…
XIV.
Failure
Alyce hugged warmth to her. She opened her eyes sleepily and realized Tyrion was lying in her arms. She took a slow breath and nuzzled her jaw into his hair. He still smelled like vinegar though she could smell the scent of his skin beneath. A warm tenderness bloomed in her blood which truly surprised her. I care too much about this half a lord. I should not have become so entangled. I was only to play a part. To be a shield.
But she did not regret it. Her emotions had not been touched like this in more than two years.
It was his mind.
She valued him because he fascinated her. Some instinct in her wanted to soothe his wounds—to draw him out. To gain his trust and respect. To protect the mind hiding bitterly in his skull. She nuzzled his head gently again with her mouth.
He shifted slightly and she realized he was awake. Perhaps he already had been. She loosened her embrace and shifted slightly back and down in order to look at him. He met her eyes. His mismatched eyes looked the same as they had that first day in Illyrio's garden. Soft…affectionate… When he looked this way she could see the man he truly was, not the droll monster he embodied. She felt a small smile loosen her face, and she pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes.
The moment was more intimate than she had expected. Tyrion's inhale was a little unsteady and his mouth opened slightly, his lips parting. Alyce closed her eyes and moved her head very slightly, shifting the touch of their foreheads. Mind to mind. Perhaps that was why it felt more intimate. She checked herself before showing any more affection, however, and moved away from him.
His eyes opened again. They were so soft, and slightly dazed and glassy. It that moment he looked so tender and vulnerable that she could see why he usually draped himself in the armor of cold japes. He would have been so easy to bite into in that moment—so easy to wound. A sliver of pride warmed her body. This man's tenderness was buried deep, but even just for this moment, it was hers.
She had not expected the rush of protectiveness, but it crashed upon her bones like a wave. The impulse to gather him into her arms and shower kisses on his scarred skin almost took possession of her. If anyone threatened to harm him, she would tear into them like a wolf maw-deep in flesh. Her hand rose of its own accord to touch his face, and he saw it, his eyes softening even further, but she slowly lowered it.
"Did you sleep alright?" she asked him. Her voice was a little hoarse.
He nodded and finally his gaze dropped away from hers. "Yes. Thank you."
Her wits were still seemingly asleep. Trying for something to say, she ran her thumb over the tips of her fingers. "Are you still… Are your fingers still alright?"
"They don't feel any different." He felt his fingertips as if rubbing a coin in them.
They could hear other passengers on deck. Nodding, she sat up. He followed.
At her side of the store room, Alyce changed her socks and her outer shirts and then got on her boots and belts. She ran a comb through her hair a couple times.
Tyrion sniffed his arm and winced. "Bloody vinegar. I need a bath."
"You could take one in the river before we set off," she told him. The Shy Maid was not on its way just yet. "Or wait until we tie up in another village for the night and have a real one there."
"Did Griff let you go into the village?"
"Yes. For a bath and supper."
"I don't know how keen I am to swim in our Mother Rhoyne again," he grumbled.
"Turtles are nothing compared to stone men."
Grumbling, Tyrion stripped to his undershorts, wound a scratchy towel around himself, soap in hand, and Griff let them stall launching for a few minutes so he could bathe.
Alyce followed him to the stern of the boat. He dropped his towel and moved swiftly down off the side so that he was hanging there, holding onto the deck. Then he let go and splashed a bit slipping into the water. He came up, spluttering and paddling and making an ugly grimace.
"Fuck this river."
Alyce chuckled and leaned over to hand him some soap. He scrubbed with a vengeance, grimacing like a gargoyle, and holding onto the side of the boat for support at times.
"Still have a taste for the Rhoyne, eh?" Haldon japed, coming around the side of the hold. "I wouldn't have thought."
Alyce and Tyrion shared a quick, irritated glance, and ignored him. Not getting the rise he expected, the almost-maester stalked away.
Alyce helped Tyrion back up onto the deck. His mouth was cut into a grim line and his discomfort showing her his stunted body was obvious in his jerky, uncomfortable movements and how quickly he had the towel around himself. There had been none of that discomfort when she had first met him and he had bathed in front of her in his room in Illyrio's manse.
He went down below to change, and Alyce remained on deck to help Duck, Yandry, and Aegon untie them and push them on their way. Ysilla and Yandry both avoided her, and when breakfast was made Alyce was not allowed to help cook. Once she even saw Ysilla making a swift, subtle sign to ward off evil toward her with three fingers.
