A.N: Thanks for the great reviews on Tywin, they're much appreciated as always. Not a lot longer to go in this story, maybe five chapters or so. One of which will be a Jaime POV I promise. I hope you all stick with me. X
The Kingsguard stood outside the door, while Qyburn came in carrying a bowl and a pitcher. The girl briefly considered making a run for it. The doorway was narrow, but the Maester was old, she could take him. The Kingsguard though... he had a swagger and there was the solid definition of muscle beneath his sleeves. It would be a mistake to give that one an excuse to put his hands on her. The lazy lust in his eyes whenever he looked her way made her feel soiled. She shuddered.
And where would I go, anyway? I don't know where Jaime is. I can't get past the guards at the gate of the Keep.
The bowl plinked as Qyburn set it down on the stone floor. 'A hearty meal, to keep up your strength. And...' he pulled a candle taper and flint out of a pocket in his cloak, '...for the dark.'
Why would I need to keep my strength up? What am I to be doing? The girl didn't bother asking questions, though. She distrusted both men by now. She wouldn't waste her breath on them any more. Why did I ever trust them? Trust-no-one, her one motto in life. When had she forgotten it?
They tell me Jaime's coming to get me, but they lie.
She eyed the tray. Stew. The meaty smell made her stomach turn over.
'Are you not hungry?' Qyburn enquired, in his soft voice.
'No.' The smell was rancid, she wished they'd take it away. She was thirsty though, very thirsty. She reached for the pitcher. Behind Qyburn, the Kingsguard standing by the door caught her eye and gave a small shake of his head. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the container.
'Dreamwine,' Qyburn encouraged. 'To help you sleep.'
Her gaze flicked again to the Kingsguard, but he was looking out into the laneway. Had he been warning her not to drink it? Why?
Godsdamn but she was thirsty. Who do I trust? Neither one has given me reason to.
Qyburn's gentle smile as she picked up the pitcher and brought it to her lips wasn't reassuring. He pretends to be what he's not. But thirst took over. She gulped down the liquid without tasting, its refreshing coolness soothing her parched throat. Her stomach though, wasn't as pleased. Nausea rolled and churned. She took a breath, concentrated on not retching. After a minute the queasy feeling passed.
'I'm going into town to buy some supplies, so I won't see you until evening of the morrow. But never fear. You'll be well taken care of in my absence,' Qyburn told her. She ignored him, staring at the floor like a petulant child. In the faded light cutting in from the doorway, dust motes floated like tiny sprites. She stared at Qyburn's shoes, willing him to leave.
'When I return, we shall do some work together,' he went on. 'Would you like that?'
As if it matters what I want. She scowled at his feet. 'Jaime...'
'Ser Jaime has arranged for you to help me with my work, just for a little while.'
'What sort of work?'
'Well, it's very complicated,' he chuckled. He knelt down to be at her level. 'I've been studying for a great many years, a great many. More than you've even been alive. In that time I've developed a lot of interesting theories, scientific theories. Of course theories are all well and good. But now I have been given the opportunity to test the hypothesis - a valuable opportunity,' the old man's voice lit up with giddy excitement at odds with his age, before he seemed to get a hold of himself. 'Of course I can't expect you to understand, my dear. But nevertheless, your assistance in these studies will be invaluable.'
'I know nothing 'bout science,' she muttered. Her head felt heavy, and the ground moved in an unsettling wave.
'You won't have to.'
Despite knowing it was useless, the girl heard the words come out of her mouth before she could stop them. 'Can I see Jaime?' Disgusted at her pleading tone, she clenched her jaw shut.
'Of course. After our work.' Qyburn's promises slipped through his lips like snakes.
Liar. Annoyed with herself for showing weakness, she tipped the wine pitcher up to her mouth again. It didn't quench her thirst but it was better than nothing. This time the sour fumes overcame her. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked.
'Well. I'll see you soon, dear.' Qyburn stood up, brushed his knees clean from the grimy floor. The Kingsguard held the door wide for the old man to pass through, and watched as the hunched grey cloak retreated out of sight down the pathway. Then he turned his head back to the girl. Grinned.
She shot eye-daggers at him. He winked, went to close the door behind him, then paused. For a moment he looked unexpectedly serious.
'You shouldn'ta drunk that shit, honey,' he said.
'Fuck off.'
The Kingsguard regarded her with an expression she couldn't decipher. Pity? Then he closed the door the rest of the way, and the key rattled finally in the lock.
It must be night, the air chilling. Each breath billowed in front of her face like steam. The small amount of natural light that seeped in under the door dimmed, until she was surrounded by blackness utter and engulfing. I'm not afraid of the dark, she told herself. But this wasn't the dark of a moonless night sky, the dark of trees and night animals chirping, and space. This was the dense dark of a walled room, the air musty and stale. Suffocating blackness. The kind where she couldn't tell if her eyes were opened or closed. Blindness would be preferable.
She forced herself to breathe, forced her jittery heart to steady. It's just a room. You don't like small rooms, is all. You're used to being outside. But there's nothing to fear in here. There's no-one in here but you.
But still she felt the walls creeping closer, crowding in. She wrapped her arms tight around her knees and made herself as small as she could. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to ignore the pervading sense of dread.
