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Chapter 7: Wayward Prince
"Who are you to defy the will of Gods?"
– Princess Lyarra Stark
The Wrightwood bordered coastline and the cliffside fortress of Winterhold, named for its founder, aiding his people on arrival with ample supply of lumber and food from the local wildlife among its pines and oaks and evergreens, with freshwater streams that flowed down from a mountain range at its centre, giving the Wrightwood its life. It was famous, above all else, for the packs of Grey Wolves that called the forest home. The four-legged variety were not the only wolves here, however.
It had been an uncommon act of defiance for the young Prince Rodrik Stark to defy his kingly father. The young man was usually the very definition of obedience and duty; but in this he'd shown his fangs – proving in many ways his father's son through and through. The trees painted the underbrush in shadow as a pack of two-legged wolves lurked in the bushes, the eldest placing a guiding hand on his little brother's shoulder. "Aim true, remember your lessons – relax your bow arm, breathe and-"
Willam could remember this moment, years ago; on the eve of his wardship.
"-strike true little brother." Rodrik urged him to unleash the arrow, to take the life.
The stag was majestic as it gently ate in the forest clearing, the sun high above, winds blowing through the trees.
Willam remembered it clearly. In the past, he hadn't let loose that arrow.
"You can do it pup," his brother Edrik was always the supportive one.
In the past, he hadn't the stomach to end the creature's life. Now, however?
As if the dream could read his very thoughts, the arrow flew, and the stag fell to the cold forest floor.
"Never hesitate," the words came from his own lips, but Willam knew those to be Rodrik's words; not his own.
"Your enemy won't hesitate, little brother. You must strike true and end it quickly. No sense in letting the beast suffer…"
Willam found himself looking down at the youngest version of himself, watching the boy hang his head and – he knew as only he could – the boy fought back tears.
"He's only a boy still Roddy!"
Gods, that voice – how long had it been since he'd heard her voice?
"He's off to become a man within a week, sweet sister – he must learn."
Lyarra's hand found its way to young Willam's shoulder, smiling softly at the boy.
Rodrik had since stepped forward into the clearing, handing his bow to his twin Edrik in a swift motion, knowing his shadow would take it without doubts as he pulled out an ornate silver knife from his belt. "Will!" Rodrik called out, offering the knifes handle to his little brother.
The boy gazed wide-eyed at the knife, looking to the dying stag sadly.
"You can't expect him to-"
"Take the knife," Rodrik interrupted his sister, smiling at his brother.
"I-" The boy hesitated, taking a step forward on uncertain legs with a wavering heart.
"Do it," Willam frowned at his younger self. "It's already dying. Don't-"
"-let it suffer." Rodrik had finished his sentence.
When had he become so very alike his brother?
"You don't want it to suffer, do you little brother?"
The stag was already fading, in truth; the arrow had struck fast and deep.
"No," the boy hadn't wanted that. The stag was still beautiful to him even now; with all the pained look in its eyes – practically begging of him. To the boy, those eyes asked him why they'd done this thing at all. Why harm it? It hadn't done anything to warrant this; had it? Why, why, why?
"That's it," Rodrik smiled as his little brother took the knife and knelt at the stag's side. He'd taken the boys hand, guiding it into the stag's flesh; ending its life quickly. If it hadn't been for that guiding hand, then doubtless the boy wouldn't have had the strength. "Well done Will."
Lyarra smiled warmly at him, doing enough for the boy without words.
"Father would be proud pup," Edrik added, smiling just as widely.
"Do you know why we hunted it?" Rodrik had since wiped the blood clean off his knife.
The boy knew well enough, knew his lesson; many as they were – such things had been drilled into him long ago.
"To survive," he replied without thought. "To feed the pack."
Rodrik ruffled the boy's hair in reply, with a proud glint in his eyes.
"Now," Edrik offered warily. "Who's tying our prize to the horses?"
"Not it!"
"Not me!"
