The Lion's Den [Closed]

[Lucyfer]

Tywin had been kinder.


It was a queer thought to come to mind, but it did as Aemilia was forced to ride with another. Had her hands simply been tied in front again, as they had been shackled, she would have been able to manage on her own. Unfortunately, they were behind her, and the binding around her arms kept them there. That meant someone was riding behind her.


Being a woman in such a circumstance was nothing to be happy about. Her fate wasn’t Osbert’s or the other squires’, for the one behind her kept a tight grip on her that occasionally turned to a grope.


Aemilia nearly bit her tongue off. She knew her face was as red as her hair with anger. Likely, this was all that would come of it, with Willem along, but it was a risk she was very much opposed to taking. ‘Rope isn’t quite as easy to get out of as metal, but….’ Her fingers made sure to feel what she could of the bindings, and unfortunately brushed along the man’s leg now and then, which he seemed to take as a sign for an untoward comment in her ear. ‘If I ever get your name, I swear to the Stranger.’ She was thinking of that aspect far too much.


When the sun threatened to set, they came to a stop. Osbert was thrown, and even the man carrying her along came to a quick halt on order to wrap his hand tightly around her upper chest. Aemilia sucked in a breath, and the man said, “Don’t worry, I got ya,” before settling his animal and dismounting, then helping her down from the saddle by ensuring she lost her balance and fell into him.


A thousand curses were on her tongue, but she ate them with a smile and let herself be led over to a tree. Willem was placed near her, looking as angry as she felt. He was almost the spitting image of a hissing cat.


She shut her eyes for a few seconds and exhaled a deep breath. She heard the steps of another and opened her eyes just as Osbert was brought to them.


She hadn’t expected him to inquire after her, since the others seemed caught up in their own personal rage or depression. She had not been kind to this one, yet he asked after her and not Willem. “I have been worse,” she answered him, and straightened up a bit against the tree. The wood was good enough to scrape the bindings, but she had another idea. She couldn’t pull off her own, but her fingers were loose enough.


With herself facing the camp, and Osbert in profile to it, she shifted herself and reached back to find his arm. “How are you doing, Hogarth?” Two fingers would find the sleeve of his arm, and she’d tug. Hopefully he would get the hint to move himself a bit closer, so she could try and undo his bindings.


Right now, the Boltons looked like they were distracted with meal preparations. With luck, most of them would sleep.

 

[Scriven]

Osbert would have been surprised to find out that she really had been worse, but he chalked her words up to just putting on a brave face. If she was terrified she didn’t show it. She did look angry though.


Angry, just like Willem, who was bristling with Lannister indignation. Willem was in a dangerous situation, thought Osbert. More dangerous than the others because he was so much more important than the rest of them. He was nephew to the Hand and cousin of King Joffrey. His fate could either be saved by his good birth, or sealed by it.


Feeling a touch at his sleeve, Osbert turned his head to look over at Amaia. His eyes met hers for a moment, understanding passing between them.


“How are you doing, Hogarth?” she asked.


Looking away from her once more, Osbert shifted a little closer, making it look like he was trying to get more comfortable. He didn’t try to move too much though; better to wait till it was dark, he thought.


“You can call me Oz, if you want,” he told her, letting his fingers reach a little closer to her. He brushed her hand to let him know he was close now, then let his arms shift back down into an unassuming position that wouldn’t warrant any attention from their captors. “And I’m alright. Made a friend on the ride here,” he told her with an ironic smile. “Maybe Lord Bolton needs another man in the fields or a hand in his kitchen. Just hoping I can get myself out of these ropes soon. Maybe since you were being held prisoner by Lord Tywin they’ll untie you once we reach Lord Bolton.”

 

[Lucyfer]

“Oz,” Aemilia repeated, tone amused at the familiarity already established. “Then you can call me Ami.” She always preferred it. It was the one way she had of reinforcing who she was—Ami, short for Aemilia more than it was short for Amaia.


