "Now the Lord Commander- he's a man I wouldn't mind courting." She looked at the leader hopefully. "Do you think he could be a suitor for me? He's so handsome!" She sighed dramatically.
Margaery frowned at the girl. "Don't be silly, Alys. You know the kingsguard are sworn to never wed."
The girl wiggled her brow's suggestively. "Perhaps I could give him something to leave the kingsguard for," she smirked, fluttering her robin's egg blue skirts.
Margaery swatted at her, but she danced out of the way with a giggle. "They are sworn for life, Alys, and besides- the Lord Commander is a bastard. If you did manage to get him to break his oath, he would have nothing to give you. And anyway, you've not yet had your first flowering- you shouldn't be talking of such matters!" Her smile took the bite out of her words, and she turned back to Merry, who tossed the pebble she had fished from her shoe into the grass. "Have you seen her- this new girl?"
"No, but they say she's very beautiful, if a bit unkempt," Merry replied. The Cat huffed- she would like to see that girl try to go three weeks travelling and not look unkempt! "Do you know who she is, Margaery?"
The older girl sighed. "No, I don't. Actually, nobody does. I shall ask my grandmother if she knows." She giggled then. "I wonder if she's some courtesan from the free cities, if the prince travelled so far to find her." The Cat scowled from the shadows. "Come. Let us find some lemon cakes, and I'll talk with my grandmother."
The Cat watched as they left the garden. She didn't fail to notice that more than one of the guards watched after them. She turned back into her room and slumped at the desk, drumming her fingers impatiently. Margaery, Margaery... Tyrell? It must be. She had worn that belt, with the roses on it. The other girls must have been her cousins, though no family names immediately jumped out at her. She frowned. She ought to brush up on the great families of Westeros, if she was going to navigate her way around the court.
Margaery... had she been talking about Aegon? The other girls had seemed terribly excited by the prospect, and the Cat couldn't think of anyone else it might be. Viserys had been poisoned at his wedding, years ago... but hadn't that been to Margaery too? Maybe she had been allowed to stay afterwards, seeing as they couldn't possibly have consumated the marriage, but the Cat was certain that she had been married before then, too, to Renly Baratheon. It seemed to her that the girl's past wasn't as innocent as she appeared, in that pretty gown and pink blush. Not that the Cat was anyone to judge. It just seemed strange that Aegon would get caught up with someone with a foggy history, as Crown Prince.
Aegon had to be near seven and twenty, or the like. That was old, to not yet be married. She sniggered to herself. Maybe he would marry his sister, as the Targaryens had done for centuries. She would most definitely tease him about that-
No. Remember who he is, she scolded herself. There will be no teasing, or joking, or casual conversation in any way. You are his champion- and only that. Remember who your real enemy is. She must not forget where she was. Who held her here, and why. Not if she wanted to make it out of this competition alive.
The Cat startled awake, reaching for a knife that wasn't there. Sweat coated her skin like oil. She had dreamed she was back in the mines, that none of it had been real, and she was going to die there and never see the sun or hear birds sing again. She wiped her face with her hand, sitting up with a groan. Her covers fell to her lap, but she was so hot she barely noticed the cool morning air. She must have been thrashing in her sleep something fierce, for they were tangled around her legs like a fishing net. She looked at the door, wondering if she had imagined the knocking, or somehow dreamed it in her sleep, when a second set of raps came, more hurried than the first.
She sighed and called whoever it was in. A maid poked her head around the door. "Milady, we've been told to get you ready," she said nervously. Apart from the maid on the night she had arrived, two nights earlier, this was the first time anyone but Gendry had spoken to her.
"For what?" Her voice was a dry rasp.
"All of the champions are to meet in the Great Hall in an hours time," the girl replied. The Cat recognised her as the one who had handed her scissors to the guards outside, after using them to trim her hair. "We're to wash and dress you."
The Cat sighed and scrubbed at her eyes. "Surely that won't take an hour," she grumbled, pushing the sheets down and swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress. The floor was cold beneath her feet, and she shivered, sweat drying cold on her skin.
"Well milady, we've got to bathe you, wash, oil and comb your hair, apply the artifice-"
"No artifice!" the Cat snarled. She felt bad when the maid shrank back. "Sorry- just... no artifice." She grimaced. "At least tell me that the tailor has some real clothes for me today?" She hoped for a pair of breeches at least, no matter how frilly the prince had ordered them to be.
The maid smiled. "Yes, milady, the gown is absolutely gorgeous. You'll look beautiful." The Cat sighed at the misunderstanding, but said nothing. It wasn't the girl's fault after all.
