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 belong to 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 Fourteen
"...And here, we commend him for his bravery, his loyalty, and his sacrifice." Ned Stark raised his head, showing the quiet emotion in his gray eyes. "To Jory Cassel, a finer man than any in the Seven Kingdoms."
"To Jory Cassel," the small gathering repeated.
There were not many present to witness the burial of Jory Cassel here at the outskirts of King's Landing. Few in the South bothered to bury their dead - either one was rich and important enough to be placed in a tomb or they were so poor as to have their body dumped outside of the city, left to rot in the harsh sun without benefit of a name, much less mourners.
Though it obviously pained Lord Stark to bury his faithful captain of the guard in a strange land rather than return his remains to his uncle at Winterfell, he had insisted on gracing Jory with a Northern funeral. It was simpler than the ceremonies of the South - near disrespectful in local eyes - but those who had known Jory in life recognized that he would have wanted nothing more ornate. The mere fact that Lord Stark was present proved his love for the man who had been the captain of his guard; it was only against the advice and protests of several Maesters that Lord Stark had risen from his sickbed to perform the rites. His presence added much to the proceedings, being the highest-ranking official in Jory's home.
That Jory, a man Kyren had known most of her life, was dead caused her grief. Far more painful, however, was that his death had been brought about by Jaime Lannister. If she understood the temporal specifics properly, Jory had likely been killed - and Lord Stark injured - just before the blond knight had made his proposal to her. The idea made Kyren deeply uneasy. He had proven himself capable of great deception concerning one part of his life; who was to say that he would hesitate in doing so in others? A part of her treacherous heart reminded that he was merely attempting to recover his brother from a possibly-hostile source, yet it did little to soothe her worried thoughts.
Kyren was pulled from her musing when Lord Stark finished a prayer to the Old Gods, asking that Jory be judged fairly for his deeds. With the supplications ended, the service was over and the crowd - mostly those who had accompanied the Stark party to King's Landing - began filtering back to the Red Keep.
Before the girl could follow the others, she was stopped by the waving hand of Septa Mordane. Kyren had known Lord Stark had banned his daughters from attending the ceremony, and with good reason: around and even above where Jory's body had been buried, the bodies of others lay scattered, all in various states of dress and decomposition. It was an unpleasant location; however, lacking in the otherwise constant shadow of Sansa, the Septa seemed determined to speak with Kyren.
"Lovely ceremony, was it not?" she asked, dashing tears from her eyes.
Remembering abruptly that Septa Mordane had cared for Jory since his birth (having helped with his delivery), Kyren put as much compassion in her tone as possible. "I agree completely, Septa. He would have wanted a ceremony much like this."
"I only wish it could have taken place further North," the Septa fretted. "I wish many things could take place further North."
Kyren frowned. "I apologize, but I do not believe I understand your meaning."
"Come, dear. This is one of few places in which we may speak freely." Obligingly, Kyren followed Septa Mordane around a particularly thick collection of skeletons, bleached to a blinding white. "I fear for Lady Sansa."
Despite their personal squabbles, Kyren was pledged to the female Stark's safety and quickly asked, "What do you believe is placing her in danger, Septa Mordane?"
The Septa shook her head despairingly. "It is Prince Joffrey."
Kyren frowned even more fiercely than before. "Has he attempted to harm her?"
"No, but…" the older woman looked abashed. "It is a terrible thing to say of a prince - especially considering how young he is, bless him! - but there is something amiss. The way he behaves… It is no love match between Sansa and the prince, to be sure, but he watches her as if he is thinking of all the things he wishes to do to her."
"Many men look at Sansa in such a way," Kyren reminded, wincing at the bluntness of her own statement. However, it was true. Sansa was a true beauty, like her mother before her, and men had been entranced by that beauty since she had first stepped from childhood into youth.
"Yes, but Sansa has always been wary of such men," Septa Mordane countered. "Not so with the young prince. I fear that Sansa has been blinded by Joffrey's practiced smile and golden hair."
Though she would dearly love to argue with the Septa, insist that the woman was wrong, her words rang true in Kyren's ears. Sansa had always adored stories of knights and ladies, princes and princesses... any sort of lovely, high-born romance. Perhaps her longing for her own story had clouded Sansa's judgment where the young Baratheon prince was concerned.
Kyren frowned. "I apologize, Septa, but I do not know how I could possibly help. Sansa has made her distrust toward me abundantly clear. I believe the loss of Lady has brought about her true hatred of me."
