munebox | The Valonqar

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."

She liked it better when she was the law. Still, she did not count on being captured. Preparing for defeat was only a modest leap from defeat itself.

"So how do you propose we sneak through the North? The road we're on kinda already looks like the road less travelled."

"We shall first head to the Inn of the Kneeling Man. Not only is the brew reportedly good, hopefully much better than Lord Brewmore's, but it will be an excellent place to gather news. From there, we will travel to White Harbour. With a little gold, we might buy our passage to Eastwatch at the Wall."

Lord manderly was a fat man that Tyrion knew of by reputation only. His companions would be able to get on the ship with ease. It was him, the dwarf, that was going to be more difficult to avoid suspicious eyes.

"God, do you even know what you'd do if you didn't have the money to fall back on?"

All of his problems seemed to be solved with gold.

Edited 2013-12-12 13:59 (UTC)

For the moment, Tyrion considered correcting her. He preferred to use his wits, when he could. His name was as valuable as gold. But he doubted she would care to hear it. She would be as impressed with it as his own brother would be. They were both warriors, who saw the world only from the tip of a blade.

"I tried hitting my problems once. I'm afraid it did not work as well for me as it does you."

"You just gotta know where to hit them."

"I prefer to hit them in the empty recesses of their coinpurses, where men both high and low are always the most vulnerable. You would be wise to do the same, given your reluctance to ever finish your job once you've begun hitting somebody."

Edited 2013-12-12 14:13 (UTC)

Fine. Time to say it: "I don't kill humans. I'm not a killer. I'll end just about anything else that needs ending -- barring adorable puppies. But my law isn't the law that governs regular people. I won't interfere there."

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