His fingers brushed her hand, and she reached out again and took hold of the rope. Fingers curled under the binding, and she used that to adapt her position, straightening and leaning back, making it look as if she were trying to get comfortable against something so rough.


She saw the smile out of the corner of her eye, and turned her head so she could better see him. ‘Neither of us really care for the Lannisters, do we?’ Well, Aemilia felt a need to preserve the lives of Tywin’s children because of her own sense of misguided justice, her own need not to stoop so low as the Lannister patriarch—that, and the kindness of the brothers.


Hogarth would likely be surprised by her lack of loyalty, despite her words and the way he played on them. “Perhaps,” she said, fingers getting a sense of how the knot was tied by playing over it, putting an image into her head. “I’m not so confident as you. My luck hasn’t been that good lately,” with her own ironic smile, she said, “I was sent to Casterly because of how I saved Lord Tywin’s life.”


Willem glanced her way at that. He hadn’t been paying attention until he heard the key words, Casterly and Tywin. He strung the rest of it together, “What do you mean?” he inquired.


Aemilia just shook her head, indicating she wasn’t going to explain here. Her fingers had finally gotten a sense of the knot, and she started to make slow pulls at it, beginning to undo it while ensuring the Bolton bannermen weren’t watching. If ever one looked their way, her hand would fall to its rightful place behind her back, and her posture would slump ever so slightly away from Osbert.

 

[Scriven]

Sitting still, Osbert made a concerted effort to look as if he wasn’t secretly focusing his attention on the feeling of Ami working diligently at the knots in the ropes that bound his wrists together behind his back. It seemed to be slow going, as the knots were firmly tied and she couldn’t see what she was doing. Oz could feel her hands brush against his, her nails lightly grazing him a few times. Still, even if she nicked him bloody with her nails in her effort to untie him, he wouldn’t mind.


“I’m not so confident as you. My luck hasn’t been that good lately,” she told him. Oz cocked his head sideways to look at her over his shoulder. “I was sent to Casterly because of how I saved Lord Tywin’s life.”


“What do you mean?” Willem asked, voicing the question before Osbert could. Ami didn’t answer though, shaking her head. Oz frowned at that, his curiosity piqued. Her cryptic response- or rather, lack thereof- felt cruel for someone as curious as him.


“Well, make sure you tell them how much you hate Lord Tywin,” he murmured under his breath with a smirk, quiet enough that Willem wouldn’t hear. “Couldn’t hurt, right? If I were you I’d make up all sorts of things about how I’ve always detested him and how I’m so glad to be taken by the Boltons if it means getting away from the Lannisters.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia’s chuckle came from deep in her throat, but her lips never parted with the sound. ‘How I’ve always detested him?’ How easy it would be, how truthful it would be. 'I like you, Osbert.' He was of the Iron Isles, yet fought for the Lannisters, and would happily sell out to the Boltons. Hardly honorable, but understandable, and yet she liked him for the way he made her think of the truth, in a way that suggested it couldn't be the truth.


Yet she said, “I do not hate him,” because that lie was necessary. It was loud enough that Willem heard, though he hadn’t heard what caused the statement. “He is frustrating and inflexible, and I dislike that, but I do not hate him.”


Even so, she added, “I could think of some decent lies, though. Some talk of how my sister was killed in a questionable fashion. I could hold him responsible,” make the truth a lie. She saw the way Willem’s body reacted to that statement, and heard:


“Tywin wouldn’t. The Lannisters wouldn’t. Melara was—”


She cut him off, “I know, Willem,” she said it softly, “It’s an idea. All good lies have some truth to them. I could think of hundreds, though only a handful wouldn’t be absurd.” Though the strategy of absurdity could work.


After all, wasn’t it absurd to claim to be a Reyne, to claim to be marrying Tywin as a way to get close enough to kill him, to endure all of this, and take this long, to spare Tybalt any problems. Wasn’t it absurd…?


“Oh,” Willem managed, thinking it through and seeing the logic. Willem seemed to relax at that, then.


