…
VII.
The Sellsword's Son
Tyrion woke in the dimness of early morning with dragons fighting in his skull and the rocking of the ship turning his stomach.
He saw that Alyce looked to be still asleep under blankets against the far wall of the storage room. He clambered shakily out of the store room, out of the hold, and hurled himself to the railing of the poleboat where he heaved up everything his stomach could upheave as Griff looked on from beside the brazier.
"You are done with drink," Griff said. His tone was one that would not be contested. That did not stop Tyrion from trying.
"Wine helps me sleep."
"Then stay awake," Griff replied, implacable.
When it seemed his stomach had no more to give, Tyrion stumbled back into the hold, a hand clutching his throbbing head. He needed water so he went back to the store room for some.
Alyce woke as he was filling the cup he had used last night with water. He could see the distaste in her eyes as she watched his shaky, ginger movements. She was wearing only a loose undershirt resembling a male tunic and smallclothes. When she pushed the furs off, he glimpsed lovely slim legs and turned away.
I am done with women.
The constant scream in his head made him angry, and as such her sumptuousness seemed villainous. She dressed with her back to him, pulled on her boots, strapped on her knives, and also found a cup for water. She said nothing, and he was grateful for that. He would not have been able to keep from snapping at her, and she had done nothing to deserve it.
They heard the others getting up and going out onto the deck, and Alyce took her water cup with her and joined them. Tyrion filled his roiling stomach with water and then covered himself with a blanket.
When Alyce reached the deck, the sunrise had suffused the sky about the river like the juice of some tropical fruit. The waters of the Rhoyne had turned from the black of night to blue to match Griff's hair and beard, though their night watchman had already retired into the hold. River larks sang and egrets splashed through the reeds and left their tracks across the sandbars. She looked across the side of the boat and was startled to see an enormous turtle swimming its way upstream beside their boat. It looked large enough to cut a leg in two with a sharp-looking little knob on its upper snout. Other smaller turtles were hiding in the shallows or sitting on the shore.
Yandry was pulling up the anchor. He slid one of the long poles off the cabin roof and pushed them off. Two of the herons raised their heads to watch as the Shy Maid drifted away from the bank, out into the current. Slowly the boat began to move downstream. Yandry went to the tiller. Ysilla had fed the brazier on the afterdeck some wood chips and was now stirring the coals with a blackened blade. She then began to knead some dough for morning biscuits.
Septa Lemore's hair was wet and Alyce supposed she had taken a morning swim or bath in the river.
"I'm impressed you have the courage to swim in the river with turtles as big as there are in there," Alyce said to her, smiling a little.
Lemore smiled at her. "I think they have better things to do than to try to nibble on me."
"I don't know," Alyce teased. "Wiggle your toes a certain way…"
The septa laughed.
Alyce sniffed at the biscuits cooking, feeling genuinely hungry as she had not in many days. She waited patiently for them to be done and occupied herself with looking over the rail at the river's banks.
The sound of nimble, heavy boots on the deck alerted Alyce to the entrance of Young Griff. She smiled slightly but did not turn to look.
"Good morrow, septa," he said to Lemore. "Hello Ysilla."
Ysilla apparently gave him two of the first biscuits, because he came up beside Alyce on the rail and offered her one.
"Thank you." She took it and was pleased to see it was dripping with a light honey glaze and still quite hot.
"Have you seen the turtles?" he asked her, looking out at the river with her. "Have you seen how big some are?"
She nodded. "I saw one as big as that rock there." She pointed.
"Oh, they get bigger," he told her, grinning. "Haldon says the princes of the Rhoyne used to ride on their backs along the river."
Alyce smiled. "I wonder if one could saddle a turtle?"
Griff laughed at the thought and shrugged. After everyone else on deck had had some biscuits, Alyce and Young Griff helped themselves to more. Lemore brought some to Yandry at the tiller and Alyce took a few up and headed back into the deck to bring Tyrion some breakfast.
