We Sons of Tide

Did I hear the voice of the gods or was that the madness in my head? The mind you never believed was at war with itself, it said. I felt afraid then, I felt true fear in the light of the seven, for I have never been worthy.

"Do you like it?"

The voice woke me from my sleep. I could hear the horses pulling the carriage we were in, and I could feel and my arms felt as bound as they had been the night before. My shoulders, my back, and my arms felt weaker than ever, weaker than the child I used to be.

"We made it for you special." The voice came again.

The night of my capture was that of sweat, tears, and pain. The old man who questioned me wanted no answers, only for me to hear. And he spoke of a greater cause, of doing something with my life beyond the troubles of my youth. There are no Dothraki chains here, only opportunity or death. Those were his words, and though they were the only ones he spoke, I knew then that he was not nearly done with me.

This man who taunted me in the carriage was the same golden bastard who left me his armored regards during that night. He had been the last of those I faced, and the only that would not bend to my will, to my anger and my sword. His companions lay dead or injured when he struck me down.

Judging by the strength of the punches, it was most likely the former.

I thought of Daenerys Targaryen then, and of the oath I made her.

If only I could separate the horrors inside my head from those my sword has brought about. But in the mind of a madman, I reckon, they all become one and the same. Every time I took a life, disaster would follow. My first was in Braavos and shortly after, the home my parents hid us in burst into flame. My second had been on the plains, and the Dothraki enslaved us for it. My third had been the fight against the Golden Company, and now I was again chained and bound for it.

Was this the wisdom of the gods? Was this why every single great name, great house, or lord would find greatness and disaster two sides of the same coin? Was this why Targaryens were in exile, half-mad and half gentle?

To kill a man is to kill freedom and fortune in the eyes of the gods.

I opened my eyes to see my grinning opponent, the man who was just a bit too fast and won the day for it. My arms were bound to the back of the wagon as it rumbled beneath us.

"You may as well speak." He said crossing his legs and pulling a knife from his belt. He began to cut his apple into slices, popping one into his mouth. "Nothing else to do 'round these parts."

"Where are we?" I asked, my tired voice sounded like a stranger's to my own ears.

"On the road to Meereen." He replied. "See I'm not worried about telling you that. Unlike the others, I respect my prisoner."

"Won't you respect me a little more and remove these chains then?" I asked, swallowing air to sate my thirst.

"That would be folly, not respect." He shook his knife in denial, "No no, I respect your bravery, your skill with a sword and shield. But you are still a prisoner. Release you? No, that isn't what respect is."

"Will you tell me what respect is, Alerys?" I leaned forward, close enough to smell the apple, "Will you tell me what it means to a sellsword?"

My words made him angry, and he threw his apple at my head. "I'm beginning to lose respect for you, Roger Reyne."

"That wasn't a jest." I said, "I want to know the answer."

He was quiet for a while. Slowly, he moved towards me and removed the bindings on my left hand. In the same motion, he placed a waterskin in it and sat back watching.

I drank my fill, arm shaking and fingers desperate, and it was the most joyous I'd felt in weeks, since the last time I'd been enslaved and given water.

"This is how I respect you, Reyne. I give you water, I give you your life. For you were a worthy opponent. I treat you as I would a warrior, not a prisoner. But a prisoner is what you are all the same. One cannot overwhelm the other, you must be both. Who taught you to fight?"

"Ser Devan Hill." I replied, "He was my father's friend. He has been my knight for as long as I can remember."

"A good teacher." Alerys nodded, "But you still have much to learn. Better footing would help. If you hadn't fallen when you did, we might never have found you."

"Why are you giving me my life?" I asked, "What does Griff want with me?"

"He sees himself in you, I wager." Alerys shrugged, "Young and full of seed." He laughed.

"Tell me this, Alerys, warrior to warrior." I sighed, "Does death wait for me in Meereen?"

"Perhaps." He said, "It all depends on what you say to Griff when he comes asking questions."

"And if he does not like my answers?" I asked.

The grin disappeared from his face. "Then you have my word that I would make it quick and clean, as befits a warrior."

I nodded my thanks, and for the second time in my short life, I found respect for my jailor.

"No! I want you to watch. Come, Bone Hand. Come watch your son die."

Any other day I wouldn't have believed such a foul thing to come out of my mouth.

But this day was different.

