The Worth of Ash
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the exclusive 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.
WARNING, PLEASE READ: While I do not write anything even approaching lemons, this chapter will contain some adult scenarios with more than friendly touching. If this makes you uncomfortable, please leave this chapter, send me a PM, and I'll tell you what you missed. Thank you and enjoy.
Chapter Twelve
As much as she despised admitting such a thing, Lord Baelish had delivered on his promise of a private room for Kyren. To be sure, it was a small room - Kyren possessed a secret belief that it had been a closet in the not-too-distant past - and had only a small cot by way of furnishing, but it was her own. She was near to the handmaidens without being attached to their main room, and there was not a whore in sight. At least, not one who made a career of it.
Several of the handmaidens had been kind, making a special effort to welcome Kyren, but others had been far less friendly. One of the nicer girls had warned Kyren that most of the staff reported directly to Queen Cersei or Lord Varys and both seemed to have taken an interest in the orphan girl. And so, whenever possible, Kyren fled the lower levels of the Red Keep in favor of spending time in Arya's company or that of Septa Mordane. Of course, the latter was a more difficult prospect in that Sansa had apparently joined her mother in blaming Kyren for the trouble at the Crossroads Inn and had thus banned Kyren from her presence.
Regardless, Kyren enjoyed quite a bit of time in exploring the Keep with Arya. The dark-haired Stark girl had cheered up considerably after Lord Stark had decided to gift her with dancing lessons. Kyren would never have believed that Arya would enjoy something so obviously feminine, but her changes in mood were impossible to ignore.
It was on a slow afternoon in the chambers allotted to the Stark family that Kyren was finally introduced to Arya's dancing instructor. The girls had been lying on one of the richly-hued carpets, staring up at the light stone that made up the ceiling above them and listing all of the things they missed about the north - and Winterfell in particular.
"I miss the quiet," Kyren volunteered.
"The wind," Arya countered.
"The Godswood."
"The kindness of the people."
"The cold."
"The food."
"The sound of wolves howling at night."
An awkward hush fell over the pair as Kyren regretted her last words. Arya was far more cheerful now than she had been upon their arrival at King's Landing, but there was still a sadness behind her grey eyes that brought a pang to Kyren's chest. The loss of her friend Mycah had struck a deep blow, but the loss of Nymeria was yet another source of grief. Kyren wished to apologize for her thoughtless reference to wolves and - in turn - the unknown fate of Arya's direwolf, but she feared such an apology would only put more fine a point on the pain.
"The way nothing smelled as bad as it does here," Arya said bluntly, and the girls dissolved into laughter.
"Such joy!" an accented voice said from the doorway. "You must explain the joke to me."
Kyren sat up quickly, but she still responded more slowly than Arya, who had jumped immediately to her feet. With a slight bow, she made introductions.
"Kyren, this is Syrio Forel, my dance master. Master Forel, this is Kyren Asheworth, an orphan ward of my father's."
Kyren bowed to Master Forel as he did the same, noticing upon rising the sword strapped to his belt. "I beg your pardon, but may I ask why you carry a wooden sword?"
The dark-haired man glanced down at the hilt and back to Kyren with a widening smile. "If wielded properly, a wooden sword can be nearly as effective as one made of steel."
"I will accede to your expertise in the matter," Kyren said politely, though she could not refrain from adding, "As well as to why a master of dance would feel so inclined as to wear either type of sword inside the walls of the Red Keep."
Master Forel laughed and it was a rich sound. "Either you underestimate the aristocracy of King's Landing or I do, Kyren Asheworth. I feel it is best to be prepared for all situations."
"An interesting philosophy, to be sure," Kyren responded. "I would be quite interested to learn how it would be applied to dance. Might I stay and observe a lesson?"
"I am sorry, but I cannot allow observers," Master Forel said kindly. Kyren nodded her acceptance, but Arya seemed inclined to argue.
"I don't mind if she stays," Arya insisted. "I watched many of Kyren's lessons at Winterfell."
"Ah, but I am the instructor and you are the student," Master Forel returned. "My permission is needed for your friend to stay, and I am of the firm belief that students learn more readily when they are not concerned with who may be watching."
Arya frowned, dark brows drawing together, but Kyren intervened before she could continue bickering. "It is fine, Arya. I likely have other matters to which I must attend. Enjoy your lesson, and it was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Master Forel."
"Yours as well, Kyren Asheworth," the man said with a bow.
"Will I see you afterward, Kyren?" Arya called.
"I am certain," Kyren assured her with a smile.
