Redemption 13 - The Narrow Sea
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Note:
The travelogue continues: Nymeria and crew sail past the Disputed Lands, enter the Narrow Sea, navigate the Stepstones, and dock on the isle of Tyrosh.
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Previously:
Arya enjoyed her visit to the pleasure island of Lys, where she learned the seductive art of belly dancing, intending to use her new skill to entertain Gendry when they were reunited.
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As Nymeria departed Lys harbor on the morning tide, Arya strolled the deck observing the sailors of the duty watch going about their routine chores, casting off mooring lines from the piers, lowering the sails, adjusting the running rigging, clearing the deck and coiling ropes. The mate at the helm shouted out orders and was rewarded with cheerful responses from the men. Arya listened to their lighthearted banter and noted the grinning faces as they worked, occasionally hearing a melodious voice belting out a familiar ditty. As their leader walked by each seaman, they would pause in their tasks, fix her with a broad smile, dip their heads slightly whilst touching two fingers to their foreheads, and mutter reverently, "Milady." Arya understood that by now her devoted seafarers respected her as a fearless fighter and bold commander, and were most grateful that she had led them on an astonishing and dangerous voyage around the whole of Planetos. They were the first to meet the inhabitants of the continent on the far side of the world, and now they were approaching their port of origin. Few mariners could boast of such a feat, and they were proud of both themselves and their lovely liege lady.
The wolf princess realized that the men were all well aware that the Narrow Sea was close by and they were becoming eager to see familiar landmarks again. They had experienced an exciting and momentous journey, but almost three years had passed since they last set foot on Westerosi soil and the long absence had made their memories of home and loved ones more precious.
As Arya reflected on the mood of her crew she realized that she had also begun to yearn for home. Three of her family yet lived and if the gods were good, she would be reunited with her dear brother Bran within three months. If she desired, Nymeria could transport her to the North to see Jon, and she could also ride to Winterfell to visit Sansa. The sisters had parted as friends and there was affection between them now. The she-wolf was keen to tarry amongst her pack again.
And then there was the question of Gendry. If Captain Saan and Ser Davos were truthful, the stubborn bullheaded boy was patiently waiting for her at Storms End, convinced that she would return to him on her own accord. The closer Arya sailed to Westeros, the more uneasy she became as she considered her rejected lover. She knew that Gendry would desire to wed her and plant his seed as quickly as possible after waiting for so long, and now she was hesitant to initiate the process. The bold adventurer would rather face wicked pirates than Gendry's hopeful, expectant countenance and bright blue eyes. Arya sighed, thinking, I must stop brooding and simply ride to the Stormlands. Mayhaps we will have a future together and mayhaps not, but I need to find the courage to learn what the fates have in store for me.
Arya leaned against the starboard rail of Nymeria, vaguely scanning the terrain slipping by on the shoreline. She welcomed a distraction from the nagging conundrum that Gendry presented to her conscience. After more than thirty moons at sea, the rhythmic sounds of the waves slapping the hull of the ship and the wind fluttering the sails were most soothing to her troubled mind, and she reflected that once she became a landlubber again, she would miss the comforting music of the sea.
The adventurer diverted her thoughts from her internal misgivings by training her glass on the unfamiliar scenery, noting that the land was flat and featureless. The predominant color was brown with scattered hints of dull green, and she discerned wisps of smoke rising from intermittent smoldering fires. Her inspection revealed that there were no animals within view and the vegetation was predominantly clumps of dead grasses. There were no buildings to be seen, only a few ruins. If Arya was to describe the landscape with one word, it would be "cursed".
Captain Saan joined her at the rail, and when the wolf princess turned and nodded an acknowledgement, he volunteered, "We are heading for the Stepstones, the dense chain of islands that separate Westeros from Essos. There will be treacherous sailing, for we must be watchful for the rocky islets that can stove in Nymeria's hull. Some of these deadly obstacles do not even break the surface of the sea." Arya nodded again and returned her gaze to the shoreline, enquiring as she pointed, "Why is the countryside so desolate?"