She had to repeat those words in her head several times over the next hour, as the maid servants primped and pampered her. She felt like one of the dolls her sister used to love playing dress up with, as they rubbed oils in her hair and skin and filed her nails yet again. By the time she was dried and ready to be dressed she was half tempted to just go in the robe she was wearing as the maid's pulled out a dress even worse than the one she had worn the day before. By the time the petticoats (blasted things!), drawers and corset were on, the Cat was about ready to snap that she had had enough and would go like this, but she kept her mouth shut, reminding herself of what she had told herself since she had arrived; let them think you're complying and willing to do whatever they want, while you come up with a plan to escape. She could do that. Trick them all into thinking she was little more than a pretty doll, so that they never saw the knife coming.
There wasn't a mirror in the room, but the Cat was certain that if there was, she would scowl at her own reflection. The maids had only just finished placing a silver circlet around her head, hair twisted up but still left to fall down her back in glossy waves, when the door burst open. Gendry stormed into the room, scowling.
"We're going to be late," he snapped at her, crossing his arms. His scowl seemed to falter as she turned around to face him, and she smiled internally. So easy to spin a lie, she thought. He recovered quickly and grabbed her arm, practically dragging her from the room.
"Slow down!" she hissed through clenched teeth. Her corset was killing her already. At least the prince had chosen a deep burgundy colour for the gown, instead of the garish pinks and bright purples she had seen other ladies wearing yesterday. The neckline, thankfully, rested below her collarbones, with a small downward point in the middle. She ought to thank him for not giving her something with a neckline that plunged to her belly, another feature she had seen the past two days. Though she had not failed to notice the small layers of padding sewn to the inside of the dress- no doubt meant to conceal her poor condition. It almost made her roll her eyes, but she supposed anything that made her look less of a weak link to the other champions was only a good thing.
"We're going to be late!" he snapped again, tugging her arm.
"We'll be even later if you have to carry me there after I faint from this damned dress!" she retorted, and while he didn't look all too happy about it, he slowed from a near sprint to a healthy march, that still left her gasping for breath.
As they strode through the keep towards the Great Hall, the commander loaded her with information that would have left her head spinning if she hadn't been trained so thoroughly in such a manner. "Your name is Cat Ashfold, you're the daughter of a knight from Bear Island, where you grew up. He trained you there until he died in a skirmish with raiding ironmen while you were both at the Stoney Shore. You tracked down the men responsible for his death, and killed them all. You travelled to Old Town to find your brother at the Citadel and found that he had been killed in a street brawl. You kill the men who did it but got caught. The Crown Prince gave you the choice of fighting as his champion or serving six months at Nunns Deep. You chose the former."
She whistled. "Not bad," she admitted, "if a little far fetched. It would be better if I was a thief who got caught or something."
The Commander pursed his lips. "Perhaps, but the prince has already told people the first story, so that's what you'll be going with." He pushed her up a flight of stairs, hand braced on the small of her back.
She laughed. "Got a little carried away, did he?" She shook her head. "Poor boy. The more mundane and boring a backstory is the more believable it is. And that little invention of his is definitely not mundane."
He gave her a hard look. "Less believable than an female eighteen year old faceless assassin plucked from the mines of Castamere?"
She huffed another laugh. "Fair point," she conceded. She supposed she would have to stick with the Prince's ludicrous lie, then, if the fool had already started telling it to people. Idiot.
"When we enter, curtsy when I take my hand off your back, and do not rise until I put my hand back- clear?" She nodded. "Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not address him as anything but your Grace. Do not look him straight in the eye unless you want him to have Kinvara burn you in the yard. Do not turn your back to him unless you're dismissed. Got it?"
"Yes, I think I have it," she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Honestly, do you think I'm an idiot?"
"And keep that tongue in check," he snapped, as they drew up to the doors. "Or he'll cut it out." And with that he nodded at the guards to open the door, and pushed her through.
The throne room was exactly as she remembered it. The marble floor, red with huge alabaster and black squares, stretched away before her like an ocean of rippling stone. Great pillars ascended to the high domed ceiling, and malicious looking iron braziers shaped to look like dragons roaring flame guarded the walls, but most noticeable of the features were the great dragon skulls mounted on the wall, some of them with fangs the sizes of battering rams and maws large enough to swallow a horse whole. The Iron Throne, dark and cruel as ever, sat upon it's iron dais. Behind it, the great stained glass window shone in the morning sun, and the Cat noted that the seven pointed star had been replaced with a three headed dragon set into red. It cast a bloody shadow over the iron throne.
And there was the king.
Though he looked much as he had at her trial a year prior, she still didn't expect to see the man before her. When she thought of him, she had always pictured him as he had been described in her childhood. The King of Scabs they had called him, for he would repeatedly cut his arms on the points of the throne. He had always been so paranoid of poison that he had wasted away to little more than a skeleton, and his hair and beard had grown matted and tangled all the way to his waist, his nails growing long and jagged and curved. But the man before her was more... robust, than the one in the stories. Though thin, he was not a bag of bones, and his hair, more grey than silver-gold, was cropped to his shoulders, beard neatly trimmed. But those eyes... purple, like his grandsons, but different. Wild eyes. Insane eyes. The eyes of a beast trapped in a man's body.
