I'm a desert, you're an ocean

by Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish

Summary:

Jeyne meets a Dornishman in the brothel. By the end of the day, Lord Baelish is dead, and she is on a boat bound for Dorne. She knows three things with complete absolute. Desmond Sand is entirely insane and completely trust worthy. She is in for a rough time. And she will be returning to save Sansa.

Notes:

Lets fuckin gooooooooo!
Burning eyes will be on hold to get this bitch out of my head. It's loving Desmond Miles and Jeyne Poole hour and I'm here for it. I give Jeyne a gun in one story, I give her swords in this one. You don't need to have knowledge of Assassin's Creed that much, but it will be helpful to look up some stuff if you're confused.
TW: Sexual abuse is only mentioned in the first chapter, and that's because Lord Baelish sucks and Jeyne is forcibly in a brothel.

Chapter 1

Notes:

edited: 22/11/22

 

It was a Dornishman that saved her life. A month into being forced into a whore house by a man that said he would keep her safe, Jeyne was miserable. Men had touched her in ways that were only ever spoken about in hushed whispers between adults when she was in Winterfell, though the men were not allowed to go as far as married couples were only supposed to. Lord Baelish had forbidden it for some unknown reason, so Jeyne only served with hands and mouth and tried to be grateful. She cried herself to sleep most nights. Silently, as it irritated the other workers.

 

This particular Dornishman held the typical olive skin, with short brown hair, and a scar cutting the right side of his mouth. He did not lay with any of the women so far, but he did partake in wine and their company. He lounged on the pillows and talked to the women in low words. His eyes had cut over to her at a certain point, where she was preparing more wine for him and in that thick accent the Dornish had, the man called, “Girl. Come here.”

 

Though he had not tasted any of the women here, that did not mean he wouldn't sooner or later. The fear beating through her heart was a sick but slowly resigned feeling. She had grown used to it.

 

Unlike how whores who were trained to entice, Jeyne kept her head ducked down, holding the judge of wine close to her chest like a feeble shield. In her flimsy and simple dress, exposing too much of her arms and back, Jeyne quietly replied, “You called for me?”

 

Sitting up from his lazy position, uncurling like a predator, the man tucked a finger under her chin, and made her look at him. His eyes were a strange brown, tinting golden when the sun light just touched them.

 

Scrutinizing her for a long moment, the Dornishman spoke to the others, “Leave us, please.” It was a polite order. Jeyne had never heard a single customer say please within these walls. Except, if they were in the throes of pleasure. There were some pouts, a few glares sent Jeyne's way, but they listened, leaving her and the man in relative privacy. Once satisfied with their departure, the man murmured, “Now, what is a Northern girl doing this far from your snow and mountains?”

 

That fear that she had started to smother down came bursting back, and Jeyne had to look away, even with his soft hold of her chin. “I-” Unable to find words, Jeyne swallowed and forced out the lessons she had had, “Would you not want some wine instead, my lord?”

 

Eyes narrowing faintly, his touched left her, and she no longer wanted to crawl out of her skin. Reclining back once more, the man offered up his drink as he pointed out, “You're highborn, going by your accent and wording.”

 

Jeyne froze, jug just a tilt away from pouring into his goblet. Dragging her eyes back up at him, the Dornishman took the jug from her stiff fingers, casually pouring his own drink as he spoke up once more, “A northern noble in a brothel. Very obviously working against her will as well.”

 

He took a sip, eyes flicking back up and holding her own. After swallowing, the man continued, “Tell me. Were you part of the Northerners that came down some time ago, only to be slaughtered by our new and beloved king?”

 

Heart pounding so loudly, Jeyne wondered if he could hear it too. Unfreezing, she slowly straightened up, chancing a quick glance around them before turning back to give the man a nod. Hope was at war with terror inside of Jeyne, wondering if this was a ploy by Baelish. If he was mocking her like his horrible self-made sigil.

 

The weight of the man's gaze continued as he finished his drink. Then, setting it off onto a low table, the Dornishman stood up. Tall. He towered over her, perhaps only a few scant inches shorter than the Hound, and all her limbs locked into place. She already was short in stature, but felt terribly small in that instance.

 

Draped in a white silk shirt and loose, brown jube-pantalons, he had a red sash of cloth as a belt. Simplistic but Jeyne had learnt from observation that sometimes that was better than the opulent nobles that came through these doors. Tucked into it was a knife, she noted a second after his clothes. Glancing away from the weapon as she finally managed to unstick herself and took a step back, out of his space, which was when Jeyne noted the leather vambraces and wagered he had a blade or two tucked hidden there as well.

 

Gulping, Jeyne hunched her shoulders as he walked past her, talking to one of the women who had worked far longer than most. As he handed her some coins, Jeyne felt sick resignation once more. Both then looked her way, and the man gestured her to approach. Bowing her head, hair like a curtain around her miserable expression, she followed after him. Confidently, the man made his way to the room offered. A month was just enough time for Jeyne to have grown used to the moans and cries of sex behind closed doors. Sometimes even out in the open. Still, her eyes would skitter away from any writhing bodies, her childhood and sheltered years making it hard to look even now.

 

When in the room, the Dornishman sat on the bed and stated bluntly, “I'm not here to have sex with you.”

 

At Jeyne's disbelief, he made a face, “First, you're way too young for me and my liking. And second, I don't have sex with the unwilling.”

 

“I'm sorry for displeasing you, my lord.” She murmured, and he ended up cracking a grin. “Not your fault most people have the moral backbone of a wet blanket.”

 

So if he hadn't wanted to lay with her, Jeyne had no idea on why he wanted to be alone with her. She began to scratch at her wrist, a nervous habit that would typically lead to Sansa lightly smacking her hands apart, concerned about Jeyne injuring herself.

 

But Sansa wasn't here. And that should be a good thing. But maybe if they were together, things would be a bit better. Together, they could comfort one another after every horrible time they were forced to lay with a man.

 

“Do you want to leave?”

 

Jerking her head up in surprise at his question, Jeyne slowly nodded at him, eyes wide and searching for any sign from his behaviour or words that she should bolt and get away from him. Instead, he was relaxed, eyes calculating but not malicious.

 

“Then I need you to answer a few questions for me. If you do, I can get you out of here.”

 

Hope flared again, and she gave a quicker nod in response. His smile softened. “Alright. First, who was the one that sold you into this brothel?”

 

Jeyne knew the walls had ears, even after her short time of her forced stay here. Glancing around, the girl shuffled closer. Strangely, the man stiffened at her approach. Which made him a stone statue by the time she settled awkwardly on his lap, legs tossed over one side. Stiltedly, Jeyne wrapped her arms around his neck, a motion she had come to learn. Closer now, Jeyne could whisper with a soft trepidation, “Lord Baelish. He owns this place. He took me from my people.”

 

Loosely, one arm supported her back, hand settling on his knee, keeping her balanced but not touching her fully. “I see. Rat looking man, high collar with a bird broach at the neck?”

 

Jeyne nodded at his somewhat humorous description, but was too nervous to laugh, only quietly adding, “A mockingbird. He is the Master of Coin for the king.”

 

Humming lightly, the girl chanced a glance at the man, and noted how he was staring at the wall, mind and thoughts elsewhere. “Would many care if he died?”

 

Startled at the question, Jeyne sucked in a deep breath. Golden eyes flicked down to her, a thick eyebrow raising, as if emphasising his question. Teeth digging into her bottom lip, Jeyne glanced around the room once more before shaking her head. “I don't think many people like him. He just holds many secrets.”

 

“Alright. Last question.” The Dornishman announced, leaning in until their noses nearly touched, “What's your name?”

 

“Jeyne Poole.” She breathed out. Nodding, satisfied, the man pulled back and suddenly lifted her. Stifling her squeak, she found herself dumped onto the bed, and quiet inelegantly she wanted to add. Hands on his hips, the Dornishman finally introduced himself, “I'm Desmond Sand. I'll be your saviour for this evening. Stay here and I'll be back by nightfall. Room has been paid for already.”

 

And with that short explanation, Jeyne watched, completely gobsmacked, as Desmond got onto the ledge of the window and jumped. Scrambling up from the bed, Jeyne threw herself against the window frame, gaping at how there was no body on the ground, no frantic screams or anything. The man was just gone.

 

She blinked, and tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. Stepping away from the window, Jeyne instead sat on the bed, mind completely blank beside the babbling of 'he jumped from a window, where did he go he should be dead what's going on.' Silence then crept by, and the girl picked at her nails for a bit. He said he would be back but night wasn't for a least another five hours.

 

Scratching her wrist, Jeyne looked over at the jugs of water and wine, and decided to get herself some of the first, throat dry. After, she slumped to the side, sprawling across the bed. Hopefully time would go by quickly as her eyes slipped close.

 

“Hey, wake up.” A voice hissed, faint slaps on her cheek startling her awake. Jeyne gasped and hurried to sit up. Leaning over her, though straightening up now, was Desmond Sand.

 

Hand on her chest, Jeyne let out a heavy breath, trying to call her pounding heart. “You're back.” She whispered in disbelief. The man appeared the same, but now with a heavy sack of something over his shoulder and a white hooded and long-sleeved tunic on. The hood was pulled up and peeked, casting a shadow over his eyes.

 

“Said I would.” He pointed out, drawing her away from her observations. “Now. Put this on.” A ball of fabric hit her face. Unable to stop herself, Jeyne glowered at the man as she unraveled the cloth.

 

A pair of loose trousers, like his, and a plain tunic shirt. Baffled, Jeyne looked back up at the man. He was watching her, a faint air of impatience. “Well?”

 

Hurriedly, Jeyne complied. She pulled the jupe-patalons on, tucking her slip of a dress into the waist band along with the tunic she tugged on over the top. Then, cinching it all together with the drawstring at her waist, Jeyne presented herself to him, arms held out.

 

He gave her a thumbs up. “Perfect. Now, tie your hair back and I'll tell you the plan.”

 

A tiny strip of leather was tossed at her face. Jeyne was going to strangle him with it. Mulishly, Jeyne tied her hair as he talked. “Right, so. I killed Baelish.” He ignored how Jeyne choked on her spit. “I got my stuff from the inn, and arranged a passage to Dorne. They technically leave tomorrow morning, but I bribed them to leave in an hour. So we just need to make our way to the docks. But that entails running across a few roof tops for a bit.”

 

At this point, Jeyne's hair was in a firmly tied but messy tail, and she was staring at the man before her. Just who in the seven hells was he?

 

“Who...are you?” Jeyne decided to hazard and ask.

 

Desmond flashed her a grin, “Just a humble wanderer with a penchant of killing.”

 

“So,” Jeyne tried, “You're a sellsword?”

 

He made a face. “I prefer assassin but I choose my marks. Most of the time.”

 

“...Right.” Jeyne replied slowly.

 

Apparently that was enough for him because he approached the window, gesturing her over. Hesitantly, she did so. Pointing along the right outside wall of the building, Desmond began, “So, see that thin ledge along the wall?” Jeyne did, so she nodded. “You'll need to reach up and hold onto the roof edge and shuffle across the ledge. Once you get to the end, there will be a few stones upwards to the top, which you will climb.”

 

“What!?” Jeyne hissed, giving him a look that should absolutely tell him how insane he was. “I've never even climbed a tree in my life and I have to climb a building!?”

 

Flapping his hand dismissively, Desmond replied, “You'll be fine. Just don't look down and hug the wall.”

 

That was terrible advice. And he finally spotted the look he was giving her. Sighing, Desmond placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her an encouraging smile. “You want out? This is the way. Trust me, Jeyne. I won't let anything happen to you. Not on my watch.”

 

Clenching and unclenching her fists nervously, Jeyne peeked her head out the window again and eyed the exterior of the building with trepidation. “You won't let me fall?”

 

Solemnly, the man placed a hand over his heart. “I swear on the sands I was born in. You will not fall. Have faith in yourself.”

 

Slowly, Jeyne nodded. The desire to leave far stronger than the fear of falling won over any rationality. Reaching up to grip the upper ledge of the window frame, Jeyne shakily crouched on the sill. Looking over her shoulder, searching for support from Desmond, the man reached out. Placing a firm hand on one of her hips, he spoke in low, encouraging words. “Take it slow. I know I said we have an hour, but for this part, take as much time as you need. The rest we can handle.”

 

Willing her body to not shake, Jeyne stood up on the edge, her body on the other side of the window now. Forcing herself to not look down as he advised, she instead turned her gaze from the exterior wall above the window, to the right, where the very small walk way was. Only the first half of her feet would be touching it, and closing her eyes for a moment, Jeyne thought, 'Like when we would balance on low walls or follow a crack in the path on our tip toes. It's just like that.'

 

Taking a deep breath, Jeyne shuffled over until her feet nudged the ledge. Looking up, the roof overhung, meaning that the only source for her hands to grip to would be the spaces underneath and between where the rafters beams were.

 

One hand at a time, Jeyne reached out and found a space to hold onto, arms stretched out as far to the right as she could, so that as she took her first few shuffling steps onto the walkway, they would become even once more with her shoulders.

 

Staying up on her toes, she felt her calf muscles twitch and tremble as she held the stretch, but Jeyne forced all that away. Instead, she kept up the mantra of 'right hand, left hand, right foot, left foot.' One after the other, she picked up a rhythm with her movements. Below her, Jeyne picked up faint chatter and laughter from the street below. With all the drunken and lustful men, none would think to look up. Hopefully. Jeyne really did not know what she would do, nor what would happen, if anyone noticed her scaling the side of the building like this.

 

Finally, in what felt like forever, Jeyne reached the corner of the building. Glancing back the way she came, her heart lurched. Where was Desmond?

 

Breathing becoming heavy pants as panic began to well up, Jeyne wanted to cry. Gripping the wall tightly, she bowed her head as best as she could, forehead bumping against the stone. Was she to be stuck up here forever? Would she fall to her death once limbs to weak to hold her? What if-

 

“Jeyne?”

 

Gasping, the girl looked up quickly, and could nearly sob in relief. Desmond was up on the roof, crouching down and looking at her. There was a furrow in his brow, only faintly seen under his peaked hood. “What are you doing standing like that?” He asked, only to barrel on as she opened her mouth to explain, “Come on, we got to get moving.”

 

Then, he reached a hand out to her. Eyeing it with trepidation, Jeyne feared that if she let go with even one hand she would fall. However, as he wiggled his fingers, faintly impatient, Jeyne took a leap of faith. Quickly, she let go to slap her hand against his, large and engulfing her entirely. He gripped tight as she wobbled where she stood precariously.

 

“I'm going to pull you up as you get your feet on those stones.”

 

Nodding once, Jeyne heard her own heart beat loudly as she lifted a foot to one of the jutting out bricks from the wall. Stepping up onto it, Desmond tugged, and together they got her lifted up and onto the roof. She either must weigh nothing to him, or he must be very strong with how he brought her up to the roof with only one hand. Collapsing for only a second, having wanted to catch her breath, the roof's tilt made her feel like she would slip off, so instead she forced herself to scramble up until she was sat haphazardly onto the very top of the roof.

 

Next to her, Desmond stood easily, as if the height and danger of slipping to his death was nothing to him. “Ready to go?”

 

Sucking in a deep breath, Jeyne thought him mad, but nodded just the same. She wanted to be free, best not linger whilst there was still time that she could be trapped again.

 

Taking his offered hand once more, Jeyne balanced herself out with her arms spread as Desmond took the lead. Unlike her, he was faintly crouched, arms only slightly away from his side. He moved quick, still surprisingly poised even with the pack over his shoulder. And after a few steps, Jeyne tried to copy his posture and the way his feet turned out slightly.

 

It was far more balanced she found, and soon the brunette was moving nearly as fast as him, though still with a hint of shakiness in her form.

 

When they reached the edge, Desmond skillfully leapt across the space from the brothel's roof to the one next door. This roof was actually flatter, and he rolled with the impact. Jeyne on the other hand stilled.

 

The gap was not that wide, she had surely hopped larger streams than over this tiny alleyway. However, that was with the only concern of getting wet and maybe some bruises. With a glance down to the alley below, Jeyne swallowed thickly. This was different.

 

Fearful, Jeyne looked over at Desmond, who watched her. He offered no words of encouragement this time, only giving a gesture for her to follow. Dithering for a split second, Jeyne ended up backing up a few steps before rushing forward, leaping across and slightly down to the the lower roof.

 

Colliding with Desmond, the man easily stablised her as she landed on the roof, Jeyne was breathless.

 

“See?” He murmured, and Jeyne tilted her head up, spotting the small but proud smile on his lips, “You're getting the hang of it. Just have faith, Jeyne.” He reiterated.

 

Unable to stop herself, she gave Desmond a large smile. 'Such a brave daughter, I have. How the gods have blessed me.' Her father's words rung out in her head. He had always said that Jeyne was brave, and now, for the first time in a long time, she truly felt it as she ran and jumped across Kings Landing roof tops.

 

With each pass over one roof top to the next, it got easier to leap with out pausing to hesitate. And each time, Desmond glanced over to make sure she made it. It was almost fun, looking over all the people oblivious to the pair of them hopping away above them. She could almost forget she was running away, and not just playing. Though, she had never played with such heights. That was all Bran.

 

Soon, the air turned salty, and Jeyne knew they were close to the docks. At that point, they had stopped on a roof for Desmond to pick up another bag, larger this time. It was tucked next to a tiny chimney, and after checking it's contents, he slung that one over his shoulders as well.

 

Though curious, Jeyne held back asking what was inside. Instead, she followed after him as he came to one side of the roof's edge, the side that was part of an alley. In more complicated moves than what she had started to pick up, the man hopped down, gripping the roof across from them as his feet dangled, then kicking off that wall, he latched onto a lower window of the building they were on. From there, he continued the back and forth jumping, finding foot and hand holds in places she never would have given a second glance, until he was once more on the ground.

 

Staring down at the man, Jeyne bluntly stated, “I will not be doing that.”

 

“Not yet!” Desmond called back, overly cheery. Then, he held his arms up. “Instead, I'll be catching you.”

 

“What!?” She hissed. Standing up from where she was knelt on the edge, having been watching his terrifying back and forth leaping, Jeyne shook her head. “You are completely mad. You won't be able to catch me!”

 

“Sure I will.” He disagreed too calmly for her liking. “Now, hurry up. We haven't got all night. After all, I did kill an important man and the clock is ticking.”

 

Worrying her lip, Jeyne glanced around the alley way, seeing if maybe she could do the same thing he did, but even she knew that would be over confident and foolish. Teetering from one foot to another, Jeyne took a deep breath, “You promise to catch me?”

 

“I promise, Jeyne. Just take that leap of faith and you'll make it.”

 

His words were just as honest and serious as all the other times he had promised her safety. And he hadn't let her down just yet. In the darkness, his eyes somehow shone golden without any sunlight to make them, and Jeyne couldn't help how much she trusted their unwavering gaze, despite the unusualness of their colour changing. Sitting back down, this time with her legs dangling over the edge, Jeyne waited until he shifted his stance, better prepared to catch her weight, before taking a deep, deep breath in. Her stomach fluttered, then, as she pushed off and forcing herself to not close her eyes, it swooped and leapt into her throat as she fell. That sensation stayed for the suspended amount of time she was in the air.

 

Then a near painful grip on her waist and she fell onto Desmond, breathless again. He let out a grunt as she landed on him, but held steady as she let out a shaky breath after a long moment, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly.

 

“Can we never do that again?” Jeyne whimpered into his shoulder. With a low chuckle, Desmond patted her back comfortingly. “We'll see.” That was not comforting at all.

 

The Dornishman let her hold onto him for a few seconds longer, before she slowly pried her arms off of him, legs unwrapping from where they instinctively locked around his torso. Like a new born foal, her knees shook.

 

“Come on.” A hand slipped into hers, and Desmond tugged them through the alley way and to the docks. Grateful for his hold on her, Jeyne was sure she would trip if not for it, the girl tried to keep her steps as quiet as his as they made their way towards the ship.

 

When they started to slow down, Jeyne glanced around, noting a ship that had shapes of people moving about, obviously getting ready to sail. At the wooden ramp for them to climb aboard, Desmond called out, “Garven!”

 

A tromping of boots on wood, and a very bearded man looked over the railing. “Well, 'bout time, Sand! We were about ready ta leave ya!”

 

His accent was thick, and not one Jeyne was familiar with, but sounded jovial. They made their way up the ramp, and the man, Garven, gave her a once over before turning to Desmond. “This was the last minute change?”

 

With a helpless shrug, Jeyne watched in awe as the calm and near predator-like man shifted into boyish and wide-eyed as he explained, “I've been here some years ago, and it turned out a night spent with a whore ended up with a daughter! This here is Laney, she's ten.”

 

For a moment, Jeyne nearly protested against his false story, until his grip on her hand tightened. Snapping her mouth close, Jeyne offered the man a weak smile instead. Shuffling closer to half-way hide behind Desmond, the girl decided it would be best if she didn't talk. After all, she had a Northern accent, and their lie was that she was born here in the capital.

 

Garven took her silence in good humour, turning back to Desmond, “Think she'll do well in Dorne then?”

 

With a guileless smile, Desmond replied, “Hope so!”

 

And then Desmond was ushering her further onto the ship and below deck. There, Jeyne watched as the man stashed their things silently. Uncertainty gnawed at her stomach, and she couldn't help looking back through the door way. Back and out to the city where she knew Sansa was.

 

“Have you forgotten something?”

 

Desmond's voice pulled her back, turning to look at him again. Shifting from foot to foot, Jeyne hesitantly replied, “A friend.”

 

Where he was in the process of taking out a water skein, the man paused, cocking his head to the side. “Another child prostitute?” And then Desmond took a seat on one of the swinging cots.

 

Debating whether revealing too much was a good idea, her mind fell on how quick he was to kill Lord Baelish and free her. Though she had no clue what he planned for her, right now she trusted he wouldn't touch her like the other men. She would trust him and wait with bated breath until he broke it. That way, she should at least be prepared for the betrayal and not feel too hurt. Right?

 

The logic made no sense, even as she ran circles around herself, wondering if what she said could harm Sansa. After all, that loyalty to the Stark name was instilled since she was born, and it was painful to think mentioning Sansa meant her friend would be hurt by the very same man that granted her her freedom.

 

Meeting his gaze, Jeyne decided. “Sansa Stark. She's with the royal family...and I don't know if she's in danger or not.”

 

Folding forward, the man leant his arms on his knees, expression contemplative. “The North's princess, hm? You were her friend?” And that's right, Jeyne recalled. Robb had been crowned King, so Sansa would be a princess now.

 

Nodding, Jeyne clarified, “We were raised together.” 'Like sisters.' Jeyne wanted to add but withheld. She was not Sansa's sister, would never be a Stark. Not like how she always yearned.

 

Scratching at his head, Desmond frown. “The best I could do is help you send a message to her. What do you want to do?”

 

Thinking over how quickly he had freed her, Jeyne hopefully asked, “Can...can you free her?”

 

Tilting his head to the side, Desmond admitted, “I could. Though I've already killed an important figure for you, so it would be a stupid decision to suddenly break into a place with no map of or guard rotation. Or...” He then added slowly, giving her an appraising eye, “You could.”

 

Wide eyed, Jeyne gasped, “Me? But-but how could I-”

 

“Training.” Desmond shrugged, indifferent to her shock. “I have a...hm, a community.” He seemed to settle on. “This community is trained to fight and protect.”

 

Her eyes went to the blade tucked into his waist. “Are they like you?”

 

Sighing, Desmond leant back on the cot, arms propped up behind him as he explained, “To be plain, they're all assassins like me. Though we don't kill innocents, we do still kill. I started it up, taking in orphans or anyone who needed a place. Not all are trained to kill, as not all want to. So we have healers, spies, other jobs that help us in our work. You could too. But, then again, you wouldn't be able to save Sansa.”

 

“Then why can't you do it!?” Jeyne exclaimed, incredulous, “Why do I have to be the one?” She was just a girl. Girls didn't fight, ignoring Arya and her strangeness. Jeyne would be killed the second she stepped into the Red Keep with the intent to save Sansa.

 

Desmond rubbed at his eyes tiredly, and Jeyne was hit with a hint of guilt. How long has he been up because of her? “Because,” The man continued seriously, “Though I would be willing, breaking into the Red Keep and saving Sansa would require not just me but others working together. That means I'm putting my people in danger. They are trained for it, but I try to keep my losses down to zero as much as possible.”

 

Scrambling for anything, Jeyne blurted out, “If you saved her, the North would repay you handsomely!” The offer fell weak in the space between them, leading to Jeyne to wince. Desmond gave her a sad look as he considered it, though she knew he was not convinced.

 

“Maybe, but why should we care? Don't think of me as unsympathetic, Jeyne,” He held up a hand to stall her protests, “But it's the truth. We have no reason to care about her.” Ducking her head down at his harsh words, no matter how soft he spoke, Jeyne willed her tears away. Frustrated and full of pain at the thought of abandoning Sansa.

 

But then he spoke up once more. “You, however, do.” And here, he stood up, arms folding across his chest, “Sometimes, you have to be the one to fight for what you want, and not leave it to others. You want to save her. Then do it. I will provide you the tools you need, but it's on you. How desperately do you want her saved?”

 

How desperately? Jeyne recalled all the sneaked lemon cakes and nights whispering dreams and secrets in bed together. She thought of Sansa's hugs and kisses on her cheeks when they played. The girl remembered how she held Sansa, when she wept over Lady's death, how she whispered and begged for her direwolf to be alive. She wanted Sansa back as much as she needed to breathe.

 

Forging steel into her spine, Jeyne straightened up to meet his gaze firmly. “With every beat of my heart, I swear I will get her back alive.”

 

The corner of his lip twitched, a faint smile of approval. “Then it's time you write her a letter.” Quietly, Jeyne observed him find some parchment and thin piece of charcoal. Taking them, the girl knelt to the floor, using the wood to write against. There wasn't much space, and conscious of someone getting this letter that wasn't Sansa, Jeyne tried her best to write in code.

 

'My Sweet friend,

I have much to say but not enough space nor time. Please know I am safe, and I will come back for you when I'm strong enough. It breaks my heart to leave you alone, but you are not forgotten. Stay alive and strong, I will come back.

Yours, Joyful.'

 

Her writing was tiny and cramped, trying to fit it all on. But when finished and as satisfied as she could be, Jeyne straightened up to hand the note to Desmond. Stooping down some to take it, Jeyne bit her lip as the man read the words, eyebrow rising up. “Interesting names, vague enough too.”

 

His comment brought up fond memories. “It's what we sometimes played, finding words that held the same letter or sound as our name. Sweet Sansa and Joyful Jeyne were the common ones. Though...I sometimes called her silly too.” Jeyne admitted, feeling a bit childish. The man however only huffed a breath of amusement. “You two are adorable.”

 

Folding up the letter, he waved her to follow him back up to the deck. They had already begun to sail away from the dock, leaving Kings Landing behind. However, she was confused on how her note would reach Sansa, until Desmond lifted his arm up and whistling a short, high note.

 

A bird's screech responded and with a flutter of wings, an eagle landed onto his forearm, diving down from somewhere above, be that the rigging or the clouds, Jeyne wasn't sure. It was a slight one bird, brown feathers and intelligent eyes. Standing to the side, Jeyne noted how Desmond murmured softly, too soft for her to hear, to the bird. It's head tilted to one side, letting out a soft warble, and took the offered note into it's beak.

 

The Dornishman then tossed his arm up, the bird taking flight once more. In awe, Jeyne distantly asked, “Will it find Sansa?”

 

Confidently, the man nodded, giving Jeyne's head a soft pat. “Altair is a smart bird. He'll deliver it without anyone seeing.”

 

Unsure but once more willing to trust him, the girl hummed in acknowledgment.

 

“Oh yeah.” He then added, drawing her eyes away from the night sky, to see him dig in his pocket. There, he tossed her something, and she fumbled to catch it. It was a mockingbird pin. One she had seen on Lord Baelish. There was dried blood splattered on the metal. “Thought you would like proof.”

 

With a trembling finger, she ran it down the metal and flaky blood. The lingering fear of the man finally dispersed into nothing. He was gone.

 

Soon after, Jeyne went to bed in their shared room. The two cots hung from the ceiling, swaying with every wave of the sea. After everything that occurred today, from waking up in a brothel, ready for another horrible day, to now in a ship with a man she only trusted with trepidation, Jeyne fell asleep quickly.

 

 

 

Their destination was Dorne, which did not surprise Jeyne. They were on route to Planky Town, and from there, their small settlement which laid between the port town and Sunspear. Desmond described it as being on the outskirts, an old, crumbling stone keep that he had rebuilt.

 

He spoke of the place with fondness, a home, Jeyne concluded, for the man. A home that also housed all that he took in. And it would take them two weeks of good sailing to reach the port, and Jeyne prayed the winds and waters would be good.

 

In that time, Desmond began to give her the tools. Specifically, training. He showed her different exercises to strength her body. It was a miserable affair. The man had her doing things called 'push up' and 'sit ups', as well as running from one end of the ship to the other, much to the amusement of all the sailors. She even had to climb the rigging, getting tangled many times in the ropes and knots. Garven had japed if Desmond was trying to raise a warrior, to which the man shrugged, “The Dornish train their daughters too. And she is certainly far behind her sisters and brothers.”

 

The man took that as Desmond stating he had many bastard children running about, not just her. But Jeyne knew what that meant. The community, a brotherhood and sisterhood, referred to one another as siblings, even without the blood relation. She would be seventh sister, and he was the Mentor of them all.

 

Desmond explained that she would learn more about their hierarchy when they arrived, as for now, he wanted her to focus primarily in getting her body into shape as much as possible. Because if she thought this was grueling, the actual training would be far worse.

 

In the back of her mind, Jeyne kept the chant of 'For Sansa' over and over, just to keep her motivated and remembering why she did what she did. Why she didn't just collapse and not get back up, limbs aching so much that she was sure they would fall off one day.

 

And in that time together, Jeyne got to know the man who rescued her. He was laid-back and liked to joke, though they were dry and actually not as funny as he thought them to be. He was also very devoted to his community, the unwavering loyalty in his gaze every time he mentioned them. She also learnt of his original reason for being in the Crownlands, which was because he had a mark, someone Desmond was hired to kill. After that, he went to King's Landing to talk to some of the whores for information, as a few were spies of his own. Curious and persistent, Jeyne probed him for the identity of the mark, and after a considering pause, man admitted, “It was Gregor Clegane.”

 

Gasping, Jeyne had clapped her hands to her mouth. “You killed the Mountain!?”

 

Awkwardly, Desmond scratched the back of his head, “Honestly, it wasn't that hard. Easy to sneak up on him sleeping to slit his throat, along with his group of men.”

 

Frowning, Jeyne pointed out, “That's not very honorable.”

 

Desmond snorted. “We're assassins, our very profession is the opposite of honorable. Though we can fight, if we can keep it short and simple, minimising any attention, we do. Being unseen is what we do.”

 

It certainly gave her something to mull over whilst wheezing through her exercises. As well as when he described the tenets of their Creed.

 

“Three main rules. Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent. Hide in plain sight. And never compromise the brotherhood. But our primary guide line is this: Nothing is true; everything is permitted.”

 

Jeyne gave him a blank look. He chuckled at her expression. “The first three you get, right?”

 

She nodded slowly. “Good.” The Dornishman continued, “The last one is a bit strange. But as one of my own mentors explained it,” Desmond then closed his eyes, recalling words that must have been spoken to him a long time ago. “To say that nothing is true, is to realise that the foundations of society are fragile, and that we must be the shepherds of our own civilsation. To say that everything is permitted, is to understand that we are the architects of out actions, and that we must live with their consequences, whether glorious or tragic.”

 

Opening his eyes, they glinted gold as he went further into the explanation. “It's not a doctrine to follow, but an observation of the world. We are about preserving freedom and the balance of the whole. So if freedom of the common person is threatened, we do what we can to remove that threat. Even if they're a simple prostitute.” He added softly, giving her chin a nudge up with a knuckle of his finger. A gesture of affection, that he used frequently. It made her head tilt up, as if to remind her to keep her chin up, to stand tall and strong.

 

His words took sometime for her to truly decipher and understand, laying in her cot and swinging gently. But when it fully settled, Jeyne could see many good things from their goals and ambitions with their community. To keep peace. And if peace meant killing those who harmed others, then that was a necessary evil.

 

Closing her eyes, fingers tracing the metal of the mockingbird pin, they were but a few days from Dorne, the air already blowing hot and Jeyne thought of the Lannisters. How they had killed her father, Lord Stark, Jory, Septa, and so many others. They were but a few people, the Lannisters, but it would save the masses, to kill them all.

 

Chapter 2

Summary:

I call this chapter, scenery wankery. Also, Jeyne settling in to the Sand Nest and her new life.

Notes:

Get ready for some OCs my dudes.

Edited: 11/23/22

 

She was stripped back down to her thin halter dress from when trapped in the brothel when they finally docked at Planky Town. It was too hot to put on the other layers for their travel from Planky Town to the Sand Nest, where Desmond and the Brotherhood resided. However, she did keep on the trousers.

 

Giving Garven a small departing wave as they tromped down the plank from the ship, Jeyne kept her balance well after a few weeks on board, sea-legs working magic as she walked across the swaying platforms. Planky Town was a wonder, she soon discovered. Ships, pole boats, and barges, all lashed together and floating on the tide, along with wooden walk ways tied to said vessels. As Dorne's main port, it was full of different accents and languages, smells of delicious spices and other cooking treats filling the air. So colourful and bright, it was bustling with crowds and was far better than King's Landing, seeing as it did not smell like human waste.

 

She had to keep a hold on the tail coats of Desmond's thin hooded cloak, eyes too focused on all the new things around her. He humoured her in turn, keeping his pace slow enough to allow her to take it all in as best as she could. “We'll be back here soon.” Desmond assured her. “Most of our supplies comes from here, along with the market in Sunspear. We're in a good place, balanced between the two settlements and not completely secluded in the desert."

 

Humming lightly, Jeyne took a few quick steps to fall in next to him instead of behind, and tucked her hand into his. Desmond's only response was to look down with a raised brow, amused, but saying nothing thankfully. Jeyne felt a little bit embarrassed, but holding onto his tail coats wasn't enough with all the crowds. It felt better to be next to him instead.

 

His hand was calloused and warm. Jeyne thought of her father mournfully, before dashing away the sad thoughts. Father always said she was strong, so she would be. For Sansa's sake.

 

A set of stables on the outskirt of Planky Town was their first stop before leaving. There, Desmond paid the stable hand and came out with a black sand steed. The animal pranced about a little, much to Desmond's amusement, nickering and nudging it's long face into his. The creature was obviously very happy to see the man again and Jeyne giggled at it's antics. Pushing it away after a short moment of stroking it's face, the man chuckled, “Yes, I'm happy to see you too, Aazad.”

 

Slowly approaching, Jeyne waited until the man gave the all clear for her to stroke a hand down the horse's neck. It chuffed and gave her hand a nudge. Delighted, Jeyne apologised with a smile, “I don't have anything for you, sorry.”

 

Patting the horse's flank as he fussed with the straps the saddle on Desmond dryly remarked, “He's greedy, don't let those big ol' eyes fool you.”

 

Grinning, Jeyne got up onto the saddle when Desmond motioned her too, following her to settle in front a moment later. With his bags secure and Jeyne holding tight to his waist, the man gave a click of his mouth and the horse burst into motion. Sand steeds were truly fast horses, Jeyne admired, the wind a relief in this heat, despite it being warm as well. She was certain to burn under the blazing sun, but after two weeks of sea and a month in a brothel, she did not care. Jeyne was free and a step closer to saving Sansa, and that's all that mattered at the end of the day.

 

On they rode, until the sun was close to setting, awashing the sands with fire. Over his shoulder at one point, the man had informed her it was about an hour's ride, taking nearly three if they were walking. Jeyne already found it difficult to be under this heat on a horse, so she couldn't image how it would be to walk it instead. They rode for a little more, Jeyne starting to doze off, soothed by the steady rhythm of the horse, until Desmond slowed down Aazad, to point out for her, “Over there. Do you see it?”

 

Shaking the drowsiness from her mind and squinting her eyes against the sun - Jeyne had used the tunic the man gave her to wrap her head until only her eyes were seen - she assessed the surrounding landscape. There was a cliff like area, where the land slanted upwards to then only drop down into dunes. But under it, was very solid, tall, and square structures. If she hadn't been told to search for it, she wouldn't have seen it. The materials it was made of must have been the very same as the cliff, or at least the stone looked similar. It blended in with it's environment, the glaring sun making the onlooker unwilling to stare at the bright and hot sand around them for long, obscuring the place from easy visibility.

 

Silently, Jeyne pointed towards it as she looked to Desmond her confirmation. He nodded with approval, “Correct.” Then, they continued on forward, not at a gallop but fast enough to reach the Sand Nest within a few minutes.

 

Upon arriving, Jeyne couldn't help but gape when the place was closer, as it slowly stretched above them. There were two watch towers, thick and square as she noted previously, along with a third, taller one in the middle, built into the cliff face that was further back into the settlement. However, it was tall enough that she could see it with a head tilt back once near to the entrance. The walls were both jagged and smooth as the boulders braced around the settlement, walls rising up to protect those within, and it had only one large door, opening at their approach. However, with it being a place of trained assassins, Jeyne wouldn't be shocked if they had other secret entrances dotted about.

 

Above, in the sky, Jeyne could see birds circling the towers, and from a familiar cry, she assumed they were eagles. She hadn't seen Altair since that night Jeyne had her note sent off. She hoped everything was alright. Desmond then dismounted when she was distracted, greeting a man who had stepped through the doors. Offering his hands up in a prayer, lightly bowing his head, the man greeted Desmond. “Safety and peace, Mentor.”

 

The man was dressed in similar white robes as Desmond, a hood over his eyes and a red sash around his waist. The hood had the same peaked design, like a bird's beak. Jeyne was slowly starting to see a theme. Returning the gesture, Desmond echoed, “Safety and peace, Damian. All is well?”

 

Taking Aazad's reins once Jeyne slipped off the saddle, Damian replied with a dip of his head, “Lessons continue as normal, though they have missed you, Mentor.” Slowly, they meandered towards the entrance, Jeyne trying to find her footing on the sand. It was going to get everywhere, she just knew it.

 

Smiling softly, Desmond joked, “Thought they would be relieved to be without my tyrannical teaching methods. Giving them some time to relax.”

 

Damian's responding laugh was as dry as the desert, “The teachers worked them just as hard in your absence, as they typically do. I do believe they fear repercussions if anyone fell behind due to slacking.”

 

“Ah,” Desmond let out a gusty sigh, false irritability, “I thought we moved past that. I'm really not a scary guy.”

 

Sometimes, Jeyne had learnt, Desmond talked strangely. Using words that were nonsensical, creating confusing sentences for her to translate.

 

However, it seemed Damian was used to such particularities, and the man chuckled in response. But the rest of their conversation faded from her ears as she marveled at the Sand Nest. They entered a small but long courtyard in between the entrance to the Sand Nest and the building across, where a boy came running out of to take the horse from Damian, chirping a greeting to Desmond as he went. It was a simple courtyard, smooth stone on the ground, liberally dusted with sand of course, and had some plants hanging over the balcony of the structure before them. The stables seemed to be to the left of the courtyard where the boy disappeared with Aazad, the only other building in the entrance courtyard. A short stair way was before them, pillars of dusty orange and beige stone, the same kind as the walls and cliff, braced the overhead terrace above the stairs. There was lattice work over the windows and Jeyne could see a balcony wrap itself around and possibly leading to further into the keep.

