Tristan
The galleas had been named South Wind; Borso Galearis had owned four ships, and named one for each of the winds. The South Wind was his first and his favorite. He traveled almost everywhere on the ship, trading all across the Free Cities and many times in Westeros as well.
Shanna Blacktyde had rechristened the ship Reaper's Wind. She was a true bard, dramatic and grandiose.
Tristan sighed and shut the book before him, the last of four journals kept in Borso Galearis' cabin. The fight to win such luxurious accommodations had been fierce; in the end, Tristan gave up his rights to plunder for the captain's cabin, once the Ironborn finished looting the valuables from it. Shanna was nice enough to let his new salt wife keep three dresses of her original ten, but she lost everything else that could be sold or bartered. Shanna helped herself to some of the rouge and kohl that the girl owned, but graciously gifted Tristan with the lion's share of her cosmetics. Cosmetics, dresses, and gold, however, were not what Tristan was after. If he indeed gained Castamere, he would have no need of the plunder of one Pentoshi trader.
The girl sat huddled in the center of the bed, her arms around her knees as she watched the knight set aside the last of her father's books. Abriana Galearis' braids had come undone, and without her servants to repair them her hair hung loose and wavy, a lavender sea atop her pretty, heart shaped face. Dark eyes still shone with fear as Tristan pushed back from her father's desk.
"I did nothing to you last night," the knight reminded her. He tried to keep his voice as gentle as possible. "You have nothing to fear from me."
"You killed my father." Abriana's eyes never left him as he stood. Did she expect retribution for her words? "Your friend made my mother a whore and took him on your other ship. Everyone else I knew on this ship is either dead or enslaved."
"The Ironborn killed your father," Tristan said. Those accusing eyes left him uneasy. "Your mother… I… could do nothing for her."
"You could have left us alone," Abriana said. Tristan could do nothing more than shift in uneasy embarrassment.
"If it had been left to me, you would still be sailing to Lys or Pentos or wherever you were going," the Brash Lion said. He looked away. "It seems I'm making a habit of doing what I do not wish to do."
The cabin remained silent for a long moment. Outside, the waves slapped against the ship's hull. A storm was well on its way; Shanna had battened down the South Wind… no, the Reaper's Wind… only an hour before.
Perhaps the storm would capsize the ship, whatever its name might be, and end his dilemma.
"I will set you free in the next port," Tristan offered, turning back to Abriana. The girl glared at him.
"Perhaps I will make a good pleasure slave," she stated bitterly. "Do sell me in Lys. At least take profit from me before I end up on the block."
"That is not what I meant," Tristan said.
"But it is what will happen," Abriana countered. "I have no money, no family, not even my jewelry to sell. What do you think will happen once you are gone?"
Tristan paused a long moment, looking back to the journals. They offered him nothing.
"I… you can serve me, and… earn pay." The knight was floundering; he had not thought of anything more than keeping her from the Ironborn when he demanded her as his salt wife. Abriana snorted. "You speak Valyrian and know the Free Cities," Tristan continued. "Serve me, help me find the person I'm looking for, and I shall see you well rewarded."
The girl glared at him. For an interminable time they locked eyes, until finally she shook her head.
"I have no leverage," she stated at last. "I am your… what did you call me? Salt wife?"
"To them, you are my salt wife," Tristan explained, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "To me, you are a servant. You may leave whenever you choose. Stay with me, and I will give you a stag each day that you remain."
Abriana eyed him suspiciously.
"My dyes are worth more than a stag," she said.
"Then sell them," Tristan retorted. It was far harsher than he intended, but the girl was frustrating to say the least. "I am offering you something. Do not turn your nose up at me for trying to help you. Without me on that ship, your friends and family would have suffered the same fate, and you would be passed among the crew as well, or been sent off to Pyke as a slave wife for one of those Ironborn."
Abriana glared at him, but said nothing.
"I cannot undo what has already happened," Tristan continued. He looked down at the Myrish carpets. "Help me, and I will see to it that you go free."
Again silence hung in the cabin. Tristan studied the intricate design of trees in tones of sepia and emerald against the cerulean rug. Finally, he turned to the door, not looking up to the girl on his bed.
"The woman," Abriana said. Her voice stopped the knight in his tracks. "She has asked something about another ship."
"Merry Milena," Tristan confirmed, still facing the door. He spoke quietly, matching his salt wife's wariness. "Lyseni, or so we were told. A ship with its hull striped pink and purple."
"What did they do?" Abriana asked. That was a question, indeed.
"Someone escaped from King's Landing," Tristan answered. He paused, turned back to look at her. "She escaped with the refugees fleeing the port. I'm trying to find her. To bring her back."
"Tyrosh is the closest port," Abriana said. She hesitated, pensive. "If… if people have no money to buy passage, they can end up in Tyrosh or Lys, sold as slaves. Perhaps they have been sold in Tyrosh."
Tristan nodded after a long moment.
"Thank you, Abriana," he said. He turned again, heading out onto the deck.
