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 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-Three
"I have wonderful news, my lady," Salladhor Saan revealed, approaching loudly from behind her. Kyren had taught the first few pirates the dangers of trying to catch her unawares.
Her temper got the best of her as she snipped, "You've decided to listen to me and turn north once more?"
He waggled a finger and tsked at her. "Do not be impolite, my lady."
"I am not a lady, Saan. I am uncertain why you persist-"
"Because you are loved by Jon Snow. He has sent word through Davos that you are not to be touched or injured under any circumstances or an army of wildlings will descend upon us." Saan smirked. "I wrote back my promise that you will be unmolested here, but also included the suggestion that we are more frightened of you than the opposite."
Kyren almost smiled at that, but had to ask, "When are we to meet with him?"
"We are not to meet with him, Lady Kyren. I was here in the north only as a favor to Davos. Now that I have assisted in locating you, my men and I will go sail the coasts of Essos."
"And what am I to do? Dive overboard and swim to shore?"
"No, of course not! I will deliver you to Widow's Watch and send one of my most trusted men to accompany you as you make your way to Winterfell. Jon Snow awaits you there." Saan's tone was one of generosity, but Kyren knew that this route meant he would not take them further north. He could have delivered them closer, or even to Ramsgate - Kyren's original destination - but he appeared intent on leaving Westeros as quickly as possible.
"I wonder…" Kyren had been speaking more to herself than to the smuggler-turned-pirate, but Saan stopped and regarded her with politely raised eyebrows. "I wonder what is so important that you hurry off to Essos."
Saan's air of fatherly indulgence dropped in a heartbeat. "I do not reveal my plans to any other than a trusted few, but if you are truly destined for Winterfell, I feel that you deserve the warning: Westeros will be quite a dangerous place very shortly. This winter is different, wrong."
"Are you speaking of the queen?" Kyren asked breathlessly. The shadow of Cersei Lannister seemed to hang long over the entirety of Westeros.
"Something much bigger than a power-hungry Lannister," he told her. "Death descends from the north while the queen reaches from the south and Winterfell is caught in the middle. A dangerous place, but all of Westeros is in danger. My men and I are choosing to leave while we can, but you do not appear to have such an option. You must take care."
He stepped back, jovial once more. "Tychio!"
A pale man with dark eyebrows stepped closer, eyes piercing as they studied Kyren. "Yes, Captain?"
"You will accompany Lady Kyren from Widow's Watch to Winterfell. If you wish to rejoin my crew in Essos, I will be glad to accept you there."
Tychio nodded and ambled away. Saan turned back to Kyren. "I would gather your belongings if I were you. We will arrive at Widow's Watch in a short time. I trust you will unload your hellbeast without aid?"
He departed from the main deck before Kyren could answer, but there was little she could say. Sotam's temper had only increased with his age and he had made it a point to nip or kick at any of Saan's crew who made the mistake of stepping too close to his spot on the deck. Interestingly enough, the stallion had never attempted anything with Tychio, the close-lipped man who was to accompany her to Winterfell.
Kyren was less than thrilled by the prospect of traveling with a strange man, but they would have only a little more than a week to ride together before they reached Winterfell. Additionally, Kyren was well able to defend herself against any threat tall Tychio could offer.
If only she could shrug off the lingering sense of familiarity…
It was of little consequence. The things that were meant to happen would happen with or without her worrying. Perhaps, if nothing else, the conundrum of the strange pirate would aid Kyren in banishing the lingering thoughts of Jaime. She shook herself sharply and went to gather her meager belongings.
In a display of ill timing, Jaime was well on his way to being drunk in a King's Landing tavern. He was as recognizable as he had ever been, but rather than the Lannister name evoking a sense of wealth and power, it only tied him to a family of incestuous, power-mad rulers and dead children.
Even as he sat and watched with eyes beginning to glaze from over-consumption of ale, two men caught sight of Jaime and erupted into angry mutters. One grasped clumsily at the poorly-made sword strapped to his over-expanded waist and frowned fiercely. Jaime scoffed internally, reflecting that he would have killed the man in two strokes had he still been in possession of his sword hand, but in his current state… Well, he would perhaps earn the distinction of being the first Lannister to die in a seedy tavern.
Bronn strode through the door, slamming his shoulder into one of the men without pause. The man - having pulled his hand from his sword hilt in an attempt to keep from falling - shouted, "Oi, watch it!"
