The Norvosi

Some might say Mogorro Mutis had lived many lives. He himself thought that it was but one, a full and grand one, but just one. This journey with the woman was to be his swan song. The chance to explore, to create, and to pass down something to remain in this world beyond death, something the fruit of his loins never would.

He wasn't old, but he wasn't young. He wasn't tall, but he wasn't short. He wasn't fair upon the eyes, but neither was he ugly. Even his morality was a bit of both ends, swaying back and forth from one end to the other depending on the specific circumstances and his position within them. It was hard to define the man by one thing, but Mogorro never wanted to be just one thing. He wanted to be all that one man could be.

He studied alchemy and architecture. He studied the forests and the sea. He studied maps and the known world, all its lands and stories and fantastical mysteries. He craved. He craved many things, and struggled with cravings, but he craved, knowledge among that in which he did.

He had come to know the Lady early in her life, two or . . . no, three names ago. Her company added status in the circles he swam, which proved useful for a man in his situation with the certain tastes that he had, so, theirs was a mutually beneficial arrangement. She had always had a fierce wit, even when she hid it behind the veil of her beauty, and her passion to live life her way was like a beacon to his ship, nay, a flame to his moth, so bright and shining he could do naught but chase, even if it killed him.

The battle with the two ships had been bloody, but not difficult. By the time he had climbed onto the enemy deck with his bladed staff, much had already been complete. He gave little effort to keep the men from their share of the fun, so he stayed on the outskirts of the skirmish, his back to the rail for protection, and his stance ready in case he was needed.

During the fight, he had kept his eyes on the boy Lio, who he worried for at first, until he saw his tact, nearly crawling on all fours under the vision of his foes like a deranged monger, surprising them with upward thrusts of his dagger. Mostly he ambushed men already engaged, but Mogorro counted four kills for the boy, and that was only in the short time he could see him, which was more than many men, stalled in single combat defending themselves but not attacking.

That was a good way to stay alive, but the prancing young man with the long lashes was as thirsty for blood as the Queen, and satiated himself most like. Surprising he could keep such a bright demeanor with a demon like that inside. Mogorro loved it, every second, to the point he cheered for the third kill, nearly jumping in the air as the dagger opened up a pouring wound, the blood nearly covering the crouching young lad like some dark initiation.

Make a man of him yet.

Save Firecrotch, the Shadow, and Arms, the majority of the rest just followed in the Ironborn's wake, dispatching his leavings as his broad armored body and dual edged ax plowed through the enemy like a scythe through tall grasses of flesh. As tough as most of them talked, they were as scared as the boys they'd been when they'd joined. Even the most seasoned of men valued their lives more than the cause, at this point at least. Most of them joined for the chance at wealth that had eventually become an impossibility.

There was no treasure in the Summer Sea. Only slaves and spices.

No man aboard wished to become rich off of either.

After the battle concluded, the seasoned men that made up her councilors were allowed the opportunity to change into cleaner garments before meeting with the Lady in her chambers as was their custom.

Mogorro was unblemished or besmirched in any way, other than the slight excitement from the boy's rampage he didn't expect, and needed no time to refresh himself. He had barely broken even a sweat on his brow, and there were things to see early on at these meets, and he always needed to see.

Making his way to the upper deck of the Terrax, he saw the Captain and the Queen having a bit of a shouting match near the entrance to her chambers. The smooth broad stairs were still as fine as her first day, but the stiff dense boards of whatever exotic wood the SeaLord chose for her echoed every tap of each step, making his normal sneaking a bit more of a challenge.

After two taps up, they turned, noticed him, and relaxed, the Queen allowing for just one more last word to be uttered in angst, before shifting their faces and smiling at the Norvosi. He smiled back, his wide tight-lipped grin as forced as theirs, his broad jaw up and his back as straight as a mast. He still carried his weapon as he finished his climb, placing the staff against the wall as he approached, his arms extending out as if to hug them both, "Two ships more, my Queen. Maybe one enough for the Captain to truly be one."

"Enough of your horseshit, you hairless bastard," the Captain said, his scarred face twisted in disdain. "All know I'd be the one with the ship if the Lady had half a whim to learn one fucking thing about the boat she's Queen of."