 

The doors into the first building was a thick wood, thrown open for the three of them to walk through, and Jeyne cast a momentarily glance behind her, watching as two people she hadn't noticed before close the front entrance into the compound. Swallowing around a parched throat, Jeyne settled with the knowledge that this was it. No turning back now.

 

Stepping inside, were she slumped in relief at being out of the sun, Jeyne gaped how it was tiled floor of blues and oranges and reds on the floor and walls. Bright patterns filled her vision, a mosaic creation of intricate design such as swirling clouds and turbulent waves. When she tilted her head up, Jeyne audibly gasped at the mural of stars made from the same tiny tiled style. This entry area was large, with a large door way leading through in front of her, as well as a set of door ways to her left and right. They were also arched, sheer curtains tied to the side, and sometimes strings of beads dangling down, creating an open and welcoming environment, no one forbidden from going anywhere. Where they led to however, Jeyne would have to find out, but she could see hallways further on, hear chatter of people within the compound.

 

At that moment, Desmond spoke to her, pointing to one of the door ways to the left. This one had it's curtains down and blocking the view. “Down there is the hospital.”

 

“Hospital?” She had never heard that term before.

 

“The healers ward. Where the injured and wounded are brought to be helped.” Desmond explained. “That's the main front for our community. We offer healing, and many don't expect that this is also a den of trained assassins.”

 

She thought it both a surprising and smart idea.

 

Then, a bell tolled somewhere from within, and soon there was a rush of foot steps. Beside her, Desmond muttered, “Ah shit. Here we go again.”

 

Confused, Jeyne opened her mouth to ask, only to squeak, taken aback as children and young adults came flooding from the front facing three archways, and from one on the right. They called out for 'Mentor!' and 'Desmond!', all chattering, swarming closer, and the younger ones colliding with the man's waist in loving hugs.

 

Stunned, Jeyne witnessed as the man happily greeted them all with fond exasperation, as if used to such exuberance. Like a father among all his children.

 

Soon enough however, he managed to settle them all down and introduce her. “This here is Jeyne. She will be training, and is now your seventh sister.”

 

He turned to her. “Jeyne. These are your brothers and sisters. You will sleep, train, and eat with them.”

 

A little speechless, Jeyne nodded and gave the onlookers a short curtsy. Giggles spread about, and though they did not sound mocking, Jeyne flushed nonetheless. As a highborn lady, Jeyne had never felt so out of place until now. She had a suspicion that courtly manners and long bloodlines did not matter much here.

 

“Chandni.” Desmond called, and a girl lightly moved through the crowd. She was olive skinned like many of the people here, hair a deep blackness. Eyes an enchanting green, the girl smiled at Jeyne as the man explained, “She's your third sister, as well as your partner. She will help with your training as well as guide you until you get your feet under you once more.”

 

Stepping closer, the girl asked as Desmond began to shoo away the others, “How old are you, Jeyne? I'm fourteen.”

 

“Eleven.”

 

The girl's responding grin was bright as she quickly took Jeyne's hand. “So I am your big sister! Come, I will show you where you will be sleeping." And Jeyne was helpless to do anything but be tugged along. When she chanced a bewildered and hopeful glance behind her as she was pulled away, Desmond smirked at her predicament and waved, “We will talk later.”

 

Her glare should have certainly been fierce enough to melt him on the spot.

 

Unlike with Winterfell and the Red Keep, the hall ways were not straight and easily understandable. Winding hallways and narrow passage ways, Jeyne was positive that it was created as such to make anyone unfamiliar to become lost. They even took stairs that were on the outside of the building, leading to different floors and sometimes across flat roof tops that had clothing lines strung across. It was all open, no window shutters and sunlight streaming in.

 

As Chandni led her on, the older girl rambled, “All the girls, until we past the final test and reach Master Assassin rank, share a dormitory. The private rooms are further to the entrance of the Nest. As we are the weaker ones until we become strong enough, we live further in, safest and far away from any attack. Its the same for non-assassins, living further into the compound, and there are different districts too. Like for eating, or training, or people who do other work around the Nest. But yeah, their homes are further in, and the full assassins living on the outskirts of the place to be able to quickly defend us if we get attacked.”

 

Worriedly and windswept by the sheer about of information all dumped at once, Jeyne asked, “Has that happened before? An attack?”

 

Thankfully, Chandni shook her head, “No, Mentor keeps us all safe and away from powerful gazes. He has a truce with the Martells. A partnership, I suppose. It allows us to live freely and without manipulation.” A strange look flitted over the other girl's face, but it passed as soon as it arrived. Deeming it unimportant, Jeyne decided to forget about it.

 

Desmond Sand, Jeyne was learning, was someone who cared and protected fiercely over who he had deemed under his protection. And with the amount of children that flocked to him full of such adoration, Jeyne could see that the loyalty and love was returned just as strongly. It was admirable.

 

At first, many of the wide hallways they walked through, not as deep as they clearly were heading towards going by Chandni's explanation, over looked small courtyards where there were some pools of water and cleared areas for training, as well as resting benches. At one point, they passed a strange courtyard that had wooden beams sticking out over a large pool, with different sizes and lengths. There were people jumping from one beam to another, and she gasped as one had missed and fell in with a loud splash.

 

Laughter filled the air and Chandni had paused in their walking to call out over the balcony, “You're never going to beat my time with that kind of footing, Nanian!”

 

“Go suck a scorpion, Chandni!” Came the furious cry back. The older boy was soaked and miserable from where he stood in the water.

 

Giggling, the girl shared a conspiratorial look with Jeyne, as if including her into the joke. It caused a warm sensation in her chest, making an uneasy knot loosen. She had been afraid of being seen as an outsider, looked down upon at her lack of skills. But Chandni had been welcoming so far, and Jeyne hoped it stayed that way.

 

The further they went in there grew a lack of windows and sunlight, as well as the temperature cooling some from the smothering heat of the desert. The windows became smaller, the passageways so winding it was near dizzying the deeper into the compound they went. Jeyne realised softly that they were probably within the cliffside. Torches soon lined the walls, casting light where the windows lacked as they took a set of stairs deep into the ground. Jeyne's mind was reeling, trying to imagine someone digging into the earth and sand like this.

 

And one short and straight passageway later they climbed another set of stairs, this time a faint beam sunlight greeted them. It filtered in from small circular window above them, showing the slowly sunset sky. They had entered a short hallway with a dead end and two doors on either side. Chandni took the one on the right.

 

Inside were cots lining the walls, in four rows across the space. Trunks were at the end of each of them, and another arch way at the far end of the room. Chandni said that was the room to bathe and relieve oneself in. More glass windows above them, though this time, the glass was coloured, casting beautiful rainbows of light onto the floor and beds.

 

Dazzled, Jeyne had her head tilted back as Chandni settled her down onto a bed on the second row, in the middle of the room. “This will be your bed.”

 

Glancing back down and around the room, Jeyne asked, “How many girls are there?”

 

Chandni took a seat next to her. “Well,” She began, “There are the younger ones, and they sleep here too unless they are living with their parents in a different part of the compound, who only do the very basic exercises and have not picked whether they will be assassins or help out in other ways and professions. They are not counted as numbered disciples, like us. You are, because you are being trained, so there are seven sisters currently at the novice stage, which we are. After we've passed out final tests, we become masters, and be senior disciples.”

 

“And is Desmond the only Mentor?”

 

She nodded, “He is the leader, and the teacher of the first masters, who then mainly train us. Desmond sometimes as well, mainly with certain skills, but as Mentor, he takes a lot of missions.” Then, the girl leant in, like divulging a secret, “I heard from Abeela, our second sister, that he takes the most deadly ones, so no one gets severely hurt.”

 

That checked out with his words that first night, about keeping his losses low and his people safe. Though an assassin, it made her think of him as a knight from the songs, strong and honorable.

 

Chandni soon then declared it was supper time, and though she did not drag Jeyne after her, the Northern girl still ran close to her heels as they went back the way they came. Though her heart ached for Sansa, for their closeness and friendship, it eased with the comfort of being next to another girl again.

 

They dined in a large pavilion, after the workers – Chandni said very seriously that there were no servants here. Everyone was equal, from the Mentor, down to a laundress – in the kitchens had laid out the dishes. It was simplistic foods, though so clearly cooked with spices and herbs, going by the smells and bright colouring of some. Many roasted and fried vegetables and roots, some meats sprinkled in, as well as bowls of fruits she had never seen much less eaten before.

 

Here, Jeyne was introduced to the other sisters, as well as a few brothers. Unlike Sansa, Jeyne did not have a knack for names nor faces. Her skills laid in areas such as geography, astronomy, and sums. Jeyne was quick to beg future forgiveness, if she forgot their names. They all waved her off and held no offense.

 

After the long journey, Jeyne was halfway nodding off, a roll of nearly finished bread still clutched in her hand as supper was coming to an end. She barely could recall exactly how she got back to the dorm, but she remembered hushed whispers, and hands helping her to lean against something warm and solid. There were arms around her legs, and it was on reflection she realised someone had carried her to bed. Jeyne, was starting to accept that she was truly safe now, with the gentle hands that guided her down to her cot to sleep.

 

It felt as if she had only shut her eyes when she was shaken awake however. Squinting through blearily eyes, Jeyne saw Chandni in the darkness, who whispered, “Time to get up. We've got morning stretches.”

 

Glancing up at the overhead windows, Jeyne only saw a dark sky and glowered back at the girl, especially at the lantern that was lit and bright for her sleepy eyes. The black-haired girl grinned, “Come on. I'll explain on the way.” Then tossed a pile of clothes at her face. It seemed that was a trait they all picked up from the Mentor.

 

And so, training and settling into her new life began. With a truly unbending perseverance.

 

The schedules were laid out like this: Waking up at the fourth hour of the morning to do their stretches and a quiet session of what was called 'yoga'. They would have to climb up the stairs that wound around the cliff side to the top, and would go through these aching and repetitive motions as the sun slowly rose. It was both tiring and rejuvenating.

 

Then, they would head down to break their fast, the younger children joining in. Jeyne was jealous that they didn't have to wake up as early. The meal consisted of light foods, such as fruits and a sour-sweet cream called yoghurt. There was also oats and brans that they could add to the yoghurt, along with juice and a cup of water to drink. It was constantly impressed onto Jeyne to drink plenty of water, but to not waste any either. After a just week of living in the desert, the girl understood why.

 

Dorne was hot. She figured that already but having never experienced such heat it was no surprise that at one point she had passed out from heat exhaustion. It was in the first week and no one was surprised. They just had her rest for the rest of the day and drink plenty of what. The next day Jeyne was back to training, studiously drinking her water. The clothes given were helpful however, consisting of loose plain tan jupe-pantalon, a wrap around tunic that was short sleeved, a grey sash, and a grey hooded tunic. It allowed for extreme movement and kept them cool. But that was barely any help with how she was built for the cold, not the heat. Still, she adjusted and learnt to drink her water a plenty.

 

But besides adjusting to the heat, after morning meal they would practise fighting forms. Every day was something a little different, four separate styles of hand to hand combat that was rotated through each week. Some styles were smooth and gliding like a dance, whilst others were harsh and heavy handed. Jeyne was quick with the more dance-like ones, than the others that had such ferocity behind every punch and kick. But she knew she would get the hang of them all eventually.

 

When it got to the hottest point of the day, everyone would move indoors, safe from the danger. There, they would have their mid meal. It tend to be hand food, like pockets of flat bread, that you would stuff with meats and vegetables, pouring some lemon juice and yogurt mixture onto it to add an extra burst of flavour. Jeyne thought the Sansa would like this meal, and vowed to present it to her at the soonest chance she could.

 

After mid meal, they would sleep or find something else to do while resting. Jeyne quite liked that, letting the food digest and sleep away the tired muscles from all the yoga and fighting forms. When the designated two hours passed, they would continue with the rest of their lessons. They would sit in a classroom, and be taught all sorts of things. Philosophy, independent thinking, politics, tactics, literature, basic medical knowledge, and so much more. Jeyne had to join in with the younger ones, seeing as she hadn't learnt what the children her age yet. Though at first a bit embarrassed, she wasn't mocked or scorned by any of the rest, everyone understanding of her education level for these kinds of lessons. Jeyne vowed to learn fast, however, wanting to get to the same level as her peers.

 

And once their minds were swimming with such new things, along with set homework to complete on their down time for next week, they would begin weapons training. Primarily swords and knives. Chandni had explained that they could learn specific weapons on their own time, and would have to seek out a master who knew it to help them. That system apparently led to younger disciples gaining their own private teachers, who would take them in as their own proteges.

 

Jeyne felt strange, holding a sword. Having observed the boys and men in the tilt yard, wielding the heavy weapons, Jeyne never in her life thought she would one day be doing the same.

 

It settled wrong in her hands though, she soon realised. The weapon awkward and uncomfortable. But she persisted, no matter how even changing from one leading hand to the other did not help. She constantly felt unbalanced. But said nothing to the instructor, just wanting to fit in and not draw attention to her. She already had, with her thick Northern accent, so different from the curling Dornish.

 

After weapon training, there was supper and then obstacle course running after an hour to digest their food, the sun close to setting but still shining it's light diligently. The obstacle course and combat training were interchanged every other day. One in the evening, to help practise learning to fight and move in the dark, the other in the early afternoon. Jeyne was decently good at finding her balance on the beams above the water. However, she never complained too much when she fell into it, cooling her off. They also ran across the roof tops, climbing the walls, as the entire keep was a built in obstacle course, and it was not unusual to see some of the senior disciples doing their own training whilst Jeyne's group mates were in lessons or doing other things. It was quite ingenious.

 

There was also swimming on the third and sixth days of the week. As a group, they would be led in a straight line across the dunes towards the sea, where a private cove was at the beach. They would practise diving from varying heights, as well as play and swim about in the waves after mid meal, able to stay cool and relax for awhile.

 

Desmond was a man who ran a strict community, but he also balanced out the exhausting training with time to themselves. Because on the last day of the week, there was no training. There was no lessons. There was playing about the courtyards, and making their own meals, as the workers took their days off. They did their own chores as well as explored hobbies. Jeyne happily skipped off to the weavers or sewing rooms, where looms and fabrics and needles were. She sewed and chatted with the others who practised their skills. It kept her connection with her past, remembering the sewing circle with Sansa and Beth and Arya.

 

They were allowed to add embellishments and character to their clothes, practically encouraged by Desmond. They had a uniform as assassins to follow, but they were individuals outside of their profession. On the edges of her sleeves, Jeyne added the deep blue circle of the Poole sigil. A tiny dotted pattern that wrapped around the hem. She was training to be an assassin, but she was still a Poole. The last Poole. And on the back of her tunics, was a yellow sun at the base of her neck. Though the Martells held dominion over such a design, Jeyne only thought of Sansa. She was bright sunlight to Jeyne's garden, making the flowers bloom with her smiles and laughter.

 

Jeyne missed her friend dearly.

 

 

 

It was after mid-meal, many of her sisters were dozing off or reading on their cots. Jeyne herself was thumbing over a small letter, the calligraphy neat and familiar. It was five months into her training, and at this point, she knew every word by heart on the paper.

 

On the first proper day of her new life, Desmond had pulled her aside after supper and before their last bit of training. With his previous promise to talk later, Jeyne knew why he brought her to his office. It was in the tower that was built into the cliff face. From the windows, you could see the stairs they took to the top for yoga. Beside the one side of the circular room that was part of the cliff, he had three arching windows, large and windowless, those same sheer curtains that dotted about the compound billowing in the light breeze and wind chimes tinkling. Scrolls and books piled on low tables and shelves, along with rugs and pillows tossed about the floor. A ladder on the windowless wall lead up to the very top of the tower, where the eagles congregated. It was a lived in place, and Jeyne could imagine Desmond falling asleep on the pillows spread across the ground, or climbing up to the eagles to sit and talk with them. Jeyne imagined that he talked with the birds quite a lot.

 

Gesturing for her to sit across from his low desk, Jeyne crossed her legs on a pillow as he did the same opposite her. From the piles of papers, Desmond tugged out a tiny rolled up piece of paper, held together with a pink ribbon.

 

Her heart had leapt, realising what exactly it was and forewent any decorum to snatch it from his hand. Greedily, Jeyne unrolled it and took in the words.

 

'Beloved Joyful,

You cannot understand the relief I feel, knowing you are alive and well. Though I'm worried on where you are going, I'm gladdened you will be safe. I miss you so dearly, my friend. I do not know how much I can say, but things are not safe where I am. Everything is nothing but pain, whether the physical kind or emotional. Though I would not wish this on anyone, I wish you were with me. You would give me the strength I need.

 

Your promise to save me is one that scares me terribly. Though you are strong, I do not understand how you can take me from this cage I am trapped in. But I must believe you, as you are nothing but stubborn. I will wait for you, but please hurry. I want to leave this place forever.

 

Yours, Sweet.'

 

 

Staring at the words now, Jeyne recalled how she had burst into tears, barely able to imagine just what horrors Sansa was going through, her mind struggling to create them. Never before had she felt such guilt at her own freedom, damning herself for leaving her friend behind.

 

Desmond had shuffled over to her side after she had read the letter, drawing her trembling form to his side, offering silent comfort. And when all the tears ran out, and she was but shuddering for breath, the man had spoken.

 

“You will save her, Jeyne. Remember that. That is your goal, and you swore it. I, as well as your sisters and brothers, will help you grow strong enough to do so. Remember your goal, and let it motivate you through all this training. It will be harsh and painful, but I know if there is one thing that all Northerners share, is their ability to endure. Will you endure?”

 

Jeyne had sucked in desert air and settled the Mentor with a firm expression. “I will always endure.” She was from the North, and the North always endured. 

 

He had given her an approving nod, then sent her on her way.

 

Tucking the letter back under her pillow, Jeyne traced the ribbon around her wrist, forever knotted there. A reminder of her promise.

 

Desmond had left the day after that. First sister, Nadia, had said he had business in Sunspear, and Jeyne accepted that. He more than likely had a meeting with the Martells, she had concluded. With Sansa's letter pushing her further, Jeyne threw herself completely into training, knowing the faster she excelled the sooner she would get to see her dear friend once more.

 

 

---

 

 

In the middle of her thirteenth month of training, a year having passed, Chandni had dragged her along with the others to Planky Town. She hadn't been back there since her arrival in Dorne, and any excursion out to observe wares or buy anything with their little pocket money was done in Sunspear. Which, she might add, was as stunning and full of brilliant things as her sisters had told her. The fabric was something Jeyne knew Sansa would salivate at, just as she did when catching sight of Myrish lace.

 

Grinning, Jeyne had followed along with her siblings, laughing and shrieking when Nanian, her fourth brother, had tossed a snake at them, only for Nadia to kick it back at the boy. Though Jeyne pitied the boy for any bites he may get from the angered animal, she pitied the snake far more, having to sink it's teeth into his gross boy flesh.

 

They traveled in a straight line, as they always did. According to their instructors, it was to make them appear less in numbers, either by their foot tracks, or if they were observed from certain angles they would look to be one person.

 

At Planky Town, Jeyne enjoyed the cool breeze coming from the sea and bought some delicious fruits from a merchant. He herald from Braavos, and regaled her an exaggerated story of fighting off jungle beasts to obtain the fruit. It was so obvious a lie, but Jeyne enjoyed it nonetheless.

 

After, she wandered past a few stalls and overheard some whispers. Their accents sounded like they were from the Crownlands, and Jeyne nonchalantly picked through spools of thread as she listened to the gossip. Apparently the King's sister, Myrcella, was being sent here, to Dorne. She was betrothed to Trystane Martell.

 

A stone settled in her stomach, thinking of the girl. She was sweet and had the looks of a future beauty, like her mother. But the thought of the enemy so close to Jeyne was a discomforting one. They would undoubtedly never meet, Jeyne secluded in the Sand Nest in the Dorne dunes, and the younger girl tucked away in the beautiful gardens of Sunspear.

 

She was jarred from her thoughts at the faint presence coming up behind her and whirled around, hand ready on the knife hidden in her sash, only to relax at the sight of her third sister. Chandni was giving her a concerned look, and Jeyne shook her head, linking their arms together.

 

Leading them away, Jeyne murmured, “It's nothing, sister. Just...news from up north.”

 

The older girl leant in, “Anything interesting?”

 

Pausing, Jeyne subtly glanced around before telling her what she overheard. She had told her six sisters, and only the ones she trained with as the littler ones did not need to know, about where she came from, her family and past, as well as her goal to save Sansa. They had took her vow with a type of solemnity that she had only found with the Northerners spoke of the Old Gods. And in a surprising turn of events, Chandni and her sisters had vowed themselves to help her in the mission. So shocked, she had not understood why, recalling how Desmond said that no one would care to do such a thing. And Nadia had taken her hands into hers, and softly explained, “You are one of us. Your pain is ours. Your heart beats with ours, and we feel yours aching. We follow the Creed, but we are encouraged to be our own people as well. United and individual, we all have our own dreams and goals. Yours will need help, and we offer it willingly.”

 

Speechless, Jeyne could only try to fit them all into one large embrace, falling over into a heap onto the floor when the small cot couldn't hold them all.

 

So when she informed Chandni of what she heard, the girl asked, “Would that cause any problems with the mission?”

 

Slowly, Jeyne shook her head thoughtfully. “I don't believe so. If anything, it keeps the girl safe. Myrcella is not a bad child, and from the things we've heard of the king, it's definitely a good thing she is away from him.”

 

“Makes me worry about your friend, however.” Chandni murmured.

 

Silently, Jeyne nodded in agreement. After that, they collected the rest of the girls and their purchases, and headed back the the Sand Nest.

 

 

 

Three months later, Desmond had informed her that Sansa was married to the Imp, and Jeyne had fallen to her knees in shock. Not only did her heart ache, thinking her friend trapped in a marriage with a Lannister, but something far deeper under it. It was an old emotion, one she never thought to linger on, and one she continued to stifle. Now was not the time, as things...just got far more difficult.

 

Notes:

Soooo, according to the time line, after ned died and then we began season two, a year had passed from the very first episode. It's probs about a year and a bit before Sansa actually married Tyrion, and then about half a year until Joffery marries and dies. So we got now, where this chapter ends, to then. Cause of course they be crashing the party. Sorta.

Jeyne, sweet baby gay, is repressing her love for Sansa. After all, they were taught they would marry men and have children. Lesbians is not a thing they think about. So i shoud add slow burn to the tags...

Chapter 3

Summary:

Training comes to a conclusion and plans are made.

Edit: 11/27/22

Notes:

This is where the Bamf desmond tags starts to slowly kick in. As in, the man terrifies everyone and is constantly perceived as a threat. All jeyne sees is a guy who says weird things and likes birds.

 

At dinner that same evening as when she was informed of the news, Jeyne's heart was heavy, mind swirling with thoughts and plans. It was hard to imagine Sansa married, even though it was a topic they had discussed for years when they were younger. But for Sansa to be married to her enemy, was horrible. Along with Jeyne's own feelings making it sit uncomfortably in her stomach at Sansa being with someone who wasn't her. Picking at her food, Jeyne did not notice Chandni calling her name until the other girl nudged her side instead to get her attention, “What's with the long face?”

 

Weakly smiling at the girl - it felt more like a grimace - Jeyne mumbled, “Just some bad news is all.” Expression settling into one that showed how intently she was listening, Chandni leant in as Jeyne finally explained. Afterwards, the girl huffed in frustration, “Sometimes I don't understand the Mentor.”

 

Abeela, their second sister, jumped into the conversation from Jeyne's other side, “He knows what he's doing, whether he tells us or not, sister.” It was an answer that should have satisfied them, but both glowered in response. Jeyne knew why, but a small part of her was frustrated that Desmond could've just rescued Sansa ages ago, saving Sansa from all this pain.

 

Third sister crossed her arms doubtfully in response to Abeela. “He is like a father to me, but I want to strangle him on occasions for being purposefully vague.” Jeyne nodded with Chandni in agreement, the green-eyed girl adding, “I know we are young, but if there is information being withheld, then we should know why.”

 

A sigh came from across the table, Nanian pointing out around a mouthful as he joined in, “Mentor probably has a plan in the works for what's going on in King's Landing. Something that big needs time and a great deal of thinking to plan. Especially because he doesn't want any of us dead or terrible injured. Plus, working alongside the Martells mean he has to find a way around their restrictions.”

 

Chandni sniffed derisively, “We weren't talking to you, fourth brother. Now close your mouth, you're weren't raised by animals.”

 

Jeyne rolled her eyes as the pair of them began to argue. Stifling a laugh, Abeela asked her softly under their yelling, “Do you know the title that the Martells and the other lords of Dorne have given our Mentor?”

 

She shook her head.

 

“Well,” The older girl explained, “As you know, we have a theme of eagles, and for one reason or another, our Mentor favours them. They are birds of prey, striking when you least expect it, like an assassin. So it makes sense why he likes them so much. Why, this place is called the Sand Nest after all. That interest in the birds must have caught on in the end, as he is called The Eagle of the Dead Sand.”

 

Jeyne blinked at Abeela blankly, leading to her first sister to smile in amusement. “The dunes are a dangerous place to be, Jeyne. You've learnt this. It's a deadly place, and our Mentor decided to build his home in the middle of this empty sand. But the point of me telling you, is that he is a feared and powerful person throughout Dorne. The high born know this and do their best to not upset him. Whatever treaty or deal he has with the Martells, he will come out of it successful. And subsequently, us too. So, you don't need to worry too much about Sansa, Jeyne. We will get her out of King's Landing, one way or another.”

 

“Why do they fear him so much? I know he is strong but...” Jeyne trailed off, mind going to the soft hugs and head pats of affection Desmond freely gives to all the children. The near worship many have of the man, as he stays humble and keeps himself as equal to them as possible. A man of power, who does not revel in it. And she can not find it in her to fear him, because she knew he would never harm her.

 

Chuckling, Abeela dryly stated, “We are his family. They, are not. He is a Sand, a bastard of a blacksmith, and he holds no attachment to the Martells. Not that we know of anyways. Mentor follows them, because they are not trying to subjugate the weak. They know that if they mess up, the Eagle of the Dead Sands would strike, and they wouldn't see it coming.”

 

A shiver ran down Jeyne's spine. Glancing discreetly over at Desmond, the man appeared pensive and unassuming, calmly eating his meal. You would not expect him to be a deadly killer at first glance. And that made him all the more terrifying.

 

 

 

Three days after the news of Sansa's forced marriage to Tyrion Lannister, many of the younger disciples and some of the masters were offered by the Mentor to join him in a visit to Sunspear. Specifically, the Martells.

 

Obah, their combat instructor, looked faintly displeased at the invitation, as he explained the day before they departed, “Generally, we follow our Creed and are not under their control. However, in order to run our brotherhood as freely as we do, having some allegiance to the Martells is necessary. So if they give us a mark, we typically have to follow through with it.”

 

Chandni had later muttered to them during supper her opinion of the deal, once more restarting the Martell argument. “We are assassins, and we take the lives of those who would take away others freedom. I respect the Mentor and his decisions, but still, can you imagine if they ordered us to kill someone who was actually innocent, just because they were of some kind of bother to the Martells?”

 

Nadia had grumbled in agreement, “They're loved by Dorne, but it's still frustrating. We aren't their attack dogs.” Even though all of them are people of Dorne, it was interesting to see how much their loyalty isn't for their kingdom's rulers. She used to think that the lords of the North were unwavering in their loyalty, but Jeyne was wondering how true that could be. Anyone could be swayed depending on the circumstances, as she was taught. Jeyne just hoped that the Northern was not another lie told to her as a child.

 

Frowning at her first sister's words, Jeyne cast an uncertain gaze over to where their Mentor was eating with a few of the other adults, just like she did before. Once more, he appeared unsuspecting of concocting whatever mysterious plans in his head. However, Nanian had disagreed, “If the Mentor was truly unhappy with them, he would have killed them himself. We all know this. So whatever truce or deal they made, it was one he saw as near harmless for us.”

 

“Is that why he's always gone these days, taking one mission after another with every crow from Sunspear?” Chandni sneered. And sensing another rising argument between the two, Jeyne shoved her last bite of food into her mouth and scampered off. She was not the only one, her other siblings either moving somewhere else to eat or disappearing like her all together.

 

She ended up in a training hall, one used during hotter points of the day for those who want to practice away from the sunlight. Though her skills with the knife were good, she still had trouble with a sword. Foot work was near perfect, but she always was off balanced, and it was getting to the point that even her instructor was about ready to suggest a different weapon for her to train with. But for Jeyne that felt like giving up, and if she learnt one thing about herself in the Sand Nest, was that she did not easily give up.

 

It was in the middle of a swing, one that she once more over stretched for the thousandths time, that a voice called out, “Still having trouble?”

 

Pausing in her strike, Jeyne looked to the side to see Desmond leaning against one of the archways. With how casually he stood, Jeyne wondered at how long he had been watching her pathetic attempts.

 

Flushing, Jeyne glanced away, resettling her grip, only for the man to ask again, approaching her and suggesting, “Have you changed the guiding hand?”

 

“Yes.” She bit out. “I've tried it and neither work. I'm always...off balanced.”

 

Stopping beside her, he folded his arms and scrutinised her for a long moment. Then, tapping his lip thoughtfully, Desmond turned and headed towards the weapons rack. With her lack of progress with a sword, Jeyne had been still stuck with a wooden practise sword instead of the metal blades all the others use. It was near humiliating, and she would forever be grateful that any teasing comments held nothing malicious in their tones.

 

Curious, Jeyne lowered the wooden sword. Desmond picked up a pair of curved blades. Scimitars, she recalled Obah explaining some time ago. Coming back toward her, the man offered the blades hilt first to her. In disbelief, Jeyne huffed, “You think I can master two blades when one is impossible for me?”

 

Unimpressed with her lack of faith, Desmond instructed, “Nothing is impossible. Now, take the swords, toss the other to the side.”

 

Happily, Jeyne threw the practice blade carelessly to her right and took the presented scimitars. They were of a medium weight, light enough to not be too cumbersome like a broadsword and evenly balanced with the hilt weight and the actual blade. Testing one, she gave it a slash through the air, and found her other hand immediately following the action.

 

This felt right.

 

Giddiness bubbled in her chest, fingers curling tightly around the hilts. The Mentor then stated, “You can use both hands, can't you. You don't have a dominate one.”

 

Nodding, Jeyne took a few steps away from him and tried a few moves. They practised dual wielding with knives, and she just had to adjust for the larger blade, and soon she was going through the motions as she replied, “My septa always rapped my knuckles whenever I did anything left handed, but I kept up with it when she wasn't around.”

 

“Stupid to smother a trait like that. Comes in handy.”

 

Jeyne snorted at the pun and Desmond grinned proudly.

 

“We'll have to get you a proper teacher.” The man then added, “Laneth, your second senior disciple, dual wields. He's currently out on a mission, but when he returns I'm sure he would be happy to train you.”

 

She was so happy she could cry. Over a year at failing to use a single blade, and the solution was so simple all along. Setting the scimitars down, Jeyne had to fling her arms around his waist, gratitude over flowing. Chuckling, Desmond returned the embrace, giving her head a fond pat. “You're shaping up to be an amazing assassin, Jeyne. You're doing yourself proud.”

 

With her arms still around him, Jeyne tilted her head up at him. “I never thought I could be good at such things like fighting.”

 

“Everyone has the ability, they just-”

 

“-Need the right tools, I know.” Jeyne recited, rolling her eyes.

 

Desmond sighed, over-dramatic and full of false sadness, “Where did all your respect for me go?”

 

Stepping away, Jeyne picked up the scimitars and then the practise sword to put away, scoffing over her shoulder, “I never respected you, you lunatic. Our first meeting, you jumped out a window and made me climb roof tops.”

 

“Your Sunspear visitation privileges have been revoked, novice.” Desmond snidely replied.

 

The mention of their trip sobered her up however, and Jeyne cautiously asked, “Are we really under the Martells control?”

 

Silently, the man rose a brow. With the lack of response, Jeyne added, “I was talking with the others, and...if we are meant to be free from control, then why do you answer to them?”

 

Desmond looked away, gazing out into the night time. The stars were so much brighter out here than the North and King's Landing. In the moonlight, the shadows pronounced the man's age. He was apparently within his mid-forties, and though he always seemed younger, there were moments where he appeared exhausted with the world. A weary soldier marching through battle after battle with no reprieve in sight.

 

“In some ways,” He then said, a soft murmur that still managed to echo around the empty hall, “It's penance.”

 

“Penance?” Jeyne reiterated, confused. When Desmond looked back at her, his eyes shone bright gold for a split second. They were full of grief and regret. He rubbed at his face, and muttered into the darkness, “Gods, I shouldn't be telling you this.” But never the less, he ended up doing so.

 

She watched as he went over to sit on a bench near the edges of the hall, body slumping and tired. “I could have saved Elia Martell. I could have, but I didn't. I could have killed the Mad King, I could have prevented so much death, but I didn't.”

 

Jeyne was astonished. “Why not?” It went against everything he lectured, and the girl couldn't fathom him doing so.

 

With a self-deprecating smile, the man met her gaze and gave one short reply. “Because I was a coward.”

 

Slowly, Jeyne approached him, kneeling down in front of him to clasp his hands. “Mentor,” She began firmly, looking up at him beseechingly, “If there is one thing you're not, it's a coward.”

 

Desmond shook his head in soft denial, staring distantly at the space over her head. “No. I did not want to fight, Jeyne. I wanted to live a humble life. I was training under my father as a blacksmith. When he died, I moved on, thinking maybe I could try healing. Healing sickness where I couldn't for him. This place,” And he gestured around them, “Was first only a hospital. I wanted to heal, I didn't want to kill. Killing was in my blood, my legacy. But, I just wanted to do something where the blood on my hands was because I was saving a life, not taking it.”

 

The man swallowed thickly, as if forcing back the strong emotions he was feeling at that moment. Jeyne could tell. His hands were trembling so she held tighter to them. “But when Elia and her children died, all I could think of was that damn Creed. How, it was through my own inaction, that good people were killed. I had the ability to save others, and I didn't. Just because I was unwilling to kill again.”

 

Jeyne worried her lip, trying to find the right words to console her Mentor. There was a lot she wasn't understanding, the things he said holding a lot of history she was not aware of. But Jeyne tried to comfort him nonetheless. “That can't be a bad thing, Desmond. To not want to do harm is something everyone should strive for.”

 

“Perhaps.” Indifferent to her words of reassurance, Desmond gave a half shoulder shrug, “But it was more harm to stay the blade from the guilty, and inadvertently kill the innocent. We are meant to protect the innocent. I was just hiding from my purpose. To kill.” And his gaze fixed onto their hands, a self-loathing tone in his voice. It made her stomach twist.

 

“That's stupid.” Jeyne retorted, frustrated with this nonsense. Giving their joined hands a hard shake, drawing his gaze back to her, the girl harshly spat, “No one has the purpose to kill. That's a choice.” Closing her eyes, she then suck in a deep breath, calming her irritation. Softer, Jeyne reassured the man. “Your purpose is still saving people, Mentor. The way you do it is efficient and permanent. When they're dead, they can't harm anyone again. That's doing good.”

 

“You're defending murder, Jeyne.” Desmond remarked in disbelief, “You know that right?”

 

“This entire world is nothing but constant death and tragedy.” She drawled, “If you are killing for a truly good cause, one that saves the masses, then that is good. Yes, you are committing a dark deed to keep the light, but life is not right or wrong. You taught us that. Nothing is black and white, but so many shades of grey.”

 

He covered his face with his hands in despair, groaning, “What have I done? I've got an eleven year old preaching to me about murder being okay!”

 

Jeyne scowled, flicking his knee. “I'm twelve, stupid.” She was. Her names day was five months ago and it was splendid.

 

Exhaling heavily, the man removed his hands from his face. There was a wry smile, only one corner of his lip pulling up, on his face. “The Martells are not bad people. Hot-blooded and rash at times, but are generally good. They don't have me going against my morals, and I'm allowed free reign as long as I'm not causing them problems.” The next sigh was an exasperated one, “I think I need to give the younger ones a better explanation, if they think I'm being controlled by them.”

 

Jeyne nodded in agreement, “ That would probably be for the best.” She was certainly exhausted by all of Nanian and Chandni's arguments. And she certainly isn't the only one.

 

Desmond sent her off to bed after that, with a good night hug and a soft thank you. As she laid in bed, her mind churned with his words. She wondered what would have happened, if he had saved Elia Martell. And because he didn't, perhaps that was why he pushed Jeyne so hard to save Sansa, instead of letting other people do it. Because in the end, Desmond was expecting the Martells to save their princess, and when they failed, he felt guilty. Because he had the means to sneak in and save her, but didn't. He didn't want history to repeat itself.

 

Well, like her father had always said, she was brave. And Jeyne was determined to save Sansa, no matter the cost. Better to die trying, then to fail doing nothing.

 

 

 

They left an hour before the rising sun, all dressed in white. Typically, they wore their training or casual clothes about the compound. The white tunics and cowls were for missions only. The novices only had them for when they passed their final test in the future and run reconnaissance missions. The Mentor was firm on no killing until he deemed them old enough and ready. Jeyne was a bit relieved for that rule. She wanted to save Sansa, but she did not know if she could cope with killing just yet. However, if push came to shove, she would do so in a heartbeat if that meant Sansa would be by her side.

 

But on the topic of them having to wear those uniforms, Desmond had announced that if the Martells wanted to see the assassins that lived in their sand, they would get them. It was definitely a pageantry thing, but Jeyne loved drama and happily donned the white uniform that she never had the chance to wear so far besides the initial fitting.

 

As her age mates were all novices, they wore grey cowls instead of white, though they too got to wear a red sash like the masters and Mentor. With the thin leather armour and straps that held throwing knives over their chests, Jeyne thought they presented a very intimidating front.

 

The adults however cooed and murmured about adorable baby assassins.

 

In a straight line, they marched towards Sunspear. After all the endurance practise under the hot sun, a simple walk was like a breath of fresh air in comparison. And it was still cool with it being only just before dawn. Though she had not been born in these sands, Jeyne felt she had adjusted fairly well for a Northern.

 

Just as mid-day began to peak, the walls of the city were in sight, travellers passing through in masses. Pausing, Desmond gathered the novices around and lectured, “Remember, you are all professional killers, so act like it. If you talk, make sure it sounds vaguely threatening. Except Jeyne. Your Dornish accent is still shit, so no talking for you.”

 

Under the shadow of her hood Jeyne rolled her eyes, ignoring the titters from her age siblings. Clapping his hands together, Desmond then announced cheerfully, “You will all be practising your blending in skills. The other masters and I will be heading towards the Martell's palace, but all of you will be merging with the crowd and trying to stay hidden. If you all do well enough, on our way back through the city we can run across the roof tops.”

 

That got excited chatter, and Jeyne was bouncing on her toes in anticipation. She was great at the free running across all the Sand Nest's roof tops, and was getting the hang of more elaborate jumps and stunts.

 

Amused by their joy, Desmond jerked his head to the entrance of the city. “Get to it, novices.”

 

All together, there were fifteen novices and four masters, excluding Desmond. That meant the fifteen of them had to enter the city undetected and go continuously unnoticed throughout their journey to the Martell's palace. It was both daunting and exhilarating.

 

Huddling together, they decided that some would go over the walls and some would head through the gate, one at a time. It would lessen any attention on them. Jeyne was one of the ones to go through the gate.