Finally, Aemilia felt the bonds start to loosen, and she was pulling at the strings. Greater lengths came into her fingers, and the work became easier, until she finally moved her hands away from Osbert, figuring he could pull the rest of the way out of the bonds when he felt it was safe enough to do so. She’d have to hope he’d return the favor and not leave her to rot, though. It’d be easy for the red-haired boy to do so. No one would come looking for him if he ran off. He was no one to the Boltons.


She might even go unnoticed, too, since they had Willem. ‘If we leave him….’ Might be necessary. Taking Willem would bring them back on their trail, she had no doubts about that. The only way to take Willem, too, would be to kill the Bolton party.

 

[Scriven]

“Hmph,” Osbert grunted, obvious disbelief on his face. He’d seen enough of these politically arranged marriages to know that they were rarely about love or affection. Ami’s father had sold her off to the Lannisters, and Tywin had paid for her because she offered something he wanted. Arrangements between those with something to offer were all about getting as much back in return. Lady Amaia could swear till she was blue in the face that she didn’t hate her possibly-future-husband, but Oz wouldn’t believe it. She’d been given to a man twice her age and he’d sent her to his home in shackles.


He could feel rope sliding now along his wrists. She’d gotten the knot untied! She didn’t untie it completely, but the ropes were slack now and would take no time at all to get his hands out of.


Around them tents were being erected, fires were being built, and the delicious aroma of meat roasting began to fill the air. None was offered to them. His stomach rumbled a little, but he’d had breakfast that morning. He could deal with something trivial like a hungry stomach. Could Willem and Ami, or was he about to start hearing their pitiful complaints?


One of Bolton’s men had taken a seat on the ground and was watching them. He pried off his boots, then started picking his teeth. His eyes were a lot more intently on Amaia than the others, though Osbert couldn’t really blame him for that. She was admittedly much nicer to look at than the rest of them.


It made it hard to untie her without drawing the man’s attention though. Oz craned his head a little, leaning back so that he was closer to Amaia. “I’m going to wait till it’s dark,” he told her. “Someone’s got his eye on you.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia cast Oz a sideways glance at his ‘hmph’, and managed not to smile. She could say more, she knew, say that hate was too strong a word, but it wasn’t. Perhaps it would sound truthful enough to everyone else, but that singular sound had told her Oz had made up his mind. Well, no matter.


The scent of meat caught in the air, and Aemilia heard Willem let out a moan, frustration and anger in the sound. He was hungry. His stomach gave it away quite loudly. He hadn’t been going without on their adventure to Casterly Rock. “Patience,” Ami said, “Lord Bolton will feed you.” She was hungry as well. They all were. If she didn’t get free, she likely wouldn’t eat till next dinner, if then. Weak hostages were malleable hostages.


Willem kicked his foot out at the dirt at that comment, apparently not liking that thought at all. Aemilia added nothing to it; she was pretty certain Roose would. Willem was an important piece to keep alive.


They were being watched more intently now that preparations had settled. Aemilia looked to the side, to the ground, as one set of eyes in particular settled on her. Her stomach didn’t turn for hunger, then, but a whole different reason. Oz noticed it. Her throat tightened on comments. That was the man she’d had to endure riding with. ‘Just go to sleep.’ Her wish for him. ‘Go to sleep alone.’


It was comforting that Oz was thinking of saving her, too. One favor for another. “Thank you,” she whispered so Willem wouldn’t hear. She was hoping that he, too, would sleep, just in case it was not possible to save him and the others. He’d likely scream if they tried to go without him.


An argument started back at the camp. The gist of it was simple—watch duty. It seemed the man who watched her, wanted first shift, but someone else desired it as well. The supposed leader was trying to settle it by offering her watcher second shift. Some whispered comment shut him up on the matter, and Ami wrinkled her nose in distaste at what she could only guess at.

