Lungs burned for the relief only air could bring, sending a form that was once heavy with sleep into the light of day. Hands made rough by years of heavy labor gripped at his throat, his lip dry and peeling of his own thin flesh were left agape with a desperate gasp. The man's chest burned, begging for breath, as if someone had been hovering over him and with one deep inhale had stolen all the air from his chest. Eyes shut for a long time, the thought that he may die lingering at the back of his mind, and while all he could see was darkness it was a deep shade of red. Slowly, his body had found peace in the air around him, easing the pain that consumed his body and the panic that had set in his mind. You aren't dying, it was just a dream. Yes, that's what he would tell himself. A dream of fire and ash that left him breathless. The fog of panic cleared from his mind, the clamor of the day having started without him only now becoming clear. Large fists formed and rubbed at bloodshot eyes with the back of his thumbs, a quick and final attempt to remove any lingering sleepiness from his face. His mother would need him downstairs.
The Outcast Inn, with its grey walls and creaking wooden sign aged by sun and sea, was huddled along Ragman's Harbor. Morning light fought its way in through wooden shutters meeting the swirls of smoke that crept through the floorboards - the cooks in the kitchen burning animal fat in their pots in a desperate attempt to hide the fact that they had turned another bread roll into ash. Hands swatted away the smells before reaching down for the fabrics that littered the floor. They weren't clean, but they would do. He pulled each article over arms and legs made strong by his time working along in the harbor, and ran fingers through black hair that threatened to curl with the coaxing of the seawater. It hung around his face awkwardly, daring to fall into his eyes as he slipped from the small room he had known since he was a boy. His mother had raised him there, while her husband took to the seas, and as he grew as did his responsibilities.
"'Bout time you got up," it was the sweet voice of his mother that greeted him as he ducked down below the low door frame and entered the small space that kept the keys to each room at the Inn. She was a short plump woman, with her hair a mess of curls shoved beneath a cream-colored bonnet, seated on her stool as she waited for the late raisers to clear from their rooms. Her name was Abagal, but everyone called her Ma. At first, it had been only playful, to mock the boy who had hidden behind her skirts, but as guests came and went she had quickly become the mother most had needed. Many would return from a long sea voyage and find themselves at their door looking for her warm embrace and a bowl of hot stew.
"Suns been up for ages, Robbie," when she stood, her head stopped shy of his shoulders, where he had gotten his towering height from she would never know. "Rooms need cleaning, won't be long until father's docked and Donoros has been in twice already-"
Twice? Had he really been asleep so long? His face fell, brows furrowing to cast a ghost of a shadow over bright eyes. Large hands reached up, fingers gripping around thick curls as he cursed the dream that had left him enthralled in a deep sleep. Robbie was met with the gentle touch of his mother against a thick arm, her kind eyes seeking out his with great concern. "What is it, Robbie?"
He couldn't tell her. Not about the darkness he dreamt of. The air had been colder than any he had ever felt, the flicker flames and the woman in red that called to him like a siren in the night. It had felt all too real.
"Just a dream," Robbie shrugged his shoulders, his hands dropping down from his head to cradle his mother in a careful embrace. "I'll clear the beds for the girls, then go meet father - don't let anyone give you any trouble while I'm gone." And he knew she wouldn't. Ever since he was a child he, much like any patron of her inn, Robbie had got away with very little.
After a simple kiss was placed on frizzy hair at the top of her head, Robbie took to the rooms. He ignored the hunger in his stomach as he knocked on each door. Vacated rooms were the easiest to tend to. Rough hands pulled at loose cotton sheets and moth worn blankets from stiff mattresses before bunching them up into a careless ball to be washed. Robbie would often do much of the less desirable work as well, emptying the chamber pots and disposing of anything left behind by their guest that left the stomach of the girls uneasy. But, chamber pots were left full as he moved from one room to the next. His father would need him on the docks soon. The difficulties came when guests lingered in their rooms. Most left without trouble, others liked to challenge Robbie, not quite a boy, not quite a man, as he stood towering in the doorway. Shouted profanities, long stern gazes, even the occasional scuffle or two. It was all part of a routine that often left him with a busted lip or blood knuckles, but as he abandoned the bedding to be washed and took to the docks he was left with nothing but the scars of his past and the lingering whisper of the woman's voice in his dreams: Come to me .
