The sun was high in the heavens, the air was cool and crisp, and a brisk wind propelled the fleet of Braavosi traders northwest along the Narrow Sea. Tiyana's company was in good spirits, excepting her faithful companion Rolf, who was currently leaning against the bulwarks as he expelled his spirits into the ocean. The old man swore under his breath as more of last night's ale made its reappearance. "Fucking ale. Tastes even worse going out than it does in." A feminine laugh caused him to whirl, and he came face to face with a pretty, red haired young woman, garbed in a sleeveless tunic and man's trousers, a brown sash at her waist preventing the too-large breeches from slipping off of her hips. The sash also held in place a curved sword, sheathed in a crude leather scabbard.

"I see you're having fun, old man," she said, wrinkling her nose. "You smell terrible. And you look worse." It was true, unfortunately. The front of Rolf's tunic was stained with ale and vomit, and his beard dripped with the vile stuff. "Ah, go fuck yourself," the aging knight said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Or better yet, go find that captain of yours to do it for you." At that, the girl's face darkened, and she reached for the hilt of her sword. Rolf noticed the motion and said, "I'm warning you, girl. You don't want to mess with me. I don't kill women, but I wouldn't mind teaching you a lesson." The sellsword sneered. "As if you could, you old fuck." She assumed a more relaxed stance. "You're boring me. Have fun spewing your rotten guts out." She turned and stalked off, hips swaying. Rolf watched her for a moment, then turned to vomit again.

Tiyana frowned from where she stood, leaning in the shadow of the bridge. She had witnessed the entire exchange, and she didn't like it one bit. "Friendly guardian you got there," the man to her left commented casually. The last Reyne turned a baleful eye on him. "Friendly enough to those who deserve it," she said coolly. The man shrugged. "I'll admit, Marah can be a little difficult at times. Still, you have to admit, having a man piss drunk all hours of the day ain't exactly wise. Especially on a ship, where one's liable to take a tumble in the briny."

His words and manner of speech were common as dirt, but Toren Five Toes had the bearing of a great lord. And why wouldn't he? The man was barely thirty, and with a crippled foot besides, yet he commanded one of the most respected sellsword companies money could buy. Most recently, that money had been Tiyana's. Toren was a brilliant tactician, and his company had decimated forces three times their size in the past. They were just what was needed to battle the Lannisters. Rolf had spirited away enough treasure during their escape more than two decades ago that they had been able to commission Toren's Tigers almost two years. By that time, Tiyana would have her holding back, be in a position to get more money and hold onto his services, or be dead. She fervently hoped it would not be the lattermost option.

"If he does 'take a tumble', you can forget about the treasure," she warned the sellsword captain. Torn shrugged. "Whatever you say, milady." A piercing shriek from above caused Tiyana to start, although Toren remained where he was. Far above, one of the seabirds trailing after the fleet was locked in a fierce battle with a seahawk. It was a swift and brutal struggle, and soon enough a dead gull was plummeting into the ocean. The seahawk swooped down and landed on Toren's shoulder, claws sinking into the specially crafted shoulder pad. Its beak and talons dripped with gore from the unfortunate seabird. Tiyana watched with no small amount of disgust.

"Why does it kill them, if it's not going to eat them?" she asked, voice full of disdain at the waste. Toren shrugged and reached out to pet the hawk's head. The bird allowed him to do so for a few moments before opening its left wing and leaning down to preen its feathers.

"Don't know," the crippled man admitted, "but he's a right vicious cunt, ain't he? That's why I named him Slaughter." Tiyana snorted and walked away without another word, leaving the master tactician with his murderous pet. She went t stand beside Rolf, resting a hand on his back as the old man heaved again, though his stomach was empty by now, and he was left expelling nothing but air.

"I hate him," she muttered to her protector. Rolf took a deep breath, still leaned over the bulwark, before replying.

"I can't say I like the man myself, nor his band. But we need them, my lady. You need them. A thousand swords is nothing to sneeze at, and this lot is known for their loyalty. Remember the tale of how they held that fort in the disputed lands against all comers, even when they got offered more money to surrender than they got for staying true to their clients? It'd be better to have men loyal to House Reyne, true, but we must needs make do with what we have."

Tiyana sighed. "I know, Rolf. I know." She patted his back. "Try to get some rest. Its only a few more days until we arrive at White Harbour. Then we march south to join King Robb and smash the Lannisters." And oh, how sweet that would be. She could taste victory already. The exiled lady stared out at the horizon. Any day now, Westeros would come into view. They were going home.