Aegon stood beside him, tall and impossibly handsome. His cloak fell all the way to his tall, black boots, the neck trimmed with silver fox fur. It was clasped in place by a golden chain, the ends fashioned after dragon heads. He wore a crown with seven points, each one fashioned after the beast on his sigil. He nodded at her once, a small smile playing around his lips as his amethyst eyes travelled down her body and trailed back up. He smirked, and she wanted to rush up there and smack it off his face. Because there, underneath his black cloak, he wore a burgundy doublet- the exact match to her dress. The arrogant ass. He had dressed her like this on purpose, as some kind of statement- to her or the whispering, jostling audience that lined the walls and balcony, she did not know.
The Lord of Casterly Rock stood at the king's other side. He, unlike Aerys, looked exactly as he had a year ago, when he had sentenced her to a life down the mines. They said that he had shaved his head completely the moment a bald patch had appeared atop his head, never one to do things halfhearted. He was dressed in the crimson and gold of his house, though he needed no roaring lion for anyone to know him straight away for who he was. His daughter sat on the smaller throne to the side of the dais, frowning. Still a beautiful woman, though in her forties, Cersei Lannister scowled down at her. The Cat was more than a little pleased to see that the queen was not quite as slim as she had once been, and a faint red line coated her upper lip, telling the Cat all she needed to know about the woman's drinking habits. Indeed, she looked rather like she wished she were drinking right then, from the faint sheen of sweat on her brow.
The Commander stopped as they reached the middle of the hall, and the Cat halted with him. He didn't seem to notice the many hundred eyes upon them, or if he did, he hid it well. She supposed that as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard he was used to being ogled at. The Cat however, the shadow among shadows- she was far more used to hiding out of sight, unnoticed and unknown. She supposed that this new role she was to play (Cat Ashfold, murderess) was just another face. She pulled her gaze forward, taking in the crowd that watched so eagerly. Stiffly, she dropped into a curtsy, skirts clutched in one hand that she willed not to shake.
She found her legs weak when Gendry put his hand on her back to motion her to rise. He led her from the centre of the room, among the other champions, who she did not let herself look at. Not yet. She needed to pay attention if she wanted to leave this hall alive.
Tywin Lannister was the first to speak. "Now that you've finally bothered to arrive, perhaps we can begin." He surveyed the champions and bid them step forward. Gendry's hand tightened on her back as she took up her position in the last place in the semi circle that they formed, each beside their sponsor... save for her, as Aegon remained standing on the dais. "You have all been retrieved from across the Seven Kingdoms for the purpose of serving your king and your realm."
It was easy enough to tell the court from her competitors. The first thing she looked for was the peacocking. They dressed in bright colours, the more extravagant the fabric, the more voluminous the folds of material, the better. The men had neatly groomed moustaches, the few ladies elaborate hairstyles. The Cat marked each of their faces, and was dismayed that she recognised few, knew even fewer.
Twenty-three men stood between her and freedom. Most of them had enough bulk to warrant a double take, but when she scanned their faces—often scarred, pockmarked, or just plain hideous—there was no spark behind their eyes, no shining kernel of cleverness. They'd been picked for muscles, not brains. Three of them were actually in chains. Were they that dangerous? The other competitor who had no sponsor standing beside him must have belonged to Cersei. Her eyes lingered on him.
Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides.
She had thought him dead. Had just assumed he had died in the long war years, after she heard no mention of his name. But there he stood, all eight feet of him, muscled, and monstrous and huge. Gods, just one of his arms was thicker than her entire body. He could crush her head in one hand like a grape. Though none of the champions wore weapons, she knew that he carried a two handed greatsword in just one hand. He wore full armour, even here in the Great Hall, his helmet, an ugly, bin of metal that was scratched and dinged, tucked under one arm. His face was just as she remembered it from Harrenhal. Where he would stand before a pen of quivering old women and children and choose who was to die a horrific death. Sometimes he would even choose two, just for fun, to keep them guessing. He rarely did the torturing himself, but he would sit there and watch, face betraying nothing, but eyes glinting with delight as the screams rose higher and higher. She had watched him rip a man's head straight from his shoulders. Alive. And them hammer it onto a spike with nothing but his huge, mailed fist. She had seen him gouge out eyes, pull out guts, rip young girls apart, all without breaking a sweat. She had seen him take the head off his horse out of mere anger.
What would he do to her?
Perhaps before Castamere, when she was fit and strong, she could have taken him on. He was clumsy, she knew, and slow. Unskilled, unrefined, and relied entirely upon his size. She would just have to be quick. Very quick. And smart. She turned her attention back to Tywin Lannister.