Her Lyseni navigator frowned and replied, "That bleak region is called the Disputed Lands, princess. The domain lies between the Free Cities of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh, and all three have colonized parts of it. For several centuries, each state has claimed ownership of the district and many battles have been fought for its possession. Even Volantis has been drawn into the conflict at times. Long ago it was prosperous and fertile, but now it is a wasteland because the three states have been unable to agree on the boundaries of their provinces." Captain Saan sighed, "Since all attempts to fix borders have failed, the smallfolk have suffered continually from marauding sellsword armies. Farmers and villagers flee the land and few people struggle to maintain a livelihood in that ill-fated place."
Arya had listened carefully and slowly asked her Lyseni mentor, "What is your stance on this issue, Captain?"
With almost a belligerent gleam in his eye, Captain Saan's pursed his lips and retorted, "The Lyseni and the Myrish have always been enemies. The Myrish are a vain people, believing themselves superior to their neighbors because they are very talented in crafting glass and textiles and have an ancient and noble lineage. They are an insufferable people and their claim to the Disputed Lands is weak."
The adventurer chuckled with a half-smile, "That is exactly the answer I expected." Then with a curious tone, "Will we stop at Myr, Captain?"
"Nae, milady, look at the chart when you go below. Myr lies too far from our projected route to King's Landing. However, we will stop at the isle of Tyrosh. I think you will enjoy seeing the marketplace."
Upon reaching the southwestern cape of Essos, Nymeria turned to the north and carefully navigated the many hazardous rocky islands of the Stepstones and the curious wolf princess studied them through her glass. Some were fairly large and covered with vegetation and obviously inhabited, with flocks of sheep and goats and square fenced agricultural fields, but not really of much interest to the adventurer. When Tyrosh finally came into view two moons after leaving Lys, Randyll, the first mate, shouted his announcement from the helm, which was answered by members of the duty watch as they trimmed the sails to set a direct course for the isle.
Arriving from below decks and moving to the bow, Captain Saan smiled at Arya and ventured, "Those gleeful cries indicate that we have left the dangerous waters of the Stepstones to our stern, and from this point on, the Narrow Sea poses few obstacles to the ship's passage." Then he waggled his eyebrows suggestively and snickered, "And every day we will sail closer to your patient admirer, who dreams of the day that he will wed and bed you."
Arya snorted and raised her glass to her eye, preferring to view Tyrosh and deliberately ignore the captain's cheeky remark. Nymeria sailed past a huge tower as she entered the harbor and Captain Saan remarked, "That is the Bleeding Tower, a notable landmark." The she wolf observed that beyond the wharves, the city itself appeared to be quite large and was surrounded by the highest walls she had ever seen, rendering it a virtual fortress.
After docking and negotiating the harbor fees, Arya peered from the deck and observed that adjacent to the waterfront, the boulevard was lined with a multitude of temples and shrines. Her loyal companion Renwick joined her at the rail and pointed out, "The Tyroshi as a people do not favor one god or another, milady, but individually choose amongst the many available whom to worship."
Disembarking from Nymeria, and with Renwick and Hargrove in tow, Arya entered the city, observing that the inner walls were composed of a shiny black material which reflected the intense sunlight and producing a painful glare to the beholder. As Arya squinted and shaded her eyes with her hand, Renwick volunteered, "The wall are constructed of fused dragonglass, milady. It is a most unique feature of the port." Arya could not help but remember Gendry at the forge in Winterfell, melting and shaping dragonglass into weapons. The memory of how her old friend's ardent glances stirred her blood when they had reunited after four long years served to fluster her in the present day and she wondered if they would truly share another meaningful reunion.
Captain Saan had told Arya that she would find the marketplace entertaining, and she was eager to explore it. The first thing that impressed the adventurer was the variety of elaborate and colorful clothing and jewelry worn by both genders. Expensive Myrish silk was more common than wool, and gold flashed on every hand, arm, and neck. Even the hats were larger and more fanciful than anything she had ever seen. All of the Tyroshi men wore bizarre hair, side whiskers, mustaches, and beard styles, which were dyed in hues drawn from an astonishingly diverse color palate. Scarlet, green, blue, purple, and vermillion, were all popular colors.
The captain had referred to the Tyroshi as 'loud, vain, and foolish peacocks', concerned mainly with their physical appearance. This could have been the result of the island having attaining great wealth from of a rare local sea snail from which a highly coveted rich purple dye could be obtained. The snail was also the source for the dyes of other brilliant colors, and the inhabitants of Tyrosh celebrated their good fortune by displaying the pigments everywhere. Arya studied the variety of dyes in the marketplace stalls and considered changing her own hair color as a diversion. I wonder what I would look like with pale purple hair, she pondered. The bold adventurer fingered her braid as she inspected a dish of the appropriate tint closely and Renwick nervously spoke up, as though he was reading her mind, "Er, milady, do you really think that is a good idea?"
