Conversations with the not so dead
Author's Notes: People on Alternate History forum asked me about Salladhor Saan a while back, and this is my response to them :D
Rating: M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D
Summary: Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.
Salladhor Saan I
The slow swaying gently rocked him, as sleepiness clouded his mind. His heavy covers kept him warm as he lay in his soft bed.
He sighed and pulled the covers around him more, enjoyed the warm...it been so long since he'd been properly warm.
Wait a minute...
Salladhor Saan sat up hastily and blinking the sleep away from his eyes.
As his eyes cleared, surprise was the foremost feeling in his gut.
He was in his cabin on his ship. It was quite warm...warmer than he remembered it being for a while now. Almost like it was summer again...
Yet...he remembered the cold winds...the remorseless, relentless dead and how they had overrun the docks before they could cast off. The image of the broken corpse of the Westerlands knight that had cornered him came back to haunt him.
He shook himself, "It was just a dream..." he ran a hand over his eyes casting away the dark image, "Of the course the Others aren't real! The dead stay dead!" he laughed to himself. He ignored the hysterical edge that his laugh held...it was just a nightmare nothing more. A fucking disturbing nightmare, but still just a nightmare.
He threw off his covers with gusto and jumped off the bed. The day was starting and it was full of so many possibilities, he thought happily.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
He stood on the bridge of his ship, proudly surveying his vessel as his men went about their tasks with efficiency and speed. He'd always run a tight ship and today was no different than other day. The men knew to work and not shirk their duties...or else.
His Second Mate was giving him a report, they were anchored off Braavos, they'd received the shipment of wines and spices they'd been waiting for and they would leave soon. Their contact would be waiting for them now in Lorath. It would be a short trip to Lorath from Braavos.
"Captain!" called out his First mate, cutting off the Second Mate's report.
Saan turned and smiled at the approaching man, his First mate was a good and solid man, he'd been with him for years now.
The first sign that something was wrong was that his first mate looked flustered and confused as he approached.
"What's gone wrong, now?" Saan asked with a frown and annoyed tone.
His First mate returned the frown, "Nothing today..." he took a deep shuddering breath and then asked deadly serious, "uh, Captain...didn't we all die?" His voice quivered with fear.
Saan's good mood came crashing down, "What?" he asked stunned.
"They...they caught us at dock, they overwhelmed us..." the First mate trailed off, a scared look on his face.
The Second mate turned to the First mate, his face filled disbelief and scorn, "What the bloody hells are you talking about?! Who?! How?!" he sputtered.
The First mate turned fearful eyes at Saan, but didn't answer.
"...the dead," finished Saan as his stomach turned into a clenched fist. Dread filled him. It was just a dream...it had to be a dream!
His second mate was staring at them now as if they had gone mad...which is as good a description as any for this situation! The part of Saan's mind that wasn't frozen in shock commented idly.
Questions quickly flew between Saan and his men. Soon enough he calling out to all of his crew demanding answers. Demanding to know if anybody else remembered...
Soon enough the turmoil and furor consumed him and his men, as those that remembered spoke with those that didn't. All work stopped as the men began speaking and arguing, each quickly talking about what they remembered- if anything.
By the end, the horrific truth was written on the faces of enough of his men as they crowded around Saan. Not many remembered, but enough to prove the awful, catastrophic truth. Every horrific minute of it.
It hadn't been a dream...it hadn't been a nightmare!
Every horrific second of it had been real! From Stannis Baratheon's failed attack on King's Landing, to Hardhome, dragons and beyond!
For the first time in a very long time, Saan was truly shaken.
Saan shook himself, it wouldn't do for the men to start doubting him now, he looked around and saw the wavering faces of his crew. Decisive action was needed.
"Do not worry!" he called out boldly, "However this has happened we are lucky it has! We can save ourselves! We know where the enemy is! And when they are coming!"
"What about Davos?" his first mate suddenly called out.
"Fuck Davos! All he did was drag us all from one unwinnable war to another!" Saan declared with a scornful tone. He quickly came to a good decision. A very good decision. "We'll go as far away from Westeros as we can get!" he declared joyfully. "Yi Ti sounds far enough away, eh?" he roared out the question enthusiastically at his crew.
Most of his crew cheered...all except one.
As the cheering started to die down the man that hadn't cheered called out, "Uh...Cap...doesn't Yi Ti have their own stories of the army of the dead?" the crewmen asked pointedly, with a concerned look on his face, as he scratched nervously at his scraggly beard. "I met a Yi Tish trader once that told some tall tales about fighting the dead..."
Saan blinked then clapped his hands together, "Fuck Yi Ti then, the Summer Islands, it is..."
The cheering from his crew was louder this time.
Author's Notes: Hope you all liked this! :) Seemed in character for Saan, to run away like this. As always don't forget to Review! :D