munebox | The Valonqar

"Y-yes, my la-- I mean, yes..." Podrick looked positively lost as he tried to work out how to address her without being improper. "... Buffy."

Tyrion never looked away. If she hoped to make him guilty, it did not work. He watched over the top of his goblet. When the hair was gone, he only nodded. She should have gone shorter, but this would work just as well.

"You will need a new name. There are few who know of my wedding to Buffy Summers, but word will spread in time. I would suggest a common name, such as Jon."

"No. Not Jon."

It was common enough, but she didn't want common. If she was shedding so much of her identity, then she needed to be someone worth being. Her blonde waves were in heaps upon the floor and her certitude was plummeting. She needed a name that could double as armour against the degradation of self that was soon to follow. She needed a name that would shore her up: "Xander."

It had better suffice, she thought. Because William was more common still, but wasn't half so empowering.

"I've never heard of anyone named Xander," Tyrion said in annoyance. The name sounded too similar to Sandor, in any case. He'd never cared much for the Hound. Especially after abandoning him at Blackwater to turn craven. "Surely something else will do. You seem stubborn enough. Perhaps Ned would do for you."

"...Ned."

It sounded like a janitor's name. Or maybe the old man who lived down the street, wearing plaid vests. But Tyrion didn't make it sound so bad.

"It belonged to a good man. Far better than me, though not terribly clever. A bit like you, really."

"Aha," she said with very little genuine delight. Her tone was so dry and cut with sarcasm. "So you do think I'm good. Guess the day wasn't a total loss.

Ned'll do. I'm Ned. Rhymes with bread."

Or bled or dead or foolishly wed. Maybe even with misled.

"Only fools speak in rhymes, young Ned. Podrick, see that you find the young lad some appropriate clothes. Your young friend should look his part if we're to submit ourselves to the Night's Watch."

He'd never take the oath. But it would be enough of a pretense to get them there. Now only I shall stand out. How will I manage to ever not seem out of place?

Fools and poets. 'Ned' raked fingers through her shorn hair, and marvelled at how light a head could feel when all its spare parts were cast off onto the floor. Only now did she notice that the breezes, which invaded from the inn's poorly constructed walls, were cold on the back of her neck. The skin on her arms turned to gooseflesh. What would the folks back home say about this? Buffy Anne Summers, cross-dressing. It felt like a betrayal, although she knew it shouldn't do. Because she had read the diaries and she'd learned just how many Slayers had been forced into breeches just to pursue their profession. And others, she thought, were burned at the stake for their cause.

"Thanks," she spoke gently to Podrick when he provided her with spares. They were nicer than what the boy already wore, and she suspected he'd foolishly given her the Westerosi equivalent of his Sunday Best. Sweet boy.

Buffy didn't rush to change. The room was small, with little cover. And the three needed one same page to be on, if they were going to pull this off. "Question the first: what's the Night's Watch?"

Tyrion looked to Podrick. "You're a smart boy. Do tell young Ned all about the Watch."

The more he was called on, the more comfortable Podrick felt at answering things. Which was entirely the point. There was only a split moment of wide-eyed surprise before he took to it.

"They're guardians of the realm, my-- erm. Ned. They serve at the Wall, at the northern most part of Westeros. They're recruited from commoners and lords alike. Mostly criminals, though. Thieves and murderers, rapists and the like. If they're found guilty of crime, sometimes they'll be allowed to take the black and live out the rest of their days as a member of the Watch. Once you take your vows, it's a duty for life. You can have no wives or lovers, your rank and name means nothing, and all men are equal. The Watch is an ancient order, older than most of the noble houses, even."

Tyrion nodded at the description. "They're my kind of people. I considered the Watch myself, but alas, all the whores in the land would have wept to lose me."

It didn't sound like the sort of beast whose belly into which she should enter. But complex prepositional phrases aside, she wondered which virtues could be put to use. Desperation might have driven men to the Watch, but even desperate men wanted a good cause. The were probably proud of their work.

"Duty for life, huh?" They just might be her kind of people, as well. Barring all the parts about thieves and rapists. That was less enticing. "Seems like you've sampled a couple of different career options." Buffy patted her side. "Where did you learn the doctoring?"

"I have a terrible fondness of books. As a child, I learned much from my maester. Valyrian, for instance. From his books, I learned a great deal more."

He tried to feel proud of that fact, but the truth was, his work was sloppy. A true maester would scoff to see his work and then set themselves down to work it all over again. But Tyrion had made do. It was the best he could do, all things considered.

"You'd make a great Watcher." Hmm. "Or, considering the potential for sexual harassment cases? A really really bad one."

"As I said. The Watch is not for me."