Smiling at her perceptive companion, Arya replied, "But aren't my brown tresses rather boring, Renwick?"
"Ah, but you would never be boring, milady!" Renwick responded with a smile, pleased with his own wit.
Arya laughed and motioned for the vendor to approach, "Mayhaps, but I still think I will purchase some dye for the future, in case I change my mind."
Moving on, the mariners savored the strong smell of spices, particularly garlic and roasted peppers, as they wandered amongst the many food stalls, displaying ingredients from all over Essos and beyond, and the trio laughed as Hargrove's stomach began to growl. "Mayhaps we should find a pot shop soon, eh, sailor?" Arya smirked, and the old salt blushed but nodded agreement.
Leaving the center of the marketplace, Arya was excited to wander on the street of armorers, glimpsing the most elaborate armor and helmets she had ever seen anywhere, many of which were fashioned with the images of animals and composed of shiny precious metals. The craftsmen also designed beautiful swords and she thought, Oh! How I wish Gendry could witness these wares with me, but to the critical eye of the experienced warrior woman, all the fancy adornments simply rendered the blades less effective as instruments of death. Gendry would also sneer at all these useless frills, she mused.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, the sightseers finally decided to tend to Hargrove's complaining stomach. Both Arya and Renwick were also beginning to feel peckish so they located a bakery, which was emitting the most enticing of wonderful odors. The trio entered the door with their noses raised high to inhale the fragrant aromas. The shopkeeper took one look at their simple garb and welcomed them, "You are obviously visitors to the city, friends. I recommend that you sample the delicacy for which Tyrosh is famous, and mine are the best you will find." The woman was obviously the baker herself, for her hands and apron were dusted with flour. She held out a tray of small pastries, glazed cylinders of fried dough dusted with a mixture of cinnamon and sugar. "These are our honeyfingers," the baker proudly announced.
Arya had never required much encouragement to indulge in sweet treats and straightaway selected a cake, quickly taking a bite. Her grey eyes widened in surprise and then slowly closed as her head slumped back, her cheeks took on a rosy glow, and she emitted a loud and extended satisfied moan of delight, "Oooooh!" Renwick and Hargrove were startled and immediately made eye contact with each other. Once or twice in their lives, mostly spend at sea, the grizzled old mariners had enjoyed the opportunity, skill, and privilege of bringing a willing woman to her peak of pleasure, and Arya's reaction to tasting the honeyfinger implied that the lovely maiden was experiencing an orgasm right before their astonished eyes. Thoroughly embarrassed, the sober sailors looked away from their liege lady, cherishing what they had witnessed, but completely unnerved by such an intimate and unguarded vision.
As they nibbled on the delicious cakes, the seamen chose not to comment on milady's obvious ecstasy, but the baker saw her reaction and giggled behind her hand. Her roguish husband, who had been ogling Arya's trim figure, sniggered, "Well, I am delighted that our wares have so pleased you, lass." The baker now became aware of how her husband's eyes had raked over the oblivious young girl's curves and punched him in the arm for his uncouth behavior.
The three voyagers continued to explore the city, now nonchalantly strolling by the impressive Fountain of the Drunken God in the central plaza, all happily munching on the irresistible honeyfingers and gazing at the architecture. The impetuous maiden with an insatiable sweet tooth had considered buying up all the cakes in the shop, but sensibly settled for a sack of three dozen, which Hargrove was carrying. As Arya was working on her fourth honeyfinger, idling musing, Sansa would love these cakes, she felt a hand firmly squeeze her arse. Swiftly whirling around, she spied three leering bravos with outlandish hair styles and colors, seemingly pleased with the pretty girl's irritated countenance. Snapping instantly into Faceless Man mode, the warrior woman powerfully kicked her unsuspecting attacker in the chest. His mouth flew open in surprise as he lost his balance and awkwardly toppled backwards, right into the fountain. Out of the corner of her eye, Arya saw the second bravo with his hand on the hilt of his sword, so she continued spinning and swiftly swung her muscular leg up to smack him hard on the left side of his face. As the Tyroshi landed on his back, almost knocked unconscious by force of her potent blow, she rushed to third bravo, who was frozen in place staring at the unexpected mêlée, and jammed her sticky honeyfinger into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. Then with another Faceless Man move, Arya slammed her flat palm against his chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs, and followed up with a knee to his groin. He dropped to his knees, groaning in pain.
