When night came, Esen returned to the small room she was sharing with several other whores. One or two were sure to be
busy, but it did not apply to Ruwena or Esen. Once the lights burned down to mere embers, they crawled onto the thin mattresses, near back-to-back for lack of space. Ruwena was to the right of her, while another girl took the spot left of her, a curvy blonde called Alana. It didn’t take long for the blonde to fall asleep, but the same could not be said for Esen.
After a long stretch of nothing but breathing and the occasional mumbled word, Ruwena’s voice reached her through the dark. “Can’t sleep?” the girl whispered, her curls spilling over a shoulder.
“Mm,” she mumbled in response, turning her gaze from the ceiling to her fellow bedmate. “Still not used to the surroundings, I suppose.” In truth, she was reviewing her mission, replaying her orders as obsessively as ever, but that was not something that could be told to the kindly girl.
“How about a lullaby?” Ruwena suggested.
“A lullaby?” she repeated the word as if it was a foreign concept.
“Yes, silly. Tell me your favorite one, I’ll sing it to you. I know quite a few, if I say so myself. I was a fussy babe, once!”
A moment of silence ensued. “…I don’t know any,” Esen admitted haltingly, feeling a hint of awkwardness. Never before had she had a reason to consider that fact.
“Oh,” Ruwena uttered quickly, sounding a bit taken aback by her unexpected answer. It didn’t take long for the cheery girl to find her composure, however, as she let out a huff and continued most decisively. “Well then, I’ll sing you my favorite. You’ll drop to sleep like a duckling.”
Seeing that there would be no use in protesting, she allowed the other woman to sing quietly. She had a gentle voice, Esen thought to herself as Ruwena warbled a song about meadows and sheep. She closed her eyes, searching her memory for some distant long forgotten past instance of a lullaby, but nothing came except for the ever-familiar sound of the canals.
Ruwena seamlessly transitioned into another tune, more formal than its predecessor, her voice growing even softer. Perhaps she was singing herself to sleep as well.
“…Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through the fray..” Esen vaguely recognized the song as a hymn that had often been on lips back in Braavos. There were septs for those who followed the Faith—Braavos was as diverse as its people.
“Soothe the wrath and tame the fury…teach us all…a kinder way…” The words grew slower and quieter until they gave way to soft, deep breathing.
The young assassin opened her eyes, watching the thin blankets rise and fall next to her. Sleep never came easy, for her profession made her well aware of what could be out there in the depths of night. She was in enemy territory, and her guard was raised sky-high. Others had attempted her mission. Some had died. Some had failed. She had no intention of falling into either category.
A tool that failed to complete what it was made for was a useless thing, headed rapidly to the fire.
Early next morning, she was woken when slumbering Alana promptly slung her plump forearm straight into her face. Lovely.
It was still quite early when Ruwena was called away by Baelish himself, who demanded that she dress herself properly (in which ‘properly’ meant as ‘improperly as possible’), and within minutes had spirited her away without much explanation. This sent many of the other girls into gossiping about the Usurper again, all of which she paid careful attention to.
Patience, she told herself. Her time was sure to come. However, the little semblance of impatience turned to an overhanging of uneasiness when it was midday and Ruwena had yet to return. The Usurper loved whoring, but she had been told how bloodthirsty he was. Why, he had taken pleasure in the slaughter of the royal children during the Sack, who had been mere babes! It would not be shocking for such a heartless monster to take to killing his whores as well.
However, she couldn’t allow any emotions to get in the way of her objective, and she exited the shared room, exploring the Red Keep on her own. It was a bit riskier than moving with a companion, for it would be easier for someone to mark her as suspicious. To remedy this, she took the pretense of being lost for most of her walk, flirtatiously asking a guard here and there innocent-sounding questions about where she could find this place or that hall. The results were fruitful, and her mental map expanded, with routes of escape and secluded areas marked definitively.
It was near nighttime that she returned to the room—but Ruwena’s presence was missing. Just as she felt a frown coming forth, she heard the voice of the very woman she was in search of. “Oh Nasira! Nasira!” She jerked to attention as Ruwena bounded into the room, curls bouncing madly with her steps—but it was not distress that twisted her features, just excitement.
“Ruwena!” she gasped as the other woman snatched her up into a near crushing embrace. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“Oh, Nasira, it’s the most wonderful thing! It’s like my dreams have been answered,” Ruwena released her, and Esen noted that the clothes she wore were different from the dress she had worn in the morning. It was modest and of good quality, and the pale green suited the girl’s fair complexion and eyes. “I’m to be a handmaiden! To the daughter of the Hand of the Realm himself! I can’t believe it.” She gushed, “No more lifting skirts, I,” her words faltered as big tears gathered in her shining eyes. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just…”
The dark haired girl felt her lips spread into a smile as she laughed, giving the apologetic woman an embrace of her own. “I’m so happy for you.” Something stirred within her that she couldn’t quite label—an unfamiliar warmth. Pleasant. “Dry your eyes, you big child,” she teased gently, as Ruwena laughed through her tears.
“And the Lady Stark is so kind,” the girl exclaimed near-dreamily. “She’s a lovely young girl, and not at all haughty or harsh. And I’m to be called a lady—can you imagine that? A lady. Lady Ruwena. By the Mother, I never thought I’d be a lady.”
“Then what are you doing back here?” Esen asked humorously. “Shouldn’t you be tending to your mistress and doing all sorts of lady-like things, Lady Ruwena?” That earned another laugh from the former whore.
“To tell you, of course! You didn’t think I’d disappear without telling you, did you?” she responded, giving Esen’s side a little pinch.
