The Worth of Ash
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Game of Thrones or any related title, character, plot, setting, 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 Thirty
They boarded the Dornish ship without incident, though Bronn did linger for a moment to speak with Tyene. Myrcella, having graciously accepted a kiss from the formidable Ellaria Sand, had entered with her love beside her, not a second's hesitation to be seen. Kyren and Jaime boarded next even as Jaime called a sharp reminder to Bronn that he not waste too much time in flirting. The collected group had chortled and Jaime placed a casual hand around Kyren's waist, steering her into the ship ahead of him. Kyren was not truly aware of Bronn joining them as she was occupied in escaping the distractingly-warm grip. She retreated to the far reaches of the ship before the beginning of their return voyage, well before midday. As the ship sailed away from Sunspear, Kyren allowed herself to relax at last. The danger was behind them for now.
Regardless of her attempt at tranquility, Kyren was restless. The ship was spacious and graced with a clean design, but there was little to do with such efficient staff. Bronn had been amusing himself with a female who had been sent to accompany Myrcella, and Jaime was talking to the princess herself in a private cabin. Kyren had attempted to practice with her daggers, but found that they continuously pierced through the burlap of the sack she had chosen as a target and began to grow guilty at the splintered chunks she was removing from a large wooden beam of the ship.
Instead, she chose to explore the passenger section of the ship, having been warned to stay out of the crew's way. As she wandered down the tight corridor lined with doors leading to a variety of small guest rooms, Kyren abruptly heard Jaime's voice.
"Myrcella! Myrcella!"
Stomach tight with foreboding, Kyren plunged into the room without further thought. She was pulled up short by the weight of Jaime's plaintive gaze. "I cannot rouse her."
Kyren collapsed to her knees beside the girl. With a look at Myrcella's pale face and the thin line of blood trickling from one nostril, she suspected the worst, and after she checked for breath and found none, her suspicions were confirmed.
"She is dead," Kyren said gently, avoiding Jaime's eyes.
"No," he denied softly, lacking any conviction. "It cannot- She is not-"
He fell into silence, staring at the face of his daughter. Kyren looked as well. Myrcella was beautiful, the perfection combination of both Jaime's and Cersei's best traits. Her eyes were slightly open still, showing a clear emerald green that had yet to fog over completely. It would happen soon. Death treated all the same, noble or no.
"Did you do this?"
The harsh question was mumbled, the resulting sound so unintelligible that Kyren could only glance up at Jaime before he was leaping at her. As was typical for grappling - despite all of the practice Kyren had received since their last bout - the element of surprise was a powerful tool and she soon lost to Jaime's anger-heightened strength. Pinned to the floor by every inch of his considerable muscle and sinew, Kyren would almost have accused him of attempting something untoward if not for the wild light in his eyes, matched by the desperation of his grip on her throat.
"Did you kill her?"
Kyren calmed herself as best she could, knowing that she would likely only receive one chance with his fervor. With as much sincerity as she could muster past the hand constricting her breathing, she replied, "I swear upon every ounce of honor left to my name that I would never harm your daughter."
There was a moment of terrible silence after her proclamation, one in which his grip tightened minutely even as his face grew slack. Almost distantly, Jaime pulled away from her, rolling to the side as he gazed at his daughter once more. Kyren waited to see his next movements before she attempted to leave, but there was little to see. Robbed of his chance for revenge upon his daughter's murderer, Jaime seemed utterly lost.
When he at last moved, it was to pull his knees toward his chest and bury his face in his hands. Heaving sobs wracked his body shortly afterward as Kyren looked on with a lump in her throat. Jaime's reaction humanized him in her eyes with a disorienting abruptness, and tears rose as she shared in the tragedy of what had happened.
Movements gentle, Kyren stood only to approach Myrcella's body, turning her to a more natural-looking position on her back, hands folded over her chest. With a shaking hand, Kyren closed the girl's eyes, ones that looked disturbingly similar to those of the man whose grief she was attempting to ignore.
Uncertain of the protocol for such a situation, she placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "I shall go and fetch Bronn," she offered hesitantly and pulled away, hand trailing down his arm as she went.
Abruptly, Jaime's hand shot out, seizing hers and holding it to his forearm. She could feel the muscles working beneath her hand as he attempted to physically restrain the tears and she squeezed it in a poor attempt toward comfort. His golden head lifted, displaying a face so twisted in misery that he was nearly unrecognizable.