 

The masters were already entering and Jeyne decided she would go first, wanting to use their entrance to her advantage. An assassin can disappear in plain sight, and even when not trying, it was something that they did instinctively. The masters weren't purposefully going unnoticed, so they garnered some looks as Jeyne slipped in close behind them. Slightly over his shoulder, Obah glanced down at her, and they shared a secretive smirk as she faded into the rest of the crowd once stepping pass the gate.

 

Foot steps silent and pace casual, she blended in. Projecting an air of insignificance, along with how she slipped through spaces between people and around stalls, she went unnoticed. It helped that she was small and made no eye contact as well. The key, Desmond had told them, was to act as if you are meant to be there, completely confident in every step and your destination, that people will pass their eyes over you, not thinking anything was suspicious about your appearance. With not wanting men to pick her in the brothel, Jeyne had gotten very good at trying to go unnoticed, that this was just a step or two up in terms of difficulty, and she was confident enough in herself to say she's gotten very good at it.

 

When the gates of the Martell's palace were in sight, Jeyne brightened as seven of the fifteen of the novices already there, the masters standing beside them radiating pride. Unable to help herself, she broke her steady walk and sprinted the last few meters. Exasperated, Obah chided on her approach, “You were supposed to continue until you completely reached the gates.”

 

Grinning unabashedly, Jeyne then turned and joined her age mates. First brother, Katar, put her into a headlock, “Look at you go, seventh sister.” Though she squirmed out of his grip, landing a sharp jab to his kidneys, Jeyne warmed with the affection. Within a short time, all the others appeared into view. After a quick head count, Desmond had them forming two straight lines, with the four masters bringing up the rear. Standing straight and appearing serious, they entered the first set of the palace gates. These were not guarded, but the ones after, were.

 

The Martell men eyed them with caution, even if they appeared to know Desmond, who gave them a short bow in greeting. The rest of them copied in unison. Inwardly, Jeyne giggled at what outsiders thought of such discipline. Unbeknownst to them, it was not taught in any class but jokingly practised among themselves during free time, trying to see how in sync they could be with every action. Who ever was last to follow had to do an extra chore. That got them very good at moving as one, as no one wanted to do more chores than they already have to.

 

 

The Martell's home was similar to the Sand Nest, with open hallways and elaborate mosaic tiles. Orange and yellow décor was tasteful and kept the place bright. Curtains fluttered and fountains trickled in the gardens. It was certainly more lavishly decorated than the Nest, and Jeyne thought Sansa would love it and all it's splendor.

 

All their footsteps were quiet, barely a brush of fabric with every movement. Eerie and disturbing to the guards that escorted them through. Inside, their community was so open and loud with each other, but outside, they showed no such display of emotions. They were meant to be indifferent to those around them, watching for an attack and prepared to fight at a moment's notice. She found the change a little jarring, so used to arguments and laughter with her siblings, but did her best to not show it.

 

So when they entered the throne room, where the Martells were waiting, they were silent and orderly, lining up behind Desmond and bowing deeply before their sovereign prince. Doran Martell greeted Desmond with a small smile, “Welcome, Mentor Desmond. I trust your journey here was a safe one?”

 

Their Mentor replied, “Yes. All accounted for and safe.”

 

“Wonderful.” Then, he gestured towards a table of drinks, fruits, and sweet meats, “Please, eat and rest.”

 

Desmond's right hand twitched, a subtle move, and as one, the novices broke away to head towards the table. The masters peeled away from Desmond, instead moving towards the windows and walls, observing everything both inside and out of the room. Servants by the wall stared with caution as they settled and the novices all quietly began to pour cups of water and tasted the foods from the offered table.

 

First brother, who had spent his last three years building up poison immunity to common and uncommon ones, was the one who tasted the food first. None of them truly thought that the Martells would poison them, not wanting to gain the fury of their Mentor, but it was a good habit to have.

 

With each slow bite and swallow, the oldest boy would give his bottom lips a faint lick, letting them know it was safe to eat. When all was deemed safe, they happily gathered some plates of food, sharing and passing bits around, communicating through expressions and tiny gestures.

 

“Always such a delight to watch.” A sly voice called from behind them. Since first sister hadn't reacted, having been look out, none of them jolted into action. Instead, all turned to see Oberyn Martell, his paramour lazily wrapped on his arm. They watched the novices with humour in their eyes. “The little eagles interacting in supposed enemy territory. Such interesting behaviour.”

 

Damian hummed lightly, from where he stood a bit away from the novices, “As you say, your highness.”

 

Where Desmond had been talking with Doran, the man paused in mid-sentence to sigh and address Oberyn, “Leave them to their training. This is all practise for them. They know you mean no harm.”

 

The Red Viper raised a brow, “Don't I?”

 

Disinterested, Desmond drawled, “You wouldn't kill children, and that is what they are, underneath all the blades and training.”

 

Lips curling in amusement, the man turned away from their group, heading towards Desmond. With his attention off them, they slowly went back to eating. Jeyne leant over to whisper ever so softly into Chandni's ear, “He's a bit of an ass.”

 

The girl near choked on her food, managing to cover it up with a clearing of her throat and taking a sip of water. She shot Jeyne a heated glare over the rim of her cup. The Northern girl shoved a piece of oil roasted pita bread into her mouth to the smother her laughter. Oh, her sister was going to get back at her for that one.

 

Desmond and the Martells' conversation started to rise after a short while, quick and sharp words being traded, though they were still quiet enough that none of them could pick up what was being discussed. Trading worried looks, they discretely began to place their plates down onto the table, nerves rising at the thought of a fight. Out of the four of them, Desmond stayed the most calm, arms relaxed by his side as Oberyn became angrier with whatever his brother was saying.

 

That did not bode well.

 

However, they soon came to some kind of conclusion, with Desmond turning to the novices. “Seventh sister.” He called, and Jeyne tensed, before stepping forward from the group. Though his expression was blank, there was a softness in his eyes as he beckoned her over.

 

Palms becoming sweaty, Jeyne came to his side, trusting he would not put her in danger, and waited silently as her Mentor spoke to the princes. “This here, is Jeyne.” And Desmond settled his hands onto her shoulders, a weighted comfort. “She has a goal to save Princess Sansa Stark from the Red Keep. If you offer up the cover needed to get into the castle, we will gladly take the marks you have given us.”

 

Looking down at her with bemusement, the brothers shared a look as Doran commented, “Jeyne is traditionally a Northern and Riverland name, is it not?”

 

Jeyne cast an uncertain glance up at Desmond, who nodded in encouragement. Dipping her head at the Martell men, Jeyne softly replied, “I was raised alongside Sansa.”

 

Oberyn's eyebrows flew up, “And you're all the way here in Dorne now. How so?”

 

She couldn't help but tense slightly, recalling the terrible month under Lord Baelish's hand. In the depth of her trunk was the mockingbird pin, still flecked with dry blood. Luckily, Desmond came to the rescue of her indecision of answering truthfully or not, “That is neither here nor there. She wants to save her friend, and you want some Lannisters dead. In doing so, it may help calm down the war around the realm, something which is upsetting the balance.”

 

“Bah,” Waving a dismissive hand, Oberyn jeered, “We care nothing for your balance, but you're not wrong.”

 

“And we owe you for taking that mark.” Doran then cut in, giving his brother a stern look.

 

Slightly bowing his head, Desmond demurred, “You owe me nothing. I was doing what I could to make up for my mistakes.” Jeyne wanted to disagree with his words, recalling their conversation last night. However, it would not be good to show dissent in front of people not of the Nest, so Jeyne held her tongue.

 

Tension crackled in the air at Desmond's words, Oberyn barely hiding his fury and Doran openly sad. The girl knew exactly what was being discussed and took a chance to blurt out, “I believe they're hurting Sansa.”

 

Both brothers' eyes snapped to her, and she swallowed thickly under the attention. “Joffrey is cruel, and the entire realm knows how he called for Lord Stark's head, even after he said he would take the black. And though I care not for politics, I care for Sansa. And she is my age, a child. And I know that you don't harm children in Dorne. To leave her there would be continuing the harm she weathers through.”

 

Struggling to not fidget under their heavy gazes, Jeyne worried that what she said may have insulted them, ruining whatever plan Desmond had in the works. However, the fire in Oberyn's eyes dimmed, cooling down enough to say, “Well, we certainly wouldn't like to have an innocent's blood on our hands. Your Mentor would be displeased.”

 

The hands on her shoulder tightened, “It takes far more to draw my displeasure.” He rumbled in response. Then, Desmond softly pushed her back in the direction of her age mates, and readily, Jeyne hurried back over. Arms opening out to her, she was submerged back into their ranks, with her first brother and sister, subtly moving in front of her. Nanian began to pat her down, as if she had been injured in that short conversation.

 

Their concern and love was truly something that kept her afloat on her darkest days.

 

 

Leaping over the roofs, making it a game to jump the highest or perform the most showy flips and moves, the novices happily ran from the palace. Even with all the open windows, it was stifling from the attention on them, particularly Jeyne. The masters did their best to direct away the Martells attention as the conversation went on, until Desmond concluded his business.

 

As what the Mentor said, the Martells would provide the necessary cover for them to enter King's Landing in a large group, seeing as the Dornish royalty were invited to King Joffrey's wedding to Lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden. Even though Jeyne was happy that Sansa didn't marry that monster, it was insulting how he put her dear friend aside after all he put her through as his betrothed. Jeyne wished she could strangle him the second she got to King's Landing.

 

Desmond and the masters would be taking the marks, doing the killing, whilst Jeyne and the siblings that passed their final test would be handling any of the guards and getting Sansa out of the keep. Their Mentor emphasised his hope that they wouldn't have to do any killing, but if needs must, then do so. He said this with great reluctance, and it was warming to know he was still resistant to them killing so soon. Though still not sure about taking a life, Jeyne would weather through what ever emotional turmoil may come for Sansa's sake.

 

Which led to a month and a half later, their final test. At the base of the tallest tower of the Sand Nest, was an ever present large cart of hay. Near piling over, it constantly kept the same volume of the dried plant. Workers would sometimes come by, sweep up any strands that were on the ground and dump them back onto the cart. Jeyne never had given it much thought when she first arrived, just saw it as another quirk of the Sans Nest, until four months into her stay and she observed a master take a jump off the narrow wooden platform sticking out of the eagles roosting area, flipping skillfully in the air and land into the hay, unharmed. She was told that that was the final test. The Leap of Faith.

 

All those practise jumps into the sea made a lot of sense in that moment.

 

So here they all were, gathered together inside the eagles' roost, the bird none to happy with the amount of people, and listening as Desmond instructed, “Remember, take a deep breath and fall face down. When you hit mid point, you must flip with the momentum to land ass first into the hay. It's going to be a bit of an impact, but all you'll be is somewhat breathless and maybe a sore butt for a day or so.”

 

It was both good advice and useless, as nothing truly prepared you for willingly jumping from such a height. She thought of Bran, and decided that he would have enjoyed training as an assassin, with all the climbing they did. He would have been overjoyed to take this Leap of Faith.

 

Then, with a decisive clap of his hands, Desmond decreed, “Right! First brother, you're up!”

 

Katar swallowed heavily, loud enough that they all heard it as he stepped towards the beam with trepidation.

 

Setting a hand on the boy's shoulder, Desmond leant in to a murmur something to Katar, low enough for his ears only, that ended up easing the building tension in her first brother's shoulders. He rolled them back, slowly walked across the beam, and crouched. In that position for a long moment, Jeyne felt everyone's anticipation, until finally, he straightened back up. Lifting his arms out to the side in a pose they were all taught before jumping into the ocean, a cry from one of the eagles resounded above them as Katar jumped and dived.

 

Rushing towards the windows, they all gaped as he fell, flipped as instructed, and landed into the heap of straw. Some of the gathered workers and masters, as well as some of the younger children, all clapped and cheered for the boy.

 

With how high up they were, Katar was nearly a speck to them, but could see as he popped up from the pile, he was unharmed, if not covered in stray bits of straw. Hopping out of the cart, their first brother gave a wave up at them, and Nanian whooped, Abeela and the rest of them joining in to give him a cheer. With his successful passing of the final test, the rest of them eased in anxiety. Though still nervous about the actual leap, Katar paved a way that showed them it was possible to landed it and come out well and whole.

 

But as one by one they each made their successful Leap of Faith, Jeyne's own nerves kicked back up, heart racing. She would be the last one, as the seventh sister, no one else behind her besides eighth brother. If she was nearly vibrating out of her skin with stress, Jeyne couldn't imagine how poor Habel felt as the very last one.

 

When it was down to them, Jeyne turned and squeezed the younger boy's hand, “You will do great, brother.”

 

Giving her a weak smile, but firm nod, Habel replied, “And you as well, sister.”

 

Squeezing his hand one last time, Jeyne turned and approached the beam. Next to her, Desmond did as he did with the rest of them, resting a hand on her shoulder. Near her ear, the man murmured, “Remember the first time you climbed that wall? Like that, Jeyne. Have faith in yourself, because you are strong, daughter.”

 

Heart jerking at the term, Jeyne didn't know why it affected her so much in that moment. Desmond had referred to them as son or daughter at times, specifically in moments of comfort. For once, it didn't feel strange, like a size too large dress over her frame. Vayon Poole was her father, there was no way anyone could refute that. But Desmond had become one to her as well, guiding her like her blood father did.

 

Taking a deep breath, Jeyne nodded at his words and walked the beam. This high up, the wind whipped her uniform's tail coats, though it was not fierce enough to over balance her. Instead of crouching like a few of her siblings did, Jeyne instead only took a brief look down at the crowd and the vertigo inducing drop away from the cart. Then ,she turned her gaze upwards and outwards. Rolling dunes laid beyond her new home, like how plains of snow would from her first home. So different in temperature, both were unforgiving lands and shaped her into the girl she was now.

 

She was Jeyne Poole. She was a novice assassin. She was going to save her friend Sansa. Those three things she knew so deep into her bones and blood now, that this test, this Leap of Faith, would not strip those three facts away.

 

Raising her arms, Jeyne breathed in, and leapt.

 

 

 

The plan was laid out like this. In five months time, they would head to Planky Town, taking a ship with the Martell entourage to King's Landing. They would arrive a week before the wedding, and in that time, the assassins would gather all the intel needed. They would need to know the castle's layout, Jeyne having only provided what she could recall from her own time there, which wasn't truly a lot. It was the novices' job to map out the castle, the guard rotation, and most importantly, the exits. From there, they would debrief the masters, who had their own marks to watch and assess, and when they deemed it the right time, they would strike at night.

 

Jeyne would grab Sansa, meet up with the novices that were keeping watch, join the masters after they accomplished their missions, and meet outside the walls of King's Landing. They would ride through the night to a ship docked south of King's Landing, hidden in a cove, and hurry back to Dorne. This let the Martell stay uninvolved and with alibis, thus making no eyes turn towards Dorne at the suspected whereabouts to the missing Northern Princess.

 

There was so much that could go wrong, and the initial plan could also adjust along the way, so in the coming months, they did nothing but train. Training vigorously and near religiously. Jeyne had Laneth tutor her in wielding the scimitars the day he got back, much to the man's annoyance, the foot work almost similar to fighting with one blade that it was easy for her to catch on.

 

As novices, they still wore their grey hoods. Though having passed the final test, that was more to deem them ready for small missions, whereas their first mark to kill would give them the ranking as senior disciples and master assassins, donning a white cowl.

 

Jeyne would be thirteen by the time they save Sansa. Her friend would be the same as well. She wondered how much she had changed over the years, and dearly hoped the Sansa did not hold a grudge at how long it's taken to come for her.

 

The girl also wondered what she would do, after saving Sansa. It seemed logical, to take her back to Winterfell. For both of them to go home. But, every time she thought about what that return to the wintery lands would feel like, it always made her nauseous. Though Jeyne did not wish to think it, she knew in her heart of hearts that she was torn between two homes, two lives.

 

However, Jeyne would deal with it when the time came. Now, she had to keep her mind focused on her goal. Nothing would distract her from saving Sansa. Jeyne wouldn't allow it.

 

Notes:

I know y'all expected Desmond to be the bastard of Oberyn, but nah, that was never the plan. Oberyn is round 42 ish, with Desmond being maybe 44. No way is that possible lol. But I hope the sorta implies backstory was enough. He was actually reborn into Westeros, and genuinely wanted to just be a back ground person, uninvolved. He is also not aware of the game of thrones story, so it's not one of those kinds of reincarnation either. He has no idea what the repercussions of killing the mountain and baelish, as well as saving sansa and jeyne would mean. Man is jut vibing.

But hey! next chapter we save Sansa. Unfortunately, that will not be posted til next week. Busy tomorrow and my work days are saturday-monday, so no update until maybe tuesday or wednesday.
Thanks for reading!

Chapter 4

Summary:

Part 1 of the rescue. I really fooled myself in thinking this would be shorter huh?

Edited: 11/28/22

Notes:

For reference, check out any assassin's creed parkour videos on youtube. What people do are insane and just imagine all the crappy and brief descriptions of them on rooftops and climbing walls as being badasses like in the videos.

Fun drinking game! Take a shot every time I write roof and wall in this chapter. Im so sick of those words now.

Where her legs were tossed over the roof's ledge, they swung absent mindedly as Jeyne stared up at the desert sky. It was dusk, and she had become completely enamoured with how the sands caught fire under the orange sun after all her time in Dorne. As beautiful as a sunrise on the Northern snowy plains. Next to her, Laneth was sharpening his throwing knives, silent and his presence steady.

 

They had just finished their last bit of dual sword training before they embarked on their mission tomorrow to King's Landing. To Sansa. It was sometimes hard to imagine who she was before and who she became. And it far more difficult to fathom the difference. Jeyne wondered if her father would have approved, then decided no. He wouldn't have been happy with the choice she made. Sure, it got her to safety, but it was going to put her in danger in the future.

 

But besides her father's reaction if he was alive, her mind trailed over to someone else.

 

“Sansa has a sister.”

 

“Are we going to have to save her as well?” Laneth asked wryly.

 

Jeyne snorted. “No. She probably saved herself when everything happened. She certainly wasn't with Sansa and I when locked temporarily away.” Sobering, she then murmured, “Her name is Arya. She was called Arya Underfoot in Winterfell. Always where she shouldn't be, overly curious of everyone and what they were doing. I called her horseface. Would neigh in her direction.”

 

Jeyne sighed heavily, and Laneth let out his own breath, “Ah.” Was all he said. She liked that about him. He didn't say much.

 

“Looking back,” Jeyne continued, melancholic, “I'm not proud of it. I was cruel. Jealous.”

 

With the man continuing to sharpen his blades, the rhythmic noise of whetstone on metal, the girl felt herself falling into all those past emotions, verbalising all the thoughts in her head. “I always wanted to be a Stark. I thought that I should've been Sansa's sister, not Arya. I was a perfect lady, I did as I was told. And I knew I was lucky that Sansa saw me as a close friend, because I am lower than her. I got away with being nasty, because we were friends.” Pursing her lips, Jeyne stared into the sunlight, letting it burn away possible tears. “I wish I was a better person, sometimes.”

 

Laneth exhaled in aggravation, startling her from her dark thoughts. Blinking owlishly at him, the man sent her a frown of disappointment and told her exactly how unimpressed he was with her words. “You were a child, Jeyne.” He stated. Not uncaring, but certainty lacking in any sympathy. “Children are mean, self-absorbed, and believe that they are the center of the world. Very rarely do you find a child that is truly selfless and holds actual compassion for others.”

 

“But,” He then added, turning to face the dunes just as Jeyne was wilting under his words, “That does not mean children cannot grow up, learn from their mistakes, and learn humility and decency. It's something that's taught, and if a child grows up without learning it, then they truly become cruel. As a child, it's easier to fix what's wrong with their thinking process or habits. As an adult, they stick, making it hard to improve ones self.” Laneth looked at her from the corner of her eye.

 

“You are kind, Jeyne.” He stressed, gaze unwavering and forthright. “You have humility, though circumstances weren't the kindest on how you learnt it. But you have achieved a balance between getting what you want, and knowing when to bend or move on when you don't. So, stop putting yourself down. Your self-pity is ruining my appetite and good mood.”

 

And with that, he gave her a rough pat on her shoulder, stood up, and disappeared off the roof. Laneth did not speak much. But when he did, it was full of wisdom and harsh truths. It wasn't the most kindest way of comforting to her, but Jeyne needed that. She needed some clarity before the mission, as it would have weakened her focus during it.

 

Standing up with a stretch, Jeyne made herself another promise, another goal. Perhaps not as immediate as saving Sansa, but still one of high importance. The day she saw Arya again, Jeyne was going to apologise. Both to relieve her of her own guilt, but also because Arya deserved it.

 

 

 

The ship was a large one, but it was still tightly packed, seeing as Oberyn, Elia, and their guards got more lavish quarters, and the assassins had to share two rooms between the twenty of them. It was crammed, with the males in one room and the females in the other, but at least they all liked one another and the novices were used to sharing space. It was excessive having them all, the Mentor had grumbled. But with more, there was a higher chance of everyone getting out safely because of the larger numbers. He was begrudgingly understanding of all her sisters wanting to follow Jeyne on this mission, seeing as they swore they would. And if one half of their age mates got to go, of course the boys wanted in. And in the face of a bunch of adolescences who also knew how to make life a living hell if he denied them, Desmond had no choice but to agree.

 

But it was certainly to their benefit. King's Landing was a massive city, and to gain a good understanding of such a dwelling they needed reconnaissance. With fifteen active young assassins, running about roof tops was a sure fire way to ease their thirst for adventure, as well as be helpful with gathering the layout of the city. The masters would take the Red Keep, far more heavily guarded and dangerous. The novices were well trained, but the adults were better.

 

An arm thrown over her shoulder jarred Jeyne from her musings, looking over at Chandni. They were approaching King's Landing now after their weeks at sea and would dock within the hour. Her third sister wrinkled her nose as she took in the capital, “It smells like shit.”

 

Gathering towards them, the other siblings gave murmurs of agreement. “This is what we pay taxes for? A King who lives in a literal shit hole?” Nanian drawled, eyebrows raised incredulously.

 

The girl scoffed, leaning back on Jeyne's shoulder to send a withering look towards the older boy. “We don't pay taxes, stupid. We're freeloaders of the kingdom.”

 

For one short moment, Jeyne caught the flash of hurt across Nanian's face, before it settled into a severe scowl. Easing the tension, Abeela asked Jeyne, “Are you ready to see Sansa again?”

 

Her thumb brushed against the ever-present pink ribbon on her wrist, the soft silk her constant reminder of why she had worked so hard to get to this point. Was she ready to see Sansa, even after all her yearning to? Most likely not. Jeyne wouldn't know what to say when she sees her again, except maybe, 'I'm here to save you now, sorry for the wait.'

 

She was working on it. 

 

Either way, Jeyne was absolutely ecstatic to see her friend once more, but her stomach fluttered. Sansa was always pretty, and a tiny voice in her mind wondered if she grew more beautiful in the last few years. Swallowing, Jeyne sent a queasy smile to her second sister, “Of course.”

 

Melano, fourth sister, snorted, tossing her thick braid over her shoulder, “Liar. You look ready to faint.”

 

“I do not!”

 

With a doubtful expression, Melano pointed out, “Better not. The princess needs her white knight, and a fainting one is useless.”

 

Having never been compared to a knight, Jeyne spluttered, Habel taking that opportunity to elbow in and chirp gleefully, “You want to kiss her!”

 

“HABEL!” Jeyne screeched, face hotter than the Dornish sun. Mortified, the girl flailed out of the group of cackling novices and ran for safety. Specifically, ducking under the Mentor's coat tails and hiding in his shadows. From where she was crouched down, face buried in her hands, Jeyne bemoaned, “I regret insisting that they come along.”

 

Peering down at her, amused, Desmond commented, “I did try to tell you all no.”

 

He was, predictably, unhelpful.

 

This was exactly why she wanted to very much not to think about those budding emotions before this mission. It would distract her completely, seeing Sansa – the girl she had known since she was a babe – and thinking of all those friendly hugs, compliments, and cheek kisses in the past, and them turning into something romantic in her mind. Jeyne hoped that when she locked eyes with Sansa again, she wouldn't become a gibbering mess and breakdown into tears, confessing her undying love for her dearest friend.

 

Groaning, Jeyne slumped even further into her knees. Overhead, Desmond sighed, and her shade was taken away. Glaring up at him, then blinking in surprise as he crouched down to her level, Jeyne listened as Desmond softly assured her with a hand on her shoulder, “Don't worry so much, Jeyne. You are an emotional person, but you're very good at keeping them under control when necessary. Sansa's life depends on that control.”

 

Sometimes, Jeyne was convinced the man could read mind. Firmly and with renewed conviction however, Jeyne nodded in response. “Yes, Mentor.”

 

Then, he smirked, “But your siblings are right. Are you going to kiss her at some point, Jeyne?”

 

“You're the absolute worst.” Jeyne deadpanned, before standing and stomping over to Laneth. He wouldn't make fun of her. Mainly because he doesn't care enough to, but that worked well for Jeyne. His silence allowed Jeyne to calm her racing heart and focus on her goal.

 

Closing her eyes, Jeyne breathed in deeply, nose unintentionally wrinkling at the mixture of shit and fish. But the deep breaths helped regulate her heart beat, steadying it back down like when faced with a bunch of roofs to run and jump across, or when wrestling with one of her fellow novices. Energised but no longer frantic. This mission held dire consequences if all when wrong. So it couldn't go wrong. Jeyne wouldn't allow that. Not with Sansa's life on the line. Not with her siblings and teachers risking so much for Jeyne.

 

As they began to dock, the assassins grouped together, tugging their hoods up. Oberyn and his household moved around them easily, the man casting amused glances over at their congregation. Jeyne knew he was not a bad man, however his personality was terrible. She had no idea how Ellaria put up with the man. Then again, there's no accounting for taste.

 

“Alright,” Desmond began, mainly to the novices than the masters, “You all know your tasks. Gather intel and stay hidden. We will meet back here every night, two hours after the sun sets to discuss and swap information. Any questions?”

 

They all shook their heads. “Good. Safety and peace.”

 

“Safety and peace.” They echoed with short bows of their heads. Then they dispersed.

 

With how bustling the docks were, it was easy to slip into the crowds, and going to their pre-decided locations. Though her heart screamed to run to Sansa now, Jeyne stayed that instinct, sliding into an alleyway to begin her ascent to the roof tops. And one by one, Jeyne saw her siblings do the same. Up on the roofs, there was no one but them.

 

A bird's cry over head, and Jeyne looked up into the blue sky to see one of the many eagles circling above them. She was still lost on just how intelligent they were, but nonetheless, they would keep an eye on them, knowing when to go for back up if one of the assassins got stuck in a situation.

 

This eagle was one Desmond had named Ezio, and she couldn't help the smile she cast towards the bird's direction. Jeyne liked to hide up in the roosting tower above Desmond's office, the height and solitude offering a great place to think, and Jeyne figured she wasn't the only one, going by the exasperation on the Mentor's face as he muttered something about an invasion of his peace. Jeyne had never come across any of the others who found the roosting area as a quiet place, and wondered if some unspoken schedule had been created at some point. However, back to the situation at hand she had become familiar enough with all the eagles there, spoilt and clever creatures that they were. It reminded her of the Starks' direwolves.

 

Leaping from roof top to roof top, marking out small streets and discrete alleyways on a parchment with charcoal, Jeyne's thoughts trailed over to the Starks as she kept out of sight. Particularly Robb. Last news she had heard, they had retreated back to the North after the Freys' betrayal. Desmond had given her the news, like he did with Sansa's marriage to the Imp. The Mentor had actually been on a mission in the Riverlands at that time, one he wouldn't divulge to Jeyne, but said that he was checking in on the Starks after killing his mark. Curious of the people that Jeyne was raised around, as well as the boy king who had won basically every battle in his first war, he spied and learnt of treachery.

 

Desmond had killed those would be traitors, saving Robb, and thus keeping the North's independence, even after they retreated back to their lands. The sheer relief Jeyne had felt, knowing that Sansa's family, and in some ways her own too, was safe and alive still.

 

This all lead back to Jeyne wondering what would happen, once she saved Sansa. They would first go back to Dorne, to regroup and hide away from the fall out. But it felt expected for them to go back to the North after recouping. Jeyne was Northern after all, and Sansa it's princess. That was where they belonged. But Jeyne wanted to stay in Dorne. Wanted to stay in the Sand Nest, with all her siblings and masters. With Desmond and the eagles. With the hot sun beating down on their hard working bodies, and the cool nights where the stars seemed brighter and far more abundant than in the North. Dorne had become home. And Jeyne did not want to leave her home again.

 

It all fell to Sansa, and what she would want. And where Sansa would go, so would Jeyne. She was – and still coming to terms with it – irrevocably in love with Sansa after all.

 

 

 

On the second day, Jeyne took that leap of faith – and finally relented to her desperation to see Sansa again – and moved closer to the Red Keep. Scaling the walls that faced the sea, where no one would spot her in daylight, Jeyne was grateful for all those lessons on climbing the tower as well as those cliffs by the Dorne sea.

 

It was easy, slipping around the docks to where the water cliffs became the Red Keep's walls. Even finding foot and hand holds wasn't hard, the structure slowly crumbling over time due to age and weather. Like with climbing during training, she fixed her gaze upward and made sure each step upward was secure before placing weight there. The wind was soft, but still firm enough to cause her coat tails to snap with it's force, as well as make her squeeze her eyes close and push closer to the wall. Heart hammering as she glanced over her shoulder, even though a voice sounding like Obah was telling her to not to, Jeyne couldn't help herself as she stared down at the rocks below and swallowed hard. The water suddenly looked very, very far away, and Jeyne closed her eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths as she forced away the vertigo. Turning her gaze upwards instead, squinting against the sunlight, Jeyne spotted what appeared to be a bannister, and continued her ascent knowing she was close to the top. Jeyne did her best to forget about the terrifying drop below her.

 

If this went to plan, she would see where this path way would lead to in regards to Sansa's rooms. Her time in the castle had not been to this part of it, so Jeyne had no idea where exactly she was climbing towards. And seeing as it was unlikely Sansa was in the Hand's Tower, Jeyne had no idea on where she was now placed. Mentor had mentioned talking to Oberyn, and if Ellaria would scope out Sansa's rooms. It wouldn't be completely unheard of to have the two females interact, and Ellaria was sly enough to play a casual move in getting them acquainted.

 

Once they had the location of Sansa's rooms, Jeyne could scale in through the window, or if it was not guarded, go through the door. In order to finalise the plan, it was absolutely imperative to know where all their marks slept, where Sansa was, and how they would get out of the city with none the wiser to those they had killed and taken.

 

With a heavy breath, limbs now beginning to feel the strain of exertion, Jeyne glanced up again. She must be near a garden, as a bushel of vines were trailing down over the wall, and over the crash of the water below, when Jeyne then caught the sound of foot steps approaching the bannister. Climbing up high enough to duck under the vines, Jeyne practically hugged the stone as she prayed not to be notice.

 

Now just under the bannister, Jeyne kept her breathing even and silent, before tilting her head back enough to see-

 

Sansa.

 

Frozen, Jeyne stared at her friend. Red hair glinting like amber gold under the sun, a blue dress that flattered her figure, Sansa was looking far more beautiful than the last time Jeyne had seen her. Blue was always a good colour on her, and gazing up at those familiar eyes, Jeyne's heart clenched at how sad they were. They stared far away and out into the ocean, no doubt thinking of being anywhere but in King's Landing.

 

'I'm here!' Jeyne wanted to shout. 'I'm here and soon you'll be safe!'

 

But even if it wouldn't endanger their plans, Jeyne couldn't say the words. A stone lodged in her throat and Jeyne was trembling. Not from her tired muscles now, but from how she yearned to pull Sansa into an embrace. To wipe away any tears and tell she was not alone any more.

 

Breath hitching, not having realised she had paused in breathing and lungs burning from being deprived of air, Jeyne continued to stare as Sansa looked behind her, a voice having called her name. And then, she was gone.

 

It couldn't have been more than a minute, but it was enough to burn the sight of Sansa into her mind.

 

Resting her forehead against the stone, Jeyne sucked in another deep breath, forcing away the sob that threatened to rip from her lungs. Gods, how she wanted to run to Sansa.

 

The stone her right hand was gripping suddenly gave away, and Jeyne just managed to hold back a yelp as she slipped down the wall. Quickly grasping a vine, Jeyne's feet scrambled and found footing, giving her enough time to release the plant and find another stone to hold. Panting, Jeyne sharply looked upwards, and heaved out a sigh of relief. No one had heard her.

 

Once more peeking over her shoulder, Jeyne was washed with resignation. She was lucky no other rocks had crumbled during her climb up, but with how old the walls were, Jeyne was doubtful in having a successful descent. Sighing, she slowly began to climb down, double checking each of her foot holds, not wanting to slip again.

 

To gauge the distance on how far she descended after a few minutes, Jeyne stopped at a point that was of similar distance to where they jumped off the tower or off a cliff. Desmond had taught them something called terminal velocity. And though it still confused her – as gravity was such a strange thing to think about – the man had shown proof of the concept, and did not want to be splattered against the water.

 

So when she determined herself safe to jump, she eyed the sharp rocks on the bottom of the wall, sucked in a deep breath. Her heart was pounding as she shoved off and away from her perch with all her might. For one breathless second, Jeyne was floating in the air with how far she pushed her self off the wall, before her stomach swooped as she dived to the water, gravity taking hold. Instinct from all her training took hold, and she flipped over backwards in the air. Facing downward, arms stretching out over her head, coming to a point together, Jeyne felt the air rush against her cheeks before the ocean rapidly came closer. Taking one last sharp breath, Jeyne crashed into the water.

 

The strength used to get her away from the direction of the rocks below was correct too, and thus Jeyne had a relatively safe trip down to the sea and away from Sansa once more.

 

Taking a second to gather her bearings in the water, Jeyne blinked and looked up at the sunlight speckling around her. It was a beautiful sight. But she had to get out or risk drowning.

 

Swimming came naturally after months of practise, and soon she breeched the surface with a gasp for air, rolling with the waves until she got her arms and legs into motion, making her way back to the ship. The water was soothing against her sweat slicked skin from the climb up, and would've stayed longer in the water if her limbs weren't already aching, and she desperately wanted to lay down and agonize over being so close yet so far from Sansa. The docks were not a far swim away, and with water logged robes, Jeyne dripped and slopped her way back to the ship. It was a miserable affair made worse because one of the masters and a few of her siblings were there to witness her entrance.

 

Throwing his head back in laughter, Katar barked, “Did you lose a fight with the ocean, sister?” The others joined in with his laughter.

 

Curling her lip in his direction, along with a withering glare, Jeyne stomped to her cabin, knowing she had a spare set of robes to change into. She had learnt that having siblings was a double edged sword, and had stopped envying the Starks after four months in the Sand Nest.

 

 

 

Three days later, four away from the wedding ceremony, they had Sansa's room location, the guard shift changes memorised, and all the exits marked and remembered. Jeyne wrote a small note for Altair to carry to Sansa that night. All it stated was 'Be ready, Joyful is coming.' The rest of the next day was spent in preparations and resting for that night, where the masters would hit their marks, and the novices got Sansa out.

 

There would be a group of horses, saddled and ready just a little ways outside of the city walls, for their quick escape. Desmond had sorted that out somehow, and Jeyne will always be impressed by his efficiently. One day she will get him to teach her his ways. After they get to the horses, they would ride to the coast near Stonedance, where a ship will be waiting for them. Once more something Desmond had arranged. It would be a hard ride, at least three hours, but would give them plenty of time to put distance between them and the capital.

 

The minute the sun dipped below the horizon and the moon began it's journey across the night sky, they ran with their tasks firmly in their minds. Though spaced out for room to make their leaps across the buildings, they travelled as a silent and quick pack, hunting for their prey. Free running gave Jeyne such exhilaration, flipping off roofs, jumping from one ledge to another. Never giving oneself a chance to second guess, entirely made by instinct alone.

 

It took no time to reach the gates into the Red Keep, roof tops always the most direct and quickest path to any destination, all of them falling into crouches along the roof edges, watching as the guards held their station and milled about the entrance. They would not be going through there however. Instead, they slipped to the ground and traced their way through pre-scouted alleyways towards a part of the wall that was unmanned, nothing but shadows and their own silent skills hiding them from prying eyes. With the wall's height, no one thought one would actually scale it.

 

But they were assassins. And they did not do what others expected. To be expected was to fail in your ability to be an assassin. The Mentor went first, getting to the top of the battlements in order to kill off any guards and watch their backs as they appeared like ghosts. One by one, they landed light foot onto the battlements, ears and eyes peeled for guards or calls of alarm. When none came, Desmond gathered them close.

 

“Remember.” He instructed, “North side, five windows up and seventh window across from the left. It will have a balcony. Seventh sister will approach from the window as the rest of you will go in from the windows two floors up and two floors below. Clear the halls so you can all move swiftly without notice.”

 

His eyes were golden, shining even in the darkness, and deadly serious. Words sharp and firm, Desmond finished with, “Don't use names, and watch one another's backs. Leave no one behind. And though I wish it was not necessary at so early in your lives, if you must kill, then kill.”

 

Nodding solemnly in unison, the novices took their leave with Jeyne in the lead. Running silently, they kept low behind the merlons, pausing within their shadows to make sure no one was looking as they ran past the spaces in between each one.

 

Then, Jeyne spotted a guard and stilled, fist rising to be levelled with her head. Behind her, the rest paused too at her signal. Heart as steady as she could make it, Jeyne watched and waited as the guard glanced to where they were hidden deep in the shadows, before turning in the other direction, none the wiser. He walked away from them, and she silently exhaled in relief.

 

Glancing over the space between the merlons, Jeyne recognised the gardens of the Red Keep, and knew they were close to the north side of the castle. Sansa and her had strolled through them all those years ago together, lost in fantasies and dreams of the future with handsome knights and princes. Jeyne shook her head, dispelling the memory, focusing on the here and now. No guards walked the garden paths, focused more at the entrances and within the actual building.

 

With one more glance at where the guard disappeared to, Jeyne signaled for her siblings to go over the wall into the garden. They scurried over just as quietly as Nadia stayed behind with Jeyne until all were over, then joined the rest. Landing with light thumps onto the maintained grass, Katar took point this time, all sprinting over bushes and walls, running up bannisters and taking three steps at a time on any stair way. The terrain was far from the unstable and sinking sand, but they all had adjust since arriving on King's Landing and were not fazed.

 

When they reached north side, the novices split up into the groups they had decided upon earlier, leaving Jeyne at the base of the castle tower, a long climb ahead of her. Though this time, it wasn't as tall as the Red Keep wall and was without any perils of crumbling stones or sharp rocks the break her fall. She dearly hoped Sansa had readied herself, as this relied on them being as quick as possible. The masters were giving them until the eagles call at third hour to make it out of the Red Keep before striking their marks. It would cause the most disruption if caught, though the likelihood was slim, and none of their teachers wanted them to get swept up and overwhelmed in the chaos.

 

Taking a deep breath, making sure her gloves were snug on her hands, Jeyne leaped and grasped the ledge of a window. Climbing, knowing where to place your hands and how to distribute your weight, was one of the first lessons she was taught in free running across roofs and up buildings. With strong hands and quick hops from jutting out stone and window ledges, Jeyne soon was under Sansa's balcony in no time.

 

Heart now completely racing from the thought of reuniting with Sansa, Jeyne swallowed hard and pulled herself up and over the railing. At a crouch, Jeyne eyed the room within, balcony doors open and candlelight casting shadows across the interior walls. And a figure was spotted.