"Oh, Kyren," Septa Mordane clucked soothingly. "She does not hate you. In truth, I believe Lady Sansa is incapable of hatred no matter the circumstances, but you two grew up together. You are kin of a sort, and though many differences exist between you both, she cares for you deeply. She may require time to grieve her pet, but peace will come to her soon enough."
Privately, Kyren believed the Septa was being far more generous than was realistic, but she nodded despite her own doubts.
"Kyren, might I have a word?"
Cursing her sudden popularity in such a horrific place, Kyren nevertheless turned and offered Lord Stark a brilliant smile. "Of course, my Lord. One moment." She turned back toward Septa Mordane, expression dimming as she realized the extent of the older woman's concern. "I promise you, Septa, I will do my utmost to ensure Sansa's safety, that of both her body and her soul."
Septa Mordane nodded, eventually offering a weary smile. "Thank you, child. Your generosity and well-grounded nature ease my worries."
Kyren blushed. Compliments from such a stern woman had never struck her as a possibility. With a humble smile and slight shake of her head, she picked her way across the bone-littered ground to where Lord Stark was patiently waiting. She offered him a smile as well, but the expression faded from her face as she took in his grim expression.
"Kyren, as you are certainly aware, Robert named me as his regent while he is away. The queen does not like this, nor do I believe she will appreciate some of my actions as his representative."
Nodding her understanding, Kyren paused a long moment before prompting, "And how would you wish me to aid in the situation?"
"I wish for you to accompany my daughters as they return to Winterfell."
She blinked at that. She understood Lord Stark's fear of retribution, but if the man would have his daughters return to Winterfell, the threat must be far greater than she had supposed. That being said, there was but one way she could answer: "I will do as you ask, Lord Stark." Gratitude crossed the crags of his weary face, but she spoke once more. "I would ask one boon of you, however."
"And what boon might that be?"he asked, voice wary.
"I would ask that you inform your daughters of your plan personally."
He sighed. "Kyren, I have many duties requiring my attention…"
"Please, my lord," Kyren entreated softly, gaining his full attention. It was not often that she argued against a direct order. "Sansa is already less fond of me at the moment than she has been during the whole of our acquaintanceship. I beg of you, do not ask me to deliver the unwelcome revelation that she is not to marry the prince."
The Hand looked somewhat undecided and Kyren added, "You honored me once by saying I was something of a sister to your daughters. I pray you will not take offense, but I believe my familiarity with Sansa allows me to understand her temper. She will accept such news far better if it is given by her father than by an orphan for whom she holds little regard."
"Very well," Lord Stark acquiesced, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose. "I will find the time to speak to my daughters myself. It is a task that should be undertaken by no other, in any circumstance. I apologize for thinking to thrust such a burden onto you."
Kyren pressed a hand to her heart, bowing over it slightly. "I am honored you believed me capable of such a task, even if I am grateful to be relieved of it."
To her shock, Lord Stark snorted. "Sansa is similar to her mother in many ways, including her temperament. I view this conversation with more dread than even yourself as I know exactly what response I am likely to receive."
It was a fair enough statement, Kyren reflected later. Sansa had taken the news extraordinarily poorly and was outdoing even Arya in her protests against her father's decision. While Arya had simply stated her desire to remain in King's Landing to continue with her dance lessons, Sansa had been listing every facet of the life she had been anticipating and how leaving would rob her of the opportunities she had been promised.
Halfway through her second recitation of the sort of man she would could expect to marry if she returned to Winterfell - "...twenty years my senior with grey hair and a paunch!" - her tirade was cut off by Lord Stark.
"While I regret that your grand plans have been disrupted, Sansa, my actions stem from concern for your safety. I place priority on that, even above your desire to become the eventual queen of Westeros."
The stern resolve in his tone silenced Sansa abruptly, though her lovely blue eyes filled with tears. "I would have been queen, but I would also have been wed to the most lovely man I've met in my life. I want to live with him, to love him, to have his golden-haired babies. I want our life together, not only the benefits that accompany it!"
Lord Stark stopped speaking, seeming suddenly lost in thought. "Golden hair…" His eyes sharpened. "Arya, Sansa, pack your belongings. I will return shortly."
Ignoring the piercing protests of the girls, he strode purposefully from the quarters.
Only a few short hours later, Kyren was called into the chambers that housed the meetings of the king's Small Council. Both of the Stark girls had packed their belongings, though they did so with much complaint. Fortunately, Septa Mordane was present to ensure that neither did anything drastic while Kyren was otherwise occupied.
