The Worth of Ash

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Game of Thrones or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are exclusively owned by George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which make me no money.

Chapter Seven

Immediately after the caravan had come to a stop, Kyren scrambled down from Sotam's back and began pitching her tent. As part of the Stark company, Lord Stark had offered her a meal at the Crossroads Inn, one in which no parts were made up of stew, wild game, or hard bread. She had only to unload Sotam, build her dwelling for the evening, and finish her training session with Ser Jaime, then Kyren would be free to enjoy a meal prepared by someone (hopefully) more spice-savvy and creative than the caravan's resident cook.

With the ease of practice, Kyren rapidly constructed her tent, stowed most of the belongings Sotam had been carrying inside of it, and used the covering to change clothes. Peeling off the form-fitting riding clothes was a pleasure only slightly lessened by the knowledge she would be forced to don them once more the next morning. At the moment, Kyren luxuriated in the process of putting on the loose tunic and cloth pants she wore to train with Ser Jaime.

She emerged from the tent feeling somewhat clean, having washed her training outfit in a river near which they had camped the evening before. It was a bit damp under the armpits and around the laces of the breeches, but removing the stench had been more than worth the discomfort she was experiencing now.

And so, in a rather carefree temper, Kyren approached Sotam, still grazing in the area she had placed his tether. She had attempted placing him with the company's packhorses on their first few evenings, but it had become rather apparent that Sotam was less than fond of other horses. After complaints of kicking and biting, Kyren had opted to keep him tethered outside her tent. If nothing else, she reasoned that he made for an odd-looking yet intimidating watchdog.

"Such a pretty boy," she cooed, stroking the white blaze on his face before tugging gently at his black forelock. Sotam snorted softly, pulling away to nibble playfully on the end of her braid. "A mischievous boy, rather! You can't eat that, silly Sotam. It's the wrong color."

Kyren extricated her newly-dampened braid from the horse's lips and chuckled. Sotam blew through his nose at her and she blew back. She had seen horses 'speak' to each other this way before and was honored that the stallion saw her as a member of his herd.

"What in the name of the Seven are you doing?"

Kyren turned, a silly smile still on her face while she greeted, "Ser Jaime. I was just speaking to Sotam. I expect you've successfully constructed your tent?"

Ser Jaime rolled his emerald eyes - far warmer now than the chips of gemstone they had seemed during that first training session - and said, "If I only had to construct a tent, I would have met with you ten minutes ago. No, I was arguing with the insipid innkeeper. The man actually attempted to insist that all the Kingsguard could make do with a single room."

She frowned at that. One man was required to be posted outside the king's room at all times and another two would patrol the hallways, leaving only four men to sleep on any particular shift. Four men in a room would be somewhat crowded, but it was far from impossible. "Could you not?"

He grinned rather dashingly at her, though she did her best not to notice. "We could, of course, but there are advantages to bearing the name of Lannister."

"I thought Kingsguard was meant to be the most important designation in your life?" Kyren asked, not meanly.

Ser Jaime stared, mouth twisted into a pitying grimace. "Of course it is meant to be, but I feel I can more effectively guard the king's life after having spent the night on a lumpy mattress all my own rather than one for which I have to fight. Besides, Barrin snores ferociously."

Kyren did her best to push away the part of her that judged the man for his somewhat lacking ethics, but he chucked her under the chin. "Do not frown so, little one. None shall suffer terribly for my acquisition of a private room."

She slapped his hand away - relieved when he flashed her a good-natured smile rather than becoming offended - and grumped at him, "I despise when you call me little."

"Good. Let us find an appropriate field and you may defend your honor."

Obediently, Kyren followed Ser Jaime as he wandered off in a random direction. He had taken to doing this since their fourth session. It had rained the night before that particular evening and they had a singularly intense grappling session, leaving her tunic coated in mud and clinging to her torso. Several of the soldiers, already well on the way to being drunk, had called greetings and invitations of the un-valiant sort on their return to camp. The knight had advised her to take no notice of their words but seemed unable to follow the advice himself, the muscle in his jaw tightening until she had feared for his teeth. Ever since, he had searched for a more secluded area in which they could practice.

Lost in her own thoughts, Kyren missed the first time Ser Jaime tried to speak to her and was forced to ask him to repeat himself. "I merely said you may not have needed to pitch a tent."

Kyren eyed him for a moment as she attempted to puzzle out his meaning, but broke into an eventual smile. "Are you implying that I may not survive this training session?"