 

[Scriven]

It made for a long evening, being watched so closely while simultaneously wondering at his fate. Ami had untied him, which surely meant she wanted the favor returned. But to what end? Could they really escape? And if they did, but then were caught, it would surely mean his death. Not hers though. She had noble blood and was a fairly valuable hostage if the Boltons played their cards right. But him? He was no one and he came from nothing. If he ran and was caught, odds were good he’d be killed for the trouble.


It was a gamble, one he’d had lots of time to think about while they sat there huddled together under the tree surrounded by Bolton’s men. Oz had no taste for these political intrigues. He’d been happy to be Ser Elric’s squire, but he’d always known it would end there. Elric had been a penniless hedge knight. If Oz ever became knighted, which was unlikely, he’d be a penniless hedge knight too. Some men were capable of building themselves up from nothing, but Oz didn’t know what the trick to it was. Maybe it was a combination of luck and opportunity, or maybe it took a sort of ruthlessness he didn’t have. In any case, he’d accepted his humble situation.


Maybe Bolton really would let him go or let him serve. No tears would be shed if he died, no coins would be spent to get him back. On the other hand, they were living in a malicious, violent age. He’d stopped being shocked (though he’d always be appalled) by the sight of dead men swinging from trees, their corpses mutilated and covered with insects that feasted on the gore. Men weren’t the only ones who suffered either. How many woman had he encountered that had been brutally raped? Or children, for that matter?


There was no guarantee of safety no matter what he did, but maybe if he helped Ami get away and they did somehow make it either back to the Lannister forces or to Casterly Rock, she’d remember him. Having a friend from House Hetherspoon, and who might soon be the wife of Lord Tywin, could come in handy.


It was getting late, the moon high in the sky, when Oz finally scooted a little closer to her and found her hands in the darkness. He ran his fingers over the knots, keeping his actions hidden from the man who watched them. It was dark, but the fire built nearby still illuminated them. Back to back with her, he began to tug and untangle the knotted rope binding Ami’s wrists. He got the knot loosened and worked it free, but left the rope wrapped around her wrists.


“That one looks like he’s falling asleep,” Oz murmured, turning his head so that only Amaia would hear.

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia would not sleep.


The red-headed woman had slept enough with this group not to be truly sleep deprived. She could stay up another night for her own life, even if there were no guarantees. Still she knew that Oz could run. Words meant little compared to actions. If he ran, she’d have to find a way out of the bonds, or conspire with Willem. That would likely end poorly, though, with one or both of them dead. ‘And if one….’ Well, it’d be her.


To end here, after all this time…first prisoner of Tywin, then prisoner of the Boltons…it wasn’t how she saw things ending. Not that the Stranger had ever listened to her prayers before, or Tywin would have dropped dead a long time ago. She didn’t expect the Stranger’s mercy now.


Aemilia bowed her head as others drifted to sleep. It was not to sleep, but to give the illusion of it. Her wrists twisted in the bonds, newly sore from the ropes, or perhaps the old sores from the shackles woke under the scratchy rope. She wished for shackles over rope, though. Easier, somehow, to get herself free. If she cut herself to bleeding on rope, would it be as easy?


Before she could consider finding out, hands found hers, and then found the rope. She did not look up, but her own struggles ceased to allow the hands room to work. Nails and rough fingers might bruise or cut flesh, but rather like Oz, Ami didn’t care right then. She just wanted the taste of freedom, damn the risks.


Once the ropes were loosened, she smiled. ‘No more a prisoner.’ She knew then, she could even run from Tywin, if she so pleased. ‘Not that I would get far.’ She wouldn’t fake her death twice.


As Oz mentioned that one looked to be falling asleep, Aemilia lifted her head and looked towards the sleeper. ‘Indeed.’ The fire burned low at his back. He’d taken to sitting, and she could see how his head bobbed as he fought sleep. She cast her blue eyes up towards the moon, and noticed the wisps of clouds. They would need the darkness of the covered moon.


