On the vast blue expanse of the Narrow Sea, the Cinnamon Wind clips over the waves, its huge white sails spread wide to catch a strong north wind. Perched at the bow, Edward Stark clutches the rail, peering over the edge as salty spray splashes up to sting his face. Unbothered, he keeps his eyes glued to the horizon, watching the slowly growing island of Lys in the distance.

What was at first just a speck, barely discernible from the cresting waves, can now be clearly seen for what it is - a large island kingdom, rich green and towering stony spires rising up from pristine teal water, with the sprawling white lines that mark the walls of the city. The nearer they get, more shapes begin to appear, gray dots on the horizon - a swarm of ships coming and going from the great city's harbor, bobbing up and down like a countless flock of gulls come down upon the water to rest.

Approaching from the west, the Cinnamon Wind can see the full shape of the island. To the southwest, it crests into a rise of steep cliffs and spindly stone peaks sticking up out of the lush tropical forest like bones. From there, the shoreline slopes down into the long stretch facing the northwest, a smooth coastline, largely cleared of jungle but still verdantly green, with sandy beaches and small port towns. Blocking a stretch of the coast from view is a smaller island, windswept save for sparse patches of trees and two beacon towers at each end to steer wayward ships from the reefs lurking just beneath the pristine surface.

Edward watches the smaller island carefully - Valhari Martu, as the Lyseni call it in their tongue, translates to Watchtower Island, but most sailors still call it by the name it knew during the long rule of the Valyrian dragonlords - The Dragon's Egg. Xondo had spent the past night regaling the crew with stories of his adventures in Lys, including an expedition to the ruins of the ancient Valyrian fortress that had once dominated the island, now mostly sunk into sand. It is said that dragon skeletons still lie buried there, where they were slain by the rebelling locals. Xondo boasted he himself had claimed a dragon's tooth necklace there as a boy, only to lose it in a cruel wager years later. Edward could tell the rest of the crew lent little belief to the First Mate's boasts, but he remains intent to catch a glimpse of the shattered stronghold all the same.

He feels the nudge of Tessarion's nose in the back of his knee and turns to see Prince Jalabar approaching, his feathered cloak flapping loudly in the wind, bright white smile glistening.

"Are you ready to set your feet on dry land once more, Edward?"

"I can't wait!" Edward looks back to the nearing shoreline. Throughout their long journey, his feet have grown accustomed to the uneven rhythm of the water beneath the boards and his stomach no longer churns to bile as they crest each wave. But even now, he still yearns for the quiet stability of solid earth and stone. Hearing Tessarion's eager panting, he knows the direwolf is ready too, somehow knowing their journey is near its end. "What will we do, once we land?"

Caught up in his ship boy's tasks and his daily lessons in sailing and the ways of the Summer Islands, Edward has given scarce thought to what lays ahead. For weeks, the end of the journey has simply been to reach Lys. But now they are here, and only a question mark awaits on the morrow.

"Do not worry yourself, boy," Jalabar places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "When we reach the city, Jalabar Xo will find the finest home for us both. We shall rent here and rest, until word comes from Westeros, and we know where you will be safe. I do not forget the vow made to your father. Jalabar Xo will stand by you until you rest in his arms once more."

"Thank you, Jalabar," Edward forces himself to smile. He knows there is no way he could explain his dreams to the prince, how he knows he will never see his father's face again, save for carved stone in the crypts beneath Winterfell. He pushes the thought out of his mind. "Have you been to Lys before?"

"Many years ago, before Jalabar came to the Red Keep, I first took shelter here and sought backing to reclaim the Red Flower Vale. But Lyseni say no, everyone say no, until there is no one left to ask. But it is beautiful land. Not so beautiful as Summer Islands. Yet paradise enough."

Paradise, Edward thinks, looking back to the horizon as he scratches the back of Tessarion's neck. Paradise isn't home. But for now, it will have to do.


A small trunk is all that Edward needs to pack. In the mate's cabin that had been handed over to him and Jalabar at the start of the voyage, he easily fits the scarce belongings he has left to carry. A few spare clothes, all rough leather and cloth, borrowed from Iz, gracious enough to let him hold on to them for the next leg of his journey. A few trinkets – shells and beads and a bracelet from Xondo. And, lastly, the lucky items he had on him the day they had been attacked at the docks and fled on the Cinnamon Wind – His paints, his goldenheart bow, his weirwood arrows and the pendant Heleana had gifted him – the dark ruby embedded in weirwood. The pendant remains around his neck. The rest is carefully tucked away.

Rather, there are two items left – tightly rolled, his latest paintings. The first, one of his family; happy, just as they had been before he left Winterfell with Father. The second, of the crew of the Cinnamon Wind; his new family, who chose him, when they could have cast him adrift, and carried him to safety.

