By all rights she shouldn't be, at least. Rey Sand had been born in Dorne, or so she'd been told before she'd been sold as a servant to a lordling in the Saltpans who'd set her to raiding the Trident for old war artifacts and, at the start of the war, stealing off King Snoke's armies who'd come through to clear out the last of House Organa.
She'd spent her life a vulture, picking the remains of corpses on the battlefields and making her living off the hard-earned purses of good soldiers when the war had escalated. At first she'd taken it as none of her business — it wasn't going to feed her, after all.
But then the Kingsguard had come through, all shiny and golden and unlike those other coarse soldiers. There'd had to be some reason they were so set on House Organa. And it had been Rey who, upon seeing a messenger fleeing Riverrun's direction, had taken them in to an old abandoned millhouse. And Rey who had discovered that he'd born a missive wearing the Lady Organa's seal.
Secrets. Secrets and politics and everything she knew nothing about. But she'd taken that scrap of a letter and the mission to get it to her allies in King's Landing and she'd run. Forgotten all about Lord Plutt and the Saltpans and the bodies she'd picked free and loaded up with her chest wrapped on a wagon headed for the port in Storm's End. They'd go to Essos from there to be sold to slavers.
No Kingsguard would ever care about what slavers were doing at a time like this, surely. They'd never look there, surely, for whatever missive Lady Organa had sent out. And Rey could get off in the Kingswood and make her way quietly into King's Landing to deliver it securely into the hands of one of Lady Organa's allies.
Propped against the cart where they'd stopped to rest, she popped open the wax seal. She'd be able to melt it back down — she'd practiced — but if she was going to risk her neck for this thing, she'd see what it contained, thank you. It was serious enough that the messenger, Finn, had run off and washed his hands of it.
Whose life was it really worth? A message couldn't save House Organa from the crushing grip of King Snoke's forces. That would take … a miracle.
She stared down at the script. It was clean. The sort of print a lady would have. Rey, by contrast, could scarcely read it, but she was nevertheless positive of what it said: Luke Skywalker. Luke Skywalker, Prince of Dorne and the Seven bloody Kingdoms, presumed dead, had been found in Essos.
Rey cursed. Loudly. She was bloody dead, holding a thing like that.
A runner returned to the camp, rustling through the brush, and she leapt to her feet. They'd found tracks. These woods were being patrolled — bandits, one of them suspected, but Rey knew better. Rey knew. There were no bandits near the Kingswood. And there were plenty of reasons to track a cart of slavers out of Riverrun if word had is that news of where to find Luke Skywalker, the only threat to King Snoke's claim, had slipped loose in the hands of some pitiful bastard girl. ]
here is your game of thrones au
By all rights she shouldn't be, at least. Rey Sand had been born in Dorne, or so she'd been told before she'd been sold as a servant to a lordling in the Saltpans who'd set her to raiding the Trident for old war artifacts and, at the start of the war, stealing off King Snoke's armies who'd come through to clear out the last of House Organa.
She'd spent her life a vulture, picking the remains of corpses on the battlefields and making her living off the hard-earned purses of good soldiers when the war had escalated. At first she'd taken it as none of her business — it wasn't going to feed her, after all.
But then the Kingsguard had come through, all shiny and golden and unlike those other coarse soldiers. There'd had to be some reason they were so set on House Organa. And it had been Rey who, upon seeing a messenger fleeing Riverrun's direction, had taken them in to an old abandoned millhouse. And Rey who had discovered that he'd born a missive wearing the Lady Organa's seal.
Secrets. Secrets and politics and everything she knew nothing about. But she'd taken that scrap of a letter and the mission to get it to her allies in King's Landing and she'd run. Forgotten all about Lord Plutt and the Saltpans and the bodies she'd picked free and loaded up with her chest wrapped on a wagon headed for the port in Storm's End. They'd go to Essos from there to be sold to slavers.
No Kingsguard would ever care about what slavers were doing at a time like this, surely. They'd never look there, surely, for whatever missive Lady Organa had sent out. And Rey could get off in the Kingswood and make her way quietly into King's Landing to deliver it securely into the hands of one of Lady Organa's allies.
Propped against the cart where they'd stopped to rest, she popped open the wax seal. She'd be able to melt it back down — she'd practiced — but if she was going to risk her neck for this thing, she'd see what it contained, thank you. It was serious enough that the messenger, Finn, had run off and washed his hands of it.
Whose life was it really worth? A message couldn't save House Organa from the crushing grip of King Snoke's forces. That would take … a miracle.
She stared down at the script. It was clean. The sort of print a lady would have. Rey, by contrast, could scarcely read it, but she was nevertheless positive of what it said: Luke Skywalker. Luke Skywalker, Prince of Dorne and the Seven bloody Kingdoms, presumed dead, had been found in Essos.
Rey cursed. Loudly. She was bloody dead, holding a thing like that.
A runner returned to the camp, rustling through the brush, and she leapt to her feet. They'd found tracks. These woods were being patrolled — bandits, one of them suspected, but Rey knew better. Rey knew. There were no bandits near the Kingswood. And there were plenty of reasons to track a cart of slavers out of Riverrun if word had is that news of where to find Luke Skywalker, the only threat to King Snoke's claim, had slipped loose in the hands of some pitiful bastard girl. ]