The Worth of Ash
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Game of Thrones or any related titles, plots, settings, characters, etc. These rights are the sole property of 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 earn me no money.
Chapter Ten
King's Landing was a large, sprawling city visible nearly a full day before their arrival. Kyren had been studying it eagerly for some time, as the king had chosen to camp a distance outside the city so the caravan would arrive in the morning rather than just after sundown. On the day of their journey's end, she found herself totally absorbed in the slowly-changing surroundings. The dirt roads turned to cobblestone and fields became mere backdrops for markets as King's Landing rose up around them.
As the caravan reached the outskirts of the city, crowds began to form. Kyren spotted a white cape making its way toward her - a Kingsguard, though not Ser Jaime. Politely, she urged Sotam toward him at a faster pace and he inclined his head slightly as they met. "Greetings, I am Ser Edam Barrin. Lord Stark has requested you join his party at the head of the caravan for our entrance into King's Landing."
Dutifully, Kyren followed him to the aforementioned position, just behind the royal family. Lord Stark was on his proud northern charger with his daughters just behind on their own, gentler mares. Kyren fought back a wave of concern to see the girls with their positions so sharply traded: Sansa nearly bounced in her saddle with excitement, blue gaze trying to take in everything at once. Arya, by contrast, sat dismally astride the slow-moving horse, her expression dull and disinterested. Though she resolved to find a solution to Arya's melancholy later, Kyren resigned herself to distraction for their entrance into the capital city.
The streets and buildings passed in a haze of tan and grey, everything paling in comparison to the castle that was the caravan's final destination. The caravan moved closer to the imposing castle looming over the city, and the people began greeting some of the royals by name. It was easy for the Northerners to forget after a month of living with the royal family and another month traveling with them exactly how important they were, but the difference in social standing was thrown into sharp relief upon their arrival at the capital. Kyren distracted herself from the bitter feeling of unimportance by noting that each member of the royal family responded to the attention in a different way.
King Robert seemed to treat the adoration as a game, attempting to entice the crowds into ever-louder cheers. Queen Cersei appeared largely indifferent to the people, accepting their attention as her due and moving on without any real affectation. Prince Joffrey basked in it, occasionally giving a wave or a smile to further stoke the noise, glancing back to Sansa occasionally to ensure she was properly impressed (she certainly appeared to be so). Even Ser Jaime received cheers and, though he pretended to ignore the attention, Kyren was close enough to see the satisfied smirk he wore under his helmet.
In a blur of shops and houses, the caravan was inside the gates of the Red Keep and the entire party began to disperse. Kyren stood uncomfortably with the Stark family, Jory Cassel, and the men they had brought from Winterfell until they were directed by the castle steward - a dignified man with an impressive moustache who introduced himself as Hayard.
Hayard efficiently dispatched a handful of footmen and handmaidens to help the ladies Stark transport and unpack their belongings in the quarters which had been assigned to them. Lord Stark was called away almost immediately to a meeting of the small council and another set of footmen were sent to transport and store his belongings. Grooms came to take the caravan's horses. One even managed to somewhat subdue Sotam before the stallion could do any permanent damage to the poor boy. He waved off her apologies and led Sotam toward the stables along with all the other horses.
While Kyren watched her stallion being led away, most of the people in the courtyard had dispersed, leaving her standing alone with Hayard. The steward stared at her dispassionately before saying, "We do not have a place for you, Kyren Asheworth."
Kyren blinked at his cold tone. "Ah… I understand. I can stay with Jory and the men from Winterfell."
Hayard sniffed. "Impossible. The men have been placed in the soldier's barracks and women may not stay there. Or rather, women should not stay there. The results would be unspeakable." Hayard smirked at her with pale eyes turning derisive. "At least, for the rest of us. I suppose it would be little out of the realm of possibility for you."
Back stiffening involuntarily, Kyren sent an extremely impolite glare toward the Red Keep's steward. "I beg your pardon?"
"I understand that several matters of propriety are handled differently in the North than they are here, but we do not allow men and women to share rooms outside of wedlock in King's Landing and especially in the Red Keep. Such a thing is unacceptable by our standards."
The effects of the long journey suddenly crept up on Kyren, lending her tone a snap it would otherwise have been missing. "And how did Ser Jaime respond when you presented your poisonous attitude to him?"