Aemilia leaned back to whisper, “Wait until the light of the moon is gone, and he stops bobbing his head.” The other option was to throw a rock and hope he ran after the noise, but Aemilia would prefer him not to be alerted to noise.

 

[Scriven]

It was closer to dawn than dusk when Oz was finally sure that those around them were asleep. The camp was dark and quiet save for the muffled snoring and heavy breathing. Fires burned low, the ground a dark plane covered by dark mounds of sleeping figures huddled under their blankets. The man guarding them was breathing heavily. He remained sitting, but he had his back against a log for support and his chin rested on his chest. The others from their party were asleep too, turned onto their sides to sleep, their arms still behind their backs.


It had been a struggle not to fall asleep. Many times that night, as he’d listened to the cicadas crying in the trees and the peaceful hoot of a nearby owl, Oz had felt his eyes begin to droop, his head bobbing tiredly. He felt weary and drained, but he forced himself to stay awake. Once he got moving it would be better, but sitting there for hours was a challenge.


He turned his head to check that Ami was still awake and tapped her shoulder, putting a finger in front of his lips. He gestured with his hand toward the outskirts of camp and quietly stood, feeling a quiver of fear at the possibility of someone waking up and discovering them.

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia had hoped it would be much sooner when they left, but things did not work out to her favor. The first guard, however, didn’t tape awake the one she feared he would. At least one part of her night was looking up. The second one was vigilant. It was the third, the last, that was their saving grace. He was tired on waking, and seemed to take enough looks towards them to determine that they were all tired, too.


He fell asleep, but Aemilia didn’t quite lift her head up enough to make sure. It was Osbert who tapped her to alert her to the truth, and she jumped at the sudden contact. He had a finger to his lips. That action was convincing enough. The guard didn’t rise to yell at Oz or the fact he was untied.


Aemilia gave a single nod, and pulled her arms from the ropes completely, and took a glance at their comrades. Asleep. ‘Sorry, Willem.’ It wasn’t safe to bring him along, and Aemilia wasn’t honorable enough to try and make it that way. She might be able to kill everyone while they slept, but the risk was too high.


She stood slowly, and one hand gripped the skirts of her dress to lift it enough so she could move easily without the fear of tripping over the hem. She followed after Osbert, each step deliberate so it wouldn’t break a branch or cause too much noise on the escape. The darkness was already threatening to fade; dawn was right on the horizon.


Fortunately, not a soul awoke to stop them, though Aemilia did not speak for a while. She tried to get her bearings about where they were in the Westerlands. She knew they couldn’t be too far from Casterly Rock, since they had only ridden a day from when they were captured. ‘Two days away at most.’


Well, if they had horses. They no longer had horses, food, or anything like that. ‘But you still have jewelry.’ Aemilia felt her throat tighten on the idea, but her eyes glanced over the gold around her wrist. It would be enough for food and an inn, certainly. She’d done this before. Why not once more?


She whispered to Osbert, still too paranoid to speak loudly though the camp was out of sight, “Do you know the way to the nearest town?” For she did not.

 

[Scriven]

They were walking quietly through the dark woods. The trees overhead blocked out most of the moon and starlight, making it difficult to see. Though Osbert didn’t fear the dark, he didn’t like walking blindly through unfamiliar woods. He heard the hoot of owls and the howl of wild dogs, punctuated by the occasional loud crunch and crash as he stumbled through the dense undergrowth.


“Do you know the way to the nearest town?” Ami whispered quietly to him. Oz looked around, trying to get his bearings, but it was impossible in the forest. He couldn’t see the horizon or anything around them.


“No,” he told her apologetically. “But we should avoid towns for a while. Once the camp begins to wake up they’ll realize we’re missing and will be looking for us. It’ll be too easy for them to find us if we go into town.”


Ami was only a vague, black shadow in the darkness, but the small amount of light that filtered through the trees reflected from her eyes. “Maybe we should find a place to hide and sleep during the day, then travel again when it’s dark.

 

[Lucyfer]

Hide. “I do not think we’re in much danger. They’ll be more concerned about keeping Willem than finding us.”