"That was not my intention-" he began, but broke off abruptly as they cleared the copse of trees through which they had been tramping. "This seems to be a fair enough place. Do you have any objections?"

"None whatsoever," Kyren responded, already in defense mode. It would not be unheard of for Ser Jaime to drop the swords and attack immediately. He typically favored swords first so that they were not exhausted and covered in debris at the point of weapons training, but he was willing enough to switch the order in the name of throwing Kyren's expectations.

This time, however, he seemed to be determined to work with swords before moving on to grappling. Without another word, the knight handed Kyren her preferred blade and moved into position.

Her sword-work was improving at a rather remarkable rate. That was no bother to Jaime, of course. Ordinarily, he would consider it a source of pride, proof of a job well-done, but he wasn't certain if he could take full credit and that was vexing beyond belief. How was he to truly know whether it was his tutelage that was causing her to progress so rapidly, or simply being away from the repressive Ser Rodrik?

An extraordinarily well-timed parry aimed at his side forced Jaime to stutter-step to the side and he brought his mind back to the task at hand. The girl's strength had grown from pitiful to minor, but her true advantage was her sense of timing. With careful training and dedication on her part, it could eventually rival his own.

With a forceful block, Jaime forced the red-head back a few steps, but she recovered well, surging forward even as her witch's eyes searched his form for weaknesses or unguarded points. She would find none, but he would favor her technique over that of several soldiers he had fought in the past. When she stepped to him, he blocked her swing with an easy swipe and circled his blade back up to her throat before she could launch a counter-strike.

"Yield," he ordered lazily.

The girl sighed, dropping her sword down until the blade's tip rested in the thick grass. "I yield," she muttered.

Jaime pulled the blade away and caught up both scabbards from where he had left them on a nearby outcropping of rock. He tossed the appropriate one to the girl, who caught it easily, and sheathed his own sword. "You are improving," he told her casually.

"Thank you, but it must be so slight that I cannot see it," she said, tone rueful.

He shook his head. She would not be content until she had beaten him. Jaime could not blame her; complete victory was the only way he had measured his own success, but it had been a very long time since he had been bested in a swordfight. She would have to find another way to be satisfied with the progress she had made.

Their grappling match was short and intense, as they always were. In many ways, grappling was more physically tiring than swordfighting, but the girl had a bad tendency to throw everything she had into the first few minutes, leaving her too exhausted to properly counter as the match continued. In a short time, Jaime had the girl pinned to the ground, stomach pressed into the dirt as he held her hands against the small of her back.

"Yield," he huffed out.

She turned her head to the side, eying him over her shoulder. After a single moment in which he wondered what she could possibly be planning, Jaime's shoulder exploded into starbursts of pain and he fell forward. The girl lowered her foot back to the ground and used the purchase to launch herself at him. Slightly off-balance and disoriented, Jaime seized her arms and shoved with his full strength rather than the mitigated force he tried to use in these sessions.

Seeming to move slower than any human was capable of doing, she reeled backward. Jaime hooked a foot around her ankle, ready to take the offensive position once more so he could put an end to the match and nurse his shoulder. However, the girl fell flat onto the ground as a horrible crack! echoed through their clearing. With a terrible sense of foreboding, Jaime leapt to his feet and rushed to her.

Her strange eyes were half-open, heavy-lidded and unfocused. Jaime lifted her head slightly and a cold rush of fear surged through his middle as his fingers encountered a shallowly-buried bank of rock. It was covered by a thin layer of dirt and grass, but Kyren's skull had most certainly collided with it. Dimly, Jaime realized that she had yet to blink since he had knelt beside her, but her chest continued to rise and fall with her somewhat quickened breaths.

"Kyren?" he asked gently, the use of her name leaving an odd tingling in his mouth. He received no response, and tried repeating it with a bit more urgency. "Kyren?!"

She groaned softly, eyes fluttering for the first time since she had fallen. Been pushed, Jaime's mind corrected. "Kyren, can you speak? Can you move?"

Her response was soft, so soft that he leaned down to place his ear beside her lips. "H-hurts," she said shakily, voice breathy and broken.

Jaime pulled back to look down at her, ready to repeat his question about movement, but her lids had fluttered down and her face slackened. "Kyren! Open your eyes."

Her brow furrowed, looking for all the world as if she was fighting to obey but was encountering resistance. At last, her eyes opened but remained unfocused and distant. Even then, only moments passed before they closed once more.