"You are each competing for the title of the King's Champion," he said, looking each of them in the face. His eyes lingered on hers, pale green and flecked with gold. She forced herself to stare right back. "You will be his sword, to stand between the crown and it's enemies. To prove you are the best, you will compete in a series of trials, each designed to test you. One of you will be eliminated each time." He smiled, a lion's smile, a lion's smile at his prey. "Have no delusions. These trials will not be easy. Many of you will fail. Some of you may even die. And those of you who fall behind will be sent back to whatever hole your sponsors dragged you from. The top four will compete in a final dual. The overall victor will be proclaimed the King's Champion." His face turned hard and cruel, the face of the man who had orchestrated the deaths of her whole family. "Anyone who steps out of line will have their head staked at the city gates. Is that understood?"
The Cat looked around at the champions as they spoke their assent. Some of them looked nervous. Some of them looked proud. A few of them looked like they were looking forward to it. She frowned at a tall, dark haired man. He had the look of a northerner, with his pale skin and grey eyes. She had of course considered that she would be competing against her own people, but it was strange to see him in the flesh, and know that his death could mean her freedom.
"If we're finished here, I'm afraid I must take my leave," Aegon said lazily from his place atop the dais. The Cat watched a muscle tick in Tywin Lannister's jaw. "Unless there are any pressing questions?" He surveyed the champions arrogantly, a brow raised as if daring anyone to speak up. The Cat considered asking something just to hold him up from whatever was pressing him to leave, but decided against it. The last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself- not that the prince had helped with that matter, in his less than subtle message of dressing her to match him.
As it was, nobody else spoke up either, and Aegon bowed to his grandfather politely before leaving through the king's door, behind the throne. She watched as the Hand leaned over to whisper something in Aerys' ear. She had not failed to notice the fact that the king had not yet spoken, had spent the duration of the audience drumming his fingers on his lap and staring at the lit braziers. Burn them all! That was what he had taken to saying, those years before the rebellion. She wondered if he had found some cure or treatment in exile, for he was not the same mad king he had once been. No, this man was more subdued, almost catatonic if it weren't for those restless fingers and glowing purple eyes.
She tensed as he raised a hand, wrinkled and withered. A ruby ring set into gold glinted on his finger. The stone was the size of a bluebird's egg, and had probably cost more than entire kingdoms. Looked older than some kingdoms, too. The Cat didn't know what it was about the ring that made her blood run cold. It seemed to pulse maliciously on his finger, trembling in the light streaming in from the stained glass window behind.
The ray of light faltered, and the ring was just a ring. She loosed a breath as he dropped the hand.
"Then let the games begin," Aerys Targaryen said, voice reedy, but stronger than she would have thought. "I, Aerys Targaryen, second of my name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm and Defender of the One True Faith, do so decree that the tournament officially begins. So it has been said, it is done. I bestow my grace upon the victor." And with that, the mad king went back to staring at the brazier, as if there was no one else in the room.
The Cat frowned internally at that new title- Defender of the One True Faith. That was new. Never before had a king taken such a title- at least, not that she recalled. She dipped into a curtsy, knees wobbling beneath her skirts in such a way that her old septa would have been mortified to see it, but thankfully with so many champions to stare at, no one was looking at her. At least, not everyone was looking at her.
As the commander strode forward and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm rather forcefully, with a glare that brooked no argument, the Cat pursed her lips at the eyes on her, the whispers exchanged behind palms, the curious smiles and judgemental frowns- the latter largely from red faced, self postured lords. She wondered if they would stare at her so brazenly if they knew who she really was. What she could do to them if she so wished. She had not had a chance to stuff her stolen tool down her bodice that morning, not with the maids in attendance, and besides- if she were caught with a weapon, it would mean immediate execution. But the bone hairpins that held her hair back from her face, each one tipped with shining silver renditions of stars, were sharp, and given enough determination, could do some damage.
Thankfully, though, the Cat had no need of them, as the commander all but dragged her from the hall, if it weren't for keeping up a charade of courtesy. As he turned her up a flight of stairs and down a hallway, leaving the other champions and their sponsors behind in the entrance hall, he let go of his painfully tight grip on her hand. She shook it out, shooting him a glare as he braced a hand on the small of her back to keep her walking- as if he didn't want them to stop long enough for any of the champions or spectators to catch up to them.
"You did well," he said tightly. The Cat wondered how hard it was for him to get the words out. "You even managed to keep your mouth shut for once." There it was. Of course.
She shot him a sly smile, looking up at him through her lashes like a fox. "It was hardly a demanding performance for a Faceless Assassin," she said, practically purring in delight at the way he tensed at the words. So easy to get to him. It was laughable, really. In Braavos, even as an acolyte, she would have ripped him to pieces, with that all too expressive face of his. She forgot, sometimes, that most people could not command their faces and bodies like a musical instrument. They let the strings play whatever tune they so desired, for all to see and hear, loud and clear enough to be noticed from a league away, a beacon to all and sunder. She imagined she must have been the same once. She had certainly received enough punishments for it.
