sololoquy | open post

Is that going to be a problem for you?

[He moves to unhitch her from the log, wrapping the chain up over his gauntlets. There is a strong frown settled in on his expression.]

Would you prefer to be introduced to the king yourself?

[He would never grant her that opportunity, of course, but he can't help but wonder why she is so eager to move to the capitol, rather than to Essos.

He could not trust that the information wasn't true without her present, of course. If she mapped them to the lion's jaws, she would be going right there with them. The best insurance was to force her to stay.]

No.

[ She spat that out quickly enough. Not a day ago, any remarks Rey had passed about brushing shoulders with Ren, let alone the King, would have been such distant fantasy as to be hyperbole. That she even had to engage that question now showed how far her life had gone off the rails. She should have stayed in the Saltpans. ]

I have family, you know. People who'll miss me.

[ This, of course, was a lie. No one would miss Rey. He'd been correct the night previous when he'd pointed out that not a soul would remember her had she died here in the Kingswood. But days on a ship out in the middle of the ocean … She felt nauseous just thinking about it. ]

I do not care.

[That is delivered without blinking. He had people who "missed" him too. They got over it. He turns to walk away, leaving his men to pack up the last of their supplies.]

If you had surrendered the missive without quarrel, perhaps you would have been on your way back to them by now.

[Instead, she is here, forced to endure his company and the company of the rest of the Redcloaks. And he has to waste supplies on a bastard just to finish his life's work, before the king found out what he was doing.

He makes his way to his horse, pulling Rey along with him.]

Ah— Hey!

[ She stumbled after, pulled along by the chain. And then she looked the horses over as they finished packing the camp away and — Another day of this? She'd been on her way to Storm's End. It'd take forever if they sought the coast there instead of in King's Landing through the Blackwater.

He was avoiding King's Landing just as surely as she was hoping to get to it. ]

What port are you planning to leave out of?

[ An accusation lay bare in her voice as she hustled up alongside his mare, surprisingly energized for a slave and a bastard and a traitor in Redcloak custody. The other knights exchanged quiet looks as though noting that she had, if anything, grown more presumptuous over the course of the night. Not less. ]

[He jerks her forward using the chain as he mounts his horse and ignores her question, instead choosing to glare at his men for daring to look perturbed by a bastard girl. It doesnt take more than that to turn them around, though Ren could see them muttering to one another a mile away. His own jaw shifts uncomfortably.

If she kept this insolence this up, he would not be able to get by on threats alone. He would lose the respect of his men, otherwise.

The hounds and cart depart in one direction, while Ren and the bannermen turn in the opposite direction, no doubt confirming Rey’s inklings about heading to Storm’s End. Once they are moving, he pulls Rey as close as possible to his mare.]

Do not mistake my charity, girl. If it comes down between you and the loyalty of my men, you will lose. I suggest you keep your outbursts to yourself.

[He has a general direction to head in. Navigating Essos without a map would surely be a nightmare — but not impossible.]

I'm not doing anything to their loyalty.

[ This, spoken with the grit of someone who truly doesn't understand how the mechanics of a unit work at all. She hadn't meant to do injury to their loyalty — they'd been the ones to attack her, and he'd been the one to dangle her like a steak over their heads then snatch her away. If he was suffering, though, she was all for it. He deserved it.

Still, she kept her voice a sharp whisper as she pointed that out. They were heading southeastward, putting them towards the road for Storm's End. That was going to be a bad time. ]

I can't keep up with horses. That's not charity. [ None of this was, really. She didn't point that out just now. ] That's reason. You'll be dragging a corpse around asking it to guide you to Skywalker before too long. [ Then, ] We'd be out to sea faster out of King's Landing. I want to know where we're going. I want to know why. You can't ask me to be your navigator and then keep me in the dark.

[To silence her whining, he jerks the chain again and yanks it up until he can grab her by her collar and sit her in front of him on the mare’s back. And it does it through any protesting. If she struggles or aggitates the horse, he will bind her further with the chain.]

I will hear no more of your complaints. You navigate when we reach Essos, and not before.

[Storm’s End wasn’t abandoned land, but it was still apart of the Crownlands — it was the best option short of attempting to sail out of Blackwater Bay without the King’s knowledge.

It would not be a short journey, and the further from King’s Landing they went, the more likely they would run into bandit parties. Ren was nearly counting on it.]

[ Noises of panic slipped out of her but she otherwise tried to avoid fussing, obviously rigid and uncomfortable in his grip and wedged against the horn of the saddle. And, by even cursory examination, part of it was being on a horse at all. She lacked any of the natural marks of comfort.