The moment she stepped from the doorway of the Stark quarters, however, the smile dropped from Kyren's face. She now found herself at an utter loss for diversion. Sansa was with Septa Mordane, Lord Stark was busy attending to Hand's business in King's Landing, and Kyren had formed no friendships close enough with the handmaidens that she would feel comfortable suggesting they spend time together.
There was a rather obvious solution to her lack of plans: Kyren had been feeling guilty of late when she thought over her lack of training since the party had arrived at King's Landing.
Only your lack of training? a wicked little voice asked inside of her mind. Perhaps you feel guilty because you know it is time to move on. Or had you set aside your goal to protect Westeros for sake of becoming nurse to the Stark girls? You cling to the comfort of what is known to you rather than face the fear of the mysterious… Or perhaps your guilt stems from those feelings for Ser Jaime you constantly deny? When the queen mentioned marriage, stupid girl, she by no means meant to wed you to her brother.
Kyren shook off the thoughts, frowning all the while. She needed to find Ser Jaime - not because of the warmth he caused in her stomach, but because he was her best hope of training to survive. Before the month is out, she promised herself, I will be journeying Westeros.
Jaime dragged his forearm across his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow before it could trickle dangerously into his eyes. He had been training with a fervor he could not explain, even to himself, but it was effective; he felt more in form than he had in many years. He needed only a proper opponent now.
"Ser Jaime?" a smooth voice asked from behind him, and Jaime bit back a groan. He had brought the girl upon himself with his desire for an opponent, but it still seemed a cruel trick to bring her here.
"Kyren," he greeted without turning. "I have not heard from you of late."
In truth, Jaime had been avoiding her as he sought to resolve his strange feelings where she was concerned, a fact she had not missed if he judged by her wry laugh. "You have been a difficult man to find."
"And yet, found me you have. How may I be of service?" Jaime finally gathered the will to face her and was taken aback to watch her eyes flick up to his face only after a long moment had passed. His brows shot skyward. Had she been eying the muscles of his back… or perchance, even lower?
Despite his disbelief, her reddened visage seemed to support the conclusion, as did her slight struggle to begin speaking. "I- I thought only to search you out and ask if we could begin training once more, but I see you are already occupied. I apologize for the interruption."
She moved as if to exit the training yard, but halted at his voice. "Kyren. I will gladly train with you. It has been far too long."
Kyren turned back, uncertainty painted across her round face even as Jaime fought back a wolfish grin. If he was reading the signs correctly, the girl was attracted to him - and that was a circumstance with which he was well-acquainted.
Casually, he tossed out, "I must admit, I am shocked to find that a girl of sixteen has no better plans for a day in the capital of Westeros than to seek out the company of an old man."
Her parchment eyes shone in annoyance. "You are hardly the wizened husk you name yourself. Though you seem to have forgotten my name-day, so perhaps your once-sharp memory is beginning to fade…"
"You've had a name-day?" Jaime asked with scarcely-pretended shock. "When?"
"Just before we left Winterfell," Kyren said dismissively. "Seventeen is hardly something to be celebrated in my circumstances, so I suppose with the lack of festivities, you may be excused for overlooking it."
"My apologies nonetheless," he said with a bow.
"It is of no consequence," she assured. "By virtue of helping me train, you have more than earned a slip or two."
He chuckled, passing her a dulled practice sword, one considerably heavier than what she had become accustomed to on their journey to King's Landing. As a result, their sparring was short-lived. When he had disarmed her and Kyren stood, panting in exhaustion and massaging her tender biceps, he shook his head.
"I would ask if you had practiced since our arrival here, but it is apparent that you have not. You cannot allow yourself to slide so far backward in your training. You will need to work much harder if you want to achieve your goals." He was not lying, but his words were considerably more harsh than necessary. He would need her too irritated to think when he issued his challenge: "I hope your grappling has fared considerably better."
She paused for a moment and Jaime feared he had overplayed his hand, but her mouth tipped into an intriguing little smile. "My grappling is likely the best it has ever been, Ser."
He stared at her, wondering if this was a veiled reference to wherever she had spent her time since their arrival in the city, but he shook the thoughts from his mind. There were more important things at stake; namely, discovering her true feelings toward him. "If that is so, I will not pull my strength for our session."
Her witch's eyes flashed in amusement. "I am glad to hear it, Ser. Shall we?"
That had been far easier than Jaime had assumed. With the practice blades set carefully away, the pair circled in the muddy yard. Straw had been tossed around in an effort to soak up some of the muck, but it had served only to add texture.
He had intended to allow Kyren the first move, but when she only stood back and eyed him warily, Jaime ducked in as lowly as he could and attempted to grab her breeches-clad leg. In a smooth motion, she grasped his arm, forced it up, and delivered several quick blows to his ribs. By the time he realized what had happened, she had moved away once more and Jaime was left gasping at the pain in his side.