 

Sansa.

 

Quietly hopping off the railing, Jeyne walked across the balcony until reaching the entryway into the room. Under her gloves, her palms were sweating. The other girl's back was to her, facing the door where she must be expecting Jeyne, instead of through the window. It made her lips twitch.

 

Deliberately, Jeyne scuffed her foot across the stone, and Sansa whirled around, silently gasping at her appearance, hands clutched to her chest in shock. And she wasn't alone. Immediately, a woman with dark hair placed herself in front of Sansa, tugging the girl behind her. There was a dagger in the woman's hand, pointed directly at Jeyne.

 

Stilling, Jeyne's mind whirled, as this was not planned. Sansa was meant to be alone, as Ellaria mentioned that rarely did Sansa share a room with the Imp. Like soothing an angry beast, Jeyne held her hands in front of her, “Be at ease. I'm here to take you away from here.”

 

Sansa's eyes flashed with confused recollection, but made no approach to Jeyne, obviously not knowing it was her. The other woman then tilted her chin up in defiance, “And who exactly are you to take us from here?”

 

Reaching up, Jeyne slipped her hood off her head, sending a charming smile at them to hopefully set them at ease, “Just an old friend.”

 

This time, Sansa did audibly gasp, rushing past the woman to hurry towards Jeyne. There were tears of joy and hope in her river blue eyes, and Jeyne opened her arms out greedily. There, Sansa fell into them, holding her tight as she wept into her shoulder. Scent of flowers flooded her nose, and Jeyne breathed it in gladly, the weight and shape of her friend's body familiar against her own. Jeyne had forgotten how much she had adored Sansa's touch.

 

“I thought you would never come!” She softly cried, “I waited and waited-”

 

“Oh Sansa,” Jeyne murmured, running a hand through that lovely red hair. How she wished she had no gloves in that moment. But all in due time. “I would never leave you here. I'm sorry it took so long, but I thought of you everyday that we were parted.”

 

Pulling back, Sansa hastily wiped her eyes with a sniffle, before giving a tremulous smile. “And I you. It pained me to do so, but I did. I've missed you so dearly, my lovely Jeyne.” Her head then ducked down as she wiped at the tears that continued to pour.

 

Smiling softly, Jeyne touched a knuckle of her finger against Sansa's chin, lightly urging her to look at her once more. So close, Jeyne noted that the sunshine from the capital had adorned a constellation of freckles across her pale face under the wet streaks of tears. She wanted to kiss everyone of them. Sansa's hands were grasping at her biceps as if they were a life line as Jeyne replied in low a murmur, “I vowed to save you, and I will. So dry those eyes, sweet Sansa. You will be free soon.”

 

Perhaps it was the trick of the dim light, but a flush spread across Sansa's cheeks. Tucking that reaction away for later analysis, Jeyne glanced over Sansa's shoulder, though it hurt to do so, and addressed the woman. “May I ask your name, my lady?”

 

Still suspicious, she replied with an accented voice, “Shae. Lady Sansa's hand maiden.”

 

Glancing at Sansa again, Jeyne asked, “Do you wish for her to come with us?”

 

Pulling away completely, Sansa hurried over to Shae, both of them speaking in hushed tones. There was a familiarity between them, one that spoke of trust. Jeyne felt a sick curl in her stomach in that moment, before forcing it away. She was relieved Sansa had someone here she could rely on. That was the most important thing.

 

As they continued their quiet argument, Jeyne was becoming more aware of the time they were wasting, and approached them. “Shae.” The dark haired woman looked at her, eyes narrowed still. “If we leave with Sansa, and you are left behind, you may be implicated in her disappearance. And these people will not care of your true innocence, looking for anyone to blame. Either come with us, or at least let us get you away from the city.”

 

“Whose we?” Was her curt response.

 

Lip quirking up in minute fondness, Jeyne replied easily, “My sisters and brothers of the Sand Nest. Trained assassins who have spent the last four days mapping this city, and the last year planning this mission. Twenty of us number this city, and though it may seem small, there is a lot we can accomplish, I can promise you that. Now. Are you with us or not?”

 

Both were caught off guard with that explanation, but knew now was not the time to ask. Shae's brown eyes flickered between Sansa's pleading face and Jeyne's calm one. Then, with a stilted nod, she decided. “I'm with you.”

 

Jeyne grinned. “Wonderful. Now, lets get out of here.”

 

Marching to the door, the girl pressed an ear against the wood, listening to any shuffling or breathing. There was none. With a hand on the knife on her belt, Jeyne silently opened the door. She was met with Nanian and Habel leaning on the corridor walls. “About time.” The older of the boys drawled.

 

Jeyne rolled her eyes. “Shut it, brother. We got another one to get out of the city.”

 

He frowned, casting his gaze over at Sansa and Shae, but said nothing of it. Instead he nodded, “Come. We've cleared the two floors below and the others are making their way through the rest. We must hurry. It's already passing first hour.” Agreeing with a hum, Jeyne waved the two other females to follow, only for her to be tugged to a stop by a hand. Sansa. With confused eyes, the girl asked, “How are we escaping?”

 

Smirking, Jeyne tugged her hood back over her head once more, declaring, “With a bit of skill and lots of blades.” The hidden blade on her wrist weighed heavy, along with the dual scimitars strapped to her back and ready for it's first blood.

Notes:

Jeyne falling into the ocean: PARKOUR!

The reunion! a proper conversation will come, but for now we have this unintentionally suave Jeyne and confused but attracted Sansa. Her friend is deadly and hot now!
The daring escape from King's Landing is up next! Along with some bamf fight scenes hopefully.

Once more, next update will probs be next week. For now, I'm working on the Jaster/Sansa story in bursts of inspiration and other tiny oneshots.

Chapter 5

Summary:

Part 2 of rescue and their return to the Sand Nest

Notes:

hey, been awhile. If you're new, then carry on. If you're coming back for the update, please note I've done editing of the last four chapters, so best to just reread it all over again.
I've got the next chapter in the works and it should, theoretically but knowing me it will be longer, be one more chapter to completion, with seven in total.
Thank you all for the lovely comments that i recieved in between updates. I got stuck on a new fandom as well as I'm participating in NaNoWriMo and im definitely going to be making my 50,000 goal!

 

They made their way back through the gardens, though this time Jeyne ran through the castle instead of climbing it's walls. It was a nice change and her arms were thankful for the reprieve. Sansa and Shae kept up well enough, keeping quiet as they knew just how dire the consequences would be if they were all caught.

 

The plan was to go back the way they came. One of her siblings would climb back up the wall and pass down a rope. When they entered the gardens once more, Jeyne had to usher the two through the grass instead of the gravel or cobbled path ways, too loud for them to walk over.

 

When reaching the wall, Habel deftly climbed up before tossing a rope down some moment later. Sansa and Shae gave them all incredulous looks as Jeyne instructed, “We got the rope secured. Place your feet on the wall and walk up. If you fall, we will catch you.”

 

The pair shared an uncertain glance but Shae, with a stubborn tilt to her chin, grasped the rope. It was slow going, and Jeyne repressed the urge to critique her form. When Shae was close enough to the top her sibling reached down and tugged the woman up and over the wall. One down, one more to go.

 

Still looking unsure, Jeyne directed the Sansa's face from the climb to her instead. With a reassuringly smile and squeeze of her hand, Jeyne said, “I will catch you, I promise. But you have to try first, hm?”

 

She nodded, that red flush back once more. As Sansa began to climb, Jeyne supported her waist for a brief moment until she levelled out with the ground, walking up the wall. The second she made it to the top, Jeyne and the rest surged forward, finding footing and hand holds with ease until they landed beside the rest onto the battlement.

 

“What next?” Sansa whispered, though she looked at them all, particularly Jeyne, with a hint of astonishment at their wall climbing skill. Jeyne also repressed the need to puff up with smugness. Nanian sent Sansa a roguish grin, “Now, we run, Princess.”

 

Jeyne tucked her hand into the red head's again, tugging her along once more as they ran across the battlement. If they were right about the scheduling, there would be no guards at this time. However, no plan ever goes right as Desmond warned them, and the second two guards step around the bend, all of the novices froze.

 

They have never killed, any of them. However, in the heat of the moment, they only paused before acting, years of training taking over. Katar and Nadia, their eldest siblings and always putting themselves between them and the danger, react first. They sprint towards the unsuspecting guards, whose cries of alarm get cut off by hidden knives to the throats. Katar had ducked down into the first guards space to then strike up and into the neck. Whereas Nadia ran, kicked off from the wall to come from the side and above, the blade sinking down into the side of his neck and down through the shoulder.

 

Their first kills, and they performed quite well in Jeyne's opinion. The two loomed over the guards, silent and waiting to see if any more were alerted or if one had survived. For a long moment, everything was quiet. Then, the castle bell tolled, an alarm resounding of an attack.

 

“Shit.” Chandni hissed.

 

“What do we do?” Habel asked frantically, all of them closing in and around the two they rescued.

 

Jeyne bit her lip before suggesting, “Through the gate? Climbing the wall would take time, with Shae and Sansa.”

 

Under his hood fifth brother ran a hand through his hair, “And we can't take to the roofs, either.”

 

“We've mapped out the city.” Katar reminded them, calm in the face of panic, “We know all alleyways and hidden places. We can head through those to the exit.”

 

“Which one?” Nanian scoffed, “The main gate that we were to go through for the horses, is now more than likely shutting because of the alarm.”

 

“Why not the docks?” Jeyne offered. “We go there and skirt around the wall by the sea. There is plenty of rocks and boulders to climb over. It would take longer, but we could be safer.”

 

Rubbing at her face, Abeela decided, “Right. We'll split up. Those not with Sansa and Shae will distract the guards, draw their notice, while the others will go through the gate as planned.”

 

“We're stronger in numbers,” Melano protested, “To thin us out means a likelihood of dying! We are only novices.”

 

“We have to trust in the masters to come to our aid if need be.” Nadia announced with finality. “But beyond that, we are all skilled assassins, even without having higher ranking. We will get through this night and meet back in the Nest, one way or another. Understood?”

 

Reluctantly, they all nodded in response. Their groups were split into this: Habel, Jeyne, Chandni, and Nanian would be leading Sansa and Shae to safety, slipping over the Red Keep's walls as planned previously. The others would fan out and be more noticeable to the guards, as they killed and fought their way through until they reached the city gates.

 

From there, with enough of a distraction, the ones with Sansa and Shae, would be able to slip through unnoticed, the rest preoccupied. Hopefully that chaos would be enough to garner the masters attention and come to help. It was a terrible plan, but the best they could come up with.

 

Jeyne was going to wring the neck of the one who got them all noticed by the guards.

 

With the rope once more, they flung that over the other side, Chandni and Habel at the bottom, with Nanian and Jeyne helping the two down. This went by far quicker than climbing up, with urgency giving them that extra confidence to climb down the wall, no second guessing or hesitation.

 

The second their feet hit the cobbled stone street, they fled into the bowels of the city. Jeyne led with Chandni, keeping the two females tucked between them. Overhead, Jeyne periodically heard someone leaping from roof to roof, and despite the plan going to shit, she felt at ease, knowing they all had one another's backs.

 

It wasn't until they had to cross a main street to another narrow alley way that a group of guards noticed them. Jeyne placed a hand on a knife, but Chandni shoved her towards the shadows, “Go! Fourth brother and I will handle this.”

 

They shared a look, one of solemn promise to see the other again, before Jeyne grasped Sansa's hand, Habel taking Shae's, and dashing into the depths of darkness.

 

A fight broke out behind them, clashing of swords growing distance with every running step they took, and Jeyne prayed to any gods listening that all her siblings made it out of this safely.

 

Breathing heavily, they wove their way through tiny back streets, Jeyne never letting up on the grip around Sansa's hand. Skirting around a barrel, Jeyne was the first to burst out of a tight alley way and to appear on the main street, looking around wildly to gain her bearings.

 

When the gates were in sight to her left, Jeyne felt a surge of relief, before her view expanded and staggered to a stop. Guards surrounded the gate, which was now closed. Close to thirty if not more. There was too many to fight, and even without two to protect, Habel and Jeyne wouldn't survive.

 

Nonetheless, Jeyne swallowed back her fear as she took out her dual scimitars, backing up to keep herself between Sansa and Shae, and the guards. Eighth brother did the same, taking out his short blade, and fell into a fighting stance, other hand ready to grab and throw his smaller knives.

 

However, before they could charge, there was an eagle's cry above, and a white figure dropped down onto two of the guards closest to the gate, felling their bodies with a twin hidden blade attack. The Mentor.

 

A flurry of movement began, as the other master assassins slunk out of the shadows, dogged by her siblings as they took on the guards. The masters moved with obvious experience, whereas her siblings had minute hesitation at times. Luckily, the adults watched the younger ones' backs. Jeyne allowed herself a short moment to breathe, hope flaring in her chest at the sight of all of them, before joining in on the fray. Keeping Sansa within her view, she slashed at one guard, the man just managing to dodge, only to over extend his reach, trained to fight taller and bigger. Jeyne took that opportunity and sunk her blades into the space between his chest armour and under his arms, where it was not protected.

 

Twisting the blades to truly stab into the man's lungs, Jeyne then tore them out. She would have to take some time later to truly sit and think over how she easily took a life without blinking, as now was not the time to ponder and fret over that moral conundrum. She had been trained to kill, and kill she would, especially with all she held dear on the line.

 

Observing the fight between opponents, Jeyne was gratified to note that none of her people were harmed, but there was two who were missing. Panic hammering her heart, Jeyne found one of her siblings, Katar.

 

“What happened to fourth brother and third sister!?”

 

Finishing in slitting a guards throat, and Jeyne had to quickly duck under a strike to respond by lobbing off a head, the older body soon replied with a curt pant, “Fourth is injured. Third took him to safety.”

 

A million questions rushed through her mind, and with no time to speak them, Jeyne swallowed them all back to instead ask the most important one, “They'll be alright?”

 

A guard who was suddenly charging their way, staggered to a stop, a gurgling noise erupting from his mouth along with blood as a sword struck his throat. Body collapsing, Jeyne saw it was Laneth. He looked disgruntled, swishing the blade to the side sharply to flick off some blood. “They're bickering.”

 

The breath of laughter that escaped her was near hysterical, hurrying back to Sansa and Shae's side. With the knowledge all was well, she grasped both of their hands. “Time to run again.”

 

Both looking distinctly pale at the fighting around them, but held back any major reaction bravely, and they nodded in agreement, letting Habel cover their backs as they ran through the gates. One of her family was nice to have cracked it open wide enough for them to slip through, heading for the horses.

 

Only to be met with another set of guards. Five of them. Gritting her teeth, Jeyne fell into a stance. However, Mentor appeared once more, jumping over their heads to land in the middle of the enemies. Two went down via the Mentor's favoured weapon, the hidden blade, before the rest even registered him.

 

He then took a knife off his chest holster, flinging it into a guard's eye as he ducked under a sweep of a blade. Pulling out his own sword, he made quick work of the last of the guards, the men dead before they even touched the ground.

 

Jeyne was grateful she didn't have to kill any more tonight, blades drooping in her grasp. Three was enough. Smiling weary at the approaching man, Jeyne murmured, “Safety and peace, Mentor.”

 

“The survival of you all will be the only thing to grant me that.” Desmond replied, stabbing his blade into the ground so that one of his hands could come up and cup her cheek, the other coming to land on top of Habel's hooded head. For a short moment, Jeyne closed her eyes at the contact, safety truly settling over her had his presence.

 

“The horses are not far from here.” He then stated, back to business. The man then peered over at Sansa and Shae, observing the second person they had rescued before continuing on, “With fourth brother and third sister at the ship, there will be enough room for another. Go swiftly. You will be the first to arrive.”

 

“Will the sailors be expecting us?”

 

“Yes.” Desmond confirmed, before sly smile curled his scarred lips, “And I'm sure you will be happy to see a familiar face too.”

 

Not lingering on that strange statement, Jeyne glanced back to Sansa. The girl's eyes were locked onto Jeyne, staring at her as if she was a stranger. Stomach churning, Jeyne forced that nausea down to smile softly, “Come on,” And she ushered them forward, “We'll be safe soon.”

 

Neither replied as they started back into a run towards where the horses awaited.

 

 

 

 

Captain Garven met Jeyne with a wide grin, teeth flashing in the moonlight, “Well, if it ain't Little Laney! Ready to climb the rigging again?” There was a twinkle in his eyes that told her he knew the truth, that he was teasing her.

 

Huffing hard as she slid off the horse, holding her arms out for Sansa, Jeyne snarked, “I can choke you with it instead, captain.”

 

The man threw his head back with a booming laugh. Rolling her eyes, though Jeyne couldn't help the smile that crept up her lips, she turned her focus back to Sansa. Her friend was eyeing the captain with curiosity, but said nothing as she turned back to Jeyne. Daintily, Sansa placed her hands onto Jeyne's shoulders, the brunette easily grasping her waist to help lower her gently to the ground.

 

Glancing up from where her feet touched the floor, Sansa gave Jeyne a tiny, uncertain smile, “Thank you, Jeyne.” It was spoken with a hint of breathlessness, and Jeyne realised just how close they were standing to one another now. Her stomach was fluttering.

 

There was so much they needed to discuss, but for now, Jeyne chose not to worry about it at that moment. So she leant forward to place a quick kiss to Sansa's cheek, like how they did when they were younger. The gesture brought a more genuine smile from Sansa. “Come on,” Jeyne beckoned, leading Sansa to the ship, “We can get you two settled below deck whilst we wait for the rest.”

 

Silently, Sansa nodded, being the one to lace their fingers together this time instead of Jeyne. The leather made it impossible to feel Sansa's skin and heat, but the contact brought warmth to Jeyne's chest, easing some of the dread. Though they would have to talk, Jeyne was comforted with the knowledge that Sansa was still her friend.

 

In increments, the assassins arrived. First was her siblings, coming in twos or threes with a master to guide and watch over them. Each one that stepped onto the ship was met with Habel and Jeyne fretting over them, looking over any small wound or injury they had procured. All bearing it with good humour or some grumblings, Jeyne felt her anxiousness ease with each safe return.

 

Lastly, when Laneth and Desmond were seen galloping towards them, Jeyne allowed herself to slump onto a step on the ship, completely relieved now. All that caused her worrying were Chandni and Nanian now, hoping that fourth brother's wound wouldn't be deadly for him, and that they would be able to keep themselves safe and hidden from capture.

 

The second the Mentor stepped onto the ship, the boarding plank was dragged onboard and the crew went about preparing them to set sail. Jeyne cast a lingering glance back at the horses, wondering what was going to happen with them, before she realised her counting of her brotherhood was off, and one of the senior disciples was missing.

 

Eyes flicking about to find the missing face, Jeyne demanded with worry building again, “Where's Obah?”

 

Glancing up from where he was wrapping a bandage around his shin, Laneth replied curtly, “With idiot one and two. Making sure Nanian doesn't bleed out and they don't get arrested.”

 

Closing her eyes, Jeyne let out a hard exhale, relaxing back on the step. A thump behind her then made her jump, whirling around to glare up at Abeela, who was grinning. “From what I saw, Nanian took a hit and Chandni screamed his name. Went ballistic on the guards that hurt him.”

 

Scowl disappearing to astonishment, Jeyne breathed, “No. You think-?”

 

Desmond laughed suddenly from somewhere on the deck, looking in their direction, “I think it's safe to say they're figuring their shit out finally.”

 

There were cries of relief and mutters of exasperation. Jeyne caught, 'About time' and 'Seven Hells, finally we can escape their bickering'. There was even murmurs of the betting pool and who was winning.

 

Grinning wide, the high from the rush of the battle and riding to safety was now fading away, if left Jeyne exhausted but no less happy with how everything turned out. No one was dead, despite some being harmed, and they should all be back at the Nest within a month or so. It depended on when Oberyn was going to leave the capital, bring her two siblings back with him.

 

As the ship creaked and rocked, sailing out into the sea and towards Dorne, Jeyne glanced around for one last assessing, cursory glance at how they all were faring, and caught sight of Sansa.

 

She was without Shae and stood in the entry way to the deck below, watching Jeyne. The girl stood awkwardly, hugging herself and looking out of place. Jeyne swallowed hard, Abeela then shoved a water skein to her chest, and she grabbled with the object to take a swig to wet her dry throat as her second sister murmured slyly, “Time to talk to your princess, little sister.”

 

Swallowing hard, Jeyne hissed, “She's not mine.”

 

Abeela arched her brow, unimpressed. Time to leave. Tossing the skein back at her, Jeyne hopped down from the stairs to stride over to where Sansa stood.

 

The closer she got, the more Jeyne noticed just how completely lost Sansa appeared, wide blue eyes watching the assassins with caution until Jeyne was closer. Blocking her view of where Melano and Habel were cleaning blood off their blades in Sansa's direct line of sight, Jeyne offered her a warm smile, “Lets get you some clean clothes, hm? I know we had some prepared for you, but you're still dressed in this.”

 

And slowly, Jeyne reached out to play with the sleeve of Sansa's dress. There was a held silence, before Sansa nodded slowly, the red head whispering, “Shae needed to sleep. I didn't want to ask her to help me...”

 

Releasing the sleeve to take Sansa's hand, Jeyne led her down the stairs once more. “I'll help.”

 

The room for Shae and Sansa was small, meant for one person, not two. On the bed, Shae was facing away from the door and didn't wake up as they entered. A lantern was still alight, swaying with the ship and casting strange shadows about the room.

 

Sansa went over to the tiny shelf, plucking the folded dress up. As the red head turned around, Jeyne tugged one of her gloves off with her teeth, her other hand undoing her braid. It was a mess at this point and needed to be redone, and her gloves were not helpful for such a task.

 

As she removed both her gloves, tucking them into her belt, Jeyne ran the exposed fingers through her knotty hair as she asked Sansa, “Do you want to have a quick wash from all that running, or do you just not want to bother for now?”

 

There was no response.

 

Confused, Jeyne glanced over. Sansa was wide eyed once more, dress clutched close to her chest and staring at Jeyne. The lantern swung, and the light brought to Jeyne's attention that Sansa's face was bright red.

 

Tying off her hair and flicking the braid over her shoulder, Jeyne approached, only for Sansa to step back suddenly and hit the shelf.

 

Jeyne froze. “Sansa?” Quickly, she looked down at herself, and winced at the blood on her clothes. “Sorry,” She muttered, “I'll leave you alone-”

 

“No!” Was Sansa's strangled protest, still hushed so as to not wake Shae up. Still, both girls glanced at the older female, who shifted in the bed but stayed breathing heavily in the throes of sleep.

 

Relaxing, Jeyne sent Sansa a frown, “I'm confused.”

 

Biting her lip, Sansa looked away from her gaze, “It's nothing, but I'm not...upset, about the blood.”

 

Scratching at the back of her neck, Jeyne offered a wry smile, “Bit unexpected though, I suppose.”

 

Sansa scoffed, eyebrow raised and unimpressed, “You suppose?”

 

“Okay,” Jeyne admitted, lips twitching as she teased some more, “It's very unexpected.”

 

“And an explanation for such unexpectedness would be greatly appreciated.” It was a little snippy of a response, however Jeyne only softened to fondly smile at Sansa. She was the perfect lady, but she always had a sharp tongue with irritated. “How about I help you change, and I'll explain.”

 

With an imperious sniff, Sansa replied, “That would be acceptable.”

 

Rolling her eyes at the attitude, Jeyne made a circle with her finger, prompting Sansa to turn her back to her so that Jeyne could start with the back lacing. As she did so, the brunette quietly began to explain all that occurred since Lord Stark's arrest, and when Jeyne was subsequently taken away from Sansa's side and placed in a brothel. Beside a hiss of anger from Sansa over Lord Baelish and a pleased hum over his death, the red head was silent, listening to her tale.

 

By the time she got close to explaining her decision for being an assassin beyond saving Sansa, Jeyne had helped get dressed into her new clothes. It was a simple tunic dress and trousers. Light material for the hot weather and unassuming to the eye when they arrive at Planky Town.

 

Not wanting to disturb Shae, the pair left the room, sitting outside in the hall across from one another as Jeyne delved into life at the Sand Nest and all the close bonds she had made in the last few years.

 

Sansa listened intently, her expression blank and showing no reaction to anything Jeyne was saying. It frightened her, recalling the young girl who had her heart on her sleeve, but Jeyne had to make peace with the way Kings Landing had changed Sansa, just as the Nest had changed her.

 

Jeyne couldn't meet Sansa's gaze as she finally confessed at the end of her story, “I've found a new family with them, Sansa. It's hard to explain, because I want to be by your side forever, but this is also something that I'm really good at. I love it all.”

 

Taking a hard breath in, she squeezed her eyes close, “I would beg you not to ask me to leave them. Please, Sansa, I don't think I could be the person I was again. They would just take away my weapons, and I'm sure somehow I would be married off, and I can't do that. I just can't-”

 

“Jeyne.” Sansa cut in, and warm enveloped her hands. Blinking back tears, Jeyne snapped her eyes to her friend. She too was teary eyed, and though her hands were warm, there was a shake to them. “I understand. I think that-” Her friend paused, taking a deep breath in, “I think that not going back to Winterfell is a good decision for now, though I want to eventually. It is home after all. However, with what had occurred at the Red Keep tonight, it would be best if I'm not drawing attention, as well as how I too am scared of what will become of me if I go home.” Sansa sniffled and let out a humourless laugh, “I'm sure they'll be marrying me off for some strong alliance within a week of my return, and I really don't want to get married any time soon. Especially just for politics.”

 

The elation running through Jeyne at that moment was so strong it felt as if she would burst from it, gaping at Sansa as the older girl finished, “So, coming with you to the Nest sounds like a wonderful idea.”

 

Lunging forward, so overcome with emotion, Jeyne grappled Sansa into a hug, the girl yelping as she tumbled forward into Jeyne's chest. It was a messy embrace but it was wonderful as Jeyne exclaimed, “Oh! Thank you, Sansa! Thank you, thank you!” And she began to smother Sansa's face with smacking kisses, making her giggle.

 

There would still be much for the two to contend with when it comes to their own changes and development from their differing environments, but for now, the foundation to build back on was stable and firm. They knew where they stood with their immediate future and one another, the rest they could weather through together.

 

 

 

Though on a ship, that meant no rest from training. Many of them only sustained bruises or cuts, nothing too detrimental that they had to sit out. No, that would be Nanian and Chandni, where ever they were currently. Hopefully staying safe on the Martell's ship, healing and waiting, with Obah making sure they're not getting into any trouble. All of them were crossing their fingers with the hope that when the two returned, it will be with some good news on their relationship. At this point, the betting pool was massive with the accumulated money over the years, way before Jeyne even arrived according to Abeela.

 

The morning after they set sail, Jeyne tumbled out of the hammocks with her siblings and they got to training. The crew were decent enough to keep out of their way as they went about running laps on deck, and the same could be said for her siblings. They made sure that when tasks were being done by the crew, they were either helping or not getting under foot. And after warm ups were over with, Desmond or Laneth worked them through combat forms, with and without weapons. In comparison to their regime at the Sand Nest, it was like down time, a breeze to the hard work put forth everyday. Jeyne took the time to enjoy the break, and as the days went by, Sansa slowly got to know her siblings as well.

 

The older girl had started from day one watching their training with a curious eye, though turned down offers to join in with a polite smile. However, as time went on, that genial mask became a genuine expression, the good humour of the other novices winning her over and breaking down any walls built up. Jeyne was both grateful and exasperated, as she found on more than one occasion Sansa's attention taken up by Katar or Nadia, her older siblings telling stories that placed Jeyne under a silly light. It was embarrassing.

 

But Jeyne hadn't put a stop to it, as with every relaxed conversation, Sansa lost a little bit more of her hesitation around them. She still eyed the masters warily. Understandable after Sansa explained to her one quiet evening of some of the things she went through at Kings Landing. Jeyne herself took time to trust men again, so she couldn't fault Sansa's trepidation. The rage she felt when Sansa mentioned the Kingsguard beating and humiliating throne room summonings, made Jeyne wish she was the one who got to kill Joffrey. None of the siblings knew who the marks were besides Joffrey, and they were all certain it was their Mentor who took it. She would have to talk to him later when they were settled back in the Nest.

 

However, after the temperature began to rise after a few weeks and Jeyne could tell they were just days away from Dorne, Desmond had approached Sansa. The man hadn't appeared to have wanted Sansa to settle more around the others before having a discussion with Jeyne's friend. From where her and the others were working through sword forms, Jeyne's twin scimitars flowing around her with an ease a single blade could never reach, Sansa sat off on the side as she typically would during their training. The former maid, as Jeyne was certain she would not want to be taking up that role again once they reach Dorne, was sitting on the upper deck, watching the sea with Laneth and Damian, lightly chatting. The surly senior disciple of the two appeared to have taken a liking to the young woman, and Damian held an amused expression on his face as he observed them. Another thing on the list for Jeyne to pry from the adults.

 

When Jeyne shifted from an offensive form to a defensive one, she caught sight of the Mentor strolling over to where Sansa had perched herself on a set of stairs, observing them. Jeyne's first instinct was to go over there, especially as she noted the red head tensed, but refrained. Instead, from the corner of her eye, the girl watched Desmond lean causally next to her, some distance still kept, and began to talk. Though unable to catch a word spoken, throughout the conversation, Sansa released the tension on her shoulder and seemed to be listening intently to whatever the mentor was saying.

 

With that knowledge, Jeyne placed her full focus back into training. Desmond always held some pearls of wisdom to anyone who needed it, the man having this casual, non-judgmental air about him that made it easy to divulge all your problems to his open attention. Jeyne was curious on what was being spoken, but kept her questions to herself when training was over. It was private and going by how more sure of herself her friend became as they got further away from Winterfell, Jeyne knew whatever Desmond has said was helpful. Sansa would be fine.

 

 

 

The giddiness that Jeyne felt as they made there way through Planky Town was infectious, Sansa bemused and looking around with bright curiosity at the port town, taking in the smells and sights. This must be exactly how Jeyne acted on her first arrival to the port town. Habel bumped his shoulder into Sansa's after coming up on her other side, the informality something that the high born lady still was trying to get used, and promised, “Once we get settled in the Nest, we'll take you here.”

 

Fourth sister than plastered herself to Jeyne's back, the brunette stumbling under the sudden weight but catching her legs to hold nonetheless. “Yeah! Seventh sister can buy you all sorts of pretty things!”

 

“Thanks for offering up my coin purse, Melano.” Jeyne grumbled, but shot Sansa a smile as she said so. She would buy her friend anything that she desired. And if she couldn't afford it, Jeyne would steal it instead. There were perks to learning how to be unnoticed, and thievery was one of them. The amount of vendors hot snacks they nicked when visiting Planky Town and Sunspear would've surely earned them some cut off hands for what they've taken over the years.

 

There would be no horses to get them to the Sand Nest, but having made this couple hour journey before, Jeyne held no complaints. However, she did cast worried glances over at Sansa and Shae, the older female more used to the heat but perhaps not this hot, and Jeyne prayed there would be no sunstroke or dehydration issues. In their straight line, Jeyne kept a hand around Sansa's as they shuffled their way through the bright sun and sands, the temperature unforgiving but welcoming to Jeyne at this point.

 

At the sight of the Nest's walls, the novices whooped with joy, breaking formation as they slid and tumbled down the dunes, racing for home. Jeyne gave Sansa's hand a parting squeeze before following after, finding Melano to tackle her into the sand as retribution from earlier. That was how they greeted the other non-combative inhabitants of the compound, covered in sand and grinning from ear to ear. They were welcomed with smiles and hugs, before being shoved towards the bathing areas.

 

A part of her wanted to linger and help Sansa around, however Laneth and Damian had that handled. As her sisters ran off to their room and bathing area, Jeyne quickly informed Sansa, “I'll see you after I wash up! You'll need to be shown around anyways but I'll find you afterwards.” And then darted into to smack a kiss onto Sansa's already red nose and ran off to get clean.

 

It was good to be dressed in her wrap around tunic and relaxed trousers, the familiar embroidery in plain sight. She hoped Sansa would like and praise her designs when she saw them.

 

Clean and with the majority of sand washed off, Jeyne ran with the others to the dining pavilion, hair damp but drying quickly in the sun. The thrill of being home once more infectious around the group, and she couldn't stop smiling, thinking of all the places she wanted to show Sansa.

 

Jeyne then began looking around for Sansa as they came into the more public parts of the Sand Nest, passing by workers and healers. It was when she caught sight of Desmond near one of the recreational pools, that she found Sansa.

 

The girl had her loose dress hems tucked up around her knees, feet dipped into the water as Desmond pressed a cup into her hand. Face a red flush, Sansa greedily drank the offered water as the mentor lightly tossed a scarf around her head to help block out the sun. Worried, Jeyne scampered over to Sansa, who cracked a weary eye open at her arrival.

 

“I thought Kings Landing was hot. This is just hell, Jeyne.” She whined, slumping onto Jeyne's shoulder, “How can you stand it?”

 

Both her and Desmond laughed lightly, Jeyne patting one of Sansa's exposed knees, “You get used to it, and typically we aren't out in the middle of the day. Too hot for anything besides eating or resting.”

 

“Shae and her will be housed together, one of the kitchen workers has an open room for them both.” The man then stated, making Jeyne pout, “Why can't she stay in the room with me and the other girls?”

 

Unimpressed, Desmond arched a brow, “Does Sansa want to train to be an assassin?”

 

Said girl was already shaking her head, so the man gestured at her, “See? Those rooms are only for the training assassins. I know I allow a large amount of freedom and leeway for everyone here, but there are rules and systems in place that keep things running smoothly. I'm sure Shae would want her own room, and it would be unfair for Sansa to share a room where other non-assassins couldn't. Plus, I'm sure Sansa wouldn't want to be woken up at the fourth hour every morning.”

 

Aghast, Sansa exclaimed, “You wake up that early!? That's horrible!”

 

“Okay, yeah that's fair.” Jeyne begrudgingly agreed with Desmond's logic, before replying to Sansa to reassure her, “We nap in the afternoon, so we get rest still, just not for the full night. It's perfect for training, as it's too hot to do so for a large part of the day as I said. And learning to fight and climb at night is good to know too.” At Sansa's still disgusted expression, Jeyne shrugged with amused finality. “You get used to it.”

 

Hesitantly, Sansa glanced over to Desmond, “And...I won't have to wake up at that time?”

 

“Depends on the job you have.” The man replied easily, swinging his own feet over into the pool, boots tossed to the side. Jeyne was quick to follow. “If you're a cook, it's a little early too, perhaps around sixth hour you'll wake up at to prepare food for the assassins, as they're the only ones who get food made for them, unable to do so with training. If you're working in the laundry department, they start washing at seventh hour so by the time the sun hits it's peak, the clothes dry fast, and that means in the evening the clothes can be delivered back to it's recipients.”

 

Nodding her head thoughtfully, Sansa asked, “Do you have anything for sewing?”

 

Desmond leant back on his hands, soaking up at sun. “Yeah, we have our weavers and seamstresses. And if you're interested, you can apprentice as a healer.”

 

“A healer?” Sansa reiterated, blinking owlishly, “Isn't that just for maesters? For men?”

 

“Pfft, anyone can learn to heal if they want, no matter their gender..” The mentor scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. And after a moment of contemplation, Desmond suggested, “I'll tell you what. I'll speak with our people in the textile department, so that you can get started tomorrow, and you can think on the healing offer.”

 

Sansa bobbed her head in agreement, complete consideration on her face at Desmond's words. Jeyne began to grin, overjoyed at her friend wanting to find a permanent place for herself here. Jeyne couldn't lie to herself and think they'll stay here forever and never go back to the North, as she herself wanted to visit her home again. However, she found a home in the Sand Nest. Found a family, and found a place where she could just be without any expectations of marriage or children or politics from the high born which would just ruin everything. And she wanted that for Sansa as well. Sansa had been a pawn for the Lannisters, held hostage and used as a bargaining chip, and it was infuriating to think that going back to the North would be the same. Perhaps without any of the violence and threats of death, but still used. Sansa was so much more than a princess to marry off. She was brilliant, quick-minded, and compassionate. In the Nest, she could be herself without any overbearing expectations that come from her rank and station. And Jeyne was selfish enough to admit that with them in the Sand Nest, they could be together forever without any interference. She never wanted to be separated from Sansa again and having her back now, by her side, was all she ever wanted in the world.

 

Sighing softly and contently, as the Sansa continued to question the mentor, Jeyne rested her head onto the other girl's shoulder. Sansa didn't glance her way, but tangled their fingers together in acknowledgment.

Notes:

Everyone is shipping Jeynsa and its wonderful Next chapter: Sansa's interlude, featuring Desmond's amazing parenting skills, Sansa getting a job, Jeyne unintentionally being hot, and repressed lesbian vs oblivious lesbian. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 6: Sansa's Interlude

Summary:

Harrold theyre lesbians!

It was a struggle to adjust to Dorne, and not just due to the heat and sand. The Nest was bizarre, especially in comparison to Winterfell and King's Landing. There were no high expectations to struggle to meet, or violence to flinch from like in the capital. She was noble born, a princess due to her brother's crowning, and the people in the Nest treated her like everyone else. They called her Sansa, though a few did did refer to her by her title, and she found herself being shown how to help out the compound within the first week. It wasn't like running a keep, it was physical labour and menial tasks.

 

She was shown how to do her own cooking, her own laundry, and clean up around the house she was staying in. The assassins didn't do such chores unless it was the seventh day of the week, as most of their days and late evenings were spent training, unable to do general upkeep of their own things. Sansa would be jealous, but she would rather not have to sweat and work herself to the bone in order to have that luxury.

 

Instead, she fumbled and learnt to manage as any common person would, and found a certain kind of self satisfaction with folding up her own freshly clean dresses in the evening, knowing they were dirty that morning and she cleaned it all by herself. It was the same with her meals, though most of the time she spent her evening meal with Jeyne, her best friend always finding her to join the rest. She hoped none of the other non-assassin residents got upset with that, but after the end of the first week, Sansa had relaxed once she realised no one took up offence so far.

 

However, as promised, on the next day after arriving, Desmond had shown Sansa to the textile street of the compound, were there were weavers, dyers, seamstresses, and so many other kind of positions in the similar vein, working with fibres to craft for the Nest. He gave her a tour around, and Sansa was soon enough shuffled in to being taught under the head seamstress. The woman was fairly impressed with Sansa's needle work before she went about showing Sansa how to work with more thin and delicate fabrics, far more different to the brocade of the upper south, and the thick wool from the North. On top of that, Sansa was rotated around to learning from the other trades men and women, a schedule being set by the end of the first week of who she spent some hours with a day and on what new skill be that on a loom, with a spindle, by the dying vats, or on the spinning wheel.

 

It kept her mind and hands busy, to the point she hadn't even thought to send a letter off to her family until it came around to the end of the second week, and there was no work to be done. A leisure day for all and she had no doubt Jeyne was currently sleeping in to late morning, and Sansa was sat in her room, staring blankly at the bright blue desert sky through her window, admiring how clear it was, before startling into motion once she spotted an eagle flying around.

 

She hadn't even given much of a thought on her family once somewhere safe and Desmond had informed her on the ship, explaining briefly of how he had helped ensure her brother and mother's safety against the Frey and Bolton's betrayal. And with knowing they were pulling back some what due to Sansa no longer being in the Red Keep – word having got around the Mentor had informed her in the first week of being in the Nest – the girl relaxed some in her worrying. Her family was back in the North, and that was enough for her for now. And Jeyne was correct, Sansa had no desire to be immediately thrown into another political scheme for her hand in marriage due to her blood and position. Sansa had had enough of that, and just wanted some time to breathe and heal.

