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-Seven
Burning the bodies was horrible. Only hours after the battle had come to a stop, everyone living and reasonably unharmed had begun dragging bodies of the wights and the more recently-dead out in the area before Winterfell. Kyren was shocked to see women and children doing the majority of the work, many wearing masks made from strips of cloth with sweet-smelling grasses and oils placed between the cloth and their skin to cover the smell of rotting corpses. Other survivors had gathered still more firewood from the thick of the surrounding forests and constructed pyres bearing large numbers of wights and a few of the recognizable dead. Kyren had been excluded from both groups due to her injuries from the battle. Several of her ribs were either badly bruised or broken and the slightest movements caused more than a little pain.
When their efforts were concluded early in the afternoon, pyres stretched almost to the treeline. The front few were reserved for the war heroes: Grey Worm, Theon Greyjoy, Beric Dondarrion, Mhorgo, and Meera Reed. Jon stood before the gathered survivors and gave a speech worthy of Eddard Stark himself before the pyres were lit, each by a person who had known and loved the one atop it.
A solemn Arya lit Beric's pyre while Daenerys, a bandage wrapping the wound on her arm, held a torch to Mhorgo's. Missandei fought back tears as she approached Grey Worm and Sansa wept openly while she lit Theon's pyre. Bran struggled to propel himself forward and was eventually assisted to Meera's pyre by Jon while assorted Northfolk, wildlings, Unsullied, and Dothraki lit the pyres of their loved ones.
The crackling of the pyres was punctuated by tears. Daenerys - never one to openly show emotion - held Missandei as both women wept. Kyren watched the Hound offer Sansa an extremely tattered handkerchief while she cried for Theon. Bran watched the flames consume Meera's slight form with a look of despair in his dark eyes. Jon's hand never left Bran's shoulder.
Jaime stood beside Kyren in the silence and the stench and the sorrow, his height and solidity giving her the support she needed to stand firm. His hand in hers was a comfort, especially when she gave a squeeze and felt him return the gesture. Kyren wondered at the human spirit, as his touch lifted her mood into a soft sense of hope even as they surveyed the heart-wrenching scene placed before them.
She squeezed his hand again and he leaned down, a quizzical look on his handsome face. With nothing to say, Kyren only looked back out at the smoking field and tried to sum up her feelings. "That could have been either of us."
"But it was not," he told her firmly. "We are among the living."
"It could not be helped," Kyren told him with a hint of a smile. "I was ordered not to die."
Jaime chuckled warmly and leaned his face closer until his head was pressed to hers, then paused, emerald eyes searching for permission. It was a rare thing for him to do and Kyren rewarded it with a kiss, shortened only because the setting was inappropriate. He gave a small, dissatisfied groan as they severed contact, but the timing was impeccable as Jon and Daenerys led the gathered crowds back inside the walls.
The numbers of the Northern army and their guests had been tragically lessened, but it did lead to a surplus of food as Sansa had prepared for a much longer time before the battle. Additionally, a great deal of game had been chased south by the Army of the Dead, and the forests around Winterfell were replete with animals of all kinds. A hunting party was gathered with alacrity and ordered to find any game possible before evening, when a celebratory feast would be given.
Kyren balked a little at the thought of celebrating with still-smoldering bodies resting outside the gates, but Jaime soon convinced her that it was an acceptable practice. "It is how things are done. We must celebrate that we lived and remember those who died, must bleed off the poison from the memories. The sooner done, the better."
While she would have preferred to spend the day in Jaime's company, Kyren was soon put to work making preparations for the feast and Tyrion wanted to spend the day planning the attack on King's Landing with his brother.
When Kyren saw Jaime next, it was at the feast. Sansa had coaxed her out of the rough-spun travel clothes and leather armor she had grown so comfortable in and into a dress instead, the garment obviously a remnant from a more prosperous time. The rich red color of her skirts made Kyren's hair much more dramatic and her eyes lightened to a color truly striking in its strangeness, though she forbade Sansa from having her personal handmaiden apply cosmetics of any kind. The only thing saving her from utter misery was that the wrapping holding her ribs in place would not allow for her to be forced into a corset.
Kyren stepped into Winterfell's Great Hall and surveyed the crowd slowly, searching for Jaime but also gratified to note that the people - previously so separated into different groups - were mingling together, talking and laughing despite their various backgrounds. So distracted by this pleasant realization, Kyren did not see Jaime until he stepped close, a strange light in his emerald eyes.