They'd wasted no time in their response.
Edrik groaned. "I swear, you're both children…"
Lyarra and Rodrik smirked at shared genius as their brother wandered back to the horses.
"Go with Eddy now," Rodrik spoke to the large black wolf that had snuck up to his side. The sun was still high, although the hour was growing later by the moment; they weren't too far from the nearest village – nor was that far from home in truth. Still, the woods weren't without their dangers.
The large black wolf obeyed silently, prowling after Edrik as if it intended to hunt the man.
Willam's eyes scanned the treeline as his younger self kept close to his sister.
"It's quiet," Lyarra spoke in a hushed mumble. "Too quiet…"
Rodrik looked as if he'd prepared a witty line at his sister's expense, but it died in his throat.
"It's here," Willam said to himself, eyes darting to his sister as she stood protectively in front of his younger self. The winds blew and rustled the treetops.
Rodrik had a hand warily on his sword.
A branch snapped in the shadow of bushes.
"RODDY!" Lyarra had practically screamed for her brother.
Her shrill cry was something Willam had forgotten in truth. The growl came next, low and chilling; pawing its way out from the underbrush with bared fangs – its body low to the ground as it approached. It was skinny, clearly starving and desperate.
"Ly, get back!" Rodrik had gotten between them and the beast in a heartbeat.
It snarled at the man, hesitant, but too hungry to back away.
"What's it doing here?!"
Lyarra held her little brother behind her, never taking eyes off the threat.
It was a Wrightlion. A lone, starving one; with a limp and hunger in its eyes. "You shouldn't have been here," Willam muttered, watching the memory unfold; unable to do anything but watch. The beast was native to the mountainous regions. It must've been beyond desperate to venture so far down.
"Roddy," Lyarra practically whispered. "Don't make any sudden moves, just let it-"
The sound of steel exiting its sheath was enough for the large cat.
"NO!" Lyarra cried out, eyes wide as the beast leapt at her brother.
Willam sighed at the memory of it all, knowing too well what came next.
The black blur of fur and teeth was almost instant, crashing into the starving lion mid-lunge and sending the beast rolling along the floor. The growls and ripping however were nothing compared to the haunting whine that followed, sharp and full of so much hurt.
"BASTARD!" Rodrik howled, driving his steel into the lion's side again and again; blinded by fury.
"Brother!" Edrik darted from the treeline to seize his twin, holding Rodrik's sword arm back from hacking and slashing at the now mutilated lion.
It took all of Edrik's strength to hold back his twin.
"Enough! It's dead brother, it's fucking dead! Stop!"
As was Rodrik's wolf. His guardian since he was a boy was bleeding profusely, limp and lifeless.
"No," Rodrik could be heard muttering over and over, growling out the refusals. "No, No, NO!"
"Look away Will," Lyarra had turned her brother aside, kneeling and holding the youngest of them close.
They faded then, like mist, taking the faint sobs of Prince Rodrik away and locking them away somewhere dark.
"I'd never seen him cry before then," Willam muttered aloud. It had been the first and only time, truthfully. Rodrik had loved that wolf like family. A warg's bond once forged was near enough that too; especially with wolves. It wasn't a loss ever forgotten or forgiven.
"It wasn't your fault," a new voice offered without emotion.
Willam snarled at it, eyes darting around the clearing for whoever it may be.
In the trees, the shadows seem to move and twist; as if alive. He could see shapes there, creatures; lions and wolves and stags scurrying about the darkness - almost seeming to fight as rays of sun broke through the canopy above to force back the shadow.
"It was all part of their plan…"
He heard the faint flap of feathered wings on air…
"Plan?" Willam scoffed aloud at the voice. It wasn't his either, strangely; this one was devoid of even the judgment or arrogance he'd come to expect from voices in his head. They at least he could read. This was different. It felt unnatural, as far as voices went. "What damn plan is that?!"
She revealed herself, out from the shadows; black vapours twisting around her coat sown with green leaves and white bark.
