After the roaring storm that had swept over the Great Hall, there was an uncomfortable silence hanging heavy over the men sitting around the king. Seeing that the king’s mood had soured considerably over quarreling with both his best friend and son within a span of a few minutes, it wasn’t long before the men of the small council were dismissed and wine was summoned posthaste in their place. Too busy trying to avert their gazes and leave as quickly as possible, no one noticed the lithe figure of a woman drenched in shadow.
Down the grand corridors of the Red Keep, the raven haired assassin flitted along, a torrent of thoughts tugging at her mind. It had been like watching another person entirely—she had thought there was no such rage within him. She had marveled how such a docile soul had come forth from a union of two people who were vindictive and cruel. In the beginning she had thought it to be an act, a façade, but had come to acknowledge it as his true persona. Had she been wrong? Was he his father’s son after all? Then again, the things he spoke of, the things he stood up for—they were noble things, things a good ruler would embody. Surely those were desirable traits. Surely--….
Esen’s line of thought stopped short, her footfalls slowing. How arrogant she was being! She had no place debating what qualities made a good ruler; that wasn’t her purpose, her task. Indeed, her masters had instilled in her a detesting heart towards what the Usurper stood for. She was crafted as a weapon, a tool to place the rightful rulers on the throne. Rightful…what did that mean to her? The Targaryens, her head responded immediately before any other voice within her could get a word in. Yes, the Targaryens. She inhaled slowly, focusing on that single name. That was her cause, her dedication. She couldn’t forget her truth. Esen didn’t have the right to have these thoughts; she was a tool, directed and used as her masters pleased. It was the truth, a truth she had always known and accepted. She didn’t have the right to feel unhappy about it—did swords complain about the way they were swung? They didn’t, she reminded herself sternly.
Ignoring how cold she suddenly felt, she swept down the hallways towards the shared room that had started to feel stifling. Just as she was about to pass an alcove, she heard low voices—familiar voices. She immediately picked out the voice of Littlefinger, being all-too-familiar with the knowing, smug tone of his voice. The second she recognized a heartbeat afterwards, for she had just heard in within the hour. It was Lord Eddard Stark. The assassin immediately folded herself behind the corner, scanning her environment attentively as she zeroed in on the muttered words.
From what she could gather, Littlefinger was promising to take Lord Stark somewhere—a name bubbled up—Chataya. She knew that name; it was name of a high class brothel in King’s Landing. While she had infiltrated a different brothel to be called to the Red Keep, many of the girls that had come in the same cart as her had mentioned Chataya’s. In fact, she was almost certain that Ruwena had mentioned it as her former workplace when they’d first spoken. But why was Littlefinger taking Lord Stark to a brothel? He did not seem like the type to be in the habit of whoring, unlike the Usurper. In addition, the tone of their voices did not make it sound like a jest or bawdy suggestion. No, there was another reason, a more important reason. She was sure of it. As the two men walked away together, Esen went off in the opposite direction, her mind set on finding her way to the very establishment, her former internal conflict shoved back into a corner of head. She had a job to do, after all.
She found Ruwena in her new chambers—the redhead looked surprised to see her at her door, for it was always the other way around. Esen’s amber eyes slid over the room; while it wasn’t lavish, it was clean and neatly decorated, looking as cozy as the personality of its inhabitant. “Oh, Nasira! What brings you here? Is, is something the matter?” Something in her eyes was cautious, as if she was recalling their encounter earlier and reminding herself to hold her tongue.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Esen replied, a tad more kindly than her neutral tone of voice. She didn’t like upsetting the cheery girl, and a part of her wanted to apologize. “I just had quick question—if you’re not busy, Lady Ruwena.” She said playfully with a quick wink.
“Of course I’ve got time for you,” Ruwena smiled broadly, her awkwardly cautious mood melting away in a split second. “What is it?”
“If I remember correctly—you said you worked at Chataya’s before coming here, yes?” Esen made sure to lower her voice slightly in case Ruwena worried about anyone overhearing about her former profession in detail.
“Why yes, that’s right. Been there for the past handful of years,” Ruwena nodded, looking slightly puzzled.