I was bleeding from a gash on my forehead, and cuts on my arms. My left hand was bloody, a broken finger and a solid grip on Denys Drumm's throat. My sword was at his neck, and his shaking made the moment all too horrible for me to experience.

Lord Dunstan Drumm was younger than Ser Devan.

He came forward and I saw the fear in his eyes, fear for his heir's life. Fear that will soon make me the victor. He was old and weary.

"Give me the sword, my lord." He looked to me then, his sword lowering, Valyrian steel shimmering, and the hilt touching my palm. I raised the blade and swung at the old man

"Shall we speak, lord Reyne?"

Griff was there when I woke again. The carriage was not moving anymore, and the smell of torches and fire made it clear that we made camp for the night.

"You're from Westeros." I said.

"What makes you say that?" The old man asked.

"You called me 'Lord Reyne'. The Essosi do not speak the common tongue that well, and even if they did, they don't care much for the titles of their prisoners. You're Westerosi, from a noble house if I were to guess." I replied.

"Tell me, Lord Reyne. What are you truly after?" he asked.

"The freedom to choose my path." Gods forgive me, my words were the same Ser Devan had said to Daenerys not so long ago.

"And which path might that be?"

"The path to Castamere." I replied.

"And what if I told you that your path and mine are the same?"

"Considering your men almost killed us in Braavos, I would say your words are horseshit."

"I called off my men when I discovered who you were," Griff replied. "They were not meant to harm you but only to find you. You see, Lord Reyne, all I've ever wanted was this." He spread his arms and waved to the cramped carriage around them. "You and I, speaking of the future of house Reyne."

I was suspicious of the old man, more so after knowing that he was Westerosi. Only the gods could know what was in Griff's heart, and the seven kingdoms were best at teaching men to conceal their truths, deep inside and covered in lies.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"I want to serve the rightful king."

I burst into laughter then, "Hah! You've got the wrong fucker then! I'm no king."

"Not you. There is another. But that is of no concern to you now. You are a lord in your own right, and the king will need loyal lords for support when he comes into his throne. I need to know what you need, my lord. What is it you need to take back Castamere?"

"I don't trust you, old man." I spat, "I don't trust your words any more than I trust your deeds. If you want to know what I need, you can start by telling me the truth about your schemes. What king do you serve?"

The old man sighed then and stood, "We will speak again when you see reason. Until then, Alerys will see to you."

Dawn heralded a change in the weather. Rain poured heavily from first light and barely stopped throughout the morning. Instead of moving forward, it seemed the golden company decided to stay put and wait for the rain to stop.

Soon enough, I was moved to a tent. Griff was there, as was Alerys. The two shared wine when I was brought in, wet and chained.

"Release him, Alerys." Said Griff.

As my shackles dropped to the ground, Griff handed me a cup of wine and motioned for me to take a seat.

"let's try this again, shall we?" Said the old man, "Lord Reyne, you're free to do as you please. But before you take your leave, I would trade words."

I mulled it over and looked to the rain pouring outside. There would be no warmth, hearth, or shelter for leagues around. And so I decided to stay.

"What I spoke of." Began the old man, "It is very dear to me. I remember a time when it was all different. When lords meant their vows and loved their king."

"You must not be speaking of Aerys." I said, "That was a shit king."

"Not Aerys." Said Griff, "But I remember Rhaegar and queen Rhaella. I remember Rhaenys and Elia."

"You're a Targaryen loyalist then." I said, finishing my wine and pouring myself more, "let me guess, you wish to crown Viserys."

"I wish to crown the true king." Griff was becoming agitated, "Tell me, you have seen Viserys. Would you kneel before him?"

"The boy is no king." I replied, "But I knelt before his sister. So no, I would not kneel before Viserys. I would crown Daenerys over him a thousand times."

"Daenerys as queen." Nodded Griff, "But another must be king."

I sighed then, "You will not tell me who your king is. I don't really care. Castamere is my goal and I will take it regardless of who sits the Iron Throne."

"That's exactly it." Said Alerys, "Would it not be easier if you found support now? Men and swords, and horses and ships and coin. And when the time comes for the king to take his throne, house Reyne would be among his most loyal and respected supporters."

"Who else do you have?"

"I cannot say until I know that you are with us." Argued Griff.

"Fine, don't tell me names, how about numbers? How many houses?"