"Kyren. You look…" he trailed off, studying her intently and she braced for an ill-fitting compliment, "...uncomfortable."
The unexpected remark startled a laugh from her and Kyren grinned up at him with more ease than she had felt since donning the unfamiliar clothing. "I am, actually, thank you."
He offered her an elbow and escorted her to a rough wooden bench. The meal was spent listening to Tormund telling the wildest stories while Pod listened with rapt attention and Brienne rolled her eyes. After most of the hall had finished eating, Kyren caught movement out of the corner of her eye and watched as Gendry attempted to leave the hall.
Unfortunately, he had caught Daenerys' eye as well. "Gendry," she said, and the hall fell silent. Gendry stopped moving and looked at her. "Gendry Baratheon, Robert Baratheon's son." Gendry nodded. "You are aware that he took my father's throne and tried to have me murdered?"
Jaime shook his head beside Kyren, muttering, "Bloody Targaryens…"
Looking supremely uncomfortable, Gendry admitted, "I didn't even know he was my father until after he was dead."
"Yes," Daenerys said bluntly, "He's dead. His brothers are, too. So who's Lord of Storm's End now?"
"I don't know, your grace," Gendry answered stiffly.
"Does anyone?" Daenerys asked, but was met with only silence. "I think you should be Lord of Storm's End."
Gendry seemed stunned, but shook his head. "That can't be; I'm a bastard."
"No, you are Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End, the lawful son of Robert Baratheon, because that is what I have made you."
Now looking utterly lost at the queen's pronouncement, Gendry stared around the room and was met with a beaming Davos, who stood and held his goblet aloft. "To Lord Gendry Baratheon, the Lord of Storm's End."
The room rose with him and everyone toasted and congratulated the new lord. When things had settled, it was into a far more comfortable atmosphere, filled with rumbling laughter and tales of inflated valor from the previous night's battle.
While Jaime reached for a pitcher to refill his goblet, Kyren overheard Brienne tell Pod, "Never let it be said that the queen does not know how to earn loyalties."
"So you have no love for the Dragon Queen, either?" Kyren asked outright.
Brienne stilled, eyes glinting as she considered Kyren, but eventually said, "I know only the she purchased the loyalty of every man in this room who believed her to hold grudges, and did so by promising that Gendry could inherit what was rightfully his and what she does not yet own. It cost her nothing, but gained her much. It was quite a clever move."
Kyren could not disagree, but found she did not wish to as members of the high table drifted out into the crowd. Tyrion came to sit beside his brother while Brienne moved to chat with Ser Davos. Pod was soon surrounded by giggling young women and - Kyren laughed to see - Sansa moved in a deliberate path to the place where the Hound sat scowling into his fourth pitcher of wine.
She watched them with a smile she could feel was both knowing and gently mocking, but could not help it: seeing Sansa interested in someone for the first time since Joffrey was rewarding, and the fact that her interest was in a scarred, scowling giant struck Kyren as being perfect. Especially as that scarred, scowling giant softened his entire demeanor at Sansa's approach. Just as she thought she had found the perfect vantage point to watch without being watched, Sansa turned her head to see Kyren. Her Tully blue eyes wandered Kyren and Jaime, noting his easily affectionate posture, and her mouth twisted into a mirror of the smile Kyren wore. With a nod at the other, each woman returned her attention to the warrior she had claimed as her own.
Jaime was - much as he was wary to even think such a thing - happy. He and his brother had been playing some inane drinking game based on idiotic stunts during their childhood for far too long and, though Kyren could not necessarily participate, she had willingly drained her cups of wine at a speed nearly matching theirs.
As Kyren's cheeks flushed a becoming red, she leaned closer and closer to him until she was openly leaning against his arm. After Jaime caught himself yawning openly for the fourth time in only minutes, he had to concede defeat and pushed his goblet away. Tyrion watched him with one eyebrow raised and Jaime grinned.
"I believe it best that I take my leave before I fall asleep in my wine."
Tyrion tsked at him. "Surely the Golden Lion of Lannister can handle his alcohol?"
"Not if he hopes to find his way through the Winterfell labyrinth to his room," Jaime replied with a self-deprecating laugh.
"Oh, have you not heard?" Tyrion asked, his grin widening in a way that boded ill for Jaime. "The section of Winterfell housing your room has been transformed into temporary housing for people who lost their homes to the battle. As I understand it, a family of no fewer than seven is currently in the room given to you."