"Yeah, and or you'll do what?" Bronn asked almost lazily, though his posture thrummed with tension that said he was willing and able to defend himself if need be. "Eat my supper? Seems a true worry for a man of your girth."
"Fuck off, sellsword," the man grumbled as the patrons of the tavern chuckled openly.
"I see your wits are your sharpest weapon," Bronn said derisively and turned back to Jaime. "What're you doing? Drunk in a tavern when everyone knows who your sister is."
"Yes, but I know who my sister is and that is why I am drunk in a tavern." Jaime toasted Bronn with his tankard and drank deeply, uncaring of the ale that trailed down one corner of his mouth.
"Gods, man, you're in a state." Despite the admonishment in his words, Bronn's tone was amused. "Here you've had me working like a dog gathering information while you've been tying one on in-" he paused to take a look around the tavern, pulling an impressed expression after a moment, "-in what honestly looks like a promising place for some trouble."
"You chased away the only trouble I've managed to find," Jaime accused, shocked and appalled by the hint of a slur in his voice.
Bronn easily caught the hint of Jaime's senses devolving further and snatched the tankard away from him. In his slightly-drunken stupor, Jaime allowed it to happen, though he immediately missed the comforting numbness offered by the ale. He eyed it's new place, plotting to retrieve his comfort as soon as the room stopped swaying, but Bronn drained the tankard and handed it back to a passing tavern maid. "No more for us, love. He'll be settling his tab now."
Jaime grimaced at the news of his impending departure from the tavern. "Don't make that face," Bronn ordered. "If you get drunk in public, I have to be on guard and if I'm in a tavern, I'm drinking. It's not safe."
"Why, Bronn, I didn't know you cared," Jaime mocked, slumped forward to rest his elbows on the table's scarred surface.
"I don't give a shit about you, but you're the ticket to my wife and castle." Jaime had no response, but Bronn leaned forward to speak into his face. "Remember that deal, Lannister? I risk my life helping you and you give me a huge castle, a beautiful wife, and a respectable chunk of your golden mountain?"
"Yes, yes. I remember," Jaime waved him off.
"I don't think you do," Bronn grumbled. "Come on, golden lion. You've an appointment with your chamber pot coming soon rather than later."
Jaime sulked to his feet and followed Bronn from the tavern. He continued to follow Bronn's predatory stride until they reached the outer gates of the Red Keep, then he turned sharply away.
"I won't go back there. Not yet, anyway. I am entirely too sober for that."
Bronn groaned and surveyed Jaime with a hint of irritation, but gamely followed him back down a deserted side street twisting through the underbelly of King's Landing. "What the fuck is so wrong with going back to a castle? Too comfortable for you? Too warm? Too much food inside?"
"Cersei is there."
"An excellent point," Bronn conceded, handing over a flask Jaime hadn't known of. "Though it's never stopped you before. I thought that's why we had to hurry back from the Riverlands?"
"Not precisely," Jaime hedged.
"Well, out with it! You've been in a right foul mood since the night Brienne and Pod showed up and it's starting to wear thin."
With a deep swig of the flask, Jaime said, "I believe Cersei intended to harm Kyren. If she had not escape, she might have been dead before our return."
After a brief moment of quiet, Bronn gave a harsh guffaw. "You 'believe'? I know you're no match for your brother, but anyone who knows your sister could say with certainty that she intended to kill Kyren, out and out."
"And you said nothing?" Jaime asked, the beginnings of a new anger stirring in his gut. He already loathed himself for his blindness where Cersei was concerned, but Bronn held no such partiality to her. "You would have condemned an innocent young girl to death?"
"Lannister, Kyren is no young girl. She is a fully-grown woman. I don't know if it's escaped your notice, but she must be nearing five and twenty by now. And she's proven well capable of handling herself, even against someone like your sister."
"She was locked in a dungeon!"
"And she escaped," Bronn replied with a shrug.
"Your heartlessness is an inspiration," Jaime said dryly. "I should have helped her."
"Maybe, or that might have just made Cersei hate her more. She's jealous of your attention."
Jaime sighed irritably. "I am well aware. You can see, then, why I am not yet ready to return to the Red Keep."
"It's a big castle. Maybe you won't even see her."
"I will see her," Jaime's voice was bitter. "I always see her. She is forever creating reasons for me to look and know that she's out of my reach."
"Women are cruel."
"And yet she does not seem to realize that I may not wish to reach her anymore." The alcohol had loosed Jaime's tongue and the words refused to stop pouring from his mouth. "I grow tired of forever chasing someone who claims to love me only to pull away at the last moment."
