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Eventually, Ellyn had been moved from the room. No matter that a bond of sorts had formed with her one-time captors, she was initially relieved when the Warrior’s Son appeared and beckoned her out. It was a short-lived hope though. She was escorted, roughly, to another room somehow even less well appointed than the one she had briefly shared with the Baratheon lordling and his few men.
It was small, cold, and smelled of rotting hay and piss. The toothy grin the knight gave her as he shoved her was dark, a shiver of deep terror took hold of her body. Whatever the Faith Militant had planned here, it was not in service to the Seven. That it was Lady Dayne’s immediate thought caused her brow to furrow. When had this happened, how?
The Dornish knight leaned against a wall and sunk down, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She rested her head atop her legs. Years of wrongs, of slights, of pity, and of hatred spilled out in wracking sobs. By the time she fell asleep, her chest ached and it hurt to breathe. Sleep offered no relief, she dreamed of failure and death. She dreamed of blood on her hands, caused by each wrong and awful choice she made.
When she woke, it was to shouting outside her room. Ellyn stood slowly and peered out the narrow slit that passed for a window. She couldn’t see much other than a flurry of activity and the sound of men screaming orders. It sounded disorganized, not the put together order that the Warrior’s Sons demanded. No matter that she felt she could sleep for another day or that her body ached as she paced the small space, she knew she needed to act.
Beneath the layer of action was the desire to curl back up on the floor and let the Stranger take his due. The knightly lady ignored it, pushed it down, buried it. She didn’t have Dawn, and that became her need, her reason.
She leaned against the door, her ear pressed against it but heard nothing. No shuffling feet, no quiet talking. Her eyebrows raised up as she mulled over whether or not she was sane. But her hands pulled at the door anyways, testing it, and to her greater surprise, felt it move. She yanked harder but it gave no further. A guttural sigh came out of her throat; it wouldn’t be that easy. Instead she turned back to the room and began looking for anything that would give her leverage to wedge the door open.
A few weeks ago she would have thanked the Crone for what she uncovered. Now though, she suppressed a triumphant yell. The room they had sequestered her in had once been a servant’s, or perhaps a storage area to quickly bring supplies to the lords and ladies under their charge. Against the short wall, she felt a breeze and with a little bit of work, found the hidden handle that easily slid open a door into a long corridor. It was empty but not dirty, obviously having been in frequent use.
She gave the small room one last look before heading down the long corridor.
It seemed to connect to several rooms in this wing of the castle but she ignored them all, unsure of what she would find inside. For now, she was alone and safe. The corridor ended quickly though, another door and from the breeze, she was certain it led outside. But to where? It was a few seconds of contemplation, and then action.
She opened the door a crack and peered out to see that it was a courtyard. There was noise in the distance, not far, but it was the same din of orders and men rushing about that she had heard from her room. Ellyn took a tentative step out, head held down, her mussed hair over her face to try and hide her eyes. It was not empty here, but it was thinned out. No one seemed to notice her and so she made her way around the building, in the shadows and in the opposite direction of where the noise came from.
Where would they have taken Dawn though? That bastard probably had claimed it as his. The irony of the rage that built in her wasn’t lost on her. No matter the fear in her gut at it, she turned and began to follow, at a distance, where the crowd went.
The sight in the distance caused her throat to constrict and her stomach turned. A scaffold had been erected and it was not empty. She blinked a few times as she ducked in and out of the crowd. Her hope that it was meant for some other hostages or criminals evaporated as she drew close enough to see Rogar held off to the side. She imagined that his hands were bound. Her mind formed the darkest thoughts and saw him pushed down to his knees and a sword swung down. She saw his head roll, dead eyes that would bore into her. Ellyn shook her head and cleared the unwanted images.
What did it matter, war had been bubbling and threatening for years now. It was coming to a head just as she thought and had hoped for. The dragon’s kin was guilty by association and she needed her sword. She needed to get it and escape, she needed to live, no matter how low she had fallen in the night.
Her body betrayed her, her subconscious betrayed her, and she moved off to the side to think through how to get to him unnoticed. Chaos erupted around her before she had decided on anything. Lady Dayne didn’t know what had occurred, but she thanked the Seven. Men yelled again and the pending execution stalled.