Lord Stark looked solemn, but less so than he had since their arrival in King's Landing. "Kyren, I can only apologize for the task I am assigning- no, asking that you undertake. I will not force your assistance in this matter."
Kyren bowed deeply. "I am ever your servant, my lord. How may I be of assistance?"
"I will gladly reveal to you my findings, but I must ask that you swear secrecy."
"I swear it, Lord Stark," Kyren answered without hesitation.
"I have uncovered evidence that Joffrey Baratheon is not a true-born son of King Robert." Lord Stark paused to assess Kyren's reaction and she fought to keep all but a grim determination from displaying on her expression. "I have sealed the proof of my findings into a letter I wish to send to Winterfell. Lady Stark will know what must be done in the unlikely event that Robert takes the news poorly. I cannot risk sending such information by raven.; even birds may be intercepted."
Kyren nodded her assent. "I understand, Lord Stark. How many will be accompanying me on the journey north? I fear that the girls and Septa Mordane will make for quite a large party, but we can bring others if required."
"You will be traveling alone," Lord Stark replied firmly.
"But my lord-"
"I understand your reticence, but speed is of the essence. You will travel much more rapidly if you are not forced to wait for those with less experience on horseback than yourself. Besides, I intend to confront the queen with my findings and offer her the chance to remove herself and her children from King's Landing. She would be a fool to throw away such an opportunity for sake of unlikely vengeance."
"A fool she may well be, my lord," Kyren argued. "Queen Cersei is a vengeful woman, one who holds far more power than is readily apparent. She is dangerous."
Lord Stark snorted. "I assume you speak of the Lannister family and their riches. They find themselves quite occupied in the north, fighting to regain custody of Tyrion Lannister."
"If you will forgive my liberties, my lord, you should be more cautious where the Lannisters are concerned. One injured your leg and would have killed you if he had not feared the repercussions - repercussions that will have removed themselves if you confront the queen and she names you a traitor." Kyren took a breath. "I only urge you to use caution, Lord Stark. I know you are far more wise than I in matters of diplomacy, but I fear you are blinded to the spite and hatred the queen carries within herself."
The man smiled softly, seeming utterly unconcerned. "I thank you for worrying over me, Kyren, but the queen is not without a wisdom of her own. She will not risk the safety of herself or her children for sake of keeping her position. She will certainly realize how unlikely such a thing would be and yield to caution. It would be far better for her sake if she were not in King's Landing when Robert discovers the truth."
"The truth that you alone threat her with," Kyren pressed. "She will certainly realize that all she must do in order to prevent King Robert from learning her children's parentage is to remove you."
"And that is why I've crafted this letter," Lord Stark replied.
"But you will not tell her of its existence and it will create no assurances for your safety," she knew she was dangerously close to outright arguing with Lord Stark, but Kyren could not stop the words spilling from her mouth. He was in danger, and the plan to offer mercy to Cersei would place his children and household in danger as well.
"There is little need to fear for my safety," the lord insisted. "My greatest concern is that Cersei will manage to uncover evidence of this letter's existence and your journey will become one of the greatest danger."
Kyren was far from stupid and recognized Lord Stark's words for what they were: a distraction and an attempted change of subject. Still, she humored the man who had raised her from such a young age. "Regardless of any danger, I will deliver this missive safely to Lady Stark, I swear it."
"You have my trust, Kyren," Lord Stark said with a smile. "If either of my daughters grow to be as steadfast and trustworthy as you, mine will have been a life well-led."
To her horror, Kyren felt tears pricking at her eyes. She pressed a hand to her heart, bowing deeply, but straightened to find Lord Stark waiting with his hand extended. He clasped her forearm and she clasped his in a recognition between warriors, two people utterly dedicated to their task.
"Go well, Kyren Asheworth," he bade and Kyren nodded firmly.
After a brief stop for her belongings, the precious letter tucked securely into her boot, Kyren retrieved Sotam from the stables and made her way through King's Landing at a brisk walk. The moment the city had disappeared from view, she urged Sotam into a gallop. As they flew over the level ground of the path, her lips quirked. Not even a fortnight from her decision to leave the Red Keep and Kyren was indeed traveling Westeros.
"Welcome, Ser Jaime," a guard greeted amiably. "Your father has requested your presence in his personal tent."
Jaime dismounted from his horse, removing his helmet before fixing the guard with a cold stare. He had arrived only moments ago, after having ridden for several long days in order to reach his father's camp. Now he was being ordered to his father's tent without the benefit of time in which to make camp, bathe, or even relieve himself?