When Tyrion joined them on deck, Ysilla stopped flipping fish fillets on the skillet over the brazier to stare at him. Her eyes narrowed and she very obviously made the same warding motion. Tyrion eyed her, walking toward Alyce.
"Do you need any help?" he asked Ysilla.
"No," she snapped. "Stay away. Touch no food besides the food you eat yourself."
He raised both hands. "As you command." He joined Alyce who was helping Aegon unfurl their sail. The day was sunny and clear with a breeze and the light sparkled and danced on the river. Alyce and Tyrion ate what the others left them of the fish and biscuits on the skillet. As they flowed with the current, another galley passed them, headed in the same direction and loaded with soldiers. Tyrion watched it go with narrowed eyes.
Alyce fetched a book and lay out on a mat in the sun with it. Tyrion sat in a chair near her, watching the river and the cheery orchards and vineyards they passed on the western bank. Once in a while he would ask her about what she was reading.
Duck did not let Aegon spar with him that day, knowing the noise might attract undo attention from the docks they passed, but he did ask Alyce for her bow and gave archery instructions to the boy. Duck knew enough about it to be a passably capable teacher, though it was obvious that the boy was disappointed it was not her teaching him. Alyce unconcernedly ignored his glances. Often, she answered his questions without even looking up from her book.
Eventually, however, she was obliged to get up and help him fine-tune his form. By this time, his practicing had left a number of divots in the wood of the outer hold walls to Yandry's chagrin. Alyce dipped her finger in some leftover bacon grease, smeared a rough circle on the wood of the hold to the right of the entrance, and came back over to instruct him.
Within an hour, the boy was shooting almost every third shot on or very near her circle. Alyce told him to move back to the prow and now practice from that distance. After half an hour, his arm was tired, and she asked him to go sharpen her arrows for her before he put them away. Dutifully, Aegon jogged down into the hold to sharpen them on Duck's whetstone.
Later, Alyce was humming softly as she watched the river. It was not her usual song, and Tyrion smirked, knowing the tune.
"Meggett was a Merry Maid."
"A Merry Maid Was She." She smiled, turning her head to him.
He returned the smile. "A fine song."
"I don't know it." Prince Aegon frowned.
"Do you know any Westerosi songs?" Alyce asked him.
"I don't think so."
"You must know The Bear and the Maiden Fair."
His expression was blank.
"Well, we must teach you," Tyrion declared. "Duck can help." Ser Rolly grinned. He, Tyrion, and Alyce heartily broke into the well-loved drinking ballad of the Seven Kingdoms.
"A bear there was, a bear, a bear,
All black and brown and covered with hair!
'Oh come,' they said, 'oh come to the fair!'
'The fair?' said he, 'But I'm a bear,
All black and brown and covered in hair!'
Down the road from here to there,
From here, to there,
Three boys, a goat, and a dancing bear.
They danced and spun
All the way to the fair!
Oh, sweet she was, and pure and fair,
The maid with honey in her hair, her hair,
The maid with honey in her hair.
The bear smelled the scent on the summer air,
The bear, the bear,
All black and brown and covered with hair,
He smelled the scent on the summer air.
He sniffed and roared and smelled it there,
Honey on the summer air.
'Oh I'm a maid and I'm pure and fair,
I'll never dance with a hairy bear,
A bear, a bear,
I'll never dance with a hairy bear!'
The bear, the bear, lifted her high into the air,
'I called for a knight, but you're a bear,
A bear, a bear,
All black and brown and covered in hair!'
She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,
But he licked the honey from her hair,
Her hair, her hair,
He licked the honey from her hair.
Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air,
She sang: 'My bear so fair!'
And off they went
The bear, the bear
And the maiden fair!"
Aegon was laughing as they finished, and even Septa Lemore was chuckling from the chair she had taken up in the shade of the cabin. "What hair did he lick?" Aegon asked, sniggering. "Where was the honey?"
"That's not for you to know," Duck laughed, mussing the boy's hair and shoving him affectionately. The boy sniggered again. Duck and the boy brought poles from the storage room about as long as longswords and sparred with them slowly, practicing technique and footwork. This captivated Alyce's attention, and she put her book down to watch them.
