sololoquy | open post

[ If there was one thing a bastard from Dorne was any good at, it was surviving. When the knights came, she slipped back into the trees. She didn't feel particularly heroic, watching those sellswords and would-be slaves get cut down. Blood gurgled out of the throat of one who had tried to talk back to the knights who questioned them — she realized, quickly, on the whereabouts of a messenger.

She'd never seen anything like it. Not in action, anyway. All the corpses she looted were long since dead. Rotted or drawing real buzzards, most of them.

She slunk back into the woods, too keenly aware of what they would do to her if they got their hands on her. Worse, it wouldn't just be her. The King was a monster. Everyone knew it. If House Organa was the only house standing against him, the only hope any of the common people had lay in her. Her, and Luke Skywalker.

Rey's heart pounded in her chest. Skywalker. If it was really him …

She studied the script on the paper again, the name of the house he was staying in at Essos, the scrawled map of the dock in one of the free cities. And then she doubled back the way they had come, trying to avoid the Kingsguard's approach.

The fire was still going at their abandoned camp. She circled back around towards the smoke, stopping in the woods when she saw that the entire Kingsuard unit had not moved on.

Ren.

Her blood ran cold. No. He'd looked up. It was too late for her to keep him from seeing her. But the crumpled, opened parchment was already in her hand, and he was between her and the fire.

She tore the wax seal off of it and stuffed the parchment into her mouth. It was dry and thick and lacquered with some kind of sealant to keep it from weathering and she chewed through it anyway. They might have her, might have Finn too, but they weren't going to get Skywalker. The red wax, and Organa's seal on it, stuck out, bright and angry against the forest floor until Rey turned on her heel to run, kicking topsoil over it.

They didn't have her yet. ]

[Ren's own blood ran cold when he locked eyes with a slave girl holding a piece of parchment. He didn't need to get a good look at the red seal to recognize it -- at first, he is so frozen with disbelief that he doesn't even know what to say or do. Had she just eaten the damned missive?!

Seven hells. All he could think of was the King on the Iron Throne, his scowl twisting with fury as he cautiously admitted that a bastard had eaten their last hope of finding Skywalker.

A furious snarl echoes between the trees. He won't catch her in full armor. So he sheathes his sword and stomps back to his horse, mounting her and urging her after the Sand rat. He whistles; the hounds begin to bay and follow his lead to chase down the girl.

They will tackle and pin her if she doesn't jump for a tree swiftly.]

Edited 2018-05-16 03:37 (UTC)

[ Hounds. She can hear them barking behind her. Rey has scars on her legs and one on her collarbone from Plutt's hounds and these are big, too big, and the Lord Commander of the Redcloaks was not going to call them off of a child.

She goes up a tree. Her boots don't have good soles on them anymore, not after her journey East, so they slip and slide and fail to grip the bark well and she has to take one, two, three runs at it before she can grab the nearest branch and hoist herself up onto it.

All she's done is corner herself. She climbs up one branch, then another, the hounds scrapping and snarling and snapping at the trunk and rocking it. She balances delicately on a higher branch and looks around. Can she hop from tree to tree? How far was that going to get her, really?

She can hear the pounding of hoofbeats in the distance. Gods, what was she doing here? She should have gone with Finn, damn the missive, damn House Organa, damn Skywalker, damn it all. This had nothing to do with her. Frustrated tears rose in the corners of her eyes and she seated herself on the branch, pressing her back to the trunk of the tree, trying to hold steady.

He was in armor. He wasn't going to come climbing any trees after her. Maybe she could wait him out.

No, she chided herself. Don't be stupid. He'd take it off. Well maybe then she could stab him. She had a knife in her belt. It wasn't a big one, but if he acted fast and didn't wait for one of his knights, then maybe …

Panted breaths poured out of her as she tried to make a plan, but mostly she went in circles, pressing her eyes shut and trying to will away the sound of snarling, drooling dogs who were eager for a taste of her blood.

You're alive. She told herself. You're alive, and as long as you're alive, you can find a way out of this. Your life is all you need. ]

Call them off!

[ She shouted it down. Her voice is softer than it should be, looking at her. It doesn't sound like a slave's speech either. ]

You won't get anything if you kill me, so call them off!

[Sure enough, the horse skids to a halt and the hounds dance slightly sideways as she rears upward and starts to circle the tree. Below, Ren glowers upward at her.

That is a Dornish accent he hears. How curious.

His hand comes to rest on the hilt of his sword, the other tangled in his horse's reins.]

Rather demanding for a traitor to the crown. Perhaps if you throw me the missive, I will call them off.