The Reaper's Wind was already meeting the storm Shanna had warned of, coming from the east. The winds had long since turned against them, slowing the progress of Shanna's new ship to a crawl as the sailors made their last preparations for the storm. Shanna herself stood at the helm, her hair and long headband whipping furiously in the growing wind. Shanna paid the knight no mind as he joined her at the helm.
"Damned winds and storms," the reaver snarled. "We'll lose a day or more to this weather."
"Tyrosh," he said, barely heeding her words. "We should try Tyrosh."
"Studying your new maps?" Shanna asked him.
"Abriana said that ships with refugees might go to Tyrosh, to sell them into slavery," Tristan explained. "Tyrosh is the closest port. They would go there."
"At least your salt wife has proven useful for something," Shanna quipped with a smirk. Tristan scowled at her. A blast of wind form the east brought the first faint drops of rain with its sea spray. "A thought, Lannister," Shanna said before he could turn away.
"What is it?" Tristan asked.
"I gave up the Grim Lady, at least for the time being, to take command of this ship and more fresh thralls than I would like," the reaver said. "I did this so that we would not be seen and shunned the moment we entered one of the Free Cities. You may look every bit the Lannister with your golden locks and emerald orbs, but the least you could do is remove the elegant lion rampant that you wear so proudly on your chest. What do you think Taillefer Snow will do if he hears that his onetime friend is in the same city on the wrong side of the Narrow Sea?"
Tristan looked down at the brilliant crimson tabard he wore. His plate mail, burnished red and emblazoned with the same lion rampant as his tabard, would let everyone in Tyrosh know who he was and why had had come.
"You are right," the knight stated. "I'll remove it as soon as I go back to my cabin."
"A wise decision," Shanna said, smirking. Tristan turned to leave. "And how does your new salt wife fare?" The Ironborn called after him, her tone just shy of mocking.
"She does all I ask of her," Tristan replied without turning back. "Her tongue has many uses."
Shanna's pause was sweeter than any song he had heard from her since the battle against the South Wind. Swiftly he pushed the door to his cabin open, before the reaver could regain her voice.
Abriana remained on the bed, her arms still wrapped around her legs, but her delicate chin now rested on her knees. Tristan regarded her for a moment.
"You may leave the bed," he offered.
"Thank you," Abriana said. She remained in place; she may as well have been a statue. The ship's rocking began to increase in intensity. Outside, the calming, drawn out notes of a fiddle drifted through the stout wood of the door.
"She plays often," Abriana said. Her eyes remained on Tristan, as they so often did when he was in the cabin.
"It sets the tone," Tristan said. The music seemed to soothe him even now. He turned to the books and charts on Borso's desk. Behind him, he could hear the rustle of Abriana's dress as she finally moved. Outside, the wind picked up, battering the Pentoshi ship.
Tristan glanced over his shoulder as the Reaper's Wind lurched in the waves, not even certain why. Behind him, Abriana had indeed left the bed. She stumbled faintly as the ship rocked, but clutched in her hands was Tristan's long dagger, the lion's head pommel jutting out over her thumbs.
The knight whirled on her as she dove forward, catching her wrists as she tried to drive the blade down into his chest. At nearly twice her size, the girl stood no chance against him; Tristan dragged her forward and into his knee, blasting the wind from her lungs and jarring the dagger from her hands. Before the blade even clattered to the deck he hurled her against the wall, pinning her in place with one powerful hand.
"Have you taken leave of your senses?" Tristan demanded. Abriana struggled and kicked in her desperate attempts to escape. Tristan tightened his grip on her throat until she gasped soundlessly, her far smaller hands struggling in vain to pry his steely grip free. "If you kill me you'll only end up dead yourself!"
Abriana opened and closed her mouth silently. Her struggles grew weaker as he squeezed the air from her. Before she could black out, he pivoted and flung her to the bed as if she were a rag doll. She bounced off the side and collapsed to the floor, choking and holding her throat.
"I tried to help you!" Tristan shouted. Abriana glared up at him.
"You'd use me as a toy!" she retorted hoarsely. Tears glistened in her hateful eyes. "You killed my family and made me a slave!"
Tristan glared at her for a long moment. Outside the storm raged, battering the Reaper's Wind with its winds and waves.
"We shall go outside together," Tristan finally said. "Throw ourselves overboard at the same time. With this storm it should be over quickly. Would that be to your liking, my lady?"
Abriana's eyes were murderous, but she made no move to stand from where she had landed on the floor.
"If you want us both dead so badly, now is the time," Tristan stated. Abriana's icy glare persisted, but she said nothing. "Otherwise, I will try to help you all that I can," the knight continued. "I will pay for each day you remain with me. Any time you wish to leave, you have my permission, my blessing even. I will make sure that you are clothed, fed, and protected from the Ironborn for as long as you stay with me. The choice is yours, Abriana."
Abriana slowly climbed to her feet, watching him all the while. When she still said nothing, Tristan nodded.
"Take the bed again tonight," he offered. "It is too soft for me, anyway."
"What will the others say?" Abriana asked. She meant it to challenge him, but Tristan chuffed and shook his head.
"I am coming to the point where I no longer care what other people think of me," he declared.