"I'm Queen of you, my men. Ships have naught to do with it. And yes, Veron, my love, I cannot be a true Captain, that's why you are." As she spoke, her smile would vacillate from sinister to silly, making her nuanced speech all the more powerful in even the most meaningless of moments.

"And I'm not complainin' none, M'Lady. It's this bastard pokin' the bear," Veron said, appearing to for once appease the Lady. He was ornery when it came to the Queen, but he was never disloyal, always falling into line despite any grumblings he'd voice out of the same duty.

"And a great armored bear you are, Veron. I know you're not complaining, at least of this topic. Wonder if there was a complaint in the previous topic I'd missed. Anything to discuss?" Mogorro tested.

"Not until we all arrive, my sweet man," she replied loud enough for any passerby to hear. Then she softened her tone to speak softly, "We can continue this awkward interrogation out here or bring it into the chambers. What's to say what will slip if we have the privacy to keep it amongst us."

With that interesting invitation, Mogorro quickly obliged and slipped into the chambers, taking his usual place across the table from where the Queen sat. When he made an appeal, he wanted to look into her eyes, sealing whatever message he was trying to send with his mesmerizing gaze, whatever help it might add to his cause.

Veron Blacktyde chose as far from the Lady as possible, it seemed to the Norvosi, likely to keep from strangling her to death for her japes. The two were worth the cost of admission to this mummer's show somewhat weekly, but there were also serious stakes in these meets. Each could set the course for their entire future, or early demise.

"Now that we're settled, my Queen, what is it we can now discuss?" Mogorro asked, patiently awaiting her reply.

"Straight to the fucking as always," she said, then turned to order her subservient, "Veron, man the door to keep snakes like Rune and Smythe from bursting in for a few moments, please. Thank you, my Love," she trailed off at the end in a songlike tone, delving him his dismissal with as bubbly a bit of blatant bitchery one could ever see.

When he had left, slamming the door shut, his only opportunity for a slight appeal, she turned back to Mogorro, her purple gaze curious. For the first time in a while, he wasn't sure what she'd say.

"With four ships, we'll be spread thin, and with the fuckin' kid, I want to ship him off to whoever will claim him before he becomes another death sentence. The Free Cities don't love us, but with this, they'd hunt us. It's bad enough we can't sell a fucking thing anywhere but the 'Stones and Basilisks, but it would be nice if we could still visit."

"The closest port from here is Volantis," Mogorro said, not sure where he wanted to steer them toward and beginning to talk through the options.

"Yes, but will he be safe? Will they just give him over to whoever the fuck it is we need to bring him to?"

"He's a-"

"I don't give a fuck," she interrupted. "I honestly don't even want to know, really, so I can say I didn't ever know and not have to lie about it."

"The boy told you himself when he confessed it." Mogorro said as a certainty, since he was present when the boy had said it.

"Yes, but fuck if I was listening. We had just basically looted a pleasure den of its pleasurers. We would have been better off taking gold. I needed to figure out our next move." He could tell she was lying, but didn't wish to offend her grace.

"Anyway, Volantis would just as likely use him as a political play than just return him home safely," Mogorro counciled wisely.

"Yes, but the fuck if you think I'm going to sail all the way to fucking Tyrosh,"

"I thought you didn't know where he was from?"

"So where can we bring him," she said ignoring him. "Where can we just drop him off and not risk losing ten or more of the boys to the land again?"

"There's Lys, where we found him."

"But they're down so many of their little boys, they'll likely just use him up as one and risk the backlash, hoping to pin the blame on us."

"You could always send the man who made this mess to clean it up," Morgorro suggested, his intent more selfish than sensible.

"Then we'd never see that scarred, sad, and stubbled face again," she spoke with a longing, as if it would be too painful to send him away more than it would be a potentially incorrect move.

"Would that be so bad? He's given us enough. Couldn't he find his own end?" he replied.

"Not like that, he won't." Slight anger returned to her face. "Not when he put us all at risk like that. That would be a reward, not a punishment. I'm not like to cleave off any of his person for it, but neither will I grant him the sunset."

"You mean to discuss this tonight? With nothing but drink and depravity on the men's minds?"

"When would be better?" she asked, knowing he'd have it all worked out already.

"On the morrow."

"Once their sick from drink?"

"After. We'll finish the pickings from the feast in the morn, and the grease from whatever's cooked will ease the aches in our heads."