 

However, they did deserve to know she was alive and safe, so Sansa was quick to dress, still shy in the clothes they provided, but having over come that for the sake of not passing out.

 

The trousers were not hard to adjust to, as loose as a skirt and the fabric a light peach colour. The top however did not cover her mid-drift, ending just at her ribs and was short sleeved, the fabric a soft cream with embroidery that Sansa later added. It was good for staying cool but the exposure of her stomach and the tail end of a few scar peeking out from under the cloth on her back had Sansa uncomfortable. The woman they were sharing a home with, Juana, had provided her a long thin blush pink scarf, just a shade off her trousers but still matching. She was told it was called a saree and could be used to block out the sun, or be tossed over one shoulder and wrapped around to hide her exposed waist. Sansa was very grateful and made sure to remember to trade for a couple more to match her other outfits once she had things to offer. It was important to be colour coordinated, no matter where one lived or their life style in Sansa's opinion.

 

With herself dressed, Sansa rushed out the door to the stairs that led from one of the two doors of her room, to a small balcony to then the outside wall of the home, hurrying down into the streets. The compound was like a small city, different districts depending on what and who they held. There was the housing section, where most residents lived, deeper into the compound, and the working areas further out. The kitchen and food storage section where people worked to provide for the assassins was closer to the areas where they trained, making it all in one accessible distance. Laundry was done in a large room within the hospital, where most people converged, large, tiled, and steaming with hot water and fires burning.

 

The residents, as they cooked and cleaned themselves, did not need close to either of these two areas. The hospital needed more cleaning done due to the sickness, and the kitchens closer to the assassins was convenient for them. Instead, they had the market square. There wasn't much to do with currency, the people here traded in favours or items, or sometimes just provided for free for those who needed it. Coin was only needed on the outside, and Desmond and his book keepers kept a stern eye on all their funds, providing coppers to those who are travelling out of the compound to Planky Town or Sunspear, where money was very obviously needed. The only time money was exchanged was in the hospital wings, where donation was given in as much the patron could provide. And there were many people that came by for healing, Sansa soon learnt.

 

In the end, that made the entire compound feel relaxed, and everyone was on equal standing. They had their roles that kept the Sand Nest running smoothly, and Sansa enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere, so different to King's Landing's tension and lies.

 

Racing through the compound, Sansa knew that the tower with the eagles would be where she could send out a letter, but to get to it she had to actually get to said tower. She had been to the eating pavilion with Jeyne every dinner time, but never further in, and the entrance to the tower was tucked away deeper into the assassin's part of the compound. Making it difficult for strangers to find it. Jeyne had told her it was due to important documents and books within the tower, Desmond not wanting them to be easily found and kept safe. Sansa understood. But it was still infuriating when she couldn't find how to get to the damned tower.

 

The roads were not straight and predictable, they curved and twist about, enough to confuse any poor newcomer, which in this case, was her. In the first week, Sansa had gotten a general grasp of where to do her laundry, where the market square was, and how to get to the textile district. She had never had to go to the tower, and was tempted to be like the assassins and take to the roofs. That would surely be a quicker and more direct path to where she was heading.

 

However, Sansa ended up stopping a resident, a young woman with a large jug of water in her arms, “Excuse me, how do I get to the tower please?”

 

Smiling warmly, the woman proceeded to give her directions and Sansa profusely thanked her before taking off once more. Sansa would have to remember her face and gift her with something in the future. It took her no time once having the directions to finally get to the base of the tower. Skirting around a large cart of hay after giving it a confused glance briefly, Sansa stepped into the building.

 

A large circular foyer with more of the same colourful tiles they used in many buildings around the compound were on the ground before her. A door was directly across from her, looking to lead directly into the cliff side, and then two open arch ways were on either side of the room, no doubt leading further into the assassin part of the compound. If she listened closely, she could hear murmurs of voices and clashing of steel. Then, she saw the stair case, spiralling upwards into the tower.

 

Stepping further into the foyer, Sansa tilted her head back to follow the stair case and stifled a groan at how many steps there were. Praying to which ever gods that would listen for strength and patience to not strangle assassins and their need for tall things, Sansa began her climb. She passed some doors here and there on the way up, and though curious at where they would lead to, she didn't enter. Sansa had a goal and she would achieve it. Plus, she had no doubt her family would greatly appreciate a letter from her written in her own words and not Cersei's.

 

At one point, maybe mid-way up, Sansa paused to take a breath and sip from her water and contemplate just what she would write to them. Then, the girl slumped over, groaning in frustration after realising she forgot paper and anything to write with.

 

Glancing wearily over the side of the stairs to stare at the spiral of steps, before looking up, and noting she was closer to her destination, Sansa decided that she would just demand paper from Desmond after he made her climb all this way up to send one damned letter. How anyone sent and gained any correspondence in the place was a mystery to her.

 

With a heavy sigh and one last swig of her water, she tucked it back around her waist and continued her ascension. When finally reaching the last door on her way her, Sansa panted hard, gathered her annoyance, and forced herself to not slam her way in. Instead, she knocked harshly and listened as a voice called for her to come in.

 

She did so with a mite bit of too much force, the door slamming open and she glared at the Mentor. “You have too many stairs.”

 

There was an amused tilt to his scarred lips, not even looking at her as he continued with his paperwork, “It's to prevent everyone but the most determined from bothering me.”

 

“Well,” Sansa huffed, closing the door behind her as she took in the room, “I am very determined to use your eagles. I must send a letter to my family.”

 

The room had open arched windows all but one side, just to the left of where the door was. There was a ladder on that empty wall, and Sansa concluded it led to the eagles nesting area. Everywhere else was just a chaos of scrolls, pillows, knick knacks, and other office based instruments. Though, she spied a small loom tucked next to a shelf overflowing with baskets of yarn. Something to ask him when she wasn't focused on her task.

 

Where Desmond sat, a desk low to the floor and pillow scattered around for sitting comfortably on the stone floor, the man glanced up at her, confused, “We have pigeons for letters near the east side of the compound. Most people use them, not the eagles.”

 

“What.”

 

At her dead tone, he winced, “The eagles tend to strictly be assassin business, as their homing ability is not as good as pigeons. You would get quicker responses with them, not eagles.”

 

Closing her eyes, Sansa took a deep breath. The exhale from her nose, lips pursed close, was loud. Along with the muffled scream from her throat. Then, she brushed away the fly-aways from her face and calmly made her way over to Desmond's desk.

 

He was sat up straight, eyes watching her carefully with a mix of humour and concern. “you're not going to try and stab me are you? Because thought I don't want to hurt you, I will be defending myself.”

 

Sansa sniffed derisively, “A lady does not lash out in anger. It is unbecoming.”

 

Desmond snorted. “Right, of course. Anything I can help you with then, my lady?”

 

“Some paper and ink would be greatly appreciated.”

 

He handed said supplies over promptly before getting back to his own work. And here, Sansa was left to stare at a blank piece of parchment and wonder on just what to write. She already knew that Robb and mother should be well, and hopefully so were her younger brothers. She should best inquire on their health as well as how the North and Winterfell were. Sansa began her letter with neat penmanship, addressing her mother instead of Robb.

 

'Dear mother,

 

I hope all is well with our family and the North. I'm greatly relieved to know you are marching home and away from the South and the battlefields.'

 

Sansa paused, nibbling on her lip in thought, contemplating on her next words. She dithered with expounding on all her hurts and tribulations during her captivity, but felt that would take up too much of the paper and would make her mother feel guilty. Sansa did not doubt that the woman was worried sick for her and Arya. And there was the other thought, wondering if she should tell them that Arya was never with her, knowing that Robb and mother had no idea that her sister managed to run off during the slaughter of their household. The next possible topic was to discuss where she was, and decided to pen down that she was safe and with Jeyne. Then, once more, her words faltered.

 

Sighing hard, Sansa forgot where she was, so lost in her thoughts, until Desmond spoke up, “Don't know what to write?”

 

Looking up sharply, Sansa quickly masked her frustration in the face of his calm amusement as she replied, “There are many topics and not enough parchment.”

 

He gave her a crooked smile, waving at a pile of blank sheets, “I've got enough. Go ahead and write.”

 

Recalling the kind words when he explained how he saved her family on the ship, Sansa dropped some of her caution to mutter, “I don't know what to say. And, I'm afraid that with my letter, they will demand my return.”

 

“And you don't want to leave.” Desmond stated factually, and she gave a miserable nod. Placing his own quill down, the man leant back to rest on his hands, contemplating her for a long moment. Then, he said, “Did you know that I rebuilt this tower by myself? Of course I needed some consultation by actual stonemasons, but because of the height and how many deemed it a hopeless endeavour, I did most of it. I had to redo a lot too in the process, messing up before I got the skill down well enough with all the practise I got from tearing it down and building it back up. Lots of trial and error. However, once the tower was done, I stood in the window and looked around the still dilapidated compound, and saw the future of this place.”

 

“I saw a hospital first. I wanted to help others without causing pain. I wanted to heal, not kill. But, I soon realised that would never be good enough for the people, because I knew I could do far more if I took out those big players in the political game, getting rid of the ones who wanted to cause pain and destruction.

 

“Once the hospital was set up, and I slowly began to gather students and regular workers, I realised something very horrifying.”

 

“What?”

 

“That, in some fucked up way, I was a father.”

 

Sansa blinked at the unexpected answer. The man laughed softly, “I never wanted to be a father really, scared of being a bad one. And it terrified me to see so many of these kids looking up to me for not only guidance, but for comfort and support. Fuck, I mean, with the amount of bullshit happening around the kingdoms and all the stress, hearing Nanian complaining about his crush on Chandni, or Damian ranting on how his cat ate the last of his favourite food, it was so relieving. Like, finally, these are things I can maybe help with, or at least offer a listening ear, because that's really what people want more often than not. Someone who will listen and validate their problem.”

 

“I've spent years building up the defences of the Sand Nest, keeping a close eye on my people and making sure none come to harm. They are my family and I would give my life for anyone of them. From the laundry ladies to Damian, my right hand. All of them matter to me, and if I lost one, I couldn't forgive myself.”

 

“What does this have to do with my letter?”

 

“Okay, I was rambling a bit. But basically, Sansa, I was born to be a blacksmith and now I'm an assassin. I'm seen as an equal with the princes' of Dorne by those who know of me, and the Faceless men know not to fuck with me. I grew up thinking I could just have a simple life and not worry too much about the nobility, and a month ago I personally assassinated Tywin Lannister. What I'm trying to say, is that the station we're born in, doesn't have to be what we continue to live as. You were born first daughter of a noble house, with thousands of years of history as royalty before the dragons came along. You are a high born lady, a princess now thanks to your brother, but you don't have to be. You think your family will come charging here to get you back? I don't doubt they would want to, or even try, but they won't make it. Even if they scrounge up the men – who are exhausted from the war – they have to travel all the way to Dorne. An invasion is how it would seem to the Martells, and a useless endeavor because they have no idea where the Nest is. And the Martells would not willingly give up the location – nor any of those in Dorne who have been treated by my hospital – so there's another snag that they would hit. And even if they made it to our door step, this is our terrain. They would lose.”

 

“And this isn't me trying to say the Northerners are weak. This is me trying to explain to you that if you want to stay here until you're old and grey, you can. Jeyne is someone that I see as mine. All of the kids I see as my own children, and that includes Jeyne. And if Jeyne wants you here, and you want to stay, then you will. So, you don't need to be a noble lady here, Sansa. We don't really have need of them anyways. Just, be Sansa here, and everything will fall into place one way or another.”

 

Sansa looked down at the letter, overwhelmed by all that the man had said. A hand comes up to settle on the desk, dragging her gaze back up. His brown eyes shone with sincerity. “Write whatever you want, Sansa. This letter is to inform them you are safe. You don't have to even write much if you don't want to.”

 

“I want to tell them how sorry I am.” Sansa blurted out, “If it wasn't for me, father wouldn't have died- Jeyne's father wouldn't have been cut down. It's because of me, I went to the queen because I thought that father sending me away was him taking away my dreams of being married to Joffrey. All I wanted was to be his wife and queen in that moment, and he was ruining it! And he's dead because I told-”

 

Arms wrapped around her, large and bear-like, and Sansa was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Her father gave similar hugs when she was younger, feeling engulfed and completely safe. Sobs shook her chest, making her entire body tremble as she fell easily into the embrace.

 

“It's not your fault.” Desmond murmured, then quickly hushed her when she went to protest. “It's not. You were a child and you still are. I don't know the entire circumstance but I can tell you that the death of Lord Stark and Lord Poole, along with your household, was not because of you. It was because of cruel people. It's not, your fault. I promise you that, Sansa.”

 

Sniffling, Sansa nodded, burrowing her head deeper into his chest, hands fisting around the fabric of his shirt. “I miss him.” She whispered, “And we never got along like he did with Arya, she was his favourite, but I miss him. But I hate him for killing Lady, for not understanding me, and for not talking to me. If he just explained why we were leaving, maybe I-”

 

“Don't,” The man firmly cut in, “Don't do that to yourself. Would've could've should've, it doesn't matter now. You can't change the past, only your future.” He pulled away to rest his hands on her shoulders. Firmly, the man continued, “Look forward, Sansa, not back. Nothing but sadness lies that way, and you can't do anything about it. Right now, write to your mother. Tell her you miss her and that you love her. Tell her that you're safe and that you will continue to write to her. Tell her of what you are doing here and all that you're learning. Tell her whatever you want, but don't apologise for your ignorance. That was not on you. You trusted adults you thought cared for you, and you can't be blamed for that. Just, unfortunately, learn from that mistake. It was a hard lesson, but you've learnt better to be more cautious.”

 

“Should I trust you then, Mentor?”

 

A proud smile quirked at the corner of his lips, “Now you're getting it. You decide for me, Sansa. You decide whether I should be trusted or not.”

 

“You have a very convincing argument so far.”

 

“But I could be a good liar, playing the long game.”

 

Sansa smiled lightly, “Maybe.” Was all she said.

 

He gave her a comforting pat on her shoulder before pulling away. Moving back to his side of the desk, Desmond pointed at her letter, “Better get writing, Sansa. You still have all day to relax and you don't want to spend it with me.”

 

Picking up the quill, Sansa hummed, “Jeyne will be looking for me.”

 

The man snorted, “If she ever wakes up that is.”

 

 

 

Sansa had much to think on after her letter was sent off, this time with an eagle but knowing that the next ones will be through the pigeons. Wandering down the tower, cheeks most likely blotchy from her crying, Sansa was comforted with the knowledge that Desmond was protective over the Nest and his people. And if she counted as one, then she knew with a surety that she had time to breathe and heal from everything within the Red Keep.

 

Her mind drifted to the hospital and the offer to be a healer. It was a thought to entertain and a decision she didn't have to decide on yet. The Mentor told her to focus on just getting settled in the compound, so that was what Sansa was going to do for now.

 

“Sansa!”

 

The call of her name startled her out of her thoughts, glancing up from the street outside of the tower to see Jeyne and a few of her siblings running to her. The girl immediately flung her arms around Sansa, the red head laughing, startled, but returned the gesture nonetheless.

 

“Finally awake, Jeyne?” Sansa teased, tugging lightly on her thick brown braid.

 

Sheepishly, the younger girl stepped back, nodding. “Worked myself too hard last night in hand to hand, so I needed all the sleep I could get.”

 

Katar, who Sansa knew to be the first brother of their generation, sighed, hands on his hips, “And whose fault was that? You'll pull a muscle or something, sister.”

 

Jeyne rolled her eyes, “I'm fine.” Then turned back to Sansa, “We're going to go to Planky Town. You want to join?”

 

Sansa nodded immediately. The floating town was a brilliant sight and looked to have contained so many wonderful things. It was the perfect distraction from her letter and everything else going on in her mind. Grinning, Jeyne slipped her hand into hers, tugging her off into some direction of the compound. Sansa couldn't put her head around to where exactly, as her heart was being swept away by her dearest friend. It reminded her of the night Jeyne saved her, how confidently she stood, the way her finger tucked under Sansa's chin. Her face flushed at recalling when Jeyne tugged her gloves off, the sight of her nimble fingers and knowing they were connected to strong arms and shoulders. The very same shoulders she had rested her own hands on, Jeyne lifting her off the horse. All the causal touches over the last few weeks were a heady sensation and Sansa was afraid of how greedy she was for every bit of contact now.

 

The market of Planky Town was just as delightful and exciting as when she first passed through, happily letting Jeyne and the others lead her around. They pointed out funny little pots with faces sculpted on them, and Katar brought them this deliciously spiced grilled meat on a stick.

 

Content and carefree for the first time in a long while, Sansa ate the snack as she gazed about the stalls. Brightly coloured fabrics caught her eye immediately, and without much thought, she dragged Jeyne by the hand towards it. Hurriedly finishing her food, Sansa wiped her mouth inelegantly with the back of her hand before reaching the stall.

 

There were rolls and bolts and folded piles of thin linens, sheer silks, and myrish lace. A particularly sea foam coloured silk caught her eye. It was like touching air, barely a weight to it, and not as sheer as some of the other ones. Slipping through her fingers, Sansa wondered at how much it cost out loud, and then blanched at the price. Before everything, Sansa would have thought nothing of it, begging her parents to buy it for her. However, now, with the small stipend that she had now, it was too much for.

 

Smiling at the stall owner, she shook her head at the offering of cutting some length for her, “Sorry, I'm unable to afford it. Do you have any threads however?” And Sansa was directed over to the left, a basket of spools of silk threads. She had some warm yellow fabric back at the compound that she was working on, wanting to create a dress so as to not have her waist line exposed all the time. There was a warm saffron colour of thread, and when she turned to pass the coin over to buy it, Sansa froze.

 

Jeyne was very firmly not looking her way as the stall owner cut up some metres of the sea foam fabric, a warm hue to her cheeks. “Jeyne!” Sansa hissed, stepping closer but her friend waved away her protests. Instead, after the owner wrapped the silk up into some brown paper and twine, Jeyne presented it to her.

 

“That was too much.” Sansa whispered, her own face heating up at the gift. However, Jeyne shrugged, “Think of it as an apology for not getting to you sooner.”

 

Pursing her lips, Sansa refrained from lecturing her friend on how unnecessary this all was, and turned to the stall owner instead, still not taking the gift. “Do you have any threads that go well with this?”

 

The owner, amused by their interaction, nodded. They left the stall with four spools of threads, the saffron yellow, and then a teal, a dark blue, and then a similar sea foam colour. She had plans for embroidery now that Jeyne brought the fabric for her, and though it was excessive, Sansa would not decline the gift now that it was brought.

 

Still, once they were away from the stall and tucked off to the side, Sansa gripped Jeyne's wrist and murmured, “You didn't need to, Jeyne. You saved me, and that's more than anyone has done for me.”

 

Removing Sansa's grip, Jeyne laced their fingers together instead, holding tight as she solemnly replied, “I would give you anything you wanted, Sansa. And more besides.”

 

Her heart sped up. Ducking away, Sansa squeezed Jeyne's hand and finally took the wrapped fabric. “You're too much, Jeyne.”

 

In a familiar gesture, Jeyne tucked her finger on Sansa's chin, tilting her head back up. “I could be much more, if you let me.” Her friend murmured, voice low and the air in Sansa's lungs got caught up between one inhale and the next. Leaning forward, Jeyne then pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. It felt different from all the ones they exchanged when they were younger. The past ones were loud smacks and giggles as they played lady and knight, with Jeyne more often than not being the knight in the game. Now, older and maturer, this gentle and fleeting touch ignited something in her chest, Jeyne's plush lips like the smoothest velvet to her skin.

 

Jeyne pulled back a little to regard her reaction, only enough to remove her lips from Sansa's cheek, and up close, the red head could count the freckles over her tanned skin, see the way her eye lashes fluttered as they stared at one another. For a short second, Sansa noted the way Jeyne's gaze flicked down before coming back up.

 

Swallowing hard, Sansa's eyes darted to the side, noticing the way the crowds ignored them, no glances sent in their direction, hidden between one tented stall and the next. In this shade and seclusion, with Jeyne's body blocking the entrance, Sansa felt nothing but safety. She wanted more. Wanted what Jeyne was offering. But, Sansa had too much on her mind to give an answer in that moment.

 

Instead, she let out a trembling breath, and pressed her own kiss. This one brushed the corner of Jeyne's mouth. The brunette sharply inhaled, a soft sound normally, but it rang like a bell in their little corner of the world. “I- I need time.” Sansa stuttered out, “But...”

 

Jeyne's face softened, understanding. “Of course. Take your time, my love.”

 

The term of endearment sent another flush to Sansa's cheeks, hotter than the Dornish sun by now, no doubt. Huffing, bashful, Sansa took a step back, “You're ridiculous.”

 

“Only for you.” Jeyne grinned.

 

 

 

When Jeyne and the others dropped her back off at where she was staying, Jeyne gave her a tight hug. “See you tomorrow at dinner.”

 

Watching the assassins climb up the building across from hers to go back to their side of the compound, Sansa couldn't stop the wistful sigh that escaped her, leaning against the side of the home.

 

“Are you courting yet?”

 

Sansa yelped, jumping as she looked to her left where Shae was leaning out the window, having watched their parting. A smirk on her face, the young woman continued, “Because if not, then I would be very disappointed in you, Sansa. That girl has been throwing herself at you since the day I met her.”

 

“Shae!” Sansa hissed, before scampering inside so their conversation wouldn't be overheard. Said woman laughed, pulling back from the window. “Don't be so shy, Sansa. Nothing wrong with a girl loving a girl.”

 

“I know that!” Sansa snapped, before crossing her arms to scowl at the ground. “I know that.” She repeated, softer. It was Margaery that told her briefly about other girls liking girls, and a part of her heart had fluttered at the coy look the older girl had sent her way. Sansa wasn't...unfamiliar, with having an attraction to other girls. If she thought about it, even in the past and when oblivious to what it all meant, Sansa was probably half in love with Jeyne already by the time they were ten and the sight of her friend's smile and hearing her laugh made her heart flutter.

 

Now, it was all becoming very real, and Sansa wasn't sure on how it would all proceed. From what she understood, the Nest was not against such relationships and preferences, as well as Dorne as a whole. On more than one occasion she had seen a male couple or female couple share soft kisses on the compound streets. Both the open display of affection, as well as the similar genders had caught her off guard the first few times before she got used to it. And if anything did happen between Jeyne and herself, it wouldn't be taken negatively.

 

“Sansa,” Shae's gentle voice dragged her from her thoughts, “I'm not saying you have to do anything about Jeyne's affections-”

 

“I'm in love with her, Shae.”

 

The words were sincere, but the warbled with tears, and overflow of emotions. Her breath hitched, feeling the wetness roll down her cheeks. “I-I'm in love with Jeyne, but I'm so scared-”

 

Arms were wrapped around her within moments, Shae's hand stroking down her back soothingly. “I know, Sansa. It's alright.”

 

“W-what if s-something ha-happens to her?” Sansa sobbed, holding Shae back fiercely. Her mind was a mess of possibilities of the future. She already saw first hand how dangerous being an assassin was, and her dearest friend would risk her life on any of her future missions. She couldn't imagine how she would recover from the loss of Jeyne.

 

“Jeyne is a strong girl.” Shae said, “And those siblings of hers will watch her back. Don't worry so much about the 'what if's, Sansa. It makes it far more difficult to live a good life if you stop yourself from wanting things and taking them when presented.” Stepping back, the other female cupped her elbows, thumbs brushing soothing circles on her skin. With warm hazel eyes, Shae added, “Take it from me, Sansa. Life can be harsh, so if you find real love, you should embrace it.”

 

Sniffling, Sansa wiped away her tears. “You're right. I'm sorry for crying-”

 

“Nothing to apologise for.” The other cut her off softly, but no less firm. “Now, go clean yourself up. Dinner is to be made and I will need your help.”

 

With a tiny smile, Sansa nodded and headed up to her room. There, she placed her purchases and gift on her bed before pouring some water into the bowl on her vanity. Washing her blotchy cheeks – and she couldn't believe she had cried twice today! How embarrassing – Sansa glanced up at herself in the mirror. Eyes rimmed red, it wasn't an unusual sight to see these past three years. But this time, the sight didn't carry the same pain as it would normally do. Instead, there was a tentative hope burning in her chest.

 

She had already made a decision of wanting to stay in the Nest with Jeyne. She wanted to heal more, wanted to find out who she was without the constraints of nobility and duty. Sansa just wanted to be Sansa, and the Nest was offering that. Taking a deep breath, Sansa felt the determination solidify around her like a suit of armour. What comes, will come. For now, she will go about the jobs given to her, and embrace this new chapter of her life.

 

---

 

The clattering of the loom with each pass of the new strand of weft lulled Sansa into mindless focus, eyes locked onto the simple diamond pattern she was working on. After a month of being an apprentice, she was starting to move onto more complicated designs. This one wasn't so much difficult, but with the needed colour changes, using multiple different coloured linen had her focused on the pattern she was following.

 

A week after sending off the letter to her mother, she had gotten a response. Because it went through by eagle, Desmond had come by the hand it over. Where she was lounging in the shade on the bench of her balcony, taking the two hour long break of mid day, Sansa only jerked a little in surprise at his appearance. She was growing used to the assassins appearing out of nowhere.

 

He handed it over, and sat next to her as she broke the seal with trepidation. The contents weren't necessarily...bad, but they were filled with her mother's anxiousness. She talked about how Rickon and Bran were alright, how they had secured Winterfell before it could fall completely into traitors' hands. That Robb was married to a Westerland lady that none of the Northern lords were happy over, however, the woman was pregnant so an heir to the North's throne was on it's way. The thought of being an aunt was a bizarre one. However, after telling Sansa of how her siblings were faring, her mother went on to expound about Sansa running off to Dorne. It wasn't anger, mostly just worry, along with incredulous disbelief over Jeyne having been the one to save her. In terms of paragraph and sentence structure, it was a mess, her mother penning down all the thoughts that came to mind.

 

Her mother then added that she was happy Jeyne was alive and well, and then asked the question of when they should expect their return to the North.

 

Sansa's letter in response was writing about the new sewing techniques she had picked up, along with how to spin wool. Though it was a hot place, Dorne, wool was needed for missions taken in cool climates as well as for blankets. The nights could get very cold sometimes in the desert. Sansa then talked about Planky Town and how she was going to start another apprenticeship under a healer in a few months after she was more proficient with her fibre craft. She wrote anything and everything that wasn't talking about her return – as well as her possible romance with Jeyne – and finished the letter with love to her mother and her siblings.

 

The following letters from her mother grew more irritable and demanding about her whereabouts and future return. Sansa continued to not give a straight answer.

 

Other than the letters, Sansa got to know more of the compound, especially when one of the dyers had taken her down a few lower levels of one of the textile district buildings to show her where they get the water for the vats of dyes. As it turned out, there was a natural underground river that ran from mountain range of The Prince's Pass – the only place in Dorne that got snow, where it settled on it's peaks rising high into the clouds – to then go under ground and run through many different keeps and cities around the kingdom. It was why the settlements were built where they were, for access to fresh water.

 

This was also where Sansa learnt that some of their food was grown within the compound as well. Soil beds sown in a lower level of the Nest, with a thick glass ceiling to allow the sunlight to reach the plants. These chambers dotted about the compound, some people's homes being built around the glass in the dry earth. This all allowed for the compound to have access to their own food and water if a siege ever occurred. No wonder Desmond was so confident in the Nest's ability to hold and provide for the people within it's walls.

 

And with learning the layout of the place with each day, Sansa found herself able to visit Jeyne's section without needing directions. This led to her one day passing through when they were practising hand to hand combat, and stalled at the sight of Jeyne, tongue going heavy in her mouth. With fabric wrapped around her breasts, all other layers shucked off beside her cotton loose trousers, Jeyne stood in the sunlight, skin golden and hair shining with amber tones. With her fists wrapped, Jeyne was squaring off with another sister, trading blows and kicks, ducking around swings and grappling with one each other. They were circled by the other disciples, cheers and hollering adding levity to the lesson.

 

Sansa however couldn't hear a word they were shouting, all sound muffled by the pounding of her heart as her eyes locked onto Jeyne's exposed skin. Her hair was tied into a bun at the top of her head, strands loosened in the rapid movement, and her neck bare. Swallowing hard as Jeyne got the sister into a choke hold, her back muscles and biceps flexing, Sansa decided she really needed a drink of water, and promptly left the courtyard. That night at dinner, she couldn't look Jeyne in the eye without flushing hard, recalling the sensation of those firm muscles every time they hugged or when Jeyne helped her off that horse. Now, with knowing what they looked like under all that loose fabric, Sansa decided she very much liked the sight of them. Very much liked just how strong Jeyne had become.

 

'I want her to carry me everywhere.' Was her ludicrous thought, now back in the present and ready to take a break from her weaving. Sighing hard, Sansa brushed some stray hairs from her forehead and decided to bemoan all this to Desmond. The man was a greater listener.

 

Taking the long and exhausting walk up to his solar, not dissuaded from the exertion of the many stairs like he had in mind when deciding this place, Sansa knocked once before poking her head in. The man was sprawled out on some pillows and staring up at the ceiling.

 

With a glance in her direction, Desmond arched a brow, “Want to steal another of my eagles, Sansa?”

 

Huffing, Sansa closed the door and marched over to flop gracelessly over the pillows by his feet. “Love is stupid. What's your advice on that?”

 

He sat up so quickly that Sansa jumped, surprised at the exuberance on his features, “You're in love with Jeyne!? Fuck yeah!” And pumped a fist. Baffled at how he guess correctly, Sansa stared as Desmond started to ramble, “Let me tell you, you two were not the most frustrating pair to watch dance around one another because most of the time you were apart, but you were both certainly getting up there on the list. That goes to those two idiots before they finally got together on the ship back like we had guessed.”

 

It took her a second to understand his words and recalled exactly whom he was referring to. Nanian and Chandni. Their return with an exasperated Obah was met with loud much anticipation, plenty of betting abound, with the two young adults tight-lipped and unwilling to share of their time together. Until Obah had let out an explosive sigh and stated, “They're courting.”

 

The cheers were most likely heard throughout the compound and maybe further into the desert. Though Sansa did not know them well at the time, she was happy for their relationship.

 

“-and though I'm not going to pry, you gotta tell me how you two got together? I'm surprised Jeyne never said anything to me-”

 

Focusing back in the moment, Sansa cut off Desmond's rambling with a tired groan, falling onto her back and hiding her face in her hands, “Why is she so pretty? And strong?” A pause, to then clarify, peeking over at Desmond, Sansa added, “Also, we're not courting.”

 

“What? Why not!?”

 

Mulishly, Sansa glanced away from his incredulous stare. To be honest, Sansa didn't know why really. Jeyne was patient with her since their moment by the stalls, still fetching her for dinner and spending time together outside of her training. It wasn't as often as Sansa or Jeyne would like, but they had their duties, even without being noble ladies. Maybe she was still scared, even with Shae's good advice and her own determination to take back control over her life. Outside of the Nest, what future did either have together. Sansa knew, at some point she would return home, and who knew how that would all go. Would it end up with Sansa on lock down in Winterfell, soon forced to be married to a lord, as her station required? Would she become mean like Cersei, unable to get what she wanted in life and become vile to others? Would she spend her days staring out a window, wanting Jeyne to come through it like she did before and take her away from all her problems?

 

Sansa sighed heavily. “I don't know.”

 

Shuffling over, Desmond bumped the back of his hand against her leg, “Hey, there's no rush. You know that right? You're both still kinda young after all.”

 

Biting her lip, Sansa pointed out, “If I went back to Winterfell, I think we could never be together. Between to girls...it's just not accepted.”

 

The man scoffed, “Then, whenever you two do go up North, I'll come with and give whoever needs to hear a good talking-to. If you two want to be together, to even marry in the future?” Sansa flushed at the thought, warmth filling her chest like it always did at the thought of being with Jeyne. The man must have seen her reaction written over her face, and gave her a small smile, “I will make sure you two get that. I see Jeyne as my own, as I do with all of them. And you would be my good-daughter. Can't have you miserable and separated.”

 

“What if they force me to stay?”

 

“Then I'll kidnap you.” Was Desmond's indifferent response. It shouldn't make her as relieved as it did. “You would?”

 

The man reached out and pinched her nose playful, Sansa batting him away a second later. “Yeah, kiddo. I would.”

 

A peaceful silence fell around them. Sansa thought about what she would do next, how she would approach Jeyne. Then, the time where she caught sight of Jeyne fighting came back to her mind, and her face heated up. “By the gods, why is she so strong now?”

 

Desmond cracked up, deep laughs filling the room. She kicked his side with a scowl.

 

 

 

The advice he gave her was this: Take the initiative.

 

It felt like terrible advice in the moment, until she thought about it further. This entire time, it was Jeyne doing the wooing, doing the flirting. Because that was what all those little fleeting touches were. From the first chin tap to pressing a kiss to her cheek. And Jeyne needed to know that Sansa really did return the feelings, that she didn't have to do all the work.

 

So she marched into the courtyard where Desmond said they would be that day. Luckily enough, they seemed to be taking a break from training with their weapons, though a few were fiddling with some knives, Jeyne perking up as she took a sip of her water at the sight of Sansa's approach.

 

There was soft laughs and people smirking as Jeyne rushed over to Sansa, and a bit of satisfaction over came Sansa at Jeyne now knowing what it was like to have siblings teasing you. However, the sight of them all watching Sansa had her tugging Jeyne to the side and around so her back was to the siblings. She didn't want to see them as she finally confessed.

 

“What's up, Sansa?” The informal and strange phrase was one Sansa had heard from Desmond and a few others before and knew to reply with, “Nothing's wrong. Just...”

 

At her trailing off, Jeyne furrowed her brow, “Just...what?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Sansa closed her eyes to find her nerve again. It fled the second Jeyne came up to her, all of Desmond's encouragement failing her. “I-I want us to...to. Court.” The last came out as a whisper, face hot and eyes staring at the ground.

 

There was no response back, and Sansa felt her anxiety spike, taking a glance up to see that Jeyne's face was darkening, wide eyed. “Jeyne?” Sansa tentatively tried.

 

“I-” Jeyne cut herself off, catching sight of something over Sansa's shoulder before grasping her around the waist and pulling her to the side. However, because she was so caught off guard, her feet got tangled up and Sansa felt that swooping sensation of falling.

 

Instead of hitting the ground, however, Jeyne still had her arms locked around Sansa.

 

There was no hard impact of her falling to ground. Instead, Sansa found herself dipped at the waist, her own arms instinctively wrapping around Jeyne's neck. There were howls of laughter and whistles, both girls becoming flushed.

 

Jeyne turned her head to the side, starting to yell at one of them. Apparently, a knife went rogue in a throw and nearly hit Sansa, Jeyne grabbing her out of the way in time. Watching the protectiveness from Jeyne, the scowl on her face, lips in a pout of upset, and her hands now grasping at her friend's shoulders – so strong! - Sansa found that burst of courage she needed to take the initiative.

 

With one hand, she gently turned Jeyne's face back towards her, the brunette's face softening to confusion, and pulled her down to press their lips together finally. The cheers grew louder but it all faded to nothing as Jeyne secured a better grip around Sansa and responded with her own movement of her lips. It was like an ocean wave crashed over their heads, nothing but them and this flooding feeling of love in Sansa's heart.

Notes:

Next up will be the epilogue and then a special chapter after! ☺️
Desmond is a tired dad trying to keep his kids alive so when they come to him about stupid life advice hes inwardly cheering over normal and easy shit that he can deal with. He misses being a bartender

Chapter 7

Summary:

Five years later, they travel North for a wedding.

Notes:

This is actually mainly Jeyne's pov at the beginning, and then Sansa's. So you get both!

Also, for anyone curious, here is all the siblings and their ages after the five year time skip:
Brothers- Katar (26), Lorenzo (24), Nael (23), Nanian (22), Omar (22), Dannis (20), Habib (19), Habel (17)
Sisters- Nadia (25), Abeela (24), Chadni (22), Melano (22), Farah (20), Layla (19), Jeyne (19)

“This is bullshit.” Nanian grumbled from his horse, face buried deep into his furs. “Why couldn't you two just get married in Dorne. At least it's accepted there.”

 

From their shared mount, Jeyne called back, “Because it's our wedding and you didn't have to come!”

 

Any further grumbling was drowned out by the sharp gust of wind. The North had certainly not changed in the past five years, with it's flat plains broken up by towering pine forests and mounds of snow. Clouds hung heavy over the land, obscuring the mountains in the distance. However, the sight of Winterfell was obvious, the grey towers standing tall in the sky. They were perhaps half an hour away, and in no rush to arrive. Apprehension weighed in her stomach like a stone, and Jeyne had a feeling Sansa felt the same with how tight her grip was around Jeyne's waist.

 

The plan was to marry in the godswood, below the weirwood tree. It was where their ancestors had married in the past, and they wanted to do the same. Even if it was technically, sort of illegal in the North as it was in most of Westeros besides Dorne. Her fists tightened around the reins. She hoped there wouldn't be much push back when they announced their intentions, as Jeyne had a feeling it would crush Sansa far more than herself, who knew that Desmond would take them straight to the next weirwood tree and marry them himself.

 

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, but it was always good to have a plan B.

 

Their group was the majority of her generation of disciples, now senior disciples of the brotherhood and a few of them newly deemed master assassins like First Brother and Sister. Obah and Laneth also came, along with Shae, who would've stabbed anyone to suggest she stayed behind. It was sweet how much of a good friend she was to Sansa. It was a large procession, and just like their mission to King's Landing all those years ago, they refused to go without all of them coming. Desmond despaired over it, citing that it was like herding cats when it came to her and her siblings, but Jeyne could see he was secretly pleased with the loyalty shared between them.

 

They continued their approach, the group having fallen completely silent by the time they were riding through Wintertown, the villagers staring. She could see the mixture of distrust and curiosity at these newcomers, and though it hurt that her fellow Northerners would look at her that way, Jeyne had to admit begrudgingly that their group was...unnerving.

 

Desmond was always bemused with how their generation was very dramatic, happy to indulge in a bit of pageantry for the sake of worrying the general populace. Like when they would travel to Sunspear, all silent and in unison, they did the same wherever they could, including the North. Even though they weren't on a mission or had a mark, they wore their signature white, hoods drawn up and the sharp contrast of red slashing across their waist to signify them as senior disciples now, no longer with a grey cowl. However, unlike with the warmer kingdoms, in the North they had to bundle up, Sansa and Jeyne being helpful in having obtained furs and thick wool in preparation for the trip.

 

Nadia had joked that with assassin uniforms for the colder climate they were branching out their availability to most of the Seven Kingdoms now. Desmond grimaced in response. From what Jeyne understood, he wanted their community to be as unseen and unknown as possible, and this trip was not helping in the secrecy at all. She would almost feel regret if she didn't know he was also finding it begrudgingly amusing.

 

Jeyne mulled this all over as they approached the first wall and set of gates surrounding the towering figure of Winterfell, and felt smugness radiating off of Sansa as her siblings let out murmurs and whispers of awe at the sight of it.

 

“Look at all the places to climb,” One of her siblings murmured, and another followed that up with a snort, “Yeah, if you don't slip on the ice and fall.”

 

It was at that point a guard halted them, approaching warily, “State your purpose.”