She wasn’t as great a prize as Willem.


Sleep, though, “And I’m not sure I could sleep.” Aemilia knew she’d be proven a liar when they stopped. “We were near Casterly Rock when we were taken. We cannot be that far now.” She wished she knew the area better. The Vikary were positioned near Casterly Rock, and they would take her in and get her on her way.


Still, she couldn’t tell where they were. She could be moving them further from Casterly Rock. “Still, you may have a point about resting. I don’t know where we are, and you don’t, either,” she finally slowed her pace, “We could rest a little. When it gets light, midday, we might know which way to go.”


She paused, glanced around, then looked to Osbert, “Let’s find a place to wait till then, and perhaps sleep.” She still hoped she wouldn’t be proven a liar. It would be good to be awake if the Bolton’s came looking. “Okay?” It might not be okay, but she imagined they would figure it out then, either to part ways or to argue the point.

 

[Scriven]

Ami apparently felt much safer than he did. But then, if the Boltons found her she would not be harmed- she would just be back to where she started. If he was recaptured, he would likely be killed for the trouble.


“I’m not so sure,” he told her. “You’re betrothed to Tywin Lannister and the daughter of Tybolt Hetherspoon. His heir! They had enough men to send some off to look for us. If I was them, I’d come looking.”


He had helped her escape, but Oz wasn’t about to put himself in danger because a noblewoman wanted to sleep on a real bed and not on the ground under some brush.


“Besides... I don’t think Willem’s going to be hard for them to hold onto.” A warrior he was not. Willem was just a boy, all bark and no bite.


Ami relented, allowing that they could stop and rest for a while. Oz nodded, looking around them for an inconspicuous place where they could hide and sleep for a while. He was exhausted and knew that once they stopped walking and his panic and fear of being discovered died down a little, he’d be nodding off quite quickly.


“Over here,” he said, taking Ami’s hand and leading her toward a thicket of bushes that grew against the steep incline of a hill. They were blackberry bushes, though the plant was out of season and held no berries. The thicket was large though and would give them cover. Oz let go of her hand and slipped behind the bushes, matting down branches on the unexposed side to make room for them to sit. When he was done he reemerged, his freckled face scratched, and he held back the branches. “Go ahead. It’s a little tight, but...” he shrugged. They didn’t have a lot of options.

 

[Lucyfer]

‘I honestly wonder if that betrothal is going to last this war.’ Aemilia didn’t say that, of course. Osbert likely imagined it was going to be difficult for it to remain as it was. The heir part, though, that seemed more important. She took his point, the thought having slipped her mind.


She was considering her status as heir of Hetherspoon less and less, though Tybalt was not far from her thoughts. How much would he fuss when he heard what became of her? ‘If he hears.’ She wondered if he was still at King’s Landing, or home. She hoped, desperately, that he was home.


Oz took her hand, and she didn’t protest it. It was dark, and he was but a shadow to her. When she’d been younger, hiding was easier. She was smaller, and didn’t have half the concerns she had now—like being found. Now, she supposed, she was a bit more recognizable in the Westerlands. So she let Oz pick the place, and smiled in the darkness as he explained how it was, “It’ll be fine,” she moved by him, and sat with her knees pressed up against her chest, making herself as small as she could.


“Never thought I’d have to do this again,” she muttered, more to herself than Oz. It was meant to be more a thought, too. “Thank you, Oz,” she said, recalling he’d let her through first. She tried to make more room for him, so he would not be terribly uncomfortable. “I’ll let you sleep,” a promise to be quiet, so he could sleep, and neither of them would be found.


And, no doubt, so she would end up sleeping and not talking through the morning to stay awake.

 

[Scriven]

The branches of the bush were scratchy and uncomfortable, but they would be afforded good cover and a safe place to hide. Oz wriggled his way in after Amaia, squishing himself down into place rather ungracefully. He had the incline of the hill at his back, and for that it was grateful. It gave him a surface to lean against that wouldn’t poke at him mercilessly. They were a tight fit, two grown people trying to hide behind some blackberry bushes. It would have been comical if their situation wasn’t so dire. Everywhere they turned there seemed to be enemies.