Temper piqued, Jaime settled back into his stance and began circling in earnest, searching for even the slightest weakness in Kyren's form. Without warning, she dove at him, catching him around the middle and driving them both into the thick mud of the yard. Immediately after he landed, Jaime rolled to pin Kyren against the ground, but she wrapped both legs around him and levered him back to the mud once more, hands pinning his arms above his head. The move had her straddling his hips, staring a short distance down at him with the beginnings of heat on her face. Interesting, Jaime smirked to himself.
"Yield," she ordered hoarsely.
Now Jaime's smirk was external as well. "When did you gain such skill in grappling?"
"Recently," she said simply. "Yield."
Instead, he leaned up, testing the strength of her hold on his arms. He raised them only barely before she slammed them down, but she had risen slightly to her knees in the attempt. As soon as his wrists made contact with the earth once more, she forced herself back down on his hips. Jaime let out a strangled groan at the feel of her soft heat, but when she glanced down at him quizzically, he pretended it had been a pained noise.
"You are much heavier than I expected."
It was a dangerous sentence - if Jaime was going from his admittedly limited experience of socially conversing with women - but Kyren seemed unbothered. "My apologies, Ser. Yield and I shall release you immediately."
Her offer was the opposite of what Jaime intended. Instead, he relaxed for a moment before bucking wildly underneath her, driving his hips upward until she rose slightly from the ground, then flipped to press Kyren's back against the ground, his hands pinning her wrists this time. As he had hoped, her legs had remained around his waist, feet crossed behind his back for leverage.
The resulting pressure and friction were potent - for himself as well as the girl, if Jaime was correctly interpreting her reddened cheeks and the wild shine in her strange eyes. He was nestled between her thighs, his weight holding her down. She squirmed upward and Jaime seized the excuse to drop his chest down to hers. Their faces were only inches apart when he gave a predatory grin.
"What were your plans for this circumstance?" he asked mockingly.
"I could headbutt you…" Kyren said challengingly. "Knock your teeth out."
Even as she said it, Kyren twisted her wrists and attempted to pull them out of Jaime's grip, but he stopped her with slightly more effort than he had expected would be necessary. When had she become so strong? Regardless, he took her rebellion as an invitation to press his body more firmly into hers, relishing in the feel of her soft bosom crushed against his chest and the way her breath caught as he drove his hips against her core.
He grinned still wider. "I applaud your escape attempt, but this still does not prevent you from headbutting me. How shall I try to control your head?" Jaime allowed his gaze to flutter from her forehead, down her nose, and to her slightly-opened mouth. He could feel her breathing change as he focused on her lips.
"Are- are you not going to ask me to yield?"
Jaime pretended to consider this for a moment. "I do not believe so. I find myself far too comfortable as we are."
Kyren's eyes, wide enough to turn their typical buff color to a tan so light it neared yellow, flicked to his mouth and her own lips parted slightly. Jamie felt his own lips quirk in response. Their faces were so close… it would take only the slightest move on either's part to close that gap…
"Ser Jaime! Urgent message from- oh. Excuse me, Ser. I meant no..."
From his vantage point, Jaime could see the color suffusing Kyren's cheeks as she pulled frantically at his grip on her wrists. Jaime, being the man he was, refused to rush for anyone. He eased his weight from the girl, releasing her hands and rising to his feet before offering assistance. Kyren ignored him, stumbling to her feet with flaming cheeks.
Jaime watched her with a smirk before turning to glare at the guard who had interrupted them. By happy coincidence, it appeared to be the same man who had given Kyren such trouble in entering the Red Keep when she had finally returned. "Ah… Elras, is it?"
Something of his look or the banked heat in Jaime's tone must have told the guard to tread carefully, for the man paled and seemed ready to flee. However, he gathered his nerve and straightened, saying in a mildly-cowed tone, "Apologies, Ser Jaime. The queen bade me deliver a rather urgent message and I have orders to avoid any delays in doing so."
"I see," Jaime said shortly. He turned to Kyren and gave his most flourishing bow. "My apologies, Kyren, we will be forced to cut short our training session. We have much work to do with your swordwork, but I am most impressed by your improvements in grappling. I trust I will see you soon?" She paused for a long moment before giving a reluctant nod. "Very well. Until then."
With a sharp gesture, Jaime silently ordered Elras to follow him from the training yards, leaving Kyren to her thoughts.
"Did you see that, Kyren?" Arya asked in a shrill voice, bouncing wildly in her seat.