Which made sense, of course, given her modest birth.

She made no complaint of any of this, however. Her discomfort at being stuffed between the bulk of his plate and the saddle horn could not be corrected — she tried her best to mitigate it by keeping her hands wrapped around the horn of the saddle so it wouldn't bruise her pelvis, anyway.

Maybe she would have preferred to walk. Could she tolerate days of this? Surely blistered and bleeding feet were better than stifling proximity to Ren. ]

[By the looks of Ren’s face, he appears unmoved bu both her noises of panic and her proximity to him. It would be a long journey for certain either way. Fortunately for her, the pace Ren choses is a leisurely one, rather than a full gallop. It wasn’t difficult for him to tell that Rey had never really ridden a horse before — anything faster than this, and he is certain she would have fallen off. They don’t have time for that sort of delay.

It is clear that his knights had sided with Rey, regarding the journey ahead. The bannermen fall just far enough behind that Ren could not see them cautiously glancing behind them to see if maybe they had misunderstood their direction. But they had not.

He was avoiding the king. And he might have gotten away with it unnoticed if she hadn’t spoken up.

Lord Commander? Ren ignores them. I’m loathe to say it but—]

Then perhaps you should not.

[He bites it backwards and the men go quiet again.]

[ Perhaps if he wanted his men's loyalty, he should grow more used to keeping them informed. At this snap, Rey turned her head to meet the eyes of one of the bannermen. It seemed despite his apparent humanity in handling her imprisonment — a low bar, to be sure — the more unkind elements of his reputation were true, his temper among them.

A few things began to click into place at that. He did not want to give quarter to conversation on the matter of their destination, would not allow questions to his leadership. And he was avoiding reporting to the King.

Rey said nothing of it just then. She saw allies in those bannermen now — people who could be persuaded that their erratic Lord Commander did not have their best interests in mind, that he might even get their heads added to the collection Snoke kept on spikes around the Red Keep. But she would have to mind her tongue and get them alone.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled with that thought, remembering the night before, but … these men were not among those who'd harmed her. They could have been, but maybe they had an ounce of their oaths left in them after all.

When the bannermen were sent ahead an hour later to survey the road for signs of bandits, Rey seized upon the opportunity. ]

I thought the Redcloaks acted on the King's will alone.

I would be interested to hear what it is a Dornish bastard thinks she knows of "the King's will".

[Its not exactly dodging the question, but it is yet another sign that he isn't interested in discussing the King, or his will. As far as he was concerned, his men belonged to him -- and through him, they were acting in the interests of the King, whether the King knew it or not.

And they all knew where they were going. They were sent to find Skywalker -- and that's what they were going to do.

For his part, Ren watches the path, waiting for his banners to reappear.]

Nothing.

[ Admitting that took nothing from her. She had no pride or status to lose, so his insults had no bite. A bastard was a bastard, and a bastard who couldn't even serve on the wall was worse. From the minute she'd been born, the gods had promised Rey no better possible position in this world than a brothel in King's Landing.

And she'd hated that idea, so she'd taken a different kind of slavery. ]

But I know a thing or two about avoiding the King's will. The only reason someone wouldn't want to hear orders is if they don't plan to follow them. [ She turned in her seat to look up at him. His face was ill-proportioned and looked worse twisted into such a sour expression. More proof that lords were no different than the rest of them, she supposed. ] Why are you chasing Skywalker? You're dragging me into it; I deserve to know.

You deserve nothing. You dragged yourself into this by accepting that missive, and by choosing to dispose of it.

[He feels her eyes upon him, so he tilts his chin down to look at her. Skywalker's true lineage was known by few, beyond the fable that he was the one true King -- just as few knew why he'd nearly slaughtered his entire house on Snoke's orders not long after he'd become Kingsguard.

He was hiding something in Essos, something that belonged to him now that Skywalker was meant to be nothing but a fossil -- of that, Ren was certain. And he wasn't going to let King Snoke have it.]

The King's orders were to find Skywalker. That is what I am doing.

That might work on your bastard prisoner, but getting to Storm's End from here will take days. Plenty long enough for people to start asking questions. [ And his bannermen were coming back up the hill, riding with a steady purpose. Signs of bandits, probably. They'd have to move with caution, which would only further slow them. ]

If you're so worried about loyalty, you're going to have to figure out something better to say to them.