"The gods," she smiled an oddly familiar smile. He knew that smile, it promised something sweet.
That voice too, even void of emotion as it was; reminded him of someone.
No. It was madness...
"Sister?" It couldn't be…
She pulled back her dark green hood, revealing raven locks and emerald eyes that weren't quite her own, plastered with a smile that reeked of boundless mischief.
"Impossible," Willam eyed her warily, taking a step back on instinct alone.
She kept her sickeningly fake smile, as if in on some grand jest that only she knew about.
"You're dead," Willam dismissed the woman with a smirk of his own. "I must have finally gone insane, to dream something so outlandishly false…"
Her eyes were wrong, shining emerald where a Stark silvery grey should've shined instead. How could his mind get that damn detail wrong? He'd always thought, however odd or even mad, that it was at least smarter than this laughable error. Her eyes weren't supposed to be emerald...
Silver. He thought the notion – demand it be willing into being – yet the dream refused.
"Hello brother," She offered instead, standing still; her emerald eyes glinting.
"Mhmm," He took another step back without thinking. This was wrong. All wrong.
It was as if his very being knew well enough to be afraid, somehow, of something… of her…
"I've a message for you little brother."
His delusion had a message? That was new...
"Charming, but I've enough nonsense in my skull without you adding more."
Lyarra's image suddenly scowled. "You've grown so very stubborn little Willy…"
"I-" Nobody had called him that since he was a child. Only his sister had ever-
In the back of his mind, a young girl laughed up a storm of giggles and gasps for air.
"Willy?!" The child appeared at his side all smiles and giggles, with her snow-white hair and starry eyes. She laughed, loud as thunder; dramatically rolling around the forest floor clutching her sides with tears of joy in glinting eyes. Lyarra should have had those eyes too...
Lyarra's plastered smile seemed to grow far more genuine at the sight of the child's merry laughter.
"Enough!" Willam demanded of his illusions, scowling at them both; scolding as a father might his children.
Great, now he was talking to two imaginary voices. Was this what it was to be mad?
"She called you Willy!" The girl kept laughing, caring nothing for the scolding; consumed by her joy.
"Fine! Fine damnit!" Willam scowled deeper, the furthest from amused he'd been in frankly years.
His dreams had often mocked him with the past – though none had refused him control as this woman.
"Lyarra, if that is your name…"
"Yes, my dear littlest brother?"
"What's your damn message, ghost?"
She took a step forward, rustling the small girl's snow-white hair – much to her annoyance.
"The gods have need of you, little brother; it's your destiny to-"
Willam held up a hand to halt her speech abruptly in its tracks.
"I'll stop you there, fake-lyarra," he shrugged, uninterested. "I don't care."
Lyarra's smile turned sour quickly, as if she'd tasted something foul and bitter.
"You must head West," she insisted with none of her previous smiley approach.
"Must I?" Willam scoffed at the notion, never having been one for following orders.
The woman, or voice, or delusion that claimed to be his sister, frowned even deeper.
"Who are you to defy the will of Gods?" Her voice echoed in the dark corners of his dream.
It was perhaps the best question he'd ever been asked by a voice in his head. The madness was getting creative.
He drew Frost out from its runed scabbard as his answer, holding the pale blade up to his supposed sisters throat as he tried and failed to find a witty reply. Who was he, exactly? The girl with snow-white hair simply rolled her eyes at his actions, bored beyond measure. She was already tired of the mummery.
Lyarra seemed wholly unfazed by the blade at her throat, as if it could never harm her, even as winter itself seemed to bleed out from the icy blade – freezing and killing the ground at her feet. The grass, the flowers; the frost drained the life from all things as Winter came to strangle the sun of Summer once and for all.
"You cannot escape destiny little brother," she offered with some clear sadness in her tone. It was the first clearly genuine emotion from her that Willam had no doubts over. "No more than I could, no more than father or our brother. No more than Rodrik's wolf could…"
Was that so? Willam huffed at the words, even as something tightened in his chest.