"Ser Jaime is a knight, a member of the Kingsguard, and a Lannister. You are none of these," Hayard explained with false patience.
"I see," Kyren said shortly. "I am worthy of insult because I am not important enough to fight back. You are a coward and unworthy of my attention."
She turned and stalked away, realizing only after her retreat had begun that she had no notion of the castle's layout. Undaunted, she strode through the nearest open doorway until she was out of range for the steward's glare, only then pausing to stare around in awe.
Everything in sight was built of enormous, light-colored stone that had been hewn into near-perfect rectangles, vastly different from the familiar misshapen rock and mortar walls of Winterfell. It was plain to see that the Red Keep had been built sparing no expense, focusing on appearance as much as utility, and the results were simply breathtaking.
Kyren was studying the vaulted ceilings when she bumped into someone, nearly falling over before they reached out to steady her. Kyren smiled when her eyes met Ser Jaime's bemused gaze for the first time in several days. "Whatever were you doing? I have been trying to gain your attention for some time."
"This place is beautiful," she whispered, then fought back a blush as she cleared her throat. "It is quite impressively built."
Ser Jaime gave their surroundings a cursory glance before shrugging. "I suppose so. Listen, Hayard is a bit… unfriendly. I heard that the two of you had a disagreement."
Kyren felt her face settle into hard lines. "He refuses to let me stay here. He disapproves of… me. He disapproves of me and says there is no place for me in the Red Keep."
She had been set to confide in Ser Jaime, to rage at him about the lack of justice. Why should she be punished for staying the night in a room with him - all laws of propriety observed - yet his character was unassailed? And her presence in his room having been on his orders, no less! However, at the last moment, Kyren could not allow herself to say such a thing. If nothing else, it seemed ungrateful and the knight had truly put forth effort to be sure she was healing properly.
Seeming displeased regardless, Ser Jaime shook his head. "Ignore whatever Hayard told you. You will be staying in the Red Keep, though it will be in the lower chambers."
"Lower chambers?" Kyren repeated questioningly.
The apologetic tone in Ser Jaime's voice warned that she may not like the explanation. "The part of the castle housing the handmaidens, scullery maids, and whores."
"I understand," Kyren responded dryly. "If you will excuse me, Ser Jaime?"
Without further excuse, Kyren left the Red Keep on foot, still dressed in her well-worn traveling clothes.
As she wandered through the grim-soaked underbelly of King's Landing, Kyren began to wonder at her choices. Whatever had possessed her to leave Winterfell so willingly, especially when she had begun to scrounge of modicum of respect for herself from the frigid northerners? Now she was left with a punishment of a place in which to live unless she somehow was able to find an alternative in the depths of the capital - an especially challenging feat considering she had no riches to her name.
Her mind snapped abruptly back to her surroundings as she was forced to leap backward to avoid a man being forcibly pushed from the doorway of a rowdy tavern. Kyren stood for a moment in the aftermath, observing as the man found his footing and his voice, throwing out curses as quickly as he could draw breath to supply them. By the time his ranting began to grow repetitive, Kyren had decided to enter the building herself.
She stepped into a room that was small and packed with people of all sorts, but relentlessly clean, giving an oddly dire effect. Furthering this effort, every patron of the tavern seemed to be cheerfully preparing for death. Kyren was no stranger to the consumption of alcohol, even in excess, but she had never seen men drinking as though they wished to drown in it.
"Hello," a voice greeted, friendly and pleasantly male.
Kyren turned to find a man with a riotous mop of blue-black hair and the most wicked blue eyes she had ever seen. Noting her study of his appearance, the man winked roguishly at her and shot a grin, but Kyren forced herself to remain unaffected despite the smile tugging at her lips. "Troubles all solved, then?"
The man's grin did not move an inch at her casually professional tone. "Ah, saw that, did you? Sorry to have frightened you, love, but I'm not sorry you got the chance to see me in action."
Despite herself, Kyren chuckled at his preening. "You know I saw the man who removed the troublemaker from your place of business. I know you are not him."
"Observative and blunt," he said approvingly. "Are you blunt enough to tell me your name without the benefit of a proper introduction?"
"Kyren," she supplied with a slight incline of her head.