In Haldon's study that day, Alyce, Tyrion, and Aegon solved logical puzzles. Alyce enjoyed the exercise, though it was a bit trying because the lad was younger and less used to the kind of thinking it took to solve riddles and puzzles. He would become sour when he announced what he thought had to be the correct answer and it was not.
Once again the boy was not allowed ashore when they docked for the night at a large village but he made the effort to concede this with grace as Alyce had convinced him to do. She gave him a winning smile that further reinforced the more mature behavior. Griff came out on deck as they tied up and he surveyed the town with narrow hawk's eyes. Apparently it was to his satisfaction.
"We'll reach Selhorys by tomorrow afternoon," Yandry told him. Griff nodded brusquely.
"Good. The quicker the better."
It always was with him.
"Look how accurate I'm getting with Alyce's bow," Aegon crowed to him, showing him the grease circle and the little holes in it in the cabin's wood. Griff glanced at them and one corner of his lip twitched upwards in a smile.
"It's good of her to teach you. What did you learn from Haldon today?"
"Nothing. We just solved riddles and word puzzles."
"You're exercising your mind with those. That isn't nothing." He turned to Haldon. "Anything new with the Dothraki?"
Haldon shrugged. "We see riders every so often on the east side, but nothing out of the usual. Likely there will be news in Selhorys of what is going on. Qavo will likely have answers to our questions."
Griff nodded.
Tyrion sat himself against a spoke of the rail with Alyce's book, and when Alyce had finished helping moor their boat, she sat down close beside him.
"You can have your book back."
"No, it's alright, I'm not after it." She glanced at him and their eyes met. Our eyes have met more today than any day before. We are closer than we were. She was glad for that. He trusts me.
She slipped a knife out of her belt and handed it to him. Huffing in annoyance, Tyrion poked at his fingertips. He could feel every poke just fine. He pulled off his boots and hose and poked at the stubby ends of his toes. He was more careful here, as his toes were less sensitive than his fingertips, but it still seemed to him that he could feel the knife tip fine.
"Do you need to check?"
"No, I did a couple hours ago."
He glanced at her.
"Stop feeling guilty," she snapped.
"Well, if you contract it, make sure I do as well, and we shall rule the Palace of Love together until we both go mad."
Alyce smirked. She loved his quips. "What about the Shrouded Lord?"
"We'll toss him into the Rhoyne and take his throne."
"We'd need a second throne if we're both to rule."
"No we wouldn't. I would sit on your lap, of course."
Alyce sniggered.
"And then it would not just be the greyscale making me hard as a—"
"Stop," she interrupted, sniggering uncontrollably while trying to contain it. Tyrion was smirking.
"You'd make a good Shrouded Lord," she said, trying to straighten her face.
"I'd make a terrible one. Dressed in shrouds, I'd likely be mistaken for a large mushroom. Perhaps if I sat on your shoulders and we found a very large robe…"
Alyce was shaking with mirth again, imaging it. Life-long exile would not be so horrible if he were there to make light of it always. She caught his eyes and smiled. Not the false smiles she gave the boy, but one of genuine amusement and fondness. It caused his eyes to soften.
"Is your shivering gone?" she asked him.
"It is." His mouth twitched. "Thank you."
"Mine was helped as much as yours."
Tyrion half-hoped to find her on his bedding mat under the fur when he finally grew tired that night and ventured into the storeroom. She was on her own mat, however, curled on her side on the fur and fast asleep. He stood by his bedding and stood watching her sleep by the faint candlelight for a time, her song in his head.
How can, how can you ask me again?
It only brings me sorrow.
The same thing I want from you today
I would want again tomorrow.
His joints ached. He walked stiffly over to the candle to blow it out. He massaged his joints on his bed mat, curled under his quilt that still smelled faintly of vinegar, and of her, and thought about Alyce sleeping across the room. To ease himself to sleep, he imagined her crawling on top of him and pressing her hips against his. He imagined kissing her—how her lips might taste and feel. What would it be like to love a woman like her? Muscular, clever, skilled… He wondered if she had skills other than with weapons…
…
"M'lord?" a woman's voice called.
The first step was the hardest. When he reached the bed Tyrion pulled the draperies aside and there she was, turning toward him with a sleepy smile on her face. It died when she saw him. She pulled the blankets up to her chin, as if that would protect her.
"Were you expecting someone taller, sweetling?"
Big wet tears filled her eyes. "I never meant those things I said, the queen made me. Please. Your father frightens me so." She sat up, letting the blanket slide down into her lap. Beneath it she was naked, but for the chain about her throat. A chain of linked gold hands, each holding the next.