"Anyone could have done it," he sniffed. "All you had to do was curtsy and stand there."
"Oh, but how convincing she was at it!" said a cheerful voice. It was Aegon, leaning against the wall, one foot propped up behind him, arms crossed over his chest.
"I thought you had somewhere to be," Gendry said, raising a brow. Aegon looked at him pointedly, his gaze dropping to the other man's hand, still pressed on her back. The commander let it drop, fingers curling into a fist as he cleared his throat, looking away. So easy, she remarked to herself again. So very, very easy.
"I do," Aegon said, pushing away from the wall. "This evening. I just wanted to end the meeting before too many people got any ideas about my champion, looking as delicious as she does."
The Cat cocked her head at him mockingly. "As delicious as you, some might say." She scowled. "In fact, I am sure that there was not one person in attendance in the hall who did not notice."
He dipped his head, placing a hand on his chest as if in sincerity. "That was, after all, the desired effect, my dear Lady Cat."
"I'm not a lady!" she hissed at him. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
A smirk slid across his face, the perfect picture of the cat who got the cream, as his eyes drawled up and down her form. She did not fail to notice where they lingered. Her cheeks would have heated if she had let them. "I am afraid that if you do not desire people to think of you as such, my sweet faced assassin, then you should make more of an effort not to look the part."
"Lower your voice!" Gendry snapped. They both ignored him.
"I can hardly help that when you have your servants strong arm me into a dress of your choice," she snapped. Gods, how she would have liked to pummel him!
"Truly?" he asked in mock seriousness. "The fearsome faceless assassin couldn't hold off a few maids? And here I was thinking that you might win this competition."
"Don't talk of such things here!" Gendry hissed. "You're both fools."
Aegon sighed at his friend, and conceded, bowing his head in apology at his friend. The Cat seethed silently.
"Why are you really here?" Gendry asked when no one spoke.
"Why, waiting for you, of course."
"But we're to dine this evening," Gendry said. "If you need to speak to me, speak to me then."
"Such a serious man," Aegon sighed, before winking at the Cat. "Besides, I was speaking to my champion." He tilted his head slightly, and sunlight from the near window set his silver hair glowing. "Did Gendry tell you your backstory?"
She snorted. "You mean that ridiculous faerie story that's even more long winded and ludicrous than that fancy new title in your father's name?" She shook her head in exasperation. Honestly, Old Nan's stories had been less whimsical than that nonsense!
"Careful," Gendry warned. "You never know who's listening in this keep."
"Correction, Lord Commander," the Cat said with a faint smile, "you never know who is listening in any keep, anywhere. And just as it happens, I know exactly who is listening and where." She turned around then, and glared straight at the maid at the other end of the hall, peeking around the corner. "The scuff of leather on stone is as loud as war drums to a man with open ears," she called down to the girl, her tone icy. "Clever girls go barefoot." The girl blushed and ran away, the whisper of her slippers ringing down the hall.
The Cat turned around satisfied. There was no way the girl could have heard anything from down there. It was too far, and the girl had only been there for a few moments. As she faced her companions once again, she made certain that her face did not betray anything she felt about those words she had uttered- words that had once been directed at her.
Gendry narrowed his eyes at her. "How did you know she was there?" he demanded. "She was the other end of the hall." He eyed her as if suspicious she had somehow set it up to impress them.
She looked him straight in those blue, blue eyes of his, so full of suspicion and resentment- resentment that she had noticed they were not alone before he had. "Don't worry yourself, Lord Commander. There was no deceit or trickery involved. Simply observation."
"You had your back to her," he argued stubbornly.
She sighed. You couldn't teach someone who didn't want to learn. "I heard her footsteps coming, and then stop. As the only stairwell was at the far end of the hall she came down, and there was only one right turn, I knew when the footsteps disappeared that she must have stopped at the corner. Of course, she could have been readjusting a washing basket, or pausing to pick something up, but when she did not appear after a few seconds, the only logical conclusion was that she was spying on us. After all, no one- not even a faceless man- can simply vanish." Truly, it hadn't even been so much as a second thought to her.
There was silence for a moment, flat and empty, as the two men stared at her. Then Aegon chuckled, tilting his head back. "I don't imagine many people get to witness a faceless assassin at work."
The corner of her lips tugged up almost imperceptibly. "No," she said. "They don't." She did not need to add that for those who did, they were never given the chance to speak of it to anyone else.
He smiled at her- a genuine smile, like the one she had glimpsed the other day. It was breathtaking. It wasn't fair that he was both the Crown Prince and beautiful. In this world you got one or the other- certainly never both, as the man before her had been blessed. "Then I am honoured, Lady Cat."