The guard's wide smile faltered under the weight of Jaime's glare, but the Lannister knight sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Lead on, man."
Their path wound through the impressive camp of Tywin Lannister and his men. Everywhere Jaime looked, he found men carefully honing weapons, training, currying horses, caring for tack, or a hundred other industrious tasks. There was no laughter or jokes, no boasts of strength, and far fewer whores than Jaime had expected to find swarming near a camp of this size.
No, not expected, Jaime corrected himself. In any other camp, the whores would have been thicker than flies around the men, but the head of House Lannister kept a tight rein on his army. With a snort, he mentally added, And his household. Any of his children can attest to that.
Before he could travel further down that vein of thinking, Jaime came to face the man himself. Lord Tywin Lannister held a knife in his hand with a grace and confidence that belied the many seasons he had lived. His pale visage was lined with concentration, studying the carcass of a freshly-killed stag. Even as Jaime watched, he seemed to come to a conclusion concerning the best way to begin dressing the animal and started in, making his initial cuts decisively.
Dismissing the guard with only a look, Jaime addressed his father stiffly, "Reporting as ordered, my lord."
Tywin merely glanced over his shoulder, seeming unimpressed with Jaime's behavior. "Am I to assume you experienced significant troubles on your journey? We expected you yesterday."
Jaime gritted his teeth against the flood of retorts that sprang to his tongue. Even if he had left King's Landing without attempting to gain the company of Kyren Asheworth, he and his men would have arrived no earlier than that morning. He doubted very much that the resulting delays had caused Tywin any real inconvenience, but that was not the point. His father wanted an apology, but Jaime would not give in to such a demand - in truth, Tywin wanted apologies for many of Jaime's life choices, yet he staunchly refused to give the man the satisfaction of confirming that Jaime so much as possessed regrets.
Instead, he gave a jaunty smile and said flippantly, "And I expected to be comfortably settled at King's Landing, but I find myself in the desolate waste of the Riverlands. It seems we are both fated to disappointment."
Tywin did not even turn to face his son after that declaration. The only hint of his irritation came with a slight sharpening of his voice. "Have you yet realized that we are readying ourselves for war with the Starks?"
"The Starks have done little to cause dissent," Jaime argued for argument's sake. "Only Catelyn Stark has acted offensively, despite what claims her husband sees fit to make."
"Such a thing is obvious to me, but I would have thought you believed otherwise with your recent attack on Eddard Stark," Tywin returned. "His anger will make things more difficult."
"He irks me," Jaime said by way of explanation, grinning cheerily when Tywin shot a dark look in his direction. "Are we concerned about the anger of the honorable Ned Stark?"
"Not in the slightest," Tywin said coldly, sliding his knife free of the stag's thick skin with a vicious twist. "We will take our vengeance from the true source of our troubles. Riverrun, Catelyn Stark's childhood home, lies no more than four leagues from this spot. I will give you command of half of my forces and you will take Riverrun. I care little whether you leave it standing in the attempt."
"Do you truly believe that attacking Catelyn Stark's childhood home and the seat of House Tully will at all inspire her to instigate Tyrion's safe return?" Jaime asked, dropping his playful demeanor. There were factors here, things at stake, and he wondered if his father truly understood the potential devastation.
"Recovering Tyrion would have been far easier had you managed to bring the orphan girl from King's Landing," Tywin snapped.
Jaime grimaced. Tywin was forever fixated on all of his son's failings - though he was at least willing to concede that Jaime was his son. Whether or not Tyrion was fortunate to be regarded as a bastard depended upon the events of the day.
"I attempted to convince young Kyren to join me, but she was determined to remain with the Stark girls," Jaime explained tonelessly.
"Did you attempt to seduce her? You have a face that looks well enough, despite how you insist upon wasting it as a Kingsguard."
The venom of the last word made Tywin's despisal of Jaime's chosen appointment all too clear, but Jaime only sighed. It was a complaint grown dull by the weight of time. "Yes, and as a Kingsguard, I have taken vows-"
"Hang your vows," Tywin told him succinctly. "I am not so naive that I believe any abide by those vows."
"And if I do?" Jaime asked testily. It was one thing for him to forsake his vows, but quite another to do so on the orders of another… if for no other reason than that his father's excessive illusion of control reflected unpleasantly Cersei's order for him to do the same.
Tywin only gave a snort, removing a handful of stag viscera to be deposited in a bowl. "If you do, you are as naive as I am not and a fool besides." Before Jaime could respond - likely in anger - Tywin had branched into their previous conversation. "Kyren Asheworth is a weakness for the Stark family, one easily exploited by those who have control of her. We could have used her as a valuable hostage in the days to come or killed her outright without irreversible damage. Let us hope your sister is wiser than you. If she allows the girl to slip from her fingers as well, it could mean a shift in the war to come."