[One of the hounds takes a powerful leap, claws scraping the trunk far higher than they have any right to. Of course, there was no way they were making it up there, but Ren can see that she fears them -- and so, he ignores her request.

But she isn't talking around the parchment. Surely she hadn't swallowed it. She'd have to be -- insane.]

[ Oh, seven hells.

Every one of the seven hells. She squeezes her eyes shut and thuds her head a few light times back against the sturdy center of the tree. The bark breaks off and gets stuck in her gnarled mass of hair. Of course he'd ask her to throw it down. That way, he could kill her after. ]

I can't do that, m'lord.

[ Briefly she imagines vomiting it up on his boots — the only appealing part of which, of course, is ruining his boots. It would be a short-lived gratification when he ran her through afterwards. She'd seen what his men would do. ]

I haven't got any missive.

Do not test me, girl. I saw the seal. I will not tell you twice.

[Off in the distance, the rest of the Redcloaks are wrapping up their work. She will be able to see them mounting their horses from her vantage point.

She had swallowed it then. He purposefully rounds the tree so he doesn't have to look at her. He can feel his face getting red with anger. How his King would laugh if he could see him now.]

Though, if I am mistaken, then I suppose I have no use for you after all. Not beyond a meal for my hounds, of course.

[One dog latches onto the branch beneath her with its teeth, hanging and snarling viciously, its paws clawing at the air.]

Would you like to try one last time?

[ She doesn't want to yell. Really. She wants to bite down on that fear, but a thick splash of its saliva hits her bare elbow and Rey pulls her arms up in front of her, folding them around her middle, and she yelps as though it had nearly bitten her. But no. It couldn't get her. None of them could get her. Not up here.

She keeps her eyes open after that. ]

What interest is it of yours? They were just tokens, m'lord. The Lady Organa gets lonely in Riverrun, I hear.

[ If she keeps him talking, she keeps herself alive. The clink of armor tells her that he has reinforcements now. She's not going to be able to just kill him and run. Damn. ]

Or is it that you're curious because you've never seen any? If the Redcloaks' vows are uncomfortable for you, m'lord, I know many women in King's Landing who can keep well secret.

[She is fortunate that she manages to get that sentence out before he is joined by his reinforcements, and Ren has to bite his tongue to keep himself from firing back. If any of his men saw him take that bait, he'd never hear the end of it. Nevermind that she was speaking nonsense of his mother, traitor to the crown or not.

Instead, he whistles, and the dogs back down while the knights filter in behind him. He doesn't need the hounds to frighten her anymore. Once the others have a chance to observe the situation, two of the men dismount and begin to remove bits of their trappings after the Lord Commander gestures upward.

Soon enough they climb the tree after her, the knights surrounding so she cannot simply leap away.]

We don't see many Dornish out in Westeros these days.

[Of course, she was barely Dornish. No sigil anywhere he could see, thus -- a Sand, he guessed.]

[ The lack of scratching from the dogs offers her peace, at first. She only thinks to look down in time to see one of his thicker knights preparing to scale the tree. He's worse at it than she is, trained knight or no. She gets to her feet then, wary and ready to pounce away, but—

There's another climbing up the next tree.

Balls. All of it, balls.

They would hold her in cells in King's Landing, if she ever made it to cells. If he didn't turn her into a meal for his dogs. If, if, if. Lady Organa apparently had allies in King's Landing. Perhaps when they heard what her crimes were, they would save her. Come to her rescue and whisk her away through some secret tunnel and —

It was the fantasy of a child. A fairytale. She'd be better to jump now, let her neck break, and never risk them hearing where Skywalker was. If she didn't, they'd torture it out of her.

She straightens her knees, trying to bring herself to do it. She can do it. Skywalker is their only chance, for once in her stupid, worthless life she doesn't have to be selfish. She can just … She can do this. Her life is worth less than his, and if she's captured, it's a matter of when — not if — they pull Skywalker from her. She knows this. Knows this, and yet …

A lifetime of survival cannot be overriden. She can't bring herself to jump.

She pulls the knife from her belt and for a moment it looks like she might raise it against his knight, the one climbing after her. She levels it at him, grasped in both hands, but —

It'll hurt worse, and she'll lose. She'll lose.

Surviving today is the first battle.

She drops the knife and lets it plunge to the forest floor, holding up her hands. ]

It's gone. Kill me and you'll never know what was in it.

[ The knight hesitates as he gets high enough in the tree to grasp her, then looks down at Ren for guidance. ]

[It feels like a knife in his ribs. It takes everything he has not to start swinging his sword into whatever he could strike. His anger rides so high that his horse starts to prance nervously.