"Oh?" He challenged the ghost, brave and stubborn in equal measure. "Watch Me!"
The frost grew, spreading across the whole clearing; freezing and killing all it touched.
Winter wrapped its cold fingers around Summer's throat and squeezed.
Lyarra Stark's ghost faded away with sorrow in her eyes.
"Watch me, sister…"
The dream faded with her.
Only the cold of Winter lingered.
Willam woke with a weight on his chest, crushing him, a hundred thousand thoughts squeezing tightly; breath sharp - as if he'd forgotten how to breathe. If he was honest, the sensation was a terrifying one. That dream had done it. Seeing his sisters face again made his mind wander to others he'd lost, to Elssa, to the part of himself he'd abandoned. The part he longed to forget but couldn't ever seem to escape. The past had a funny way of hunting you down and tormenting you.
"Not even my dreams are safe," Willam thought as he groaned in bed. He kept his eyes shut, even if darkness threatened further torment, he was still so very damn tired – in more ways than one. Still, a thought nagged at him, eating away at his despair and promising something; or anything else.
It was silly, taking stock in dreams – no matter how lucid they felt – he'd been pushed by it. He hated being pushed.
And he knew something must've broken in him, to burn over such a trivial thing.
Knowing and fixing were two entirely different things, however…
"Fuck it," he mumbled with a groan, getting up out of bed, fleeing from warmth to the cold outside his tent. Everyone was asleep at this hour of night.
Lord Fisher having rested them at the abandoned logging camp for the night. Willam made his way across, past tents and dead fires, ignoring the prospect of being caught – for the nagging in his skull wouldn't allow any thoughts beside the one. "West, West, West," it ate at him without sign of ever ceasing.
"Aedan!" He barked, entering the man's tent, his emotions at war; angrier still by the moment.
Anger. Now there was a beast that would eat its own tail.
"W- Will?" The outlander was still half asleep.
"Get up," Willam ordered. "We're leaving again."
"Leaving?" Aedan managed a mumbled reply, uncertain; but he'd risen from his bed dutifully without complaint.
He was as he'd always been, loyal beyond reason. "Meet me by the horses," Willam added, leaving the tent as quickly as he came.
He didn't like any of this. It wasn't happening as he'd imagined, how he'd planned – yet then what ever went according to plan in this life? He was angry. He was angry at being angry, in truth; and what a beast that was, a foolish dragon eating its own damn tail and complaining how it hurt.
Such a beast was liable to consume itself whole, given enough time, first the tail then the legs; until nought remained of it.
"Easy girl," he stroked his horse's mane, the creature sensing his unease. Horses weren't stupid, he'd found – they were even arguably smarter than most people he'd known – though if that were more testament to the horse, or to the stupidity of people, he couldn't say. "It'll all be okay..."
"My Prince?" Willam gave the man his best fake smile, a thing of practiced excellence that Greystark could see right through.
It was habit for the prince more than anything by now. "Grey," he said. "Morning…"
"What's happening?" Aedan dared to ask; his concern too obvious. "Is something wrong?"
No, they were up in the dark skulking around their own camp like common rogues because everything was fine.
Willam decided to not voice that unhelpfully snarky reply.
"It's time old friend," He opted to say instead. "Winter is Leaving."
A look of realisation struck the man. "Now?!" Aedan nearly raised his voice. "Why now of all times?"
He'd had a bad dream, that was why. Again, it was best not to voice that notion.
"Uncle is out here; we may not get an opening like this again..."
The words "who are you, to defy the will of gods" rang in Willam's skull tauntingly.
It was East from here to town, not West. That made the prince happier, if only slightly. Small victories.
"Quickly," he clasped the outlander on his shoulders. "Find our friend Ivar, tell him it's time – quickly brother!"
There was but a second's pause at that. "As you say brother..."