Placing the paintings gently on top of the neatly packed pile, he closes the trunk with a snap, just as the door flings open. Iz jumps into the cabin without knocking.

"Hurry up, Ed! We're coming to harbor!"

Leaving the trunk behind, Edward sprints back out of the room, racing Iz as they have so many times before, weaving through the ship's narrow walkways to the ladder and up into the fresh, salty air. He immediately is hit by the heat. Here, near to shore, sheltered from the wild winds of the sea, there is not so much breeze to cool the sun's rays, leaving their sails limp and their brows sweaty. When they had left Westeros, it had been early autumn. Not so here in Lys.

"We're almost there, boy!" Ed shouts to Tessarion, the huge wolf eagerly bounding back and forth, tongue flopping out to taste the approaching smells of dry land. It turns to follow the boys as they hurry to the bow, where Jalabar stands with Xondo, Kojja and Captain Quhuru Mo.

"There she is!" Iz points, and Edward's eyes go wide. Even in the harbor at King's Landing, he has never seen so many ships. Littering the bay in front of them float far too many to count, of every shape and size and color, from barnacled fishing cogs to longboats with oars splashing to ornate luxury barges to huge sailboats – Edward even spies several fellow swanships.

With little wind at their back, their pace slows to a crawl, but in such crowded conditions, speed would only be a hazard. Instead, they lazily rock forward on the rhythm of the waves, deftly navigating a path towards the inner harbor. Dead ahead, two large stone pedestals mark the entrance to the great city of Lys. Xondo had said that once, those sleek black platforms had held massive statues of the dragons that once ruled the island kingdom but, just like the fortress on Valhari Martu, they had been destroyed by the Lyseni after the Doom of Valyria.

Now, the empty pedestals have been overrun with a mix of stone and wood buildings sprawling out from the inner city to line the coastline and form the outer harbor, an uneven, ramshackle collection of docks, piers and mooring houses blazoned with dozens of brightly painted signs and flying unfamiliar flags.

"Have you been here before?" Edward turns to Iz, waving at a pair of fishermen in an anchored cog as it rocks in their wake.

"Years ago," Iz doesn't take his eyes away from the scenes of the harbor, every bit as excited as Edward to take it all in. "I don't remember much of it. There was good food, and good music… I was still with my parents, then."

The memory seems to shake loose something melancholy in him, but the loud bellow of a curved trumpet from a passing longship chases it away as quickly as it arrived. Edward squints ahead, trying to peer past the pedestals and get a better look at the city beyond its walls, fused centuries-past by dragonfire. He can see the tops of high towers poking into view, their tiled roofs brightly painted.

"Where will we dock?" he asks.

"Ha!" Xondo laughs. "No city keeps the Cinnamon Wind out! We'll be in the inner ring, where we belong. Hezza Gehrig waits for us, there."

"Hezza Gehrig should not be trusted," Quhuru glares at his first mate. "We will take the best price for mooring. The Cinnamon Wind will not have our profits skimmed by some petty crook."

"Hezza is best!" Kondo insists. "Xondo knows Hezza for many years."

"Which is why Hezza should not be trusted. When you bargain with a friend, you bargain blind."

Xondo crosses his arms, offended, and looks to Kojja for support. With a sigh, she shrugs.

"I will go with Xondo, father. We will find the best deal."

"Well enough," Quhuru waves them away. "Prepare the boat."

"What are they doing?" Edward watches Xondo and Kojja leave towards the stern.

"You'll see," Iz turns him back to look ahead. "Here we go!"

At that, the Cinnamon Wind has truly arrived within the welcoming arms of Lys. They pass through the harbor entrance under the watchful eyes of sentries atop the pedestals, arrows notched in their crossbows, with bronze armor over loose-flowing pale blue robes. Edward eyes the sentries nervously as they pass through but, as they look back down, inspecting the deck of the passing ships, none raise their bows.

"Here it comes!" Iz tugs on his arm once more and Edward looks back in front of them, his jaw falling slack as the full city comes into view.

The inner harbor is a wide, round pool of crystal blue water shimmering in the sun, its serene surface marred only by the boats crossing peacefully to and from the ring of piers and docking bays that loops around the whole circumference. Rising up behind them is Lys itself – the most beautiful city Edward has ever seen, a sprawling mass of white and red stone with pointed and spiraled roofs capped in every color of the rainbow, a kaleidoscope of a city with tall towers that would rival the height of near any castle in Westeros jutting upward to stab the clear and cloudless sky.

Edward steps back from the rail, overwhelmed by all of the sights before him, head spinning as he tries to take it all at once. His mind immediately rushes to how he could hope to paint it all. It would take colors he had never used before. A whole new world entirely.