"I most certainly did!" Kyren answered. "However did you guess he would be unseated so quickly?"
"His grip on the lance is too firm," the younger Stark girl replied, sounding for all the world as if it were the most obvious flaw in the entirety of the Hand's tourney. "You should grip a weapon firmly, but too firm means that it cannot move if it is hit. It can only strike in one direction and if that direction is blocked, your weapon will be struck from your hand like it was from his."
Arya nodded at the unseated knight as she finished her explanation, seemingly unbothered by the copious amounts of blood seeping from the new wound on the man's shoulder. Kyren - though taken aback by the dispassionate understanding in Arya's voice - had to agree with her assessment. The young man was one of the knights she had spoken of with Ser Jaime, one who had gained his position by merit of his family's wealth rather than any true skill.
Immediately after thinking such a thing, Kyren berated herself internally. She had endeavored to avoid thinking of the Lannister knight since their training session several days prior. When she thought of him, a sweet ache started low in her stomach. It was uncomfortable, yet filled her veins with a heady fire that made her crave more. Worse yet, the feeling grew more intense on any of the myriad instances in which she saw Ser Jaime in passing and he offered one of his knowing grins. Kyren could not help but suspect that the knight knew how she felt. Coupled with the suspicion that he reveled in that knowledge, Kyren felt awkwardly exposed to him.
Arya's joyous scream from the stands beside Kyren made her start back into the present moment. As she glanced toward the dark-haired girl, Kyren caught the pale-eyed gaze of Sansa, in the process of shaking her head despairingly at Arya's exuberance. Sansa paused before moving her head back in the direction of the tourney, face settling into a cold expression. It was the most acknowledgment given by the eldest Stark girl since the incident at the Crossroads Inn.
"I fear I lost track of the action," Kyren remarked to Arya. "What happened?"
"That knight there," she explained, pointing at a swarthy man who had decisively won every joust in which he had participated, "just broke his second lance. He has no more marked with his family colors and he blames the other knight."
Kyren narrowed her eyes to better study the weapon of the contender. "He has tipped his lance in steel," she mused. It was not against any rule, yet it skirted the edge of dishonor.
"Truly?" Arya asked, fascinated by the possibilities. "That is a clever move."
"Perhaps so," someone behind the pair agreed, "but he has earned a powerful enemy. The darker knight is landed and holds considerably more power than his new nemesis. The newcomer may yet win the tourney, but at what cost?"
Kyren's jaw clenched before she could fight the motion. Baelish would note any reaction to his presence or words and use that knowledge against her if he could. His greenish eyes glinted at Kyren as if he could read her thoughts and she kept her face carefully blank.
Arya was unimpressed by the new arrival. "But if he wins the tourney, the prize money will give him power enough to protect himself from the other."
"Ah, but money does not necessarily equal power," Baelish debated. "There is little that may be done to protect a person if someone wishes fervently enough to harm them. Even the greatest protection - or the most powerful allies - can be countered if only one knows the proper direction from which to aim the attack."
Kyren watched Baelish as coolly as she could muster, but the man only returned with a close-lipped smile that managed to be threatening. Oblivious to all of this, Arya watched the continued tourney proceedings with interest.
"Kyren, I do believe you were needed in the castle," Baelish remarked off-handedly. "Ser Jaime was searching for you some time ago."
With effort, the red-headed girl managed to keep from reacting, but feared she had given some indication of discomfort as a smile bloomed across Baelish's face. The treacherous lord knew exactly where to strike.
Interested once more, Arya swiveled her head in their direction. "Ser Jaime? He will be jousting later today. What does he want from you, Kyren?"
Baelish grinned still more widely. "I imagine he wants a great many things from your Kyren, Lady Arya. At this particular moment, perhaps he finds himself in need of a squire?"
Kyren's cheeks bloomed - partially from embarrassment, partially from barely-suppressed rage. "Ser Jaime has many who would gladly perform the role of squire for this tourney. However, I will go search him out… unless Arya would rather I stay?"
To her shame, Kyren stared rather beseechingly at the young Stark girl, but Arya simply shook her head. "The next joust is not set to begin for quite some time. You can leave, Kyren. You will not be missing anything of significance."
"As you wish, my lady," Kyren said, rising to deliver a slight bow. Arya made a face at her formality, but smiled when Kyren winked at her. Baelish smiled as well, though the satisfaction in his eyes turned the expression into more of a smirk than anything more pleasant. Kyren glared fiercely at him when Arya turned to watch the last of the current joust, then stalked back toward the Red Keep proper.