With this second loss of consciousness, Jaime had already decided on a course of action. Gently as possible, he scooped Kyren up and strode briskly for the inn. Kyren groaned just once more before falling eerily silent. He cursed the distance they had traveled to find the right place to train, but with his pace, Jaime soon reached the edges of the camp.

Several soldiers ran to him and he could not bring himself to wait even as long as it would take for them to ask their questions. "Find a maester, bring him to the dining hall."

"A maester may be difficult to find out here," a soldier warned, adding a fearfully respectful, "...Ser."

"Find a healer, then. A medicine woman. I don't much care who you find, but find someone who can help her and bring them to the dining hall," Jaime barked, speaking over his shoulder as he continued moving toward the aforementioned structure.

With a powerful kick, the door to the dining hall was opened and he stomped inside. His eyes adjusted rapidly to the dim interior of the room, allowing him to watch as the crowd inside fell silent. Those directly in front of Jaime stepped aside and he waited as the innkeeper's steady-handed wife cleared a table on which he could rest Kyren's limp body. King Robert and Ned Stark were thankfully missing, so he was not forced to answer unnecessary questions for the moment.

A man roughly Jaime's own age pushed him aside, moving to examine Kyren with practiced hands. "I am the healer for this town," he said shortly by way of explanation. It was a good thing, too; Jaime had been ready to rip the man's long brown hair from its neatly-tied queue and force him away from the girl.

"What has happened to Kyren?" a cultured voice asked.

Jaime turned to find Sansa Stark approaching, worried gaze fixed on the girl on the table. Joffrey followed behind her, obviously displeased at being left by the girl he was so desperately attempting to court, but his grimace turned to a smirk when he saw Jaime.

"My uncle's prowess seems to have been too much for the girl," he mocked coarsely.

"Leave us," Jaime ordered, voice terse. A look of rage crossed Joffrey's face, but Kyren had made a soft, pain-filled noise, and Jaime's attention was removed from the pouting crown prince.

Dimly, he registered Cersei's interference. "My son, we do not know what measures the healer may be required to take in order to help Kyren. This is no place for Lady Sansa. Perhaps a walk would be a more pleasant alternative? If memory serves, there is a lovely river running along the eastern side of the inn."

"If you think I will allow myself to be spoken to in this way-" Joffrey stormed, but was blessedly interrupted.

"I think a walk sounds wonderful," Sansa said softly. "Would you please accompany me, your grace? I would very much enjoy the opportunity to know you better."

After a tension-filled pause, Joffrey mumbled a reluctant affirmative and allowed himself to be led out of the dining hall. With a silent thank-you to Sansa Stark for being as manipulative as Cersei, Jaime turned his full attention back to the healer.

The man had gently lifted Kyren's head - the girl had apparently fallen into unconsciousness once more - and was attempting to examine the back of her skull. "It is a pity she possesses hair of this shade," he remarked absently. "Much more difficult to tell if her scalp is bleeding."

Jaime started forward, reaching to help the healer, but the man stopped him with sharp brown eyes. "I require a full accounting of the incident if I am to properly help this girl."

He bristled at the healer's tone, but for the sake of Kyren's health, he swallowed back a lashing retort and told the man what had happened. "An accident," he finished lamely. "A terrible accident, to be sure."

The healer smirked a bit, gaze still fixed on Kyren's head as he brushed fingers through her dark red hair. "If you will forgive me, Ser, that much was apparent even before your explanation." Jaime stared at the man, eyes hard. The healer glanced up only briefly before giving a small shrug. "I very much doubt you would have attempted to kill a girl only to bring her for medical attention."

Before Jaime could give the retort deserved by the man's less-than-serious comment, he stepped back. "After concluding my examination, I believe the girl will recover. She has no lacerations on her scalp, no signs of bleeding, though the swelling had already begun. She will need rest and to travel easily for the next few days, but there should be no issues beyond then. For the night, she must be allowed to sleep, but must also be watched over carefully."

"Thank you," Cersei interjected with a benevolent smile, leaving Jaime to process the news. If Kyren was unable to travel according to the demands of the caravan, would she return to Winterfell?

The healer caught Jaime's attention once more. "To minimize the dangers of internal swelling, I would advise she be given a draught of Dragon's Tears. I do not have liquid Tears at the ready, however. If you believe she will be remaining in the area until she is fully recovered, I can begin the process."

A woman rushed up, one Jaime vaguely recognized from his time at Winterfell. She was usually to be found in the company of the Stark girls, but it appeared her concerns were for Kyren at this moment. "The Maester of Winterfell, Maester Luwin, sent along some liquid Dragon's Tears. I will gladly fetch the medicine if you will advise me on the correct amount?"