Perhaps it was due to the warm glow of the wine, but Jaime found that indescribably amusing. He looked to Kyren to share his amusement and found that the conversation had brought her back to full consciousness. Her witch's eyes studied him even as her mouth quirked into a smile of her own.
Still chuckling, Jaime told her, "It appears I have lost my bed to a well-deserving Winterfell family. Perhaps I should escort you to your bedchamber while I puzzle out another place to sleep?"
"Perhaps you should," she agreed, rising with some difficulty after such a length of time seated. Jaime could commiserate and offered her his arm, partially to aid her and partially so he could find his own balance. She accepted and the two made their slow, leaning way out of the Great Hall.
Behind them, Jaime heard Tyrion say lowly, "Good luck!"
Their stroll to Kyren's bedchamber was filled with warm chuckles, light stumbles, and meaningless chatter that comforted the both of them, soothing nerves still taut from the recent battle. So absorbed was Jaime in enjoying Kyren's company that he had made no plans for where to go after they had reached her door. She opened it but made no move to enter.
"Would you like to stay with me?" she asked, and Jaime nearly groaned at the open invitation in her parchment eyes.
"I believe it would be best if I returned to the Hall and begged a place in my brother's chamber," he demurred, though not without a lengthy longing-filled pause.
"No," Kyren refused flatly. "Tyrion's chamber is connected to Daenerys's and she tends to burst in unannounced. She would likely think your presence there was some form of treason."
Jaime would like to avoid the Dragon Queen if at all possible… She had done little to remind him of her father, but she held that same Targaryen fire - unpredictable and dangerous. "I fear my presence here will do little but harm your reputation."
Kyren scoffed openly. "My reputation means little to me. Most of the Northfolk already suspect me to be a witch. Your reputation is the one that would suffer from our association." Jaime stared at that, beginning to grow angry on her behalf, but Kyren's expression turned falsely coquettish as she fluttered her lashes at him. "Besides, who would I be to turn away a hero of the Battle of Winterfell?"
"You are a hero of the Battle of Winterfell," grumbled, but followed her inside nonetheless. The room was small but well-furnished, Kyren silhouetted against the crackling of the low fire. With the cheer brought about by consumption of large amounts of alcohol, Jaime and Kyren readied for the night.
After much teasing from Jaime and struggles on Kyren's part, she asked him to help her unlace her dress. He did so, carefully avoiding jostling the bandage wrapped around her injured ribs. When the garment at last began to gape and slide away from her figure, he tried not to see more than necessary of her nude body. The over-large shirt she donned to serve as nightclothes revealed a great deal of her legs to him, but in his drunken state, Jaime could not quite manage to remember why he felt he should protest.
For his part, Jaime removed all but his breeches and turned to find that Kyren had already slipped into a deep slumber. Fighting a small twinge of disappointment, Jaime slid under the covers and moved behind her, draping his arm over her waist to hold her close as he slipped into blissful sleep as well.
It was some time late in the night when Jaime became slightly more aware of his surroundings again. He was still next to Kyren and his nerves thrilled to realize that it was her he lay beside. That thrill was nothing compared to the one he received as he realized that his hand still lay around her waist and there was nothing but warm skin beneath his palm. Muttering a silent prayer of thanks that it was his left hand around her, Jaime skimmed upward under the shirt she wore. His fingers had only just made contact with the slight, rounded weight of her breast when she mumbled in her sleep.
Jaime froze, seized abruptly by a spasm of guilt, but it soon turned to a spasm of another kind altogether when she murmured again: this time, his name. Encouraged beyond all reason, Jaime grasped her breast firmly and readied to brush his thumb across her nipple when she said his name again, voice deep with passion.
He frowned despite his excitement. Kyren's voice, when filled with excitement, sounded incredibly much like Tyrion's.
"Jaime!"
Jaime gasped, bolting upright to find that he was indeed in Kyren's bed, but the voice calling his name had been Tyrion, presumably standing outside the door. Jaime slouched back down for a moment, trying to decide if he had been dreaming or not. He could still feel the incredibly soft weight of Kyren's breast in his palm, nestled as though it had belonged there, but she was soundly asleep. One thing was certain: his body had not considered it to be a dream. He palmed himself and groaned at the sensation.
"Jaime?" That had been Kyren's voice, roughened from sleep but sweet as ever, and it was enough to send blood to an already replete-area. He groaned again, rearranging himself before stumbling uncomfortably to answer Tyrion.
