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 solely 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 Eighteen
Jaime found the glowing bird with little effort, hardly required to search for its faint light in order to jog in the correct direction. It was something of a miracle that he could sigh with such disappointment even while moving so rapidly; his physical body had deteriorated to the point that he no longer trusted the belief that his legs would support his weight without buckling even should he manage to escape Robb Stark's cage.
However, in this dark world of dreams, he arrived at the bird's Weirwood perch without incident. Had captivity in the Stark camp truly broken him so utterly that he could not even conjure a more entertaining form of escape? Instead, he dreamt of the same bird, the same tree, and the same darkness.
"Gods," he muttered lowly, now thoroughly in a bad mood. "This bird grows uglier by the day."
His voice, as always, echoed strangely in the black emptiness of his surroundings, but the croaking squawk of the bird nearly made Jaime jump free of his skin. The captive Lannister knight had dreamed of the bird for weeks on end, and yet this was the first time it had made a single sound.
When his heart had returned to a somewhat normal rhythm, Jaime could not help but grin at the creature. "Your voice is almost as unpleasant as your appearance. An impressive feat, though not one to which I would personally aspire."
Even as the taunt fell from his lips, the bird's glow began to brighten steadily. " No offense meant, my friend," Jaime added hastily, backpedaling physically as well as verbally.
His actions were fruitless, however. The ground itself seemed to twist and buck, forcing Jaime to stand at the very foot of the Weirwood tree. The bird's light grew more intense by the moment, until the radiance became truly painful to his eyes, yet Jaime could not look away.
When the radiance had filled his vision and he could see nothing more, it changed. Rather than an oddly blue hue filtered through the bird's thin skin between sparse feathers, it became a warm yellow, dancing and crackling in an almost merry way. Jaime blinked rapidly, fearing that the damage done to his vision had been sufficient that it caused him to hallucinate now - as much as one could hallucinate in a dream - but the sight did not disappear.
The bird was most definitely engulfed in flames.
Now released from the unnatural earthquake that had kept him trapped at the base of the tree, Jaime stepped back and reclined on the ground, shaking his head in bemusement. Yes, Robb Stark's cage most definitely must have broken his mind beyond repair if he was dreaming of phoenixes.
Dragons would be a far more respectable creature to dream of, if he were to be so fanciful. At least dragons had been a true creature that existed in Westeros, even if they had died out long before Jaime was born. Phoenixes, by contrast, had never existed. They were a child's story, a nursery rhyme used to reward children who had not behaved like utter heathens that day. Jaime stood and moved to walk back into the empty darkness. He was no nursemaid, nor was he a child, and thus had no interest in such things.
As he walked away, Jaime heard a soft musical note, delicate and silvery as the loveliest birdsong. He glanced back over his shoulder before he could prevent the motion, and was met by an odd sight: the bird, apparently still alive in its cage of fire, stretched its neck and opened its diminished wings in a show of apparent joy.
Why the idea brought him such shock, he did not know. If his dream was following the stories he had been told as a child, the fire meant that the bird would be reborn in a younger body. He had simply assumed that any creature would find the process of burning to death less than pleasant, but why should the attitudes of a fairytale bird make logical sense?
Even as he moved to continue walking, the flames disappeared, leaving a tiny, peeping form sitting in a pile of scattered ashes. Telling himself that there was little more than idle curiosity in the motion, Jaime approached the Weirwood tree once more. The newly reborn phoenix stared down at him with bright eyes, energy apparent in every motion. It was much smaller than it had been before all of that fire nonsense, but much less flabby and deformed-looking. Grey down covered every bit of its skin.
Jaime attempted to shake the wonderment from his mind. This was a dream. Odd and repetitive, likely spawned from complete boredom and despair, but not real and certainly not prophetic. Staring at the small phoenix chick, so unlike anything he had ever witnessed in his waking life, Jaime wished for the first time that this dream would come to an end.
Kyren could count on one hand the number of instances on which she had seen Shana look surprised, but her look of shock when Kyren slammed into Dyser's was unmistakable. As Kyren collapsed onto a bench to rest her shaking knees, Shana dropped the cloth she had been using to wipe tables and rushed over.
"Kyren? What has happened?"
"I fear- It is nothing, Shana," Kyren hedged. Even as Shana shot her a look filled with disappointed incredulity, Kyren forced herself to think logically. If Tyrion somehow discovered her presence in King's Landing, the entire Dyser family and their business could be affected. Shana had a right to know what had happened.
"In truth, I fear I may have been discovered by a member of the royal family."
"Which one?" Shana asked mildly, despite the curious fear burning in her eyes.