When his eyes open again, he looks resigned. He does not look up again.]

Seize her.

[Ren's voice is a quiet but firm command. He turns his horse to leave just as the knight near her grabs at her leg to force her out of the tree. There are two below waiting to catch and bind her for the road.

He would need to get that message out of her before he could reappear in front of the King. And that meant that he would need to remain in the Kingswood for some time yet.]

[ With a stubborn shout, she kicked at the knight who grabbed for her. The panic that lanced through her was the panic of a girl who knew what happened to girls taken in by the so-called honorable Redcloaks. She didn't want any one of them touching her. That was certain. ]

I surrendered!

[ She shouted it not once but twice more before finally the knight wrestled her from the tree and she hit her head on a branch coming down. Dazing her, not knocking her out. It got her just slow enough that his comrades in armor could close in around her, and all she could see was the swishing curtain of their cloaks against the soil.

She felt sick. The lacquer on that piece of parchment, probably. She'd heard a boy in the Saltpans tell her once that it was made of the same stuff they embalmed lords and ladies with. Or maybe it was the blow to the head. She swallowed that feeling down and allowed them to drag her to her feet.

While the climbing guards collected and donned their armor, the others bound her arms flat to her sides in a coil of rope. Flat. Snug. Painful. It threatened to cut off her circulation, but then, they wouldn't need her arms to get information out of her.

They wouldn't need much to get information out of her.

Stupid, she chastised herself. Just look a little further in front of your face. Should have jumped. ]

[Ren waits for the rest of his party to join him, eyes cast up toward the sun to gauge the hour. They couldn't stay here, but it would be dusk soon. They would need to make camp further in the wood.

He holds out his hand to his side, and the larger knight places the rope in it. It is clear his cavalry is a bit confused -- any one of them could have lead her on the path. In fact, they seem to be put off that he'd denied them.

But the information she carries is most important to him. He would not risk one of them doing something stupid and risking it now.]

Ser Moroes. [A smaller knight rode to the front.] Ride ahead. Return word that we will be delayed.

[A salute was passed before Ser Moroes rode off. They hadn't brought any ravens -- it was meant to be a short jaunt, with no faith behind it. He is sure some of his men still don't understand the importance of their cargo.

He turned his head in Rey's direction.]

Your surrender meant that my men did not have to break your hands or legs after they retrieved you. Consider that your reward.

[ Delayed? What the hell did that mean?

He wasn't taking her back to King's Landing?

When the rope changes hands, Rey gets a rude awakening, jerked along as she is quite suddenly by it going taut because of the pace Ren's horse keeps. She staggers along, picking up her pace. If she falls, she seriously doubts that any one of them will care. They'd probably laugh at her. Kick her.

Little lords and ladies might be fooled into believing that the Redcloaks had any honor at all, but Rey came from the Saltpans. She knew better. She'd seen the sorts of things they did, and she didn't doubt for a second that they would have broken her for punishment, not out of necessity.

Again she finds herself thinking she should have jumped, and whether it was too late to kill herself another way. ]

Delayed by what? [ If he hasn't killed her yet, he's not going to kill her for being blunt and asking what the hell they're doing with her. ] Where are we going?

[From the top of his horse, the Lord Commander makes an irritated noise, prompting laughter from his men. They are silenced with a severe glance backward. In that moment, he looks ready to leap off his horse and strangle them.

His eyes drop back down to her, more tired than angry. He isn't answering her question on principal, not because it is any great secret.]

A more clever girl would ask less questions. But then, a more clever girl might also not think to betray the crown in the first place. Did you think you were the only one playing courier for House Organa?

[He allows that to sink in, observing her reaction with some obvious pleasure before looking away from her.]

Curious enough, you were the only one to destroy your message. What am I to think of that?

[ Traitor, traitor. He keeps sticking that knife between her ribs like it's supposed to mean something, but what has the crown ever done for an orphan girl from Dorne, trapped in the Saltpans doing a slave's work in a kingdom that was supposed to have outlawed slavery?

His men had killed those slavers, but they weren't pulling Lord Plutt out of the Saltpans.

It's the rest of what he says that is more shocking to her. Other couriers? Did that mean he had already seen the message anyway? No. She'd be dead if that were true. Was he lying, then? Were there no others? Or was it that they were distractions, and like one of his hounds, he had sniffed her out like a wounded animal?

None of these options appealed. She tried to clear her mind of them. No use dwelling on them. For now, she lived. That's what mattered. ]

Does my lord often need others to tell him how to think? Good thing you joined up with the Redcloaks, I suppose. That's one way to get it. [ She wanted her mouth to stop moving. Really, she did. Mouthing off wasn't going to keep her alive any longer, and alive had such a broad definition in the first place.

