[ Songs and stories always made things like this sound thrilling and romantic. In a way that left her feeling cheated, almost. There was nothing thrilling or romantic in being caged with her arms bound between the uncomfortable metal plates of Ren's armor and the hard leather of the saddle front, swallowing the panic she felt about whether or not she might be thrown from the horse at any moment.
She managed to begrudge him his closeness even though it was the only thing that offered her security from being thrown from the saddle. She was allowed, she figured, since his armor cut painfully into her back through her thin homespun shirt.
But then, reality tended to be disappointing.
Rey knew that better than anyone. If this were a story, she wouldn't be a bastard orphan of no one important. She'd be a lost Dornish princess and Lady Organa's bannermen would help her free herself any minute now. (Not rescue her. She didn't need rescuing; she just needed help.)
Instead she was trapped with this monster, trying to ignore the pain in her back, trying not to panic that she might be thrown from the horse and trampled, waiting to see if his stupid plan got her killed because he wouldn't take her manacles off.
Sure enough, the thunder of hooves drew the attention of the bandits who lurked in the trees, and an arrow cut overhead with a whistle. He'd provoked them. Idiot. He'd told her not to speak without being spoken to, but if she didn't do something, he was going to get them killed by being a reckless fool!
She bit down on her tongue. They were Redcloaks, weren't they? Killing people was what they did. And anyway, why should she try to keep them alive? They'd kidnapped her, threatened to rape her, dragged her halfway across the Stormlands … Good bloody riddance. She'd be better off among bandits. ]
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She managed to begrudge him his closeness even though it was the only thing that offered her security from being thrown from the saddle. She was allowed, she figured, since his armor cut painfully into her back through her thin homespun shirt.
But then, reality tended to be disappointing.
Rey knew that better than anyone. If this were a story, she wouldn't be a bastard orphan of no one important. She'd be a lost Dornish princess and Lady Organa's bannermen would help her free herself any minute now. (Not rescue her. She didn't need rescuing; she just needed help.)
Instead she was trapped with this monster, trying to ignore the pain in her back, trying not to panic that she might be thrown from the horse and trampled, waiting to see if his stupid plan got her killed because he wouldn't take her manacles off.
Sure enough, the thunder of hooves drew the attention of the bandits who lurked in the trees, and an arrow cut overhead with a whistle. He'd provoked them. Idiot. He'd told her not to speak without being spoken to, but if she didn't do something, he was going to get them killed by being a reckless fool!
She bit down on her tongue. They were Redcloaks, weren't they? Killing people was what they did. And anyway, why should she try to keep them alive? They'd kidnapped her, threatened to rape her, dragged her halfway across the Stormlands … Good bloody riddance. She'd be better off among bandits. ]