CHAPTER 1- BRAAVOS:
Author note: (Can anyone tell me how to put spaces between paragraphs?) Okay so this chapter ended up not having any characters from the books or TV show in it, but I promise the next one will, and this storyline is going to come together with the storylines about the other characters that I'm going to have running parallel to this. Enjoy! =)
Dusk was not kind to Braavos. Lengthy bouts of heavy sunlight could dance atop the canals like shimmering sheens of liquid silver, but the evening shadows had a tendency to distort, as ever. The fading feathers of the afternoon sun oft shed a murky cast over algae-encrusted waters, bringing to the surface the grim depths of the stone-lined waterways.
Valar Morghulis. All men must die. Kyra had often mused over the transient death of the fabled 'Lord of Light' as his golden sceptre of flame would sink beneath the horizon before her. She had never had much of a taking for the many religions and all their contradictions. She supposed that was her father's doing. Edd Castor was a Westerosi captain- though he lacked frustratingly the inherent confidence one might ensue from a lifetime of authentic and unexaggerated chronicles of one's (undoubtedly mundane) migration from the modest overlook of River Row, King's Landing, to the spiderweb of canals and squat, stone houses that was the Free City of Braavos. Of course, he had been raised leniently and loosely by the objective laws as laid out by The Seven-Pointed Star. But, like so many Westerosi, took only to regard its words when they appointed him in a moral light. Kyra supposed that's why the Free City attracted him so strongly. Braavos was a city of religious and racial tolerance- being home to such a diverse multitude of people- promoting a harmonious liberality in its very foundation.
But it was the House of Black and White that really intrigued Kyra. The immense, grey structure that stood desolate on the Isle of the Gods, guarded with ridged stone pillars that spanned the towering expanse of the weathered granite. The windowless temple built in favour of the Many-Faced God. She often thought of the men inside: men without names, pasts, secrets, faces. Often, she would steady her raft as she crossed in sight of the temple. Stand amongst the baskets of fresh-caught salmon and jars of herring preserved in salt and close her eyes. Pretend as though she were no one. She was not Kyra, daughter of Edd. She was not the fourteen-year-old, black-haired, olive-skinned daughter of a Bravossi courtesan who peddled fish across moss-coated canals. She could have any face she wanted. Be whoever she wanted. And at the same time, want for nothing. Have no desires. Be nothing and nobody.
But one cannot forget who they are in a matter of seconds. One cannot cast away their identity whilst surrounded by their own belongings and duties.
(PARAGRAPH SPACE)
'Kyra?'
Her mother's voice had always had a tendency to carry over the still, black water of the canals. Even from the centre of the city, Kyra winced at the sound of her mother's high-pitched squawk. Of course, she had halted her work, as she always did, to marvel at the clashing forces of black and white stood side-by-side in twin unity. The great arched doorway that remained between her and the covert mysteries that seeped unknowingly into her dreams at night and anchored themselves solidly at the forefront of her waking mind.
'KYRA?'
Her mother again. She sighed and turned her oar against the murky water, shifting her weight as the motion sent gentle ripples out from behind her. Rare as it was in Braavos, the heavy clouds above threatened to cast a curtain of summer rain over the night. She made her way down the Canal of Heroes, skimming steadily over the silky water.
'Girl,' Gyreo called out to her, as always. He was an old man of perhaps sixty years, drowned in a black robe, his gaunt cheeks catching the shadows like caverns that bored into the sides of his face.
Kyra angled the boat towards where he sat at the canal side. Already, the sun had dipped beneath the jagged line of houses on the horizon, leaving only a wash of indigo smoke over the black velvet of night to mark its passing.
Gyreo held out a shaking arm, a single iron coin lodged between his swollen fingers.
'Evening Gyreo,' Kyra smiled tiredly, plucking the scuffed, iron square from his hand and pocketing it, reaching across the raft for a salted herring.
He nodded sluggishly, taking the fish in a cotton cloth and wrapping it. 'Thank you, sweetheart, I'll see you tomorrow.' He coughed violently, mumbling something under his breath as she pushed off from the side of the waterway with her oar.