[ But that was none of her business. She turned back around. Looking up at him only made her seat more uncomfortable because of the twist in her hips. But let it look like she was dismissing him out of hand, or letting the conversation lapse for the sake of company. ]

[It didn't take much to get him to doubt. He isn't listening all that much when his bannermen return to confirm the presence of bandits ahead. Perhaps they could double back and venture to Blackwater Bay without being called back to the castle as they went through King's Landing. Would Snoke anticipate his movements and halt the port? Then what?

Rey would most certainly die in that situation and while he held no love for a Dornish bastard, she was his ticket to Skywalker.]

How many?

[Five. Outnumbered, then. One knight was worth two or three bandits, but they had cargo to protect where the bandits did not.

Bollocks.]

We will hold until they pass.

We don't have to.

[ He didn't want her commentary, but he did want to hurry. Rey didn't look at him as she said it, but instead jangled her chains. ]

Four against five is more than a fair fight.

[ Probably the knights had already been spotted. Probably the bandits knew they were here, and if they didn't fight back, they were going to get surrounded. Possibly they even had reinforcements deeper in the woods. Rey was not used to having a contingent behind her. She knew how to win a fight before it could escalate.

But maybe he'd just think she was calling him craven. He seemed to take everything the worst way possible. She just didn't fancy dying out here with him, even if it did appeal to her to slow them down as much as she could. Maybe, somehow, Skywalker would get word. Maybe somehow he could get away. ]

[She dared. His men straighten on their saddles, already aware of what was about to happen.

The downside of her being in close proximity to him means it is easy for him to grab her by the throat and squeeze when she starts to speak out against his orders. The bannermen do not react -- this doesn't appear to be a new reaction.

Something under his skin is trembling with anger, but it is covered up by his gauntlets as the metal presses into her trachea.]

If you speak without being spoken to again...and I will gag you until we reach port. Do I make myself clear?

[His voice is a low and dangerous growl.]

[ The chill that crossed his men's face was her first clue, but she didn't get a chance to react. Immediately his hand closed around her throat, and Rey's eyes widened as she drew a failed breath. She raised her bound hands to try and pry his fingers away, but he was stronger than her. Prick. He just wanted to prove that he was to be obeyed. It didn't matter if his plan was the best one or not — as long as they listened to him.

She thrashed about for a minute, not feeling adequately able to reply because of the compression around her throat. Words wouldn't come out, just rasped choking noises. Probably for the best. The first few things she intended to say would have pushed him to kill her, not release her.

Finally she nodded, an urgent and insistent motion that pushed her chin down into his hand.

She'd never been around people like this, had never had to learn to be particularly reverent because of anything stupid like status except to Lord Plutt. And even he had so little status that it wasn't like the stories she heard of places like Riverrun and King's Landing. That was another league entirely.

Ren, though, didn't seem to think she needed experience to accept him as her better. He just was. ]

[Ren holds her there for a moment longer, letting her pull at his hand uselessly before he releases her and turns his horse around.]

Good.

[He shifts backward in the saddle slightly, just enough so that Rey would be forced to fill in the gap as his horse breaks off into a gallop. Fortunately, Ren was quite strong, and the awkward angle doesn't prevent him from leaning into it. Unfortunately, it also means Rey is going to have to endure him being much closer than he was initially.

If they road fast enough outside the perimeter of their camp, they might have ended up missing them. The rest of his men are not far behind, though Ren keeps some distance ahead.

If nothing else, he would draw their attention, and hopefully make it past without incident.]

[ 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. ]

[Another arrow pings off of his armor as they race by. Several bandits give chase as one manages to tangle itself in his fluttering red cloak.]

Hold on.

[Its a brief warning as he yanks on the horse's reins to get her to halt. The mare rearing backwards with a cry of protest. His sword flings its scabbard somewhere in the dirt behind them as he draws it, and the first unfortunate bandit to charge is kicked backward by the horse's flailing hooves.

As if on cue, the knights behind them finally launch their own horses forward, coming forward to trample the archer's who have chosen to focus on the Lord Commander. Ren struggles some to get the horse back under control while also trying to prevent Rey from falling, his sword arm slashing outward to force the charging bandits away from him.

One determined bandit catches the sword in the face and falls to the dirt, dead.]

[ She had not been the only orphaned bastard employed by Plutt in the Saltpans. There were others, and just like her, when they stole from him (stole things they had scavenged, of course) or disobeyed him or even just when he was in an unpleasant mood, he'd strike them. On those nights, Rey had leaned back against the wall and hugged her knees to her chest and recited the songs she'd heard on the road up from Dorne.