The dripping wet bravo who had instigated the confrontation was now awkwardly climbing out of fountain whilst trying to unsheathe his sword. Arya hissed, "If you dare to draw your weapon on me, you will not live to see another sunset, you fool!" as she kicked him in the chest once more and he fell back into the fountain with a loud splash. With a gaping mouth and a stupid countenance, the confused young man stared at her from his partially submerged position as she spun around again to knock over the third bravo, who was cradling his privates and had almost regained his feet. The second bravo was still on the ground, shaking his damaged head and moaning. The skirmish had ended so quickly that Renwick and Hargrove barely had the time to fully unsheathe their cutlasses and now simply stared at the conquered men, who now appeared beaten and completely harmless.
The imperious wolf princess stood tall in triumph over the humiliated figures, brandishing her sword on the remote chance that any of the bravos would be foolish enough to challenge her again. She looked from one to the other and snarled, "Idiots! How dare you molest me?! You are fortunate that I did not take your worthless lives!"
The bravo who had been overly friendly eyed her wicked blade as he cautiously climbed out of the fountain, shaking excess water from his hair, clothes, and boots. "A thousand pardon, my lady," he began to apologize obsequiously; "I confess that I had been overwhelmed by your beauty and lost my senses. I was desperate to make your acquaintance and merely attempted to gain your attention." It was obvious that Arya was displeased with his words, for her eyes narrowed and her prominent eyebrows formed a threatening 'V' on her forehead. She scowled and pointed Needle at the brash young man's chest, indicating that he was not out of danger.
Attempting to salvage the situation, preserve his life, (and mayhaps still befriend the fetching maiden), the bravo bowed deeply and began again, casting his eyes towards Renwick and Hargrove also, "Truly, I am most repentant, my lady, and I sincerely regret spoiling your outing with such a rude introduction to Tyroshi manners. My name is Myrio Myrakis, and I beg of you to let me atone for my impolite behavior by escorting you and your kinfolk to the closest appropriate inn where I would be honored to share our highly acclaimed Tyroshi pear brandy with you." His companions were now on their feet and inspecting their wounds, appearing quite humble as they nodded in agreement and were relieved that the sailors had sheathed their blades. One of them pointed to an inn with a sign bearing the words 'The Prancing Pony' and a painted horse, which was located across the square. Myrio bowed again and indicated that he would lead the way if the lovely girl obliged.
Arya stuck Needle into her belt and studied the foolhardy young man. He was much like the outlandish men of Tyrosh that 'Cat of the Canals' had met whilst selling clams and oysters on the docks of Braavos. She recalled that it was a rude Tyroshi sailor who had called down to her for the price of the clam between her legs once. Not only was the remark inappropriate, but the girl not even flowered yet! To her curious eyes, Myrio Myrakis posed a most interesting figure. His shoulder-length hair was neatly trimmed and dyed a striking shade of deep blue, but his mustachios and goatee were purple. When he flashed a charming smile, his even teeth were a bright white and one lower incisor was covered in gold leaf. Arya observed that he was certainly handsome in a flamboyant way and could understand why he was so confident that any woman would be flattered by his attention. She remembered that Queen Daenerys had been smitten with a very similar Tyroshi sellsword.
Aware of her curiosity and the fact that the dangerous maiden no longer appeared aggressive, Myrio smiled invitingly and inquired, "Might I know your name, my lady? I was serious when I said that I was desperate to make your acquaintance."
Arya decided it would be better to remain incognito for the present time and coolly replied, "You may call me 'Cat'. And do not call me 'my lady'."
Myrio's smile widened and he countered with a japing tone of voice, "Ah, I would prefer to call you 'Tigress' for your beauty, grace, and deadly nature. You are a most fascinating lass, Cat!"
Arya smirked and laughed, and the melodious timbre of her voice caused Myrio's heart to beat faster, "You can save your honeyed words for a more gullible maid, Myrio, for I will certainly never fuck you!"
