TRISTAN

His luck began and ended with Endrio Palamis.

"We may as well have not paid him at all," the Brash Lion grumbled, picking at the stuffed crabs on the table. The flame haired slaver had promised information for Tristan's silver, but so far he had turned up nothing more than the fact that Merry Milena sailed from Tyrosh before their arrival. A trivial bit of information, and one that Axell had discovered hours before.

"I told you he would steal your coin," Shanna said, smirking in derision at her employer. She sat directly across from him at the round table they shared to break their fast. "Never trust a man that dyes his hair orange."

"Any color," Kerrick added quietly. Abriana flinched, but continued to poke at her morning meal of crab and some black beans without a word. If the newly liberated gold cloak noted her unease, he did nothing to show it. Axell chuckled at the discussion.

"You did not think Snow would just hang a sign outside the inn where he was staying," the sellsword remarked, breaking the claw of a crab between two fingers. Tristan turned a sour look on the mercenary. "Your…" he paused, regarding Abriana, "salt wife is good with the language, but we are still only two people searching an entire city. And we must be careful not to show ourselves to Snow in the meantime. If it takes four days or four hundred, Castamere will still await you upon your return. And your sweet wife, as well."

"We missed Rhaenys by less than hours upon our arrival, and now we cannot find her anywhere," Tristan growled. "How many inns can there possibly be in this accursed city?"

"Many and more," Amory said. "We can only search so many in a day. Would that they had gone to Dragonstone. At least then we would be able to find them easily."

"Of course, the last Targaryen forces may not wish us there," Axell quipped. "Nor the Celtigars or Velaryons."

"Are there places we have not looked?" Tristan asked, steering the conversation back to his current dilemma. "An inn we missed, a boarding house that is outside the city itself?"

"He could have taken apartments," Abriana said quietly, sitting next to him. She shrugged as she poked at her crabs with a small fork. "They could have been sold into slavery from a different auction. They could have taken another ship."

"That would be impossible," Shanna said. "My men are watching the harbor. No one could miss four Westerosi, especially two women and a child."

"He would need a person to speak for him," Amory said.

"He speaks Valyrian," Tristan pointed out irritably. Lorch slammed his fist on the table.

"Is there anything he cannot do?" the manticore demanded.

"He can't fight," Tristan answered shortly. Amory bristled at the remark; belatedly Tristan realized his words.

"He has sorcery," Lorch snarled defensively.

"He does," Axell agreed. "We have all seen it, and we all know now what we face. But first we must find him, which is not easy." Axell paused, lost in thought. "The auctioneers," he said, turning to Abriana, "many of them speak Westerosi, is that correct?"

"Yes," the girl answered. Axell nodded with a smile.

"And I am certain they would wish to be most helpful to our fair Shanna," he said, turning to the reaver. Shanna gave him a sardonic smile.

"Send her alone?" Tristan asked.

"Oh, please, Ser knight, defend me from these horrible, lecherous men," Shanna pleaded, even tossing one hand, palm out, to her forehead. Axell chuckled as he popped a last morsel into his mouth.

"I think we should send someone to defend the auctioneers from her," the sellsword quipped. "However, if it will reassure you, I am certain noble Kerrick will be up to the task of guarding her."

Kerrick seemed surprised, but nodded hastily.

"Ser Amory and I will try the larger taverns again, and work our way through the city," Axell continued. "There will be enough who speak the Westerosi tongue, no doubt even a few from the Seven Kingdoms in the wake of the rebellion. Two more sellswords will attract little attention."

"I see," Tristan said. "And what are your plans for me?"

"You may take Abriana and try to find the landlords of the city," Axell replied. "You'll need the girl to help with those, they are less likely to speak our language. And, besides, I am certain that you would wish more time with your salt wife."

"Yes," Tristan said slowly. "Yes, that will do."

"Very well!" Axell said, pushing his chair back and standing. "If we are all in accord, I think I shall tend to the many bars and brothels of Tyrosh. Amory, if you would?"

Amory stood without a word. He stared, stony, at Tristan for a moment, but then turned to Axell.

"Yes," he said. "I think I could take a drink."

The sellsword and knight departed, Axell casting a last, reassuring smile back to Tristan. As they exited, Shanna shook her head and stood as well.

"And here, I thought you were the one in charge," she remarked. She turned to Kerrick. "Come, ser knight. We have work to do."

Kerrick looked to Tristan.

"Go, before she leaves without you," Tristan said. Kerrick wiped his hands hurriedly, then jumped up to follow Shanna as the Ironborn sauntered to the door. Tristan took a bite of his stuffed crab, then pushed the plate away. Abriana still poked at her own meal; she had barely touched it. "Are… are you finished?" he asked, hesitant.

Abriana looked up from her plate. Her dark eyes barely registered a mournful compliance.

"As you say, my lord," she stated. She stood from the table, carefully drawing her skirts past the chair. Tristan stood a moment too late to help her, although he wondered if she would even accept his help.

The two strode out into the bright, chill morning, a cold northern wind blowing over the city and driving the smoke of the forges off to the south. Around the Inn of the Bluff the traffic was light, but the markets below teemed with life. Abriana took the lead without a word, winding her way through the traffic. So much taller than her, Tristan could see the natural blond of her hair beginning to show through the fading lavender dyes; he wondered if he should offer to buy her more.