She found the storeroom door wide open and Duck nailing the wine barrels to the ceiling of the room with some cloth to hold them. Griff must have instructed him to do so. She smiled, satisfied. Tyrion was curled almost entirely under a fur, with only his forehead and a bit of his scar showing.
"Tyrion. Breakfast." She shook him gently. He groaned and sat up on his elbows. She took up one of his hands and placed two biscuits in it. "Eat."
Tyrion placed them next to him and brought the fur up around him again. Taking that as dismissal, Alyce scowled and left him.
Duck came up to break his fast and Young Griff brought some food to the Halfmaester in his cabin. Alyce ran her fingers through her hair, felt the grease that it held, and envied the septa her bath. Now that the boat was moving there was nothing for it, but perhaps tomorrow morning. Or maybe she could get creative… If she wet and soaped her hair and then let it hang down into the water while she hung onto the ladder…
Alyce went into the storage room and rifled through her pack to find the soaps that Varys had sent with her. She came back on deck and smiled at Duck and Young Griff who were taking slow blows toward one another. She assumed Duck was teaching him how to swing a punch, but when she watched for a moment she saw that Young Griff already knew how to hit and Duck was teaching him how to deftly avoid another's swings.
They stopped to watch as Alyce nimbly lowered herself down upside-down along the ladder to the river until her hair up to her roots was wet from the river that was flowing by. Then, holding herself by one arm and her legs, she took up her soap and worked into it her hair upside-down. Once she was done, she placed the soap on the deck, washed off her hand briefly, and then lowered herself down again to let the river wash it off. She squeezed some of the water out and then pulled herself back up onto the deck.
Young Griff laughed at her and he and Duck resumed their training. The septa was smiling.
"You have strong arms. I would be afraid of losing my grip and tumbling into the water," she said.
"It wasn't hard." She shook out her hair and combed through it with her fingers.
"Is Hugor still abed?"
Alyce nodded. "He isn't feeling well."
While the septa went back into the hold to keep her face out of the sun, Alyce watched the two men mock-fight. Duck was a good teacher. He did not perhaps have the vocabulary, but he had an excellent instinctual sense for fighting and how to improve the boy's skill.
As the light began to slant in the afternoon, the septa returned to the deck and sat contentedly in the shade of the hold, and even Haldon came out to be sociable as the weather was so pleasant. Alyce enjoyed talking with them all, joking with Duck and Young Griff, and watching the river scenery pass. Watching the river was peaceful.
They cooked a large midday meal and this she did not take to Tyrion. If he wished to lie in the storeroom all day, he would have to deal with the repercussions. Most of the late afternoon and evening Young Griff spent in Haldon's cabin, being instructed by him of more mental pursuits. Quite a lot of education for a sellsword's son.
Duck, Lemore, and Alyce gathered around the brazier still glowing from the meal and talked or simply held quiet company together around it while the sun furthered its decent. They spoke of things they had seen along the river, what they expected to come, and bits about each of their pasts. Alyce liked the way the septa spoke—as if she chose all her words with gentle care. Duck was the opposite—he said whatever came to mind.
Finally Tyrion made an appearance. The septa kindly got up and began cooking a little food for him. Tyrion took a seat by Alyce. He still looked ill.
"Well, how has the river been?" he asked.
"The river is always interesting, Hugor," said the septa, "if you know how to look at it."
This response did not satisfy him but instead of asking further questions, he turned to Alyce. "Thank you for the biscuits."
"You're welcome." The gratitude from him was appreciated.
"What have I missed?"
"You missed Duck teaching Young Griff how to avoid swinging fists." Alyce smiled at Duck. "And you missed some good conversation. And some turtles. That is about it."
Tyrion nodded and helped Lemore cook his meal over the brazier.
"Where is the boy now?" he asked.
"In with Haldon," Duck answered. "Learning out of books and scrolls."