The logical part of Kyren - the one that continued to remind her how she had been forced to join in on this journey - urged her to leave and allow Bronn to handle the situation. She had not invited this upon herself. Why should it fall to her to console her blackmailer? However, the far larger part of Kyren was insistent that she help him. The man had just lost his daughter needlessly. And he was that now, a man. The legends of the golden lion of Lannister had fled the room when his tears appeared and seemed unwilling to make a reappearance.
Meeting Jaime's gaze, Kyren fell to her knees once more, wrapping him in the strongest embrace she could muster as she did so. He paused for a long moment before giving in and returning the gesture. His arms crossed her form easily, his flesh-and-blood hand wrapping around her shoulder while the molded gold one cradled the small of her back
For minutes, Kyren struggled as she attempted to find the right words for the situation, but her choice became easier when she realized that there were none. Instead, she offered comfort with open arms and the silent strength of her presence.
They remained like that for a length of time Kyren could not estimate. It could have been hours that they remained entwined, or only moments stretched long by the horror of grief. In either case, Kyren did not release Jaime until he pulled back from her.
He settled shakily back onto his haunches, staring at Myrcella with hollow eyes. Seized by a sudden sense of conviction, Kyren asserted, "Should I ever encounter the one who took her life, I will kill them."
With a mixture of suspicion and confusion on his face, Jaime turned to her. "Why? You held no love for Myrcella. You did not know her."
"She was innocent," Kyren explained, anger making her voice harsh. "She did nothing to deserve death so young. I do not hold with the killing of innocents."
"Thank you," he said plainly, brokenly.
Kyren was attempting to find a way to express all the emotions currently swirling within her, but the door opened once more and admitted a clearly-shocked Bronn. "What the fuck?"
"My daughter has been killed," Jaime said, voice remarkably stable for a man who had been weeping openly only minutes before. "I do not know how or why."
"I can tell you the how," Bronn said grimly, dabbing at the trail of blood beneath Myrcella's nose. "Poison. Those Sand cunts did the same to me, but gave me the antidote."
Jaime's back was to her, but Kyren could feel the tension rolling from him. She stared pointedly at Bronn from her place across the room and he seemed suddenly understanding. With an awkward pat to Jaime's shoulder, he offered, "It is a painless death, or near to it as can be. I'm glad she did not suffer, but I'm sorry all the same."
"Bring me Trystane," Jaime ordered heavily. "He should know."
"And if he already does?" Bronn asked.
"Then we force him to tell us what other information he possesses."
Kyren wished to know when Jaime would fulfill his promise to take her to Arya Stark. He could see it in her parchment eyes, though she was far too tactful to bring up favors owed just after the death of his only daughter. In all truthfulness, Jaime was in such a great amount of pain that it could not possibly grow worse. She needn't have worried, though he appreciated both the effort and the extended time to think over his course of action from this point.
"Cersei is coming to meet us at the docks," he warned Kyren as the ship sailed toward Blackwater Bay. "I shall sail with... I shall sail on a smaller boat, but you must remain on the ship. I cannot promise your safety if she sees you."
"Of course," Kyren said agreeably. Silently, he blessed her accepting attitude; when it appeared, it did little other than benefit him.
"When we are out of sight, take another boat to the north docks. Remain at Dyser's. I shall come to fetch you there when it is safe for you to enter the Red Keep unaccosted."
"And when do you believe that will be?" she asked gently, clearly loathe to ask such a thing of someone she considered to be in a delicate state.
"Within a day or two," he said decisively. She would not wait longer, and the coming conversation - while unpleasant - would provide a welcome respite from the upcoming entombment of his daughter.
"Very well," she acquiesced, but her eyes filled with a sort of soft light that made him pause, waiting to hear what else she had to tell him. "My sincerest condolences, Ser Jaime."
He had only given a stiff nod at the time, but after he boarded the travel skiff, he realized that Kyren had called him Ser. The title was one he had not heard from her since his fall from her esteem and it shocked him how dearly he had missed feeling worthy of her respect.
"What do you intend to tell her about Arya Stark?" Bronn asked from slightly behind him.
Jaime welcomed the distraction, narrowly skirting a fall into the ever-threatening pool of grief. Outwardly, he only gave a small shrug. "I have not decided. I might tell her that the girl escaped and is likely hiding in King's Landing."
"Far be it from me to encourage honesty, but have you thought about telling her the truth?"
With a grimace, Jaime admitted that he had. "I dread her reaction, but I cannot even find it in myself to blame her."
