✓ | POOR JUDGMENT (A.FORRESTER)

Mother of Dragons. Chapter Twenty One.

The four of them walked onwards, the tent in clear line of sight now. Cynthia strode at Asher's side, not being allowed to leave even if she had wished to. His hand had easily kept hold of hers in their march, his warm fingers enclosed around her own and sending flutters of heat across her entire body. It was a sensation she'd rarely been exposed to, the exceptions being the occasions in which Asher had touched her before, and she loved every second of it. Had it lasted any longer, she was sure she would melt and manage not to complain at all. She had been so relieved to have found them so easily, that she hadn't even considered their next moves, towards their goal of getting the men they need back home, but now it was clear they were back to business. Cynthia still didn't know who the tall woman, striding on Asher's other side, was, but she supposed she was just another companion Asher had acquired on his adventures in Yunkai - she didn't look like Asher's type, which was somewhere relieving for the young Glover, whom still loved him beyond description. He would occasionally look towards her, his grey eyes illuminated in the eastern sunlight, that dusted them with golden flakes, and contrasted them to his surprisingly bronze tan - all of which suited him well - but it was the flash of familiarity and warmth in his gaze that had Cynthia's bones failing her at the joints, and made her thankful for his supportive grip laced in her hand, for fear she might have cealed over all together. He, as per usual, paid no attention to the effect he had on her, and kept his hand in hers - still absent mindedly looking to her frequently - but not noticing the consequences of his actions. 

It was nice to have his hand in hers again, in the protective way she had adored so much when they were younger. They weren't anything more than good friends as children, but Asher protected her like she were some rare treasure, in need of preservation. He would fight off anyone who dared come near her at any given moment, and would hold her so tightly it was hard to believe she hadn't broken under his strong arms. But, even with his strength, his hold had never felt warmer, or safer, than when he was keeping her safe, and out of harm's way. And after several weeks of travelling, on her own, across the world - and four years of living without the love of her life being nearby -  his strong, protective, grip was what she needed the most, and she welcomed it eagerly. How she wished he knew what it meant to her to have her hand in his pleasant vice. And how she wished she had the courage to tell him so. 

"Asher-fucking-Forrester." The group had only been in the tent a few moments, and it had only taken one swift turn of the man stood in front of them, before Asher had ended up on the floor, and several Unsullied held their weapons at arms to the Forrester - who was laughing the entire time. Croft, Cynthia believed his name was, towered over him, his one eye flaring as he glared at the trouble maker sprawled at his feet. "Son of a poxy whore!" The raven-haired, muscle man exclaimed in fury, clenching his fits at his side as Asher scuttled backwards into a sitting position. "You have some balls walking into my tent, after all these years, with that mumma's monkey grin on your face." If there was anything that got Asher into trouble, more so than his rebellious and ill-planned antics, it was the grin he wore while doing them. The typical Asher grin that Cynthia loved beyond belief, that had got him caught in so much trouble, she couldn't even remember what he'd actually done to start with. 

"Well that went well," Malcolm sniggered from Cynthia's side, "Great friends indeed." Cynthia and Beskha sniggered quietly, watching Asher raise a hand to his presumably aching jaw. "That's it? You're losing your edge, Croft," Asher smirked wildly, his hand still stuck to his beard, but his eyes illuminated with amusement and, probably, adrenaline.  

"You know, you're right. I should kill you. Good fucking advice." Croft snarled back, like an angered dog, his bark biting the chill in the room. "Whoa, no, no, I wasn't actually suggesting..." Asher's voice, despite being slightly frantic, still had the familiar tint of a northern accent slurring through his words, that alone made Cynthia flutter in places she refused to acknowledge - most of the time. Asher scuttled backwards slightly, the smirk still suggested on his face, but not as taunting as it had been before. "You never understood consequences, Asher." Croft barked again, turning his back to the Forrester for extra drama. How right he was, though Cynthia didn't want to agree with him, Asher had never paid attention to the outcome of his actions - she knew that first hand. "One stupid mistake cost me an eye." Well that Cynthia would not put past Asher, doing something so reckless that would then cost other's a great deal more than what he'd have to pay for it. She loved him none the same, but his recklessness had not been helped by his moving to Essos, that was for sure. By this point, Asher had scrambled to his feet, armour clinking on the way up, and still fitting his muscular figure extremely well, and to Cynthia's taste. "But you never learn. You figured you'd steal from me and I'd just forgive you? Not a fucking chance." That didn't sound too unfamiliar either, but the anger seeping through Croft's tone was beginning to unnerve everyone in the tent, even Asher, who refused to let it show - Cynthia knew him well enough to recognise it, even when it wasn't shown through his expression.