Identity (A Song of Ice and Fire/Exo Crossover)
Title: Identity
Rating: PG
Word Count: 665
Genre: Drama
Summary: When the last link to Kris's heritage is ripped away from him, he has to choose for himself what path his life should take.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The smoke from the funeral pyre was dying out, but Kris remained standing beside it. All other members of the tribe had drifted away, eventually - but even as his eyes streamed from the ash being blown into them and his head spun from the sheer overload of emotion, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
His mother had been slowly dying for years now, the strong, capable woman who had taken care of him in his infancy being constantly worn down by the plague that threatened to overcome her every day.
Really, it was a wonder that she’d lasted this long.
She had been stubborn, though. It was said that no one who hadn’t grown up on Sothoryos could survive the harsh climate of the continent for longer than a year or two at most - and she’d stuck it out for over sixteen years.
It had all been for him. She had told him, when he was older, that she couldn’t bear to leave with the rest of their party from Tyrosh - not when she knew that there was always the chance that a Myrish assassin would find him, a chance that was so much greater anywhere but Sothoryos.
He choked back a sob. The tribesmen had taken them in, given them a place and a chance for survival. But Kris’s mother had given him so much more than that. She had told him the histories of his homeland, the language of High Valyrian as well as the bastard Tyroshi dialect and even the Common Tongue, she had even given her life for his.
The tribesmen might have given him his life, but Lyriia had given Kris his identity. And he was a man grown, now. The war with Myr was finally over, after Volantis finally intervened; the last passing ship had brought that welcome news. Besides which, it was highly unlikely that anyone would even remember the existence of the old Archon’s son. He would be no less safe anywhere else.
There was no sense in staying here any longer. His mother had been unfit to travel, but alone, he was not. She had died for him, but she would never have had to, if the Myrish Magister Thylos had not, one day so long ago, decided that Myr’s wealth was insufficient, and needed to be bolstered by that of Lorath and Tyrosh.
Abruptly, he whirled and strode away into the jungle, hundreds of muddled thoughts suddenly crystallising into one firm purpose.
He had been expecting protests of some sort, but when he approached Ayorobala, the elder had only smiled, almost in resignation, and given him his blessing to go. There had been no trace of surprise in the old man’s eyes.
Two days later, he reached the wide bay at the end of the corsair’s road where trading ships would often stop off. He was in luck - there was a ship already there. He had feared having to wait for what could have been almost a month; despite the increase in traffic through the bay, it remained a far-flung and rarely travelled route. This was probably because the riches that flourished along the Sothoryosi coast would not be found easily by anyone who didn’t know where to look.
Kris hailed the nearest man to him, using the Common Tongue. The stranger looked surprised; he supposed it wasn’t often that they succeeded in communicating with the Sothoryosi natives.
“Would it be possible to barter passage on this ship?” asked Kris, who had never been one for beating around the bush.
“Well, to be sure,” came the reply, though the other man was eyeing him warily. “There’ll be no detours, mind - this ship be headed straight for Braavos, so you’d best be wanting to end up there.”
‘Braavos,’ thought Kris, an idea forming in the back of his mind, jolted by an offhand comment his mother had made many years before. “Yes,” he replied, a smile slowly creeping across his face. “Braavos would be perfect.”
END
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