"Steady on," Bronn advised, patting Jaime's shoulder in his usual harsh manner. "Your sister awaits."
Jaime could already see his lovely sister, her golden hair in a sort of odd style that left her face without accent. When he realized that her long locks had been hewn off in such a rough, artless manner, his rage grew at the same pace that her smile shrank and disappeared.
Clearly, their time spent apart had been eventful for each in a way that was less than ideal. Someone would pay for the losses suffered by the Lannisters.
Kyren was weary as she walked the familiar path to Dyser's. No one had slept on the Dornish ship the previous night - except perhaps Bronn - having been impacted by the grief shared by Jaime and Trystane. As a result, Kyren's guard had dropped to a level she dimly acknowledged was unsafe on the streets of Flea Bottom. Fortunately, none attempted to take advantage of her inattentiveness, though whether it was due to recognition or the sorry state of her appearance, she was uncertain.
Having made it to Dyser's without incident, Kyren stumbled inside, met by Shana.
"Kyren, what are you doing here?" she asked, eyes a bit too wide.
"I have returned to Dorne. Would you be terribly put out if I slept in my old quarters for a few hours? I can leave whenever you desire after I have gotten some rest."
"No, please, sleep. Stay here as long as you need. We all will be here when you awaken."
"Thank you," Kyren mumbled blearily. Her last thought before drifting to sleep was to wonder who exactly made up Shana's mention of 'all'.
When she awoke, it was to the sound of voices. Far too many voices, in fact. Kyren shot upright, hands grasping for the daggers in the corset she had removed before falling asleep, but was stopped by a bruising grip on her arms. As quick as that, she was caught.
After her captors made their way down the narrow stairs and into the light of Dyser's, Kyren found herself staring into the faces of a number of unfamiliar guards. "Who-"
"You took your time coming here," Shana said coldly.
"The queen sends her thanks for your assistance," the head guard told her, handing over a large purse. From the dip of Shana's hands as she accepted it, the purse was quite filled with coin.
"Shana!" Kyren despised the weak plaintive note in her own voice, but could not manage to stifle her feelings of betrayal.
"I am certain you understand my decision," Shana returned. "We do have a child on the way and you excel at looking after your own interests."
Beyond that, there was no conversation as Kyren was dragged from Dyser's. Shana did not so much as look in Kyren's direction again, but it seemed she was the only one. Despite the lateness of the hour, half the population of Flea Bottom took to the streets to watch their progress toward the Red Keep. The jeers from the familiar residents of King's Landing hurt more than the bruising grip of the guards.
When they reached the Red Keep, Kyren was pushed unceremoniously into a dank cell. It was roughly the size of the one Tyrion had occupied and Kyren wondered dimly if this was a special consideration toward her or an insult to Tyrion. Either way, after thorough exploration of the chamber by light of the single sputtering torch, Kyren was forced to admit that no options for easy escape existed.
There was no natural light in the chamber, but Kyren figured a rough estimate of passing time from the burning of the torches and the regular arrival of food, seeming to roughly equate to one meal each day. She had attempted to converse with the serving girl who delivered her food, but the girl had been reluctant to speak, glancing around as though there were people waiting to punish her for the slightest bit of kindness toward the prisoner.
And thus, Kyren was pacing the perimeter of her cell when the door opened earlier than she had come to expect. "Kyren?"
She turned sharply to glare before returning to her pacing. "How dare you come here?" she asked, but days of imprisonment had turned the wild anger of her capture to a bitter weariness.
"I am sorry you find yourself in this position, Kyren," Jaime said, coming closer. "It seems that one or the other of us is in chains whenever we meet."
"The difference being that I had nothing at all to do with your capture by Robb," Kyren spat out.
Jaime matched her pacing at a speed allowing him to intercept her path, staring down at her with his irritatingly well-scrubbed face. "You believe I am the reason you are here?"
Kyren paused, searching his face as she wavered for the first time in her belief that Jaime had ordered her imprisoned. "I- The situation would be a bit much for coincidence, you must agree. The moment you discover where I've been staying in Flea Bottom, I am seized from the same residence and brought here."
"Kyren…" he said slowly, a touch of hurt in his eyes, "I had nothing to do with your capture."
"Why should I believe that?" she asked, the lack of heat in her voice making her sound as though she were begging for a reason.
"I've known for quite some time that you stayed at Dyser's," he responded immediately. "If I wanted you thrown in the Red Keep's cells, why would I wait?"