For hours, it seemed, they moved through the city. A moneylender here, a merchant lord there, all with homes to rent and apartments to lease. Some had indeed taken in Westerosi, but they turned out to be merchants or nobles. None had rented to a young man with an even younger wife and four year old daughter. Inquiries into purple eyes led to Lyseni or Volantene travelers rather than a Targaryen princess. As the sun reached its zenith and began its descent to the west, Tristan gently took Abriana's arm and led her to a small inn, its wide open front allowing the chilly northern breeze into its arched plaza.

"We should rest, for a little bit," the knight offered.

"As you say, my lord," Abriana said listlessly. Tristan stifled a frustrated groan. He eased her to a vacant table and helped her into her chair, than sat down opposite her. A serving girl, her throat shackled by a heavy bronze collar, found her way quickly to the table. At Tristan's behest, Abriana ordered a small bottle of Arbor Gold and some sort of leafy salad; to Tristan's eye it seemed to have been sitting out for far too long.

"This seems… overripe," the knight said. Abriana translated, then turned back as the waitress answered her.

"She says that this is the best you will find at the end of a winter," the girl explained quietly. Tristan shrugged, turned over a few silvers for the food and wine. With two gulps of wine to chase down a healthy forkful of salad, Tristan noted that once again Abriana merely pushed her food around her bowl.

"You should eat," the knight said. He tried a smile. "You are already thin enough."

"As you say," Abriana answered. She lifted a fork full of leaves and nuts to her mouth. She followed it with a small sip of her wine.

"Another two stags tonight," Tristan said. "Soon you'll have enough money to go back on your own. Perhaps find your family in Pentos."

"As you say."

Tristan fought the urge to hurl his glass. For the rest of the salad he ate in silence. Abriana finished her meal like an obedient slave.

"Tell me of them," Tristan said, once he washed down the last of the salad. Abriana looked up. "Your family. You must have uncles, or brothers, or…"

He trailed off as he found Abriana simply staring at him, her face blank. Tristan forced out a resigned smile and shook his head. For a moment he looked around the rather simple tavern, but there was not so much as a crack in the wall in which he could take interest.

"They are merchants," the girl said suddenly. Tristan looked back to her. "I have two uncles. Both younger than my father. They are merchants."

"They would take you in, I am certain," Tristan assumed. "Once we find Snow, I will have Shanna return you to your family."

"They will not want me," Abriana murmured.

"But… you are family," Tristan countered. Abriana gave him a wan smile.

"I will be a problem for them," she explained. "They cannot have an heir from my father appear now. They have no doubt taken his fleet, his warehouses, his shops and agents. I… I would be married off quickly at best, to the first man to take me. At worst… I will find my way to Lys."

"To…" Tristan paused, understanding her. "They could not be so cruel."

"It is no more cruel, I suppose, than hunting and murdering a four year old girl," Abriana said. It could barely be considered a challenge; she spoke quietly, resigned to scolding or maybe a beating.

"I… do what I must," Tristan said. "For my family."

"As do they," Abriana countered. "They would lose their fortunes for a girl. You lose this Castamere for a girl."

"That is not… not the way it is," Tristan tried. Even to himself the words sounded hollow.

"As you say, my lord."

"Stop that!" Tristan shouted suddenly. The serving girl near him nearly dropped her tray, and several patrons turned to him, but Abriana's eyes remained fixed on the wooden bowl atop the table.

"My apologies," the girl said. Her resigned compliance somehow frustrated the Brash Lion far more than Shanna's sniping or Amory's insubordination. It took a long moment for Tristan to regain his composure.

"This… must be done," he tried again. "Or the war will drag on."

"As you say."

Tristan kept his hands at his sides.

"Perhaps she will not be killed."

"As you say."

Tristan stood. He tried not to let her anger him.

"We should continue our search," the knight declared. Abriana looked up. "Don't you dare say it," he ordered, a sharp edge to his voice.

Abriana said nothing as she stood.

The third man after lunch was a landlord with a forked green beard and a narrow face. His thin lips lit up with a smile as he noted the pair walk into his little office. A young girl, maybe Abriana's age, hurried out of the way, her heavy brass collar adorned with little bells that tinkled when she moved. As Tristan watched her leave, the man strode up to him with a smile.

"Welcome, welcome!" he said, clasping Tristan's hand in his own. "You are settling in Tyrosh? With your lovely new bride?"

"You speak Westerosi," Tristan said, allowing the man to shake his hand.

"Many of us do," the landlord said. "It helps with so much business in the Sunset Kingdoms. Have you fled the violence as well?"

"I am looking for someone," Tristan said. "I was hoping I could find him in this city."

"There are many people to find," the landlord said, "but I would much rather rent a new home to you and yours, friend. Tyrosh is a city of sellswords, and your new wife will be safe here while you fight in the Disputed Lands!"

"I am not interested in a home," Tristan said. "I am interested in a man. Short, shorter than me, with black hair and pale eyes. He is traveling with a wife and a small child. The child has purple eyes."
The landlord said nothing for a long moment. He simply studied Tristan, his eyes narrowed as he tried to divine something from the knight's appearance.

"Many people have come to Tyrosh recently," he said. The good humor had fled his voice. "Too many for a single man to remember them all. Tell me, are you friend to this man?"

"I am," Tristan answered. Or I was, once.

"So many people," the landlord said again. "So many…"

Tristan growled, but pulled a pouch from his belt. He withdrew a pair of golden dragons, holding them out for the potential informant to see.

"Ah," the landlord said, reaching out. He barely had the coins in his fingers when Tristan's hand clamped down around his wrist.

"Your name, first," Tristan said. "So I know who to find if what you tell me is false."

Dear sir," the landlord began, "Cetto Argentis does not deal false. And I do think I know the man you search for, if you will return my hand and my coins."