"Why did you give her tips?" Gendry asked. "On how to remain hidden?"
The Cat flashed him a sly grin. "We all have to start somewhere." He scowled at her, but she held up her hand to silence him as he opened his mouth to retort. Irritation flashed across his features at the bold gesture. Aegon looked faintly amused at her audacity. "Best have this conversation elsewhere," she advised. "The maid was not our only company." The commander started and turned around, but there was no one there. She shook her head and nodded at the other end of the hall.
Aegon smiled, looking all of him the relaxed prince. "Care to share what's coming our way?"
She smiled at him. "Oh, a most terrifying monster," she teased.
"Even more terrifying than you?" he japed.
A laugh bubbled it's way up her throat, but she just flashed him another sly smile. "Oh, indeed. The kind with loud, rustling skirts and jingling hair decorations, known to travel in packs."
Aegon laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that was also as light as air. A cultured laugh. A genuine laugh. It was a sound the Cat was not used to. "And how large is this fearsome pack?" he asked. "I should like to know our chances of survival."
She cocked her head, listened. "Three," she said confidently. Because there were the footsteps, two light and nimble, one heavy and clumsy, and there was the rustling of fabric, matched with the clink of beads, three different pitches to match three different materials, and, most obviously, hushed whispers that, to the trained ear, were not all that hushed at all.
The Cat stood smugly as her prediction came true, as three ladies appeared in the hall ahead. She recognised two from the yard below her window the previous afternoon, the leader and the shy one. The third she had not seen, yet it was not difficult to deduce from her girth that she must be the Megga of whom the girls had laughed at when they thought no one was listening.
"Show off," Aegon whispered.
Gendry slid his hand back onto the small of her back, his other hand resting on his bull's head shaped sword hilt- a not so subtle warning not to try anything. She shot him a sideways glare. He must think her truly stupid if he thought she would do anything here.
"Your Highness," the leader- who the Cat recalled wondering if she was Margaery Tyrell- said, dipping into a much more elegant curtsy than the Cat's had been in the Great Hall, her companions doing likewise. Her voice was soft and sweet, a pleasantly low tone. "It is so good to see you. I hope you are well?"
Aegon bowed at her politely. "Lady Margaery," he greeted. And Lady Alla and Lady Megga, too- a lovely surprise." The two girls blushed at the compliment as he turned back to Margaery. "I am well, Margaery, thank you for asking. All the better for seeing you, I think." Oh, but he was a rotten flirt! The Cat looked through the corner of her eyes at the commander, and saw the way his jaw tensed, as if he were fighting back a scowl. Apparently, this was a sight he was used to.
"I am afraid I do not know your companion, your Highness," Margaery said, smiling at the Cat. It was a pretty smile, the sort of pretty smile that the Cat used to don when she wanted men to see that and only that, and nothing that lay behind. After all, a man saw an assailant rushing at him with a scowl and a drawn sword, and he goes immediately on the defensive; a man saw a pretty young girl with kind eyes and a soft smile, and is lulled. She was certain from the intelligent gleam in Margaery's eyes that it was a tactic the other girl shared. Oh yes, there was certainly more to this girl than a pretty smile and rosy cheeks.
"My apologies, my Lady," Aegon said smoothly. "Please meet my champion, Lady Cat Ashfold."
The Cat laughed at him. This time when she said the words, they had no bite to them. "I am no lady, your Highness, as well you know." Gendry's hand tightened on her back in warning. Margaery's eyes caught the motion, and the Cat saw her take note of it. Definitely not just a pretty smile, then.
"As you say," Aegon replied, mouth twitching with amusement. "Cat, meet Lady Margaery, of house Tyrell- and her cousins, Alla and Megga." The Cat bowed, not desiring to show just how wobbly her curtsy was after the other girl's flawless demonstration. The two cousins- Megga and Alla- looked shocked, the larger girl giggling faintly at the gesture. She seemed a very silly sort of girl, from the way she clutched Alla's hand just a bit too excitedly, the ready grin on her lips. Once, the Cat might have been disdainful towards her, might have treated her as inferior. She reminded herself that not all people had been forced to grow up as fast as she had, had not suffered the same experiences and learned from them.
"It's a pleasure," Margaery said, smiling. "Have you been in Kings Landing long?" The Cat was almost impressed with how flawlessly the other girl pulled off the question. She remembered the conversation she had listened to, their discussion of her. Margaery knew exactly when the Cat had arrived.
"I arrived two days ago," the Cat replied easily.
"Have you been in the city before?" Alla asked. She didn't seem to have the same cunning as her cousin, but she could very well just be concealing it. After all, how many times had the Cat done the same?
"I haven't," she lied, remembering the ridiculous story that Aegon had already started spouting. "I'm afraid that I am a stranger here. I grew up on Bear Island, so the city is rather a foreign land to me."