The castle was some distance away, the most direct route requiring a jaunt through a long forest of tents holding many of the joust contestants. Kyren strode quickly through the crowded area, doing her utmost to avoid looking at the partially- or fully-unclothed men preparing for their turn before the crowds. Fortunately, none seemed inclined to stop Kyren and she fought her way through fairly quickly. She soon departed the thick camp of hopeful tourney contestants, yet she was not alone. In her path was Ser Jaime himself. Apparently in the middle of his own preparations, Ser Jaime wore a pair of tight breeches, worn leather boots, and little else.
"I beg your pardon, Ser," Kyren said stiffly, averting her eyes from the muscles of his bare chest as she attempted to step around him.
"Nonsense, no pardon is required. In truth, I have been asking about your whereabouts." Kyren made no attempt to answer and Ser Jaime frowned down at her. "Is something the matter?"
"No, Ser. How can I be of assistance?"
Hooking a long forefinger under her chin, the Lannister knight attempted to bring Kyren's gaze to meet his own, but she seized his wrist and pulled him away. She achieved her purpose, but promptly berated herself for making contact. That strange aching - having almost disappeared - roared back full-strength at the touch of her fingers over the tanned skin of his wrist.
In the midst of her personal misery, Kyren nearly missed his low command: "Kyren, look at me."
Kyren glanced up, her eyes meeting the clear emerald of his, then feigned a smile. If nothing else, a sudden surge of shyness would put Ser Jaime on his guard, encourage him to search for something amiss, and she wished fervently to avoid such a thing. "Apologies, Ser, but I fear I am rather ticklish there."
He did not believe her excuse, Kyren could see that much, but his expression lightened into something almost teasing. "I shall remember that for future grappling sessions. Are you leaving the tourney so early?"
"Unfortunately, Ser. I have duties elsewhere, as I have been reminded."
"Do you intend to return?"
Was she imagining the slight look of disappointment in his face? Forcing her mind back to the situation at hand, Kyren fought back an unpleasant smile at the realization that Baelish had lied in order to remove her from the tourney. At the quizzical lift of Ser Jaime's brow, Kyren shook herself back to the present.
"Most likely not, Ser." Deep in the back of her mind, Kyren knew that she could never serve as squire to the great Ser Jaime Lannister - helping him dress, holding his sword, assisting in mounting the horse, watching from the sidelines as he used his sword and lance to decisively overthrow his opponent - and not find herself far more emotionally attached than would ever be prudent. Pretending an assignment in the Red Keep seemed the easiest method of avoidance. It wasn't as if Baelish would allow her to return to the tourney with ease, regardless.
Ser Jaime sighed. "Very well. It is tradition to ask a kiss from a fair maiden for good luck just before a joust begins, yet perhaps some of the luck will endure until mine arrives."
"There are plenty of maidens who would gladly kiss you just before your joust-" Kyren began before his meaning had truly filtered through her mind. When she trailed off and turned red, the knight smirked down at her disbelievingly.
"Have you worked out my meaning, or shall I explain it to you in greater detail?" he mocked.
"I must return to the Red Keep, Ser," Kyren said, attempting to excuse herself.
Ser Jaime's hand shot out, preventing her from moving further until she had looked to his face once more. He looked somewhat disappointed yet again. "I was only teasing, Kyren. I did not intend to make you feel uncomfortable."
Despite her best efforts, Kyren's heart warmed as quickly as her face. "You did nothing improper, Ser. A kiss from a fair maiden is a long-honored tradition, but I fear I am an ill fit for the criteria. I trust you will find another suitable token of luck."
She ducked her head, hurrying back to the Keep before he could make a reply, and - after she had arrived there - spent a great deal of time musing over their interaction and wishing fervently that their conversation had followed another path.
Author's Note - So, I don't know a lot about jousting. Shock, right? I'm also not great at writing sexual tension, so this wasn't my strongest chapter for sure - though it was fun to write! Anyway, things are going to start really moving in the next chapter, so if you've been bored up to this point, I both commend your determination to keep reading and promise that actual plot will start happening soon. Reminder, the poll about update schedules is still up on my profile for another week, so stop by and vote!
ALSO, I don't want to post another warning at the top of the next chapter, but expect a similar level of mature content as this one. Nothing overt or graphic, but I like to warn people because I despise angry PMs about how I'm poisoning the innocent eyes of my readers.
Thanks to WickedGreene13, Radio Free Death, and my guest for their kind reviews! Guest, I understand your feelings, but I like to think of Catelyn Stark as that person some of us are lucky enough to have in our lives who will tell you the truth, no matter how painful. Yes, they sometime lack tact, but - especially in Kyren's case - the point they're making is true and necessary.
And that wraps it up for the week! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and have a lovely day!