The Worth Of Ash

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to A Game of Thrones or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, 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-Four

"We've done it, Sotam," Kyren announced to the stallion, dropping an armful of kindling as she did so. "Crossed the Timetbres and lived to tell the tale."

Speaking to one's horse was a bit peculiar, but their journey through the Timetbre mountain range south of Braavos had been dangerous and lonely. Kyren liked to believe that she and Sotam had forged a closer bond than before as they had relied so heavily upon each other during their travels. Food was rare on the mountain trails, and Kyren had rationed both dried game and oats to make sure neither she nor Sotam would waste away as they battled the cold, rainy cliffs of the Timetbre trail.

She had been perhaps a bit too frugal with her own food supply. Her clothing hung loosely around her and - though there had been little opportunity to see her reflection - Kyren could feel her bones through her pale skin far more easily than she had been able before beginning her journey. It was thanks only to the travels and her training sessions that Kyren had not lost an equal amount of muscle.

With the desire to rectify her lost mass, Kyren had set about arranging the firewood she had gathered and began plotting a veritable feast formed from the game she still had on-hand. Besides the obvious benefits, Kyren was certain that Sotam would appreciate losing some of the weight from the packs he constantly carried.

With her chosen campsite, Kyren was far enough from the road that she would not be disturbed and close enough that she did not need to worry about being robbed. It was an excellent location, allowing for high visibility and surrounded by enough brush and leaves that few would be able to surprise her. That was how, when the two men arrived at her camp, Kyren was able to meet them with a casually-drawn sword.

"Begging your pardon, miss," the shorter of the men said, voice low and soothing. "We saw your fire and wished to ask if we could share in your camp for the night."

Kyren surveyed him and his companion thoroughly, sword remaining raised throughout her study. The man who had spoken waited patiently with kind eyes, seeming to urge her that he was harmless. Kyren did not fall for such a trap, but he did seem less than violent. The man with him, however, could easily prove to be a problem. He was as pale as Kyren, but he glared at the world through a narrowed, spite-filled gaze, lip curled as though he was disgusted by what he found and - as much as she wished to turn them away solely because of this - Kyren could not find herself to disagree with the jaded weariness he wore. Both men looked far more ragged than she did, clothes more hole than cloth and thin to the point of discomfort. They would not require much effort to overcome if the situation should arise.

"My horse bites," she said shortly, sliding her sword back into its scabbard. "If you come too close to me, he will attack you and I will gladly join him."

"We mean no harm," the first man offered and Kyren smiled ruefully.

"If you believe me clever enough to be an asset to your camp, you surely should believe me too clever to take your promises as fact. However, you can do something for me. A gesture of goodwill, as it were."

The pale man spoke at last, a vicious drawl escaping his thin lips. "And why should we do anythin' for you? We could take what we want and leave you dead."

Before Kyren could draw a weapon, the pale man's companion stepped into his path. "We will do no such thing. This lady was kind enough to offer us a fire for the evening." He turned to Kyren, giving a solemn half-bow. "Whatever you ask, we will gladly do for you if it is in our power."

"I do my best to keep myself combat trained, but my regular forms have grown stale. Would you happen to be proficient in a fighting style that does not rely upon swords or grappling?"

The man's dark brows shot up and he exchanged a grin with his companion. "I have some skill with the staff, as it happens."

"If you will consent to teach me, I will gladly share my provisions with you this evening," Kyren offered, praying that the man would accept her terms. She had never met any in Westeros who had claimed to be proficient with a staff. If she was to travel through Essos, she would be well-served to learn as much as she could.

"It would be my honor," the dusky-skinned man accepted. "First, I believe introductions are in order. I am Gyllario Irriros, but you may call me Gyll. This is Ordes zo Dhiin."

"Don't call me anythin' shorter'n Ordes," Ordes deadpanned and shared a smirk with Kyren. With a simple display of humor, she could more readily accept the previously unpleasant man as a companion.

For an unexplainable reason, Kyren was compelled to give her true name, but to be honest - even so far from the unquestioned power of the Lannisters - courted disaster. "I am Alis Waters."

"Well, Alis," Gyll answered, "It is lovely to make your acquaintance. Let us begin."

To Kyren's surprise, Gyll pulled a staff nearly her height from the pile of his belongings. She took a step backward, raising her hands with a chuckle. "Ease down, Ser. I have no weapon."

