Wishing you all a happy new year, hopefully I'll continue this story in another week. See you in 2014!
Steam had transformed the small room into a cloud. She was floating in the middle of a warm, white, fragrantly-scented cloud. Her hair hovered around her head in silky strands, her limbs felt weightless and all of her felt... clean.
If this is how the Nobility live then I can see the attraction.
The girl stretched her feet out, luxuriously. Unlike the battered metal tub from her childhood, which required an upright, knees-to-the-chest position, this bath was shiny white and long enough to lie down in. Three large pots of heated water had it the temperature of shallows on a hot summer's day, and emptying in the contents of a bottle sitting on a nearby shelf had released the heady aroma of flower gardens in full bloom. The whole experience was a far cry from what she was used to; a quick wash in the icy water of the river while mud squelched between her toes.
I may stay here for the rest of the evening, she contemplated. Maybe forever. She could already feel her fingertips wrinkling. Sliding further down into the water until her mouth was submerged, she blew bubbles. She lifted her right foot up into the steamy air, and considered it critically. While it still looked as if it didn't belong to her, she no longer recoiled from it in revulsion.
Soon, it will look normal to me. It will just be my two-toed foot, as much a part of me as the other.
The girl had removed her eye-patch before stepping into the tub; the inside of it had been crusted with unidentifiable little flakes. She'd rinsed it out and draped it over the sink to dry. Now with cautious fingers she felt along her right cheekbone to the corner of the eye-socket, tracing the raised edge of scar-tissue. It was numb, like touching someone else's flesh. She waved her hand at the side of her head and thought she could see flickering, but wasn't sure. She held her hand over her good eye, and everything dimmed.
Well, it's dark in here. Daylight will give me a better idea. She remembered Brienne advising her to keep the patch on as long as possible. But the sooner she knew if she was truly blind on her right side, the sooner she could stop hoping she wasn't, and move on.
Soaking in the warmth and calm of the bath, her mind wandered, predictably, to Jaime. Moments re-played in her head with searing clarity: Jaime on top of her, his hips moving to their own rhythm as he began to lose control. His fingers gripping her waist to keep her just where he wanted her; his mouth hot on her neck. His breath catching in his throat. Oh, Jaime. She shivered, smiled. No matter what she did, her thoughts always circled and returned to him like ravens to their roosts. Is Jaime also having a bath? Shaving his beard, cutting his long hair? How will he look, when next I see him? Mere hours had passed, but already the longing to see him again was overwhelming.
The girl noticed the surface of the bath was oily and speckled with grit. This must be what Jaime meant when he said he may not recognise me. Going by this water, I'll be several shades of dirt lighter. She sat up, reached for the towel on the floor. Sitting around in a tepid pool of her own filth wasn't that appealing any more.
After pulling out the plug, the bath looked rather less white. Her skin, though, shone, as she towelled off. Back in the larger room, she examined the tray that had been left on the side board with suspicion. She didn't recognise the things on it, but figured by the presence of cutlery and plates that they were, in fact, food. Was that a snail? She prodded a jellied cube with something suspended in it, then finally settled on a ring of what she guessed was pastry.
She nibbled a corner, was surprised to like it. She finished eating and sat on the bed, sinking unexpectedly deep into the mattress. How was anyone meant to sleep on this? It would be like drowning. The dozens of jewels on the bedhead winked in the candle-light, each one worth twice what she earned in a month. More. This fucking bedhead could feed my whole village for a year. This annoyed her so much that she dragged the counterpane off onto the floor and sat on it instead.
Her black drawstring bag lay near her boots and clothes, where she'd discarded them earlier. In these surrounds their shabbiness was glaringly apparent. Brienne had done a decent job in washing them, but even so. The jacket was threadbare and numerous rips needed stitching. The colour of the top and pants could best be described as a mixture of faded and stained. The girl sighed and turned from them, to the new pile of clothes that had been left for her on the bed.