She nodded, crossing her arms and reclined. "Fine then, but with your delay comes a consequence. Instead of revelry outright, you must chart our course tonight and give me my options before the meeting in the morning. I don't need to be swayed one way or another, you fox, but I do need information."

"Yes, your Grace. It will be the pleasure of my evening to work out these details."

"So it shall, or I'll ask the Maester to do it," she said, knowing it would irk him if she had.

"He's not a maester."

"He wears a fucking chain, Mo. He's as much a maester as I am a Queen." Though there was truth in that, she claimed a made-up title. He claimed a real one, and lived the lie as if it were true. It had been so long, none of the crew even joked of it anymore, as if the lie had been told so long it had become truth.

"Very well, your Grace," he replied, bowing his head in deference.

"Get to it. I dismiss you. I'll just praise a few of the idiots and gladhand 'em into believing there's big news tomorrow. That'll keep 'em from getting too pissy. Have Veron come back in on your way out."

"Mention the boy Lio, your Grace. He was a demon out there. You would have been proud."

"Very well. Off with you," she said, shooing him away with her hand like a fly. Whether natural or done with intent, almost every word and move of the lady was to maintain her position of power over so many without even the slightest rebuke.

It didn't hurt that she could probably kill them all either. That probably didn't hurt in the least.

He stood and bowed to her, as was his custom, and strode to the door. Fucking beautiful bitch he thought. Now I've work to do.

()

"They call it, Shade of the Morning," Mogorro said, as he crumbled the dried moss down to a green powder with his fingertips and rolled it into a scrap parchment.

"You're aware of Shade of the Evening," Xanadu replied, still skeptical, "the deadly poison? Whose to say you were just mistaken when you were told of this?"

"We'll soon find out, won't we?" he mused, smiling as he brought the parchment to his lips to seal it closed around the powdered plant.

"I will find no such thing, my hairless friend," Xanadu replied, laughing under his words, reaching for another cup of the wine they'd plundered.

"I believe myself to be a learned man, Xan," Mogorro said confidently. "I would not risk death for such a small reward of whatever this plant promises."

"Many learned men are often fools as well. One does not preclude the other," Xanadu said.

"But if I live? What then?"

"If you live and you enjoy it, I'll consider your proposal," he surrendered, smiling as he knew he'd lost.

"Indeed!" Mogorro shouted.

"Indeed," Xanadu replied, touching his glass to Mo's, and taking another deep sip of his drink.

"So, my First Mate," she called from behind Mogorro, her voice as pleasant as it was disarming.

"Yes, My Queen," he said in reply, as courteous as a servant.

"What of it, then? I take it you did what we discussed."

"You had said we would speak on the morrow, did you not?"

"I said only that we would discuss it before tommorow. However, I said you'd best do it tonight precluding the evening's events to avoid the inability to perform your duties should the night prove worthy of enough revelry, did I not?" She chose not to sit, speaking to him from above, her authority obvious to all that could see.

"You did indeed. It has been done, your Grace." Morgorro knew she'd play this little game. She kept men in line by setting them up to err. Those that make mistakes are not fit to lead in mutiny.

"Xanadu may hear this. I trust his council, and that he can keep its tongue in its place," she said.

"Yes, but only when it comes to secrets, My Lady," the Summer Islander replied coyly.

"Of course," she said, smiling, almost blushing at his jest.

"There's nowhere to go directly. We could sail to Ghis or Slaver's Bay, but I already know what you'd say to that."

"And what would I say to that?" she asked anyway.

"Either, yes, fuck it, let's kill as many as we can before we die. Or, you'd tell me to fuck a dancing bear with a beard or some other Norvoshi specific slander because you hate slavers and I should know better than to honestly suggest that as an option."

"I'd say the latter. I'm feeling strangely hopeful. No need to end it prematurely, I'm sure you two will get us there sooner or later."

"It'll be Rune and Smythe. One or the other before either of us do us in," Xanadu said. "We'll need them one day, and they'll just shit themselves. I'll look at you both and yell, 'See! I told you!' and we'll be as good as gone."

"No, don't be ridiculous, Xan," the Queen said, taking a seat across from them, turning the chair and sitting in it backwards, resting her arms on the back of the chair, and her chin in her one hand, "I'd never put either in a position where it was life or death. Maybe more or less, but never life or death."

