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 Twenty-Two

Kyren had never been quite so grateful to see land as she was when the Yangilash made port in Braavos. Luckily, sailing did not make her queasy in the slightest, but her legs fairly ached to walk without being barricaded by the limits of a ship - even such a fairly large one as they had sailed on. That was not to say that she had suffered from lack of regular exercise; she and Jaqen had worked as part of the crew in exchange for their transport. The permanent members of the crew who had been inclined to give her easier jobs due to her sex learned better by the third day of their voyage. Kyren worked as hard as any of the men - indeed, more tirelessly than most.

At the captain's suggestion, Kyren had retreated to the large room of swinging hammocks that made up the crew's sleeping quarters to retrieve her few belongings. Beyond a few small packs and Sotam's saddlebags, she owned only the clothes she wore.

"Ah, if it is not little ilzigon riña!" a voice boomed from behind her.

Kyren turned to shoot a grin over her shoulder at the large, mustachioed man. "Vogys. I am certain you are pleased that this voyage has ended."

Vogys scoffed, patting his rounded stomach with a good-natured grimace. "I would be broke if we sailed another week!"

Kyren's grin stretched even wider at that. The Braavosi man had helped her more than earn back the precious coins she had paid to secure a place on the ship for Sotam. She had learned very quickly that sailors seemed to have a weakness for betting, particularly when one's aim was called into question. She had made a fair amount of gold from taking bets on what she could hit with a dagger. The weapon in question was not even one of her specially-forged knives. Instead, she used a small, heavily-battered blade she had bought just before they set sail. These men were kinder than she had expected, but she was not so trusting as to place an obviously-expensive set of weapons within easy reach.

The lives she had already taken haunted her every day. She did not wish to add to the number for a reason so easily avoided.

She held out a hand to the gentle giant. "It has been a pleasure working with you, Vogys. When you tell your wife of your losses, do not mention my name."

"I can promise no such thing, young Alis," Vogys denied, ignoring her hand in favor of wrapping her in a bone-crushing embrace. "To that end, I have some advice for you."

Kyren smiled. Vogys was well-known for handing out advice, most of it such gems as, 'If you must vomit, make certain an enemy stands below you' and 'Drinking strong mead keeps your mustache in place'. With her experience of his wisdom, Kyren waited with amusement already bubbling through her midsection.

"Be mindful of yourself out there, riña. Braavos is a good city, rich in people and cultures and life, but there is also death. He waits in corners, follows the unwary, and if you let your guard down for even a moment, he will snatch you up and take you away."

With the pleasant tickle of humor now thoroughly dissipated, Kyren frowned up at Vogys. "Death is everywhere. Why should he be more dangerous in Braavos than elsewhere?"

"Death is the world's most constant companion, but in Braavos, he takes the shape of many. You never see them or know they are there, but you must always be watchful. The man you travel with…" Vogys glanced back at the staircase behind him, seeming to check for another's presence before he finished. Leaning in still more closely, he muttered, "Death clings to him. I can smell it like a strong perfume. He is a dangerous man. You would do well to find a way to go far from him."

"Thank you for the warning, Vogys," Kyren said gravely. Any fool could see that Jaqen H'ghar was more than he claimed to be, a man far more lethal than any had a right to be, but Vogys's concern was touching. "I shall try to do as you suggest."

"Cap'n Syrar says he would take you back on if you ever need to go somewhere the Yangilash is set to sail." Vogys finally gave that familiar smile that had made the voyage so pleasant. "Of course, you will have to pay coin for that demon horse, but I've given you more than enough of that. Just hold back a dragon or two."

"Thank you again, Vogys," Kyren said with sincerity. Against her better judgment, she embraced him once more, regretting the action immediately when she heard Jaqen's familiar tread moving down the stairs.

"Is a girl ready to depart? A man must be on his way."

Kyren nodded before picking up her packs and glancing to Vogys, who gave a single nod. "Remember what I said, Alis."