"Dangerous words."
Jaime laughed abruptly, catching Bronn's full attention for the first time in several minutes. "Have you not heard, Bronn? These are dangerous times. The Lannisters have alienated almost every ally we have, our enemies conspire against us, and all intelligence states that the Targaryen girl intends to invade King's Landing at first opportunity. Life grows shorter every day and I have not the time to spend with those who do not care for me."
Bronn, looking deeply uncomfortable at this point, brought Jaime to a halt with a gentle tug on his elbow. "Come now, Lord Lannister. These grand declarations shouldn't be made to all of King's Landing. Ready to go back now?"
Heaving a sigh, Jaime agreed. "Very well. Back to the Red Keep we go."
Along the way, Jaime's thoughts were filled with Kyren. Had she struggled to escape? How had she managed it? Was she safe now? He doubted it. The most he could hope for was that she was far away from Westeros and traveling further every moment.
Tychio was quiet. Kyren herself wasn't prone to chatter when she had nothing to say, but the thin pirate had yet to say a word since they departed from Saan's ship. She had only heard him speak once, when purchasing a horse for himself. There was no conversation about routes, either. Neither hesitated about the path they would take to Winterfell. Kyren knew these roads well from her travels with Maester Luwin and Tychio seemed familiar with the area as well. Too familiar.
Left without another source of diversion, Kyren's attention turned to Tychio himself. The man was mysterious and she had the distinct feeling that something was wrong. It seemed mad even in her own mind, but Kyren had learned to trust her instincts, and they were screaming.
Tychio was pale-skinned, extremely so. Such a thing was not uncommon, especially in this part of Westeros, but for a pirate who spent his days outside with little shade, it seemed odd. His dark hair and thick eyebrows were not a northern trait, either. No, most northerners had fair or red hair and it tended to be on the thin side. Tychio's looks were far more common in Essos, particularly the middle of the continent. Kyren had seen similar traits on the slavers who had tried to purchase her and her shipmates from Captain Zha. But if a man from the middle of Essos wished to make a life in piracy, why would he not become a river pirate rather than one roaming the Narrow Sea?
More concerningly, how did an Essosian pirate come to be so familiar with the roads and paths of Westeros around the area of Winterfell? Pirates had not successfully invaded the interior of the North in recorded history, other than the underhanded attack by Theon Greyjoy. And Tychio most certainly did not look as though he were from the Iron Islands.
Kyren slept poorly on the nights of their journey, half-awake in preparation for any moves of betrayal from Tychio, but none were ever made. On the fifth day of their travels, she spied something odd on the corner of his jaw and spent the majority of the morning in quiet contemplation.
Just after they had finished eating a meager midday meal in the saddle, Kyren was at last ready to confront the odd man about what she had been considering.
"What brings you to Westeros?" Kyren asked. Her voice sounded rusty and thin from disuse.
"A ship," Tychio responded simply.
"Not a god?"
Tychio stiffened in the saddle. "Perhaps."
"That is a rather vague answer."
"It was a vague question."
"Then allow me to be more blunt," Kyren offered. "Your skin is falling off at the jaw. It bounces with every step your horse takes."
One hand flew to the offending fold of skin and he gave a rueful grin. "Faces are not meant to be worn so long."
"I would assume not," Kyren agreed with a small smile of her own. "What brings you back to Westeros?"
"A man has certain interests in the area," he said cryptically.
"Interests? I believed you to have no interests, excepting wearing the faces of strangers while you kill other strangers for money." Kyren paused for a moment. "And do you intend to remove that particular face in the near future? It does look a little worse for wear."
Jaqen peeled the face from his own, staring down at it mournfully. "Ah, but a disguise requires such a great amount of time to be ready." He shrugged, tucking the thin flap of skin into a pocket. "A man can do nothing for it, however."
Kyren shuddered. "Well, a woman will be sick at the thought of you carrying that!"
He paused, giving her an unreadable smile. "Would a woman prefer to carry it herself?"
"What a clever jest," she said dryly. "But you avoid my question. What are these interests in Westeros?"
Jaqen's eyes grew guarded. "A girl - a faceless girl - who trained with a man to serve the Many-Faced God," he said haltingly. "He is not done with a girl yet."
Kyren frowned at the land in front of their horses. If only she knew the identity of Jaquen's interest, she would give the poor thing a warning. His attention boded ill for most, especially one who had been trained and left. Though, she admitted internally, if she was trained by this man, she likely would not need my aid.