“Might you tell me where it’s located? I’ve got some business that’s just cropped up, and I might need to head there today.” Esen did not dare drop any hints that might lead to the true purpose of her trip. While she did not know why Littlefinger and Lord Stark were heading there, she very much intended to spy on them, or at least attempt to find out why they were there. It was clear in the small council meeting that while Robert Baratheon did not like to listen to anyone, his old friend still had a better chance. It would be advantageous knowing what was going on. Esen knew well that knowledge was a powerful and deadly weapon.
“Oh, why, by the Mother!” Ruwena let out a laugh, and this time Esen was the one to wait for an explanation. “What a coincidence! I was planning to visit Chataya’s very soon, you see!”
“You don’t say,” the dark haired young woman replied with a short laugh of her own.
“Yes, oh you see, one of my old friends there—Mheagan, she’s had a baby, and I haven’t been to see her yet. I promised her I’d come visit them soon! How perfect, why don’t we go together?” Ruwena spoke enthusiastically, already picking through her clothes. “I’d love the company, and it’ll be safer than going alone, right?”
Esen couldn’t deny that; it would also be much less suspicious on her part to have a concrete excuse to be at Chataya’s brothel. “Alright, it’s decided then,” she smiled, unable to resist the buoyant atmosphere Ruwena was so skilled at creating. “I believe I owe you a walk anyways.”
**************
The trip into the city was indeed a refreshing change of pace even though Esen was firmly focused on their destination. It hadn’t taken long for them to leave, and with luck, she would be able to arrive while the two men in question were still in the middle of their business. Ruwena was happy to chatter away over the clip-clop of the horse, and Esen did not have to try too hard to engage her in spirited conversation. Her red haired companion was by no means thick headed, and she avoided any topics might lead to speaking about the aftermath of the banquet. The wind made the veil in her hair flutter—besides being a pretty accessory, it was useful for disguise if something called for it. It certainly wasn’t the only thing she’d brought along with her—besides the small blade she always carried, she was well-equipped with two more weapons strapped snugly against her frame. It wouldn’t do to go about weaponless, especially when she was trailing targets.
Ruwena broke off in the middle of her story about how she’d met Mheagen as the cart pulled up towards a large building. “There it is, right there!” Esen turned her head as if she was taking in the sight of the establishment, but in truth she was looking out for any signs of Lord Stark and Littlefinger. Indeed it appeared as if the men standing outside the building were from the Stark household, waiting for their lord.
None of them seemed to recognize Ruwena or her companion, and they went inside without any interference. Ruwena was greeted affably by the girls she used to work with. All seemed to be sweet in temperament—at least the ones who weren’t occupied. While Esen would have preferred to go unnoticed so she could search for where Littlefinger and Lord Stark were, it didn’t take long for the girls to turn their attention to Esen.
“Ruwena, you always had a good eye. Are you recommending her for the empty slot you left behind?” one of them inquired with a giggle.
“She’s pretty enough. Got a certain look about her, doesn’t she? Plenty who like that,” the other chimed in. Neither of them seemed to be speaking with malice, but Ruwena jumped in apologetically nonetheless.
“No no, she’s already at the Red Keep,” Ruwena laughed, waving their words off. “Sorry, girls.”
“I don’t think I’m sweet enough to uphold the reputation of Chataya’s girls,” Esen added with a hint of a smile.
“That’s right,” Ruwena crowed with laughter. They all joined in, Esen included, but her attention was straying to the various doors and staircases, ears straining for those two particular voices.
“Anyways, I’m here to see Mheagen—where is she?” Ruwena asked the girls, holding up the basket she’d brought with her.
“Mercy, she’s a popular one today,” the one in green exclaimed.
“Popular?” Ruwena echoed.
“Why, a little while ago, two lordly sorts sought her out. Just to talk, they said,” the blonde one answered in a low voice. That certain caught the assassin’s attention.
“Lordly sorts?” Esen inquired casually.
“Indeed, they were escorted by several men. They’re still standing at the entrance, aren’t they?” the brunette in green answered again. What were the chances that the girl Ruwena had come to see was the very same girl Littlefinger and Lord Stark had business with? Nevertheless, it seemed to be the case.