"My lady Shae," Tyrion said softly. "All the time I sat in the black cell waiting to die, I kept remembering how beautiful you were. In silk or roughspun or nothing at all…"
"M'lord will be back soon. You should go, or…did you come to take me away?"
"Did you ever like it?" He cupped her cheek, remembering all the times he had done this before. All the times he'd slid his hands around her waist, squeezed her small firm breasts, stroked her short dark hair, touched her lips, her cheeks, her ears. All the times he had opened her with a finger to probe her secret sweetness and make her moan. "Did you ever like my touch?"
"More than anything," she said, "my giant of Lannister."
Tyrion slid a hand under his father's chain, and twisted. The links tightened, digging into her neck. For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman's hands are warm. He gave the cold hands another twist and the warm ones beat away his tears.
Tyrion Lannister woke suddenly with the searing string of deep betrayal like acid in his chest. He remembered the cold malice, the deadening. Apathy. Surrender. The bitter, wiser remnants of what he had been before.
He closed his eyes tightly, clenching his fists, and turned over on his sleeping mat to curl into a ball of stone.
Fool. You are a fool. No woman has ever been able to love you. Not your mother-who-never-was, who you ripped open upon entering this thrice-cursed world. Not your arrogant whore of a sister who never bothered herself to know you at all. Not Tysha, whose affection and innocence were destroyed… Not Sansa, your false, forced, fool of a lady wife. Not Shae, who you fell for so stupidly…blinded by your starving hope that a woman that beautiful could reciprocate your devotion… And not Alyce, just as lovely and thrice as clever, who can be no different.
She might pretend at gentleness, at attachment, but he would not allow himself to be the pitiful fool again.
Had not the world proven to him by now that women could not love him? He had spent his life honing his mind—the only thing he had—hoping… But they would never see past their own disgust. They would see him as they expected to, and any woman who acted otherwise was concealing the truth of what she felt. Any woman who acted otherwise would betray him.
I am done with women.
His sudden and complete coldness toward her from that morning onward threw Alyce in a visible way. He did not feel regret or sympathy. You almost had me, you lovely dagger blade. You dangle hope in front of me again, but this time I will not bite. Take your feigned gentleness and fuck yourself with it.
I am done.
She cornered him in the storeroom after the group's midday meal. She fisted his mottled shirt in a hand and pushed him against the wood of the wall, squatting in front of him.
"What's up your arse?" she hissed. She took up one of his hands and peered at his fingernails. "Did you find some black on—?"
"Leave me be," Tyrion snarled at her. She dropped his hand in surprise. "I won't have one of Varys' hatchlings whispering to me from his mouth all the way across the Narrow. I won't be toyed with." He forcefully shoved out from against the walk and left the room.
They arrived at Selhorys by late afternoon and moored at a weather-beaten pier astride it on the east bank of the Rhoyne. Two piers down, a Volantene river galley was discharging soldiers. From Westeros' standards, Selhorys would be a city. Shops, stalls, and storehouses sat beneath a sandstone wall. The towers and domes of the city were visible beyond it. Yandry and Ysilla left the boat for provisions, though no one else left.
Tyrion spent much of the day in Haldon's room playing at cyvasse with Prince Aegon. Alyce attempted to distract herself by reading or talking with Lemore, but mostly she wanted to fume alone in the storeroom.
Stupid bastard. Too stupid to realize I'm the only one here actually out to keep him safe.
He wasn't a fool, though. That was the problem.
Why the change? Did Griff tell him something to make him suddenly suspicious? He wants to trust me. I saw it in him in the last two days. He's no longer letting himself.
All there is is to prove to him given time that I am not out to hurt him. Stupid, prickly sod… She threw her book aside, fuming. 'Varys' hatchling…'
The towers and domes of the city were reddened by the light of the setting sun by the time Yandry and Ysilla returned to the Shy Maid. A porter trotted at their heels, pushing a wheelbarrow heaped high with provisions: salt and flour, fresh-churned butter, slabs of bacon wrapped in linen, sacks of oranges, apples, and pears. Yandry had a cask on one shoulder, while Ysilla had slung a pike over hers. The fish was as large as Tyrion.
He and Aegon heard the return and appeared from the hold as they were unloading the food from the gangplank onto the boat. Tyrion avoided Alyce's eyes. She was not allowed near the food and hung back, as did Tyrion on the opposite side of the deck. Aegon moved forward to help.