"Prepare anchor!" Quhuru's sharp demand snaps both boys back to attention. The captain grasps both of them by the shoulders, a rare smile under his hooked nose as he looks down. "Tell Old Jezra to ready food and drink for the landing party. Full stomachs will get the Cinnamon Wind a better deal."

"Yes, captain!" Edward and Iz answer in unison, not hesitating to run off, even as Edward struggles to tear his eyes away from the shoreline. They make their way, jumping down steps and skipping over ropes and nets to the ladder below deck, but Iz comes to a sudden halt before they descend.

"Wait!" he points to the rear of the ship, where, under Xondo's bellowing command, one of their rowboats is being fitted with pulleys to be lowered into the waiting water below.

"What are they doing?"

"If we want spot in harbor, we have to pay. Xondo and Kojja go ashore, find us best deal. Most harbormasters want cut of what we sell at market."

"Is that how every city works?"

"All harbors are different, Ed. But in Lys, everything for sale. Xondo says if you don't watch out, they try to sell you the shirt on your own back!"

With a laugh, Iz jumps down onto the ladder, scampering hand over foot down below deck. With a final scratch behind Tessarion's ears, Edward wastes no time in following, though his mind is already racing with new thoughts that drown out whatever it was they were sent back down to do. Distracted, he nearly stumbles when his feet hit the bottom of the ladder.

"Who's Hezza Gehrig?" he asks following Iz back down the hall to the galley.

"Ha! Xondo live on the sea all his life. He have friends in every port. I met a few. They tend to smell. But they come in handy if we have to get around the law."

"The law?" Edward stops, suddenly remembering his father's long stories on the dangers of smugglers and pirates. "We… we don't need to worry about that, do we?"

Iz looks back and laughs when he sees the nervous look on Edward's face. "Captain Quhuru is honest man, Ed. It the honesty of the law we have to worry about. Like I said, everything for sale."

"Oh," Edward looks back to the light filtering in from the opening above the ladder. The stories Old Nan had told often had crooked lords and courtiers as the scheming villains. But he had never paid them such mind until now. Father would never allow such things in the North. But the North is far, far away. He looks back to see Iz has moved on, already halfway down the hall. "Iz, wait!"

"What?" Iz turns around again, jumping from foot to foot impatiently. "The boat be ready soon! We need to get the food from Jezra!"

"I know!" Edward hurries to catch up, but stops again when he reaches Iz. "I saw other swanships in the harbor. Do you think your parents will be here?"

"Oh," Iz slows down, following Edward's glance back to the ladder, his breathing slowing until he can taste the salty air again. The look from before returns, his ever-smiling face loosening and drooping into something near sadness. "No. No, I don't think so."

"You said they were on a merchant crew, too! Maybe they're out there!"

"Thanks, Ed," Iz looks back to him, eyes round, with small drops growing on the edges. "But the last I heard, they were headed to the cold waters, far North. Far from here. The Cinnamon Wind is my family now."

Edward holds his gaze for a long while, unsure what to say. He only stares back as the boards slowly shift with the waves beneath them, neither blinking, ignoring for a moment the sound of rushing feet all around them. Memories of Edward's own family flash before his eyes one by one, but he never looks away. Finally, he leans in, the only response he can find, wrapping Iz in the tightest hug he can muster. He feels Iz' arms wrap around his own back in return, holding him tight, tighter than he has been held since Father left for the war.

How long they stand frozen together in the hall, neither can say. Time slips away until, from above, they hear Xondo's muffled but unmistakable voice shouting:

"Where in the hells did those boys go?"

Edward and Iz jump apart, nearly knocking each other into the narrow walls.

"Come on, wolfboy!" Iz slaps Edward across the back before dashing off. "You slow me down!"

Without another word, Edward rushes to follow.


Once the Cinnamon Wind finds a suitable place to moor, Jalabar goes directly to work securing safe lodging. With his title and his jangling bag of gold, it takes no time at all for the prince to find a room to rent. Once the innkeeper caught sight of Tessarion, reluctance had crept in, but Kojja pried the man with promises of some of the Wind's finest trading goods to ensure the deal was sealed.

Iz stays behind with the crew to begin unloading, leaving only the trio of Jalabar, Kojja and Edward, Tessarion by his side, to move their sparse belongings into their new home. What little of the city Edward sees on his first day ashore is tightly packed, its streets overflowing with people and humming with the constant conversation of the marketplace. But not so far from the harbor, cut off from the bustle of the city by a high stone wall covered in blue-flowered vines, a brick manse rises above the smaller shops and hovels of the harbor and market.

Though in the shadow of the towers rising taller and taller toward the heart of the city, the manse's four stories gives it a clear view of the surroundings, all the way down to the harbor. Their host, waiting for them by the door, is immediately recognizable as a native of Lys.

