“ oh, i don’t believe that for a moment — what do you know about what is and isn’t fit for a young lady, anyhow ? ” they insist, all lighthearted jest. but wrapped tight within her laughter is a sharp edge of truth, cutting both ways: what do either of them know of each other ? nothing, really, just the memories of childhood, distorted by time, as if seen through mottled glass. perhaps that is why they’re so hungry for information, listening with all their attention for whatever small bits of knowledge might fill in the fifteen-year void that seems to trail after him, like an afterimage burnt into eyes, the overwhelming presence of a great absence. as he tells them of his time in essos, a thousand questions arise, and they wish they had a bit of paper to write them all down before one overtakes the other. assassins and lost eyes and bear cubs, and that’s only what he chooses to tell her — there’s more, she knows, that he’s withholding. “ an retired assassin with only one eye ? must’ve been very good at his job, that’s not the sort of thing you usually survive, ” they muse. but it’s that last bit about the gods that settles within them, softens their heart. they’d spent countless hours in the godswood on bear island, knelt before the heart tree, praying for his safe return, losing a little bit of hope each time — but the gods had listened, they must have, and he had listened to the gods. “ really ? ” they question, rather incredulous. “ you mean, a gift beyond your miraculous return, and my extraordinary luck in finding you ? i don’t think i’ve ever had so much good fortune in a single day. what sort of gift — is here the best place ? ” not that she doubts for a moment that, between the two of them, they can handle a pickpocket or two, but the streets of king’s landing are always treacherous, and rather more so these days.
This story is not about liars and thieves, but it certainly touches on another group of sin. Non-human, abnormal, abysmal. The assassin had awoken, not necessarily out of greed nor malicious intent, but nonetheless there was a fire. Fire was a hungry thing too and didn’t care much about the walls it burnt down. It ate and ate and still the belly was empty, still the stomach gurgled and fumed. All this from the root of his impulse, all this from the soil he was born from. A blackened mound of rotted fate. Self-destruction breeds temptation. Feng looms towards a desolation that other wolves run from. He allows aggression and fear to rule over him, the only king in his body is a dead one. It’s silent inside, like at the bottom of a well someone had long since forgotten to check on. No rain too, a drought that dries up all mud around him and offers little reprieve. This is not to say he doesn’t feel love, for he feels love especially for his sister. The warmth around them only grows larger each moment, an urge to protect and to nurture. ‘ Well, for starters I know proper dining etiquette around young ladies. Or any lady. I’m no savage. ‘ A glance to the side, brows raised in subtle bemusement, but there’s no bother with digging deeper into the pit of absence they both have experienced. ‘ Aye, he was one of the best. One of these days, dear sister, I’ll be without an eye as well. Or an ear. An arm maybe. ‘ Meant to be humorous, but the truth was wielded in those words with a careful dedication. He knew there’d be a bloody end, a downfall not covered in gold and glory, but burnt skin and swamplands eating at his body. A death fit for an assassin. A laugh, bright and cheery, his youthfulness trapped in a single sound. ‘ You know I’m too stubborn for my own good. I would have seen you again, even beyond the grave. Don’t think I ever forgot about you. Your first gift will be safe. ‘ Fingers reach inside one of his coat’s front pockets, pulling out a small wooden carving of a bear holding a long sword. The details were miniscule and shaped out with great care. The smell of beechwood and salt following it. He offers it to them, eyes watching with a hopeful glint. ‘ I carried that around for years. I got it my first summer in Tyrosh. Naive enough to believe I was prepared to come home to you all already. ‘