He'd rushed off in a heartbeat to fulfil his orders, dutiful as always.
"It's time," Willam spoke to his horse in the darkness, the moonlight shining down at them.
East, he'd almost chuckled at the notion. East, not West, not as the ghost in his dreams ordered.
"East girl," he smirked wide at the notion of taunting gods. "As far east as we can manage... then east some more…"
It didn't take long at all for Aedan to return with Ivar at his back, the commoner dressed oddly in Stark finery; with its blacks and whites and silvers – he looked every part the dashing prince. "Prince Ivar," Willam called him, smirking at how uncomfortable the young man looked, his head lowered and uncertainty ruling his features.
"Head high, my friend – you're royalty for the night!"
"If your father finds out I-"
"His Grace will blame our prince," Aedan countered.
"You've only followed my orders after all Ivar. A good soldier follows orders."
For all the bad Willam thought of his father, the man knew better than to reward loyalty with punishment. That was a road that led to ruin, sooner or later; ruling through fear alone was short sighted at best and incompetence at worst. King Brandon was many things, but never a fool. Fear and Respect went hand in hand, if one was wise.
"I trust you Ivar," Willam lied easily, although he felt some tug of guilt for that sour truth – admitting it would only hurt Ivar when he'd done nothing to earn harm. It was a queer thing, wanting to trust; but finding yourself unable. No matter what Ivar did, the truth of this would remain ugly.
It was easier to lie with a smile than expect anyone to understand that reality without taking insult.
Aedan was perhaps the only exception to this rule. His true friend. His brother by choice.
"We should hurry Will," Aedan kept his voice low, wary of awakening anyone in camp.
Willam gave a nod to his brother of choice, handing Ivar the reigns to Winter.
"Take good care of this one Ivar, he'll listen to no other besides You and I."
"With my life Prince Willam," young Ivar swore to his prince easily.
Pride glinted in his eyes as he sat atop the princely steed dressed in Stark colors.
Ivar the Prince led them on his white steed as the trio rode past startled guards that yelled at their passing, riding hard and fast, with Willam alongside his two friends; fleeing from the past once more – with wind in raven locks and nagging voices in his head.
"Who are you to defy the will of Gods?"
East, not West. The Gods could choke on their destiny.
The dark cloud above his head seemed to fade. The sun would be rising soon.
"I am Willam Fucking Stark," he thought defiantly, riding aside his friends. "Watch Me!"
Lord Fisher had arrived back in town not long after Ivar had ridden with them, all rather publicly and loudly into the town towards its docks and onto The Wanderer. There they'd parted ways with 'Prince' Ivar, all a part of the ruse. It was a risky ploy, by any stretch, all manner of things could go wrong.
It was a plan Willam had set long in advance truth be told, though executed too soon. All knew their parts in this play, such as it was.
In simple terms, Ivar would very explicitly set sail dressed in princely attire in sight of ample dock workers and merchants, who would whisper as fishermen did, of the wayward Prince leaving dock – only for Lord Fisher to learn of his nephew's departure and give chase with his fastest ships; no doubt catching the Wanderer. In place of his royal nephew however the old man would find Ivar, simply following royal orders, like the loyal sword of Stark that he was; just followed orders.
Forget the word of gods. Who was Ivar the Lowborn to defy the word of a Stark? Hardly his fault. No sane man would be able to blame him for it.
The hiding place of choice for Willam and Aedan rested quietly on the docks, a tall, daub-and-timber building with warm yellow lights spilling from the windows. It was quite popular with the merchants and travellers alike, offering drink and food and feather beds for those with proper coin.
"And if your uncle discovers us here, brother?" Aedan hadn't been wholly convinced in the genius of his prince's plan.
He'd even been forced to part ways with Flash for a time, as the wolf was far too obvious to keep hidden.