Plain underclothes, a dress. The fabric was cool beneath her palms as she unfolded and smoothed it flat. Pale green like new maple leaves, embroidered with a simple lace pattern. I never wear dresses. Impractical garments. But still she was compelled to pick it up, hold it out. If she wanted to blend in amongst Ladies and their handmaidens, she probably should dress as they did. But more than that; she wanted to try it on. She was curious.
The material slipped down over her head and fell in heavy folds to cover her feet. When she stood up, the skirt rippled against her legs, clung to her skin. Walking to the open window, the hiss of the hem brushing along the floor was unnerving. She felt scrubbed clean and raw, and the dress left too much of her exposed. What would Jaime think, of me in this dress? She imagined his hands sliding the straps off her shoulders, and felt weak.
She leaned on the sill to breathe in the wind and let it dry her hair. The window faced away from the courtyards and the noise from the crowd was muted. Directly below was a small balcony belonging to the room on the lower floor, then beyond that a dark path wound around the walls of the Keep. Looking down made the girl's head spin. She'd never liked heights. How anyone lived in those castle towers she couldn't begin to fathom.
Was Jaime in one of those towers? Staring out into the night she didn't know what to think. Her focus had been on making it to KingsLanding, and here they were. So much had happened in such a short time she'd just reacted, and not thought too much about any of it. Now the travelling was over, she was adrift, uncertain. Doubts caught up with her. What happened, now?
As soon as Jaime paid her what he owed, the next obvious step would be to buy a new horse and head on back to her family in the North. She pictured herself riding out the gates of Kingslanding, leaving Jaime behind. She frowned. No. It was all wrong, like a badly told fairytale.
You always knew you this would happen, she thought, yet now the time had come it didn't seem possible. It was easier to accept losing toes, or sight, than losing Jaime. As if the very cells of her body had rearranged themselves to incorporate him, and without him she could no longer function.
He's become more important to me than.. anything. I've changed, and I can't go back.
The girl turned from the window. She sat back on the floor, cross-legged, and at the sight of her maimed foot she reached for her boots. Soon it may look normal to me, but not yet. Putting on her familiar old boots, the bandages stuffed into the toes of the right one, made her feel better. She picked up her bag, thinking about the few things inside. All that she owned in the world.
'I don't want to lose you': Jaime's last words. The security of them wrapped around her, reassuring. He must feel the same way I do. Maybe... there was some way to make this work. She dared to turn possibilities over in her mind, tentatively exploring them. It would be strange because their worlds were unknown to each other, but she was willing to try and maybe he was, too. In between her deliveries and his duties as a Kingsguard... whatever they even were. She realised she hadn't the faintest clue what being a Kingsguard entailed. What being a member of the Royal Family entailed. Her lifelong ignorance of all things Nobility-related was proving to be a huge disadvantage in this situation.
He guards the King, she supposed. But the King didn't need to be guarded every minute of every day, did he? The Kingsguard must get time off sometimes. And there was more than one member of the Kingsguard, so they must share the duty around. Did they have dinner breaks?
Fuck, I really have no idea what Highborns do all day.
She decided to quit worrying until she talked to Jaime. In the meantime, she consoled herself with the thought that he was powerful, famous and rich, therefore if he wanted to see her, he could make it happen. His family... well. She'd never much liked the concept of Royalty, and she'd hated this specific King and Queen for over a year. Still hated them, truthfully. Which wasn't ideal, sure. But had she been too quick to judge? After all, Jaime was remorseful over what happened to Mycah, maybe the others were, too. 'You have to let it go,' Jaime had told her.
I can let it go. For you, Jaime, I can.
She slung her bag over her shoulder and lay down, comforted by the closeness of her meagre belongings. Everyone deserved a second chance, even enemies. Plans could change, retribution become unnecessary. Jaime's family were only people, like her. We're all just people. Past is past. Surely, we can sort out our differences.