"Easily remedied," he said, unconcerned. With a smooth reach, he had extracted a matching staff from Ordes's things and tossed it to her. Kyren caught it clumsily and Gyll tilted his head. "You truly have never used a combat staff before?"

"Never," Kyren denied.

Gyll smiled broadly, his teeth flashing white against his dark skin. "This should be a treat, then."

And then he launched at her in a flurry of motion and Kyren was left to defend herself as best she could.

This was perfection.

Jaime lay sprawled across a large mattress in the sumptuous bedchamber he had been allotted within the grim walls of Harrenhal. The straw stuffed inside the mattress for padding was beginning to mildew slightly and the smell hung heavy in his nose. The borrowed clothes he was wearing fit oddly and pinched under the armpits. The room itself was expansive and richly-furnished, but it was cold and the corners were damp. There was a leak somewhere in the room that would require patching before the next winter fell upon Westeros.

Yet somehow, despite all the little discomforts, Jaime could not remember a time he had felt more at ease. As if his mind was eager to destroy the calm of his current mood, it prompted him to lift the unfamiliar lightness of his right arm to stare down at the stump, but even after doing so, his mood remained content. Though Jaime's right hand was gone - and it was a trauma he had yet to fully process - he had retained much of the arm itself.

The odd medicine man at Harrenhal, Qyburn, had attempted to convince Jaime that he should have more of the arm removed, citing the infection that was slowly creeping its way toward his heart. It was a fair point, well-made and well-presented, but after Jaime had lashed out with what was perhaps an improper level of violence, Qyburn had backed down. Instead, he had cut away the worst of the rotting flesh and used boiling wine to burn away the infection in the remaining flesh.

It had been the single most painful experience in Jaime's entire life thus far. Worse than any swordfight, more nauseating than any wound he had sustained while jousting, and easily more staggering than having his hand cut off in the first place, he had nearly fallen unconscious from the pain. He had managed to cling to his senses, though he had screamed himself utterly hoarse before Qyburn's treatment had ended.

Afterward, Qyburn had him escorted to the bathing room, which boasted several large tubs filled to the brim with pleasantly-steaming water funneled from the underground hot springs atop which Harrenhal was built. Jaime had not allowed Qyburn's assistant to stay beyond what little help he had required to remove his clothing, but he had been far from alone in the soothing water.

Admittedly, he could have done without falling unconscious during a bath with Brienne of Tarth looking on. She had seen him at what he had believed to be his worst - locked and collared in a cage, covered in his own filth - yet somehow, she was present each time his life proceeded to sink to ever-more impressive lows.

The scene had been far from perfect, yes, but Jaime came away with a new understanding of his curmudgeonly travel companion. Whether due to his weakened state or her own impatience with his venomous words, Brienne had revealed herself to him in far more important ways than the physical, though she had done that as well in a successful effort to force his silence. No, she had freely admitted to loving Renly Baratheon, had loved him in ways he did not desire, but upon discovery of his opposing attractions, Brienne had not turned from him in anger of embarrassment. Rather, she sought only to protect the man. Knowing that he would never return her feelings - that he was unlikely to even discover them - she wished only to keep him safe as he lived as he chose most appropriate.

It was true that she had been his guard for only a single day and perhaps love would have turned horribly to hatred and spite, but Jaime would bet every copper to his name that she would have remained loyal regardless. There was no true way to know how their coexisting lives would have woven together, but her love for the fallen would-be king still remained pure, untainted by anything except her guilt over his untimely demise.

With the words of the Smith ringing in his ears, Jaime could admit that Brienne was indeed a woman worthy of being rescued, however rarely she required any assistance to protect herself. In his relaxed musings, Jaime well knew that he had never experienced love the way Brienne had loved Renly Baratheon. Most of those he met cared only for what he could do for them. The purest form of love in his life was that between himself and Tyrion. Though to some extent, their shared blood was the source of their bond, Jaime liked to believe that he and his younger brother were alike in many ways. They were kindred spirits, of a sort.