Not even the chaos of Ragman's harbor could rid Robbie of his thoughts. Porters shouted down from ships to those below, lowering goods down an intricate pulley system that left hands bruised, rubbed raw by rope, and fingers broken. Heavy crates hit the wood docks with a thunderous boom, rattling loose boards and sending men with their sea legs as they walked along the dock into the waters. Mummers sang their songs and played their tune with the tinge hope that a coin finds its way into their pocket. Ropemakers sat hunched over on their stools, their fingers threatening to bleed as they wound each stubborn fiber. Sailors jeered as they moved down the dock, their sights set on tavern doors and their bellies aching for the first real meal in days. There was no missing the beggars as they stumbled into your pather, their eyes often kept to the ground as they begged for coin, food, and drink. You couldn't forget the whores with their large breasts, painted faces, and flirtatious grins - they were, after all, Robbie's favorite part of going down to the docks. They fell into a quiet whisper on his approach, hands reaching up to fix their hair or tug up each breast to make them appear fuller in the gowns. Like flustered hens, they would flock together and greet him in the same sing-songy tune, "Morning Robbie!" Their voices came in unison and left him baring a charming grin that could both melt hearts and make a woman wet.
"Morning girls!" A hand raised up in a friendly wave that was paired with a playful wink.
"Are you coming by later?" Came a desperate plea from the full lips of one of the girls, her cheeks flushing red as he took the time to stop and place and looked back at the trio who was out looking to provide their services to lonely seamen.
Robbie frequented the pleasure house, the Satin Palace. Though his mother would never know how he enjoyed the perfumed air and the mouth of a pretty girl around his cock. " You'll just have to wait and see! " The girl answered with a pout, her arms folding over her chest to crease her silk gown before the trio moved down the dock to pray on forsaken men as they moved to the many Inns that lined the pier. They would tempt them with the promise of warming their beds and leaving their heads light with pleasure.
Robbie could only laugh, his head shaking from side to side as he approached the merchant ship along the dock. Men rested high up in the nests, their weathered hands working to tame the sails that threatened to dance in the wings. Porters were on deck unloading the goods to be traded from across the Narrow Sea and the Captain could be heard, barking his orders to his men to work swiftly as a storm was on the horizon.
"Father!" Robbie called to the Captain, a smile growing wider.
"There you are!" Vernan was a jolly man with his beard bushy and dark grey hair wet and hanging down against his cheeks. "Leaving an old man to do all the heavy lifting-"
"He's too busy flirting with all the girls," a voice called from high up above, then came the rattle of cargo being lowered down to the docks below. Perched upon his crate with long black hair slick from the water's spray and dressed in loose cotton that now clung to each slender muscle was Donoros. "I saw you up the dock flirting with the Palace girls from here-"
"Just being friendly," he assured, his eyes growing wide and lips pressing down into a firm line. The pair had been getting into trouble on the docks since they were boys, but Robbie didn't need the word of just what kind of trouble getting back to his mother. "Big shipment today?"
"Been to each of the Free Cities and Westeros," Vernan explained, and walked down the ramp to the dock with steps slowed by age and time. "Docked as the sun-kissed the sky, been unloading since then. This is the last of it-"
His head hung low, his hand raising to rub at the back of his neck. His skin felt hot. His stomach twisted in knots as if he were young again and was being scolded for swimming off the docks with Donoros and failing to complete the chores his mother had left for him. "I could have been here sooner, that was, if you let me sail with you," it wasn't the full truth, not really. Much the blame was on his lingering sleep, but the fight to sail with his father and his crew was often had. Since he was a boy, his father had forbidden him from sailing, confining him to the simple work at the Inn while Donoros was welcomed aboard and sailed across the seas. Robbie was forced to hear each tall tale and the sights beyond. He craved to see Pentos, Mereen and Volantis. He dreamed of the homeland of his father, Westeros, a land he only knew whispers about. He knew little of the King beyond the water, only hearing stories told by the sailors at the port, or from the exiled who ate at their tables.
"Take me with you next time you leave port," Robbie was near begging now, "I'll be as useful as any man-"
Vernan knew well that his words were true. Robbie was a towering man and had grown strong since boyhood. He would serve him well, better than even his most determined deckhands with his build alone, but he would never take him to Westeros. Not after what he and his wife had done all those years ago.
"You know why you can't," Vernan sighed, a hand coming up to run through long tangled strands, "your mother needs you here. She needs your help with the Inn-"
"Sure sounds like you needed me here," Robbie's jaw set as if it were made of stone.
"Robbie, I'm not going to fight you on this. The decision made," a decision made long before the boy could grow into a man, "was final."