"Tyrion Lannister."
"Ah," Shana said slowly, easing to a seat beside the younger girl. "Then perhaps the situation is salvageable. How certain are you that he saw you?"
"Not at all," Kyren admitted. "He did not appear to see me at all, but the man with him did. If he should mention me to Lord Tyrion, he is certainly clever enough to come to a correct conclusion."
"Who was the man with him?" Shana asked.
"I am uncertain; I have never seen him before. He was dark-haired and lean, and he moved with a confident menace."
"That was likely the new Commander of the City Watch, a man known as Bronn. He was a sellsword before he was awarded the position, and even that is due to a debt owed him by Tyrion Lannister. He is a man to be taken into careful consideration, but I believe your fears are undue. It is possible that he will not mention a random girl in the streets to such a powerful man."
"Powerful? Tyrion Lannister?" Kyren stared down at the table's scarred surface and gathered her thoughts as best she could. "He is extraordinarily clever and constantly underestimated despite his influential name, but I am uncertain how powerful he truly is without the might of House Lannister behind him."
Shana stared at her for a long moment, then tossed her head back in a splash of blue-black curls. "My dear girl," she finally said between chuckles, "Do you mean to tell me that you've been in King's Landing for nearly a fortnight and you have yet to discover that Tyrion Lannister has recently been named as the new Hand of the King?"
Kyren paused to digest the new information and ended with a wide grin on her face. "Much to the chagrin of Cersei Lannister, I would assume?"
"Naturally," Shana agreed. "However, Tyrion is in possession of the position only until his father returns from the front lines of the war with the north."
"Do the people of King's Landing believe the war to be such a lost cause, that Tywin Lannister is expected to return so shortly?"
"Not at all. In truth, most of the citizens see the war as a far-off oddity, interesting enough to provide a topic of conversation, though not much more." Shana watched her intently before adding, "I have heard talk between those who have seen wars and studied many more. They are of the opinion that Robb Stark possesses many tactical advantages and they believe that this war will not be won quickly or without great loss."
"I believe them to be correct," Kyren affirmed. "Though I also believe the war would be far more decisively won with the North having regained possession of the Stark girls. With or without the suspicions of the new Hand, I appear to have a limited amount of time in which to make my move against the Lannisters."
"And what of yourself?"
"My own safety is of little concern. Sansa and Arya must be returned to their family."
"I do not question that," Shana assured her, "but how will you occupy yourself afterward?"
"I- I intend to travel Westeros, protecting those who need protection." Kyren was nettled by the question, but far more so by her own hesitation.
Shana nodded understandingly. "Yes, but you could also return here. None know you as more than the girl from Dyser's. You would be safe."
"Safe, yes, but never more. There is nothing for me in King's Landing after I recover the Stark girls."
"There is more than you seem to realize," Shana countered. "Tarik feels deeply for you. He has worried for your safety each day since you first left us, and I know you care for him as well."
Kyren snorted. "Tarik has yet to speak a word to me that does not threaten to buckle under the weight of hostility."
"He was hurt that you could leave us so callously, but he has changed his tune since your discussion with Bellin. I believe he was too wrapped in his own troubles that he neglected to consider what must have been of such import to you." Shana's eyes glinted at her. "Now that he knows that you seek to protect the lives of ones you love, he seems determined to protect you as well."
"I do not need protection," Kyren denied sharply.
"Of course you do not, and if you did, there are many others who would serve the purpose with far more effect than Tarik. And yet, this is the first he has ever spoken of wanting to keep another safe, especially one outside our family. It is quite a notable change."
Equally as reluctant to deprive Shana of her delusions as she was to deceive the older woman, Kyren decided that blunt truth was best. "There is no future between Tarik and myself. I am sworn to the protection of Westeros."
"Could you not protect the people from here? Guard the streets of King's Landing? If the war is to make its way south, I am certain the city will need all the protectors it can find." Sensing Kyren's indecision, Shana added slyly, "Perhaps you could even serve as a guardian as a married woman."
Kyren shook her head. She was not one to share her misfortunes with others, but Shana was the closest she had found to a friend in quite some time - if a rather unorthodox friend - and this was already a quite honest conversation. "You would not want me for Tarik. I cannot bear children. He would never father true-born sons."
Shana snorted now. "The obsession with true-born children is an illness experienced only by nobles. The rest of Westeros knows what is truly important: children living good, safe lives. There are plenty of Flea Bottom children in need of homes. You could always take in a few if you feel a particular longing for family, but I know Tarik. Children or no, he wants you for his wife."