It would be a rather singular experience, he reflected, to be loved by Brienne of Tarth. To be wholly accepted in spite of the things he had done, to have his few good traits recognized and admired… However, with a blunt honesty borne of the privacy of his thoughts, Jaime could admit that he did not see Brienne when he imagined forgiveness turned to love. Wide yellow eyes filled with laughter, a crooked nose scrunched in exasperation at his teasing, red hair tossed over a shoulder as she moved away from him.

Jaime shook his head sharply. Kyren hated him now that she had learned of his past. And why should she not? Her adopted family and the king they served had been well and truly decimated by Jaime and the rest of House Lannister. Between his actions and his intended deception, he had lost any chance with Kyren and he urged himself to come to terms with the loss. At the same time, his mind replayed her final retreat from him, reminding him of her posture, perfectly upright as befitted a proper soldier. He wondered what it would take to strip that pervasive sense of control from her and a moment later allowed himself a self-deprecating grin. It seemed he was not ready to leave thoughts of the fierce girl behind yet.

A knock at the door jerked him from pleasant thoughts, and Jaime's voice was sharp as he commanded the visitor to enter. It had not escaped his notice that the locks had been stripped from the chamber door and it swung open without protest.

A soldier dressed in ill-fitting armor - likely scavenged from the body of a less-fortunate man - stepped into the room, studying Jaime with unconcealed interest. Jaime stiffened as the man's gaze traveled from his long hair to his too-small tunic and remained at the level of his right wrist. Jaime could have told him that his curiosity was to remain unsatisfied as Qyburn had wrapped the bleeding stump in so much gauze that the hand appeared to almost have re-grown, but he felt no sense of helpfulness toward the man.

"I assume you've come for a reason rather than just to stare at royalty?" Jaime asked, reclining back on the bed in a leonine posture to better remind the man precisely whom he was staring at.

Though the soldier's mouth stretched in a jeering sort of smile, he said only, "Lord Bolton requests that you join him for the evening meal. I am to see that you're made ready, then escort you to the banquet hall."

Jaime sat up once more and spread his arms in a motion that allowed the insufficient sleeves of the tunic to pull up his forearms. He looked absolutely, utterly ridiculous, but if this was the best attempt on the part of the Bolton men to break his spirits, they were to be surprised. He allowed his head to loll forward until he was peering at the soldier through his hanging hair, eyebrows raised when he found the man staring at his stump with open fascination. "I would gladly join your lord for a meal, but I hesitate to appear before such a man dressed in this manner. Do you believe he will find my attire offensive? Perhaps offensive enough to find the men responsible and see to their punishment? I never heard names, but I do believe I could give several accurate, fairly detailed accounts of their appearance…"

The soldier said through gritted teeth, "You will be provided an over-tunic in order to appear respectable. Will that do?"

"Ser."

"What?"

"Ser," Jaime repeated with false patience. "I understand that you are not well-acquainted with me - or acquainted with me at all, for that matter - but I am a knight and as so, should be addressed as 'Ser Jaime' or simply 'Ser'. Much obliged."

The soldier's face reddened. "I will bear that in mind."

Jaime lifted one eyebrow still further up his forehead and smirked internally at the return of his natural sense of confidence as he cleared his throat expectantly.

The man glared and spat, "Ser."

"Thank you, my good man. I will accompany you to meet with Lord Bolton the very moment I am properly attired."

Seeming an amusing mix of furious and bewildered, the soldier left Jaime's room as the knight lounged back on his molding mattress and savored the oft-missed sense of victory.

Kyren tossed aside her staff and scowled at Gyll. "That was a mean trick. Has your honor deserted you?"

Gyll threw his head back with the force of his laughter. "There is no honor in a proper fight! Only two people who are trying their best to kill the other and not be killed. Honor will get you killed."

Kyren shook her head but did not dispute his point. For one thing, Gyll had proven to be nearly impossible to debate. He spoke with quiet certainty and never altered his opinion. Ordes, for all of his ill-tempered impatience, was far more likely to be swayed by reason. But additionally, Kyren could not deny that honor had not saved Lord Stark's life and had protected precious few lives since.

"Best learn that lesson now, girl," Ordes said from his place by the smoldering remains of the fire. "You'll be on your own this very mornin'."