“No, of course not.” She smiled, caught up in the buoyant girl’s excitement. She opened her mouth to inquire how such a turn of events had come to be, but she was interrupted by the loud clearing of a throat. The two young women spun around to sight Littlefinger in the doorway once more. He openly ignored Ruwena, who was staring at the floor, and pointed to Esen.
“You. Fix yourself up, and wear something special, you’ve been summoned.” That was all before he disappeared back into the hallway, leaving the two abruptly surprised.
“Your turn at last,” Ruwena commented, sounding a bit saddened. The new handmaiden was wishing that her friend would be granted the same kindness she had been, but did not dare say so in case it was not to be.
“My turn at last,” the assassin echoed, though there was nothing but tightly wound excitement in her chest.
Finally! her blood sang joyfully.
Finally! She busied herself with dressing in layers of translucent silks, red in color and outlandish in style to accentuate her more foreign features. Ruwena assisted her with her hair and dabbing pleasant fragrances along her neck. In her hair she fixed a hairpin, pretty enough outwardly but hiding a weapon when maneuvered correctly. Esen needed no weapon to kill, but no assassin was foolish enough to embark on their mission without various plans of action. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and turned to Ruwena. “Do I look
pleasing?” she asked with a wry smile.
“You look beautiful,” Ruwena corrected cheerily.
It was rather strange for Esen to be told so by another girl, and for the first time she felt a bit shy. Many a man had told her she was beautiful, none of which meant anything to her at all, really. They said many things, all of which turned to dust in the wind. She donned a more modest robe on top to obscure her clothes—no need to stick out in the corridors. Looking at the curly haired girl, Esen became aware of the fact that she would not see her anymore once the assassination was complete. She simply gave Ruwena an encouraging smile as she turned to the door. There was little that could be said.
When she exited into the hallway, Petyr Baelish looked her up and down before loosening the robe to approve of what she wore underneath. “Come along then,” he said briskly, leading the way through the darkened palace. He knew the corridors like the back of his hand, not being a stranger to traversing them in the middle of the night. He was silent during the journey, but once the intended door was in sight, he began to speak of her task. “You are another gift from Queen Cersei to her
beloved son, Prince Lyan,” he then continued with a hint of annoyance in his smooth voice, “He’s turned them all away.” He turned to her with his sharp little smile, which meant nothing good, in her brief experience. “Well, five is a nice round number.”
Realizing that she would be sent to the wrong bed, Esen stopped short, feeling as if the blood had suddenly frozen in her veins. “I believed I was to be attending to his Majesty the King,” she stated, maintaining a vague façade even as her brain worked madly to fix what had gone awry. No, no, this was all wrong—this could not be!
“And I believed whores didn’t have a choice when it came to spreading their legs,” Baelish returned without a pause, his tone casual though his grey-green eyes were biting. When she still did not move, only returning his gaze defiantly, he grasped her forearm and yanked her closer. “You’ll go in there, and you’ll do what you’re best at,” he hissed, somehow still sounding affable. Impatiently, he brusquely tugged the robe off of her as he continued. “He’ll have you, and by the Seven if you come out of that room untouched and with the ability to walk at all, you won’t have to mourn about which title you’re fucking, because you’ll be too far away to even hear such titles.” It was a marvel indeed how Littlefinger managed to get that out of his mouth while still sounding so pleasant, but it was a feat he did not flinch at. “Understood?” he inquired, but at a lack of the girl’s response he repeated himself more forcefully.
“Understood, m’lord,” she retorted, her words dripping with sickly sweetness that mirrored his pleasant threats. It was not appreciated by Baelish, but he returned to his task at hand, knocking on the heavy wooden door.
At a word of affirmation, he opened the door and led her in, finding the form of the prince. “Your Grace, another gift,” his introduction was a bit short, seeing that this was the second time he had charged with this ridiculously frustrating task in a day. “Your mother expresses her deep hurt that you seem to regift her expression of love to others.” The words were as sharp as they were manipulative—Baelish knew his victims well.
“This is—” he trailed off, realizing that he had not learned the girl’s name in his annoyance.
“Nasira.” she supplied coolly, not feeling particularly helpful at the moment.
“Indeed.” He said shortly. He did not linger long, having been irked by both prince and girl, but not before sending her a meaningful glare. The door closed a bit loudly behind him as he left, but Esen was no longer focused on Littlefinger.
However, the raven haired girl knew the nature of Littlefinger’s threat—she would be sent away from the Red Keep if she did not do what he wished of her. That raised a large mountain of problems for her, because that would mean she would fail the sole mission she had been given. The mere thought of failure sent her head spinning, nearing on an identity crisis; she had been crafted for one task, and failing meant she was useless.
Despite the turmoil raging in her head, she glanced up at the prince. With a head full of unruly curls and high cheekbones, she could spot physical resemblance to the king and queen. Besides that, she did not give herself or the young man in front of her time to contemplate the situation. Failure was unacceptable, and she would fight against it tooth and nail.
She made the first move, closing in on him like a panther on its prey; no blushing or stuttering, or even feigned embarrassment was part of her gambit. “I was told you’ve been turning away girls, m’lord,” she intoned as she drew closer. With each step she shed a layer, tossing it aside with careless disdain while her amber eyes bored into his. “Do you plan on ‘regifting’ me as well?” she asked inquisitively, one eyebrow arching daringly. The determined young woman gave him no reprieve as she continued to step closer, swiftly taking hold of one of his hands to place it on her breast in a show of unabashed boldness. "You do not think you would...ah, regret such a decision?" Not for one split second did she avert her eyes from his.
Esen didn’t care what his reasons were for not bedding the whores he was sent. She did not care at all. Her goal, the very purpose of her life was to follow her orders—her order to assassinate the Usurper. No one would stand in her way, and the refusal of some princeling would certainly not become a reason for failure.