“Never thought I’d have to do this again,” Ami murmured beside him, more to herself than to him. Oz cocked his head curiously, which caused a twig to almost poke into his ear. He pushed it away, kicking his legs out a little to try and create a little more room. That was better, he thought, refolding his legs into a more comfortable position. He could feel the soft pressure of her leg against his. Oz found himself smiling slightly in the darkness, amused. If he had spent all day on it, he couldn't have concocted a better way to get close to the beautiful woman. It hadn't been his goal though. If Amaia had been poor and common like him, she still would have been out of reach for someone like him. The fact was, she wasn't poor or common. She had the wealth of a noble house of the Westerlands and her father was a lord. Her betrothed, Lord Tywin, was arguably one of the most powerful men in all of Westeros. Oz would let himself enjoy Ami's presence, but he knew better than to become accustomed to it.


“Never thought you’d do what again?” he inquired quietly. “Have you escaped enemy clutches before?” His tone was teasing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Or were you just fond of hiding in uncomfortable places as a child?”

 

[Lucyfer]

Darkness served Ami well. In the darkness of the shadows provided by the bush, Oz would never see the side-eyed look she shot him at his teasing question. He’d never know how very little she appreciated that teasing, or how tightly she clenched her jaw in that instant. It was her own fault for speaking, of course.


Aemilia Reyne was never allowed a moment’s weakness, not even tired, dirty, and starved. Yes, she had learned that lesson years and years ago, and she was not inclined to forget the child she had never gotten to be.


And so, she could not afford to be unkind. It was her error. “Robert’s Rebellion,” she told him, “was not as fun as the bard’s make it out,” she let her tone be light, so as not to sound chastising. Her smile was wane, tired, and likely unseen.


That statement ought to answer Osbert's question well enough. “I’m not sure why I expected this war to be any different,” and she let her head rest on her folded arms, turned to the side so she could look at him in the dark. “What’s your story, Oz?” She redirected, “How did a man of iron end up here?”


He should clearly be fighting for the Greyjoy claims. Not that they’d win, of course. The Seven knew Aemilia wished they’d lose, though her hate of them was not as fierce as it was of Tywin. Not worth her time, nor her concern. House Drumm had done the Reynes an insult a long time ago. It was hardly personal. She only knew of it from Reynard, not Roger. Reynard had been the true knight among them, and vented the loss of the Red Rain sword when he'd had too much to drink, and was too stressed over the games Ellyn and Roger played.

 

[Scriven]

What happened, he was about to ask, but Amaia's strained, tired, quiet voice continued just as his lips parted to voice the question.


“What’s your story, Oz? How did a man of iron end up here?”


"A man of iron," he repeated back, chuckling quietly. "Not quite." He took a breath, leaning further back and letting his head rest back against the cratered, rocky hill that rose behind them. It was far from comfortable, but gods he was tired. Bone weary, in fact, though he wasn't so certain now as he had been earlier that sleep would easily find him. "The Iron Isles have supported the Iron Throne almost my entire life. I wasn't anywhere near my birthplace when Lord Balon declared independence." He scratched his cheek. "Not a war I think he'll win, to be honest. In any case, my loyalty was to Ser Elric, and his allegiance was to Robert Baratheon, then King Joffrey."


Oz was quiet for a moment, overcome by anger and loss at the death of the man he had long been a companion of. "Where we're born doesn't always dictate who we believe in," he said quietly once he'd suppressed the grief that rose inside of him. Grief was a luxury he would have to save for another time. Ser Elric would understand.

 

[Lucyfer]

Already, Aemilia could feel the exhaustion seeping into her. She had not been half as worried as Osbert in the first place, when they escaped. It was easy to feel tired. The ache at her wrists was warming against her cheek as she listened to his short story, “He must have been a good man.”