“Wow,” Ruwena’s lips formed an ‘o’. “I suppose we’ll have to wait for a bit. Might as well, you have business too, don’t you Nasira?”
“Ah yes, I’d almost forgotten. I was wondering if a girl named Shirin was here,” Esen managed without a hitch in her words.
“Shirin?” the blonde girl repeated, looking confused. Of course she was—Esen had made up this girl on the spot. “I don’t know any Shirin here.”
“No? Curly black hair, hazel eyes?” Esen feigned a frown as both girls shook their heads in unison. “I’d heard some rumors, but I suppose they weren’t reliable…” She sighed, but shrugged her shoulders good-naturedly. “No matter.” In that moment she saw two figures coming down the stairs—none other than Littlefinger and Lord Stark. She inwardly cursed—they were already leaving. The assassin angled her body away, her hair and veil curtaining her features enough to keep her from being found out by Littlefinger. They strode past them and out the door none the wiser.
“I think that might have been Lord Baelish and Lord Stark,” Ruwena whispered to her, her eyes wide.
“Oh, really? That’s strange,” Esen feigned surprise, turning to the door they’d left out of.
“Mheagen’s in the back room upstairs,” the girl clad in green nodded. “She’ll be glad to see you, Ruwena.”
Once the two women entered the room, the girl lying in the bed looked up. Recognition and joy blossomed on her freckled face at the sight of the redhead. “You finally came!” she exclaimed. At her bosom was a swaddled infant, and Ruwena rushed to the bed to embrace the mother and fawn over the baby. She soon introduced Esen to Mheagan—she had a pretty smile, Esen thought idly. But why had they visited her? Esen wracked her brain while Ruwena happily bounced the baby in her arms. “What’s in there, did you bring me something?” Mheagen inquired, having noticed the basket set down next to the bed.
“Mother be blessed, yes! I brought quite the collection for you—“ Ruwena turned to Esen, “—Can you hold her for a moment?”
“Ah no, I’m not very good with children…” she began to protest, but the babe was already being handed off to her. She held the infant aloft awkwardly, not knowing the proper way to support it.
“Hand behind her head, support the body with the arm,” Ruwena guided her, giggling at how stiff she seemed—Ruwena had never seen the lithe girl look so awkward or flustered in the time she’d known her. “You’re getting the idea,” she nodded in encouragement before turning back to her friend to busily explain the items she had brought her.
Esen stood there akin to a statue, still feeling immensely uncomfortable with the weight in her arms. She looked down at the baby as if it were a strange creature that could potentially be dangerous. At the same time, she almost felt like it was wrong for her to be holding something so pure, something that had yet to be marred by the ways of the world. It wasn’t right for her hands to be touching the babe, not when they had been soaked in blood too many times to count. She was about to tell Ruwena to take the child once more when she finally realized what had been bothering her about the baby other than not being used to one. It was something about her face, the eyes, the hair. Thin black hair wisped about the infant girl’s face, and the eyes that peered up at her were blue. A deep ocean blue.
They reminded her of someone.When a face came to her, it was not the Usurper’s she thought of first. It was the princeling's. ‘Barra,’ the baby girl’s name was. She was holding another one of the Usurper’s bastards—the realization struck her like lightning, and there was not a trace of doubt in her mind. Why else would Littlefinger and Lord Stark have business with her? “Barra,” she murmured to herself. It caught the attention of Mheagen, however, who smiled at her.
“It’s a pretty name,” Ruwena nodded.
“Like Baratheon,” Esen finished, and Mheagen’s smile faltered with surprise. That was more than enough proof.
“Why, y, yes,” the mother stuttered. “How did you?...” She looked nervous, even frightened.
“Beautiful blue eyes,” Esen answered with a smile to put her at ease, gently placing the baby girl back into Mheagen’s arms. There was no need to scare the poor girl. She was young, younger than both Ruwena and Esen, and now she was burdened with being a mother.
“Really?” Ruwena turned to Mheagan, jaw dropped in surprise. “By the Mother, why didn’t you tell me that first? Ah, that does make sense, you were his favorite here!” Mheagen blushed prettily, saying something in response, but Esen wasn’t listening anymore. She could hear something…outside. A clamor. Something was not right.