Now it was Myrio's turn to laugh and he shook his head, "Well, you cannot fault me for trying, my dear Cat."
Names were exchanged all around, and the new acquaintances were soon smacking their lips over goblets of sweet pear brandy. The bravos noted the sailor's cotton duck garb and cutlasses, and concluded that Cat's companions were men of the sea. Kem, whose hair and beard were green, asked Renwick, "My man, might either of you be the maiden's father?"
Renwick and Hargrove shook their heads vigorously in the negative, and Renwick loudly announced with a bit of pride in his voice, "Nae, she is our captain and commander!" The bravos gazed at the sailor with blatant curiosity, hoping to learn more, but Arya caught his attention and indicated with raised eyebrows not to reveal any more details. The three bravos looked to have seen less than thirty namedays and at first appeared to be very arrogant and boisterous, but as they all conversed, became more friendly and affable. As expected for men of their age, Renwick noted that they continued to furtively admire milady's lovely figure. The grizzled sailor did volunteer, changing the subject, "We have been on a long voyage to the east, and are returning now to King's Landing after an absence of three years."
The third bravo, Jokin, whose hair, beard, and prominent side-whiskers were dyed scarlet, spoke up now, "Aha! I was in King's Landing not three moons past!"
Hargrove piped up, "What news can you share?"
Jokin grinned, "I had been to that city before the war also, and noticed a remarkable change on my recent visit: King's Landing no longer smells like shit!"
When the laughter died down, Jokin continued, "Aye, it seems that the new king and his Hand had made piping in fresh water and removing sewage their first priority, and they have been successful. The residents are most pleased."
There was more chuckling and Jokin added, "King Bran the Crippled and the Imp are using Lannister gold and Tyrell foodstuffs to pay off old King Robert's debts, and the lenders in Braavos, Pentos, Myr, and Tyrosh are most happy." His face took on a sly expression, "There is more money available for sellswords now."
Arya was dying to ask after Sansa and Jon, but bit her lip, not wanting to reveal her family name. Kem took up the thread now, stating, "Aye, the news out of Westeros was more exciting before King Bran was crowned, and the mummers' shows were first rate, what with war, murder, treachery, incest, kinslaying, poisonings, and betrayals making for much entertainment. Things have calmed down these past three years and even reports out of the ravaged North have been boring. The writers of farces are depressed for lack of material and plays are less interesting."
Myrio raised his goblet as if making a toast and japed, "Aye, who would want a long and uneventful life? I drink to a short but exciting one!"
Knowing his liege lady's concern, Renwick casually asked Jokin how the North fared. Arya learned that Sansa was busy with her task of rebuilding Winterfell, but with the harsh winter over, life was improving for the inhabitants. Jon Targaryen was alive and sometimes referred to as the 'King of the Wildlings'.
Trying to appear disinterested, the wolf princess finally gave in to her curiosity and asked, "And what news of the Stormlands?"
"Ah, now that is an interesting story!" Jokin replied, "The new Lord Baratheon is the bastard son of randy old King Robert, an upjumped armorer who keeps to himself. He is a modest man whose main concern is improving the welfare of his smallfolk, for having been raised in Flea Bottom; he knows firsthand how harsh life can be for the poor. The most curious thing is that this young man has refused to marry, even when he has been offered the hand of every tempting maiden in his kingdom."
The pear brandy had loosened Kem's tongue, and he leered, "The lad is surely a fool! If I was in his shoes, I would have a different lass warming my bed every night!"
Unable to contain her interest, Arya blurted out, "You are certain that he is unwed?"
Myrio was roused by her attention to the topic and smirked, "Why so concerned, Cat? Do you wish to tempt the lad, my bold tigress? Do you consider this lord a challenge?"
Renwick was in his cups also and forgot himself, loudly stating, "Nae! The young lord has already proposed to milady!" Then he gulped and slapped his hand over his mouth, realizing what he had done. He lowered his eyes and muttered, obviously dismayed, "Sorry, princess, I wasn't thinking."
The bravo's gaze swiveled from Arya to Renwick and then back to Arya again. He smiled with mischief and recognition and grinned, "Oh ho! The 'cat' is out of the bag! You are not simply a privateer; you are a highborn lady of Westeros. Am I correct, my dear Cat?"