Nodding once to acknowledge the point, Kyren fought back an odd wave of sadness. She had traveled with Ordes and Gyll for a fortnight as all were journeying for the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe. From there, the two men would travel east to Norvos while Kyren followed the Rhoyne river south. Ordes had actually helped Kyren alter her planned route, warning that crossing the Flatlands was nearly akin to offering herself to be taken by pirates or captured by a Dothraki horde. Instead, he had advised her to follow the Rhoyne south - being careful to pass a place called The Sorrows before crossing west to Myr. Difficult as it would have been for her to believe only a short time before, Kyren respected the short-tempered man and trusted his advice.

When the three at last sat down to share a final meal before breaking down their camp, Gyll fixed Kyren with a stern look. "You still intend to go to Myr, do you not? No change in plan, no sudden desire to travel further south?"

With a bewildered sort of smile, Kyren tilted her head to the side. "None that I can claim. Are you suggesting that I should extend my stay in Essos?"

Gyll shrugged. "Stay in Essos as long as you like, but do not travel too far south. There is a woman in Slaver's Bay and she is disrupting the typical order of things. You will want to stay far from there."

"Why should I care what happens in Slaver's Bay?" Kyren asked curiously. "I am not a slave, nor do I own one."

Exchanging an exasperated look with Gyll, Ordes said, "This woman is killin' slavers, releasin' slaves, and disruptin' the slave trade altogether. All the slavers who usually conduct their business in the south will be travelin' elsewhere. All of Essos will be dangerous soon."

"Besides," Gyll added, "the woman in question is one of the last Targaryens. Westerosi have been sent to kill her before. I doubt she would let you get close enough to explain your reasons for being here if you were to be caught."

"I understand, and I thank you for the warning. I intend to follow Ordes's suggestion and travel south, then cut west to Myr. No shortcuts, no side-stepping, no sightseeing."

"Good girl," Gyll praised, and a smile tugged at the corner of Kyren's lips.

With a step toward Ordes, Kyren held his staff out in an attempt to return it to its rightful owner. Ordes's pale eyes flicked to the weapon for only a moment before he deliberately looked back to his meal. "You keep that, girl, and best hope you've learnt well. Lone female on the road is askin' for death, or somethin' worse."

Kyren beamed despite the menacing warning. Harsh words and dire threats, she had learned on their trip thus far, were Ordes's favorite things - and how he showed that he cared for another person's well-being. His gruff exterior provided camouflage for a man who took strangers under his protection somewhat readily. From what she had managed to grasp of the half-teasing conversations between Ordes and Gyll, that was precisely how the two had first begun to travel together.

Naturally, neither man would be comforted by her voicing these thoughts aloud, so Kyren merely settled on a nearby rock to tear at the dried rabbit and handful of berries that comprised her breakfast. All too soon, the three had finished their various foodstuffs and packed their belongings.

"Remember," Gyll reminded, "As you move south, you will find pole-boats. Hire one to take you past the Sorrows. Do not leave the boat until you are well past the Bridge of Dream."

"Yes, you had mentioned that before," Kyren remembered with a frown. "Why does the Bridge of Dream represent such a threat?"

"Stone men," Ordes said succinctly, sharpening one of his blades while Sotam shied away from the rasping. Ordes fixed her with a stern look. "You heard of greyscale, girl?"

With several things making sudden sense to her, Kyren suppressed a shudder and nodded. "I know of it. Why are there so many afflicted in one place?"

Gyll frowned. "Volantis. For such a wonderful city, they refuse to attempt to treat the disease. Instead, they send the people upriver, depositing them at the Bridge of Dream. They also send some supplies, but I fear this has only trained the stone men to see boats as a guarantee of food."

This time, her shudder refused to be repressed. "I understand, and will hire a pole-boat the moment I see one."

Both men nodded and watched in silence as Kyren settled herself on Sotam's back.

"Safe travels, Alis Waters," Gyll bid her solemnly.

"Take care of yourself, girl," Ordes demanded.

With a sincerity that surprised even herself, Kyren said, "Thank you both. Go well."

"I hope your daring rescue was well worth the effort," Qyburn told him, censure thick in his soft voice. "You've torn every one of your scabs and the skin on your stump is ripped open. There is a significant risk of further infection, which could lead eventually to further required amputation-"

"No," Jaime interrupted sternly. "I will not lose more of my arm. Fix it however you wish. I care for little else."