Rather than answer, Kyren merely gave an understanding smile and followed Jaqen up the narrow planks of the staircase.

When they had reached the bustling streets of Braavos - after the trial of having Sotam unloaded from the Yangilash - Jaqen finally spoke. "What sort of employment does a girl desire?"

Kyren shrugged. "I am uncertain. Perhaps I will spend a few days searching for the right fit."

"A man will help if a girl allows it."

Growing somewhat desperate to place the focus on things other than her reasons for traveling to Braavos, Kyren asked sharply, "I have a name; why do you refuse to call me by it?"

He watched her steadily from behind his white-streaked red hair. "When a girl tells a man her true name, he will use it."

Now battling a flush at the valid accusation, her voice grew more accusatory. "I can easily tell you what I am not called: girl. I have not been a girl for a long time."

"A girl remains a girl until she can bear life."

Without a moment's hesitation, Kyren turned and lashed out at him with a tightly-curled fist. Jaqen blocked the blow as she had expected he would - whoever he truly was, his reflexes had proven to be excellent over the course of their voyage. She withdrew her fist the moment she connected with his forearm and turned back to the street with as bland a voice and expression as she could muster. "How did you know?"

"A man spent much time in close quarters with a girl. Never once did she bleed." From the corner of her eye, Kyren saw him glance in her direction several times. "A man does not mean to give offense."

Abruptly weary beyond reason, Kyren sighed. "It is rather difficult to remain unoffended when a stranger brings up your greatest failing."

"Barrenness is not a girl's greatest failing," he replied at length.

"It is the single responsibility in every woman's life to bear and raise children and I cannot do that. How is that not a failing?" Kyren asked with a frown.

"A girl was given the life she was given. Her failings are not in what she is, but what she does."

Kyren glared. "Pleased as I am that an all-knowing stranger presumes to know my actions well enough to judge me by them, I would rather discontinue this conversation."

Jaqen bowed his head in acquiescence and they walked through the crowded streets in silence for quite some time. Absorbed as she was in looking at the multitude of goods sold in the booths and stands that they passed, Kyren remained ever-aware of the dangling thread of conversation between the two and the air seemed to grow thicker until she could hardly bear to breathe.

At long last, she growled, "What is my greatest failing?"

"A girl is blessed with many talents," he replied immediately, for all the world as though the extended silence had never occurred. "Yet she wastes many of them in service to a family which exists no longer."

"And what family would that be?" Kyren asked through lungs that burned with lack of air.

"The Starks."

And there it was, the knowledge Kyren had always feared the mysterious man would somehow possess. "Why would you believe such a thing?"

One corner of his mouth quirked though he did not look in her direction. "A girl was most set on remaining in Westeros until a man mentioned that Arya Stark could be here as well."

"If I were truly loyal to the North and searching for Arya Stark, the knowledge that you have discovered my purpose would make my first priority to remove the threat you represent. Why would you reveal yourself so freely?"

He smirked full-out now. "A man does not fear your threats, but he will tell you that he holds no loyalty to any in Westeros, nor any in Braavos. A man serves only one, the Many-Faced God."

"I cannot claim to have heard of him."

"All have heard of the Many-Faced God. He is the Stranger, he is worshipped by a thousand tribes who will never met, his is the face carved into the Weirwood trees of the North. He is all, and he is none. His followers are the same."

A chill ran up Kyren's spine. Perhaps this is what Vogys had been speaking of when he gave such a mysterious warning? "And what does the Many-Faced God ask of his followers?"

"What does any god ask of his followers? Obedience. The Many-Faced God told a man that a girl was to accompany him to Braavos."

Kyren halted in the street and looked up at Jaqen with one hand inching toward her daggers under guise of securing Sotam's lead. Jaqen had appeared from nowhere and she knew little of him, but he was quick-witted and observant as well as lithe and highly-trained.

"Is Arya in Braavos?"

"A man knows not. She very well could be, or she could be far from here. He does not know the actions of others, only his own."