"Enough to fight a war," Grinned Alerys, "Or two."

Just as I was about to reply, one of Alerys' men burst into the tent. "A trespasser has been found. An old man in armor, with a star and a red lion on it. He was trying to sneak in."

Griff looked to me with a raised brow, "Friend of yours?"

"Ser Devan, an old friend." I finished my wine and looked to Griff, "You'll see to it that he isn't harmed?"

Griff nodded.

"You wanted to know what I need." I said, "I need to be free. If we're to be allies, I cannot be your prisoner anymore. I need to be hidden from Lannister eyes and remain far from the reach of their daggers. I need the coin to build an army, and I need your word that should I choose to serve Daenerys over your king, you would let me."

Griff stood then and offered me his hand, "Done." He said.

"One last thing," I added, "There's a man called Illar. last I heard he was a merchant in Meereen. Find him for me. That is where my fight will begin. Do this for me, Griff, and I will help you put Daenerys on the Iron Throne."

I clasped his hand and he nodded, "You have my word."

"And you have mine."

I carved my name into the wood as I waited, hooded and weary, the pain on my back was a distant memory. The space around me was filled with life, drunken fools, and playful women. And challenge, of course, it was in the air around us, it made chests swell and steps confident. It made brawls end in drunken companionship and bloody faces inhaling wine. It was how I imagined the taverns of Westeros on the eve of a great tourney, with less barbarity and a touch more gold. it was said that my ancestral home rivaled Casterly Rock, that its halls were as impressive and its walls twice as high. Long before Tywin had killed its people and gave it away, all for pride and scorn.

The inn bored me two flagons past and so the table suffered my drunken wrath.

Weeks of travel, followed by weeks of waiting. My oldest friend was not there to receive us, but word of our arrival had him setting plans into motion, plans that I did not yet know. I received a messenger of his two days after my arrival, a young boy with the promise of a meeting, of support for all my dreams and folly.

Come slavers or golden sellswords, today I would know the truth.

"Do you ever not lurk in the shadows of better men?" A far cry from the voice of a barefooted friend that I followed around Braavos.

"Would it serve me to lurk in the shadows of lesser men?" I gestured to the space between us, a jape suspended in the time we spent apart.

Illar stood before me, a taller man than I expected, sporting a pathetic stubble that barely rivaled my own. He wore robes of fine make, that of the rich and the mad, his wrists heavy with gold and silver. He smiled and a golden tooth shone in the dim lights of the inn.

"It would serve you to listen." He said, taking a seat on the other side of my table, helping himself to my wine. "Your arrival weeks past did not go unnoticed. Already talk of your name and your knight has reached your homeland. Some of the Meereenese nobles are paying attention to you from their high pyramids. Many expect you to fight in the pits, to seek glory in battle."

"Glory in death, you mean."

"This, you and I know." Illar was being cryptic to unnerve me, and I drank deep. "The pits are little more than a hole to die in. But why else did Roger Reyne come to Meereen? If you want men to follow you, you must fight. But not here, never here."

"Will you speak your mind?" I said, too drunk to play his games. His golden tooth did nothing to soothe my ire.

"Westeros is at war. A boy king sits the Iron Throne and a Stark has been named King in the North. Tywin fights for his grandson, and we have very little time to turn the tide, turn it to our side."

"The first King in the North since-."

"Since the king who knelt." His smile was sad then, and I suppose my face was as conflicted as the oath I took when I knelt in the mud before Daenerys Targaryen. "War is a horrible way to achieve anything. But my lord of Reyne, there is no other way. You must acquire men, you must sail to Westeros and join the fight against Tywin Lannister. All these plans must be made in secret. The masters must never know, they'd think you're trying to take Meereen."

"You would have me betray my oath to Daenerys. You would have me carry the guilt of an oathbreaker for the rest of my life. Fighting for the Stark king marks me a man without honor."

"An oath made in chains is no oath, Roger! What is honor but a shield for the weak? Fight with king Stark. Take the horrors of Essos to Tywin Lannister and when the dust settles, Daenerys will have an allied stronghold within the kingdoms." His lips were twisted in disgust. "Should you still wish to serve her."

I thought about it. Of course, I did. It was tempting. Tywin was at war and a Reyne army charging down his flanks was such a fantasy. The mighty Tywin could never see it coming, this is so mad it might just work.