With a clear mind, he would have been uneased by the gleam of interest and excitement that entered Qyburn's visage when faced with the prospect of dealing with Jaime's stump, but his mind was clouded by the adrenaline of having rescued Brienne from a fucking bear. He was humble enough to admit that the rescue had been a near thing - unnervingly so - but that it had been successful despite the odds gave Jaime hope that he could still be a warrior, even without his sword hand.

"Stitches," Qyburn muttered, more to himself than to Jaime. "The skin is delicate from trauma and from the boiling wine. Cauterization would only tear it further and deaden the nerves besides."

Jaime gritted his teeth. Stitching a wound closed was one of his least favorite medical procedures to endure. There was no need for milk of the poppy with such a routine practice, but being required to sit still and patient while the nagging sharpness of a needle passed through his skin over and again… It was a punishment, to be sure, but not so much of one that he would have chosen not to rescue Brienne of Tarth.

Ah, Brienne… he mused in the privacy of his thoughts. She had looked at him in a new way since his intervention in the planned battle to her death. After he had prevented her from being raped, she had moved from glares to looks of pity and scarcely-masked distrust. When he had left Harrenhal the first time, she demanded his promise to protect the Stark girls and seemed to trust that he would uphold his word. Now, she watched him with a mixture of confusion and respect. The trouble was that the respect in her eyes was tinged with a noticeable amount of affection and attraction.

He liked the woman, he truly did. She was not as ugly as he had at first believed her to be- especially now that he knew the loyal, steadfast, unquavering soul within the beast - but he found that he could not string her along for the sheer joy of it as he had previously done with many a female. No, he did not desire Brienne, and yet he valued that fragile respect in her eyes far more than he could begin to fathom, much less explain.

It would be a tricky thing to discourage her attraction without hurting her or making her feel less than worthy. Such things had never been his concern previously. Being found attractive by others had aided him in many a moment, and yet he could cruelly reject those same affections when they no longer benefited him. Any highborn ladies who chased after him were easily consoled, either by their equally highborn husbands or by a plethora of other young men who sought connections, finances, or sex.

With his lack of familiarity with the process of gentle discouragement in mind, Jaime almost wished that the journey to King's Landing would stretch a while longer than it was set to, but he tossed that thought away rapidly enough. With their Bolton escort, they could travel along the main highways and their route was noticeably more direct and efficient. They were set to arrive in less than a fortnight and Jaime fair itched to be reunited with his twin.

To return to King's Landing after so long and to finally be in Cersei's embrace one more was what he had dreamed of since the first night he had spent caged in Robb Stark's camp. The terrible sense of being off-balance, the loss of his sense of self, the nagging feelings of unworthiness… all of it would disappear when he saw the perfect face of the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.

"If you are ready, Ser Jaime?" Qyburn asked politely, but Jaime's stump had been wiped clean of dirt and rust-colored smears of blood and the needle was threaded and waiting.

Rather than answer aloud, Jaime waved the ex-Maester to continue and settled back in the chair, thinking with pleasure of the threats Cersei would likely make to Lord Bolton and his men on behalf of Jaime's injury.

When the stitches were finally in place and the blood flowing from Jaime's stump had been staunched, he moved outside to breathe the crisp air in an attempt to settle his roiling stomach. It was of little surprise to himself when he was joined a short time later by Brienne of Tarth herself.

She moved to his side, but rather than join him in sitting on the ground, she stood at a position of guard, one large hand poised near the hilt of her sword. Her pale eyes scanned the surrounding hills, prepared to do battle with whom or whatever should emerge and pose a threat.

"Brienne," he sighed softly. "There is nothing around for at least a day's ride. Sit, please."

Stiffly, she eased to sit beside him. "Better?" she asked dryly.

His mouth twitched at her ever-kind manner. "Did you need something or did you simply come to marvel that I still live?"

"You must admit that you've defied several rather large odds," she hedged.

"For someone with such a large face, you are surprisingly difficult to read, but I know you. We've traveled together for far too long. I know something is on your mind." Brienne made no attempt to answer and Jaime sighed. "It will be far easier if you simply tell me."

"Who is Kyren?"

Feeling as though someone had punched him rather hard in the stomach, Jaime could only gape at her for a long moment as he struggled to gather his thoughts.

Brienne watched him with her amazingly blue eyes and nodded as though he had confirmed some suspicion of hers. "I believe that answers the question well enough."