"Watcher. Bookish, brain-having types, all whose main purposes seem to be glaring at me in frustration. Of course, most of them are dead now...

Coincidentally. I mean -- I didn't kill them."

I don't kill.

"A group of learned men all for the purpose of watching you? Either you're more interesting than I give you credit for or your world is remarkably dull."

"They're the dull ones, usually. And they don't all watch at once. It's..."

She hadn't yet spoken the word to him. Slayer. And this topic was coming dangerously close to requiring it. "I had one. One Watcher. At a time, at least. Kinda like you and Pod, here. You wouldn't have two of him at once, right...? Except for now you've got me and--"

She trailed off with a shrug. Hey, at least Podrick got the nickname treatment.

Naturally, Tyrion drew only one conclusion from all this. "You were a squire?"

"...Wrong way around."

It wasn't intended that a Watcher should serve at the pleasure of a Slayer, but Giles had been an uncommonly supportive sort. She could not have asked for anyone better, and she missed him. He would know how to handle a man like Tyrion. "Doesn't matter, now. The point is that I meant it as a compliment. Every solid gang needs someone who can stomach the researchy bits."

"Are you attempting to try and make me feel more valuable? Rest assured, Ned, I am already well convinced I am the most valuable member of our little company here. You need not look for ways to make me feel needed."

I don't need your pity, Lady Summers. Nor your friendship.

Wow. Cold, much? Her brows raised and she dropped any pretension of doing the right thing. Some people are asses, she had to remind herself. Buffy offered him a sassy and dismissive wave of her hand, noting that it was a touch too effeminate and she would have to work on that. For now, she stood up.

"Whatever. I give up. Gimme a fifteen minute cat-nap and I'll be good to go. I figure I deserve a bit of bed-time since from here on in it's gonna be me and Pod in the stables. Right?"

Maybe she just wanted to set the squire off-balance with that one.

Edited 2013-12-12 03:47 (UTC)

Blood rushed to the poor lad's cheek and he seemed terribly panicked. "Us? Together? B-but... my lord, surely she won't be--"

Tyrion raised a hand to keep the poor squire's head from exploding. "Take the bed. We'll be staying the night. Until I've seen your injury heal, I'll not have you riding about on it. More importantly, all the sleep I've had was entirely against my will. I should like to sleep a bit more peacefully before we continue to our doom."

Oh, Podrick. He was like Jonathan: sweet, but ultimately the sort of person who could be led. Wasn't that how he'd gotten mucked up with Warren? Buffy only hoped an association with Tyrion wouldn't see this boy killed. Or worse, an association with her. But it was a comfort to know she could fluster him in ways she couldn't fluster Tyrion.

"I hope you don't find it ungentlemanly if I ask you to take the chair this time, my lord." Unfortunately, flippancy was all she could muster to meet his honest concern. It didn't help that she didn't fret over her wound the way he seemed to.

Tyrion graced her with a sarcastic smile and wondered why it was he decided to save her. But he took a chair, uncomfortable as it was, and sat by the window. With the two hired swords outside his door, he felt no shame in eventually drifting to sleep. As evening came, they had their supper brought up to them, though it was hardly a happy affair. Night came and went and when Tyrion was at last convinced his lady wife was healing more than adequately, they took to the road again.

Five horses left the small village, newly provisioned and with a northerly destination. Tyrion had taken time the previous evening to plot out the safest course for them on the map.

"The real trouble shall be passing through the North. My nephew cut the head off of their liege a year ago and there has been war ever since. Their boy king was recently killed and though the Lannisters were not involved directly, we certainly benefited from his loss. Should they discover who we are, they would take great joy in visiting vengeance upon us."

She had the dream, again. The one she'd been avoiding: a word written in blood on snow, and a forest that seemed cloaked in incense. Incense, of all things. Heavy and fragrant, it left her head muddled when she woke. Even after they'd saddled up and left town, Buffy was still feeling out of sorts. She should never have given in to the temptation of sleep. But at least her side had closed over, however red and tender it still seemed to be. It was now hidden under Podrick's borrowed clothing.

The Slayer could already tell that the mercenaries were not fooled. And why would they be? A woman had walked into the room; they expected a woman to walk out. But Tyrion's promise of riches must have been a believable one, because they didn't say a word to her.

One hand sat against the saddle's pommel, while the other tried clumsily to tug at the reins and pull her horse nearer to Tyrion's. "Upon you, you mean."

"The Paynes are sworn bannermen of House Lannister. You, too, are a part of House Lannister as well."

For the moment, only as a vassal. But if they were captured and she was discovered to be a woman, it would soon become apparently she was Lady Buffy Summers- no, Lady Buffy Lannister.

"There is a simple kind of justice in this world, Ned. It is large, blind, and destroys more than just its target."

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