As Jaime pulled the door open, Tyrion grinned broadly up at him. "I had hoped to find you here."
"And I had hoped not to find you here," Jaime grumbled in answer, though his voice lacked any venom. "What is it?"
"I thought you may want to join me in the Hall. Bronn has just arrived."
"Bronn?" Kyren asked, sitting up on the bed as her hair fell in a wild tumble around her. "Why is he here?"
"I quite like your blouse. Quite becoming," Tyrion told her with a grin.
Kyren blushed, holding a sheet around her bare legs as she moved behind the privacy screen in the corner. Jaime gave up all hope of an impromptu, sleep-fogged hour of holding Kyren in peace and found himself more than reasonably upset about the loss.
"As it happens, Bronn was attempting to sneak inside of Winterfell undetected. However, Bran saw his arrival the better part of a week ago. Bronn was met by a company of armed Northmen and Unsullied soldiers, and he is currently being held in the Hall to await judgment."
Tyrion peered more closely at Jaime, lowering his voice from the volume he had used while informing Kyren of the situation. "You look startlingly unrested, brother. Are you feeling well?"
"Be quiet," Jaime told him sharply, disliking the gleam in Tyrion's eyes. "It was an uneventful night."
"I had assumed so, judging by the state of your breeches. Would you like to take care of that or frighten Bronn by letting him believe it is for his sake?" Jaime scowled and turned away, rearranging himself before grabbing the shirt he had worn to the previous night's feast. Tyrion nodded. "Yes, I believe that is the wiser choice, though far less entertaining."
Kyren emerged from behind the screen, fully clothed in breeches and a shirt. She led them quickly to the Great Hall, and rightfully so - Jaime was certain that he had never before seen any of the passages they used. The large room was empty of idle onlookers, though Bronn was faced with a number of Winterfell's native and visiting figures of authority. As Tyrion, Jaime, and Kyren strode into the Hall, heads swiveled as if they had interrupted something and Tyrion soon murmured his apologies. They claimed seats to the side of the head table, though they were still able to watch as the Hound took a post close behind Bronn. The Hound's hand stayed close to the hilt of his sword, though Bronn wisely chose not to move overly much.
"As you have already been asked, why have you come here?" Sansa repeated sharply, and the Hound took a step closer to Bronn.
"I was sent by the queen," Bronn claimed, then gave an irreverent chortle. "The other queen."
"And what did the other queen order of you?" Daenerys asked, voice cold.
"Wanted me to kill Tyrion," Bronn answered with air of simplicity. If Jaime had not been watching as closely as he was, he would have missed the flash of hurt in Tyrion's eyes. Despite the lessons his brother had been taught by everyone - including their father - he always seemed to expect the best from people. It was a dangerous quirk when one tended to befriend whores and sellswords.
"Tyrion?" Jon asked, leaning forward over the table, dark gaze intent on Bronn's face. "Why him and not Daenerys? She is the true threat to Cersei's rule."
"Well, that information is private, isn't it?" Bronn replied with an easy smile. "Seems like the sort of thing that should be purchased with a bit more trading of valuables."
"This information is purchased at the high price of leaving you alive," Sansa told him dispassionately. Bronn seemed unconvinced and she gave a delicate sigh. "Sandor, would you remind Ser Bronn of the Blackwater what will befall him if he proves unhelpful to our cause?"
The Hound set his blade against Bronn's throat lightly and drew it across without pressure. The resulting slice was light but bled profusely - a clear warning.
Bronn lifted his hands, but remained perfectly still otherwise. "I have no love for Cersei. I'll tell you everything you want to learn, but I need something out of the deal."
"A castle," Daenerys told him as Tyrion finished muttering in her ear. "That is what you desire, is it not? If you help us to defeat Cersei, I will grant you a castle, lands, and a fortune of your own after we have taken King's Landing."
"And a wife?" Bronn asked, and Kyren sucked in a gasp at his daring. Bronn wagged his eyebrows at her and Jaime fought the urge to step in front of her. She would not appreciate the gesture and Bronn would only see Jaime's protectiveness as a weakness to be exploited.
"I should imagine with a castle, lands, and a fortune, a wife would come without royal decree," Daenerys answered.
"I notice you skipped over me good looks, but I accept your deal. Cersei fears you, but a witch told her that she would die at the hand of her valonquar, her younger brother. I was sent to kill Tyrion, take a shot at Jaime if one presented itself, but otherwise leave well enough alone."