She woke before dawn, took a second to remember where she was. The candles had burned out and the room was dusted in grey light. Had it been a dream or had she heard voices? It was quiet, then she heard them again. The men stationed outside her door, Steelshanks' men. Talking.
I'd forgotten they were there. Have they had anything to eat all night? The girl threw off the counterpane and got up, yawned, found the tray of food. She carried it over to the door and knocked. The voices paused, then there was the rattle of a key in the lock and the door pushed inwards. The men, leaning on either side of the doorway, stared at her.
'Hey. I thought you might be hungry,' she said, holding out the tray.
Lanterns in sconces illuminated the doorway but beyond it was blackness. The faces of the men were shadowed, unreadable, and they didn't speak for a disturbingly long time. It was almost as though they had no idea who she was. Then one of them gave a friendly grin. 'Starvin,' he said.
He took the tray off her, picked up a pastry and bit into it, then passed the tray to his companion. They both ate quickly, wiping their fingers on their coats. Their eyes never left her as they ate. When they'd finished, they handed the tray back.
The girl nodded politely and went to close the door, but the first man held his hand out and stopped it.
Her heart stuttered a beat. His hand on the door, preventing it from closing. She didn't know why this was alarming, but it was. They had the key, they could've come in at any time. They had been left here to protect her. But the man's hand on the door made her suddenly cold.
She was uncomfortably aware of her bare arms, her hair curling loose around her face, the snugness of the bodice around her breasts.
'Nice of you to think of us, girl,' the man said, brushing crumbs off his beard. He had a square jaw, large hands. 'Was you lonesome in here, on your own?'
'No,' she said.
Both men continued to stare at her in ominous silence and she took a step back. They glanced at each other, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Then they stepped forward into the room and the second man closed the door behind them, locking it with the key on his belt . Then he stood in front of the door, arms crossed. The look on his face unmistakeable.
Fuck, the girl thought. Fuck. She backed another step, and her knees bumped up on the bed. She couldn't understand why this was happening, was unprepared for it. Was it the dress? Have they not seen women in dresses before? Jaime will kill them. But Jaime wasn't there. She clutched her bag in front of her.
'You look reeeeal diff'rent,' the man with the beard said, slowly advancing towards her. 'No wonder he kept you hidin' in that wagon. Who'da thought that under all them old clothes and all them bandages an' shit you was... this.'
'Steelshanks told you to stand guard outside my door,' she warned, sidling away.
'Yeah. He did. He's gettin' gold off of the Kingslayer for sayin' you's one of us.' The man's gaze went from her face to her chest, his voice thickening. 'Like the gold you're gettin' for fuckin' him.'
'I'm not getting gold for... for that.'
'Steelshanks says you is. We have gold too.' The man took a coin from his pocket and twiddled it between two fingers, as if to entice her. 'Lookit you, all prettied up. And you's one of us now, ain't you? So let's all of us have a little fun.' He crouched low and held his hands apart, as if daring her to run.
The girl reached the wall and climbed up onto the bed. There was nowhere else to go. The only door was locked. She was angry more than frightened. If this is going to happen, then I'm not giving in without a fight. I may not have a knife or Sooty, I may be wearing a dress, but I'm still me. I have good reflexes. Even Jaime said so.
She remembered lying on a river bank not so long ago, watching a fish, her hand curling under it. Time froze and she centred herself exactly as she'd done then; her eye and mind and body as one. The only things that existed were her legs, the bed, and the man in front of her.
Without warning the man's arm flashed out to grab her ankle. But his fingers closed on empty air, the girl having already drawn her leg back. With all her strength she kicked him full in the face. The impact sent pain shooting through her foot but the crunch of his nose was thrilling.
As the man fell backwards, holding both hands to his face and cursing, the other man lunged across the room towards her. The girl sprang off the bed, cleared him by inches, and by the time he'd turned around she was at the window. He yelled 'No!' but her boots barely skimmed the sill before she leapt out into the air.