Her introduction to, and interactions with, Ser Elric had not been on the best of terms. He had let her out of the shackles after a day, but she could not say she liked him. At least, she could not say she disliked him, either, except for his loyalty to Tywin. He did not seem like the Mountain, though. He wasn’t one of Tywin’s rabid dogs. “I am sorry.” Even if she had been in a position to help, Aemilia did not think she could have saved Elric from his wound.


Her eyes closed, and she told herself it would just be for a few seconds. She wasn't fighting sleep as hard as she'd like to.


Murmured words, “You’ll have to tell me about him,” she began, “when we start to travel again.” Stories and songs were meant for travel. She’d take stories over the usual songs of the Westerlands, a hundred of Oz’s stories for her peace of mind. “The good things,” for his memory’s sake, and so Oz did not grieve too deeply on the way to Casterly Rock.


Only, ever, the good.

 

[Scriven]

Her words seemed to brook no further conversation. A tactful 'Now shut up and get some sleep,' Oz thought, opening his eyes to glance at Ami, but only for a second. He grumbled something that sounded like "okay" and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to get comfortable and to ignore the permeating fear of being discovered.


He didn't remember when it happened, but at some point he must have fallen asleep. When he awoke it was midday, the sun bright and the sky a vibrant blue. There was a crick in his neck that he tried to alleviate by rolling his head forward, then back and forth. It also felt like a rock was lodged under him, poking his arse through his trousers. Oz shifted and... yup. There was the rock. He tossed it away, then listened to the forest.


It was quiet. There was little wind and the animals were being still. He strained to hear horses or the crackle of leaves under someone's boots, but there was nothing. His stomach growled, but his need for water and to empty his bladder was greater than his need for food. Pulling one leg up, Oz pushed his body off the ground, one cheek grazing the branches of the bush as he stood. He wriggled his way out, stumbling over a root. "I'll be right back," he told Ami. There were some things he just wouldn't do in front of a lady, no matter their situation. Taking a piss was one of them.


When he returned, one need was taken care of, but the others remained. "We probably need to leave the forest so we can make sense of where we are," he stated, wariness in his voice. Two redheads traveling across open land, no cover, no horses. They would be an easy target if Roose Bolton sent scouts. "Finding a stream or river would be good too."

 

[Lucyfer]

Sleep came, deep and dreamless. Aemilia was as still as water on a windless day, which made for a sore awakening when consciousness returned in what felt like seconds. Aemilia did not feel rested at all as Osbert’s shadow fell on her, and she opened her eyes to look up at him. She was sore, and hissed out a breath as she stretched her legs out in front of her. They’d remained bent to her chest the whole time.


Her neck ached, too, as she arched it and looked towards the sky, hearing Osbert’s dismissal of himself. “Mm.” He had a good idea. Aemilia may have been dehydrated, but what water she’d had in her system had still managed to turn itself into waste, and she forced herself to rise to tend to her own business, leaving the area and returning before Oz did. Her dress was wonderfully ripped when she returned to the bush, branches grasping it and pulling it apart.


As her fingers pulled through her red hair, she felt plenty enough leaves and a few twigs.


Osbert’s idea was to leave the forest. Aemilia had no argument. Awake, and in daylight, the area around her made no more sense than it had before. “A body of water should help with discerning where we are.” Aemilia consented in a whisper.


A road would be more useful, but roads were potentially unsafe. Who knew how deep Bolton’s forces were, or others of the North? “We ought to pretend to be siblings until we’re safe,” she suggested, the fact they both had red hair not lost on her.


It wouldn’t be the first time Aemilia lied about who she was, and she motioned for Osbert to follow her as she started to walk, directionless but certain movement was better than none, in their attempt to find a body of water or some other signal as to their location. “You were going to tell me about Ser Elric, though?” She continued speaking in a whisper. She hadn’t forgotten. Sure, he hadn’t agreed, but she hoped he would talk all the same.