Frustrated by the idea that she had been brought on such a journey for nothing, Kyren asked, "Why did your god ask you to bring me here, then?"

Jaqen shrugged carelessly. "A man is not certain. The Many-Faced God did not choose to reveal such a thing, but a man has done what was asked of him."

It seemed she was gaining little by asking such veiled questions, so Kyren opted for bluntness. "Am I free to leave?"

He paused and looked her over from head to foot. "The Many-Faced God does not wish for a girl to join the Faceless Men. She could not obey as he desires, she is far too honest. A girl may do as she pleases, and if the Many-Faced God chooses otherwise, a man will be sent to stop her."

"You?"

Another shrug came. "This man, another, it does not matter. The followers of the Many-Faced God are all and they are none, just as he is."

"Perhaps we will see each other again," Kyren said awkwardly, making to lead Sotam down a side street.

Jaqen laughed heartily. "Even if a girl is not stopped by him, a man will see her again. The Many-Faced God has willed it."

In a move far too smooth for Kyren's comfort, Jaqen disappeared into the crowd.

When he opened his eyes to the blackness that had become his second home, Jaime groaned. It had been an exhausting day traveling with the mulish Brienne, and he had been so looking forward to a handful of hours in which he could sleep uninterrupted. Apparently, it was not to be.

To his savage joy, the bird looked as poorly as he likely did. Bedraggled and somehow less colorful than he was accustomed to seeing, the phoenix peered blearily down at him when he stood at the base of the Weirwood, opening the wicked curve of its beak only to release a rasping croak before settling back into its nest and out of view.

Sour that the creature was resting when it would not allow him to do the same, Jaime scowled up at it. "It is high time this madness was put to a stop. I am weary of visiting you for nights on end when you do little more than lay there and stare at me. The most interesting thing you do is die, yet even that does not aid me in any way! If any god listens to me now, I do not understand any of this. I see nothing, I know nothing, I learn nothing. I would rather sleep if the opinion of one man bears any weight on your marvelous plans..."

With a cry that sounded disturbingly human, the phoenix seemed to heed his words and burst into flames. Jaime did not even bother to watch the phenomenon, opting instead to lie flat on his back on the ground with his hands cupping the back of his head. Even with such a mean substitute for a pillow, his eyes begged to close and Jaime drifted several times before the phoenix's flames began to die.

Hoping he could continue to catch a few scattered moments of half-sleep, Jaime kept his eyes closed for a time and thus did not realize at any particular moment what was wrong. Instead, he faded slowly into full consciousness with a pervading sense that something was missing from the sensory-thin world in which he was caught.

The phoenix was - for the first time in his memory - utterly silent.

Jaime strode quickly to the base of the Weirwood tree, staring up at the nest as he breathed a soft prayer that the hated head of the phoenix would dart over the edge and shoot him the satisfied look he had so despised until it disappeared. At the beginning of this very dream, he had longed for the creature to be silent, but now that it was reality, he was struck with a horrible sense of foreboding.

Scarcely believing the desperation of his own actions, Jaime grasped the pale bark of the tree, scrabbling for handholds, and began to climb. It was a rough ascent, his fingernails tearing as they dug into the bark with their effort to hold his weight. His blood mingled with the eerily red sap of the tree as it flowed freely down the trunk.

At long last, he reached a vantage point from which he could see into the phoenix's nest. As always happened after a burn, a small pile of ash remained. Normally, the small grey heap was disturbed by the equally small, equally grey phoenix chick, but non appeared to be there now. Jaime used one of his blood- and sap-crusted fingertips to scatter the lightweight grains across the bottom of the nest, but to no avail. The phoenix had disappeared.

Jaime dropped directly to the ground from his perch, justifying too late that it was a dream and he was unlikely to be injured by the fall. In truth, he had been far too stunned by the events of the moment to consider any such dangers.

As his first prayer had been granted and the second had been denied, Jaime was not overly hopeful as he breathed out, "Seven help me. What happens here? I do not understand. What does any of this mean?"

