The Ghosts of Our Past

In the company of lions.

Tyrion POV

The third sellsword in their entourage bent down and offered him a skin to drink from. The girl was of average stature yet seemed to have a talent for looking down on all men - not just Tyrion. Of all his captors she had been the most quiet and naturally the most intriguing to him.

"What is your name?" He asked, half expecting her to ignore him.
She raised her head and for the first time Tyrion could see her properly. She had rich dark hair that was plaited down her back, loose ringlets framed her face. Her skin was the deep olive tone of Dorne and her dark eyes met his revealing nothing.

"Asha." She said so softly he wasn't sure he'd heard her right.

"Where are you from, Asha?"
She did not respond instead she lowered her head once more and reached for the skin of water.

"Alright then, why are you here girl, do you truly believe Lady Stark will reward you handsomely for your effort?"
She was dressed in dark, slightly ragged clothes - not unusual for a sellsword. Yet she was young, Tyrion thought, perhaps no more than 18 or 19, and unlike the rest of his captors, she had displayed no joy in tormenting him, instead staying as far away from Tyrion as possible.

Female sellswords weren't unheard of but he had never imagined one so young nor so reserved.

She considered his words for a moment, bottling the skin of water and as she moved to stand up once more she looked at him head on. Tyrion could've sworn there was a gleam of mischief in her eyes as she murmered,
"I want to be as rich as a Lannister."

********

"The Starks do not murder men in their beds." Lady Catelyn pronounced haughtily.
"Nor do I," he said. "I tell you again, I had no part in the attempt to kill your son."
"The assassin was armed with your dagger."
"What sort of fool would arm an assassin with his own blade?" To Tyrion's surprise, it was Asha who had spoken.
A hint of a smile played at her lips - she seemed to be finding this all mildly amusing.

Riders

He heard screams of frightened horses and the crash of metal on metal. Chiggen's sword raked across the naked face of a mailed rider, and bronn plunged through the clans men like a whirlwind, cutting down does right and left. Asha had stayed a foot. Tyrion watched as she pressed a kiss to the long dagger in her fingers then reached back and let it fly. The dagger found its mark, lodging deep into the back of a clansmen's neck. She spun another two daggers in her hands and this time threw both together taking out two more riders. Tyrion hadn't realised she was so heavily armed. Ser Rodrik hammered at the big ...

"You need a woman now," Bronn said with a glint in his black eyes. He shoved the boots into his saddle bag. "Nothing like a woman after a man's been blooded, take my word."
Chiggen stopped looting the corpses of the brigades long enough to snort and lick his lips.
He glanced over to Asha who was collecting her daggers from the fallen dead. Tyrion hadn't quite understood her presence before but he had seen how no man had gotten close to her during the battle without a knife buried in him and when her blades had run out she had finally drawn the sword at her side and lept onto one of the free mounts.
So instead he turned to where Lady Stark was dressing Ser Rodrik's wounds. "I'm willing if she is," he said. The free riders broke into laughter, and Tyrion grinned and thought, There's a start.

As he limped back to the others, he glanced again at the slain.

Asha was stood with one of the clansmen's horses, it was scrawny and undersized, with every rib showing. She seemed to be whispering something to the animal in a what Tyrion thought sounded like another language perhaps from one of the free cities, he wasn't sure. Her foreign words seemed to soothe it as she rubbed its mane gently and smiled.