“Damn it.” Stalled, but for how long? Men cleared out just as quickly as they had filled this space and Ellyn caught sight of Rogar and some of his men being roughly shoved back towards where they must have been held before this. She had no weapons, but as she moved she saw a discarded sword, it was rough and cheap but she grabbed it and kept moving, following at a distance.
The Warrior’s Son knight locked a door, looked around, and seemed disappointed at needed to say there and not run off to where the rest of his men had run. Ellyn allowed one final moment to second guess her decision.
She moved, choosing a path that took her out of line of sight of the knight and around the building. Once again she was met with disappointment at there being no other obvious point of entry to the stone outbuilding. She crept back around to the front. The knight would need to die. She couldn’t risk him rousing to alert the others too quickly. He hadn’t been dressed in full armor, the only saving grace for her she thought.
With a deep breath to steady herself, she briefly closed her eyes and muttered a desperate plea that the Warrior would see the justice in this. When her eyes opened again, they were cold and determined. She charged but without a sound or cry.
Ellyn caught the knight off guard, though he was larger than her by a good deal, surprising him would only benefit her for the briefest moment. It was all she needed though. Ellyn avoided his attempt to shove back against her, ducking down and a quick step out of his reach. She’d hit him in her initial attack, an annoying wound and nothing more. But it made her smile to see him wince when he lifted his sword arm. She drew into him again, from the side, and drew the sword against his leg. He hissed angrily and stumbled. As she drew back to her full height, she plunged the sword into his armor-less side. The sword didn’t come free, but it didn’t need to.
Lady Dayne fished the key from his dying body. She spat on him, a hazy anger overtaking her. She opened the door, unsure of what to expect.
“A full pardon for my aid, Lord Rogar?”
The days had not been kind to Rogar, and the fleeting nights of unconsciousness no true reprieve either. The tender mercies of the Faith had turned out not to be tender at all, although they had stopped short of anything that might permanently disfigure the young lord, that was perhaps it. To parade a broken man would have been no victory, but that was all the restraint they had shown. His skin, pale like his grandmother’s rather than the Campaigners’ tan of his grandsire was marked across with bruising, and he couldn’t seem to open one of his eyes as the lock turned, and the door opened.
He wasn’t sure how he had intended to react to her presence again, as several nights had passed he’d rather given up on seeing anyone he might recognise again, although he’d done his best to not show his captors such pessimism of his own fate. Rogar expected that he should be angry, for all her reactions of the day of their capture could have simply been falsehoods but some part of him doubted Ellyn could even tell a lie, let alone put on a murmer’s performance.
Instead he coughed through lungs that burned at the effort of expanding his bruised chest, the exposed upper half of his body a lattice of further marks and minor cuts, and rasped something that held a fraction of his usual easy charm.
“You’ll….have to forgive me…my lady….I am rather indisposed.” Finally, with the presence of someone who might not be here to beat him further, he allowed himself to sag, the defiance flooding his muscles all gone as the chains binding his hands to different walls rattled as he went slack, held up only by the tension in their making. “I wasn’t planning on writing up the charges….anyway.” He slurred a little, his mind going to fire then blissful absolution, if only for a moment, before he gasped and both eyes snapped open, a tremor rushing through his form as something instinctive in him urged him not to give up. She was moving towards him, he was half aware of that, seeking to catch him before he might truly strike the ground. The eye had opened, lashes thick with the juice of torture, was shot through red, but it still met her own with a sudden intensity which suggest the Lord was coming back to himself.
“Help me with the chains and…you have a deal.”
She didn't know what she had expected, but it wasn't this. Her breath in was a hiss, from a distance she hadn't seen the damage done, the pain inflicted. It was a kick in the gut to see him like this and she was frozen for a few moments before her feet carried her forward and into him. Ellyn’s hands caught him against his torso as he sagged, but the fire in his eye gave her hope. She forced a smile, thin and full of concern. “A little worse for wear than from the boar, it seems.” She didn't know what else to say, the levity was uncalled for but it was all that came to mind to fill the silence. Seven…Why had they done this?