Jaime forced himself to give a roguish smirk. "Do you truly believe that such an insignificant girl could play such a large part in whatever squabbles the Stark family begins?"
"The scales of battle have been moved by far less in the past," Tywin answered cryptically. "One should never underestimate the power of a single painful death for a loved one of the enemy."
"Let us hope that we will beat them decisively on the battlefield, then," Jaime said slowly. "With one firm success, we can negate the need for hostages and painful deaths."
"Even if you should achieve a victory, we will require a show of power. To that end, there is always a need for hostages and painful deaths." Studying the internal structure of the stag, Tywin dismissed Jaime with a firm, "Take your rest where you can. I fear the Starks will prove far more difficult to crush than you seem to believe."
Though his father had not so much as turned pale eyes in his direction during the latter half of their conversation, Jaime dipped his head into a respectful nod before walking away. In the privacy of his thoughts, he came to the quiet conclusion that even a death in the wilds of Westeros would be a far more preferable death for Kyren than to be a hostage of Tywin Lannister.
Kyren made camp on the edge of a meadow she found in the forests near Moat Cailin. She had heard that Lord Stark had commanded a presence of Stark men in the ruins, but she kept her distance regardless. It would not do for something to have gone wrong and the area have been taken by soldiers who would only hinder her in her task. Still, two of the ancient towers were visible through the trees edging her clearing even when Kyren laid down to sleep. Sotam munched his way through the underbrush nearby, the sound of his chewing blending pleasantly with the sound of crickets and distant water and Kyren slept easily.
When she woke, it was because two men were approaching. They seemed to be guards making their patrol around Moat Cailin, but she laid still and silent regardless. Her wariness was lucky, as the men passed only yards from her camp. She had built no fire to give away her presence and was nearly invisible lying flat on the edges of the grassy meadow she had chosen. Even Sotam was nearly undetectable with his grey-spotted coat in the milky half-light from the setting moon.
As it happened, the men seemed deep in conversation, better to pass a dull watch. Waiting for a hint that they had discovered her presence, Kyren listened intently.
"-they say it was a hunting accident. Got too close to a boar he thought was dead."
"Hard to believe. You would think a king would have better sense."
A thrill of foreboding ran up Kyren's spine even as the first man snorted.
"The King, Seven rest his soul, was hardly a regular king, was he? He was too much a warrior. Warriors like to kill things close up, see the death in their eyes."
"Still," the other man said, obviously shaking his head in consternation. "But how does Ned Stark figure into things?"
"Tried to fight when they crowned the king's son, he did. Said he was not the true heir."
"Who else would be if not the king's son himself?"
"No one knows," the first man informed. "The queen had him arrested before he could say anything more about it."
"What does she plan to do with him?"
The conversation was beginning to fade as the men moved further from Kyren's range of hearing. She strained to continue listening, but could not risk following them through the underbrush. If Lord Stark had truly been taken captive by Queen Cersei, Kyren's mission had grown even more dire. The letter she carried could perhaps save Westeros from an ill-qualified ruler, if not save Lord Stark from wrongful imprisonment.
"There is to be a trial, but they say no man has ever won a trial after conspiring against the Crown…"
It was early, far too early to begin traveling in earnest, but Kyren's body sang with tension. With little chance of falling asleep once more, she packed her few belongings into Sotam's saddlebags, saddled the stallion, and began picking her slow way north. Even as she moved away from Moat Cailin and her once-peaceful clearing, the words of the guards echoed in Kyren's ears. At first light, she would mount Sotam and cover as large a distance as possible. Winterfell was far and there was much at stake.
Author's Note - My goodness, but the Stark girls are ordered to pack their belongings ridiculously often. Poor things. I apologize for the lateness of this chapter! I was feeling strangely unmotivated over the last few days, but not to worry: I already have most of the next chapter written and we should move into our first two-week gap without an issue. For those curious, I am playing a bit with the timeline of the end of season one and the time between seasons. Mostly done on purpose, folks! Though on the topic of issues that are and are not done purposely, I believe I referred to Ser Cassel as Jory's father rather than his uncle in earlier chapters. I'll maybe go back to fix it if and when I have time.
There were no reviews on last week's chapter, so this wraps it up. Thanks for reading, drop some feedback, and I'll see you later this week. Have a great day!