✓ | POOR JUDGMENT (A.FORRESTER)

Second Sons. Chapter Twenty.

The Unsullied. Men of different ages running past in the same uniform, following one another like a heard of ants. If there were anyone you should be afraid of in Essos, the Unsullied were surely one of them - they killed without remorse, and with extreme brutality, trained to reject pain and only fight. A rigorous and painful process, Cynthia imagined, one that would take sheer force of will to endure; yet judging from the large quantity of them, she started to doubt that very quickly. The only, somewhat, reassuring thing about the Unsullied was their leader. Daenerys. If they were here, so was she, which meant Cynthia had indeed found the camp. It was the late afternoon when she arrived, not having spent as long walking as she'd thought she would've. It was a relief to know she'd arrived so quickly, though challenges still lay ahead, she was merely happy to have finally arrived.

Passing through the camp quickly, Cynthia prayed to the gods she would not have to explain her presence without spying Malcolm or Asher first. The dawning idea that Asher might have changed over the 4 years only phasing her briefly as she weaves through the oddly arranged scout camp - so far going undetected.  It was when she came to the large opening in the middle that she began to fear getting caught, as there was a growing amount of soldiers around that would soon notice her unwanted appearance. She was in the centre of the camp, the only relieving thing being the knowledge that Daenerys was surely close - probably being at the far tent at the North side, overlooking the view of Meereen. The temptation to go to her was too tempting, as for the last few months all Cynthia had known was that she had a sister out there, who she now knew to be close by. Had there not been the restriction of finding Malcolm, Cynthia would no doubt be at her tent by now, planning every word she said in hopes of sounding believable, and not some rambling, slightly insane, Northerner, that's come in hopes of compensation.

Malcolm was sure to be near, if not a days walk away, there was a large chance he'd already arrived. And in which case Cynthia was in desperate need of finding him. Despite having travelled such a distance, Cynthia  was more afraid than she'd let on, not wishing to be alone for much longer. She needed to find Malcolm soon, let him know she had reached them and, after 4 years, finally come face to face with Asher again. It was now, being potentially a few moments away, that Cynthia truly acknowledged how much she had sincerely missed the exiled son, and how much she wished to be with him again, and finally bring him home. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like for him, to not have been listened to and been exiled for something he had no control over. Sent somewhere new and scary, with no one and nothing. Every night for the first year, Cynthia cried herself to sleep, worrying about him and missing him so much it hurt. She couldn't sleep with the pain, and found herself regularly curled up with Rodrik, finally able to let it all out to someone who understood what she'd gone through, and was in just as much pain from the loss of Asher. They both missed him dearly, and spent a lot of time together just doing anything to make the pain go away. Eventually it worked for Rodrik; sadly Cynthia wasn't so lucky.

Yet suddenly the pain, and the fear, dissolved, disappearing into a distant memory. Everything became clearer for a moment, and all that had been thought of before, didn't mean anything. Rodrik, Daenerys, Ethan, Mira, Gared, Arthur, none of them mattered, or were even considered, in that moment, as the only thing that phased Cynthia's mind was what stood in front of her - or rather who stood in front of her. Standing out on the horizon, with the sunlight outlining his surprisingly well built figure, his defined muscles clearly gained from years of fighting, and the orange glow of the sky reflected off of his clunky armour, was the most beautiful thing Cynthia had seen since arriving in Essos - the thing that had ruined her life on more than one account, and had all the same proved to be the best thing in it; Asher. He stalked closer, clearly not having seen her yet, and with his uncle, and an unfamiliar companion, both trailing behind him at a similar pace. She couldn't call out for him, or even run towards him, all she could do was watch as they neared; every moment ever spent with Asher, or all the times wasted on missing him and wishing he was home with her, and that she'd told him when she'd had the chance, all filling her head in the passing seconds, obscuring her thoughts, so that any logical idea she may have had in that situation were all blurred, and revolved solely around one thing. Asher.