Though her first impulse was to immediately dismiss the possibility, Kyren forced herself to stop and consider what Shana said. Tarik had been distant since Kyren's return, but he was oddly insistent upon their speaking. More than once, he had attempted to tail her as she wandered to collect information. It was possible that Tarik still retained the feelings he had once claimed to hold for Kyren, but any true reconciliation was far off.
"I fear I would anger many should I choose to remain here," Kyren admitted.
"You will anger many regardless of where you travel," Shana said pragmatically. "You are a woman who is not beautiful and cannot bear children, both of those things women are told are required in order to live in this world. It is not so. You work as a man, fight as a man, make choices as a man does, and that will anger men the world over, but it does not mean that you should not do these things. It only means that you must work harder at them."
Kyren was stunned into utter silence, though it was no great loss as Shana merely patted her hand consolingly and left for the kitchen. Seated alone at the table, Kyren found herself battling back a wave of confused emotion. Always before, her childless destiny had been treated as a tragedy, a curse that would most certainly steal her future happiness. To have it so lightly dismissed - by a woman she admired, no less - was… freeing.
As she pondered the revelation, Bellin bustled into the room to begin preparing the room for the evening's crowds.
"Hello, Kyren," she greeted cheerfully. "Has it been a pleasant day for you? I almost wish I could have been outside. There was such a lovely breeze! But the kitchens have to be ready for the night. Millinna was not a kind woman, but she was clever in the kitchen and amassed a loyal group of followers. I believe, if they were deprived of her hare stew, they would surely burn this place to the ground!"
Cutting off Bellin's fond chuckle about the violence of the tavern's patrons, Kyren asked casually, "Bellin, have you kept any of your serving dresses?"
Kyren woke abruptly, the whole of her being on-edge within a single instant. She had retired to her attic quarters early, when crowds were only beginning to filter into the tavern, and attempted sleep. She would rise with the dawn to join the few serving girls who lived outside the Keep on their way to work. Dyser's was quiet at the moment and the hour was late, but the presence in her room had disturbed Kyren from her rest.
The person in question was no bumbling drunk, no passionate couple desperately lost to their surroundings. Rather, the trapdoor that served as the only entrance to Kyren's quarters had been raised with care, the intruder obviously taking pains to remain undetected.
Moving carefully in an attempt to avoid drawing the attention of the intruder, Kyren eased to her side, reaching for the sword she had carried since her departure from King's Landing. It lay frustratingly far from her, tucked into a scabbard besides, but arming herself was the only option Kyren had if she wished to survive the encounter.
With her fingertips a scant breath away from the sword's pommel, a boot pressed her hand to the floor. Before she could even begin to struggle, a the tip of a blade eased under her chin. Slowly, Kyren's gaze followed the length of the unfamiliar sword to find the black eyes of the man she had seen accompanying Tyrion Lannister in the market earlier that day. Shana had named him as Bronn.
With her other hand - the one under the rough-spun blanket rather than the Bronn's foot - Kyren subtly began groping for one of the daggers strapped around her waist, but the sword at her throat pressed into her until she felt the skin give. Her stomach dropped as she braced for an unpleasant death.
"None of that love," he said in a low voice that still managed to convey his amusement. "I'd hate to hurt such a pretty little thing, but I will if you make me. I do have orders, you know. Both hands where I can see 'em."
Obligingly, Kyren moved her other hand out from under the blanket and tugged at the one still trapped under Bronn's filth-crusted boot. He smirked as he allowed her to struggle for a moment, but lifted his foot enough for her to draw her hand to rest atop the blanket with the other.
"Now, what is that?" he asked, nodding toward a dress in the corner.
"A serving girl's dress," she answered briefly.
Bronn chuckled softly. "Is that how you planned to sneak into the castle and steal the Stark girl back?" With effort, Kyren managed not to gape openly, but he still seemed amused. "It will do. Put it on."
Now, Kyren forced herself to be more expressive than was typical for her. With a horrified face, she shook her head, allowing the motion to be frantic. "Surely you cannot expect me to dress under the gaze of a strange man?"
His eyes flicked over her form. "You hardly seem the type who would object."
Kyren's offended gasp was far less contrived now. "How dare you? I object a great deal. I will not bare myself to a man I have never before met!" His eyebrow quirked sardonically and her cheeks burned. "Among other reasons, of course."
"'Course," he agreed easily, despite the smirk he still wore. "I doubt your honesty, but never let it be said that Bronn forced a woman to shrug off her sense of propriety." With a flourish and an expectant air, he turned his back.
"You cannot be in earnest!" Kyren said, perhaps more loudly than was prudent. "I will not trust my reputation and privacy to the belief that you will not so much as turn your head!"