"Because you needed me to help you bring Myrcella back," she told him, having spent some of her time in the cells considering that very question. "The situation did not go as planned and it is easier to let me rot down here than admit that you never had Arya."
He blinked, obviously startled by her knowledge, and she bit back a sigh. "I've known for some time that it was a falsehood."
"Then why come with me to Dorne?"
"We had already begun the voyage when I puzzled it out. Besides, helping a knight reclaim his daughter from a dangerous situation seemed the type of task one should do without expectation of reward."
Kyren could feel Jaime's gaze sharpen - sense it like a touch upon her skin - but she turned away, hugging her arms against her torso. The door opened and closed a moment later, leaving Kyren to continue her pacing in the empty chamber.
To her absolute shock, he returned after a short time had passed, an army of servants in his wake. They placed a heavy table near the torch, setting it with plates, utensils, and food while others added two chairs. A serving girl offered Kyren a bowl of water and a cloth with which to clean her face and hands while another girl whisked away the bucket Kyren had been provided for a chamber pot. A young man set up an array of candles to add to the light and detract whatever smell possible from the cell. Kyren watched the hubbub with bewilderment, but did not make a sound, terrified of inadvertently halting the process.
As the last of the servants left the cell - and the door swung closed with a firm thud! - Jaime offered her his arm. "Will you join me?"
Kyren paused, staring up at him warily. "Do you vow that you did not have me imprisoned?"
He pressed his flesh-and-blood hand over his heart. "I vow, on pain of everything and everyone I love, that I am not the one who ordered you imprisoned."
She accepted his escort, looping her arm through his and allowing her fingers to rest lightly on the molded gold of his new right hand. He moved to his own chair only after tucking hers under the edge of the table and watched her over the food-laden plates and full cups of wine. The scene was unbearably intimate and Kyren felt an irrepressible urge to make conversation if only to serve as a distraction.
"If you did not have me brought here, who did?"
"Likely Cersei," he said casually and Kyren stiffened in her cushioned chair. "If I discovered your whereabouts, she could easily have done so as well."
"Do you know of her intentions for me?"
Jaime snorted, engrossed in his chicken - which, Kyren noticed, had been neatly sliced into cubes for easy consumption. "I did not know you were here until this very evening."
"This evening?"
He glanced up at that, a half-smile playing around his mouth and laughter in his eyes. "This evening, only minutes before I came in. Took me some time to discover which cell you were hidden in."
Kyren could not prevent a soft smile of her own at that, but quickly turned back to matters of greater importance. "The Starks are no longer a threat. What could she possibly want with someone once aligned with them? Other than my head, I suppose."
"Do not," Jaime commanded lowly. She met his intense gaze and he shook his head slowly. "I would not stand idly by while you are killed, even if it means acting against my queen. More likely than not, she simply wanted the chance to capture someone aligned with the Starks after we failed to seize Sansa Stark. She will play the role of magnanimous advisor and tell the king to release you."
"With luck, it will go better for me than it did for Ned Stark," Kyren remarked quietly.
"Cersei is not Joffrey, nor is Tommen."
"Unhappily, the shared family of parents means that no one person is to blame," Kyren said before she could prevent herself. Already having started, however, she met Jaime's eyes boldly - but not without sympathy. "There is madness in the line of Lannister. None of you are Joffrey exactly, but none are terribly far removed from him."
For a long moment, Kyren feared that she had overstepped herself as Jaime watched her with an unreadable expression, but he soon began to laugh. The knot in her stomach eased as he chortled out, "What a horrifying thought! Joffrey was mad, yes, but the rest of us are fairly able to see reason. You will be released from the Red Keep in only a matter of days."
Kyren had doubts but, drugged by his company and the flurry of small touches he scattered down her arms and hands, she remained silent.
Sleeping in the dungeons of the Red Keep was a difficult task. The noises of the castle, a slow drip of water, screams of captives driven mad by their isolation… When Kyren slept, it was lightly, ready to spring awake at the slightest sound. As such, she was upright and fully cognizant by the time the door closed behind Cersei's tall, slim figure.
Jaime's twin said nothing, merely stood surveying Kyren with a satisfied smile curving her lush lips. Rage bubbled deep in the pit of Kyren's stomach at the sight. "Lovely hair. Pity they did not remove your head at the same time."
"I could say the same, but it appears as though someone tried." Cersei's cool gaze found the scar on the side of Kyren's throat with ease.