The knight let the Lord rest against her as she reached above him to free one hand from his restraints and then the other. She dropped the keys she had pilfered from the dead guard as the Rogar crashed into her with his full weight, no longer restrained. As she helped him find his footing again, her hand briefly ran across his bruised and bloodied face, her voice an angry whisper. “I'm so sorry.”
She led them out, Rogar slumped over her, back into the daylight. The sounds of skirmishes carried over from a distance away and they were left here with only a few souls milling around. Ashford servants, artisans, merchants, who had had little choice but to allow and accept the Faith Militant’s presence. At least for the moment, few seemed to do more than glance at the pair and then scurry away. Armored men were still present but had other issues to contend with it seemed, and Ellyn was able to slowly walk with Rogar's arm slung around her shoulders, half dragging him, towards the set of buildings she had originally approached from.
In the shade of the relatively secluded spot, she propped him against a wall. “I don't think we'll be lucky enough to not need weapons to get away from here.” And go where? The question would need an answer at some point, any direction as long as it was not here would be good enough for now. It stung too, the reminder that Dawn had been lost to her. Not because of her family that she had spent so long running from, but her own decisions and mistakes. Ellyn swallowed hard and pushed away the thoughts. “Rest a little.” She wasn't convinced he had the strength for it, worry lined her face. It was better to have something to do, though, and so even reluctantly, she left him there to find swords for them both, a water skin if there was any luck, a hunk of bread to take away some of the gnawing in her stomach and what she could only imagine of the Baratheon lord's.
Her search, though rushed and leanings towards frantic, was fruitful. She returned to Rogar’s side with a quick study of him. Ellyn’s eyes struggled to not linger on him too long as she rested a sword and an axe against the wall next to him. She slid a small satchel from her shoulder and opened it to pull out a vaguely clean cloth and small wineskin. It smelled nearly of vinegar but was thin and watery. Good enough to take off the edge of thirst but not much more. “Drink some, but try not to taste it.” She offered him the skin with a warning only after wetting the cloth with a bit of it.
If they were going to get out he at least needed to be able to see and it was the only thing she could immediately attend to anyways. When he pulled the wineskin away from his lips, she brought the cloth to his face and wiped away the caked blood and pus. There was a tenderness in the act. “Stay still.” She chided quietly, no matter that he wasn't actually squirming about. “As good as I can do for now. The axe is yours.” She nodded to the weapons and claimed the sword.
Lady Dayne was uncertain of her next steps or of which path carried the least risk. But she didn't want to engage with a force of any size and indicated the alleyways back towards the castle. “It was emptying out already even before whatever has drawn them further away. Ready?”
He couldn’t help but lean on her as they moved, any attempts to take more of his own weight resulted in shards of pain dancing under and across his skin, and even with the assistance, moving was difficult. The pain of his injuries was one thing, but the confines of being forced to hold one position had poisoned his muscles with acid and fatigue, and it was all the fires of the seven hells to move them again. When she finally set him down so that she could hunt for what they would need, it was a shock of relief, finally resting in something close to a position of comfort, his mind once again became a rush of nothing. When she reappeared it felt only a moment after he had been left, losing whole minutes to the ravages of his mind.
Already he felt purpose stirring in his form though, a shudder of needle like sensations across his limbs as they awoke, minutes behind the rest of him but still returning to form. He had a pain fuged memory of her words, and managed another, only slightly broken, smile for her.
“It is alright….Lady Dayne….they didn’t exactly do it in your name.” He coughed and the pain flared once more, but he kept his composure this time, his fingers curling around the shaft of the provided axe with a strength of grip he didn’t truly feel. “Something must be amiss.” He mused, focusing on her with both eyes, thanks to the efforts of her cleaning. “They were probably planning to off me before things went ‘more’ wrong, so thank the Seven for you.” The chuckle he gave, while pained, wasn’t bitter, as he pulled himself to his feet, waving off her support as he finally found the strength to right himself. “May they help us with the rest of it.”