A falling sensation, weightless and spinning. Kingsguard was right, I shouldn't have drunk that fucking wine. She was afraid to sleep, but dreams came at her anyway. She heard her mother speaking to her in her head: 'Nobility will just use you, take from you whatever they want.' She tried to picture her mother's face but the memory wouldn't come. It had been too long. Only her words. 'A horse that runs towards a fight is a good horse.'
Sooty, where are you Sooty? Can you really be dead? The girl could hear Sooty's low snorts, see her comforting bulk looming nearby. But when the shape lifted its head it was the triangle-shaped head of a wolf, the yellow malevolent streaks of eyes.
The girl shook her head violently, scattering the images but not the sick feeling of falling. Wake up! Dreams can't hurt you! They're only dreams!
Jaime was there, his voice echoing as if down a tunnel, 'I don't want to lose you, lose you, lose you.' She knew it was only a dream, but she called out to him anyway. He couldn't hear her, and then he was gone. She looked down, and there was a babe curled at her feet, about two or three years old, was it herself? A skinny little thing with blonde hair, but when she looked up she had green eyes. Then she vanished as well and there was only the endless, impenetrable black.
The girl's teeth chattered so hard she was convinced they would break. She lit the candle, hands shaking. She wanted the light to drive away the visions, but the twitching shadows revealed by its glow only increased her fear. Something lurked in the periphery of her sight. Something monstrous. Stop it, there's nothing here. The girl moved the candle in a sweep around the area in front of her, throwing skittish light over the boxes and bags and sacks stacked around the room. Steeling herself, she leaned down and peered under the bench. But there were no monsters there.
Of course not. Monsters didn't live under benches.
Monsters smiled with crinkly brown eyes, and called you 'dear.' Brought you wine and candles.
The light kept the dreams at bay until the effects of the Dreamwine gradually wore off. Then she felt only cold. Cold to snap her bones. The material of her dress was thin, she pulled a burlap sack over her bare arms. Inside her boots, her feet were completely numb. She may as well have no toes for all she could feel the ones she had left. The candle was dying and she blew it out. Closed her eyes, her teeth still spasmodically chattering, and fell at last into a dreamless sleep.
A noise wakes her. She sits up, presses her back into the corner. The air feels different, as if the door had opened and a fresh wind gusted in. She feels someone else's presence, there in the dark. She fumbles blindly on the floor for the stub of the candle, lights it with a scrape of flint.
The flame wobbles into life and she places it carefully on the dusty bench beside her. In the pale circle of light, she sees someone sitting near the door. For a second the girl's heart jolts with terror, then she realises it's just a boy.
'How did you get in here?' she asks sharply. She wonders if she's dreaming, but her dry mouth and renewed thirst feel real. The cold bites at her fingers, and her breath smokes in the air.
'The old man brought me. Same as you,' the boy says. His accent is rough, like hers. The girl feels her tension ebb a little. Was Qyburn here again, as I slept? She's relieved, at least, to not be so utterly alone. After a moment, she waves the boy over.
'Come over by the light. Are you scared of the dark?'
'Nah,' he says, with all the bravado only a kid can muster. But he shuffles closer to the candle.
'Are you cold?' she asks.
'Freezing,' he says.
The girl pushes the candle closer to him, although the flame is weak and the heat from it negligible. 'How come you were in the Red Keep?' she frowns. 'It's not safe, you know.'
He shrugs. 'I travelled up with someone.'
Bet you wish you hadn't, the girl thinks. She wants to say she doesn't trust Qyburn's bony old arse as far as she can kick it, but decides against worrying the kid. He's younger than her, and there's no point scaring him. Controlling her own fears is hard enough, without having some poor waif to reassure as well.
The boy scratches his nose and wrinkles his forehead. Something in the gesture is almost familiar.
'I always wanted to see the Red Keep,' he says. 'To see where all the Kings and Queens live.'
The girl looks around pointedly at their dingy surrounds and gives a short laugh. 'Is it all you expected?'
He grins back. 'I didn't really have no expectations.'
His smile... his face dips into the light and the girl sees the spray of freckles across his cheeks, the copper glow of his hair. He looks older - that's why I didn't recognise him straight away. But now she does.
'You shouldn't be here,' she says, her voice catching. The candlelight gleams on his skin; he looks remarkably healthy. Considering. His eyes when he smiles at her are bright. There are no scars old or new on his face, and his long limbs in the village clothes look strong. As he reaches his lanky arms across to warm his hands, he bends easily with the suppleness of the young. There is no blood, no gaping halves of skull from her nightmares. No hacked up pieces of flesh, no severed spinal cord, no jagged shards of bone. He looks good. Considering everything he's been through.
'I came in with you,' the boy says. 'Don't you remember?'
He holds his hands close to the candle, the tip of the guttering flame nearly licking his palm.
'I'm sorry,' is all she can say.
'What's wrong with me, sis?' he asks, puzzled. The flame burns through his hand, it cannot touch him.
'Nothing, Mycah, Nothing is wrong with you,' she tells her dead brother.
She looks at the space between them. Her breath cloud hanging alone in the air.