"What about the Captain, your Grace?" Mogorro said, goading his Queen. "What if it is he that leads us to our doom?"

"What of it, Mo? You certainly have a hard one for Veron. Is it his eyes? Or is it his teeth?"

"He'd have him wear the helm. He's hot for the rest of him," Xanadu said, laughing.

Mogorro ignored the japes his way and pivoted, continuing the Queen's briefing, "So it would be best we stop in the Basilisks to resupply. From there, it's the same to go to any of the Free Cities, in distance, but it's probably safest to dock somewhere in the Stepstones, send out an envoy, and deliver the lad directly into the custody of someone close enough to him he can trust, and then wash our hands clean of this mess."

"What have we to sell in the Basilisks?"

"There's the four captives, but we know where you stand on that. There's some wares; the dining set is silver, there's some grain and barrels of something we haven't opened yet. There's the ships themselves, which would be the best course."

"In your opinion."

"Yes," he said, knowing she'd present selling the ships as her idea when it came down to it. Though she heard their words and wisdom, she played it as if every thought was hers in the end. In reality, it was.

"Well, good. You've done what you've been asked, and I commend you. Enough business, where's something to drink?" she asked raising her chalice and looking for someone to server her.

"My Lady," Xanadu offered, pouring from his own cup into hers, while he looked to the deck hand attending them and nodded for him to fetch more. As soon as his cup raised from the pour, the chalice in her hands rushed her lips, the Queen gulping with little ladylike etiquette. She raised the cup until it was near vertical, pouring the dark red drink directly down her gullet as if she was in a hurry.

When the last drop had fallen, she rubbed her sleeve against her mouth to clean it, sighed, and lifted her chalice to the clear night sky. "To two fucking boats!"

The deckhand raced over with the wine skin, running straight to the Lady to refill her cup. Like a good lad, he didn't spill a drop, and proceeded to quickly move onto Xanadu's.

She waited until he had finished pouring, and looked out over the rail of the upper deck to the raucous and lively gathering of men below. She held her chalice high in the air, leaning of the railing, "To two fucking boats, my loves!"

"Two fucking boats!" they all replied in unison.

With a smile, she brought the drink to her lips and repeated what she had just done. She did it in front of the men for them to see. Her whole life was a show, it seemed, parading around her charm and strength to ensure none grew ambitious enough to test her or displeased enough to resent her.

With another sigh, she turned back to the more senior men gathered on the upper deck of one of the new boats. The Terrax was slightly manned, with the boat furthest from it, the site for the food and spirits, and the one nearest the ship housing their captives. Mogorro thought to speak of them until the Lady interrupted his thought.

"What fucking wine is this?" she asked as she sat in the same chair she'd been in, except she turned it back forward, sitting in it and rocking back on the legs as if to recline.

"It's what the Ghiscari boat had. Swill. But in the middle of the Summer Sea, it'll do well enough," Xanadu said, taking another deep sip."

"Sometimes they'll use fruits like dates to make their wines without quality grapes. It could be a version of that," Mogorro said.

"On the contrary, my dear Norvosi," the Maester interjected as he approached. "This may indeed be an Arbor or Dornish, but in the hot sun for so long, turned to vinegar."

"Which link on your chain is for wine, Trood?" Mogorro asked, taunting his intellectual rival.

"No link, Mo. Just something someone knows. Especially someone whose drank as much as me. Cheers, friend?" he gestured, as he always did, trying to ease the tension Mogorro was trying to build between them.

"I'm not going to be drinking tonight, so no. Thank you," he said, as he finished rapping up the Shade of the Morning. He stood and walked to the nearest lamp, lighting the rolled parchment at one end and inhaling the smoke through it. He coughed as the rest around looked on in curiosity. Mogorro was always trying new salves, powders, potions, and herbs. He had come up with imaginative and intimidating ways in which to take part in these experimentations. But each time, the lot of them wondered if he would go too far. Each time, Mogorro knew better. He'd always have someone else try it before he. No good thought is proven without demonstration. Mogorro preferred someone else's stake in his thoughts when they'd reach that point in the process.

"Did you wake the dragon?" Xanadu asked, his bright smile wide, amused by the First Mate.