The pathways were nearly as empty as she had hoped, though with each few steps she found herself looking at Rogar to ensure his feet still went one in front of the other. Her breath caught whenever it seemed he might stumble. They couldn’t get out, not with him in this condition. Especially not when those who passed them let their eyes linger on the battered man.
It had taken only a few words to come to an agreement. They were not far from the castle, one of its towers loomed over them. Ellyn led them down a bizarre path of twisting turns. She doubted anyone of worth would be following them, but it was better to be safe. They passed by countless whitewashed houses, but she wasn’t going to tempt fate by seeing what may have been left unoccupied - or if it was - what might be quickly returned to. Time was another enemy though. The reminder wasn’t difficult whenever she looked to her side to see Rogar soldiering on with her.
At last she found something suitable, or that she was then desperate enough to accept the risk of. One of the charming houses with its whitewash nearly bare, the wooden beginning to rot. It would not be pleasant, likely, but just the same she didn’t expect they’d be interrupted. It didn’t disappoint her on her assessment. It was abandoned, domestic detritus strewn about. There was not much to block the door and she had given Rogar a hard look when she told him to sit, again. Ellyn made due with pulling over old wooden crates that sent mice and rats scurrying with the movement to block the door.
Eventually, with not much left to be done, she looked for something to sit on, gave up, and slunk down next to where she had the Baratheon lord to stay. “Get some actual sleep, I’ll wake you after dusk and we can finish getting out then.” If he was going to argue, she didn’t want to hear it. “They didn’t chain me or torture me, you need it more.”
It turned out to only be half the truth. Her eyes were heavy and they had begun to open more slowly and linger shut. Voices outside the house woke her from her near slumber with a start. “Fuck.” Her lips moved even if her voice barely registered. Rogar was still asleep next to her, his head lolled over to the side. She regretted what she had to do, but she could risk him being startled awake. Ellyn covered his mouth firmly with one hand and pushed against his chest with her other. She shook him as softly as she could until his eyes shot open. “Outside.” A whisper in his ear before she dropped her hand from his mouth and slid away from him to grab her sword.
Multiple voices for sure, men. Someone who had seen them and finally found a spare soldier or two, with hopes of a reward? Or maybe just bad luck. She couldn’t make out the full conversation, only bits and pieces. They weren’t yelling, but Lady Dayne wasn’t sure if that was in their favor. She crouched, low, behind where the door would swing open if they pushed hard enough. And they did, eventually, the thud caused her to jump even as she was prepared for it.
One man burst through first, and stumbled over the crates she had used as an obstacle. Ellyn lunged at him with a groan but only managed to elbow the knight in his head. He shook it off easily as he found his feet and another two men entered behind him. The seven really wished to test her now, didn’t they?
Ellyn tried to move out of his path, but was not fast enough in the small and shrinking space of the house. The knight’s fist plowed into her abdomen and she lost her breath, a moment of agony and fear that left her nearly seeing stars. She grimaced, sword brought up in time to ward off his next assault. He had caught the sword in his hand and Ellyn twisted it free, the knight growling in response, his blood dripping down the sword, his hand mangled.
“We’ll keep you alive for a bit of fun, bitch.” He sneered through the pain. The men behind him had taken stock of the situation and seemed to like their odds. Ellyn couldn’t blame them, Rogar was in no state for this. She wasn’t either, no matter what she had told him.
She offered no response other than moving herself between the men and Rogar, slowly. They watched her and spread themselves out. The one with the mangled hand lunged at her first, but it was an obvious move and she avoided him, and drove the pummel down on his back as she moved behind him and out of his way. Perhaps surprised that his fellow knight had managed to bungle it so poorly, the second moved on her as well, the final man moving off towards Rogar. She prayed it was enough of a chance.
Her own luck failed quickly, the second knight caught her coming away from the first. A hard backhand that sent her vision black and her muscles slack even if only for a second. It was enough that her grip on the sword faltered and fell away from her. The man with the mangled hand kicked away with a laugh. He’d gained his footing, again. Ellyn reached, half blind, for anything to stop them. Her hand met metal and she grabbed it, it was heavy and only as she swung it did it register what she had found. An old pan, blackened from years of use in the now dead hearth. It was a desperate swing but the sound she made when it connected with the mangled man’s head was gratifying. A squealing gasp erupted from the man as he crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud.