"And if a man was in the right place to assist his old acquaintance, the Many-Faced God must have meant it to happen," he added, interrupting her thoughts.
"Ah, so the Many-Faced God remember me?" Kyren asked teasingly.
"The Many-Faced God knows all and remembers all."
"Of course he does." Silence fell then, but it was comfortable rather than suspicious, as it had been during their journey thus far. "You do not have to continue on to Winterfell if your god asks you elsewhere."
"A man has said that he would accompany a woman to Winterfell and so he shall," Jaqen denied easily. "A woman has many stories to tell. It seems that much has befallen her since she departed Braavos."
For the first time, Kyren caught on to the fact that he no longer referred to her as 'girl'. "A woman is me, then? Am I a girl no longer?"
"A woman insisted that her experiences are more important than her ability to bear life. A man agrees."
Kyren kept her gaze focused on the snow-crusted road ahead, but she could feel his eyes tracing the scar along her neck. "I have a few stories, yes. Enough to last until we arrive at Winterfell. We are close."
Fortunately, the remainder of their journey passed quickly, in shared stories and the occasional companionable silence. Before the sun fell below the horizon, they had arrived at Winterfell.
Kyren had been waiting to return since she had left nearly seven years prior, a fact she attributed as the main cause of the tears blurring her vision as she surveyed the achingly familiar castle. Jaqen remained silent as he waited for her to collect herself.
As they passed through the near-silent town just outside the walls of Winterfell, Jaqen spoke. "A man has accompanied a woman as far as he can."
"Where will you go?"
"The Many-Faced God has told a man to be here, but the one he seeks still journeys. He will wait here."
"Find someplace to stay," Kyren advised. "Winter is here."
He nodded, but before he turned away, she added, "I would choose a face and keep wearing it, if I were you. These people do not take kindly to anything different from what they know."
"A man is thankful for the advice," he murmured before melting away into the growing darkness. Kyren could not hear the sound of his horse's hooves against the ground as he went and she wondered if she had made the right decision in allowing him to join her. However, the sun had set completely and the moon would not rise for hours yet. Kyren had to arrive at Winterfell soon and had no time to spare wondering about the enigmatic man.
When she approached Winterfell's imposing gates, Kyren was stopped by several guards. It came as little shock that she did not recognize any of the men. "Who goes there?"
"Kyren Asheworth," she called with false confidence.
"It's a woman!"
"What's she doing out alone?"
"Could be a trick."
"Best take her to Seaworth."
Kyren was ordered to dismount and Sotam's lead was grabbed by a soldier before Kyren could warm him against it. One rather vicious bite later, Kyren was the one guiding Sotam inside Winterfell's gates. They stopped just inside and an older gentleman approached.
"Hello," he said kindly in a gentle burr. "My name is Davos Seaworth. Who do I have the honor of addressing?"
"I will gladly give you my name, Ser, but first, you have the opportunity to settle a question in my mind. Have you truly been in correspondence with a gentleman by the name of Salladhor Saan?"
The man peered at her with a gaze gone much sharper than before. At length, he said, "I have."
Kyren nodded once. "Then I believe you already know my name. Kyren Asheworth."
"Well, my lady, it is a pleasure to have you safely arrived! You must come into the warmth."
"I must care for Sotam first," Kyren explained, gesturing toward where the stallion stood waiting patiently.
"I'll have one of the boys take care of him, my lady. Apologies, but the cold is too much for these brittle old bones."
Now it was Kyren's turn to study him. Davos Seaworth was an older gentleman, that much was true, but she had little doubt that he could take care of himself quite handily. Still, rather than argue over something that would make little difference, Kyren nodded and removed her sword and scabbard from Sotam's saddle. "Thank you for your kindness, ser, but I am no lady."
"My apologies, but with a mind of my advanced years, it's safer to call every woman I meet 'lady'."
Kyren chuckled a bit at his neat side-step of her request. "Very well. I shall follow you."
"Wonderful!" He took off with alacrity, summoning a stable boy with a sharp whistle and a copper penny placed subtly in the boy's hand. The boy ran off toward Sotam.
"He bites!" Kyren called in warning and the boy nodded, slowing before he reached the stallion to approach respectfully, bribing Sotam with a handful of oats.
Seaworth began walking once more, but paused only a moment later. "Is it true that you nearly knocked one of Salladhor's men overboard?