A tall, thin man, Drezno Olare's skin is strikingly pale and unblemished, as if made from porcelain, made all the more striking by the dark blue robes draped over his slender frame. His thick hair is silver-gold, combed back in waves onto his shoulder, and his eyes sparkle with the color of amethysts. He immediately reminds Edward of Gunthor Hightower, who had clearly inherited much of his mother's Lyseni heritage. Drezno bows as they approach, a simple, mechanical gesture, precise enough to leave his robes unwrinkled.

"Welcome, prince," he flashes a smile of pure white teeth, opening the door to let them enter, never looking down to note Edward and Tessarion. His voice is soft and smooth, yet authoritative all the same. "Let me show you to your room. Trust you have chosen the finest lodging in all our beautiful maiden city."

Edward glances across the lobby as they pass through, lavishly decorated in all manner of elaborate furnishings from across the known world, but Drezno leaves them no time to admire the collection. He leads them swiftly up a narrow flight of stairs to the third floor. The manse, Edward sees now, is a hollow square built around a large plaza. Each floor is divided into four corners for separate guests. A balcony makes an inner ring on each floor between the rooms and the plaza below, bright-colored hanging pots of fragrant flowers lining the way.

As Drezno hurries them into their own room, they find a spacious solar with simple but fine-crafted wood furnishings, embellished here and there by silken tapestries and gold vases to add an air of luxury. A large bedroom is carved out of the right wall, with windows facing the sea, while a smaller bedroom sits in the far corner. Drezno points Edward to the small room. With Tessarion at his heels, Edward carries his trunk inside as their host resumes haggling with Jalabar.

"Do you have more luggage waiting, my prince?"

"No, no," Jalabar waves him away, though he can tell their light load has made Drezno suspicious. "This is all for now. Travel has been long and hard for Jalabar Xo. This time is for rest."

"Of course," Drezno bows once more, making a swift exit. Edward watches him leave through the small window of his room, furnished only with a narrow bed and an unembellished desk and chair. As the Lyseni passes out of sight, Jalabar slips inside.

"Master Edward, does this suit you? I fear this room is smaller than described."

"It's perfect, Jalabar," Edward jumps back onto the bed, feeling himself sink into the mattress, remembering what a real bed feels like after so many nights at sea. Tessarion has already curled tightly into a corner, happy to sleep on solid ground once more. "I love it! But did you tell him my name?"

"No," Jalabar shakes his head. "Drezno will not ask much of you, we think. He has been told you are slave to Jalabar."

"Slave?" Edward's jolts back upright, confused. "They have slaves here?"

"Poor wolfboy," Kojja smiles kindly. "You have much to learn of world beyond Westeros. But Drezno will not question slave. This will keep you safe. Now sleep."

Edward cautiously smiles in return as Kojja and Jalabar slip out of the room. She's right, he knows. This is a whole new world. He's heard many stories of the East. Today he will start discovering what is legend and what is all too true. Lying on his back, he takes in the near-forgotten feeling of resting without being moved by the waves. Here, like this, he can almost pretend he's back home.

As he lies in bed, he breathes in the smell of flowers from outside, and opens his ears to the sounds of this new hiding place. He can hear Tessarion's soft snores, a gentle breeze in the plaza, the faint trill of a strange songbird. But most of all, he can hear Kojja and Jalabar, speaking the sharp, rhythmic Island Tongue. He recognizes some of the words that they taught him – leave, journey, soon, stay, farewell.

Only as their voices fade away does the realization begin to creep into his brain that his voyage with the Cinnamon Wind is at an end. In a week or less, the swanship will set sail once more, to new, further foreign lands. And he will still be here. The others – Xondo, Kojja, Jezra, Iz - will all be gone.

Rolling over, he clicks open the trunk, sliding out one tightly bound canvas. Unrolling it, he looks at the portrait of himself, standing with his wolf, surrounded by the crew. The Cinnamon Wind is my family now, he can hear Iz say.

When he had bid farewell to Mother and his brothers, when Father had ridden out of the city, it had been sad. But he had believed he would see them again, and soon. This good-bye is different. This time, he knows it will be forever.

Carefully setting the painting aside, he lays back down, resting his head on the soft feather pillow. Seven days, Captain Quhuru had said. Seven days in harbor. Seven days, Edward vows to himself, to Tessarion, to Iz most of all, that he will do whatever he can to make count. With this farewell, he will leave no regrets.


A/N: Thank you all for reading! This is a big turning point in the story, about halfway through, so I hope you've enjoyed this introduction to Lys. I love taking the pieces of lore GRRM has given and fleshing them out into new places. As always, any feedback is greatly appreciated. It can be tough writing on top of Grad School work, and knowing you all like what you read is what keeps me going! Until next time, leave any spare thoughts below!