It was a short-lived victory, the second knight was on her to finish what he had started. He pushed her and she fell back effortlessly. Ellyn hit the ground on her back, the air knocked out of her again, the pain in her temple throbbing, blinding. She brought both arms up over her face and chest, tried to bring her knees up to take the blows and kicks she expected.
Something heavy hit the knight as he moved in to strike at Ellyn.
It wasn’t a charge, the object that struck the knight was entirely dead weight, spurred on by an opposing force that had struck it. In this case, it was the body of the third knight, axe protruding from the crumpled mess of his face plate and shoved back with a strength that spoke more of adrenaline and anger than anything else.
The weapon was buried with enough force that it was fully entrenched both in the metallic plate of the man’s helm and the skull within, and likely far too unwieldy to remove at speed, and so, the whole form had been improvised as a weapon.
As the two knights, one deceased, collapsed to the ground, the savage and beaten form of Rogar Baratheon followed them, pouncing down upon the pile of man and metal without care for the fact his body screamed at him, both in old pain and now in the shock of landing upon such unyielding metallic surfaces. Pinned beneath the sprawling ungainly weight of an armoured corpse, the remaining knight could barely act, pinned beyond us of his own limbs or weaponry. This did not make it a quick affair, Rogar’s weapon had been rendered useless for the moment, and so he fought with the man to claim the dagger at the belt of the dead knight. Rogar had the angle, but his hands were not plated, and every time he had to pull open the man’s grip his already ripped and torn fingers opened back up, nails pulling on segmented plate.
Eventually he took it though, pulling the dagger free and with a series of grim snarls, plunging it again and again into the gaps on the knight’s side, the cries of struggle from said knight steadily becoming gurgles and then ceasing.
Then he collapsed to the side, his world spinning once more as he struck the ground, white noise reclaiming his senses.
It was several moments of near silence, punctuated only by heavy breathing, before Ellyn opened her eyes again with a quiet string of curses. Whatever rest they had managed to steal had been spent, and likely borrowed against, she thought as she turned herself to her side and looked over Rogar.
“Let's call this even now, once and for all?” She struggled to stand and rested a little longer on her hands and knees. The lady knight knew she was in far better shape but this fight had left new welts and bruises. Breathing still caused her entire middle to ache. Still, she had tried for levity no matter that it fell flat as soon as the words were aired.
She wasn't sure how much he heard or paid attention to her, but she spoke anyways as she gathered herself.
“Staying here any longer won't do.” It was still dark, but she thought she spied a hint of light at the horizon. Dawn or fire? Ellyn smelled smoke but couldn't tell if it was from campfires or something more dangerous. “But you're in no shape to walk. More sevens-damned knights showing up and we're dead.” She paced in a small circle through the open room, eyes darting about as she considered their options. A thought clouded her judgement, everything in her told her it would be better to escape, alone if need be.
But she looked at him and couldn't. She couldn't abandon him, not while he still breathed and she could see his chest rise and fall. Could hear his pained breaths. “Stay still a little longer.” A command she doubted she needed to give.
Someone smiled on them, for when Ellyn peered out the doorway she saw a small cart. Meant to be hitched to a donkey, it was small but large enough for her to load Rogar into.
She had to help him bend into fitting the cart. It didn't look comfortable but it was better than trying to have him walk out of this cursed town. A few pilfered blankets later - and a joke muttered under her breath about more theft allegations - and Ellyn gripped the bars that should have held beast of burden to it.
“I don't want to hear a single word from you about me being an ass.” Her last command before tucking her head down like some browbeaten smallfolk trying to go about her business in the middle of the chaos.
It worked well enough, and before dawn had fully broken against the horizon, Ellyn set down the cart, sweaty and exhausted, and roused Rogar once more. “Who do you think we have to thank for this?” She pointed in the distance, to the sight of what very much seemed to be the Faith Militant army fleeing Ashford.