"And you are?" the healer asked, seeming nonplussed.

"Septa Mordane," the woman answered with a slight curtsey. "I teach and chaperone the Stark girls, but I have helped care for the people of Winterfell for many years."

"Very well," the healer replied. "Fetch the Dragon's Tears. She will not need a large amount; we are attempting to prevent swelling, not treating an existing issue."

The two left off their discussion then as the Septa scurried away. The healer moved to speak to Cersei, no doubt a slapdash attempt at winning her favor, leaving Jaime to stare down at the girl weaving in and out of consciousness on a table in a roadside inn.

Her skin, tanned from the journey and extensive time spent outdoors, still managed to be pale. Freckles and bruises stood out from that skin, both signs of a woman who cared far more about the utility and skills of her body than the way it appeared to those who would study it. Her hands, spread away from her body from when Jaime had laid her on the table, were small and covered in rough calluses. They were strong hands, warrior's hands. Her hair had begun working loose from the braid into which she had bound it, aided by the healer's examination, and it surrounded her head in a wispy, dark red halo.

If Jaime hadn't already been studying the girl's hair, thus standing so closely to her face, he would have missed the small movement she made. As it was, his gaze snapped to the way her mouth stretched into a frown and her eyebrows pulled down in pained displeasure. Her eyes were still closed, but he could see movement beneath the lids.

"Kyren?" he asked softly.

With a slightly-increased frown, her eyes opened and she squinted up at him. "Ser Jaime? What..?"

She trailed off into a confused silence and Jaime took over the explanation. "You… fell. In our grappling session. Your head hit a rock buried under the ground and you've had trouble staying awake ever since. There is a healer here, and he says you will recover quite easily."

She glanced around, eyes narrowed against even the dim light of the dining hall, and tried to sit up before he could prevent the motion. Her oddly-pale eyes flew wide as she clasped a hand over her mouth and Jaime took an instinctive step back. The healer, damn him, was there almost immediately and appeared to be fully armed with a bucket.

"Nothing to be concerned about," the man tossed casually over his shoulder as Kyren retched horribly into the container. "Nausea occurs quite commonly with head injuries such as this one. It will pass as she begins to heal, perhaps as soon as she ingests the Dragon's Tears."

Jaime took shallow breaths and kept his gaze averted from the still-vomiting girl. He could send a man to the next world without so much as blinking, but vomit? Vomit was his personal bane. The sight, the smell, the stomach-clenching noises emitted… His mouth watered violently as he stared at Cersei in a bid for a distraction of any nature. She smiled pityingly at him. Certainly she knew how he was affected and seemed somewhat surprised that he had not devised an excuse to flee the room by this time. Even when Cersei was suffering the nausea that accompanied the beginnings of each pregnancy, he had been unable to be so close as he was to the girl now.

He had not prayed to the Seven in many years and had no immediate plans to resume the practice, but Jaime came close to thanking every god he could remember when the Septa returned with a medium-sized bottle made of brown glass.

"Here it is," she clucked, stroking a soothing hand down Kyren's arm. "Doubtless Maester Luwin did not expect us to need this so soon, but he will be quite pleased to hear it was put to good use."

The healer measured out and administered a draught, ordering Kyren to lay back down until the medicine had time to digest. In a stern voice that nevertheless managed to be kind, he ordered, "Do not move for at least ten minutes, preferably longer. Sleep if you can; you will need as much rest as possible until your head has healed."

Kyren obligingly closed her eyes and Jaime felt a slight pang at their absence. The next moment, he berated himself for the useless feeling, but attributed it to the intense relief he had felt when her eyes had finally opened after the fall.

Time dragged onward until the healer finally gave his permission for Kyren to be moved, and Jaime seized the opportunity to summon two of his steadiest soldiers. "Bring the girl to my room. Rest her on the bed, and if you value your lives, do so cautiously."

They had only just lifted the girl's limp body from the table when Septa Mordane bustled over, squalking her protests. "Ser Jaime, you mustn't! It is not appropriate for a young woman to be taken to the chambers of a man who is not her husband!"

"You heard the healer as well as I did," he snapped impatiently. "She must rest tonight and I am certain she will do so far easier on a bed than her tent outside. And she must be watched over as well. What better place could you possibly suggest?"

"Lord Stark has been allotted a room-" the woman started, but Jaime cut her off.