"Then allow me to help you navigate it," Margaery said, stepping forward gracefully and taking the Cat's hand in hers. They were so soft and smooth. The Cat thought about the callouses and scars that flecked her own hands, and wondered in Margaery noticed them. If she did she said nothing, but smiled at the Cat warmly, as if they had known each other for years. "We can take the palanquin and go to the tea houses, or ride to the Sept of Baelor. We'll have a lovely time."
Before the Cat could answer, Gendry cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that none of the champions are allowed to leave the castle until the competition is over," he said firmly. "A security measure. I hope you understand, my Lady." His hand was still on her back, hot even through her dress and corset. The weight of it was oddly comforting. The Cat wondered when the last time she had been touched casually was- even if he was only doing so to remind her to behave.
Margaery's smile faltered, and the Cat thought she saw a flash of irritation in her eyes. "Oh, what a shame!" she said, face forlorn. She really was a very good actress. She would excel at the Temple... if not for her ambition. Her face brightened in a heartbeat. The switch left the Cat reeling. "Oh, then you must visit my grandmother and I for tea and lemon cakes," she exclaimed. "I'm sure she would so love to meet the Crown Prince's very own champion!" She turned towards Aegon, who was watching with amusement. "If he would permit it, of course," she added shyly. Her performance was remarkable. It almost had the Cat convinced. She wondered how many people fell for it.
Aegon smiled at her genially. "I have no problem with it," he said, shooting a sideways glance at his commander, who glared at him. "I'm afraid it is the Lord Commander that you'll have to take it up with, though. He's very serious about his job."
Margaery looked at Gendry beseechingly. "She would not be long," she said sweetly, "and the Maidenvault is heavily guarded. No harm will come to her, I swear it." The Cat did not interject that it was not her coming to harm that had the commander so worried, but rather, the harm she might do to others.
Gendry pursed his lips, clearly uncomfortable. "We'll have to see," he said after a beat. "Cat will be busy most days with the competition, and if she is training properly then she'll be too tired for tea and lemon cakes." He said the last part with poorly concealed disdain, as if anything frivolous or fun was simply a waste of time. The Cat found that she agreed, though she didn't doubt for a second that Margaery had more planned than pleasantries. No, she was already scheming- perhaps to find out just what exactly the Cat was to the prince, and if it put any of her plans at risk.
The Cat smiled at the girl. Cunning and sly she might be, but the Cat couldn't help but admire it. "As you can see, the commander is terribly strict," she sighed. "But I'm sure he'll give in once the competition is underway, and he'll see just how unnecessary his mother henning is!" She did not miss the loaded glare he shot down at her, disapproval written in every line of his face.
Aegon laughed, and slapped a hand on his friend's large shoulder. "What a fine moniker for you, my friend," he chuckled. "Gendry Waters, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and mother hen. That's what we'll write in the White Book about you!"
Gendry sighed the sigh of a long suffering man, weary to the bone. Aegon caught her eye and she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. "Whatever you write after I'm dead is of little consequence to me," he said, and the Cat wondered if the man had ever learned the definition of a joke. He pressed his hand into her back more firmly. "I'm afraid I must escort Lady Cat to her chambers."
"Of course," Margaery said, letting go of the Cat's hand. "I do hope we might see each other soon. My grandmother will be hounding me to introduce you!"
"She wouldn't if she knew what was good for her," Gendry said, before bowing and half dragging the Cat away and off down the hall before she could so much as make her farewells. She threw an apologetic smile over her shoulder, and caught the prince watching her with a faint smile playing on his lips. He caught her stare and threw her a wink, just as Gendry pulled her around the corner.
"You know, I think I'm going to take that as a compliment," she said as they ascended a set of marble stairs.
He snorted. "You shouldn't," he said. "You understand that I have no intention of allowing you to meet with the queen of thorns, don't you?" He shot her a pointed look.
She rolled her eyes at him. "I think I caught that," she said sarcastically. "I think everyone caught that. You are many things, Lord Commander, but subtle you are not." She had not failed to catch the greedy gleam in Margaery's eyes as she made the invitation. She was planning something. Once, the Cat might have been intrigued enough to find out. Perhaps steal the face of a serving girl and dig for secrets and details, snippets of conversations that could later be calculated in her head. But now- she needed to focus on this competition. Gregor Clegane had not been the only champion who looked threatening. The small smile on her face disappeared, and gave way to grim determination.
The commander seemed to catch her train of thought as her mood shifted. He looked down at her. "So what did you think of the other champions?" he asked.
She heaved a sigh. "Most of them looked boring," she said. "One or two might give me something to work for, though." Understatement. Once, yes. Now, though? Now it would be a struggle to get herself strong again. But she would.
"What did you think of the queen's champion?" he asked. She noticed a small scar, no bigger than a grain of rice, on his jaw shift as his lips twitched.