"By the Gods-" Echoed a voice from somewhere a lot closer than had been anticipated, regaining Cynthia's attention after momentarily falling into an Asher-induced daze."What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?" Exclaimed the voice, one that Cynthia had not heard in some months. "Hello Malcolm," She winced, expecting a rant that never came, and managing a vague smile whilst trying not to look past the man now stood in front of her. "Who the fuck is she?" Yelled the third member of the trio; a brute of a woman wearing leather armour, and possessing many scars. Cynthia, however, paid her little attention, and instead shared a hug with the only thing close to an uncle Cynthia had ever known. The relief she felt at having found him so soon would've been relished, had she not still been overwhelmed by a growing fear of what was coming when she let go. Stood a mere few feet away was the one person that had so heavily affected Cynthia's life since she was 4. He had been her everything, and still was, yet the unwavering fear that had haunted her every step of her journey, the fear that everything she had once with him, everything she had dreamt of, everything that they'd been through up until this point, was all balancing on the edge, wavering at the possibility of what could happen in mere moments.

Then she stepped away. Everything fell silent for a moment, a quietness that ate away at Cynthia the longer it went on. She didn't look past Malcolm, she couldn't, she was too afraid that if she cast her gaze to Asher, he wouldn't know who he was looking at; or worse, he wouldn't be happy to see her, and thus it might be the last time she'd ever lay eyes on him again. That was a possibility that suffocated her, just thinking about. But before she had any time to think of what to do next, her entire body was engulfed by a pair of strong arms, that wrapped tightly around her in such a way that Cynthia all but wanted to forget everything else, why she came to Essos, what she'd left behind, everything that had happened over the years, and just stay in his arms forever, savouring the time spent in her love's embrace. "How are you here?" He asked, his voice sounding as fragile as that of a child, vulnerable and weak, and afraid of rejection. "A ship," She remarked with a hint of humour in her tone, though from what she could hear, her voice trembled just as much as Asher's, the fear of this not being real evident in both parties'. Against her wishes, he released his grip, looking down at her with the most beautiful eyes ever before seen by the young Glover, ones that resembled an unknown sadness to them, despite the growing smile on his heavily bearded face, hurt still lingered in his gaze. Admittedly, though it was new to Cynthia, the facial hair made him look older, more mature, even when she knew he wouldn't be. If anything, being away from home would've given him the chance to be the wild child he wasn't allowed to be back home, the side of him Cynthia had always loved the most. "I've missed you," Asher beamed, his classic grin spread across his handsome features, and his arms still loosely slung around her waist, as his gaze bore into hers. "Shame. I didn't miss you at all," She replied quickly, a confident smirk residing on her face as she recalled his last words to her before his departure; the disbelief still not having vanished completely from the exiled son's expression. "Of course not," He chuckled, easily picking the small figure up in his strong embrace, one that Cynthia could easily get used to, and twirling her around in the air like when they were children.

"What are you doing here?" Malcolm asked again, chuckling as he watched the childish pair before him. After a long moment of Asher hugging Cynthia tightly, and the two of them laughing uncontrollably, he finally set her down, his arm not leaving her waist as they turned their attention to Asher's uncle. "Rodrik sent me to help." Cynthia replied breathless, hand intertwined with Asher's as she spoke. "Rodrik?" The Forrester repeated in alert, his eyes widening at the mention of his brother, "He's alive?" "We thought he died at the Twins," Malcolm exclaimed, sharing in his nephew's shock. "Of course, you left before...all of that. Rodrik came home, alive." Cynthia said solemnly, thinking about all that Malcolm had missed since he'd left. He had departed for White Harbour a few days before Ramsay paid his visit. "What does Rodrik think you can do here?" Asher inquired, his brow furrowing as he looked down at her. Something hitched then, and for some reason the words didn't come out correctly. "Alright, so when I said Rodrik sent me, I might have meant I begged to come and he finally gave in," She smiled innocently, feeling a slight tang of guilt wane her happiness. She was cautious as to what Asher's reaction would be to knowing of her relation to a Targaryen. The grin reappeared on Asher's face soon after she spoke, spreading across his tanned face, his eyes sparkling as he gazed down at his old friend. "So you did miss me?"