"Lord Stark has been allotted a single room with two beds for himself and his two daughters - as well as yourself, I would guess. Which do you expect will surrender their comfortable night's sleep in exchange for a place on the floor? And when Kyren is awoken throughout the night in order to be assessed, I highly doubt any of the Starks will appreciate the interruption to their rest."

The woman's mouth opened and closed repetitiously and Jaime tried another tactic. Adopting a more sympathetic tone, he continued, "Septa Mordane, I am responsible for young Kyren's current condition. I wish to make amends by caring for her until she is well once more. What concerns you so that you would deny me the opportunity?"

The Septa met his eyes once and glanced away, a faintly embarrassed expression crossing her face. "I would never dream to accuse you of such a thing, but if Kyren is taken to your room and remains there unaccompanied for an entire night, her reputation will suffer."

With a significant struggle, Jaime fought back a smirk. Gravely, he said, "I am sure you have been treated to the many assumptions of acts performed by Kyren and myself during our training sessions. With all due delicacy, her reputation among members of this company cannot possibly be tarnished further than its current state. I can give Kyren the seclusion and stillness she needs in order to recover fully. Is her health not more important than a reputation, especially considering that she herself has affirmed that she has no desire to marry in the future?"

Septa Mordane sighed, and Jaime recognized it as the sign of defeat that it was. "Very well, Ser Jaime. Consider your case well-made, but I fear you will still need to explain your actions to Lord Stark when he returns with the king."

Jaime gave a flourishing bow. "I will most happily do so. Simply send him to my chamber for a full explanation." Having said his piece, he left the room filled with watchful eyes and returned to the quiet of his private chamber.

Less time had passed than he had expected when a sharp knock on the door had Jaime lurching to his feet. Kyren had stirred only once in the time since she had been deposited in his room and he was determined she continue to rest until her body could no longer do so.

After he opened the door as softly as possible - having earlier noted its propensity to squeak - Jaime found Ned Stark accompanied by King Robert and Cersei. All wore grave expressions, though Stark seemed more foreboding than the other two and his posture spoke of a potential for violence.

"I am told you ordered Kyren be brought to your chamber," Ned Stark began without preamble.

"I did, Lord Stark," Jaime replied, teeth clenching at paying the man even this small sign of respect. "She was injured while training with me and I felt responsible for her recovery."

"I agree," the man replied simply.

Jaime had to blink at the steady response. "You… agree?"

Stark gave an odd half-smile. "Septa Mordane seems flighty, fearful… she is easily dismissed, but she is in possession of a sharp mind. She relayed to me the finer points of your reasoning and it is sound enough to suit me. Kyren will remain in your care for this night at least. We shall see about tomorrow when it arrives."

"Very gracious of you, my lord," Jaime said automatically, still rather stunned at the turn of events.

"Gracious?" Stark grimaced at the term. "I do not believe myself gracious in the least, but I very much believe in debts and paying those you accrue. Kyren is your current debt. If she should require anything in particular, send for me."

Jaime nodded deeply and Ned Stark nodded in return, sharing a rare moment of understanding. The new Hand strode back the way he had come, apparently returning to the main dining hall with King Robert following just behind. Cersei, however, remained behind with Jaime.

She smiled prettily up at him. "It is lucky that the girl will recover, is it not?"

"Most certainly so," Jaime agreed with an air of fervency that confused even himself. Perhaps it was not intensity at all, but surprise for Cersei displaying a sense of caring for someone beyond the Lannister family - indeed, beyond herself and Jaime.

"Too many members of the Stark family injured from falling in too short a time would doubtless raise suspicions," Cersei concluded with a cruel grin.

The mystery of his twin's abrupt sense of empathy solved, Jaime pretended to hear a sound from inside of the room. "I beg your pardon, sister; it appears that my nursemaiding skills are required at the moment."

"Will you be joining us to take the evening meal?"

He slowly shook his head. "I feel it would be better for me to be seen caring for Stark's ward tonight. Send food up, would you? I would hate to waste away in here, forgotten by all."

"How could anyone forget you, brother?" Cersei asked softly, stroking his cheek before she left.

Author's Note- So, this is the first installment of this particular arc. Since the next chapter is very short by my standards, expect an update some time in the next few days. Shout-out to my two reviewers on the last chapter: TheUnknownBookLady and PtLacky. You guys are so awesome!

Also, side note, please NEVER move someone who has hit their head as there is a chance the spinal cord was damaged and will need to have proper support. Jaime, of course, lacks this knowledge, but you don't! Just in case it comes up (though hopefully not).

As usual, thanks for reading, leave some feedback if you can, and have a wonderful day! I'll see you soon!