But in part that was why she did. He hadn't let his dogs eat her. And he hadn't had his men break her limbs like he'd threatened. So far he was a lot of empty threats. He needed something from her. If other couriers had existed, they certainly didn't have the information about Skywalker. But the Lord Commander knew that they ought to have had it. ]

[Around him, his men reacted to her bite. Naturally, he could not leave her insolence unanswered. His horse stalls and he jerks on the girl's lead, pulling her to the sweaty side of his steed and up, up to the saddle. His hand comes to close around her throat and he lifts her off the ground until they are eye level.

He does all of this in armor, so she does not mistake his strength.]

You are rather eager to use that mouth of your's. I will be sure to make arrangements for you before we return to King's Landing. It is the least I can do.

[The knights surrounding him exchange glances, attempting to hide their curiosity as they smirk to one another. He lowers his arm just enough to drop her so that she doesn't break any of her slight limbs, and does not give her a chance to catch her breath before the horse starts moving again.

Ultimately, the only thing that mattered was the information she carried, and he would pry it from her if it was the last thing he did.

And then, he would kill Skywalker himself.]

Edited 2018-05-16 15:49 (UTC)

[ An unchecked yelp answers the sudden jerking motion, but any other sound is cut off by the hand closing around her throat. She can't scramble to pry it away, not with her arms bound at her sides like this. Somehow that only hammers his point home. She kicks instead. It's not the mare's fault her master is a monster, but Rey risks kicking her in the ribs anyway. Maybe she'll get spooked and run and Rey will be jostled from his grip.

But he dropped her just as she managed a good kick and she was just left falling on her ass despite his efforts to prevent it. The rope wasn't properly long enough, and he moved right away, so she fumbled behind him, dragged. The rocks on the forest floor scraped up her legs through her pants, and she was bleeding through a hole left behind by the time she finally got her heels back under her to chase his horse.

Fear quickened her pulse. It occurred to her to beg, but what good would it do? Giving him what he wanted wouldn't save her. So instead she glanced around to take inventory of his men. Only a few remained stoic and unresponsive in the face of Ren's threat. One of them was grizzled enough that he might have still had some honor of the old King. The other two were probably just uninterested in women.

No allies. No honor. No saviors. If she was going to get out of this, she'd have to do it herself. When they stopped, maybe.

Two of them quipped and elbowed one another further back. The two who'd climbed the trees. She took stock of the weapons she could see on them. A sword and dagger each. Plus the plate — that was probably heavy enough to hit them with, provided she had hands to lift it. If she'd had a mother, she'd probably have warned Rey about letting herself get into a position like this one.

Silence stretched after that, his threat finally doing enough to curb her sharp tongue as she marched alongside him. ]

Edited 2018-05-16 16:13 (UTC)

[As they moved northwest, closer to the coastline, the humidity only increased even as the sun began to set. Most of the men had removed their helmets now. The Lord Commander hasn't worn his the entire journey -- in contrast, he looks exhausted in a different way.

The remains of their camp were still gently smoldering in front of them near a creek. Almost immediately, when the hounds are given release, they dart over to play in the water and drink their heart's content. Each of their horses give a tired snort as they come to a halt and their riders dismount.

The knights don't bother to communicate as they pitch their tents and smooth out their bedrolls. The Lord Commander, instead, leads his captive to the creek with the hounds, stopping short of its edge.]

Do you know who I am?

[He glances down, one eyebrow raised. It was hardly uncommon knowledge. Lord Commander Ren had removed many house sigils from the map of Westeros, including that of his own father. And yet, this girl dared to defy him in front of his own men.

She was either ignorant or she had nothing to lose. Until he finds out which one, she'll stay tied up.]

[ Rey did not like one bit that she was being brought, bound and alone, off to the side of this camp with Ren. That creek was deep enough to drown her in. Or to start drowning her, and—

She pushed those thoughts away, calling on an image of rolling desert hills in the back of her mind to put herself at peace. If he was going to torture her, she wasn't going to stop him by worrying about it. She'd only work herself up. ]

Kylo Ren.

[ She spat the name like an accusation — and in Westeros, it was. ]

You stripped yourself of the name of your house and took a new one when you became Lord Commander. Everyone knows who you are. [ A long pause. She didn't look at him. If she looked at him, she'd feel that bone-deep fear that came with seeing those soulless, impassive eyes. ] M'lord.