"Mm." Tyrion thought about this. His eyes looked slightly quizzical. Perhaps he was wondering, like she did, why a sellsword's son needed so much education. More education, in fact, than some lord's sons received.
"How are you feeling?" Alyce asked him more quietly.
He grimaced and shrugged. "I do not think dwarves were made for boats."
No, dwarves were not made to drink half a barrel of wine. Perhaps he did not want to alert the others to what he knew Alyce knew, however.
"I hope it will grow easier for you, Hugor," said Lemore as she handed him his food.
"Thank you, septa."
Shortly after, Young Griff and Haldon appeared again on deck. The sun was flirting with the western horizon but Young Griff did not seem ready to end the day. He said his hellos to Tyron, and then turned again to Ser Rolly.
"Can we spar, Duck?" he asked, grinning. He had a bastard blade hanging from his hip. He glanced briefly at Alyce and she felt perhaps his eagerness to spar was an eagerness to show off.
"Perhaps tomorrow, lad."
Despite this, the boy unsheathed his blade and began practicing steps in the open area of the deck. "I haven't quite mastered that feint you showed me two days ago." He shuffled and parried with an invisible opponent about the boat.
"What say you, Yollo?" he quipped, grinning as he reached Tyrion. "Shall you and I match blades?" He swung his sword jokingly toward Tyrion, but even in jest, that was not something Alyce could abide. She saw the blade moving toward her charge and the tendons in her arms and back sprang with heat into movement. She slipped her strongest dirk out of its sheath fluid as rushing water and swung it up to meet the boy's blade.
There was a shocked silence as the steel on steel sounded. Young Griff immediately yanked his sword back, his handsome face blank with shock. Duck's large hand gripped the hilt of his own blade, his arm muscles and usually-amiable face now hard as rock. The evening sunlight glinted redly on the thick steel he had half-pulled from its sheath.
"It was only a jest," the boy told her quickly, eyes wide. "I would never try to hurt him. The sword was not going to touch him."
Alyce had sheathed her dirk, and she replied gently as she sat back in her chair, "A true swordsman never points his blade at someone who cannot defend themselves, unless they are threatened in some way. He should know that the world holds many dangers, and instead of adding his to the many, would instead stand in protection."
Young Griff looked contrite. "You're right," he replied with a gentleness and modesty that Alyce had not seen in him before. He looked at Tyrion. "I should not have pointed my blade at you, Hugor, even in jest. I vow you have the protection of my sword."
"With your sword and her knife," Tyrion said with a small smile, "I reckon I would be safe in a den of lions." He smiled at the boy. "That was well-handled, lad. I have seen kings take criticism a great deal poorer."
The tension of the moment was gone. Tyrion glanced at Alyce but Young Griff had taken her attention.
"My blade likely dented yours a bit," he said apologetically.
"Aye," she agreed gently, taking the dirk out to inspect it. There was indeed a small indent. "Do you have a stone to smooth it? And a hammer?"
"Yes—I'll get them." He was back quickly and they sat on the deck together and smoothed her knife blade. She did the careful hammering flat of the dent, and then he smoothed and sharpened it on the stone for her. Duck came over and gave them tips on how best to do so. She saw the boy was not unused to sharpening blades, and did it well. When it was smoothed and sheathed, the two stood.
"So, what did you learn today about evasion?" Alyce asked him. "I might have a thing or two to learn about that."
Young Griff grinned, delighted to be the teacher for once. He became disappointed after they had gone a few rounds with everyone looking on and he realized Alyce had very little to learn as far as evading swings.
"You're slippery as a cat," he told her, frowning. "I can't teach you anything. How's your punch?"
"I don't really have one."
"What do you mean? I can teach you."
She laughed a little. "Imagine I were fighting a man of your build. You have height on me as well as strength. Unless I had a riskless opportunity, trying to hit your face is a dangerous waste of the time I have before you get your hands around my wrists and I cannot do anything else. I'm dead if a man like you really gets a hold of me."