"Where did you hear that name?"

Her wide mouth twitched up at one corner, though she did not seem truly amused. "You spoke often of her when you were feverish from the loss of your hand. On several occasions, you spoke to her, for all the world as though she could hear you."

Control yourself, you dolt, a voice snapped in Jaime's mind, sounding unpleasantly like Tywin Lannister. With effort, Jaime smoothed his expression and deflected, "Kyren was a girl I knew in King's Landing, nothing more."

Narrowing her gaze, Brienne asked, "Was she an intelligent girl? Fierce? Well-traveled?"

Jaime snorted, choosing to only address the last query. "Hardly. She has left King's Landing on only a few occasions."

Brienne nodded. "I see. We must be speaking of two different girls who share the same name, then. How odd."

"Am I to assume that you know a girl named Kyren, then?" Jaime snapped, tense once more.

"I know of her, yes," Brienne replied, unbothered. "Lady Catelyn told me of her, instructed me to keep watch for her on our journey south. A red-haired girl in possession of some skill with weapons. She also mentioned that you and the Kyren in question have some form of a history, but I assume she must have been mistaken. My apologies."

She moved as if preparing to lumber to her feet, but Jaime caught at her tunic with his left hand. "What sort of a history?"

"The kind which must not have occurred if your favorite Kyren has never left King's Landing."

"Very well, you cruel thing! They are one and the same. What did Lady Catelyn tell you?"

Settling back onto the ground, Brienne fixed Jaime with a firm stare. "I must tell you that I only share this because I know it was not told to me in confidence. If it had been, the thought of betraying said confidence would never have crossed my mind."

"Yes, yes," Jaime agreed impatiently. "I am in awe of your profound sense of loyalty. Continue."

With a shake of her blonde head, she revealed, "Lady Catelyn said that you had accompanied the girl on the initial trip to King's Landing, especially after she was injured. She said there had been reports from a friend that you and Kyren continued to be close when she lived in the Red Keep, and… And that Kyren seemed shaken in the extreme to see you in that cage in Robb Stark's camp."

Puffing out a surprised breath, Jaime could only sit and stare blindly at the hills ahead of his seat. Summed up so neatly, it was plain that the girl had held some kind of affection for Jaime, even after her discovery of his less-than-knightly deeds. It had not all been a figment of his overeager imagination.

A wild surge of hope roared through him. Perhaps he had not irreparably damaged the fragile relationship he had shared with Kyren… yet, it was of little consequence. He was going home, home to King's Landing and to Cersei.

"I have other responsibilities to consider," he reminded himself aloud.

Brienne nodded her support. "Yes, I expect your duties as a Kingsguard will keep you occupied."

Jaime began to snap a sarcastic response - his indiscretions with his sister being public knowledge thanks to Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon - but cut himself short, realizing that Brienne was attempting to help keep his pride.

Swallowing that same pride, Jaime agreed, "I expect it shall take some time before I am as proficient with my left hand as I was with my right."

"Yes," she murmured in return, "A bit of time, nothing more." The hint of careful pity in her tone raised Jaime's hackles, but she rose to her rose before he could say something he would inevitably regret. "If you need nothing else, Ser Jaime, I believe I shall retire for the evening."

He gave a terse nod, but made no verbal response. Before the gentle clink of her armor had fully faded from his hearing, his mind had already moved back to her earlier words, all attempt at replacing the memories of Kyren with those of Cersei forgotten completely.

Author's Note - I apologize, I truly did mean to post this chapter a full week ago. However, this last section from Jamie's POV was originally part of the next chapter, but it made that particular installment over 7,000 words long, so I had to finish it and add it to this week. I also know some of you are getting frustrated by the lack of progress in their relationship, but don't worry, they will be back in the same general area soon!

Finally, a quick heads-up: I started my classes last week, which is the other reason for the delay. Updates are going to be odd for a while, at least until I figure out the best way to balance work, school, and occasional writing. I apologize in advance for that and promise that I am not abandoning this story, even if it has been a while since the last update.

Shoutout to WriterGirl1198 and GoDrinkPinesol624 for their reviews and to everyone who has followed/favorited this story! You guys keep me going! Thank you for reading, leave some feedback if you can, and have a wonderful day. Hope to see you soon!