Yandry thumped the water cask down onto the deck. "Where's Griff?" he demanded of Haldon.
"Asleep."
"Then rouse him. We have tidings he'd best hear. The queen's name is on every tongue in Selhorys. They say she still sits in Meereen, sore beset. If the talk in the markets can be believed, Old Volantis will soon join the war against her."
Haldon pursed his lips. "The gossip of fishmongers is not to be relied on. Still, I suppose Griff will want to know. You know how he is." The Halfmaester went below.
She never started for the west? Alyce supposed she must have had good reasons.
By the time Griff appeared on deck, the pike was sizzling and spitting over the brazier whilst Ysilla hovered over it with a lemon, squeezing. Griff wore his mail and wolfskin cloak, soft leather gloves, dark woolen breaches. He took Yandry back to the tiller where they spoke in low voices.
Finally, Griff beckoned to Haldon. "We need to know the truth of these rumors. Go ashore and learn what you can. Qavo will know, if you can find him. Try the Riverman and the Painted Turtle. You know his other places."
"Aye. I'll take the dwarf as well. Four ears can hear more than two, and you know how Qavo is about his cyvasse."
"As you wish. Be back before the sun comes up. If for any reason you're delayed, make your way to the Golden Company."
The Golden Company?
Griff had said nothing about Alyce accompanying Haldon and Tyrion, though he knew she was sworn to shield Tyrion. She scowled. I will have to sneak off and follow them. Tedious.
Haldon donned a hooded cloak, and Tyrion shed his homemade motley for something drab and grey. Griff allowed them each a purse of silver from Illyrio's chests. "To loosen tongues."
Dusk was giving way to darkness as they made their way along the riverfront. Under a cloak of dark grey herself, Alyce watched until they were almost out of sight up the riverfront before she jogged doggedly off the gangplank and onto the pier. Griff barked something angry after her, but she knew he would not leave the boat in pursuit or risk sending any of his swords after her and away from the prince.
She walked with swift strides past some deserted ships docked along the front and some crawling with armed men who eyed her. Under the town walls, parchment lanterns had been lit above the stalls, throwing pools of colored light upon the cobbled path. There was a low murmur of foreign tongues all around and strange music was playing from somewhere up ahead, a thin high fluting accompanied by some drums. She darted in and out of sight in the long shadows, tailing the two men, one tall, one short. A dog was barking somewhere to her left. Whores lined a few of the streets, their slave tears dark beneath one eye.
A guard motioned Haldon and Tyrion impatiently through the city's river gate guarded by a squad of Volantene spearmen. Slave soldiers, proud of their tiger stripes. Alyce approached the gate well after they had passed through, and was also waved through amidst a couple leery looks from the soldiers. She had kept her cloak covering her legs and the edge of her scabbard.
A great square opened before her and she had to keep a sharp eye to keep track of her quarry, because even at this hour, the square was crowded and noisy. It was ablaze with lanterns of colored glass that swung from iron chains above the doors of inns and pleasure houses. To her right, a nightfire burned outside a temple of red stone. A priest in scarlet robes stood on the temple balcony, haranguing the small crowd that had gathered around the flames. Travelers sat playing cyvasse in front of an inn; drunken soldiers wandered in and out of a brothel; a woman beat a mule outside a stable. A two-wheeled cart rumbled past, pulled by a white dwarf elephant. The square was dominated by a white marble statue of a headless man in impossibly ornate armor astride a war horse.
Haldon and Tyrion stopped to listen to the priest for a few minutes. Alyce hung back. Even if she had drawn close enough to hear, she would not have been able to understand the priest anyway. Finally, Haldon lead Tyrion past the headless statue to where a big stone inn fronted the square. The ringed shell of some immense turtle hung above its doors, painted in many colors. Tyrion and Haldon entered, and when they did not come back out, Alyce sat herself sat herself down on a stone bench for a long wait. With one eye on the inn, she also watched the noisy goings-on in the square. She watched a man lose to a woman at cyvasse, and then move his chair over to kiss her lustily. She watched the street flutists for a while, who bobbed gratefully at every penny tossed their way. Dogs yipped from the back of the inn. The colored lamps made the whole square look like a mummer's show.