Bronn sighed frustratedly and turned back to her. "Truth is, if even half of what I have heard of you is true, you are too dangerous to be left alone, even for only a moment."
Kyren colored slightly and looked up at him with wide eyes. Never before had she wished so deeply to be underestimated, but now - with only a blanket for protection against a man who oozed danger - he believed her to be a threat? Her timing, as ever, was impeccable.
With a lazy shrug, he offered, "Last chance: either you dress now and I turn my back, or you keep arguing and end up giving me a show." A sudden, roguish grin crossed his face. "I never mind seeing a pair of tits."
After a surprisingly minimal session of argument and awkwardness, Kyren was fully clad in the serving girl's dress and had become so without Bronn spotting the dagger-filled corset she wore. As the pair passed through the residential floor of Dyser's, Bronn's luck failed him once more as a door opened to reveal Tarik.
Drowsiness abruptly clearing from his eyes, Tarik stepped forward, focused the stout, ill-formed dagger Bronn pressed to Kyren's side to force her movement.
"What the fuck are you doing with her?" he snarled. The fierceness in his tone took even Kyren aback for a moment, but did not appear to throw Bronn in the slightest.
With a condescending laugh, the man said, "Urgent business at the castle. Go back to bed, boy."
Tarik's face darkened, but Shana soon emerged into the hall as well.
"Tarik? To whom do you sp- Ah, Bronn. No dramatics, yes?"
"None at all, my lady," Bronn agreed with a bow. The dagger at Kyren's ribs did not move during any of the banter or movements. Apparently choosing to ignore the argument erupting behind them, Bronn forced her to continue along their path to the Red Keep. "You must be something special, girl."
Kyren did not answer, which must have served as answer enough, for he continued undeterred.
"The boy was undressed, not a weapon to be found, and still, he was willing to face an armed man to keep you safe." His tone grew thoughtful. "The real question is why I did not find you in his chambers rather than tucked away in the attic."
"You can release me or you can kill me," Kyren said in her hardest tone, "but you cannot force me to listen to your bizarre theories and baseless accusations."
He stared down at her for a long moment, but shrugged and glanced back toward their path. "Suit yourself. Just an observation."
Returning to the Red Keep was equally as disconcerting as her first entrance had been; possibly more so, as she entered with the knowledge of her recent failures. The walls towered over her, foreboding in the grey light of the pre-dawn hour. Every echo of their footsteps, tossed crisply back by the cold stone halls, reminded Kyren of the hopeless reality that filled her current situation. Yet, each time that hopelessness attempted to enter her, Kyren steeled herself with the knowledge that she was merely biding her time until she could make a move against her captor. Time was running short, however. Kyren knew that she would never allow herself to be brought before Cersei Lannister - or Joffrey, for that matter - without a struggle, ill-planned as it may have to be.
When Bronn turned his back, tapping subtly at a door nearly hidden in the shadows, Kyren seized the opportunity. Darting a hand through the strategic tear she had made in the ill-fitting waist of her dress, Kyren retrieved a dagger and slashed at Bronn.
Apparently receiving some odd premonition about her movements, Bronn moved away in time to prevent Kyren from slitting his throat. She was able to land a blow, however, and Bronn hissed as she opened a gash nearly the entire length of his upper arm.
Rather than nurse his wound as Kyren had expected of a softened Commander of the City Watch, Bronn cursed sharply and acted without further hesitation, catching her by the throat before she could dodge away as he had. He pushed her against the stone of the wall, and Kyren was so preoccupied with preventing another head injury that she nearly missed the way his grip was slowly tightening.
In moments, she was gasping for breath, but fighting all the while. She kicked and slashed at every inch of him in reach, all without avail. She had just set herself to the task of severing the tendons in his forearm when the door beside her opened and a familiar face emerged.
"Bronn," Tyrion Lannister admonished sharply, "What are you doing?"
Bronn turned from the struggling Kyren to Tyrion, disbelief on his face. "She stabbed me!"
"Yes, people do such things when they believe they are fighting for their lives," he explained patronizingly. "Bring her inside, and we will explain matters properly."
Author's Note - Hey, everyone! I'm back, but only briefly. Updates are unfortunately going to be a bit more sporadic than I would prefer because I'm going back to school! I apologize for disappearing on you, but between finalizing all the paperwork and continuing my job, I lost any time I had in which to write. I'll be publishing chapters as often as possible, but again, they will likely be sporadic.
In any case, thank you for reading! As always, I would be glad to hear feedback you have on this or any previous chapter, and thank you all for sticking with this story despite the large gap in updates. Have a merry Christmas!