 

Behind her, Sansa shifted and slid down from the horse. The red head pushed her hood back as she strode up to the man, presenting a scroll, “I am Princess Sansa Stark, and with the permission of my brother, the King, I am here on a visit.”

 

The man gaped, before fumbling to take the scroll, quickly scanning the contents. He then gave Sansa a deep bow, “Welcome home, Princess Sansa.” There was a pause of hesitation as he eyed the rest of their group, to which Sansa gave a demure smile, “Friends from Dorne.” Was all she said.

 

Clearing his throat, the guard nodded, “Right this way, your highness.” Sansa nodded before returning to Jeyne, the brunette helping her back up. Once situated, they urgedtheir horses forward once more in a slow walk. Even with Dorne being home now, Jeyne couldn't help how her breath caught as they walked across the bridge over the frozen moat to the next gate, seeing the carved direwolves on the stone and the white and grey banners flying proudly. She spent her childhood seeing them as safety and home, and it still stirred the feeling deep within her heart.

 

'I'm back, Father.' Jeyne thought to herself, 'I'm not staying, but I'm back home.'

 

As they passed through the inner gate, the guard spoke in a hushed tone to another one, who nodded with wide eyes and ran off, no doubt announcing their arrival. Behind her, Sansa tightened her arms around Jeyne's waist, before one hand releasing to settle a gloved hand on her leg. Glancing over her shoulder at her future wife, she caught sight of the faint wetness in Sansa's eyes had Jeyne mirroring. They were home.

 

Desmond then came forward, taking point just ahead of Jeyne and Sansa. Even with Sansa and Jeyne returning, Desmond was still their leader and spokesman. He would be explaining where the girls knew Lady Stark and Robb might not listen to them. If they tried to bar Sansa and Jeyne from marrying, they knew with confidence that their Mentor would find a way. He always did.

 

The road to the court yard was bustling, and many were pausing to stare at Sansa, her red hair a beacon. Their princess was back. Jeyne could feel as her soon to be wife tensed at the attention and reached back to tug lightly at one of her little braids. “Do you think Rickon will remember you?”

 

Happy for a distraction, Sansa leant forward to rest a chin on her shoulder as she replied, “I would not think so, but it would be nice if he did.” Her hand still rested on Jeyne's leg, grip tight. She didn't know what was running through Sansa's mind at the moment, but it was something filled with trepidation and possibly fear. Jeyne didn't know what she could do besides offer her as much support as possible.

 

That seemed to be enough for now, when they entered the main courtyard and began to dismount. Nervous stable hands came out take their horses, her siblings shouldering their bags and supplies first as the mounts were led away to warm shelter.

 

“Sansa!”

 

The relieved and overjoyed shout of the red head's name had the young woman looking sharply over at where Lady Stark was near running down the stairs of the castle entrance to them. A dry sob left Sansa's lips as she ran forward herself, practically diving into her mother's arms. It made a pang of melancholy run through Jeyne's heart, wishing she could do the same with her own father.

 

Then, a hand settled on her shoulder, and she looked up to see Desmond, a knowing look in his eyes. The warmth and kindness had the sadness fading, making it easier to approach Lady Stark, who pulled back from Sansa to open one of her arms for Jeyne. The young woman readily accepted to embrace, heart soaring at the affection.

 

With her mother having died when she was but a child, Lady Stark basically stepped in as her main maternal figure, even if most of the times she still kept that distinction of Jeyne being Sansa's friend and basically a high born servant. Jeyne knew her place then, but was happy it was with Sansa.

 

When they stepped back Lady Stark said, “Welcome home you two.” Her gaze then caught onto the rest of the group, and her lips pursed. “Are these your escorts home, girls?”

 

“No, mother.” Sansa began, “We are here for a visit, and only that.”

 

Lady Stark's expression sharpened, “Sansa-”

 

“Mother,” The daughter softly pleaded, darting her eyes around the busy courtyard filled with onlookers. “May we talk about this later. Our companions need a rest, and we can talk about this in private. I would also like to see my siblings.”

 

Though still not happy, Lady Stark nodded, ever the good host. “Very well. There are many of you, will you need individual rooms for each?”

 

That was when Desmond stepped forward, giving a short bow in greeting, “No, my Lady. Most of us will pair up, but where you have space and rooms near one another, that will be best.”

 

The woman sized Desmond up, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “And you are?”

 

He answered easily, no hint of offence taken by the brisk demand. “I am Desmond Sand, and Jeyne and Sansa have been in my care.”

 

Lady Stark did well in holding back her unhappiness at Desmond being a bastard, and one so close to her daughter, as she replied, “I see. And you've been keeping them there-”

 

“I don't keep people prisoner.” Desmond calmly cut in, “They're free to come and go as they please, and have chosen to stay within my community of their own volition.”

 

“Sansa!” Came another cry of the young woman's name, multiple actually, which signalled her siblings as they came barrelling out of the castle to greet her. It cut through the building tension between Lady Stark and the Mentor.

 

Robb got there first, scooping Sansa into a hug, and Rickon was quick to attach himself around her waist. Arya, who was pushing Bran in his chair, even appeared happy at their family being back together, smiling at her sister despite their past differences. Something thick clogged up in Jeyne's throat at the younger sister, but stifled it back for the sake of the happy reunion between the siblings. Even Lady Stark's distaste disappeared, relieved to have all her children in one place together.

 

Jeyne glanced behind her, at her own adopted siblings. They were watching the proceedings with curiosity, but were still casting assessing glances around the courtyard. And they looked completely miserable in the cold, doing their best to not show just how much the different temperature was affecting them.

 

“Lady Stark.” Jeyne addressed, the older woman glancing back towards her. It seemed to take a bit of effort to pull her gaze from her reuniting children.

 

“Yes, Jeyne?”

 

Gesturing to her siblings, she explained, “Might we head inside and get warm? I can show our group their rooms while you and your children catch up.”

 

For a split second, Lady Stark appeared hesitant to let strangers roam their home, but ever the proper host, the woman nodded. “Very well. You may use the rooms on the east side of the cast. I trust you are still familiar with Winterfell's layout?”

 

“Of course, my lady.” Jeyne smiled fondly, “I could never forget my first home.”

 

Lady Stark returned the smile before glancing back at her children, an obvious dismissal. Turning to her own family, Jeyne nodded her head towards the castle, “Come on, I'll show you where to drop your things.”

 

Eagerly, they all followed after her, easily falling into their usual two lines and matching strides. Jeyne looked over her shoulder for a short moment, and caught Sansa's eyes. They were a little red, a little teary, and she had the largest smile on her face. At seeing Jeyne's gaze, Sansa formed a few short hand signs used by the assassins, something Nadia had taught Sansa on a whim. It signalled that Sansa would catch up later, and Jeyne nodded in response.

 

In the castle, her siblings sighed with relief, even the Mentor looking distinctly grateful to be out of the cold. They all looked around the entrance hall with open wonder, Chandni commenting, “Can't believe you were raised here.”

 

A little bashful, Jeyne gave a shrug, beginning to lead them through the halls. “I was the only daughter of the previous Steward of Winterfell. It was expected that I would grow up to take his position. I wasn't the highest of born ladies, but I was still well off enough to grow up with the children of Winterfell.”

 

Nanian threw an arm over her shoulder, appearing on her left and breaking their formation, “And now you'll be marrying a princess. Look at you, being royalty adjacent.”

 

Hissing at the older boy, Jeyne shoved her elbow into his side, “Keep your voice down!” And she glanced surreptitiously around for anyone listening in. Luckily enough, their group was given a wide berth by servants and other workers of the keep. Knowing that Jeyne was coming back to Winterfell, not to stay, and certainly not to return their lost princess, had her on edge. She knew quite a few people would be against this marriage.

 

Laneth sighed from behind them, “Yes, do shut up, Nanian.” He drawled, sharp eyes being the only tell that the man was alert, his body relaxed. “I thought you were a trained assassin who knows how to keep your mouth shut.”

 

Thoroughly reprimanded, Nanian pouted and stepped back from Jeyne, where Desmond sidled up instead. He gave her a once over and stated the obvious, “You're stressed.”

 

Unable to glare at him as they began to ascend a spiral stair case, Jeyne let out an affronted huff, “I'm not stressed. I'm comfortably nervous.”

 

Desmond snorted in response, but said nothing.

 

Jeyne expertly led them to their rooms, watching as they all easily divided up. She wasn't surprised with Nanian and Chandni picking one together, having been married themselves for nearly a year. Shae and Laneth took another empty room, the Mentor sharing one with Obah. The rest of her siblings divided by their own preferences of who they got along well with, and it left Jeyne wondering if she would share a room here with one of them, or with Sansa in her old room as she had no doubt that Lady Stark kept her room ready for her daughter.

 

Biting her lip in contemplation, Jeyne decided to dump her and Sansa's things into Abeela and Nadia's room for now. If they were to be in Sansa's old rooms, Jeyne could just collect it all later.

 

After the assassins took their time to inspect their rooms, looking into any and all nooks and crannies, Desmond gathered them into his and Obah's room to talk. As they settled around on the bed or against the walls, the man gave them a firm look as he reiterated, “Remember, we are here for one purpose, and that is to peacefully marry Sansa and your seventh sister. So there will be no conflicts, no picking fights, no antagonism. Understood? We want to leave with the impression that Sansa is in good hands.”

 

“Even though it's plain to see that the Lady Stark is disgusted by bastards?” Habel softly asked, hazel eyes reflecting pain. Jeyne winced, knowing that Lady Stark did not give the best first impression to her siblings. From all their stories, her siblings were either orphans or bastards, sometimes both. The Nest gave them a home and a family, and blood meant nothing besides the one they spilt. Their status was forgotten within the walls of the compound, and Dorne was already so accepting of bastards. The rest of Westeros however, was not, and this was their first proper taste of that dislike.

 

However, Jeyne felt she had to defend Lady Stark a little, piping up to reply, “Septa's teach you that bastards are bloodline stealers. A threat. It's not that she doesn't like you all in particular-”

 

“Debatable with how she believes I've kept you and Sansa locked away.” The Mentor casually cut in, leading to Jeyne giving him a glare. He held up his hands in surrender as she continued, “Lady Stark loves her children, and she's just happy to have Sansa back, and hates that her daughter doesn't want to stay here. Just...be respectful?” It was a weak defence of the woman, as Jeyne knew that none of her siblings had any care about any possible noble blood they may or may not have, content with their life as it was. There would be no threats to any noble heirs here.

 

“Back to what I was saying,” Desmond said after Jeyne's words, “Keep a low profile, alright?”

 

Melano raised a hand, “What if we get asked for a spar? And are we allowed to spar one another as well? I think we would all like to keep up with our training and skills. It's been a long journey and the ship wasn't much space.”

 

It was the Senior Disciple of the generation before them, Laneth, that spoke up next, “That shouldn't be a problem, right Mentor?”

 

And they turned towards said man, who scratched at his jaw thoughtfully. After a moment, the man nodded slowly, “It shouldn't be, but no showing off, got it?” He gave them a mock stern glare, and Jeyne hid a grin behind her hand, knowing her siblings were doing something similar. No showing off? Who was he kidding here? The second they got the free time, she had no doubt that they would be scaling the castle walls and practising with their blades in the tilt yard.

 

 

Her siblings dispersed after that meeting, keeping in groups as they explored the keep, with Desmond and Jeyne heading towards where Lord Stark's solar would be. She hadn't a clue if that was were Sansa would be, but it had been enough time for a reunion with her siblings that her future wife should be talking with her mother soon enough.

 

And it was the raised voices coming down the hall that confirmed her suspicious as Jeyne quickened her pace to the solar door, finding it closed. Without a care of propriety, the young assassin opened the door, wanting to get to Sansa's side.

 

In the room, it was Robb and Lady Stark, standing across from an upset Sansa, and Jeyne immediately inserted herself between them, tucking a hand into the red head's. The glare that Lady Stark sent her way froze her insides, wide eyed at the cold words that were suddenly thrown her way, “How dare you, Jeyne. How dare you take away all of my daughter's prospects just to keep her with you in that sand heap. The gods frown down upon such a union, and-” Lady Stark stopped talking as Desmond stepped forward.

 

A hand fell lightly onto Jeyne's trembling shoulder, and she found herself and Sansa pulled back and placed behind the Mentor. He was a tall man to begin with, thick with carefully maintained and well used muscle, and Jeyne always felt safe next to him. The Dornish man stared down Lady Stark, arms relaxed by his side as he spoke, “I will ask you once to not speak that way to my children.” There was a hint of menace within his soft tone, and Robb shifted in place from behind Lady Stark, as if finally taking in how much of a threat Desmond could be.

 

Furious red flooded Lady Stark's cheeks, shoulders rolling back as she snapped, “They are not yours! That is my daughter and Jeyne is the late Steward's child, who gave his loyalty to House Stark. They are under my protection and I have all rights to deny their foolish desire to marry, as it is for the best! Sansa is a princess, she is meant to marry within her own station, and Jeyne is to-”

 

“Do not,” Desmond cut in once more, form taut as he snarled, “Tell them what they can and cannot do. You are not in control of their lives, even if one of them is your daughter. They are grown women, and can decide what they want.”

 

“You have no right to come into my home and make demands-”

 

“I have made no demands. Sansa wishes to marry Jeyne within her ancestral home under the hearts tree, as her ancestors have done before. And you will find, that you can do nothing to stop that union.”

 

Lady Stark stepped closer, fearless in her anger, “The guards would say differently, bastard.”

 

The hissed insult had Desmond taking his own step closer, towering over the woman as he quietly warned, “Be care, Lady Stark. You will find that the only reason you and your son have your lives, is because of me.” The confused expressions on their faces went ignored as the Mentor continued, “And I can end them just as easily. So, I will tell you once more, tread carefully, if you wish to make it out of this room alive.”

 

“Enough.” Robb demanded, imperious and with the tone of a man grown and used to commanding rooms. Jeyne blinked, startled by the sound of it, remembering that the last time she saw Robb, his voice still cracked with boyhood.

 

The man rested a hand loosely onto the hilt of his sword as he said, “You will not threaten the lives of my family under this roof. I understand that in the time my sister and Jeyne have been under your roof, you've come to care for them, and I thank you for that. However, this discussion can be done without harsh words and threats.”

 

A stern look was sent towards both his mother and the Mentor, who Jeyne noticed relaxed somewhat at the younger man's intervention. Once Robb saw him stand down some, he turned to Lady Stark, “Mother. I think you should let Sansa and Jeyne explain themselves before you deny their marriage.”

 

“Robb!” Lady Stark cried, “You can't truly be allowing them to marry!?”

 

A sort of shame flooded Jeyne's body, and she glanced down at the floor. Was it really so wrong, to love Sansa? To wish to spend her life bound to her dearest friend? In Dorne, within the Nest, everyone was so accepting that Jeyne had forgotten just how cruel and judgmental the rest of the world was. There were quite a few same-sexed couples within the compound that she had forgotten at times that their slice of the world was an exception to the norm.

 

Sansa's squeezed her hand, and Jeyne looked up to meet her eyes. They were the brighter blue shade that they became when Sansa was upset, the redness around them harsh against her pale skin. Even after all that time under Dorne's sun, Sansa's skin only ever freckled, never tanned. The taller of the two sniffled, and tugged Jeyne closer, the shoulders pressing together.

 

There was a silence, and that was when both of them realised they were being watched. Turning her eyes to the other occupants in the room, Jeyne locked gazes with Lady Stark. A myriad of emotions flickered over the older woman's face, and it was hard to discern exactly what she was feeling. Anger? Upset? Maybe even a sensation of betrayal at Sansa no longer being the perfect lady she was raised to be? Jeyne could not know.

 

Instead, she straightened up and reminded herself that she has faced worse odds than this, and declared, “As I was the one to suggest the rescue of your daughter, and led her myself out of King's Landing, thus saving the princess of the North, you are duty bound by your honour to repay me for my deed.”

 

Lady Stark pursed her lips as she paled, and Robb sucked in a sharp breath, both sensing what Jeyne was planning. She did not falter as she proclaimed, “I request the hand of Princess Sansa Stark of the North in marriage, and will only rescind my request if she declines it.”

 

“And I accept.” Sansa was quick to follow, words just as confident.

 

Jeyne spied the way the corner of Robb's lips quirked up, and knew that she had the King of the North on their side, even as Lady Stark threw up her hands, exhausted with this turn of the discussion. “Sansa! You must think of your position-”

 

“Mother, I would not go willing into any marriage besides this one.” Sansa said, a wry smile on her face. “And I know that no castle would keep me, as Jeyne would always come to take my back to my home.”

 

“Winterfell is your home!”

 

“It's my home, yes.” Sansa quietly agreed, a sad expression flitting over her face before is hardened into a resolve. “But just like Riverrun was where you were born and you came North to marry father, Winterfell will always be where I was born, but Dorne is now where I will stay. I don't know why you are so upset with me not living in here, when it was expected I would live with a future husband elsewhere. Plans have just changed a little, mother.” And Sansa glanced to Jeyne, eyes filled with love, “I'm marry my best friend, and someone who I've loved for years.”

 

To Lady Stark, Sansa entreated, “Can you not be happy that I've found love, mother? Is that not something you want more for me? More than status or wealth?”

 

There was a long drawn silence, heavy as Lady Stark settled her hands on her hips, staring down Sansa, then flicking her eyes over to Jeyne. A stubborn line in the older woman's jaw was exactly where Sansa got that same expression. However, the woman seemed to deflate after some long moments of tense silence, darting her gaze between the pair of them.

 

“Very well.” Jeyne's heart skipped a beat, “As you so pointed out, I am honour bound to agree to your demand for saving my daughter. You two will marry-”

 

Sansa and Jeyne let out twin elated shrieks, jumping into each other's arms and missing the last part of Lady Stark's words. Overjoyed, the assassin locked her arms around Sansa's thighs and hoisted her up, the red head instinctively wrapping around Jeyne's shoulders to steady herself. Twirling them around, she grinned as Sansa peppered kisses across her cheeks.

 

A warm chuckle was heard under their laughter, and Desmond was watching them fondly. “How about you two go inform the others.” He took a stray glance to Lady Stark, “We can discuss the boring logistics of the ceremony.”

 

Jeyne darted her eyes to Lady Stark, and now she saw an emotions she could put a name to: resigned acceptance. It was not completely reassuring, but it was better than anything hateful.

 

Loosening her hold on Sansa, the older girl gently sliding to the ground, Jeyne sent both Robb and Lady Stark a bright, grateful smile, “Thank you. Truly.”

 

Sansa echoed the sentiment, even pulling out of Jeyne's arms to press a kiss to Robb's cheek and tentatively offer a hug to her mother, who accepted it readily. Her face still maintained that uncertainty for her daughter's future, but there was still love there, and Jeyne was relieved. She would've hated if their marriage caused a rift between Sansa and her family.

 

 

It was late after noon when they had arrived to Winterfell, and by the time the discussion with Robb and Lady Stark was finished with and Jeyne led Sansa to their side of the castle to spread the good news with the assassins, it was supper time.

 

The great hall was not filled in the way it was with Robert Baratheon had visited, but there was a fair number of lords and ladies dotted about on the lower tables, discussing everyday topics. When Jeyne arrived with her siblings and senior disciples, she felt eyes turning to their direction.

 

Sitting on one of the lower tables, Sansa deciding to join them instead of taking what was her rightful place on the high table, servants came and laid out bowls filled with hearty stew. The scent had Jeyne's mouth watering, nostalgia like a blanket over her mind, and she eagerly dived in. Sansa followed a second behind her, just as desperate to taste home again.

 

The Dorne born however eyed the stew strangely, Abeela murmuring after a cautious bite, “Not really...flavourful.”

 

Shae leaned over to reply, “That's the North for you, no sense of taste or concept of spices.”

 

Both Northern girls shot them a withering glare, with Sansa loftily replying, “Northern food is made to be filling and full of energy. Taste does not matter when it comes to keeping up your strength.” Jeyne nodded along in agreement.

 

“That's obvious...” Katar muttered into his stew, before receiving a slight smack upside his head by the mentor who had quietly approached them. They all focused on the man as he took a seat between Chadni and Melano.

 

As he served himself, Desmond began, “We've agreed on the ceremony it two days, seeing as everything has already be made for it before we left the Nest. This allows the staff here to prepare a small feast, nothing too big because of it being sparse to begin with, but something to celebrate the marriage.”

 

Jeyne beamed at Sansa, who returned it, their hands entwining under the table. Around them, her siblings murmured with excitement, pleased that they had permission.

 

“Which means,” He continued, giving them a stern glance around the table, “That I will reiterate the need to no showing off.”

 

“Not even a little bit?” Habel wheedled, and Desmond just sighed, exasperated. Under his breath they all heard his muttered, “Never should've brought you all here.”

 

However, he gave a tired wave of his hand in acceptance, talking over their soft cheers, “Just don't kill anyone or do anything that could endanger the brotherhood, got it?”

 

 

 

Jeyne went to sleep that night without Sansa, her soon to be wife wanting to catch up with her siblings some more, the conversation dragging late into the night. She had tried to stay up, adding some last minute touches to her dress and cloak. They were going to exchange cloaks, as they wanted to keep their own house names but still stay to the tradition.

 

But, she did wake when the door to the bedroom creep open, tensing for a short moment only for Sansa's whispered voice to relax her. “It's just me, my love.”

 

Words thick with sleep, Jeyne replied, “'Bout time. C'mere.” And she held open the corner of the thick quilts and blankets. There was a rush of clothes being undone and falling to the floor before a familiar body climbed under, worming into Jeyne's arms.

 

The comforting smell of sweet flowers lulled Jeyne back to sleep, Sansa pressing a fleeting kiss to her cheek before she too went to sleep.

 

 

 

Sat up on the fence, Jeyne swung her legs a little as she watched a pair of her siblings go hand to hand. It was her third brother, Nael, and her sixth sister, Layla. They were an even match, most of them were, really. Having been trained by the same instructors and given similar lessons, it was their privately sought out training that gave them a bit of an edge, along with fighting styles tailored to their build.

 

Layla was whip thin with a layer of corded muscle. She had a talent with aerobatics and flexibility, bending out of the way of a blow in manoeuvres that looked easy despite all of them knowing just how much a stretch like that could hurt if not having properly trained to do so.

 

Nael on the other hand was short and slight as well, not as flexible, but he was fast and had a keen mind for tactics. He pulled some unexpected moves and with a bunch of throwing knives, he was deadly.

 

However, they were without weapons, and soon her brother was on the ground in a thigh lock, tapping out. They all gave him an encouraging cheer and some clapping as Layla helped him up, dusting him off. They exchanged some friendly words before Nael jogged to join them by the fence, Layla calling for second brother, Lorenzo, to come join her.

 

Though a colder temperature, and drawing some what of an audience, it was just like in the Nest, having a round of sparring in the late evening before heading to bed. With them being senior disciples, they were given intel gathering and surveillance missions, only the few that were master assassins had marks to collect, and all of them no longer had required lessons. Some went on to learn more advance knowledge of their chosen topics, like Katar and his poisons, or Farah, her fifth sister, who threw herself in learning as many languages as she could get books and teachers on. This included many of the languages spoken across Essos, including Low and High Valyrian.

 

Jeyne herself had taken helping about the scholars in the library as well as their apprentices in the administration work of the brotherhood. She was organising reports for the mentor, helping with plotting where to place new bureaus so that their assassins wouldn't have to use public ravens to send messages, as well as having a place to sleep safely and get back up if necessary. Right now, they had eyes on some buildings in Oldtown, White Harbour, Gulltown, and Lannisport.

 

There was a soft murmur of conversation beside her, dragging Jeyne from her thoughts to see Sansa talking softly with Dannis, her sixth brother. He had slightly twisted his wrist in a spar against Habel in an instinctive move to use his hidden blade. However, those were removed before hand to hand combat and he instead open palm struck the ground after the younger brother rolled out of the way to dodge. Sansa was already pulling out a salve from the medicine pouch on her waist that she always wore these days, smoothing some of it to soothe the pain and warm the muscle to relax it.

 

Sansa had ended up taking Desmond's advice and began to apprentice in the Sand Nest's hospital. She loved learning new fibre craft skills, but preferred it to be more of a hobby than a profession. Jeyne would be forever grateful of her Mentor for that suggestion, because Sansa had bloomed into such confidence in herself and her abilities after nearly five years of studying. She was close to passing her exams to becoming a senior healer, working under the head medics of the hospital.

 

It made Jeyne furious with Lady Stark for even suggesting that Sansa should stay in the North, become some lord's wife and sit around looking pretty. Maybe she would be allowed to have a large part in his household and running the keep, but even then, that was a waste of her skills.

 

“Your turn, Jeyne!” Melano called, standing in the ring and falling into the ready stance of their basic forms. Shaking away her thoughts, Jeyne grinned as she hopped off the fence.

 

 

 

Late on the first full day of being back in Winterfell, Jeyne was taking a quiet walk across the walls of the keep, staring out over the wintery landscape, the cold air sharp like ice in her lungs, and reminiscing. It was so fresh and clear, so different from the air of Dorne, where it felt like you were breathing in sand dust even in your sleep. In fact, Jeyne was certain she still had sand in her boots this far north.

 

Stopping at one point, Jeyne pressed her hands to the ledge and leant over, staring at the steep drop in to the castle moat. If she was on the outer wall, Jeyne wondered if the snow would be a good enough cushion for a Leap of Faith.

 

The back of her neck prickled, cutting through her thoughts.

 

Jeyne sharply whipped her head to the left to see Arya. The younger girl's eyes subtly widened at being noticed, before her face flattened into a neutral expression.

 

“Jeyne.” Arya greeted.

 

Something thick lodged in her throat as Jeyne moved away from the wall to dip her head in the other's direction, “Arya.” Scanning her form, she noted the breeches under the short dress. There were cuts in the side, similar to her own uniform, along with a leather armour over her chest. The thin sword hung proudly at her waist.

 

“You look well.” Jeyne awkwardly stated into the the heavy silence. Arya arched a brow. “Don't sound so surprised, Jeyne. I've always been a survivor.”

 

It felt like a dig, and indignation flared in her chest. However, Jeyne swallowed it down and offered, “I never doubted that. I didn't know what happened to you or Sansa, when I was taken from the castle, but I figured you would be strong enough-”

 

“Are you really placating me right now?” The younger woman scoffed in disbelief, “After the way you treated me as a child?”

 

Jeyne glanced away, that familiar shame bubbling in her chest. “We both were children, Arya. And children can be cruel.” She repeated the words Laneth had told her all those years ago. “And I was unfair. I was jealous of you, of your place as Sansa's sister. At the time, I didn't realise what that meant, but I knew you were secured within the family that I always wanted to be a part of.”

 

The shorter female stared at her, unimpressed. Before giving a mocking smile, “And would you look at that, you're marrying in. Becoming a Stark.”

 

“I'm not-!” Jeyne cut her frustrated response off, glaring at Arya as she bit her tongue. She needed to calm down, not be so reactive to her words. Arya was valid in her anger, but Jeyne felt she had suffered enough in the past to count that as penance for being horrible in the past to the younger female. But that was not the point right now. Taking a calming breath, Jeyne restarted her response. “I'm not marrying Sansa to become a Stark. We're not even exchange our house names, as I am proud to be a Poole. I want to carry my father's name for my entire life. I love Sansa.” Jeyne proclaimed, and the fact she had to prove that twice in as many days was ridiculous. Just ask anyone in the compound and they would be able to tell you just how sickening Sansa and Jeyne could be with their shared adoration.

 

Softening her frustration, Jeyne repeated, “I love Sansa. I think I've always loved her, and marrying her is what we both want.”

 

Arya crossed her arms, “I guess you aren't lying about that.”

 

Furrowing her brows, Jeyne pointed out, “I'm not lying about anything, Arya. I am sorry about the way I treated you. It was unfair and wrong, and if I could take it all back, I would.”

 

Taking slow steps closer, Arya came to stand toe to toe with Jeyne. An intimidation tactic, and Jeyne was not cowed. She instead quietly commented, “You do not scare me, Arya Stark. You are a Stark of Winterfell, but I was born here too. This will always be my home, and you will not scare me in it.”

 

“I can do more than just scare you.”

 

Jeyne's eyes flicked once more over Arya, noting some of the hidden blades on her person from years of training, and instead drawled out, “I'm sure you can do a lot now, Arya. But do not think me incapable.”

 

Arya's chin tilted up in a way that appeared arrogant. “I trained with the Faceless Men. You wouldn't even know one until they struck. Meanwhile, your people are what, trained fighters? They could not compare to an assassin.” The derision in Arya's words made Jeyne bristle, hissing out, “We are seen because we allow ourselves to see.”

 

Tension thickened between them. Her hands curled into fists by her side, just waiting for Arya to try and hit her. She almost wanted her to, just to prove that Arya's training wasn't something to lord over another. One should not harm nor kill freely.

 

“Well, doesn't this look friendly.” A reassuring voice cut through them, and Jeyne did not care she hadn't sensed Desmond's appearance, instead turning her head to the side to see him sitting on the ledge on the other side of the walk way, hand propped up and expression faintly amused.

 

Arya jerked back from Jeyne, hand falling onto her sword. She tried not to feel smug at the girl not having noticed Desmond, like she thought none of her family could go unnoticed. He waved away her silent threat, “Easy, little face stealer. We don't want a fight to start just when things were calming down.”

 

The Stark's form when taut. “How do you know-”

 

Desmond shrugged, “I've run into a few of the Faceless Men. Interesting rules and requirements to being one. You've kept your name.” He pointed out.

 

“I am a Stark.” Arya lifted her chin proudly once more. It didn't affect Desmond, instead he turned to Jeyne in a clear disinterest, “Your siblings are searching for you.”

 

Jeyne began to step away, only to stall, glancing between the Mentor and where Arya stood, simmering with indignation. At her hesitation, Arya flicked a glare in her direction, which made Jeyne repeat once more. “I am sorry, Arya. I don't want us to be enemies. At the very least, I would like us to get along for Sansa's sake.”

 

The other female snorted, “You're not my enemy.”

 

It was a scathing response. However, hope bloomed in Jeyne's chest. She wasn't Arya's enemy, and that was something. With a firm nod, a tiny smile on her lips, Jeyne gave a parting wave to Desmond as she left them alone. Her Mentor wasn't going to do anything to Arya, so she knew she could leave without any worry.

 

 

---

 

 

After the last five years of keeping her hands busy for almost everyday of the week, sitting idle was odd. The ceremony was but a day away now, and Sansa was surprised how antsy she became without the usual chores, tasks, and duties she had within the hospital and outside it.

 

It got to the point where she was about ready to march into the laundry area and demand to help. An extreme decision but not one she was afraid of following through with. However, the sight of Maester Luwin passing by gave her a spark of inspiration, jogging after the man.

 

He gave a startled but happy look at her greeting, bowing back, “Princess Sansa. You're looking well.”

 

“And you as well, Maester.” Sansa smiled back, having nothing but fond memories of the man. Walking with him, she asked, “Do you perhaps have any small jobs that I could do for you?”

 

Bushy brows rose in surprise. “Jobs, you highness?”

 

Nodding, the young woman explained, “Where I live in Dorne, I work at a hospital, a place for healers to help those in need. I'm finishing up the last of my senior apprenticeship soon, in fact.” Sansa added proudly.

 

Though perhaps some what confused, the man smiled softly, “How wonderful, Princess. Not such a typical job for one with your station, but you appear happy with it.”

 

“I am.” Sansa agreed, smiling softly. “Things are very different in Dorne, but more so in the Sand Nest, where I live. Everyone works no matter their station. A way to contribute to the community, and I had been previously starting my training under the weavers before I realised that it was more of a hobby. I wanted to help people, and the Mentor had suggested on my first day there to consider being a healer. Once I joined, I never looked back.” As they walked to his office, Sansa continued her rambling explanation of her studies and the life in the compound, knowing what she could and couldn't say. It went without saying that she shouldn't mention the assassin thing, nor any of the more confidential workings of the compound.

 

Throughout this, Maester Luwin listened in interest, nodding along and asking for clarification or questions of his own. By the time they reached his office, he was already beginning to take out ingredients for some of his tinctures, a silent offering for her to help out.

 

Gleefully, Sansa spent that morning helping him about his workroom, grinding ingredients and boiling mixtures, following either the Maester's recipes in his books or even her own ones. The salve to help with boils that she had changed and adjusted to her liking for one of her past exams the man had jotted down with her permission.

 

By the time the bell rang to announce mid day, Sansa was less frazzled and far more relaxed than she had been through their entire travel and arrival to Winterfell. Coming out of the office, smelling of plants no doubt, Sansa couldn't help the way she stepped forward to place tiny and affectionate kiss to Maester Luwin's cheek.

 

Grinning at his startled expression, Sansa divulged, “You've been the most loyal Maester my family could ever ask for, and I thank you for all the care you've shown us, as well as your tolerance of my presence in your workshop. If you ever wish to trade words and knowledge, please do not hesitate to send me a raven.”

 

He chuckled warmly. “It's been my pleasure, Princess Sansa. You are a delight to have, and I'm certain all your teachers are proud to have you as their student.”

 

Bashful, Sansa glanced away, “I hope so as well. I do believe this is my passion.”

 

“Then I wish you the best in your future profession, and I will be sure to reach out to you.”

 

 

Sansa had a skip in her step as she headed on down to the great hall for mid-meal, only to pause at the sight of her sister. She too looked to be on her way, head glancing around at Sansa's footsteps. There was a pensive expression on her face that faded at the sight of her older sister.

 

When Arya slowed down a little, Sansa took that as a silent offer to walk with her and hurried closer. “How has your morning been, Arya?”

 

The shorter female shrugged, “Not too bad. I got to spar some with Jeyne's...siblings?” Arya made a face, and Sansa snorted at it before explaining. “They're called a brotherhood, or sisterhood depending on the context when referring to the others. But they're generally raised together in the Sand Nest, and see one another as family, but it's also like the Silent Sisters, where they refer to one another as such.”

 

“Do you see them like that? As your siblings?”

 

Sansa paused at the question, turning to face Arya. There was a crafted blank mask over her face, one that Sansa had seen in the mirror herself when she was in King's Landing. Reaching out, the red head gently took Arya's hands, stating with firm earnestness, “You are my sister, Arya. Robb, Rickon, Bran, and Jon, they are my brothers. That will never change. I can't say I do see Jeyne's siblings as my own, I was not trained beside them nor did I want to. If anything, they would be my in-laws through our marriage.”

 

Leaning closer, Sansa did something that she hadn't done since Arya was but a babe, and placed a kiss on her forehead. “You are my sister.” She reiterated, squeezing their hands, “And I would never replace you with anyone. I promise.”

 

Though holding a distinct spark of pleased in her grey eyes, Arya squirmed away from Sansa's closeness, huffing, “Whatever. I still think it's weird that you're marrying Jeyne. Didn't you want to marry a prince or whatever?”

 

Nudge her shoulder before continuing on their path to the hall, Sansa frankly replied, “I did but I really always wanted to marry for love. And I am. Jeyne makes me so happy. And she saved me from the Red Keep, so I got my dashing knight in the end, in some way didn't I?”

 

“Yeah, there's a point.” Arya whipped her head around narrowing her eyes, “How the hell did that even happen? Jeyne hasn't said shit and that mentor of hers is stupidly tight lipped on everything, I got barely anything from him when we talked this morning.”

 

Sansa laughed, “That's the Mentor for you. Desmond is the greatest honest liar you will ever meet.”

 

“That makes no sense, Sansa!”

 

 

 

 

They were to marry in the late morning, with the sunlight for once shining through the thick grey clouds, as if the gods decided to give them that blessing. Separated after waking up, Sansa was ushered off to her old bed room, where her mother helped prepare her for the ceremony, Arya sat on the ledge of the window, making comments every now and then. Jeyne was in the hands of her sisters, and Sansa some what trusted their judgement and ability on how to do hair, but she figured that Jeyne would be wearing her usual braid today, much to Sansa's exasperated amusement.

 

Sitting patiently, Sansa was soothed by her mother running a brush through her hair, and quietly admitted, “I've missed this, mother.”

 

“I too, sweetling.” The older woman replied. Arya said nothing from the window, but she too had an air of contentedness.

 

A pause of calm silence, before their mother spoke up, “Do you trust this man, Sansa? This...Mentor?”

 

Smiling to herself, Sansa nodded. “He has been nothing but kind to me. And he took Jeyne from the brothel Littlefinger placed her in.”

 

Mother froze behind her. “What?”

 

Confused, Sansa glanced over her shoulder, “Did- Was it not mentioned at all?”

 

Coming around hurriedly to face Sansa head on, Mother demanded, “What do you mean Petyr placed her into a brothel!?”

 

Shocked at the raised tone, Sansa was quick to explain, “After Father was taken prisoner, before they...” She skipped over that bit, continuing on in a rush, “Jeyne went missing just a day after. Just gone, Mother. I didn't know what happened to her until some years later when she rescued me. Lord Baelish placed her into a brothel, she was having to service men there. That was were Desmond found her, he was staying there because he had a small information network with the workers. After seeing Jeyne, a child, he offered a chance for escape, and she accepted.”

 

Pale and looking horrified, Mother took some staggering steps back to fall into another seat in the room. Her hand pressed to her chest, as she whispered, “Why- why would Petyr do such a thing?”

 

Sansa shared a look with Arya whilst their mother was distracted with this realisation. In that silent exchange it was filled with the grim knowledge that their mother had a far different impression of what was once her childhood friend, blinded by their years growing up together. Jeyne had explained a little when she felt strong enough to say, of how horrible Littlefinger was to her. It wasn't a lot, but enough to paint the broad strokes of a painting. And when needing more answers, Sansa had gone to Desmond, two years after having settled into the Sand Nest. The man was more tight lipped, primarily because of the confidentiality of missions in general, however he did apologetically offer that Littlefinger was more than likely a reason for her father's death, as well as having been the one the kill the previous Hand of the King. It gave a more detailed and wider view of the portrait she was painting in her head, of how this singular man had started the war, causing the death of not only her father, but many of other innocent people. The look Arya had, Sansa did not know how much she knew, but she knew something along similar lines perhaps.

 

To explain all that felt too much for Sansa to do, especially on the morning of her wedding. Getting up, Sansa approached her mother, crouching in front of her and taking her hands in a comforting gesture.

 

“Mother, it's not your fault for not noticing.” Sansa reassured, “He was a good liar, and I'm sure the Mentor can give you some more insight.”

 

“Did he kill Petyr?” Mother asked, a tightness in her jaw.

 

Sansa hesitated, but that was enough of an answer. The woman stood up sharply, and it took all her strength to stop the woman from marching out of the room. “No, mother!”

 

“I demand answers, Sansa!” Mother cried out, anguish and betrayal flashing in her eyes. However, Sansa stood firm, grip tight.

 

“No.” She repeated. “This is the day of my wedding, and you will not ruin it by doing so. Ask tomorrow, or even wait until during the feast if you're so desperate to know more. However, I hold no sympathy for him. He trapped Jeyne in a brothel, forcing her to do things no one should have to do against their will, and I will never forgive him for that. Whatever else he had done just added to the fact he deserved to die.”

 

“Sansa!” Mother was aghast. Gritting her teeth, Sansa released her, “Fine. Go, ruin the day! Leave the room if you find this dead man is to be more important than your family.” And she pointedly turned her back to her.

 

There was a long drawn pause, before footsteps exiting the room. Sansa forced away the choked sob of frustration, instead going through the deep breathing exercises her teachers had walked her through in the past. Once feeling settled, Sansa opened her eyes to see Arya staring at her, head tilted to the side curiously.