When it had been ten or fifteen minutes, and Alyce felt sure they were staying to talk with someone, perhaps over a meal, she settled in for a long wait. Once in a while she would get up to check on the goings on in the inn through a window. All looked calm, and she could see Haldon's cloak and one of Tyrion's legs.
She was watching the red priest's crowd when a willowy young woman in a dark blue dress sat down close beside her. Too close. Alyce gazed at her coolly and cool eyes gazed back. Braavosi eyes. She is far from home. And wants something.
"You are perfectly on schedule," the woman told her lightly in a rich, thick accent. "Give or take a few days." She smelled of leather and chocolate. Rich scents as well. Her dress was not particularly expensive, though she wore it well, so she had recently been in a place of wealth… Not working, however. The nails on her fingers were painted.
"Are you here to chirp at me?"
"He said you would ask that." Her head cocked slightly and she smiled. Alyce relaxed. She was in Varys' employ.
"What else did he say?"
The Braavosi's smile was lovely and white. Her dark eyes danced. "He said if you didn't believe me I was to say a word to you. Teecira."
"Tichira," she corrected her.
"Yes. And that you would be the most beautiful woman in the town."
"Perhaps when you leave it."
The woman smirked at the compliment. "I am checking on you," she told her. "Our merchant likes his packages delivered safely."
A merchant now. Is there anything Varys isn't? Or perhaps it is Illyrio she is referring to.
"We're leaving Selhorys on the morrow and continuing," Alyce informed her. "Barring trouble, we should arrive very soon."
The Braavosi nodded, pleased. Alyce spied the subtle wrinkles and slight curves of foreign weapons hidden on her person. The woman had studs and small rings pierced all up her right ear, slightly less so on the left. Her hair was thick, was almost down to her waist, and flowed about her like water when she moved. Her skin was a deep copper brown and she had a tattoo wrapping around her arm above her elbow. Alyce liked the sinuous way she moved and the mischievous glint to her green-brown eyes. She generally found men more sexually appealing than women, but this woman was one of the occasional exceptions. If I were in a position to stay the night, love, I would make you mine.
"I hope we meet again," the woman said, standing gracefully.
"Perhaps it'll be me checking on you next time."
The woman winked and then turned and went her own way.
It was a great deal of time before Tyrion or Haldon Halfmaester reappeared. Alyce had begun to pace from shadowed corner to busy crowd, but the crowds thinned the later the night grew. The red priest had disappeared, and many of the lamps had been blown out, but the candles in the brothel windows still glowed warmly. In the quieted darkness, laughter from those windows could more easily be heard. Faked laughter, at least on the women's side. Alyce could hear the difference.
Finally, Tyrion and Haldon left the inn and stood in the square talking about something. Alyce squinted, cloaked in shadow. She could not make out their voices but saw a few words on their lips. Much and more…men…Yollo…fingers…wait for you… To her surprise, Haldon turned and headed toward the river gate while Tyrion turned toward…the brothel.
Alyce snarled internally. Seven hells. She thought briefly of just leaving him instead of bearing the degradation of having to wait for him to finish sating himself in some Rhoynish wench.
I swore to Varys. I am his shield.
Her eyes narrowed to angry slits, she peered in a window and saw Tyrion shaking his purse toward the manager of the place. He was led into another room. Will he be safe in there or must I go in? She imaged he knew his way around a whorehouse. I thought he said he was done with pretty women? She knew there would be wine in there as well. If I have to carry him home while he smells like some whore's cunt, I'll throw him back to the Rhoyne myself.
She could not help but feel the sting of rejection, doubled by the wounding of her pride. I pulled his drowned dwarf arse out of the Sorrows and he wants to bed with someone else. A stranger. It cut her more sharply than expected, but she closed herself to it. She was used to hardening herself and she had a duty to Varys.
She stood outside the brothel in shadow, growing cold. Finish your business and come back to the boat. She was tired from going without sleep all night. Dawn would be in just a couple hours.
There was a vague commotion from the main level of the brothel. Curious, Alyce peered in the dirty window. From what she could see, Tyrion had just tumbled down the stairs. He looked drunk but unhurt, surrounded by women and the proprietor. Alyce turned away and slipped back into shadow. She did not want to be caught snooping by him.
But only a few moments later she heard the unmistakable sound of steel drawing against leather. Without even glancing in the window, she flung herself into the room with a bang of the door, drawing her sword.