(PARAGRAPH SPACE)
Just as the first few droplets melted down from the sky, plucking at the water to her right, she turned into her street. The Castors lived across from a small tavern: The Hanged Horse. Though many of the houses in Braavos were stacked atop one another in slim intervals, many of the buildings close to the Purple Harbour were squat, flat-roofed, cottage-like houses. Somewhat irritatingly, the tavern remained brightly light inside and out and radiated with an awful din of raspy sailing songs and deep-throated cheers. It was the same every night. Always until the early hours of the morning, tearing through sleep with balled fists ready to pick a fight with any stranger that might ask for a little peace and quiet.
Kyra pulled her raft up to the cobbles beside the arched bridge and lassoed the rope over the cleat, securing it with a quick hitch knot.
'You're back late again.'
She started suddenly at the stern voice behind her. 'I had to visit Gyreo on the way back.'
Her mother narrowed her eyes. 'You visit that man every day, that's no excuse.'
She kept her mouth shut, throwing fistfuls of waste salmon into a sack for scrapping. It would all be rotten come the morning.
'I'll finish here, your father wants to speak with you.'
Kyra nodded jerkily, clenching her jaw. The faceless men fear nothing, she reminded herself. I am no one. I'm not Kyra, daughter of Edd, peddler of stinking fish. I'm nothing and no one. She stood clumsily and trudged across to the house, noting the candlelight coming from the kitchen window. The door creaked open. Everything rusted when you lived by a canal.
'Kyra?' Her father's voice sounded from the kitchen.
She closed her eyes and opened her mouth. No sound came out. She leant against the door, closing it behind her.
Footsteps echoes from behind the kitchen door. She watched it open, her chin raised, indignant.
'What are you doing standing there, child?' His voice was emotionless, his face stony and stern. He stood a head higher than her, his arms encased in thick muscle, his chest hirsute like a bear's. 'Get in here,' he nodded towards the kitchen, moving back through the door.
Kyra followed behind. Candlelight stung in her eyes as she moved from the darkness. She sat across the table from him, perching tentatively atop her chair. 'I know I was back late, but I was-'
'I don't want to hear it.' He met her eyes. 'I wanted to talk to you about the Kyra Castor.'
Her eyes widened. 'Oh.' The Kyra Castor was the ship her father had christened after her on the day of her birth. He often skipped between various employers, travelling spices, wines, anything he could get good coin for shipping.
'I want you to captain her.'
Kyra sat dumbfounded for a moment. Starring wide-eyed into her father's glassy, brown eyes like a common fool. 'Me?' she managed a high-pitched squeak. She coughed, coming to her senses. 'I've never captained a ship, I've scarcely ever even been on a ship-'
'Then perhaps it's time you learned?' he cut her off, impatient.
She shrivelled under his glare. Her voice quietened to a whisper. 'But I'm a woman.'
For a while, there was nothing but the faint crackle of the flame to be heard. Ed Castor sat irreproachable at the other end of the table. His face was a mask of reputable surliness. 'Do you want to stay here? Peddle fish? Is that all you want?'
She hesitated. I want to see the house of black and white. She wanted to tell him. I want to serve the God of Death, I want to take on new faces, that's what I want. But he would never hear of his daughter finding religion when he disregarded it so. He would never hear of his grandfather's company dissolving to smoke caught in the wind by the girl who wanted to forget her family and all her ancestors worked to achieve. She shook her head.
'Then tomorrow you will manage the Castor Trading Company.' It almost looked as though he were trying to smile.
Her jaw dropped. 'Tomorrow?'
'Yes. The Kyra Castor leaves tomorrow at first light. You will be sailing to Volantis, where you will attain a shipment of cargo, which you will be transporting to Slaver's Bay.'
Slave cities. The idea turned her stomach. 'What sort of cargo?'
'You needn't worry about that. Griscaris will be your first mate, he knows exactly what you'll be picking up when you get there. All I want you to worry about is acquiring the skills you'll need to one day run the company for yourself when I'm no longer able. Can you do that?'
A smile touched upon her lips. A sense of pride found its way into her blood, warming it to a deep shade of red against her skin. 'I can.'