Willam had simply shrugged. "If he finds us, we'll call it an unfortunate misunderstanding. I was testing Ivar is all…"
At this hour, the common room was almost empty. A young man across the room was passed out at one table, snoring softly into a pool of spilled wine. Otherwise, there was no one. Willam kept his hood up and eyes down as a short, whey-faced woman emerged from the kitchens and said, "Sit where you like. Is it ale you want, or food?"
"Both please," Aedan replied kindly from his seated table, in the darkest corner of the room.
"There's good lamb, roasted with crust of herbs, and some ducks my son shot down. Which will you have?"
They hadn't eaten since before the temple. Food actually sounded divine…
"The lamb sounds wonderful," Willam spoke, still hiding his face. "Thank you."
The woman smiled happily for the business. "Will you be wanting a room for the night as well?"
"No," Aedan denied. "Our thanks, but we'll not stay the night." It might have been nice, to take a soft bed for the night, but the next step of the plan was up shortly – as soon as their intended merchant ship was due to depart.
"Some food, some ale, and it's off for us I'm afraid. Time is money."
A common enough saying amongst the merchant class. Few would take notice of them.
"Heading east?" She guessed easily enough, as if anyone besides Ivar was sailing West. Nobody knew what the hell was West of here anyway in truth, they were at the edge of the maps; but that was the whole point of the decoy luring Lord Fisher so far away from them.
There were whispers of distant shorelines. It would've been in character for Willam Stark to sail off and explore.
A fact the Lord Fisher knew all too well and something he'd expect, and exactly why they'd be going the opposite direction.
"Aye m'lady," said Aedan. "Hoping for good fortune in Wrightport, if the tide is kind – gods willing – it'll be a smooth venture."
"My son might've eagerly joined you there, if he were older." She smiled, seemingly eager for chatter. "He'll have this inn when I go, but the boy fancies himself an adventurer instead, and my girl turns to sighs and giggles every time a noble rides us by. I swear I couldn't tell you why. Noble types are built the same as other men." She eyed Willam curiously; the hilt of Frost poking out slightly from under his fairly tattered black cloak. "You soldier's yourselves?"
Aedan took a sip of the ale before he answered. A nut-brown colour it was, and thick on the tongue, he'd known worse ales; but better ones too. "No," he said. "Merchants, and with pirate troubles of late, can't be too careful at sea." That part wasn't a lie. The best lies always wielded a shield of truth.
"I've heard it's the young Ryder boy's doing," she said. "I pay no mind to whispers though…"
Agnar Ryder had grown bold of late, that much was true. A stain on his house's reputation.
"That pirate scum is no son of mine," was all Lord Ryder had to say about the matter of his wayward son.
Once upon a time Willam had entertained the idea of finding and joining the self-styled pirate, but he'd decided such a venture was doomed – as nobody in their right mind thought Agnar would last a winter at sea. He'd defied all expectations… though if King Brandon thought Willam were among them…
Well, luck and a lack of interest may have gotten Agnar this far; but the King could crush him if he wished.
There was a reason the pirates only preyed on the outskirts of the Kingdom. They weren't stupid.
"They say the young Prince has wandered away again," the woman added more gossip.
"Prince Willam?" Aedan asked her, curious to the gossip of things without giving away much.
"Oh yes," she practically rolled her eyes. "I'll never understand the youth these days, always wanting something new, never grateful for what they already have; just like my own boy I say." Aedan gave her a friendly smile as the woman's daughter brought over their meals.
The lamb was good, surprisingly so, better than some he'd had in the past cooked by far richer chefs. The innkeep's daughter brought buttered peas as well, and oaten bread still hot from the oven. Willam had a second tankard of ale with the meal, a third to wash it down, and a fourth because there was no one to stop him.
When they were done and their ship was due to depart, the pair got up from the table and moved over to pay the innkeep, as Willam reached into his pouch of silver and gold wolves. "For the meal," he held out a silver wolf, raising his head enough to show a plastered smile; seeming friendly and true to average folk.
She smiled back at the man and took his silver eagerly. More than the meal was worth.