Tyrion seemed shocked by the news that he was supposedly going to kill Cersei, but Jaime himself felt numb at the realization that he had meant so little to her that she had not bothered to formally order his death. Rather, he had been an afterthought to her.
"A valonquar prophecy," Jorah said thoughtfully . "A rare thing, that."
"Not rare enough to justify a life, let alone a castle, lands, and fortune," Varys interjected. "Surely there is more you could tell us?"
"What did he not tell you already?" Bronn asked, nodding toward Bran.
Bran gave the ghost of a smile. "I can see the past with clarity, but only glimpses of the present and the future. I saw your arrival, but know little about the state of affairs in King's Landing."
Bronn sighed, scrubbing a hand over his weathered face and wincing as he brushed against the gash on his throat. "I can't tell you much about Cersei's plans. I only know what I've divined from watching all the people come and go from her chambers."
"Tell us everything and we will decide whether we have made a good bargain or not," Arya commanded. It was the first time Jaime had heard the slight Stark girl speak since before her father had lost his head. There was something of her face and voice that made his muscles tense, as though he were expecting to be attacked at any moment.
Bronn - apparently agreeing with Jaime's unspoken sentiment - proceeded to reveal everything he knew.
Kyren fought the urge to groan as she stared around the windowless cavern of the Great Hall. They had been sitting for hours: first listening to every scrap of information Bronn could offer, then to plan methods to get around Cersei's defenses. In the short time since they had been in King's Landing, the queen had commissioned powerful crossbows, ones capable of piercing a dragon's skull. Even Daenerys had looked grim at the news. Cersei had called in the Golden Company in addition to the forces owed to her by Westeros. Kyren was pleased to be included in the talks, but strategy was not her strong suit. No, the conversation was led by Daenerys, Jon, the Hound, Tyrion, Jaime, and Brienne. Jorah, Sansa, and Varys occasionally offered some piece of wisdom or another, but Arya, Bran, and Kyren were largely silent.
At length, Jon seemed to bring the planning to a close, summarizing their strategy up to that point. "... and Kyren will, of course, remain at Winterfell with Lady Sansa, Ser Brienne, and Ser Jaime."
Before he could continue with his planning, Daenerys interrupted with a shake of her head. "She will do no such thing. You pledged her into my service before I came north and I have need of her in the upcoming battle. She will accompany my armies to King's Landing."
Sansa exchanged a glance with Arya before both Stark girls stared pointedly at Jon. Jon shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing.
Sansa rose to her feet, her demeanor graceful and commanding. "Kyren was injured in the battle. Perhaps we should allow her to decide if she is well enough to accompany you south."
All eyes were on Kyren in a moment and she reddened from the attention. "I- I believe that my recovery will be complete when we reach King's Landing. So long as I continue healing at the rate I have thus far, I will accompany the Queen."
"Then it is settled," Jon said, obviously relieved he did not have to side against either his sisters or the woman to whom he had sworn his loyalty. "We leave with the rising of tomorrow's sun."
Avoiding Jaime's eyes - as he had tensed noticeably when she agreed to go to King's Landing - Kyren darted from the Great Hall into the sunlight and breeze of the outer courtyards. Jaime moved closer behind her, she could recognize his tread, but Kyren quickly matched pace with Arya.
"Hello," she greeted inanely, not having anything vital to discuss, but wishing to appear she did.
Arya did not reply, only nodding in response. Kyren frowned. That was unlike Arya to be so cool to those in her family. Feeling as though she may be less familiar with Arya than she had been before her mysterious absence, Kyren asked carefully, "Are you well?"
"Why are you going with her?" Arya snapped.
Kyren pulled back slightly in response to the venom in Arya's voice, but gave the only answer she had: "I gave my word that I would."
"Is your life not more important than your sense of honor?" Arya returned, but walked onward before Kyren could answer. "Between you and Gendry, I could swear that the Dragon Queen is also a witch."
"Gendry?" Kyren repeated, the pieces connecting in her mind. "He watches you constantly. Are the two of you..?"
"No!" Arya burst out, but groaned immediately. Lowering her voice until Kyren could hardly understand a word, she explained, "With the news of his inherited estate, Gendry asked me to marry him."
"And you refused?" Kyren asked with a frown.