"Tarik," he returned, reaching a hand out expectantly. Kyren glanced down at the appendage and back to Tarik's face, lifting a brow in inquisitive silence. Tarik shrugged. "I may be a tavern keeper, but I know one is to kiss the hand of a lady when introductions are made."
Kyren frowned at him. "You are mistaken; I am no lady."
Tarik waved off the explanation. "Perhaps you don't got a title, but you were raised rich and no mistaking it. I can always tell."
Lifting her chin stubbornly, Kyren summoned an image of the hut in which she had been raised before answering. "I was raised as poor as you please. Likely worse than you could even imagine. I say again: you are mistaken, I am no lady."
His wide mouth broke into an easy smile. "As you say. What brings you to Dyser's, Not-Lady Kyren?"
"Dyser's?" she asked before she could remind herself that even an impression of intelligence has value in such a situation.
Tarik nodded, to his credit not attempting to use her confusion to his advantage. "This is Dyser's Tavern. It is owned by my mother, Shana Dyser." He gestured to a pretty woman with his blue-black curls who was laughing flirtatiously with a table of drunken men. "My brother and I keep the ale flowing and try to keep the peace, as best we can anyway. Bracks is the one you saw… escorting one of our guests from the premises."
When she glanced around the room, Kyren found the tall, heavily-muscled man who shared Tarik and Shana's hair - though his own was shorn close to his scalp - and Shana's hazel eyes. His face seemed permanently set in a scowl and he made no response to the various attempts at conversation as he moved through the crowd. "Is he well?"
"That is a matter of opinion," Tarik said with a laugh, though he sobered rapidly when Kyren tossed him a skeptical glance. "To be honest, no. Bracks was courting a fetching little thing, but she was murdered last week."
"That is terrible!" Kyren gasped disbelievingly.
Tarik gave a sad shrug. "That is life in Flea Bottom." Kyren stared at him and he smirked momentarily. "This part of King's Landing is known as Flea Bottom. By the Seven, you truly are a new arrival! Poor welcome, I fear."
Doing her best to ignore the man's remarks, Kyren mused, "I am surprised that your mother does not allow Bracks a few days of personal time, enough to begin healing his wounds."
"I do not make a habit of answering challenges on how to run a business," a throaty voice began to Kyren's left, "but I will depart from my typical behavior in this instance."
Kyren moved slightly away from Shana Dyser as Tarik said warningly, "Mother, be kind."
"The reason I do not allow my son the time to begin healing, stranger, is that I do not have the luxury of hiring additional assistance for my tavern. I fear I am one of that regretful sort that values my property and the safety of my loved ones over anyone's state of mind."
Before making her response, Kyren studied Shana carefully. The woman's hazel eyes were blazing, but held no malice. She believed herself to be defending her choices against the judgments of a stranger, and what person could rightly blame her for such a thing? "I apologize for my questions, Shana Dyser," Kyren said respectfully. "As it happens, I am in need of lodging and would readily offer my services as your additional assistance."
"You?" Shana asked, gaze moving over Kyren in a way that made clear that she found the younger girl lacking. It was a process Kyren had grown intimately familiar with over her life and did not allow it to shake her confidence.
"Yes, I. I have been trained in combat against larger opponents for many years and I believe you will find me more than capable of handling situations in your tavern." Her voice was steady and sure, no mean feat with Shana's skeptical pose.
Before the raven-haired woman could begin to make her reply, a flurry of shouting erupted in a corner of the tavern and Shana gestured to it with a smile. "A convenient chance to prove yourself, would you not agree?"
Kyren nodded solemnly and moved to the source of the commotion. It seemed that one of the patrons had attempted to steal gold from a far more inebriated man. After ascertaining that the gold had been recovered, Kyren leaned down to whisper in the attempted thief's ear. "I believe you need to follow me."
"Didn'ja hear me, girl? This fool stole what was rightly mine an' I don't have no money for whores." He turned slightly to slur directly at Kyren and broke out laughing. "Not that yer much of a whore anyway! Surprised yer not starvin' t'death!"
With a tight smile, Kyren raised her voice slightly. "You are no longer welcome in Dyser's tavern. You need to leave."
The man pushed up out of his chair, allowing it to clatter heavily to the floor. At his full height, he had to lean over to leer unpleasantly at Kyren, but he managed. "I ain't goin' anywhere, whore. I got no money, but maybe ye need a good fuckin' to quiet that mouth o' yers."