"And where would I find these fighting men that will win me the west?"

As he drank, his eyes roamed the room, ever vigilant. "When Torrhen Stark knelt at the conqueror's feet, the lords of the North followed suit. Northmen are proud people. Sons and daughters of great houses left Westeros rather than kneel with their king. They refused to submit and believed in a free kingdom of Winter. They are now a company of sellswords."

"I don't fight with sellswords."

"They are men of the North. You will find none more loyal to this fight."

"And where are they? Have you been waiting for them to ride for Meereen all this time?"

"Too many eyes in Meereen for that. I have arranged for you to meet with their leaders outside the city walls. You must have their fealty, Roger. If we want to join this fight, the company of the Rose is our only chance."

"I'm from the West. I wasn't born in Westeros, why would sellswords, men of the North, follow me?"

Illar finished his drink and stood, his eyes found mine. "They were like you. Exiles born in Essos, barely any family names left. Nothing but Northern blood and Northern folly."

I said nothing to that. How many men fight for them, for coin and women.

"I have a gift for you. Come, old friend."

He led the way out of the tavern, robes trailing behind him. I followed in silence, eyes barely adjusting to the brightness of the world outside. The streets were busy still, busier than they were when I entered a few hours before dawn. It was a living thing, Meereen, and it was more than the people that walked its streets. Even the statues of the harpy that gazed down upon us felt full of life. I grinned as I passed one, I grinned at the madness and the harpy wept blood.

Illar took my arm and the blood in the statue's eye was gone. I was being steered towards the docks, and I followed, eyes still fixed on the harpy we left behind.

"Look at her, Roger." Illar said, gesturing to a vessel docked below. "Is she not magnificent?"

And it was indeed. The ship was a beauty, masts that glittered gold in the sun, sails as red as blood, and on its prow the snarling lion of my father's banner, the banner that was hoisted high above the nest. A dozen lonely souls milled about on deck, but my eyes were for the snarling cat alone.

I grinned at the madness and the lion wept red.

My hand found Illar's shoulder. "It is good to see you again, old friend."

"Come, Roger." He said, already moving past me towards the steps. "Come meet the first of men to die for your cause."

I spent a lot of time thinking about the choices I made.

I would think of every possible decision my enemies could make. I would see their will before they do, and I would find victory no matter what they decide.

It was early morning and we were still at the table. I was tired, half asleep and my childhood friend didn't fare any better. Ser Devan was shouting and the night looked like it would never end.

"Madness! This is not a plan, Lord Reyne. It's nothing but the scheming of this merchant master!"

Illar was a proud child when we were young. He'd find offense in the way anyone spoke to him. He'd grown wiser at that table though, the fury was there, but it was tempered.

"The good knight honors me."

"That's enough." My voice silenced them both. I enjoyed the peace and quiet a moment too long.

"My lord." Ser Devan's voice was almost pleading. "Please. We have no allies. To send a single ship back to Westeros now would be beyond folly, it would be an invitation. One for Tywin Lannister and thousands for all the swords his gold can buy."

It was difficult to argue with Ser Devan. When he presented arguments the way he did, delivery, and theatrics aside, he'd leave you with plenty of reason to heed his advice.

"Tywin Lannister isn't our problem today," I said, feeling far too young to be issuing orders.

"Ser Devan, you will travel to Westeros, Illar will make sure a ship and crew are ready to escort you and serve at your command. You will pose as a merchant ship, draw no attention to yourselves, and gods willing, make it to wherever the rebel lord Stark is when you arrive. You will stay by his side, secure an alliance while we work on building a force."

"And how will you do that, my lord?"

"Illar and I are looking at some options." I shrugged, feeling less drunk and a lot more uncomfortable. "The market for violent cunts is... strange."

Ser Devan frowned. "So what am I to offer the rebel lord?"

"Your services." Illar relished saying that, it was evident.

"Tell him Tywin Lannister drowned my family alive. Tell him he killed everyone I ever loved and made an example of my name. Tell him Roger Reyne and all his swords shall fight with him."

My time in Meereen brought about as much boredom as it did fine wine. It took us weeks to reach the ancient city and all our worries were for naught. We entered a city that suffered nothing but prosperity and found its people eager for excitement. The gates were open, and the merchants of Essos poured through them alongside the fighters, alongside the thousand ghosts of men that died in the pits since Valyria saw its last dawn.