"He grabbed me," she explained simply.
Seaworth nodded as though this were explanation enough. "Then he's lucky to have avoided a swim."
He led Kyren directly to the great dining hall. Once inside, he addressed the near-silent crowd. "Forgive the intrusion, lords and ladies. I present Kyren Asheworth."
Kyren stood in the dining hall of a place she had once considered home and felt the flutterings of nervousness in her stomach. The lords and ladies scattered around the lower tables stared at her blatantly and Seaworth had drawn away. The guards stationed at the corners of the room were clearly on alert, hands on the hilts of their swords.
"Kyren Asheworth," a deep voice intoned from the front of the room. A dark-haired man stood behind the high table on its raised dias and beckoned. Kyren approached, too intimidated to do anything more than walk.
"She appears to be armed, your grace," a slimy, horribly-familiar voice said. Kyren glanced over to see Petyr Baelish aiming an oily smile in her direction.
Kyren's eyes narrowed in his direction and she grasped the hilt of her sword with her right hand, subtly palming a dagger with her left. Baelish reared back, stumbling over his chair as he fumbled for his own sword, but the dark-haired man slammed his hands on the table.
"Enough! Kyren, leave him alone."
She spared him only a single glance, but something about the warning in his dark eyes took her back to a simpler time. "Jon?" she asked, allowing her hand to slip away from the sword hilt, though the dagger remained tucked in her sleeve within easy reach.
"Hello, Kyren," he greeted with a smile. It was a cheerful expression, but it highlighted the new lines of weariness and solemnity on his face, as well as the deep scar over one eye.
"This meeting is adjourned," the woman at his side called, voice strident enough to be heard over the hubbub that had resulted from Kyren threatening Baelish. The guards glanced at Jon for confirmation and he gave a single nod that sent the crowd from the room in only moments.
The guards, Baelish, and a number of the people who had been seated at the high table remained in the empty room. "How dare you threaten me?" Baelish hissed after the last door had been closed.
"Lord Baelish, you are dismissed as well," the red-haired woman told him dispassionately. With an offended look and a swish of his half-cape, Baelish fled the room as well.
The red-haired woman circled around the table and reached to pull Kyren into an embrace. It was only as she stood close enough for Kyren to see her eyes that recognition struck. "Sansa," she smiled over the girl's shoulder. "I feared you would not survive."
"I nearly did not," Sansa admitted with a sad smile.
Rage ignited in Kyren's chest. "Cersei," she gritted. "What did she do?"
"Shockingly, it was not her. My troubles began as I left King's Landing."
"Did you poison Joffrey?"
"No," she denied flatly. "Though I wish to the gods that I had."
"A wish shared by many, I would guess," Kyren replied with a smile. As she and Sansa broke apart, she caught the eye of a tall woman standing by the corner. She wore a large sword and seemed utterly comfortable with it, though her face bore a soft smile. Kyren glanced to Jon. "I am afraid I know no one here anymore. Does Winterfell have many guests at the moment?"
Jon's pleasant expression dropped back into a serious one and Kyren mourned the loss of happiness on his face. "The lords of the North have gathered to discuss a problem we face. Additional guards have been required as enemies of House Stark still lurk across Westeros."
"All of that avoids the true cause for gathering the lords of the North," Sansa said smoothly. "The Dragon Queen has sent a raven."
"Truly?" Kyren asked with a frown. "What does she ask of you?"
"She wants me to bend the knee on behalf of the North," Jon revealed.
"Why you in particular?" Kyren grimaced even as she asked it, hoping that Jon would not take offense to the blunt reference to his illegitimate background, but he seemed not even to notice.
"They've started calling me the King in the North."
Kyren started to smile, thought better of it, and frowned again. "Are you?"
"Of course he is," Sansa asserted. "There is no one more fitting for the position than the previous Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and the son of Lord Eddard Stark."
"I agree wholeheartedly," Kyren said. "Are you going to bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen?"
"No," Sansa said firmly even as Jon gave a shrug.
"We are still in discussions about our best course of action. There are other factors to be considered." Jon sounded the weariest he had so far at that, dragging a hand down his face and over his neatly-trimmed facial hair.
"The lord have given their opinion, as have I," Sansa told him.
"I need to discuss certain things with you later, Kyren," Jon called over Sansa's shoulder. "For now, would you excuse us?"
Sansa's arched brows sank low over her eyes. "Perhaps you had best wait outside as well, Brienne. This should take only a moment."