"Of course I did! I am no lady to marry a wealthy heir and settle down to have babies. I-" she sighed. "I could never be who he wants me to be."
"I see," Kyren lied. "And you were pretending to be a highborn lady when the two of you first met?"
Arya laughed despite herself. "I was disguised as a boy and we were being escorted to the Wall with a group of criminals."
That startled a laugh from Kyren as well. "So no dresses and fine manners for either of you, then. When did he see you dress and act like a proper lady?"
"Never," Arya said, brows furrowed.
"And has he mentioned a desire to?"
"A few times, but only when he was teasing me on the way to the Wall."
"You were dressed as a boy when he met you, he's watched you fight against an army of wights, and he's not put off by the fearful manner you have now?" Kyren summarized, waiting for Arya to nod before she continued. "Are you fond of him?"
"Yes," Arya said shortly, not looking at Kyren any longer.
"Then I fail to see the trouble."
"You know as well as I that men control their wives completely. What if he were to wake one morning and wish he had married a true lady? He could now, with a title and lands of his own. Worse, what if he decides that he wants me to be a lady? I would have no option but to obey him."
Kyren scoffed. "Both of us know that you would not agree with such a decision. Your parents - may they rest in peace - could never convince you toward becoming a lady. I do not see that Gendry would have any more luck. More to the point, I doubt that he would try."
"But what if he did?" Arya asked, directing a piercing gaze at Kyren. "It is better that I remain alone with a semblance of freedom than marry at the price of losing my choice. Excuse me."
With that, Arya had hurried away and Kyren returned to her own chambers.
"I am sorry, Jaime, but there is simply no way for you to accompany the armies."
"Do not use that tone of voice with me, Tyrion," Jaime warned. "I am still your older brother and I resent you speaking to me as though I am a child."
"It does require a certain childlike logic to believe that you can journey to King's Landing with us simply because you want to do so," Tyrion teased gently, but grew serious once more when Jaime did not smile. "Daenerys feels that you cannot be trusted not to return to Cersei's side if given the chance."
"Does she not listen to her advisor when he tells her she has nothing to fear?"
Tyrion glanced away, then - not being one to shy away from an uncomfortable situation - made full eye contact with Jaime. "Jaime, I have watched you choose Cersei for decades, beyond all logic or reason. I cannot convince Daenerys of something I do not myself believe."
"Ah," Jaime said, mostly to buy himself time while he froze his expression into one of jovial indifference. "Glad you told me, then. Do stop by and say farewell before you leave."
Ignoring the sound of an exasperated Tyrion calling his name, Jaime strode quickly away, knowing full well that Tyrion could not keep such a pace even if he felt obliged to follow. After checking a few places, he guessed that Kyren could be found in the large barn behind Winterfell and walked in that direction.
He stepped inside the door, seeking and finding Kyren grooming her grey hellbeast. She muttered softly to him, but the stallion jerked his head up to eye Jaime with what he could only deem was ill intent. He waited a long moment, but soon came to the conclusion that she was ignoring him. His Lannister pride prickled at that and combined with the frustration he had stored up during his conversation with Tyrion.
His voice, when it came, was sharp and dry. "Do you have a sudden hatred for life?"
Kyren straightened but did not turn. "I will do what I must."
"And you believe that you must die for a queen whose cause you do not support?" Jaime asked harshly.
She did turn at that. "I believe that the Starks and Daenerys despise each other. I believe that I was made a part of that disagreement. And I also believe that agreeing to go south was the only way to prevent a war of words to match the two wars of action." She shrugged, wiping the frustration from her expression. "Besides, what did she gain? One mediocre swordsman?"
"Exactly," he agreed, and watched the hurt cross her face with a tinge of guilt. "She gained one talented swordswoman - trained by the inimitable Jaime Lannister himself - but only one. Why did she push so hard to include you?"
Kyren blew out a sigh. "I cannot claim to understand the decisions of queens."
"Nor can I," he said with a short laugh, though his mirth faded abruptly. "But I do not care for her choice and I think it an unwise one. You did say that you would accompany them only so long as your ribs continue to heal uninterrupted. Perhaps you could claim to have fallen from horseback during a ride?"
Her stallion snorted as though it recognized they were speaking of him and Kyren reached up reflexively to soothe him. "I do not like to lie."