My knight and I walked with purpose, shoulders heavy with supplies, tools, and very little coin. The old man hesitated to speak half a dozen times. I could feel it in the way his pace would slow and his nostrils would flare.

"Speak your mind, Ser. Shamed that I am to hear you say it one more time, it won't change a thing."

"Then I will not call your plans folly, my lord if it displeases you. I cannot speak against good manners. But I can speak of my convictions. I don't know that I can do this. I pledged to never leave your side."

"For better or worse, this is the plan. Conviction and honor brought you this far. Faith will have to take you the rest of the way."

"It is difficult to find faith in darkness. The lion is never weaker than when his pride is gone."

And that is the truth of it...

The meaning was never hard to find, not when he spoke with such wisdom. It was almost enough for me to keep him there, let the merchant ship sail without him. He looked as he always did, ever honest and ever obedient. He knew to let me speak my mind and I let him speak his. His archery lessons came to mind then, I remembered how my wrists ached. He'd taught me to roar then. Now he asked if I was a cub still. Perhaps it was folly to bid him farewell.

"That's where you're wrong, old friend. This lion is different."

"You are young, my lord. I can only advise caution. But for better or worse, this is the plan. For you, my lord, for the pride of House Reyne."

The bags on my shoulder shifted and I dropped them to the ground as we came to a stop. His ship would be leaving soon. This was to be farewell until we met again in Westeros, a loss that I did not take lightly. What was I to say at a time like this?

"If I have any pride left, it is you, my loyal knight. May the Gods watch over you. I shall see you soon enough."

"I'm no fool, Ser Devan. I know what I'm asking sounds-"

"Mad? Mad, is it not? To send your sworn sword away when your enemies are so close!"

"There is the narrow sea between Tywin's swords and mine."

"And what of the Golden company? What if this is but a scheme to separate us-"

"It is no scheme. It was Illar's doing, I am sure of it."

"How do you know, my lord?"

"The messenger said things only he knew, that I saved his neck and he mine, over a pigeon and a golden coin, would you believe..."

"And this quest you mean to send me on? What makes you think this...this Illar knows what Stark wants? How does he know these sellswords will fight for us?"

"I don't need Illar to tell me what these men intend to do. I think of my family and it comes to mind. I have no doubt the Starks would hear you."

"My lord, I urge you to reconsider. I... I told you I would speak my mind if folly took hold of you. This is madness, Roger."

"Have faith, Ser. I would not send you to your death. This plan will work because it must."

"For both our sakes, I hope that you're right, my lord."

We took to the sea later in the day. My crew a group of coinless sailors that would welcome the fight should it come. It felt good to be on the deck with them. It was solemn, quiet, and the crashing waves were all there was. We approached the coast and saw half a dozen men waiting.

It was getting late by the time we all stood together, three of their men and three of us.

"I thought you'd be older."

The three wore the leathers many of the fighters did. There was no armor, but the swords and the painted rose were as ridiculous as I expected.

"I'm old enough to be heard."

"You want our men to follow you to Westeros, you want us to fight for you and die for you, is that it? Is that what you came here for, Lord Reyne?"

"Yes," I said because that is the truth. "And it would not be for naught."

"I believe you." The second said. "I believe you because you are a boy, you understand? You would cross the sea and fight with or without us."

"I would," I repeated. "There is no other path. Tywin Lannister, the same man warring against the King in the North, would have me killed. I fight or I die, that is the path."

"Some of us were Mormonts. There's Manderly and Glover in our blood. So many names that are still across the sea, drinking and feasting. What say you to that Roger Reyne? Will you fight them when they grow worried over their castles and their houses, over their names? Would you war against the North to protect your men after your wars are won?"

"I would not." It was easy to tell it true, these men came for the same stock I did, "I would take the fight to Tywin and take the Westerlands. Your ancestors were Northmen but you are not. You were born on this side of the sea, exiles whose fate was sealed long before they were born. I say you are Reynes and Tarbecks, for that is what I am. Fight with me and the Westerlands can be your home, its castles seats for your houses, its gold, and riches for the taking. Fight with me and we shall all make history."

"This you swear?" The third asked.

"This I swear, so long as you are loyal and true to me and mine, I shall make the Westerlands our home. I swear it before the old gods and the new."

Silence...