Arya was uncomfortable and embarrassed, but she couldn't be angry with devoted Renwick. Now that the truth about her identity was out, she pursed her lips and grudging admitted, "Aye, Lord Baratheon is an old friend who desired to wed me following the Battle of the Long Night. However, when the war ended I was very distraught and needed to get away. I chose to outfit a ship and sail into the unknown with no expectations of returning alive. Besides, as I have demonstrated by easily besting you three sellswords, I am not a typical lady, content to sit in a lord's castle, sewing and bearing his babes."
Myrio was intrigued with the confession of this beautiful young woman dressed in the garb of a soldier complete with well-used blades in her belt, and after raking his eyes over her shapely figure once more, retorted, "You are definitely not a typical lady, Cat."
Jokin had been listening closely and stared at Arya, "I must ask, milady, what did your man Renwick mean by calling you 'princess'?"
Arya sighed, as she had no wish to reveal so much information, but it was too late now, "I am a Stark of Winterfell and my sister is the Queen of the North. Although I do not encourage them, my crewmen like to refer to me as 'the wolf princess'."
Myrio chuckled, "So the cat is actually a wolf, eh? That makes more sense as you have the ferocity of a wolf."
"Aye, the words of my House are 'Winter is coming', and I have brought winter to many men's lives. I prefer to be feared rather than loved or admired," the she-wolf replied grimly.
The pear brandy was only beginning to assuage Kem's headache from being kicked so hard in the head, and he winced, "Well, I for one fear you now, lass, and I have no desire to face you in combat."
Praise for her skill as a warrior was her one weakness when it came to flattery and Arya smiled at his words. Seeking to take advantage of her good mood, inquisitive Myrio ventured, "Cat, you say that you would rather be feared than loved, yet I deduce that your interest in that young lord at Storm's End has more to do with latter, rather than the former." His hinting at romance and sex caught his companions' attention, and the two sellswords grinned at the wolf girl.
Arya slowly nodded, "I am on my way home now, and I am curious what awaits me after three years. I find it strange that Gendry, for he was called Gendry Waters when I knew him, should wait so long for my unlikely return, especially since he obviously had more reasonable options."
Myrio's face softened with recently acquired affection and he quietly muttered, "I would wait for you."
Save for Gendry, the warrior woman always felt uncomfortable with the gaze of adoring men, and even Gendry's loving expression had made her feel more vulnerable than she liked. Now she simply laughed, "Nae, Myrio, for men like you, one pleasant evening in a brothel will dispel any lingering romantic thoughts for a few days. Have yourself serviced tonight and you will have forgotten about me by the morrow!"
The temporarily besotted sellsword was about to protest his constancy, but instead grinned, "Mayhaps you are right, Cat, I shall conduct an experiment later today."
Leaving the 'Prancing Pony' as the sun moved towards the horizon, the two parties bade farewell and Myrio bent to kiss Arya's hand. He stood up straight and paused, giving her a significant look and suggested, "Princess, if you have a need for sellswords, mayhaps my companions and I would be pleased to accompany you."
Arya had to admit to herself that she was seriously flattered and laughed in Daenerys' sweet tinkling voice, responding in the negative. Myrio's face expressed disappointment as he turned to leave. The adventurer ruminated, When did I become such a coquette? Before Myrio had moved very far, Arya impulsively reached out and firmly grabbed his arse. When the startled sellsword spun around to face her, she sniggered, "Turnabout is fair play, Myrio."
He nodded and smiled, "Anytime, Cat, anytime." Though his heart was heavy, Myrio turned again and walked away with a jaunty swagger and a whistle. His companion Jokin knew him well and observed, "I see that the maiden has really affected you." The bravo responded with a barely perceptible nod of the head.
Nymeria left the port of Tyrosh and the sailors were all in good moods as they trimmed the sails or lounged on the deck. They were still chuckling over a practical jape that Alyn had played on Wyl, dyeing his beard a bright green whilst he slept. The mariners had enjoyed many of the delights of the pleasure island and were now on the last leg of their journey, eager to see Westeros again. Arya leaned on the rail of the bow, listening to the crash of the waves on the hull and staring into the distance, elated as well as nervous and wondering, What will it really be like to be in King's Landing again?
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Notes:
Belaboring the obvious: So Arya studied the dyes in the marketplace and considered changing her hair color to light purple. Does this ring a bell?
Next: Docking in King's Landing and several reunions.