He reached for her and with a grasp, a duck, and a quick twist, Kyren had the man's face pressed to his own table, his elbow pulled up sharply behind his back. "When I let you up, you are going to leave the tavern and never return," she said in a measured tone.
"Fuck ye, whore! I am gonna-"
Dyser's Tavern never discovered what the man was planning to do because Kyren used her left hand to pull the man's head back with a hank of greasy hair and slammed it back to the table, breaking his nose with a satisfying snap. He screamed curses and threats, but quieted quickly when Kyren wrenched his arm up and he suddenly understood that she could snap the limb at the elbow.
Holding that pressure steadily, Kyren lifted his upper body from the table and moved him bodily toward the door of the pub. One of the silent patrons opened the door and she pushed him outside. When he landed in the mud outside, the man glared up at Kyren, continuing his threats.
"If you return to this place, I will break your nose, your arm, and something far less easily mended." He seemed not to understand until Kyren deliberately allowed her gaze to drop toward his private parts, then he paled. Rather than wait for an assent, Kyren re-entered the tavern and found her way back to Shana and Tarik. The former looked begrudgingly impressed while the latter wore yet another irreverent grin.
"Do you believe I will suffice? I ask nothing but a place to sleep." Kyren remained polite and unruffled as she addressed the owner of the pub.
Shana considered her for a long moment. "We will need your assistance during the evening hours and in exchange, I can offer you a small room in the top floor of this building. What say you?"
"I accept," Kyren said with a smile and a slight bow of her head. "I will leave to gather my belongings, but I will return shortly."
Kyren had been largely absent from the Red Keep since the caravan's arrival in King's Landing. The castle was large enough and he certainly had not expected to see her often, but Jaime was a member of the Kingsguard. He moved in, through, and around the Red Keep every moment of the day, yet he saw the girl perhaps once every week and nearly always in the company of a member of the Stark party.
His concern had grown to the extent of asking after her grey stallion, only to find that the horse had not left the royal stables for more than a short ride or two since their arrival to the capital city. Even more worrisome was that none of the handmaidens or scullery maids even recognized a description of Kyren, let alone her name.
Jaime was wandering the grounds when he finally witnessed her arrival. He was off duty and walking back from some light sword practice when he chanced upon the main gates just as a familiar redheaded female was chatting with a guard.
"I cannot say as that I recognize you…" the guard trailed. Jaime frowned, ready to intervene and allow Kyren entrance - as well as interrogate her about her previous whereabouts.
Rather than appearing flustered, Kyren laughed. "Waylar, I would wager you know me better than your own sister! I see you far more often."
The guard - presumably Waylar - chuckled in response. "You would be correct. Go on, then, into the Red Keep with you."
"Thank you, good Ser," Kyren jested with a flourishing bow. "Tell Elras and Eyan I bid them good day."
"They will be sorry to have missed you!" Waylar called after her, locking eyes with Jaime as he did so. The teasing smile dropped from his face and he hurriedly turned back to his guard post with a painfully straight posture.
Kyren had yet to see Jaime and he took a moment to observe her with no one taking notice. Her dark red hair was pulled away from her face in a simple braided style and her clothes were nondescript. The drab browns and greys making up her outfit and cloak served to brighten the color of her hair and turned her eyes to something otherworldly and wild-looking. King's Landing had been good for her these past weeks, shaping her muscled arms still further and giving definition - and a hint of a tan - to her round face.
As the girl moved still closer, Jaime could see a smattering of freckles across her slightly crooked nose and sprinkling down her high forehead. He smiled a bit before he could stop himself and when Kyren's buff-colored eyes met his own, she matched the expression.
"Ser Jaime. How do you find yourself this lovely day?"
Jaime brushed a hand through his golden hair, deliberately mussing the strands as he gave a small shrug. "Rather on the warm side, but I've just come from the training fields. And yourself?"
It was a deliberately trailing sort of comment, designed so that she would feel the need for an explanation on her side, but Kyren seemed to deliberately avoid his meaning. "I am quite well, thank you! I am off to see Arya at the moment."