"How did you find me?"
Cersei laughed mirthlessly. "Do you really believe that I would overlook your search for the little wolf's body? I've had spies in place for quite some time. They keep me well apprised of your progress - or shall I say the lack of the same? I know you went to Dorne with Jaime."
Kyren fell silent at that, her hatred of Cersei battling fiercely with her own morals and upbringing. "I am sorry for the death of your daughter. I care little for you, but Myrcella was good and sweet. Her loss is not one I take lightly."
"What a thing to say," Cersei mused aloud, an odd smile frozen on her face. "You must wonder why you still live. Simply put, Jaime has a fondness for you. I rather believe he thinks of you as a daughter."
Kyren choked on her laughter, but turned it to a cough, her mind running through her variety of experiences with Jaime, up to the meal they had shared in that very cell. He had run fingers across her cheek at several points, and the embrace in which he had crushed her before leaving was decidedly less than fatherly. "I do not believe that to be accurate."
Cersei's face hardened once more. "How would you know? You met him such a short time ago while I have known him even in our mother's womb. There is no one more perfect for him than I."
"Clearly," Kyren agreed dryly, hardly managing to keep from snorting indelicately as she did.
"I beg your pardon?" Cersei asked, voice brittle.
Kyren shrugged, secure in the knowledge that she would not die asking for forgiveness or pleading for mercy. "Aside from the problematic nature of your eldest child, I have heard the rumors surrounding your habits after your brother was captured by Robb Stark. He had scarcely been in chains for a week before your bed was warmed by another."
She did not move as Cersei approached. It had been a calculated risk to speak so to Cersei Lannister. The woman in question struck Kyren's face, wicked rings bruising the girl's cheek, but not cutting - not yet. "And what else have you heard about my habits?"
Smiling past the pain in her jaw, Kyren summarized, "Your lovers are nearly identical. Young, attractive, and - above all else - Lannisters. That is the difference between you and Jaime. He loves you because you offer scraps of affection. Your father cannot chase you away the way he and you both chase away everyone else who could pose a threat to your authority. You, however, love Jaime because he's a Lannister and Lannisters are better than everyone. I have no doubt that, were Tyrion graced with an average form, you would have had him as well."
The blow, when it landed, stung Kyren's uninjured cheek. "Anything else?" Cersei asked dangerously.
"Only that I find you utterly reprehensible," Kyren said sweetly.
"Such ugly words, spawned by such terrible hatred. Should I repay them in kind? My sources inform me that you've taken a lover. Shall I bring him here to die before you?" Kyren stiffened at the threat and Cersei tutted softly. "Pure no longer."
Kyren laughed and the sound was cutting. "I do not believe you are in any place to lecture on purity. Of the both of us, I have known but one man."
"Perhaps we shall repair that before your death," Cersei mused. "Ser Gregor?"
The door opened, swinging wide to admit a man nearly as large as the doorway itself. He strode inside gracelessly, leaving the door open. There was no need to block the exit with him standing in the way. He approached, a putrid scent wafting through the already-dank chamber.
Cersei smiled, her pale beauty perfect framed by the horror looming behind her. "This is Ser Gregor Clegane, known throughout Westeros as the Mountain. He serves me, obeys my every whim."
Kyren coughed, placing an arm over her nose and mouth. It did little to block the stench. Blinking the tears from her watering eyes, she responded with, "He is rotting."
Cersei contemplated that, moving to regard the beast before turning back to Kyren with a shrug. "He is a touch grey around the edges, but rest assured, he still retains a man's appetites."
Kyren returned Cersei's stare with an impassive one of her own - or, as impassive as she could manage. Cersei spoke over her shoulder. "What say you, Ser Gregor? Would she be an adequate prize to show my gratitude for your dedicated service?"
The Mountain nodded woodenly, no signs of life in the bloodshot eyes that had yet to leave Kyren.
Nodding once as though she had negotiated a complicated treaty, Cersei moved to the door. She paused only once to say, "Rest well, Kyren Asheworth. You shall be reunited with your beloved Starks in a matter of days."
Kyren watched with wide eyes as the Mountain lingered to continue staring before following Cersei, leaving only his scent and a horrible, chilling fear behind.
Author's Note - Here's your monthly installment of this story! As always, I apologize that I'm unable to post with greater frequency. Thanks for reading, leave a review if you have a moment, and I'll see you next month! Have a great day!