The light he had assumed was emanating from the phoenix itself had remained after the death of the bird, a fact registered by Jaime only when the ambient glow began to brighten to levels near unbearable to his illumination-starved eyes. When at last his surroundings had completely blinded Jaime, he dropped to his knees and closed his eyes, covering them with both hands in an attempt to shut out the pain.

A clear voice rang gently, hauntingly, through the area, tickling Jaime's ears even as he fought the impulse to drop his hands and look for the source. The pitch was odd, and he could not determine if it was male or female or a mixture of each. Perhaps it was neither. The only method of ascertaining for certain was to open his eyes, and that would surely mean blindness.

One, two, three-four-five

Thrice you've watched a phoenix die

Six, seven, eight-nine-ten

Two times it came back again

Eleven, twelve, dozen-and-one

Your house will burn for what you've done

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen-and-a-score

You will be ash and nothing more

The light levels dropped abruptly, past where they had been before and into utter darkness. Sensing the dream was coming to a rapid end, Jaime cried out wildly. "Wait! I still do not understand! Why do I burn? How can I stop such a thing?"

"Wake up, Kingslayer," Brienne ordered, tossing a heavy pack at him. As it landed heavily on his stomach, Jaime shot upright, panting slightly.

He stared at his bound hands - caked in filth - as his mind tumbled through the dream. Typically, Jaime struggled to remember his dreams, even those involving the phoenix, but this last ran through his mind with stunning clarity. He could still hear the melodious warning in particular.

Brienne eyed him with wary curiosity. "Pleasant dreams?"

"No, but I fear they were important." Dimly, he registered the roll of her expressive eyes and realized that this was the first attempt she had ever made toward making small talk. Rightly, he should have thrown out a less-than-tasteful jest that he had dreamed about Brienne herself. She would have become frustrated and believed him the easily-dismissed, easily-underestimated fool he had worked so tirelessly to present to her. It was crucial that she should continue to think of him as helpless.

Jaime had been vaguely on the lookout for escape opportunities since Catelyn Stark had first sent him along with Brienne of Tarth, though admittedly, his desire to escape had dropped significantly after he had watched Brienne cut down and bury the bodies of three prostitutes who had been hanged for servicing Lannister troops.

The towering woman had mowed down three Stark soldiers who opposed her, protecting Jaime's identity and their mission in one fell swing of her rather gigantic sword. Jaime had realized that attempting to slip away from his escort could very well end in his own death. He was a valuable hostage, one of the best options for the peaceful return of the Stark girls. However, Jaime had received enough lessons in strategy from Tywin to understand that Robb Stark was doing very well in the war. So well, in fact, that a peaceful return of the Stark girls was no longer the only viable option.

If Brienne was forced to choose between allowing Jaime to escape and regain his freedom or killing him outright, he was not certain of what action she would take. He had been unwilling to jeopardize his life in a bid for freedom thus far. After all, he was being escorted back to King's Landing. He would return home, even if that return meant that he would be forced to swallow his pride.

And yet, this odd dream had set his plan for inaction ablaze - pun unintended, of course. The Seven most certainly had plans for him, and if they were plans that would end poorly for him, Jaime was certain he could fight off enemies far easier if he was in possession of his freedom. He would begin searching in earnest for a method of escape. He had to slip away from his guard and time was of the essence. It was time he began plotting the downfall of Brienne of Tarth.

His grudging respect for her loyalty to Catelyn Stark be damned.

Author's Note - We are officially in Season 3, just before Jaime attempts to escape from Brienne and they are both captured by the Bolton men. I won't go into much detail about the capture as you can easily find a clip from the show online and I don't write what's already taken place if I can help it. The phoenix song in this chapter is based on a very old nursery rhyme that I didn't know existed until a child started singing next to me in a public restroom and I almost passed out on the spot. I've changed the original words, but the rhyme scheme remains the same. Look up 'One, Two, Three, Four, Five/Once I Caught A Fish Alive' if you're curious about the source.

Thanks for reading, leave a review, and have a great day!