"I don't think it works that quickly. If any dragons awake, I'll be sure to let you know."

Mogorro took another deep breath in, the earthy smoke almost tasty to his pallet, and the harsh air from the parchment abrasive to his throat and lungs, as if they slightly burned as he drew breath. He exhaled the dark smoke from his mouth, pouting like a blowfish to play with the shapes that left his mouth. There was a calming tingle that took over in the tip of his head as he blew out, and he sat back in his chair as lazily as he could. "This may be what has caused them to sleep."

He looked up, gazing deep into the night. The stars began to slowly dance in a swirling pattern, as if they were rotating around each other, or doubles of them were in his blurred vision. The blur was still as clear as if it were day, and the thin white beams from each individual ball of light were both as vivid as if he were up close, and vague as if they all blended to form a sphere around it.

It was interestingly and unexpectedly beautiful.

They didn't say I'd see things.

When she spoke, he didn't hear her words, but her aura, her being, forced itself into the vision of the night, the black swirled in the light of the stars, and colors started to cycle through the crystalized light splitting in the prisms of their sparkle. He couldn't explain it perfectly anymore, but the sights he saw shifted like paint poured on a canvas all at once, until it swirled into the fog of Braavos.

"My Lady," he saw himself say in the vision. It was his memory of the evening long ago.

"We've little time. Gather the men, discretely make your way to the ship. The lamp will light which one it is," her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, some of the strands kinked up as if she had been abed. Her garb was thrown on in haste, and her arms were nearly trembling.

"Why so rushed? Why so soon?" that is when he noticed the blood on her hands and shoes.

"The girls will only hold the men for so long. We have overstayed our welcome here, and the sea beckons we heed its call."

"What of Trinton? Is he not with us?"

"What of him?" she yelled, pain and anger in her tone and on her face.

"Mogorro," she yelled in the now, shaking his shoulder, "Mogorro, where are you?"

He shook his head slightly to once again see his surroundings, though they blurred vividly, like the sky. Her face was as if it were smoke, flowing and almost clear.

"I've gone to the past to see a younger you," he said, his eyes wide and still drinking in colorful beauty of the dark dingy deck, his company nearly as dark and dingy.

Xanadu stretched out his dark arm, like the paw of a panther, his smile bright white, his teeth, fangs, longer like a cat's, "I think I'll refrain from trying your moss."

"Good, the more for me."

()

Arms and Xanadu helped Mogorro back over to the Alroh, taking him to his chambers. Have they had less to drink and any thoughts other than to get on with it, they would have thought about how the Norvosi decorated. To put a man going through fits of visions in room with mounted bear claws, pickled squid corpses, and a collection of rare figurines from around the known world as grotesque as they were rare was not necessarily a wise decision. Luckily for those that wished him well, he was all the more comfortable amidst his menagerie of the macabre. He felt at ease as soon as they dropped him in his bed.

"I'm not going to tuck you in, you fool. Next time, drink the wine with us. You may not yet make it 'til morning without a fit of retching, but at least you won't have spoken of the First Sword."

Mogorro could only nod and moan his thanks, as Arms and Xanadu left, ordering the attending deckhand to sit watch as he recovered from the Shade of the Morning.

The Norvosi closed his eyes, his thoughts as swirled as the black of his vision, and for a time, thought to think of something nicer than the usual his eyes would witness while open. He thought of lost lovers, exotic animals, and exquisite dishes. Despite his wishes, however, he could not see but the face of his Queen, and the weight she wore from her betrayals that night.

Before long, he could see further into their past, to their first encounter. She had caught him, and used it. She disarmed him with the threat of revealing him, but said she loved it all the more. She invited him to use her as an alibi, and do what he truly wished without fear of the consequence.

Never was she ever more breathtakingly and exquisitely beautiful than in that moment; the moment he knew she accepted him. He had never been accepted before, and he had never forgotten it.

As he slipped away into a nervous sleep, he remembered what he had wanted to say to her before she interrupted him. The prisoners. It was only Oaf Harry and Pickled Tom to watch them for the night, and neither would hesitate to join in the revelry unnoticed. He feared what that meant enough to say it to her, but with her personality being so enormously overshadowing of every moment, he had forgotten to mention it.

Hopefully there is but little consequence. Nothing more I can do but sleep until I'm useful again.