A man from the Seven Kingdoms stood facing Tyrion beside a row of pegs at the wall, his longsword drawn. The proprietor had disappeared. Whores watched them avidly, candlelight shining in their eyes. The man was massive. Burly, broad-shouldered, hairy, wearing a wool surcoat in this heat like a madman.
Like a knight.
"Get behind me, Hugor," Alyce commanded.
"No you don't." The knight lunged toward Tyrion with a hand to grab him. But he was forced to reel back and defend himself with his sword when he saw Alyce's thrusting toward him. Their steel met crashing upward and down with a fierce ringing. A few of the whores shrieked. Those who were near exits fled.
"Get behind me!" Alyce snarled at Tyrion again. He stumbled out from under their ringing duel and behind her. Alyce's insides were steel and venom, but the narrow room was far too confining to be able to employ her usual tricks. She did not draw her knife and hold it in her another hand as she usually fought. She needed both hands for her sword because the knight's blows were terribly heavy. The man was strong, fierce, and infuriatingly fast for his age—which must have been going on forty. His longsword against her shortsword meant he had reach on her as well.
Alyce could feel licks of trepidation in her chest. I don't have the space to best him in here. "Go back to our friends!" she yelled to Tyrion. "Go for the door! Now!"
"I'm not leaving you," he said. His voice was low, but intense, and she still heard it clearly.
Gods be good. Perhaps he is in love with me, she thought in shock. How fucking inconvenient at the moment.
She sashayed left and right but could not slip about because she had to block Tyrion from the knight. She was trapped, a cat in a cage with a furious bear. In other instances, she could run from him, leap out and back in and tire him out, slip around and attack less protected areas of his body. A slice here, a slice there, a crunch, a well-aimed cut. But in a cage, blunt force and larger size would win out. As if he knew her thoughts, the knight began to beat down on her weapon, grunting with each blow.
"Hugor," she called, breathing heavily, "If you care about me, get outside!"
Tyrion stood, indecisive, concern for her etched deeply into his bleary face.
He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand the way I fight. He's seen me win against men this big before.
She was almost on her knees now.
"Leave her alive and I'll come sweetly!" he shouted to the knight from behind her.
The man responded by increasing the furor of his attack. It was all Alyce could to now to hold him at bay. In the corner of her left eye she saw Tyrion try to dart in front of her to do what he could for her. But she would not allow him place himself between her and danger while she lived.
She tripped him and shoved him backwards with her boot. "You run out that door and I'll live," she snarled. "I'll follow you—"
But her action had opened her up as she had known it would, and her words were cut short as the knight jabbed his sword forward to thrust. Alyce cringed and recoiled to evade it as best she could. The blade sliced thinly but long across her upper right arm, leaving a blazing trail of pain and a pulsing streak of a wound that began sending blood flying as she wrenched herself and her sword up to defend herself and rise again. Staying low meant death.
Tyrion finally seemed to understand. He turned and made for the door. But the knight would not have that, and strength was leaving Alyce's sword arm with every rapid pound of her heart that sent blood pulsing from her wound.
She evaded the knight's attempt to kick her legs out from under her, but he forced his way around to her right, separating her and Tyrion.
"NO!" She hurled a candleholder at him; he barely flinched at what must have been a painful impact on his chest. She went for a rather desperate series of attacks—all that she had left in her arsenal. But her sword arm was slow. Her brain's calculations were too quick for it to follow. That had never happened before.
She jerked aside to avoid a killing thrust only to find his elbow coming at her neck. The blow stunned her throat—stopped air from coming in. Her limbs folded like bedfittings and the floor rushed up to her. She could not breathe.
Tyrion had run forward, his face contorted, desperate, his eyes on hers. She did not look away from him. His darker eye was too dark to read, but there was desperation and concern for her and only her in his green one. But the knight kicked him, sending him flying onto his back. His head hit the left wall with a horrid thump. His eyes fluttered closed.
Tyrion.
She watched from the floor as the air deprivation held hostage her ability to move or to think about anything other than the taste of panic. The knight's boots came toward her. They looked like they were climbing up a wall. The world was sideways and full of white spots. Her vision was leaving her.
Death is simply nothing. I was never afraid of the dark and am not afraid of nothingness.
With a heaving gasp, her throat remembered how to open again. She tasted blood and the air stung.
The hilt of the knight's sword came downward toward her face and all was nothing.
…
The story will resume with And of Such Follies, Part II: Another Day to Live or Die.
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