 

Sniffing defensively, Sansa deliberately sat herself at her vanity. Mother was not here to do her hair, so she shall. Not any different from her usual routine in the Nest. Combing through the thick locks, Sansa began to braid her hair into a crown, ignoring the way Arya continued to watch her.

 

“He sent the assassin to kill Bran.” Arya stated quietly after a long while. Not taking her gaze from her reflection as she carefully pinned her hair, Sansa muttered darkly, “Not surprised.”

 

A dry laugh was Arya's response.

 

After tucking some sprigs of tiny wild flowers into her braid tastefully, Sansa stood up and loftily commented, “Well, since mother decided this wasn't more important, you will be the one to help me into my dress.”

 

“Oh will I?” Arya snorted, but she hopped off the ledge nonetheless, picking up the dress that was laid out on the bed. It was a bit of a struggle, finding materials made for cold weather in Dorne. The strange looks they garnered in Planky Town when Sansa and Jeyne requested thick wools and furs.

 

Her dress had an under layer of thick undyed cream wool over the top of her shift and a thick pair of stockings. This was primarily for warmth and wouldn't be seen once the outer layer was draped over top. It was layers of near sheer silk around the skirt, and one thin layer of lace as the last layer. She had lace sleeves and a layer across her whole torso. There was only a sleeveless section of silk to cover her breasts, a style of top she had seen commonly worn about Dorne. And lastly, a fur lined white woollen cloak. The only thing that broke up the all white, was the thinly woven belt tied around her waist that she did herself, an exact shade of blue that the Poole house used. All in all, it was a striking dress in her opinion, and Sansa had managed to keep it hidden from Jeyne the entire time she made it.

 

Sansa had an idea of Jeyne's own dress being far more practical that hers, but Jeyne still enjoyed fine things and would pull out all the stops for their wedding. Sansa had no doubt about that.

 

Once Arya helped button up the back, taking care with the delicate lace, Sansa's breath stopped when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. For most of her life, she had been called a beauty, and Sansa knew that in a factual and perhaps somewhat vain sense. However, she thought in that moment, she had never looked more beautiful. And it was all for Jeyne.

 

Smoothing out the skirts, Sansa slowly turned to Arya, shyly asking her sister, “How do I look?”

 

And for once, there was no teasing. Arya's eyes softened, “You look wonderful, Sansa.” And then lightly jabbed a punch into her arm, Sansa yelping as her sister added with a smirk, “But you already knew that, stupid.”

 

“You're horrible.” Sansa retorted, but a smile played on her lips as she said so.

 

 

Robb met them outside her door, a tight smile on his mouth as he offered Sansa his arm. “Mother seems a bit...upset.”

 

Grimacing as she accepted his arm, Sansa muttered, “She heard some unexpected news about Lord Baelish.”

 

At his curiosity, Arya took over the conversation, explaining in hush tones as they slowly made their way to the godswood. Sansa was not overly pleased that this was the topic of discussion on her way to be wedded, but Robb must be caught up, just in case a scene was made between the Mentor and their Mother.

 

Luckily however, as soon as they stepped into the wood, their conversation changed, Arya hurrying on up ahead to find a spot for the procession. Because Sansa was going to be living with Jeyne in the way a bride would live with her husband, Jeyne would be the one stood at the base of the tree first. They didn't have maiden's cloak, as their marriage wasn't the traditional male and female one. However, the cloaks they wore now would still be exchanged to keep that tradition for both of the brides.

 

Having put more focus on the dress, their cloaks were simple things and could be reused. Besides, Sansa did not need any fanciful things to marry Jeyne. She would have her in their plainest clothes, it did not matter to her. All she wanted to do was be bound to this woman, as Jeyne would be to Sansa.

 

Tightening her hold on Robb's arm, bubbling nerves and excitement barely contained under her skin, Sansa whispered, “Thank you for supporting us in this.”

 

He sent her a fond smile. “You deserve happiness, Sansa.”

 

“You as well, Robb. I hope you find it.”

 

He said nothing in response but there was a hint of teary eyes at her words.

 

When Sansa caught sight of the crowd and the path way left for them to walk, her breath caught. Because there, at the base of the tree, was Jeyne. Her hair was not in the typical braid but completely down and in soft waves.

 

She wore white as well, dress as practical as Sansa figured, a well of sheer fondness near over flowing in her chest at the sight of her. Though the hem line fell to her mid thighs as with her assassin's garb, her tunic-dress was dainty and elegant. Belled sleeves and a wide neck line, lace and silk flowing like water around her figure. That pink ribbon that she kept all those years ago was tied in a tiny bow around her neck, and Sansa choked up at the sight of it.

 

And of course, Jeyne wore white breeches, tucked in her usual boots. Looking closer, Sansa nearly burst into laughter because they were her actual uniform breeches.

 

Oh, how she loved this woman.

 

Jeyne's warm brown eyes were misty as Sansa stepped up to her, hands instinctively clutching one another. Sansa saw no one else but her, distantly noting Robb and Desmond exchanging the formality.

 

It was only when prompted that Sansa sucked in a trembling breath to recite her vows. Jeyne nodded in encouragement as she began. “Jeyne. You've been by my side since we were but babes in the cradle. You saved me, brought us back together, when forces outside of our control dared to separate us. And I wish for us to stay together as we are now, until we both draw our last breaths. You are my dearest friend, and I would proudly call you my wife with every heartbeat I have, and I will love you all this life and into the next ones after this.”

 

Sniffling, Jeyne quickly wiped away a tear, muttering under her breath, “How dare you, you witch.” Sansa gave a wet laugh in return.

 

Straightening up, gathering herself back together, Jeyne vowed, “We played knight and lady as children, I always the knight. And I swear as a solemnly as a knight on their oath, that I will protect you, Sansa. I will keep you safe and well, and I will love you for eternity. My sweetest companion, nothing will separate us. Not even the gods could tear me from your side.”

 

Bottom lip wobbling, Sansa quickly looked to Maester Luwin, silently begging him to bind their hands. With his own teary eyes and overjoyed smile, the man did so, reciting the next words as Sansa and Jeyne knelt before the weirwood tree. All Sansa could think was, 'Give me a long and happy life with this woman.'

 

After standing up, Sansa nearly yelped as Jeyne tugged their hands towards her, making Sansa stumble into her chest as their lips sealed. Both of their siblings began clapping, Jeyne slipping their hands free from the binding ribbon to scoop Sansa up, their lips barely breaking. However, they had to break for air, and her face felt hot with euphoria. Jeyne's own expression mirrored Sansa's emotions.

 

It was a struggle taking her eyes off of her wife – her wife! - to look around the crowd. There were some lords and ladies dotted about, a few clapping more out of politeness than joy, but that didn't matter. Not when their families were smiling, cheering, and clapping. Even Mother was smiling herself, and that was everything.

 

Looking to Jeyne, wrapping her arms around her neck as the younger woman began to carry her back to the castle, Sansa decided she truly had everything she needed in life.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Okay, so I feel like I was a little unfair to Catelyn, and to be honest I have a difficult time writing her with her being a little bit of a party pooper. However, I try to reason that though she super duper loves her kids, she still is very much a traditionalist when it comes with most things. But she does come around, and she does love Jeyne and Sansa. If anything, its more of the fact that she doesn't get to have Sansa around for long, after how long they've been separated, which, fair.

As for Arya, I also sometimes don't know how to write. I've become very neutral to her character over time, so my writing of her can be all over the place. But, looking at the time line for her in this fic, she is 16/17, and teens be like that my dudes.

(Also yes I know Jon isn't there, but he is at the Wall doing his thing. And I am absolutely ignoring the white walkers, this is my lesbian fic I do what I want)

Anyways! They married! huzzah! If it felt rushed I'm sorry. I really had this sitting nearly done in my docs for awhile and I needed it out. Editing is probs half assed and I will be coming back to it to fix any mistakes later.

All that is left is actually Desmond's pov, but I feel that won't be for a long while. But I do have some fun plans with it :) For now, this is done though. Thank you all for reading and sticking with me!!

Chapter 8: Desmond's Story

Summary:

The Life and Times of Desmond Sand: Healer, Assassin, and Accidental Father to too many people to keep count. Featuring: Guilt, an Unexpected Love Story, and Finding Peace.

Notes:

lol, long awaited last chapter finally here. hope it's good enough for the wait. Sorry if it's all over the place, there was a lot i was trying to fit in but i really didn't want it to be too long (she says as if its not 15k words long...)

Anyways, thanks for the patience!

The news came on a day like any other in the Dornish sands. The hospital was the more freshly rebuilt part of the compound, understandable as that was the main part utilised, with the inner sections where the healers and other occupants resided and slowly fixed up the place on their down time. Desmond himself was still in the process of rebuilding that tower he had his eyes on since finding the compound, and refused most offers of help when possible. He wanted to do it himself.

 

The hospital, on the other hand, was laid with clean tiles, colourful in the entrance hall and hallways, becoming white or just plain granite stone. Desmond tried to have the least porous stone in the surgical rooms as possible, not wishing for blood to be soaked up in an environment that was meant to be sterile and not scare the shit out of the patients.

 

He couldn't say that his healers were trained in things as advanced as brain surgery, but he liked to think after the nearly ten years of training some of them had, they were the more better surgeons within the whole of Westeros. And cleaner.

 

It was a blessing when he found the water that ran under the keep, already beginning to section off the parts meant for growing future food, for cleaning, and for waste, along with other subsections.

 

Desmond on that particular day was in the middle of discussing with a few builders on clearing out a wing for long term patients, when an apprentice came running up to them. Word had slowly began to spread that a hospital that didn't accept anything but donations was here to provide good care for the injured and sick. What had started to be called the Dune Sanctuary by those that came for help was a growing place that received good reviews by word of mouth, so they were getting more and more people over the years that it was starting to become a little cramped.

 

“-and if we clear out the rubble on the east side, I think we can tear down these walls here and create a large area for the long term-”

 

“Mentor! Mentor!”

 

Desmond looked up from the building plans to see the young girl running to him. She had a sheet of parchment in her hand and, out of breath, held it out for him.

 

Frowning, the man took it, scanning the contents. His stomach drop, freezing water pooling into every crevice of his body. His hand shook.

 

“Mentor?”

 

Dragging his eyes from the damning words, Desmond hoarsely announced to the worried looks of those around him, “Princess Elia is dead, along with her children.”

 

Horrified, the young girl clapped her hands to her mouth, the two builders going pale and their faces twisting into heartbreak. “Dead?” One repeated.

 

Swallowing thickly, Desmond read allowed the letter a friend, Damian from Sunspear, had sent him. “'Robert's Rebellion has been successful, the Lannisters having turned on King Aerys to let them into the capital. The Princess and her children were killed in their rooms by the Mountain himself, the man having allegedly done horrific things to the woman before killing her. The princes are furious and mourning, and I fear that we may go to war against the Lannisters...'” He stopped himself there, as he dropped the letter onto the table.

 

Rubbing a rough hand across his mouth, Desmond felt something begin to build in his chest as he whispered, “Inform everyone of the Princess' fate, as well as the end of the war.”

 

And then he left.

 

Striding quickly through the streets of the compound, passing by homes that had finished being rebuilt or were still in the process of being finished, going deeper into the parts that were still in ruins, only the main streets cleared away for the sake of manoeuvrability. He continued his tense approach to his destination, the tower, until he was safely absconded into it's walls.

 

He took a breath in-

 

A guilt filled raged burst from him, a wordless shout as he whirled around and slammed a fist into the nearest wall. Pain burst from his hand, but he could still think past it, and only was hearing the mantra of 'my fault', because he-

 

Desmond slammed his other fist into the wall next, and cried out from the pain of both his new injury and from his failure. From his cowardice.

 

Pressing a hand to his mouth, refusing to let out any more noise, Desmond turned and slumped against the wall, sliding down into the sand and dust.

 

He felt the tears of guilt prick like an angry heat in his eyes. Desmond pressed his palms to them, pressing hard until he was seeing spots to stop himself from crying. He had no right to. It was on him. He could've done something and he didn't. He wanted to live a life away from death and killing, only wanting the blood on his hands to be from saving a life.

 

But in doing so, he damned innocents.

 

Desmond had wanted to shed being an Assassin in this new life, but the Creed still followed him. 'Stay the blade from the flesh of the innocent', and that didn't just mean his own blade, but it meant he was meant to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.

 

Children and a mother. A kind woman who was adored throughout Dorne. Brutalised and murdered by a monster. All because Desmond was too much of a coward to don the hood.

 

“Desmond?”

 

A soft and worried voice pulled him from his dark thoughts, head snapping up to see Obah standing uncertainly in the open door way of the tower. At Desmond's attention on him, the young man softened his features with concern as he approached him slowly.

 

Desmond made no sound as Obah crouched in front of him. Seeing his hands, the man sighed, “Oh, Desmond. What have you done to yourself now?”

 

Gritting his teeth as Obah took his hands, softly cupped into his, Desmond muttered, “Elia is dead.”

 

Grief flickered over Obah's face as he slowly cleaned Desmond's knuckles with the precious water from his water skein, the skin having split open and now bleeding weakly. “I heard. That poor woman.”

 

“I should've done something.”

 

Obah gave him a an aggrieved, pitying look, “You couldn't have done anything-”

 

“I could have!” Desmond snapped, tugging his hands from their undeserving treatment. Pushing up from the wall, Obah having to stand and back up a little, Desmond began to furiously pace and rant around the ground floor of the half reconstructed tower.

 

“You don't get it, Obah! I could have done something. I knew, when I heard the news about the siege, I could've gotten her and her children out. I have the skill, the ability to do so, but I didn't. I was a fucking coward-”

 

“Now hold on a minute, Desmond.” Obah cut in, frowning, “You may be quick on your feet and a decent swordsman, but the Red Keep would have been impossible for you to even get in and-”

 

Scrubbing hard at his face, Desmond growled, “Yes I could have!” He scowled at the younger man as he tried to explain, “I just- how- I can't explain it all to you without you thinking I'm insane!”

 

With a little chuckle, though worry was still firmly in place on his face, Obah pointed out, “I already think you're insane, Desmond. It wouldn't stop me from following you into the Seven Hells.”

 

Through the sea of guilt threatening to drown him, Desmond found a small life line in the loyalty too freely given to him. Softening his frustration some, Desmond shook his head, “No, I think this would be the breaking point for all the faith you put in me.”

 

Obah, however, disagreed. The younger man approached him once more, taking Desmond's hands into his once more, carrying on with cleaning and wrapping them up. “If you told me, you were some runaway king from Essos, or was from the far west of Westeros, I would believe you. I would believe if you said you were a god reborn, I would believe you if you said you were some demon that crawled out of the pits of hell.” Looking back up at him with a steady gaze, brown eyes burning with determination, Obah implored, “So tell me what ails your thoughts, Desmond. I am here for you, and I always will be. Nothing can turn me from your side but the Stranger. And even then, I would fight to get back to you.”

 

Pursing his lips, Desmond looked down, staring at their hands. “You are a good friend, Obah.”

 

There was a long pause, before Obah huffed, “Yes. I suppose I am.” And when Desmond met his gaze, something indescribable flitted past his eyes before fading into a blatant fondness.

 

Desmond sighed. “Would you still follow me if I told you I've lived another life? That I remember an entire life before dying and being reborn as the Desmond Sand that you know?”

 

To Obah's credit, he didn't hesitate to nod, “I would, Desmond.”

 

A smile that felt more like a grimace pulled at the corner of his mouth, the side with the scar that seemed to haunt him into this life as well. “In my first life, I was trained as an Assassin, part of a brotherhood. Through forced visions, I even relived some of my ancestor's own lives as Assassins. It was a long lineage and legacy, a hidden community of people fighting to protect freewill, and I died for that cause. But I was trained, Obah. And when being born here, even though I wished to leave all that as just memories, I still trained because it was still so ingrained into me. And I could've saved Elia.” Desmond stepped back, running a freshly bandaged hand through his short hair. “I would've been able to sneak in and get them out.”

 

Obah grabbed his hand, “Don't ruin my work.”

 

“Sorry.” He mumbled before falling silent, waiting for his friend's judgement.

 

Straightening up the bandaged Obah's expression was thoughtful, even continuing to just play with Desmond's callused fingers in his contemplation. Desmond stayed waiting. The heat of Dorne wasn't as suffocating in here, though within the tower there was only the light from the very top of the caved in roof that let the sun in, and even then it didn't reach as far down as they were. It wasn't completely dark though, with other holes needing to be patched up littering the sides of tower all the way up.

 

In the faint light, Desmond barely breathed until Obah looked up at him. “What was your name, in that first life?”

 

It wasn't the question he expected, but he answered honestly nonetheless. “Desmond Miles.”

 

With a curious tilt to his head Obah wondered, “You managed to be reborn with the same name? And with the name 'Miles', did that make you a noble?”

 

Laughing, Desmond shook his head. “I was born here as Dorian Sand, but after my father died when I was fourteen, I wanted my previous name. I still felt like I was Desmond, even here. And no, I was not nobility. In my past life, where I lived...society and stations were different. Everyone had a last name.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Why do you think I ask you all to come up with your own last names?” Desmond pointed out, smiling a little, “With last names, it makes differentiating people who share the name easier.”

 

“Oh,” Obah snorted, “It's for convenience then, huh?”

 

“Yeah. Speaking of convenience,” Desmond teased, feeling a little bit lighter now, “You still haven't picked one. How am I supposed to tell on the reports which Obah is the one I'm reading?”

 

A mysterious smile played on Obah's lips as he replied, “Maybe I want to take my future partner's name.”

 

A tiny little thing in his stomach squeezed, but Desmond ignored it as he sighed, “Fine, do whatever.”

 

There was a shared grin, before Obah's expression turned serious. “It's not your fault, Desmond. You may have the skill, but the Red Keep is still a large and unknown place. How could you have even got in and have gotten them out? One person is one thing, but three? You would've needed far more help than just yourself.”

 

And there. That was the spark to ignite everything.

 

---

 

He met Obah in a brothel when Desmond was nineteen.

 

Desmond had been meeting with the owner of a brothel near where his little home was, mainly talking about herbs and medicine they could make for some of the infections and diseases that would appear within such work. The madam, Lilan, was old by her occupations standards, but was only really in her mid forties. Either way, she was polite and appeared to like him going by how she hadn't barred him entry to her establishment for his lack of patronage.

 

As he was handing over her requested herbs of that month, there was a commotion from behind him. Just as Desmond was beginning to turn around, a loud bang rang out from the stairs, and he watched as a boy, maybe a teen going by his gangly limbs, came tumbling down the stairs, followed by angry shouts.

 

Already making his way over, not wanting a fight to break out or anyone get hurt, the origin of the shouting came from an older man storming down the stairs. He had his clothes hastily thrown on, in comparison to the teen with only his trousers loosely laced up. The man was spewing vitriol, “Disgusting! I came here for tits, not a fucking boy-”

 

Desmond caught the man's arm before he could take a swing at the teen who was struggling to stand up and back away. Twisting his arm and pinning it to his back with ease, Desmond, turned to the Madam, “Where do you want him?”

 

There was blazing anger in Lilan's eyes as she commanded, “Out of my building. I don't allow violent men in my brothel.”

 

Silent, compared to the man who was struggling and shouting his own demands to be released, Desmond used his free hand to tightly grab the back of his neck, and steered him towards the door. One of the women helpfully opened it for him so he could throw the man out. He tumbled across the street, people startling and jumping out of the way.

 

Jaw clenching, and forcing away Ezio's memories from similar experiences away, Desmond instructed, “Don't come back. If you do, you won't survive the night.” And then stepped back to slam the door close.

 

Surveying the room, there were patrons very much keeping out of the way, along with the workers doing their best to ease the tension. The teen was being fussed over by one of girls, with Lilan standing nearby and softly asking him questions.

 

Desmond came over, hearing the teen softly say, “He was drunk, so he might have thought I was a girl. Until, well...” He gestured to his crotch. Up close, Desmond could see why the drunk would be confused. The teen was very androgynous, sharp chin, curly and short hair but still long enough to fall around his ears and into his wide, doe eyes. Slim and fragile looking, Desmond could already see past his tanned skin where the bruises were beginning making their presence apparent.

 

And standing shirtless, patrons and workers curiously watching, the teen looked so vulnerable. To Lilan, Desmond asked, “Got somewhere private we can go?” The way the teen was holding his arm appeared to be a possible sprain at best. Or, at worst, fractured from that fall down the stairs. It should be checked out nonetheless.

 

She jerked her head for him to follow, “This way.”

 

They were led into the kitchen, the hearth low and the scent of spices filling the air. Lilan left them alone as Desmond gestured to one of the stools, “Have a seat.”

 

Hesitantly, the teen did.

 

Desmond rummaged through his pack of supplies, having picked up the habit of wandering around the streets of Sunspear to help those who don't know where to find him, he had started to carry around all the necessary things one might need to treat a patient outside of dangerous operations. Taking the stool next to him, Desmond faced the teen as he held out his hand, “Can I see your arm?”

 

Slowly, the boy complied, and Desmond handled the injured appendage carefully, feeling along the muscle and bone, before twisting it slowly one way and the next, watching as the teen hissed or winced depending on how he manoeuvred the limb.

 

“A sprain.” Desmond announced. He found the salve that would ease the swelling in a pocket of his pack, along with a split and some strips of fabric. “Rest your wrist for at least two days, keep it compressed tightly – but not too tight to lose circulation – with bandages, and try to elevate the writs above your heart. I've already given Lilan some anti-inflammatory herbs, so take those twice a day, and this salve is cooling, it will ease the swelling.”

 

The teen took all of this with wide eyes, lightly gaping.

 

That was when Desmond spotted the scratch and bruise on his left cheek bone. Frowning, Desmond lightly cupped his face, turning the teen's head so he could see the injury in a better light. “What an asshole.” The man muttered, standing up to get some clean water.

 

“I didn't mean to make him angry.” The teen, eyes now down cast, whispered.

 

“Not your fault.” Desmond assured him, coming back and beginning to clean the wound. “He must not be from Dorne, with the way he acted to having a male worker.”

 

Shrugging his slim shoulders, the teen replied, “Still.”

 

Sighing, Desmond applied a bruise balm and asked, “What's your name kid?”

 

“Obah.”

 

With a kind smile, Desmond said, “You work a tough job, Obah. You're, what, seventeen?”

 

“Fifteen.”

 

Internally, the man grimaced. Outwardly, he continued, “You're young, and people take advantage of that. If you ever want to do something that isn't this, let me know. I've got a lot of connections, I could find someone you could apprentice under if you want.”

 

Obah sat there, astonished expression on his face, before it faded into resignation, though he gave Desmond a small, grateful smile in return. “I don't think any would want me. Besides, I tried being an apprentice, and he wanted me to complete it on my back. At least here, I know what I'm working towards.”

 

Hand freezing where it was packing things up, Desmond slowly glanced back at Obah, the way his narrow shoulders were curling inwards, unable to meet his eyes. Desmond saw the self-shame though, and it made anger flare up in his chest. This wasn't the first time he had come across someone who had been used and amused by the fucked up society he was reborn in. And it wouldn't be the first time he decided to put his past life's abilities in use. Desmond may want to make a different and better life for himself in Dorne, but he wasn't too fussed with killing someone who deserved it.

 

“What is their name?” Desmond calmly asked.

 

Obah curled over his injured wrist, giving a silent shrug in response. Eyeing him for a long moment, Desmond watched the teen's body shiver. Softening, he shrugged off his outer robe for the cool Dornish nights. Wrapping the younger male up in it, feeling his heart ache in sympathy at Obah's shock at the show of kindness, Desmond spoke again. “I can't take away the pain they had caused you, but I can make sure they never do it again. Please, give me their name.”

 

Obah's breath hitched, pulling the robe closer. Uncertainty continued to mar his beautiful features before determination firmed his jaw, nodding decisively. “Alright.”

 

 

Desmond's father in this life had been a blacksmith, and he had taught quite a few things to him before catching some illness from a traveller. At fourteen, alone and orphaned, Desmond used the steel and forge to make himself a familiar weapon. He had taken to carrying around a small knife since he was ten, but things were different now. His father was a respected man around their district, and though Desmond believed that the community wouldn't harm him, there were those outside of it who might. He was a young teen, healthy and, if he said so himself, decently good looking.

 

Though in the last life he ran away at sixteen, in this life, Desmond left behind a home unwillingly, knowing like last time, there would be no returning. With all the money his father and himself had saved over the years, Desmond found the poorest district of Sunspear, and set up shop.

 

A healer was always loved and welcomed by the desperate.

 

After departing from Lilan's brothel, Desmond headed home with a name and a destination, down one robe, and his payment for the medicine he gave to the madam.

 

It doesn't take long to find his target after dumping his stuff in his little stone hut, pulling on a hooded robe, and making sure his hidden blade was snug against his arm. Climbing to the roof tops, the night a perfect cover, Desmond headed to the merchant district, Eagle Vision blinking into place.

 

The world washed with grey, blue, and white forms littering the streets around him, becoming more white and sprinkled with red the further he leapt and ran from his district. In the distance, gold was a pinprick but a target to aim towards. The exhilaration of running rooftops never got old, and before he reached his mark, Desmond allowed himself to just enjoy the freedom. However, he came upon the man soon enough. When he landed on a roof, peering over to watch his target talk with a few others, he heard the name Obah gave him which confirmed that the golden figure was who he was looking for. A smirk pulled at his scarred lips.

 

It took barely a few minutes once he found his target, to survey the area, gauge the drop, and stab his blade into the target once they turned down an empty alley way alone. Gotta love those empty alley ways.

 

Once the man finished gurgling quietly, Desmond flipped him over to take in his face. He was average in look and build, just another face in the crowd. Around his throat was a leather string with a circular pendant. Snapping it off his neck, Desmond wiped some of the blood onto the metal before safely pocketing it into a pouch.

 

He did all that without even registering the reason until he was back on the roofs and heading home. Collecting proof of a successful mark was something his ancestors had done, but there would be no one to present it to except for Obah. Would the boy even want it?

 

Just as the roof of his home was in sight, Desmond paused, sighed, then turned to head to the brothel district again. It was starting to become a very long night, sure that dawn was closer than midnight now.

 

Peering through windows of the brothel, searching for where Obah might be, Desmond found him on one of the top floors. Crouched on the window ledge, Desmond surveyed the room, noting it had multiple beds, all empty because it was still their working hours. All wereempty, except for one.

 

Obah was propped up on his bed with the borrowed robe still around his bare shoulders, a pillow supporting his arm – Desmond approved of a patient listening to his instructions – and staring at his lap. His gazed appeared far away, lost in thought, so when Desmond lightly climbed through the window, he startled.

 

“Desmond?” The teen blurted out, going to get up before stopping when said man waved him back.

 

“Hey.” Desmond greeted, walking over to sit on the bed beside Obah's hip. “Just here to give you this.” He presented the pouch.

 

Confused but curious, Obah took it, deftly pulling the strings open with one hand. When the bloodied pendant was pulled out, the teen sucked in a sharp breath, wide eyes darting up to Desmond in shock. “You-”

 

“Shh,” Desmond pressed a finger to his own lips, smirking a little, “Don't tell anyone, got it?”

 

The teen was silent for a long moment, a sharpness to his gaze the spoke of a hidden intelligence. Desmond was certain that Obah was wasted in his current profession and wondered what he was apprenticing for. Then, with shoulders relaxing, Obah dropped the pendant on his lap to reach out and grasp Desmond's arm, “How can I repay you?”

 

At the earnest question, Desmond waved him off carelessly with a friendly smile, “No need. I did this for free.”

 

Biting his lip in thought, Obah frowned. Knowing that it was hard to accept when something was done without repayment needed with people like Obah, or even Desmond himself at times, he went to reiterate that he wanted nothing in return. However, Obah cut him off, surging forward to press his lips to Desmond's

 

He froze.

 

It...its been a long time since he had been kissed, Desmond can admit. Going back to his past life even. However, Desmond could not kiss a child, so he gently pushed Obah back, ruffling a hand through his curls as he gave the hurt teen a wry smile, “I said no repayment, Obah. And especially not one of that kind.”

 

“I'm good with my mouth, Desmond.” Obah protested, “I promise, you can ask any of my customers-”

 

Desmond held up his hand, silencing the boy. Sickness churned even as he tried to keep a kind expression. “I'm not interested in children, Obah. If you want to repay me, then make sure your arm heals well, and try to stay out of trouble, alright?”

 

Disappointed but relenting to his words, Obah nodded, “I will, healer.”

 

Ruffling his hair once more, Desmond stood up. “Good. Now, get some rest. And hide that.” He added, pointing to the pendant. With a parting wave, Desmond climbed back out the window, finally heading home to sleep. It'd been a long day and night.

 

 

Life went on, and Desmond didn't think much about Obah, besides on the days he went to the brothel to drop off Lilan's usual orders. If the boy was free, he was grin and trot over to Desmond, happily engaging the older male in conversation as he awaited his payment from Lilan. And both bemused and unwittingly fond of the teen, Desmond indulged Obah. As he suspected, he was whip smart, a sharp mind that really deserved to be honed properly. In their conversations, Desmond learnt that Obah had once been learning to be a scribe and illustrator. He was impressed, it was hard to find people who could read and write in this world that weren't from money. If it wasn't for Lilan's suspicious looks anytime Desmond talked with Obah, he would've poached the teen as his own apprentice, but the woman was terrifying and he didn't wish to ruin their business relationship by taking one of her workers.

 

His medical knowledge was starting to spread too over time, and he was getting patients dropping by nearly every day that he was debating on getting someone to deliver the orders instead of himself, needing to stay when people inevitably dropped by. Obah would've been perfect, but he would have to contend with possibly hiring the street children for now. They were relatively reliable when paid enough.

 

However, it was over two months before he had to treat Obah again, and it wasn't the most pleasant of circumstances.

 

A loud banging on his door jarred Desmond from his sleep, staggering over shirtless to throw it open. His lack of situational awareness and preparedness would've disappointed Bill Miles something fierce. A young woman, vaguely familiar, stood before him, tears in her eyes. “Please!” She cried, “We need your help, Obah's been stabbed!”

 

It took only a second for his sleepy brain to kick into gear, rushing to grab his bag of supplies, tug on a robe and shoes, before running out past the woman, who was quick to follow him.

 

The poorest district wasn't that far from the brothels that it hadn't taken long for him to burst through the door. “Where is he!?” He shouted, seeing the chaos in the usually calm front room. And there, on one of the lounge chairs, was a body. Desmond pushed down his personal feelings over someone he had begun to call a friend and made sure only calm rationality took hold of his thoughts.

 

He shoved urgently through the crowd of sobbing and terrified workers to reach the patient's side, pulling his bag off his shoulder to begin his work.

 

The tan skin had a grey tinge to it, losing blood slowly, Desmond observed, eyes running from Obah's face to his wound. The knife was thankfully still in the wound, but it was certainly not pleasant for the teen, face screwed up in pain, sweat dripping down his body, and hands clenched tightly.

 

Pursing his lips, Desmond centred himself further so that he was calm for this as he murmured to Obah, brushing a hand over his sweaty head, “I'm here, kid. You'll be alright.”

 

Obah huffed a pained laugh, eyes prying open to look at Desmond, watery and reflecting agony, “Liar.” He croaked.

 

Grimacing, Desmond ordered behind him, “Hot water now!” And heard someone rush off as he inspected the wound. Blade wasn't in too deep, and he asked, “Has this been moved at all?”

 

“No, healer.” A worker said from behind. “I remember being told to not remove a blade when stabbed, so we tried to keep it in position as we moved him here.”

 

“Good.”

 

A bucket of hot water was set beside him, Desmond giving a distracted mutter of thanks as poured alcohol on his hands for a quick sterilisation. He would've preferred to have used soap but there was no time. When he found the right powder to kill the bacteria for the wound in his bag, he set it beside the rest of his supplies on a side table for easy access.

 

When everything was ready, Desmond turned to Obah, his hand naturally sliding into the teen's to comfort. “I'm going to begin. So stay awake, and breathe steadily, okay?”

 

He got a shaky nod in response, Lilan coming around near Obah's head to begin to talk to him. It kept the terrified teen awake and distracted enough for Desmond to slowly extract the blade. The reactionary hiss of pain was firmly ignored, Desmond focused as his forearm pressed on the upper chest to stop Obah from jerking in response. Then, the man worked fast, dipping a clean cloth into the water to wipe away as much blood as possible, needing to see how deep and wide the wound was.

 

The blade was only in by a couple of inches, Obah possibly moving out of the way enough for it to not go in too deep. Which meant it didn't puncture any of his organs. Hopefully. He packed the wound nonetheless. As it bled sluggishly, Desmond barked out, “I need someone to wash their hands with soap and keep wiping away the blood for me.”

 

A hesitant pause, before movement behind him. Soon enough a girl came around hands visibly damp and clean as she swallowed thickly and grabbed his cloth. As she continued to wipe away the blood, Desmond pulled out a needle and thread. “Get me a candle.”

 

He was presented a flaming candle, able to sterilise the needle in a few seconds. After pouring the anti-bacterial powder on the wound, Obah once more gritting his teeth in pain, Desmond told him, “I'm going to sew up the wound now. Someone put something between his teeth so he doesn't bite his tongue.” He added to the rest.

 

Once ready, Desmond slowly but surely closed the wound. The silence around him was deafening, his mind narrowed onto this single task that he barely registered the crowd around him. Desmond was grateful for the silence however, helping him stay focused on the procedure as well as be able to hear the continuous, but laboured, breathing from Obah, interspersed with whimpers of pain. As long as the kid was breathing, they were doing alright.

 

At some point, the boy had passed out, and Desmond decided that was for the best, as he smeared on a thick layer of garlic and honey, the smell making a few workers rear back in disgust. He let out a tired laugh at their reactions, hands winding the bandaged around the stitched wound. “He will need to stay reclined for awhile, bandages changed every few hours, but the salve doesn't need to be wiped away. When it's dried up, put some more on.”

 

After cleaning his hands, Desmond wrote down the instructions, along with setting out the medicines Obah would need for the pain and to keep infections away.

 

However, even with the operation over with, Desmond hesitated to leave. Obah was still at a critical stage, and he didn't want the kid to die on him. Lilan must have seen his trepidation, and offered softly, “Stay, if you need to, Desmond. We have plenty of private rooms for you to watch over him.”

 

Sending her an exhausted smile, Desmond nodded, “Thank you, Lilan.”

 

After carefully moving Obah to a private room and onto a bed, Desmond slumped down on a surprisingly comfortable chair next to the slumbering teen, and fell into a light sleep.

 

Desmond wasn't surprised that a month after Obah had healed completely, the teen showed up at his door and demanded to be his apprentice. And he wasn't the only one. But he was the first.

 

---

 

The sun was unforgiving where it shone down on him. The labour he was doing, shovelling crumbling stones to the side, lifting larger rocks, and doing other heavy lifting of the broken tower, was exhausting and not making the heat any more bearable. Mid-day had already past and it was slowly creeping to the evening, however the heat was unrelenting.

 

He was used to it by now.

 

Deciding to take a break, gulping down water as he sat in the shade that the tower cast, Desmond tipped his head back to look up at the blue, blue sky.

 

Hard work was something he never complained about, even in his previous life. At first it was to make his parents proud, then it was just to stop his dad from getting pissed and disappointed. Then it just became survival and an ingrained instinct. Work hard, don't complain, get on with it.

 

It was a little different though, when the hard work stopped being physical and became mental.

 

Losing his mind was never Desmond's hope for his future, and he hadn't expected to die at twenty five either. He didn't have much expectations with his first life to begin with other than just to survive. And he hadn't even managed that in the end.

 

Now here he was, reborn in some other world, medieval times from his guessing, and with how long the history of the land was, Desmond was not impressed that they hadn't even invented toilets or even proper plumbing. What the hell had all these people been doing in the over eight thousand years of civilisation? Fighting wars and sitting around that's what. And fucking dragons. Desmond was so damn grateful that the dragons died out before he was born. He did not want to deal with that shit.

 

Sighing, Desmond dragged a hand down his face. Then grimaced because his hand was covered in dust and sand. Cracking open his eyes, Desmond took a breath before standing back up with a groan. This tower wasn't going to build itself.

 

---

 

Desmond would never call himself a coward. In his past life, his dad may have thought him running away from the Farm to be an act of cowardice, but Desmond saw it as an act of courage and rebellion. A leap of faith, if you want.

 

Being reborn in this new life Desmond held that assessment of himself firmly. He thought himself doing the smart thing, staying out of politics and trying to heal instead of kill. He wanted nothing to do with any wars. He killed enough in his past life. Now the only blood he wanted on his hands was from pressing on an open would to stifle the bleeding.

 

That didn't last as long as he had wanted it to however. And the cowardice lingered like a bad taste in his mouth.

 

---

 

The hospital took time to rebuild. He was just turning twenty, and money was something he had to really save up. Desmond suspected that he would personally be doing most of the reconstruction of the compound he had found out in the desert to begin with before he could get others on board and help out. The little hut he had worked out of for some years was too small, and he had plans.

 

By time line, Desmond felt he was doing pretty good with building his own brotherhood in Westeros. He started to gather some followers who wanted to learn to heal after having seen him in his small little hut in Sunspear, plying his trade. He began teaching, no matter the gender or age. Anyone interested, he taught, though no one came along until Obah. He was fifteen, a year after his father had passed, when he took up the position of being a healer, and trust was slow to build up in his district, but it came with fierce loyalty from his patients and clients in the end.

 

When he was closing in on twenty and already thinking of expanding from his little home, Desmond had seen a map of Dorne, an old one at that, which showed many of the abandoned compounds and keeps of long died off lineages. His current abode would only be good as a bureau in the future for selling their wares and wracking in some money, but only as soon as he laid down roots in a proper compound and established him and his students.

 

So he went searching for a compound in the dunes of Dorne, and had found it. It wasn't in the Red Dunes, nor in the Dornish Desert, as he still had to make it somewhat accessible. However, after having bought the antique map, much to the merchants bemusement, he had spied a few other markers for old compounds in those deserted wastelands, and thought they could be perfect safe houses if this keep was threatened.

 

Though he hoped a healing house wouldn't be, he could never turn that assassin paranoia off, not with how he still thought he saw the ancestors from another life time haunting the corner of his eye.

 

And once construction began, many people wanting to join him in his plans, life began to fly by with miles stones in place in his mind. At twenty one, the reconstruction of the front section of the keep was complete, with expansion plans on their way. Many tradesmen who he had helped in one way or another in the past gave him reduced prices for materials and labour, some evening doing so for free with a guaranteed place to live and continue their living within the completed compound.

 

At twenty five he had proper apprentices that were fully moving onto their mastership of healing. It took Desmond awhile to sit down and plan out proper lessons and structures to their learning, but he managed.

 

At twenty eight going on twenty nine, three years older than when he first died, Desmond heard the news of Elia. That was when the original trajectory of the keep and his plans changed. He had to adjust for the assassin brotherhood.

 

At that same age, the reconstruction of the rest of the compound began with a single minded focus on his part, though many who had joined his endeavours also picked up the hustle around the keep. Besides the healers. They had enough on their plate with all the patients and keeping up what was now going to be a front for an assassin hideout.

 

When he was secure in the living accommodations for both workers and future assassin recruits, he was just turning thirty.