"We hear your vow, Roger Reyne. Young, you may be but none can deny your bravery. We must speak to our men before making a decision."

"A merchant of silks and jewels? Forgive me, Illar, but I'm disappointed." I said later within Illar's home, touching fabrics around the room, the way that any unrefined warrior would. His disdain and disgust were that of the noble. One could practically smell it on him.

He was already halfway through his cup, and we'd only just entered his home. "My silks and jewels have paved the way for your foolish quest. You'll not insult the hand that feeds you."

"Gods forbid." I laughed, "As though you never bit this hand of mine." I raised my right hand, and Illar's eyes followed, his body unmoving. "Did it not feed you prey of kings?"

He grinned and his tooth, for the third time, sparked my ire. "I do not forget my friends. It is why I have another plan."

"What plan?" I asked, moving to sit and drink. he mirrored me, elbows resting on his knees and brow furrowed.

"I heard a story many years ago. They say house Drumm and house Reyne share a bloody past." He licked his lips, a sight fit for beggars rather than merchants. "Most has fallen to rumor and legend, but you would know the truth, would you not? You can tell me of Red Rain, and whether it means anything to you at all."

For a sane man, such provocations should have begotten anger and wrath, impulse, and fury. But for a man that heard the voice of the seven and was shielded in their light, it amused me to no end. The gods spoke to me of Red Rain in my dreams. Whoever wielded it, whichever fucker house Drumm honored, his life was mine and I was ready to take it.

"You heard true," I said. "House Drumm took what was ours ages ago. Reynes had Lannisters to worry about in Westeros, and a sword seemed far too little a thing to go to war with those crazy cunts over."

Illar waited for a storm of anger that never came before he spoke. "Then you must take it. And I know how. I hear news of ships from the Iron Islands pillaging across the narrow sea. They seem to be attacking certain merchant ships in the open waters. I hear tale of two ships, one of which flies the sigil of house Drumm."

"How do you know the sword is on it?" I asked.

"Because I am not an idiot." Spat Illar, "And neither are my spies. This is lord Dunstan Drumm's own galley. My spies tell me he set sail with his son and heir Denys. Lord Dunstan is a fool who finds a reason to wave his fecking sword around whenever he speaks. Trust me, Roger, the sword is there."

"Why are you worried about a sword all of a sudden?" I asked.

"It isn't about the sword, it's the story." He replied, "If you want men to fight for you, if you wish to build an army to take back your lands, you must first give them a reason to follow you. A man who does that which his ancestors could not, a man who takes down a proud lord will be remembered. And you must be remembered. This isn't Westeros, no one will bow to your banner if they do not want to."

"What of fighting men?" I asked.

"I can find two dozen men for this. Fighters, sailors, pirates, whatever it takes. But if we want to build a larger force, we will need to do more than sink an Ironborn galley. If the Company of northern sellswords chooses to follow us, we would be halfway into an army."

"The...ship, Gods it needs a name." I laughed, The Stranger would be a fitting name. "The ship is truly a beauty, but it would not be enough. If I were to get more men, I would still have no means to cross the narrow sea."

Illar refilled my cup and handed it to me, raising his own in a toast of the godless. "It serves no purpose to worry yourself over ships and sellswords. Kill Drumm and build your legend. When you return to Meereen, Griff and I will have a new plan for you and ships the likes of which you have never fucking seen."

Illar leaned forward, cup empty and wits almost gone. "After this, my debt to you is paid. And any help you get from me should be remembered when your wars are won and your purses heavy."

I rose and grasped some of the silks between my fingers. "You've always bartered your way through life, Illar." I said, releasing the fabric with disgust. The ways of the wealthy never sat well with me. "And it has served me well, so well that I might not take your tongue for that. Send word when you hear more of Drumm's galley. Make sure the ship and the men are ready to sail at any moment. For now, I need armor and a better sword."

"I have taken care of it. One of my messengers will find you at first light. He'll arm and armor you."

"What will you do?" I asked as I reached the door.

Illar barely looked up. "We need allies. I shall find them. There's also a sword somewhere in the free cities that I'm trying to find. Your knight will arrive in Westeros soon and you must make haste."

"If he dies, I'll have your head."

My words were met with silence. I did not move and neither did he. At last, he nodded in consent, and I left him to his thoughts, seeking wine and an able hand.