"And," then he held a single gold wolf between two fingers. "For the conversation, my Lady."
She went wide-eyed as Willam laid the gold wolf in her palm, with eyes darting to the silver direwolf signet ring on his hand. Aedan glanced at his prince's action with a hint of worry. Willam kept his smile, closing the women's hand around the coins in her palm.
"House Stark thanks you for your hospitality," he all but whispered – trying not to laugh at the look on her face.
Her daughter dropped a pitcher of ale, smashing on the floor as the pair left for the docks, eager to leave before they could ask any questions, or the innkeep could spread her story across town. It was nearing dawn by the time they reached the merchant ship that would see them free.
The docks were lively outside, as usual; fishermen and merchants and travellers and sellswords going about their lives.
"That woman will talk," Aedan spoke as they left, referring to the innkeep.
"She will," Willam had agreed with an uncaring shrug. "We'll be long gone by the time she tells her tale of a wayward prince heading for Wrightport."
Wrightport. Aedan had said that much to her before.
"They'll be looking in the wrong place for us if they hear…"
Willam barely contained a smirk. "Twice over, although uncle may not be fooled so easily a second time; regardless, we'll be long gone."
Besides, hiding right under his father's nose did seem like something he'd try.
"You can't run forever," Aedan muttered with a sigh.
He could damn well try…
"Not with that attitude Grey!"
Aedan scoffed as they approached the merchant ship, with its three masts, a high rounded stern with bowsprit at the stem boasting a large cargo, a design popular among merchants for long voyages. It flew the golden five-clawed dragon on purple of the Imperial Lóng Dynasty hailing from the Empire of Dawn.
It was beautiful, if not odd; as the Empire explained it – dragons were made up of nine different types of animals: the head of a camel, the horns of a deer, the ears of a cow, a serpentine neck, the belly of a clam, the scales of a carp, an eagle's claws, eyes of a rabbit and tiger's paws.
Willam thought it looked like a snake with claws, personally; the rest of the beast largely alluded him. Imperials were fancy.
The bronze-skinned man in fine silks and jewellery was clearly in charge, barking orders at his men as one nearly dropped a barrel; reinforced or not - the merchant captain wasted no time scolding those responsible. "I'll have you both flogged for such incompetence!" He threatened them in the Imperial tongue, scowling, then sighing as the men offered apologies with bowed heads. They weren't slaves, such practices weren't strictly legal even in the east; but these crews of men relied on their employer for their livelihood, even paid as meekly as they were. Harsh treatment was doubtless worth it to put food on their tables, for family, lovers, or even simply themselves.
Not all had a taste for carving out a life at sword point. Some wished for a less violent life.
"M'lord!" Aedan called after the merchant who even now held a grim look about him. He took one look at Aedan and narrowed his eyes.
"What business have you with me ruffians? Soldiers? Sellswords? Pirate even, perchance?"
What man would openly admit to the latter was anyone's guess.
Aedan's Imperial was, thankfully passable.
"Wanderers, m'lord; we are seeking-"
"I'm no lord, islander," the merchant countered. "Address me with my position or not at all."
"Good Captain," Aedan said without the malice he felt. "We're hoping for passage on your fine vessel to-"
"You," the man eyed Aedan's hooded companion, suspicion growing. "Is your friend here mute? I've no use for men of simple disposition..."
"We have gold," Willam said plainly from beneath his hood.
The merchant blinked, uncertain for but a brief moment.
"For passage to the Empire," the Prince's own Imperial was near flawless.
A toothy smile stretched across the merchant's face. "Gold, is it? Islander or Imperial?"
"Stark," Willam answered him calmly. "Half now, half on departure; paid in full. No trouble."
"Well then," the merchant kept his grin, putting one of the gold coins between his teeth, biting and looking pleased. He clasped his hands together and spoke, "Welcome aboard gentlemen! My fair girl has seen better days young friends, but I assure you, there's no finer ship in these seas!"