Young Griff had obviously never thought about fighting from a woman's perspective. Likely none of the women in his world think about fighting. "A man like me would not hurt you," he said.
"You know what I mean." She eyed him. "I do not know if you know what it feels like to be physically powerless, but I would do anything to avoid it. There are much more efficient ways of besting a man physically. Not all of them are chivalrous. You have likely been taught none of them." She shot a quick smile at Duck, who was looking on. He shrugged.
"How?" the boy asked.
Alyce grinned. "I would move in and out, as fast as possible, causing pain to stop your attack. I would go for your neck with jabs, keeping my fingers stiff. A hard enough blow to the throat, even a small one, can cause a man to stop being able to breathe for a minute or so. Eyes are weak. So are shins. All men protect their cocks when their cocks are threatened, so I might feint toward that with my knee and then hit eyes, shins, throat. A strong kick to one or both knees will down a man. The tops of the feet are vulnerable also. Noses as well. A palm up into the nose like this…" Each move she mentioned, she mimed doing it. Young Griff looked a bit dubious, but listened raptly to her explanations all the same. Alyce knew that she would not be able to show him, seeing as she did not wish to injure anyone on the boat.
"If I want a man unconscious, I would likely down him first and then bash his head against something hard. I could hit his jaw with my fist, rattling him and making him faint, but to hit hard enough for that, I would have to hurt my hand—my sword hand. Better to use what's around me."
When the sun set, everyone began to retire, and Young Griff went to wake his father. Griff came out onto the dark deck and began cooking a meal for himself over the brazier. Alyce, who was sitting beside Tyrion, noticed the dwarf shaking slightly. He looked drawn and uncomfortable and soon stood to go into the hold for the night. After she helped Yandry and Duck wrestle the sails down, Alyce followed him.
She found him kneading his stiff, swollen legs with a grimace and slightly shaking hands. She dug out the ointment from Illyrio's manse she had stored away and sat down in front of him to massage it into his skin. He stared at her when she sat down, but then his eyes softened with gratitude when he saw the ointment and watched her begin to massage his aching leg muscles.
"Is that from Illyrio?" he asked.
"Yes. I thought it might be a good thing to have."
"Thank you." He dipped his fingers into the tin and began on his other leg so she did not have to do both. He glanced at her.
"I appreciate your quickness to defend me today." There was the hint of cold jape to his voice that caused his thanks to sound more akin to mockery. Alyce did not look up at him.
"I'm to protect everyone on this little venture," she replied. "And right now, though I am pledged to protect them, I know little of this group and do not entirely trust them. I have been with you longer and trust you a touch more."
"Ah, a lethal mistake," he said darkly. "Surely you know I am an oathbreaker, kinslayer, kingslayer, and strangler of whores?"
"It is comforting to know the worst of one's companion, is it not?" She kept her tone unaffected and light. "Seeing as I am not your kin, a king, nor a whore, it seems I have little to fear from you."
Tyrion eyed her. His eyes had flashed at the word 'whore.' "You are not a maid."
"Not a maid and not a whore. I think you will find most women are somewhere in between."
"A man's legs, to be specific."
She shot him a look as she sat back and wiped her hands on a cloth. The ointment had her skin tingling. She handed him the cloth so he could wipe off his hands as well.
Alyce watched his hands tremble and took up one of his wrists to look.
"You're shaking."
He yanked his arm away. "I still feel ill. I have not eaten much today."
"You mean you have not had wine today. Do not waste breath telling me falsehoods."
"I appreciate your concern," he growled coldly, sounding anything but appreciative. "I am going to bed."
That night, Alyce heard him shivering in his sleep. She got off her bedroll and draped her best fur over him in the darkness. Her sleeping pile was less comfortable without it, but his shivering stopped after a time. Alyce drifted to sleep.