"I'm assuming you mean the Mountain?" she asked drily.
Gendry blinked at her in surprise. "You know him?" She understood that surprise- not many people who met Gregor Clegane and walked away from it. Those who did did not speak his name lightly.
"We've met," she said shortly. "A long time ago." She doubted the man even remembered her. She had just been a mouse, a ghost, no different to any of the other people whose lives he destroyed.
He frowned at her, and she knew what he was thinking. "I just assumed that you were born in Braavos," he admitted. "You said you were two and ten when you joined the...guild." The word twisted in his mouth, as if it had a bad taste.
Her mouth tightened. "No. I was born in these lands. I took a ship when they stopped being my home." She had boarded the Titan's Daughter and had refused to look back. If I look back, I am lost. That was what she had told herself, so many times. There was no point looking back, when there was nothing left for her to look back to, not when it caused her so much pain, so much heartache. So she had stood at the prow of the ship every single day and stared at the murky horizon, willing herself to see her future in the blue-grey blur of sea and sky that would be her salvation. As it turned out, it had been her doom.
"I figured you must have roots here," he said, gesturing at her pale skin, her grey eyes. He cleared his throat again. She marked immediately as one of his tells- just as her biting her lip was hers. And one that she had wrestled into her control. "So- what did you think of him?"
She snorted. "I think you should start feeding me whatever they're feeding him," she answered, not a true answer.
"Yes, but can you beat him?" Gendry pressed as they turned down the hall that lead to her chambers. She had not failed to notice that she seemed the only resident on the hall; she had listened for any sounds of stirring from her room at the very end, for any opening doors or maids bustling about their work. She had been met with only silence, occasionally punctuated with the rustling of cloaks and chinks of armour whenever the guards shifted on their feet after long hours of standing, or the echoing footsteps as they rotated.
Her sigh was weary and loaded as she replied, "He's big and strong, but he's also slow. I've seen him fight before, and there isn't much skill or tactic. Just brute force. I should be able to work around that." When he said nothing she pressed her lips together, wondering if he thought she was full of false bravado. "Men of his size usually aren't very fast, or very nimble. He could knock me out in one punch, probably, but he'd have to be swift enough to catch me." She smirked. "And I am not so easy to catch."
After all, she had been given the moniker the Cat for a reason. Swift and silent and precise. A shadow among shadows.
He inclined his head as they drew to a stop outside her door. "You should rest," he said, allowing her to take her hand from his arm. "The competition really begins tomorrow. Lannister told no lie- the training will be brutal." He gave her a quick once over with his eyes, as if to say that he wasn't sure she was in a fit state for it. She pursed her lips.
"Do you know who is overseeing the training?"
He nodded, but said, "I can't tell you. I'm not supposed to tell you anything that might give you an unfair edge."
She raised a brow. "As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, or my warden?"
He snorted. "As your personal trainer."
The Cat blinked. "What?"
"Each of the champions has a personal trainer," he explained. "Someone to guide them, help them train in private, talk with their sponsor." He flashed her a smug grin. "And I'm yours, assassin. Don't think I'll go easy on you for one moment, either."
"I wouldn't dream of it," she said flatly. The news irritated her no end. As if she needed a trainer! "So as my personal trainer" (the words were inflicted with such sarcasm that it was impossible to misunderstand her thoughts on the matter) "can't you tell me? I bet all of the others know."
He sighed, seeming to chew on the words. "Fine. It's Barristan Selmy. He's strict, so don't expect him to go easy on you either, but he's fair. A good man. Great, actually."
"Barristan the Bold," the Cat mused quietly. She remembered Bran used to admire him greatly, always asked to play him in their games. Jon, when he indulged his younger siblings, would always play the Dragonknight. Rickon and the Cat had often been wildlings. She smiled as the memory swept through her, though the aftermath left her feeling cold and empty. She shook it off.
"Don't tell me you know him, too," Gendry asked flatly. She supposed it would be rather difficult to explain who she was if she did.
"No," she admitted. "Not really, anyway. I was far too young and insignificant for him to remember me anyway." He had been in the kingsguard under Robert when she had come to court with her father and sister. She doubted he had ever taken note of her at all.
Gendry nodded, shoulders relaxing. "I have work to do," he said after a beat. "Eat. Rest. The real work begins tomorrow, and even if you are as good as you claim to be, you're going to need every moment of sleep you can get."
And as he turned around and disappeared down the hall, black hair soaking up the sun streaming through the arched windows, the Cat did not tell him that her nightmares made sleeping every bit as tiring as her waking moments. Instead, she turned into her room, shut the door with a click, ate the food laid out for her by maids, and stared into the silence contemplating just what she had gotten herself into.
I know, I know, so hang me- a lot of dialogue. I hope it was enjoyable all the same. This was a loooong chapter- 30 pages!
See you next time!
Over and Out xoxo