A bold claim that, not to mention a complete lie; but it would serve their purpose well enough. No sense insulting the captain.
The crew eyed them with interest as they walked onto the deck, but otherwise went about their business. Fear of reprisal from their employer far outweighed curiosity as to who would be joining them on their voyage. They weren't paid to ask questions.
Still, best to not linger in the open…
"Is there a cabin we might take Cap-"
"Yes, certainly!" The merchant seemed eager once the first pouch of gold exchanged hands. Blind or uncaring in sight of great profit, though he held to his habit of interrupting guests. "Second only to my own, the finest I have to offer my new friends!"
Aedan was all smiles and warmth as the left the man behind, walking off to their cabin.
"What are you dogs staring at?!" The merchant's kind facade dropped the instant his new seemingly wealthy guests turned their backs.
He hadn't wasted a breath to even care if they'd heard him, expecting obedience.
"A poor mummer that one," Willam commented, shutting the cabin door behind them.
"We don't need a virtuous captain though, now do we..."
It was more statement of fact than any form of question.
"No," Willam agreed with a roll of his eyes, failing to hide his distaste. "Still, greedy men are easily bought."
Aedan gave a nod in agreement. "As you say My Pr-"
"Brother," Willam corrected him swiftly. "Wraith, even, but no dropping the charade until we're home free, brother."
"Yes brother," Aedan obeyed in a heartbeat, taking a seat on one of the multiple bunks left empty in their supposed cabin.
It felt like the old days, in truth, free of lofty duty.
"How are the others faring?"
Aedan closed his eyes, searching for a link; reaching out across the sea as best he could.
It was ever so faint, like dying ripples on a lake; barely noticeable as the waters calmed. His mind's eye opened on the deck of a different ship entirely – far grander than the merchants, with taller masts and a larger crew full of men and women in Stark colours rushing about.
The connection was cut as quickly as it was gained, revealing too little.
"Still sailing," Aedan groaned, rubbing his eyes. "In some hurry it seemed..."
"Nothing else? Any Fisher banners on the deck with the crew?"
"No," he shook his head. Aedan could feel an ache coming along, gnawing at the back of his skull. "The connection was too weak, I'm sorry; if my bond was stronger I-"
Willam waved the apology off quickly. "It's no fault of yours Grey. They're far off by now, it's impressive you reached out at all truly. There's no shame to be had."
He'd been reluctant to be separated from the wolf at all, in truth, but it proved both an excellent distraction and too difficult to smuggle a damn wolf through town and onto a merchant vessel without raising considerable suspicion, not to mention boundless questions. They'd have been caught for certain.
"I'm sorry we couldn't bring the furry bastard along with us Grey."
The man smirked. "I doubt Prince Snow would've accepted our invitation, brother."
"A jest?!" Willam practically scoffed at the notion, a genuine smile on his lips for once. "Who are you and what did you do with my brother?!"
Aedan fought the urge to roll his eyes at his wayward princely friend.
"We'll be fine," Willam promised him, noting his friends worry; try as he might to mask with humour.
That was the prince's speciality after all. There was no fooling him in that.
"I pray so," Aedan afforded a smile. "If not, I fear it'll be my head or worse..."
"Nonsense, you're only following orders; my anxious little brother!"
It was true enough. Although, there would still be quite the storm to weather once the king heard about all this. If he were caught Willam honestly doubted his father wouldn't have him leashed to Cregan like a common house dog, collar and all; to keep him from running away yet again.
"Do you know the trick to alleviating your concerns, little brother?"
Aedan could sense a trap, but was duty bound to answer.
"No, brother," He replied warily. "What's the trick?"
"It's very simple!" Willam grasped his shoulders, looking down at the younger man; smirking mischievously.
He happily shared his wisdom of the ages.
"You just Don't. Get. Caught..."
They would not be, at least for a time.
The Empire of Dawn awaited across the Sunset.