"Yes, my lady," the tall woman agreed, striding to a door while Kyren followed, feeling rather like a puppy trailing after its master.
When they stood alone outside the great dining hall, Kyren turned to the towering female beside her. "Lady Brienne, is it? I am Kyren. It's lovely to meet you."
"Likewise," Brienne said simply, her eyes roving their surroundings rather than meeting Kyren's. "Though it is only Brienne. I am no lady."
Kyren nodded, though Brienne did not see. "I assume you are the reason Sansa still lives. For that, I thank you."
"Lady Sansa Stark is alive because she is clever and true. I was charged by Lady Catelyn Stark to protect her and that is why I do so, not for the thanks of others." Brienne still did not look at Kyren, but her voice was terse.
"I was also charged by Lady Cat to protect Sansa and Arya," Kyren admitted. "It is my life's greatest regret that I was unable to do so. You do not require gratitude in payment for doing your duty and I understand, but you have mine." No response came and Kyren loosed a nearly inaudible sigh. "Good evening, Brienne."
"I have heard much about you," Brienne said abruptly. Kyren, having traveled quite a way down the hall by that point, turned around curiously. "Ser Jaime spoke of Kyren Asheworth on several occasions."
Kyren's entire face reddened, she could feel it, but Brienne's pale eyes still scanned their surroundings for potential threats. "It is my firm belief that Jaime Lannister speaks because he is the most interesting person he knows. I pray you do not judge me by what he has said of me, for most of it is not to be trusted."
"Most of it was not lucid," Brienne revealed. "I was with him during the unfortunate removal of his sword hand. He was delirious for days afterward and believed me to be you more than once."
Seized by sudden memories of Jaime's behavior toward her, Kyren's face flamed even hotter. "I can only apologize once more."
"There is no need. You should know that you've earned the respect of a good man."
"A Lannister," Kyren countered, more to see how Brienne would react than because she thought it true.
Brienne unsheathed her sword in one long motion and Kyren gripped the hilt of her dagger a fraction tighter than she had previously. Brienne did not move to attack, however, but showed Kyren the blade, letting light bounce along the length. "This is Oathkeeper. It is one of two Valyrian steel swords forged from the melted remains of Ice, the sword of Lord Eddard Stark. Oathkeeper was gifted to Jaime by his father. It is a unique and priceless weapon and he gave it into my keeping without hesitation. He thought it fitting for Sansa to be protected by her father's blade in the hands of one trusted by her mother. Ser Jaime Lannister is a good man, and I will not suffer to hear him disparaged."
"A difficult thing here. There is no love lost between the North and the Lannisters." The first look Brienne had cast toward Kyren during their conversation and it was one of mulish frustration. "As it happens, I agree with you. Somehow, despite his horrid upbringing, Ser Jaime has proven to be a man worthy of his vows."
Before Brienne could say anything further, Sansa exited the great dining hall and Brienne's eyes turned to her instead. "Any luck, my lady?"
"I believe I am beginning to win him over," Sansa said with a weary shake of her head. "Good evening, Kyren. Jon wishes to speak with you before you retire. I will send a servant to freshen up your old sleeping quarters if they will still suit?"
"That would be wonderful, thank you."
Sansa laid a graceful hand on Kyren's shoulder and gave a single squeeze before moving away for the night. Brienne sent a shallow nod of her blonde head. When Kyren entered the great hall, she found Jon standing before the large fireplace, staring into the flames.
"Jon?" Kyren asked softly, attempting to break him from his reverie. "You wanted to speak with me?"
"Yes, I need your perspective on things," he revealed. "You know the Targaryen girl wants me to bend the knee, but you do not know why I am considering doing so."
When she gave no answer, Jon turned far enough to fix her with a dark stare. "What do you know of white walkers?"
Author's Note - I very much enjoyed writing this chapter! Jaime and Bronn's interaction, then Jaqen's return, then Kyren meeting Davos and Brienne? All my favorites in one (metaphorical) place! As you can tell, we're moving further and further into the later seasons of the show and in the next few chapters, things will truly become AU. Small shifts, hopefully ones that are still plausible considering the GoT universe.
We're still holding up the streak of zero reviews, so I don't have anyone to thank here. If you want to be my first review in almost five chapters, drop me a line! I'll send you a PM with my gratitude and the exact date of the next chapter's release. (Can you tell I'm trying to bribe you?)
Thanks for reading and I'll see you next month! Have a wonderful day!