Perhaps something a bit more blunt is required, Jaime mused. "I have not encountered you often in the Keep. I had every intention of resuming our training here, but I admit that I have been quite unable to find you."
"Is that so?" Kyren asked innocently. "I am free most mornings. Perhaps if we arranged a more precise training time, I would be better able to make myself available."
"Kyren," he said solemnly, grasping at her hand to pull her to a stop beside him. "None of the handmaidens or maids know you, no whores recognize your description, and yet you know all of the guards. Wherever have you been spending your nights?" She did not immediately respond and his stomach clenched in a terrible mixture of anger, disappointment, and an inexplicable sense of envy. "If you have been staying with some man or another, you need not do so. A private room may be found."
The girl stared at him blankly, giving an abrupt laugh. "You believe I have been… erm, working for my keep?"
She attempted to tug her hand out of his own, but Jaime merely tightened his grip. "You need not be fearful. No one need discover what has been done."
"I must admit myself slightly insulted by your insinuations, Ser Jaime!" Kyren said, caught between exasperation and laughter. "I have done no such thing, and so there is no need to fear discovery!"
"You- You have not?"
"Of course not!" she replied, thankfully falling onto the side of laughter. She squeezed his hand and he released hers in an overwhelming wave of relief.
"Why will you not tell me where you have been spending time, then? Surely nothing could be worse than…"
"Than you accusing me of being a whore for the second time in our acquaintance?" Kyren supplied teasingly.
Jaime swallowed a groan of humiliation. "Kyren, I must apologize once more-"
"There is no need, Ser," she refused with a grin. "I am not proud of my actions of late, but in comparison to such options, I feel far more secure."
"And may I ask about these actions of which you are so ashamed?"
Kyren blew out a breath, avoiding his eyes. "Ungrateful as it sounds, I was displeased with the lodging offered me in the Red Keep, and thus decided to find an alternative. I have spent much of the past few weeks traveling between my current home and the castle and I freely admit that the demanding schedule has been difficult, but I feel my actions are ultimately for the best."
Once more, Jaime found himself startled into silence. The girl was not even staying at the castle? Small wonder that he had seen her so rarely. "And what lodging have you secured? I assume it is in a safe section of King's Landing."
"Safe enough for someone who knows how to fight," she said dismissively, adding with a grin, "And I have friends enough on the City Watch, besides!"
"Seven help me, Kyren, if I find that you've set up in some Flea Bottom brothel…" Jaime threatened, unsure of the cause of his rage, but certain of its need to be expressed.
Kyren's face went pale under her tan and her strange eyes cooled noticeably. "I must go to Arya now, Ser Jaime. She will have expected me before now and I cannot keep her waiting."
Jaime watched, astounded at her daring, as the girl stormed away from him. Shortly after, he turned a different direction. It seemed he had a City Watch captain to interview.
The sun had already begun to set when Kyren finally left the Red Keep, and she was forced to hurry her way through the winding streets. She was expected to be at Dyser's and ready for trouble by full dark and the trip was lengthy.
"Tardy again, girl?" a cultured voice asked from a nearby doorway.
Kyren tensed. She had done her best to avoid the man - most women of Flea Bottom did and had warned her to do the same - but he seemed to be everywhere. "Unfortunately so, Lord Baelish."
"You should look at your betters when addressing them, girl."
Biting back her reflexive scoff, Kyren bowed her head and swiveled in place, booted feet making no noise on the chipped stone of the street. "I must continue on my way, Lord Baelish."
Undaunted, the slender man moved forward until he was within arm's range. He reached for her chin, but Kyren jerked her head upward in time to avoid the touch. Baelish smirked softly as though she had fulfilled an expectation of his. "Such a pity that you are not beautiful. I could make quite the profit from you otherwise."
Before she could fight once more to hold back an ill thought-out retort, Kyren found it spilling from her lips. "Such a pity you are a Lord. I would have gutted you thrice over otherwise."
Rather than appearing fearful as Kyren had hoped, Baelish's treacherous face broke into an appreciative smile. "And you have fire as well. I may find a way to make use of you yet."
Kyren kept her face in its fiercest expression rather than allow a hint of fear at the veiled threat. "I can gladly disclose that, should you attempt such a thing, death will visit King's Landing."
"He and I have met on several occasions, but he seems not to care to take my life. Yours would seem quite the reward for him," he countered.