[ Because truly, probing at his bad reputation wasn't going to help her any, so she could at least offer him the courtesy of common manners. For as far as that would go. ]

What are you planning to do with me? [ Planning to, she said. Not going to. He wouldn't succeed, if there were any gods at all. ]

That is correct.

[Her insults don't seem to effect him at all -- after all, it was only the truth that she spoke. He wore his bad reputation like a badge of honor, and had the kill count to go with it.

She won't meet his eyes, which tells him that his intimidation tactics are doing the trick after all. One large hand comes up to her shoulder, the rope pressing into the soft exterior when he does.]

That all depends on you. You've already cost me precious time with your needless parchment stunt. And if you think the Redcloak vows will keep me from prying that location from you, then I strongly suggest that you reconsider.

[That is a threat that he doesn't lay down lightly, judging by the way he bends his spine to tell it to her. His hand falls from her shoulder]

You're no Organa -- you owe them nothing, and they owe you less than nothing.

[ They were not going back to King's Landing, she realized, because the cells there and the methods they had for dealing with prisoners would not allow for what men like Lord Commander Ren did to get information. She would not make it to Lady Organa's allies in King's Landing. They would not be able to free her. She was not a hero of some great resistance against an unjust throne.

She was just an obstacle. And everyone in Westeros knew how Kylo Ren handled obstacles. ]

I owe you less than nothing.

[ And Lady Organa hadn't chased her down like a game animal, bound and dragged her behind a horse, and laid hands on her. If he'd been any closer, she'd have bit him. Maybe she'd still get the chance. (No, she thought, she didn't want that chance.) ]

You killed those people. Slaughtered them like pigs. I'm not giving you anything.

Because they were harboring you, unfortunately. Is that how you want to be remembered? Slaughtered like a pig?

[He tilts his head, unaffected by her passion. In fact, his brows pinch with interest as he reaches up to inspect the bruise forming under her jaw. Up close, though his black and chrome armor is tarnished, the shinier accents still reflect her face back at her.]

Or...I suppose you wouldn't be remembered at all, would you?

[There is a sadness there as he voices his observation. His touch is gentle now as he cradles the injury, encouraging her to look up at him.]

It does not have to be that way.

[ Somehow, gentle was worse. Gentle wormed its way under her skin the way the bruise had. Kindness had no place in him; it felt wrong. She jerked her chin away roughly — if anything, just to resist on principle, though her hands trembled. ]

Don't touch me.

[ Focusing on this spared her focusing on what he was saying. What was he saying? She was a bastard. A nobody. He was right; if he left her here dead, gutted, she'd be forgotten. Not a single person would mourn. No one.

But it had to be that way. She had no name. No house. ]

[He allows her to have her chin back. After all, she was tied up -- allowing her that was like allowing her oxygen. His hand drops back to his side.

Somewhere behind them, the men finish setting up camp. The smell of a fire starts to fill the atmosphere. Every now and then, one of the younger knights can be seen peering over impatiently at them. Ren pays them no mind.

Instead, he moves to sit by the creek, obviously not interested in returning to the circle.]

You have no loyalties, no banners, and yet when I present you with an opportunity to spare your life some hardship, you spit in my open palm.

[He looks up at her, squinting under his scarred eye, waiting for her to try and kick him. It would do her no good, of course. He is still encased in armor.]

The missive. A little bird tells me that it contained some distressing news regarding Skywalker -- a man who's meant to be long dead for his crimes against Westeros. So you surely understand why it is so important that I understand the contents of it.

[His eyes move past Rey to focus on the two men further up the hill, both of which were now looking down at the pair of them expectantly. He tilts his head up so that Rey is aware they are watching.]

I will give you one last chance to tell me. Or I'll be forced to let you start speaking to them -- and they are not quite as conversational as myself.

[ There was no point to crying. He wouldn't feel sorry for her, and it wouldn't stop him, but tears threatened behind her eyes anyway, burning. The effort of holding them back contorted the firm line she set her mouth into.

He was right, of course. House Organa meant nothing to her. And she meant nothing to them. They weren't going to come for her. Lady Organa's contact in King's Landing was not going to save her. Finn, the only person who even knew what she'd been doing, was long gone — probably well up towards the wall by now where it would be safer, where no one would look twice. ]

Don't.

[ She pressed her eyes shut. Damn. ]

Please.

[ But such pleas would mean nothing to him either, not if she didn't give him what he wanted as well. ]

I don't know anything about Skywalker. I don't know what was in the message. I couldn't read it.

[ A lie, but would he know that she was anything but some illiterate bastard? With an accent like hers, maybe. More to the point, she'd gone an awful long way to keep him from reading it for someone who had no idea what it contained. ]

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