 

The guilt continued to sit heavy in his chest, even as he went about his life, building up recruits that were primarily children and young adults in need of a home. It felt wrong, in some way, how he offered this new home for the lost, and to then entice them into joining the brotherhood. Granted, he gave them the genuine choice, never forcing them, but children loved the concept of fighting with blades and climbing about. And with it being open to women without any judgement, they had a good balance in their numbers.

 

Even some adults with fighting experience already came to join, such as Laneth and Damian. The first young man full of deadpanned expressions and quiet intellect, with Damian a friendly man who was a brilliant archer.

 

When it came to recruitment, Desmond would wander around Sunspear, searching for those in a bad place, offering them somewhere new. Always giving them the option of joining their compound, as long as they knew in some form they must pull their weight, be that becoming a healer, plying their trade within the keep, helping around the compound with the numerous amount of jobs and tasks, or joining his ranks. Of course, he never said straight away what he was hiding behind the hospital, gauging how much trust he could put in them through his Eagle Vision.

 

(He was stunned but no less grateful that even in this new body with no Precursor DNA, he managed to keep that sixth sense. It saved his ass so many times within this new life, dodging duplicity and manipulation.)

 

But the main area where he searched for people to offer a home to, a place of sanctuary, was the orphanages. He talked with the women in charge, learnt who had hope for becoming an apprentice, who could be taken in by nobility, and who had little to no chance of gaining any kind of work or loving family. Not that adoption was really a thing in this world, and children were just left to die or grow up into hardened adults. Desmond gave them all a choice, and it was more often than not that the children agreed.

 

On one special occasion, an entire orphanage in the poorer district had completely up and moved into his compound. Which was both hilarious – to Obah – and baffling to Desmond. But hey, more working hands.

 

Most of the time, these children didn't even want to be novices in his brotherhood. Having slowly accumulated tradesmen and women who had no where to set down their business in what was a cut throat world of trading in Sunspear, Desmond's compound had become a booming populace of all sorts of skill sets, meaning that those children were taken on to learn a trade. At this point, his compound was more of a little city, nearly sustainable on it's own food and water.

 

It was insane.

 

However, as he looked out of the window of his freshly completed tower, gazing at the people – his people – milling about and going about a better life than the one they were experiencing before, Desmond could feel a comfortable pride. It helped to over shadow his guilt that still nestled deep in his chest.

 

---

 

At thirty-three, Desmond had one set of senior disciples finishing their training, and another set close to becoming junior disciples. The first generation he finished training contained ten men and twelve women. To no surprise, many women had taken up the offer of training into an assassin. At first for the sake of learning to protect themselves, to then coming to really believe in the Creed he was teaching them.

 

(Sometimes he thought he really was building up a cult, similar to what he thought the Farm was in his first life. At least this place, this Sand Nest as many called it, was a lot kinder and gave more freedom than the Farm ever did. Or that was what he told himself to ease his already very guilty conscience.)

 

In the second generation was a large handful of teenagers. He had younger ones who wished to join the brotherhood getting up to speed on flexibility and endurance, but they were not included in the ranks of novice until they were at least eleven. For now, the kids found the exercise disguised as playing enjoyable, and he let them have their fun.

 

“Hey.”

 

Desmond, brought out of his thoughts, turned from the window and from the slowly setting sun to see Obah in the door way of his office. He only had a table and a few shelves up so far, though he was slowly accumulating a heap of pillows in a corner. But it was a start and a place to call his own. And somewhere to escape all the madness, as only the very determined to speak to him would climb all those stairs. A perfect deterrent. Smiling at his friend, Desmond greeted, “Hey Obah. Need something?”

 

There was amusement playing on Obah's lips as the man wandered closer, “Do I need a reason to see you?”

 

Desmond shrugged. “With everything picking up, everyone needs me for something.”

 

“You are the Mentor.” Obah pointed out, coming to stop a few feet from him. “Are you that surprised people want your opinion? That they respect you enough to clear any decisions with you?”

 

Sighing, Desmond rubbed at his neck awkwardly, “No, but it's still weird. I'm just a man, nothing special-”

 

Obah cut him off with a bark of a laugh. “Just a man, he says. A man who gave many people hope and a purpose. Gave them a home.”

 

“A man who didn't save a woman and children when he should've.” Desmond softly replied, turning his gaze to the windows once more. A stilted silence fell over them. The guilt never got easier, seeing how easy it was to help all these people when he actually tried. He hadn't even tried with Elia.

 

“Desmond.” Obah gently called him back to focus, the older male once again looking back to his friend. “We've gone over this. It's not-”

 

“My fault,” Desmond sighed heavily, “I know. Still...”

 

Stepping closer, Obah was tentative as he reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “Mistakes are made, even ones with dire consequences. However, you either must move on to live, or to just be so consumed with all that you've done wrong, that you die.”

 

Desmond made a face, “A little morbid, but I get your point.”

 

Rolling his eyes, the younger man reached up to flick his forehead, ignoring Desmond's complaint as he said, “Melancholy and guilt are not a handsome look, it doesn't suit you.”

 

Grinning at his words, Desmond teased, “Are you saying I'm handsome?”

 

However, instead of the usual smile or jape in return, something heavy fell over Obah's expression. He suddenly couldn't meet Desmond's gaze. Frowning at the change of behaviour, the older man placed a hand on his shoulder, ducking down to try and catch Obah's eyes. “Obah?”

 

The man did his best to avoid it. Frown deepening, Desmond reached up and cupped his jaw, forcing Obah's head up so he had to meet Desmond's gaze. There was something fragile within them as he asked, “What's wrong? Did I say something?”

 

Sighing, a heavy sound burdened by an indescribable emotion, Obah jerked his head from Desmond's hand, stepping back a little. His posture was defensive and the Mentor watched him warily, worry building. After a long moment, Obah's jaw clenched before he demanded, “Are you doing this on purpose, Desmond?”

 

Baffled, Desmond tilted his head. “Doing what?”

 

“This.” Obah gestured between them, “All of this. I try to be obvious, I have been for years. And I get it, I was young before, but I am an adult now. Would you not consider the possibility?”

 

“'Possibility'...” The older man shook his head slowly, “I'm confused.”

 

Rubbing at his face, Obah then gestured at himself. “How old am I, Desmond?”

 

“Uh, twenty five?”

 

“I'm twenty-nine, asshole.” His friend snapped back with a scowl. “I'm four years younger than you. And I'm not getting any younger. So I need to know if I should quit now.”

 

Growing annoyed, Desmond reiterated, “You're not making any sense, Obah. What are you talking about?”

 

Frustration was pure as day on Obah's face as he stared at Desmond, as if pleading for the older man to understand. And then, like that first night, Obah surged forward, warm lips capturing his in a passionate, desperate kiss. Hands cupped his cheeks to an almost painful degree, and instinct almost had him jerking back, shocked.

 

But Desmond...

 

Desmond kissed back.

 

He hasn't had sex since his last life, and even then it was months before he was taken by Abstergo. It wasn't that he was purposefully celibate in this life. It was more that at first he was an adult in a teen body, and it felt wrong to have sex with people his age, not really comfortable with having sex with adults either – who would be willing, he didn't doubt – because then it was acknowledging that these were grown adults having sex with someone underage. He knew age worked a little different here, but fuck it if he wasn't still keeping to his modern day morals and shit. Once he reached what he deemed as a legal adult, he was already submerged with all his plans for the hospital, and then the brotherhood, that it just never really became a thing to focus on. In his last life he actually had a low sex drive to begin with, which carried on into this life. His paranoia as Desmond Miles and on the run also made it hard for him to let down his guard to have a one night stand.

 

And with Obah slipping a hand up to cradle the back of his head, tugging him down further the press their bodies closer, Desmond was weak and needy, and gave in to that urge he had been pushing down for decades with embarrassing speed.

 

His hands came up to grip Obah's waist, feeling the heat of his skin under only a thin layer of linen to stop Desmond from properly touching the other man's skin. Then, he realised that with how eagerly Obah was, along with Desmond happily sliding his tongue between his lips – prying a little gasp from the slightly shorter man – Desmond thought 'fuck it', and let his hands slide under the tunic.

 

A shudder rippled through Obah as Desmond felt up his toned stomach, tenderly brushing fingertips against that old scar. The man then pulled back to sigh happily, blinking up at Desmond with eyes heavily filled with desire. “Desmond...” He breathed out and a shot of heat burnt through Desmond.

 

But, now that they had parted, Desmond was realising exactly what was going on. “You...you like me?”

 

Obah rolled his eyes, forever exasperated with his Mentor no doubt. “I love you, actually.”

 

Desmond's mind stuttered to a halt, his breath catching. He could admit that he was gaping down at Obah. A flash of insecurity took over any of his previous lust, and Desmond slipped his hands away from Obah, taking a few steps back.

 

Staring, confused and hurt, Obah's hand reached out a little before falling back to his side. An expression of resignation took over, the man looking away. “I see. You don't want me...that way.”

 

Grimacing, Desmond shook his head, running a rough hand through his hair. “It's not like that.”

 

“Don't lie.” Obah snapped. His arms were rigid by his side, fists clenched tight. “I see it clearly. It's easier to accept the warmth of a whore's body than their love.”

 

That dragged Desmond from his shock, snapping a glare at Obah. “I've never had a problem with prostitutes, you know that.”

 

“Then why do you pull away from me!?”

 

“It's- it's hard to-”

 

“Just speak plainly, Desmond! If it's not because you're disgusted by my history, then why-”

 

“Because no one has ever loved me before!”

 

The words ripped through the air. Obah blinked in shock. Desmond was never really one to raise his voice, and even he himself was mutely surprised. Gritting his teeth at his brak of carefully maintained control, Desmond scrubbed at his face.

 

“No one, in this life or the past, has ever loved me.” A self-deprecating chuckle left him. “I actually can't remember anyone who've ever said they'd loved me. My father in this life, but he was rare to show affection. In my last life? I barely remember any one ever loving me. I wasn't good enough for my dad, my mom was distant, and I ran away as a kid. There was no one even with me when I died, not that I blamed them. But they hadn't even looked back when they left. So excuse me for being shocked that someone could love me, much less be in love with me.”

 

He couldn't meet Obah's gaze, looking away and to the windows once more, the sky always a soothing sight, the sun halfway down the horizon now. It was uncomfortable, to show such vulnerability. “I'm sorry.” He stiltedly added. “That you've loved an idiot like me for so long, and I never noticed.”

 

“I can see why.” Obah sniffed and when Desmond turned back to face the younger man, concerned at the sound, he saw tears being forced back, the man's eyes holding a mess of emotions. There was sadness, sympathy, and a grief mixed with rage. “When you're not familiar with something, it's hard to notice.”

 

A thick lump was stuck in Desmond's throat at the sight of someone upset for him. When had anyone cried for him?

 

Stepping closer, Obah cupped Desmond's cheek, and pathetically, the taller man leant into the touch, greedy for the rare affection. Softening, Obah continued, “You, are so dearly loved, Desmond. In so many different ways. You have children who see you as a father, students who see a beloved teacher, friends who call you brother, and people you've cared for that give their loyalty to you with so much devotion, that it's maddening that you do not see it.”

 

“And you?” Desmond's voice trembled, hit with a wave of emotion at the possibility of people loving him, “Where do you fit in?”

 

Drawing the older man's head down, Obah pressed gentle kiss to Desmond's forehead before tucking it into his shoulder to cradle him close as he murmured, “I have loved you since I was fifteen, when you killed a man who had hurt me. You didn't even know me, yet you dealt with an injustice. I knew you were it for me, when you stayed by my side after patching up my wound. I would follow you through the Seven Hells, Desmond.”

 

Desmond wrapped his arms around Obah into a desperate embrace, holding him tightly as he felt shuddering sobs shake through him. It felt more than just from those words, but it was like all his grief from his past life was finally crashing down on him. It was like he had been running away again, with no place that was safe enough to drop his guard to even close his eyes. But right now, in Obah's strong and comforting arms, he found the safest place in the world, and let the emotions roll over him.

 

---

 

It was unsurprising that the Martells picked up on their hospital. Not due to any of their spies, that was easy for Desmond to spot with Eagle Vision as he kindly, but firmly, asked them to leave. But they brought back to the Martells some information, which was that it was less of a place of healing, and more an actual community.

 

So it was even more unsurprising that Desmond's presence was summoned to the palace a month or so after the completed construction of his tower.

 

A few of the first generation he was training, who called him brother more often than Mentor – he only told Obah how much that made him happy – had near demanded they come with him, but Desmond refused. He didn't know what he was stepping into, and would rather they all stayed behind in the compound just in case there was an attack. He doubted it, but you never know. Besides, he did not feel they were ready yet for a fight, and wanted to keep them safe for as long as possible.

 

With the sun was barely risen, Desmond departed from the compound. It was a long walk, but one he had made plenty of times before, so he let his mind drift in the peaceful emptiness of the desert. It wasn't the Red Dunes, completely endless and lifeless, but with sparse dried shrubbery and tall Joshua Trees. They weren't called that here in Westeros, but that was what he knew them as back on Earth. Some cactus and sage brush gave little shade to the reptiles he saw slithering or crawling about. At one point, passing a dotting of boulders nearly submerged in sand, he thought he saw the head of a coyote, peeking out from it's den before hiding once more.

 

When he reached the outskirts of Sunspear, he took a second to readjust his hood and the scarf over his nose before falling into the motion of the crowds. Morning market was set up and bustling by now, making it easy for him to blend in and disappear from the guards that had started to tail him. He was happy to have a meeting with the rulers of the kingdom, but it didn't mean he was going to make it easy for them.

 

Which meant, when he came to the entrance of the palace gates, the guards startled at his sudden appearance emerging from the shadows. Bowing in greeting, Desmond announced, “I am Desmond Sand, and my presence has been requested.”

 

There was cautious eyes narrowed in his direction, before one muttered something quietly to the other. The guard left, leaving the other one behind. A few minutes later, the guards that had been trying to trail him came staggering out from the swarming crowds, one pointing at him with a cry of annoyance, “You!”

 

Passively, Desmond turned to look at them, giving another bow in greeting. “Good morning. I hope I gave you a bit of exercise on this lovely morning.”

 

The glares shot back were amusing as they guard that left to announce his arrival came back. “Follow us.” The man ordered, and Desmond complied, calmly following after at an easy pace. He was in no rush.

 

The place was as lavishly decorated and designed as he had suspected from the outside. Many times, when he was younger, Desmond contemplated sneaking into the Palace just to see how good the security was and if he could steal some inconsequential jewels, before deciding that wasn't the best idea. The Martells were decent enough rulers for the time period he lived in, and didn't want to make a powerful enemy.

 

He was brought to a throne room, which Desmond figured to be a power move. Showing how low his position was on society's metaphorical food chain. He forced down a small bemused smile, tugging off the scarf over his face as he bowed deeply to the man before him. “Prince Doran.” He was definitely lacking in the knowledge of how to properly address and talk to royalty, but honestly wasn't too bothered by that. Desmond wore his lack of 'formal education' as an armour. It made it easier for him to talk to and befriend those in the lower rungs of society.

 

“Desmond Sand.” The man on the throne nodded curtly in response. He did not appear happy. Then again, a man with severe gout would not be happy with the constant pain.

 

The assassin and healer straightened up, observing the way the prince assessed him as he began, “There has been talk-”

 

“You mean the spies you sent to infiltrate my home?” Desmond placidly corrected. Doran narrowed his eyes at the rude interruption, but Desmond didn't like to be away from his home for long and wanted this meeting to be over with quickly.

 

“...You understand our concern, of course.” The other man recovered, “Building a community like you have, it can make any lord nervous.”

 

Desmond shrugged, “I don't see why. We haven't harmed anyone, if anything the hospital is helping. We also offer sanctuary for those who needed it. If I'm being honest, I think the homeless issue within Sunspear has actually gone down, with me opening up my compound to those who need a place to live.”

 

“And you did so, without my permission.”

 

“If you feel I am trying to overthrow your power and command, Prince Doran, then your fears are unfounded. I have no desire to rule, nor does my people wish to. I can say quite confidently that the people within my compound are loyal to Dorne.”

 

There was a moment of held silence, particularly on Desmond's wording, which the older man noticed, a tick in his jaw.

 

“You step far to quietly for one who declares himself a maester.” Prince Doran pointed out, “And you wear no chains.”

 

Ticking his lips up in a bemused smile, Desmond replied guilelessly, “Who said anything about me being a maester? I am a healer, that is different.”

 

Prince Doran scoffed, leaning forward in his seat as he accused, “So you've had no education. That makes me worry for the people under your care.”

 

Desmond felt his hackles rise in offence, managing to stifle that down so that when he responded, his tone was effortlessly cool, “The lives and health of my patients and people are my first priority. I would ask you don't insult me on this matter, your highness.”

 

Doran dipped his head in acknowledgment, however there was a look of faint triumph in his eyes, having successfully found what he believed to be a weak spot. It wasn't a secret to those that knew Desmond however. Everyone knew cared deeply for all within the compound as well as those that visit for help. He carried that proudly.

 

“However, there was still the topic of what goes on behind the hospital.”

 

“Besides the community of people trying to live peacefully?”

 

That got him a deeper glare, “Do not take me a fool, Desmond Sand. I can see the sword you wear at your hip, the way you walk as a man taught to fight. If you are building up an army-”

 

Desmond snorted. “An army. No, your highness. It's something far more dangerous, but none of your people are in danger as long as you don't hurt the masses.”

 

“Are you threatening me?” Prince Doran growled, fists tightening over the ends of his throne's armrests. The guards which had remained quiet and watchful tensed minutely at those words. Desmond ignored them.

 

“Let's lay it all out in the open, you highness.” He finally sighed. He hated talks like this, finding them exhausting. Desmond was an honest guy, after all. Stepping forward, he opened his arms out in a gesture of peace, “The people that are being trained within my compound are ones who will not hurt an innocent. They are, if anything, trained to keep the peace and to get rid of those that pose a threat to that peace.”

 

“From what I've gathered, you've had this place for over five years. May I ask what you were doing, to keep the peace during the Rebellion?”

 

Desmond froze, tersely replying, “None of my people were trained.”

 

“No, but I think you were,” Doran leant back, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he stated, “Assassin.”

 

A heavy silence.

 

“That is what you are, is it not?” The older man continued, amusement playing on his lips. “You are a dishonourable killer. One who could have killed the Mad King before all of this escalated.”

 

That stupid fucking guilt welled up in his stomach as he tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. Desmond held back the urge to glance away. Now was not the time to show vulnerability. “I did not wish to be an assassin, in the beginning. I only wished to save lives and live peacefully.”

 

“But something changed.” Doran concluded, eyes narrowing one more. “What was it? Lost a friend, some family? You are a Sand, which means you are of noble blood by one of your parents.”

 

Jaw clenching, Desmond said, “I don't know my mother, nor do I care. I was raised by my blacksmith father and that's my only parent I am concerned with.”

 

“So a friend then?”

 

Reaching up, Desmond tugged down his hood to meet the other's man's gaze fully. “I could've saved your sister.” He declared.

 

Immediately, Doran stilled, grief and rage simmering in his dark eyes. “What.” The prince whispered hoarsely, a warning held in his tone of voice. Desmond needed to tread carefully. The guilt was too much however for him to not be honest with Elia's brother. Desmond's jaw clenching as he admitted. “I wanted to stay away from the war, from everything. I didn't want to get involved. Until I learnt what happened to the princess, and I realised that in keeping a peaceful life, I went against that one tenet of my Creed that I always followed closely: Stay the blade from the flesh of the innocent. I may not have been the one to directly harm her, but in my inaction, I helped-”

 

“Enough!”” Doran growled. His earlier posture of poise and control had disappeared, shoulder taut and lips pulled into a grimace of grief.

 

Desmond shut his mouth. There was that heavy silence again, but it felt worse. His honesty always got him into trouble.

 

“You will not harm my family.” Doran finally spoke up, and Desmond politely ignored the faint tremor in his voice even as he had to correct, “I won't harm any of you as long as you do not become greedy with power and hurt your people.”

 

Another stern glare. “You have no power to demand such things from your prince.”

 

'You are not my prince.' Desmond wanted to snap back. He was beholden to no man, following the moral code he laid out himself, knowing that in some cases they were far better laws to follow than the ones in place in this world. Fuck the monarchy and feudalism. However, he held his tongue.

 

The other man then nodded in tired concession after a long drawn moment, waving a hand, “We will not hurt our people. And in return, you will get rid of those we deem as enemies.”

 

“I will only do so if they are truly a problem, and not because of some minor insult.” The assassin immediately argued calmly, “We will gather intel before we decide to make them a mark.”

 

The prince struggled with his frustration, much to Desmond's wry amusement. He may be striking a deal to allow the unhindered existence of his compound – and brotherhood – but he wasn't going to roll over and make it easy for the man.

 

They hashed out the broad details tersely, before Doran dismissed him. “I will send the contract when it's finalised for you to sign.”

 

Desmond bowed in agreement and replied with a tiny smile, “And I will send it back with my corrections.”

 

The man rubbed tiredly at his eyes, “Get out, Desmond Sand.”

 

“Thank you for your time, your highness.”

 

---

 

 

It took the Martells a long time to give Desmond a mark for the Mountain. Though, he reasoned to himself, they perhaps wanted to give it time to make it as unobvious as possible that they were gunning for the man's head. They had had marks over the years, primarily Desmond having some of his people out and travelling Westeros, gathering intel and creating a budding network. He had plans in the future to start up bureaus around the seven kingdoms, already having one in the process of refurbishment in an old small keep within the Red Mountains, along with what was once his old home in Sunspear.

 

So when he reached his early forties, having very much NOT involved his people in the uprising of the Iron Islands – he wasn't Edward Kenway and had no experience in commanding ships – and trained up a large number of Assassins, already starting to train the third generation after they reached the right age, Desmond received the mark.

 

He knew it was a mark from the Martells by the bird that they used, Desmond spotting it out his tower's window as it circled before landing on one of the open window's ledge. With Desmond using eagles – which he got young and a few as eggs from a stall in Plankytown, and trained himself – for Assassin business and the pigeons used by the rest of the compound, a raven was obvious. Corvids were known for their intelligence, but nothing could beat a pigeon in it's homing ability, and they were intelligent when trained properly.

 

Taking the scroll from it's leg, and kindly offering it a bowl of water, Desmond unravelled the tiny slip of paper to see just the name written.

 

Sighing, the man turned to the bird, giving its back a light stroke, “I saved the world from a solar flare, think I can fell a mountain?”

 

Behind him a voice piped up, “At least this mountain is only a human.”

 

Grinning, Desmond looked behind him to see Obah. In the years after he began his assassin training, his slight form had changed to corded, lean muscle. There would always be that slightness, not everyone can become fucking shredded like Damian. And in all that training, a confidence grew into Obah, one that wasn't due to knowing how to entice people into a bed. There would always be that prowl in his walk, the tiny hint of sway in his hips that never disappeared after years of it being engrained, but it faded enough in time to not be so noticeable.

 

Obah also grew a carefully maintained scruff, trimmed and soft from oils. A scar on his cheek from a knife practice gone wrong meant that a white line cut through the thick dark stubble. Desmond loved to kiss it. Gone were the androgynous features, leaning more masculine as he grew older, but Obah was still beautiful.

 

His lover – his partner who finally declared his last name as Sand two weeks after they got together, giving Desmond a cheeky grin – came over to brush some non-existent lint off the taller man's shoulders. An affectionate fussing display that had Desmond softening. “Yes, at least this one is human.”

 

“How are you going to kill him?”

 

“Well,” He gave a casual shrug, “They just want me to kill him, but I thought I could perhaps kill his group of men that follow him about.”

 

“And a war between the North and the Lannisters just starting would be a perfect time to kill him,” Obah reasoned out loud, something that both of them figured, “Everyone will be too focused on the battles to come than the death of the Mountain. They wouldn't have the time to investigate until much later.”

 

“Plus,” Desmond added dryly, “I have a feeling this wouldn't be my only mark in the coming war. The Martells are taking this as an opportunity to kill off all their enemies, it seems.”

 

Concerned, Obah peered up at him, cupping his cheek. Desmond would be a liar if he said he didn't like that gesture. It reminded him of Ezio and Sofia, and how affectionate they were with one another. “Are you alright with that?” The question pulled him from his reminiscing and he gave a thoughtful pause.

 

“Yeah,” Desmond nodded after a moment. “I think I am.”

 

Pleased, Obah pressed a small kiss to his lips. “Well, we will be behind you every step of the way, Mentor.”

 

---

 

Taking down the Mountain was easy, if you didn't fight him straight on. Desmond knew he himself was a good sword master, better even, with the near two other life times from Altair and Ezio. However, he didn't want to prolong this mark, and there was also the group that followed Clegane to worry about as well. It was easier to trail them as they travelled through the Crownlands towards the Riverlands, waiting until they settled down for the night around a dimly lit fire, and meticulously slice their throats.

 

However, with the main target, Desmond used his hidden blade to strike through his neck, the man jerking awake, gargling with confusion and fury, seeing the sight of his attacker watching passively as he suffocated and bled out. The man had tried to stand up, to fight back, but pressing on his bleeding throat had him weakened and falling back down.

 

When finally the light disappeared behind his eyes, Desmond closed them, murmured a small prayer, and then cut off his head. Into a large jar with liquid to preserve it, Desmond then shoved that into a sack and slung it over his shoulder. He set the bodies on fire.

 

Desmond then had a pit stop to make in the capital, a couple of brothels to peek into and gather some intel with his spies. Originally, Desmond wasn't going to, best to get out of dodge as soon as possible. However, he doesn't make it up north very often, and wanted to personally check in with his people.

 

Which was how his sixth sense locked onto a figure glowing gold in one particular brothel. A child, which he had seen many a times in such establishments, much to his distaste. He tried to get those kids out as much as possible, but he couldn't save anyone.

 

But this little girl, he could. With her sad eyes, her terrified and too skinny form, Desmond was going to save her.

 

It was nothing, killing a man who forced a child into prostitution. He had done it before and didn't doubt he would do it again in the future. Collecting an object from the mark, the bird pin, had her elated and astonished. It didn't matter that he killed a high profile person – and potentially caused more problems for the realm – what mattered was the fact that he had set the girl free from her captor.

 

Little Jeyne Poole was free. And she was coming home to the Sand Nest.

 

 

On the ship, just as they were casting off, Jeyne stared forlornly at the city. Curious, Desmond asked, “Have you forgotten something?”

 

“A friend.”

 

His heart clenched sympathetically. “Another child prostitute?” If she had told him, he could've maybe gotten her out too. For now, he would just have to send a letter once her reached the Nest again, asking about the friend-

 

“Sansa Stark.” Jeyne cut through his thoughts, and the rest she said was white noise to his ears. Another fucking princess, trapped in that fucking cursed place.

 

He felt that past guilt slowly well up once more, still trying to play it cool as they continued to talk. It even felt like ash in his mouth, as he asked why he should save Sansa. If anything, he wanted to see how far Jeyne would go for a friend, and if that was something to nurture into caring for the brotherhood she might possibly join. She already showed decent agility and bravery on the roof tops during their escape.

 

Jeyne was reluctant at first. However, she came around to agreeing to join the brotherhood. Honestly, Desmond felt a little bad about that manipulation, but if they managed to get her up to a certain proficiency and she rescues her friend, then he would offer her the choice of going home or staying in the Nest. He felt like a monster. But Desmond could see how desperately she wanted to save her friend, and he would do what he could to help her, to give her the tools she needed. It was one thing to kill the Mountain and then the Master of Coin, but it was another to save a major political hostage in the middle of a war. It would need far more planning. Assassins took lives, not save them.

 

But Desmond knew that he would do everything he could to help save that girl. He won't let Sansa Stark become another Elia.

 

---

 

Jeyne Poole was a fucking delight, and fit in well enough with her new martial siblings when they returned to the Nest. He had caught on during the first few days of knowing one another on the ship this hidden sass and sarcasm she had, and it was hilarious to see it brought out, that fear and wariness leaving her eyes. And she took to training like a fish to water, only muttering some complaints. Her determination to save her friend was impressive, and you could have worse reasons for becoming an assassin.

 

He kept tabs on Sansa Stark after Jeyne's little note got a response. He didn't want to push Jeyne through all that work only for it to be for nothing. Yes, Desmond could've absolutely got her out himself, but he noticed that there was a certain spark in this generation's drive, and after some time, he concluded it was Jeyne sharing her self-given quest. The others jumped in on helping her out, and he was so fucking proud of their team work and loyalty.

 

With every generation that rose, it seemed they were better than the previous.

 

---

 

Sat on the beam where novices made their first Leap of Faith, back against the outside of the tower, Desmond observed his home and people. He spotted the novices in the midst of sword practise, Jeyne sticking out like a sore thumb with her two blades instead of one. He also watched the coming and goings of the hospital, some people filtering out, having received the treatment they needed and returning home.

 

Scuffing noise below him, and Desmond peered down to see Obah and Laneth climbing up, his lover coming to sit in front of him on the same beam, with Laneth parking himself onto another beam to his right. Arching a brow, Desmond dryly stated, “Welcome to my office, what can I do for you?”

 

Obah snorted as Laneth drawled in his usual unimpressed voice, “We need to talk successors.”

 

“I'm not that old.” Desmond couldn't help but grouse, looking to Obah for support, “Right?”

 

“Your grey hairs are very dignified.” Obah dutifully complimented. It was not the answer he was looking for but it made him soften all the same. And a part of him loved his grey hairs too, proof that he made it twice as long than he had in his previous life.

 

Laneth faked a gag. “Not while I'm here, or I will push you both off.”

 

Chuckling, Desmond gave them his full attention, “Right, successor. Reason for this discussion?”

 

“Because we need to start making them known.” the man got straight to the point. “They need to begin to take up leadership, whether that is guiding in training, shown how to run the accounts for the future, or even leading some group missions. You're not a lord, but you need an heir of some kind. It gives the rest of the compound stability in knowing there isn't some succession crisis. Start now, and build them up while they have your support to fall back on. You don't want it to be decided too late, or to have any in-fighting over who should be the next Mentor.” Laneth firmly explained. He doesn't speak much, but when he does he gets to the root of any problem. Desmond admired him for that.

 

“Any suggestions?” Desmond asked, curious to know their opinions. He had his own in mind, but always looked to his closest of de facto-advisors for ideas.

 

“Someone from the current novices.” Obah replied, elaborating at the Mentor's arched brow. “They are young, giving them enough time to adjust to the future role. Most of them have also been raised in the Nest for years, so they have stronger ties to this place. It's their home.”

 

“And anyone in particular?”

 

The pair shared a look, before Laneth rolled his eyes, “I know you like her but probably not Jeyne.”

 

A little offended for the girl, Desmond frowned. “Just because she hasn't been here that long-”

 

Laneth held up a hand. “It's not due to that. She has quite the strong love for this place, though I suspect she has a lot of guilt over her old home in the North. But no. She is charismatic, that is obvious. She is talented and encouraging of her siblings. But she is not leadership material. Or at least not right now from what we've seen.”

 

“I would suggest you pick a few to begin to prepare for, and figure out as time goes on.” Obah added. “There are a few good contenders, but I definitely think those that don't make it should still be given some high rank within the compound. Whether that's becoming a Rafiq in one of the bureaus that we have around the kingdoms, or a Master Assassin in charge of specific duties around the Nest.”

 

Nodding thoughtfully, Desmond commented, “First Brother and Sister of the novices are both good contenders for Mentor, Katar is very level headed, and Nadia a decent peace keeper. Abeela is a quick thinker, coming up with plans on the spot.” However, the one thing that came to his mind was if he would be able to transfer his Eagle Vision to the next Mentor, as that was one of the key reasons he was good at siphoning out bullshit and spies. It was actually accidental that he learnt it was something he could pass on.

 

His arms, which he always kept covered due to this fact, would glow with circuitry lines whenever he used his Eagle Vision, a connection to his past life. Desmond had shown Obah them, flickering his second sight on, and when Obah touched them curiously, the older man felt a deep shuddering shock, and for a split second, Obah's eyes flashed golden too.

 

It took some experimenting, but now his lover had the second sight too. However, Obah gaining that ability could be a fluke, and the future Mentor might not be able to obtain it themselves. He also could only hope that whoever he passed it to, if able to, that they would pass it on as well. Something to watch for. Maybe he could see if Obah could be the one to bequeath it to Desmond's successor.

 

Turning away from those thoughts, experiments for another time, Desmond listened in as the other men continued to discuss the potential of all the novices, head leaning back to soak up the sinking sunlight and conversation. He loved peaceful moments like this, and never took them for granted.

 

---

 

Desmond took no pleasure in taking a life. Maybe he had a sliver of satisfaction at removing a horrible person from the world, knowing they wouldn't be hurting anyone any more, but he never enjoyed it. It was a job, a task, and he was primarily neutral to it.

 

However, that satisfaction reared it's head as he sank a knife into Tywin Lannister's throat as the older man slept in the night. He may not be able to bring Elia Martell back, but her killers were dead now, and that would have to be enough for his atonement. The guilt may linger, but it wouldn't be as strong now.

 

And then the bells began to ring, cutting him out of his thoughts. Cursing, Desmond ran to the window, leaning out to gauge the keep and the city beyond. Second sight flicking on, Desmond could spy the bright blue of his assassins moving about the roof tops, particularly the group with a gold figure in the middle. Sansa Stark.

 

Having achieved the goal of getting Jeyne's friend, now they just had to get out of King's Landing alive.

 

Noise from beyond Twyin's door had Desmond climbing out of the window in the rush, skirting the side of the tower and across slanted roof tops, the Mentor ended up meeting with Estella, one of his master assassins from the first generation.

 

“Mentor.” She nodded, words quiet. They crouched next to one another, looking over at the guards that were scurrying about like ants, searching for the intruders.

 

“The other marks?” Desmond murmured back.

 

“Cersei is dead.” She confirmed. Humming in acknowledgment, the man searched for the other adult assassins, and spotted a pair running after the novices. Who were running into the city.

 

Cursing under his breath at the sight of guards pursuing them, Desmond and Estella shared a grim look before hurrying after.

 

The race to meet up with the rest of his people was a blur of instincts. He took long strides across roof tops and threw himself at and over walls. The only thing running through his head in that moment was to get to the children. The other adults were falling in line behind him, as Desmond trusted them to be able to get themselves out of a tough situation, but the children were new to this.

 

Inwardly, shame wanted to rear it's head for damning the children to this blood soaked and dangerous life, but Desmond had to ignore it. There wasn't any time for such thoughts. All that rushed through his mind in that moment was both the instinct to protect, and to kill. Desmond let it take over, sinking into the familiarity.

 

---

 

 

It was a relief to be back on a ship, departing for home now, and with most of his people whole and in one piece. And though he tried to project ease and laugh at how Nanian and Chandni were finally pulling their heads out of their ass's, Obah being parted from his side was worrying. He was Nanian's best chance of survival with his wound, having been Desmond's first apprentice, and he was a fierce fighter. Like Desmond, Obah viewed this particuarl generation as his own children, and would die before he let anything happen to the novices.

 

Which was exactly what he was worried about.

 

However, as Desmond caught the knowing gaze sent his way via Laneth, the Mentor held back the urge to go running back to King's Landing, and instead trust that Obah would get the children and himself out of the capital safely.

 

Nonetheless, Desmond sent Altair off to watch over the three of them, as well as having a way to communicate with Desmond if need be. The capital was going to be teeming with chaos. Not only had they killed the King, and the Queen Mother, they killed the Hand, who was the really running the show here. He couldn't imagine the scramble for control that had begun, and the mess it would be. Luckily, him and his people will be far, far away from all that nonsense.

 

---

 

Sansa slipped into the life in the Sand Nest with uncertainty. Her skittish behaviour was understandable and he made sure she and Shae were placed with Juana, an older and very motherly woman. She would make it her life mission to get the two girls fed well and taken care off. She walked around cautious except when around Jeyne, waiting for danger to be on the other side of corners and behind doors. It was saddening to watch and Desmond wished they had not left her there for three years. But that was the past, and at least she was alive and not like Elia. 

 

The girl reminded Desmond of Jeyne too, her tongue just as sharp but having more poise and worry about appearances. Jeyne had been quick in adjusting but it took Sansa awhile to do the same. She flitted from helping out with some chores, to then temporarily apprenticing with a weaver, but found it lack. When she finally gave into both his own and Jeyne's subtle nudging, Sansa joined on with the healers, and truly bloomed into her confidence.

 

Obah, when he had returned and before Sansa took up healing, had been exhausted from Nanian's and Chandni that Desmond could only laugh at him. And then sweep him away into their home to spend the rest of the day alone together and reuniting quite vigorously in their bed. And when Sansa went to Desmond about healing, he directed her to Obah.

 

Though Obah was trained as a master assassin, he was a healer first, and a perfect balance to Desmond. If the older male was the Mentor of the assassins, Obah was now the unofficial Mentor of the hospital, and he couldn't be more prouder. It was a shame how unlikely Jeyne becoming the next Mentor would be, then the Nest would have the next version of himself and Obah running the compound, as Sansa was taking to healing like a fish to water, mind quick and hands steady. But, it is what it is, and he just wanted give them peace. They earned it.

 

---

 

 

Personal Journal of Nadia Sand, Second Mentor of the Sand Nest

 

 

I have never seen Dorne rain. I had heard of the flash floods that hit the more northern parts and mountains of the kingdom, but never had I seen it myself. It rained today, when Mentor died. It was as if the gods themselves were mourning the loss of a good man.

 

And he was a good man. Many may say otherwise, if they knew how he killed, but I will always disagree. He carried goodness until the very end. He built my home from the ground up, gave me a home far away from my father's heavy hands, and I gained a real family. No one who knew of his deeds could call him bad, or evil.

 

And I miss him already. It's only been a few hours, but I feel his loss so fiercely I cannot imagine how Obah is feeling. He has been quiet all day. We all knew the Mentor's end was drawing near. He was a healthy man until his late seventies, having been retired since he was fifty and I was given his mantel. Age and his active life finally caught up with him, and he began to slow. I felt like he could've last longer, but there was an acceptance in him at the end.

 

We all got a chance to talk to him before he passed. Everyone. From a scullery maid to the beekeeper. Desmond had a way of making everyone feel special in their own way, always offering an ear and a word of advice.

 

But we all knew it was coming, so Obah appears to be taking it well. But I do not think he will last for long without his husband. That man's love for Desmond is something hard to comprehend at times. There is a vastness to it, and no one understood Desmond like Obah. Not even Damian, Desmon's right hand when he was leading the Nest.

 

I miss him so much. He will always be my real father. Blood means nothing in the nest, it is the bonds made that do.

 

But I will not let my grief falter my strength. I will carry on his Creed and his determination to provide a home to those without. I will be good, and I will decisive in my choices. I will not destroy what he had created, but preserve and even expand from it. He left clear instructions, but never orders. He trusted me to lead our family, and I will not fail him.

 

Safety and peace, Mentor. I hope that you find it truly in your afterlife.

Notes:

I have no shame in giving Desmond a husband. Please note it was not at all planned until I began to write Obah and Desmond and I thought 'oh this twink is SO in love with oblivious Desmond', and here we go! The reason Sansa and Jeyne never noticed? Because their life was wrapped around one another. Jeyne was the last of her siblings to realise that Obah and Desmond were together, buts thats because she is a lesbian. men? what men?

Anyways im tired and rambling apologies. thank you for reading!

Notes:

Desmond, observing Jeyne and her love for Sansa: Harold, they're lesbians!

Jupe-pantalons are basically harem pants, but I didn't want to call them that. Just, all their pants will be like them unless specified otherwise