"I am well aware of your willingness to perform immoral deeds, Lord Baelish," Kyren said calmly, acknowledging his more overt threat. "Tales of your deeds spread rapidly through Flea Bottom."
Baelish's smiling mouth opened once more, but Kyren was already moving away, striving to find a balance between refusing to listen to the man and still being ready for an attack should he approach her from behind. It would be rather unlike the sophisticated brothel-keeper to dirty his hands with kidnapping, but Kyren deeply mistrusted the man and would not dismiss her own instincts.
Nevertheless, she made it into the safety of Dyser's unaccosted and in time to 'escort' a guest from the property. Fortunately, Kyren was gaining a reputation among the patrons and few would risk her wrath. Most were more than happy to leave when requested to do so.
On her way back through the tavern, Tarik caught Kyren's eye and handed her a pastry and a tankard of ale. "You look like you've just been chased through Flea Bottom by a White Walker. Sit down a minute and I will ensure everyone behaves."
"I could only wish it had been a White Walker," Kyren grumbled into the mug, sitting on a chair in the darkest corner of the tavern.
"Baelish again?" Tarik asked sympathetically. Kyren made no response, refusing to burden the man with her problems. She had yet to discover just how Tarik had found out about Baelish's determination, but it was unimportant. "I've told you ten times: rough him up the way you do the troublemakers here and he will most certainly leave you alone."
"You know I cannot," Kyren argued. "If I want to earn a legitimate wage anywhere in Westeros, I cannot anger someone who wields such influence."
"Fuck his influence," Tarik responded succinctly. "He don't have so much influence that it'll matter when he's dead."
"I cannot kill him!" she denied, utterly shocked at the idea.
"Why not? Rich man like him, spending so much time in Flea Bottom? No one'd bat an eye, love. Think most of 'em expect something like that to happen, really. You would be doing all of us a favor." Tarik rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment before moving off through the crowded tavern.
Rather than parse through her thoughts, Kyren finished the pastry - one of many Tarik was wont to bring her when he recognized her weariness - and drained the tankard of ale. Rather than leave it on the table for later collection, Kyren opted to return it to the kitchen herself.
Inside the small room, Mellina was working hard. She was a wizened old woman, bent in stature from the weight of her many years, but her gnarled hands were capable of utter magic in the food she made for the tavern's patrons. As Kyren stepped into the overly-warm room, Mellina turned to survey her with clouded eyes that still held the sharp glint of intelligence.
"You look frightened."
Kyren gritted her teeth. Would no one leave her be? "I most certainly am not."
"Of course you are, girl, and there is only one thing I've seen shake you so badly. What was Lord Baelish attempting this evening?"
"His usual antics, naturally, though he is growing more overt in his threats." Mellina grumbled noncommittally and returned to her cooking. Feeling emboldened by the lack of supervision, Kyren admitted, "Tarik says I should kill him."
Mellina turned to Kyren once more, mouth stretched in a cackling laugh that showed off each of the few yellowing teeth she still possessed. "The boy lacks subtlety, but he makes a fair point. Why do you not solve the problem and be done with it?"
Kyren sighed. "I cannot. Baelish is horrible, but I am sworn to protect the people of Westeros. Killing in defense of another - or even myself - is acceptable, but murder in cold blood is beyond the range of my morals."
"Seems as though you find yourself facing quite the dilemma," Mellina said blandly, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. "Best make a decision, though, and soon. Baelish always gets what he wants. If he wants you, for whatever reason, he will get you in the end. One way or another..."
Fighting a feeling of discomfiture and foreboding, Kyren returned to the main room of the tavern. If she handled the patrons in a slightly more violent manner than usual, no one mentioned it to her.
Author's Note - Late again, guys, sorry. I've been pretty sick lately and I'm trying to spend every free moment sleeping. Unfortunately, I have bad news to add to that apology: I will be gone for the next several weeks as I will be traveling and have no access to the internet. My apologies. This will unfortunately be the last chapter posted until my return somewhere around mid/late September. Drop a review and I'll message a more exact date when I have one. Thank you to my 'guest' reviewer! I'm sorry there was no way to message you on an update time.
That should be it for the week, folks! Thanks for reading, leave some feedback, and have a lovely day. See you soon!