One of them was a song of adventure about a brave knight who'd traveled down to Dorne before the kingdoms had been united. He'd brought back a tapestry from the throne room on Dorne. The men she traveled with had always laughed, and it had taken her a while to realize why; people fought and died for that tapestry, and that knight had patted himself on the back, but he couldn't do anything with it. And he'd showed it off to his king, but he'd not gotten anything for it because he'd come back instead of properly holding Dorne.

She felt a great deal like that tapestry now, she realized. Useless luggage. She hated that feeling, and she decided so quickly. The journey thus far had already bruised her legs and back, and she wasn't allowed to talk, and she wasn't allowed to fight for her life, and she might as well be a bloody tapestry for all that Ren wanted from her.

When Ren slashed out, though, he lost his grip on her and she slipped off the side of the saddle, rolling into it and throwing her bound hands up over her head to keep his mare from trampling her. She rolled clear and fumbled her way to her feet.

She'd been right. There were more than four here now. So though the two archers had been felled, and Ren had caught one of them in the face, there were still a handful standing. They seemed to realize what they'd gotten themselves into, however. Ren's sword, at the very least, was a recognizable beast. This wasn't just a traveling group of green knights. The were Redcloaks with their Lord Commander.

These bandits didn't want to leave empty-handed though. Without purses or supplies to steal and get off with, one of them tried to grab the chain she dragged behind her just as she reached for Ren's dropped scabbard, thinking she might defend herself with it at least. It was heavy and metal and solid. But the bandit pulled her off her feet, but one of Ren's bannermen took him out swiftly enough. They closed ranks then, while she clambered back to her feet.

Tapestry indeed.

She looked up begrudgingly at the one who had interceded and wondered if that was loyalty to his Lord Commander or compassion for her. Or if it mattered. The rest of the bandits scattered and fled, giving up when they'd seen enough of their comrades' guts. They were smart, she thought, watching one of them recede out of sight in the tree cover. They'd run.

She looked down at the chain that dragged off her manacles.

She should have run. How long did she had to try to convince herself that dead would be better than this? If she stayed with them, Ren would either lose his temper and kill her, lose his temper and let his men have her, or get her killed with his own pride and stupidity. ]

[They were smart to have run. This likely would not be the last bandit party they tripped on in the Stormlands.

Ren watched them flee, jaw set and stiff. There was a rigidness to his posture, suggesting that he was nearly failing at curtailing the urge to charge after them and hunt them down. But after a moment or two, he exhales and forces himself to dismount. He does not go for Rey's chain right away. Instead, he moves for the scabbard.

He'd hardly drawn any blood. It was nothing to be happy about or proud of. So, quietly, he wipes the small amount of blood off on the inside of his red cloak before he shoves the sword away in its scabbard. Tying it back to his belt is something of a chore.

His men were reassured, but Ren continued to have doubts. Perhaps the girl was right -- but they were already half way through the Kingswood. Turning back now simply wasn't an option.

So he trails back to Rey and scoops up the chain, pausing long enough to look her over. He could already see some bruises forming.]

Were you injured?

[Its an invitation to speak.]

Fuck off.

[ Nearly dying had, as it turned out, cut her temper short. And she didn't have a long fuse to begin with. Rey spat at him. It came out bloody.

It wasn't just him. It was all of it. She didn't have any bloody control over her own bloody life, couldn't even defend herself when it came to it. She wanted to cry and scream and fight, and he wouldn't even let her bloody speak without choking her for it.

The soreness in her shoulder warned her that she might have popped it from its socket. She'd done that before, once, and it had taken some work and help to get back in. Leverage. He'd never help her with it — it'd mean loosening her chains. What would happen if it stayed out, bouncing on that damned horse?

She'd told him they'd have to fight. She'd told him to go back through King's Landing. She'd told him to free her. And they were still all dancing to a fool's song anyway because of a damned title. ]

You're as mad as they say. [ Mad Lord Ren cut down his own house. Mad Ren, the King's attack dog. ]

[Her response, which should incite anger, does the opposite. He offers her the briefest flicker of a smirk, reaching up to wipe the blood from his cheek and between two of his fingers.]

Is that what they say?

[His head tilts, as if he's expecting an actual response from her. Oh yes -- he was quite mad indeed. He hadn't always been that way, of course...not that anyone alive in Westeros would be able to confirm that. For all his mother tried, she'd been told she was mad with grief, that it wasn't her fault, that some men were just born that way.

A curse from the Seven. Sometimes it was good to hear, that people accepted the symbol he'd made for himself. There was no room for regret that way.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject