Chapter 8
Dust shimmered in the pale rays seeping through the cracked wall. Jaime blinked, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he stared at the wall. After the events last night, the crew had briefly introduced themselves before showing them to their room. The captain, Barrian Rok, was a known Targaryen loyalist and a former trader from Volantis. As they had descended below deck, a strange mixture of Volantene, Low Valyrian, and the Common Tongue flowed freely through the crew. Because of the nature of their mission, the queen had sent a rather small ship, with only a few cabins to accommodate those of higher status.
Jaime rolled over in his cot, turning his back on the low rumble of the sea. A few feet was all that separate him from the Stark girl, still asleep despite the constant rolling sea. She slept peacefully, no doubt exhausted from last night's attack. With her long, deep brown hair fanning out, hanging low over the cot's edge to meet the floor, she almost looked innocent. Except for that dagger she clutches, he noted, staring at the blade held loosely in her fingers. As Jaime made to sit up, a sound filtered through the cabin door.
"Yes, yes!" the voice moaned, followed by some rather loud banging. Jaime sighed, falling back into bed. It appears the captain brought another woman aboard, he groaned internally. Glancing over, he saw that Arya had awoken. The girl now lay on her side, cheek flattened by the hard matrass and clutching a pillow to her ear.
"Did our crew-mates wake you?" he teased, earning a glare and a groan.
"Only the Volantene fuck this loudly," she managed, despite her squished face.
Surprised by her comment, Jaime propped himself up on an elbow to stare at her. "And what would you know about fucking?"
Arya threw the pillow at the wall, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side. Her bare feet barely touched the floor, swinging loosely. "More than you think," she jested, flashing a wicked grin.
Now intrigued, Jaime sat up to match her positon. He noticed the slight flick of her eyes over his bare chest before meeting his own. "Tell me about your first time. I assume you're no maiden."
Although her eyes darkened, she shrugged. "Fine. It was in Braavos, I was fourteen." She said this simply, carelessly.
A little too carelessly. Now uncertain if he wanted to hear the rest, Jaime opened his mouth to stop her but was interrupted as the girl continued.
"There was a man I was supposed to kill, Ser—some big Westerosi brute. He liked to frequent brothels. Braavosi cater to all tastes, and this one liked young girls. " Arya paused, swallowing. "You would think I'd remember the pain, the terrified feeling, but I don't. All I remember is the sweet look of surprise on his ugly face as my dagger opened his throat."
Jaime's heart thudded, and he found himself at loss for words. After several loud heartbeats, he said, "That's terrible." The words scratched at his dry tongue, coming out hoarse.
Arya blinked once, twice, before shaking her head as if to clear the memory away. "Tell me about yours," she said quietly, staring down at her dangling feet.
"I was also young, mayhap fifteen. There was a girl where I grew up, at the Rock." He looked away, choosing his words carefully. Although all of Westeros knows of my past, perhaps this girl does not. "A beautiful girl, kissed by the sun and the gods."
She nodded, raising her head. "And where is she now?"
A dark, haunting memory swam before his eyes. She got the same fate as your first, he wanted to say. Instead, he replied simply, "I haven't a clue." It wasn't a lie, Jaime had no idea where Cersei had ended up. One of the seven heavens or hells. The later, no doubt.
By this point the moaning has ceased, the ship now alive with other noises. From above he could hear the pattering of feet and the jumbled song of voices. Jaime got up, walking over to his chest and pulling out a fresh tunic. Following his lead, Arya did the same. As she dressed in some thin breeches and a woven top, Jaime tried not to stare. It became especially hard as she shimmied out of her mud-stained breeches, her pale skin illuminating their dark cabin.
Now clothed, she spun around to grab her sword belt, buckling it to her hips. Arya gave him one of her mischievous, knowing smiles as she deftly braided her long hair. "Gods, you take longer than me," she jested as Jaime hurriedly laced up his boots.
After climbing the stairs they emerged, blinking, above deck. All around turquoise waves rolled gently, carrying the ship along in quiet agreement. The deck was crowded, with men of all colors running to and fro as the day began. Winding his way through, with Arya on his heels, he finally arrived at the captain's solar.
Inside the heavily windowed room sat Barrian, mulling over a map while picking from a bowl of fruit. The captain looked up when they entered, flashing an inviting smile.
"Welcome, my friends! It is good to see you in the daylight, good ser!" Barrian noticed Arya, whom he hadn't met last night. His grin widened as he reached across the table to kiss her hand. "And what a beauty you are, good lady! Your wife, no?" He directed the question at Jaime, but to her credit, Arya only smiled in response. No doubt she knows the pleasantries required to keep a captain happy. It's only them between you and the sea.
Jaime chuckled goodheartedly. "Alas, she is not. This is Arya Stark, my…traveling companion, a girl from the East." He was unsure of how much the captain knew of their mission, deciding it best to keep most a secret.
Barrian cocked his head, frowning. "The East, you say? Bah! Your girl is same as you, from Westeros. They don't make them that pretty in Essos!" He let out a great bellow before popping a grape into his mouth, the juice streaming down his jaw.
"True, a born northerner but she lived for many years in the East. Perhaps she even has knowledge of your native tongue." Jaime glanced over at Arya, who glared before painting on a smile.
"Dōrior dārion udrirzi mijessis," she replied in High Valyrian, earning another kiss on the hand. She turned to Jaime, smiling painfully. "No kingdom lacks a language," she translated before wiping her sticky hand across the tablecloth.
Jaime raised an eyebrow in approval before turning back to the captain. "Tell me of our voyage," he remarked, taking a seat and gesturing for Arya to do the same. Barrian clapped his hands, and from a curtained doorway an olive-skinned woman emerged carrying a tray heaped with breads, fruits, and cheeses. She was plump, but comely in a foreign way. As she walked around the table, balancing the tray, Jaime shared a look with Arya, both of them fighting the urge to laugh. Our morning wake-up call has a face.
"My wife!" Barrian called out, slapping her arse playfully on the way out. "We switch, no?" he said, pointing a butter knife from Arya to himself.
Jaime sighed, ignoring Barrian's question and Arya's jarring elbow to the ribs. "How long remains of the voyage?"
Barrian took a large bite out of his bread before responding, crumbs latching onto his wiry beard. "Two weeks, if the gods are good. I don't only carry pretty Westerosi on my ship, silk and spice too. My Braavosi friends demand much this season, they say bad things are to come."
"What kinds of bad things?" It was Arya who spoke this time, grabbing a peeled orange.
"Nonsense, good lady. These Braavosi worry too much and think too little!"
Arya frowned as she pried apart the juicy slices with the tip of her dagger. "Tell me anyhow," she demanded.
A look of concern washed over the captain's face before resuming its jolly expression. "More pirates on the sea, more demons in the shadows. Stories for little boys and girls!"
Sensing his uneasiness, Jaime reached forward to give the captain a comforting pat on the hand. "Do not worry, my friend. The queen pays you to take us there, that is all. We can find further transportation ourselves."
Barrian gave a relieved look. "Thank you, good ser. And I thank the silver queen. Excuse me now, I have a ship to sail!" He pushed back from the map-laden table, shaking Jaime's hand and planting a sloppy kiss on Arya's cheek before heading out.
Jaime looked to his right, where Arya was licking juice off the tip of her dagger. "Not the strangest man I've met. Sailors are always a funny lot. At least they've got good fruit."
He nodded, standing up. "I'm going out to meet the crew. It's probably best that you stay here or below deck, where it's not dangerous." Just as his hand reached the brass doorknob, something sharp tickled the back of his neck. Moving just his eyes, Jaime focused in on the tip of a dagger pressed into the nape of his neck.
"Dangerous for a pretty lion, perhaps." Although Jaime could not turn his head, he could hear the wicked smile playing on her lips. She laughed, lowering the blade and stepping in front of him to yank open the door.
A fun chapter, a bit of a filler but it has interesting information! As always, please review! I would love some feedback on how you like Arya's character! I always imagined her becoming quite a different person because of all that she's been through, at least on the outside. Let me know what you think, thanks!