"Kyren, as talented as you are with a blade, you are but a single person, one with limited experience in battle. You will not make such a large difference that they cannot achieve victory without you." She looked unconvinced and he moved closer, pressing himself full-length against her. "And, if you stay, we could perhaps take advantage of a nearly-empty Winterfell…"
She smiled and hummed in what could only be agreement. With elation borne of the confirmation that her needs and wants matched his own, Jaime captured her lips with his, deepening the kiss until they both were panting but reluctant to break apart.
He moved his lips down to her jawline, nipping and kissing at the skin there as she fidgeted. "Jaime..." she finally let out on a soft moan and the blood in his ears was nearly deafening.
He trailed at a sharp angle to her neck, groaning between kisses, "Cer- Kyren…"
There was a long moment of silent stillness before Kyren pushed him roughly away. Jaime was braced for anything, but was glad to see a lack of tears in her parchment eyes. Still, her voice was brittle as she asked, "Do you see me as a replacement for Cersei, Jaime?"
In a moment, his embarrassment turned to white-hot anger. "How could you ask me such a thing?"
Kyren frowned fiercely. "You exploded into a fit of jealousy when I received a letter from a man I kissed a decade ago. You call me by the name of a woman who you spent at least that length of time alongside, one who bore you three children, and act as though I am mad to ask if I am merely standing in her stead?"
Her scowl turned still darker and she twisted away from him. Jaime grabbed her by the arm and pulled her around to look at him, regretting his action the moment she faced him with pain written across her brow, grasping at her ribs.
"I- I am sorry, Kyren. For many things-"
Without warning, she struck him square on the jaw, leaving bells jangling in his head. "Fuck off, Jaime. Just- go. Leave."
Taking a wider stance to regain his balance, Jaime shook his head and said what his proud Lannister blood ordered him not to. "No, Kyren. I will not leave until we repair this rift between us. I hurt you and, while that was not my intention, I apologize."
She launched herself onto her stallion's back, gasping and holding her ribs even after she had settled into a seat on his unsaddled back. "If you refuse to leave, I will."
Before he could prevent it, she had urged the horse forward with a squeeze of her well-muscled thighs and she was gone.
In a startlingly short time, Kyren regretted her actions. Not leaving Jaime; she had made the only correct choice in that situation and was still righteously fuming over being compared with his sister. No, she regretted leaving on horseback. Her ribs were jostling with Sotam's every step and she was half-sick with the effort required to keep her seat. The moment she spotted a stump in the forests south of Winterfell, she guided Sotam over to it and dismounted, knowing Sotam would follow her until she was ready to return to the barn.
After pacing a worn spot in the snow-crusted forest floor and using every foul phrase she had ever known, Kyren heard a noise in the woods, an odd rustling followed by the steady crunching of the same snow that was under her own boots.
When Jaqen appeared from the trees, she breathed a near-silent sigh of relief. "Jaqen, hello. I did not expect to see anyone here. How do you fare?"
"A man is well," Jaqen answered with a shallow dip of his head. "The Many-Faced God is finished with this place - for now - and a man has been called to take another contract. He must say his farewells, but a man hopes to see a woman again."
"It was a pleasure, Jaqen," Kyren said, meaning it. Though the quiet assassin frightened many within the walls of Winterfell, he had made a few acquaintances among those who were not easily made wary. "Thank you for your aid in the battle."
Jaqen merely inclined his head once more, gave a mysterious smile, and moved on into the woods in a southern direction.
Kyren watched him go before returning her attention to Sotam. The stallion was restless and long minutes had passed before she could reorder her thoughts. Someone would have to tell the residents of Winterfell that Jaqen had left, she realized. He was unlikely to have done so himself and he could not be figured into any plans if he would be absent from the attack on King's Landing.
She heard steps once more and rounded, ready to ask Jaqen with a smile if the Many-Faced God had ordered his return so soon, but the words died on her lips. Her vision was filled with an impossibly tall figure raising a sword hilt only to bring it crashing down on the corner of her temple.
Kyren felt no pain from the blow, thanks be to the Seven, but her rapidly-darkening vision warned that unconsciousness was imminent. Indeed, in her last half-moment of wakefulness, she heard only a sharp whinny from Sotam and the sound of his swiftly-retreating hoofbeats.
Author's Note - Uh oh... This was a bit of a break and setup for the next chapter, but was important nonetheless. Plus, Jaime screwed up. Big time. That's always fun, right?
Thank you to CharNinja LOL for the review!
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading, leave a review if you have a moment, and have a great day! I'll see you all in a little while!