Leroya

The sun had not yet risen above the city buildings when Leroya inspected her ship.

Accompanying her was her first mate, her captain of archers, and her brother Baalun.

Lwandle had practically been born at sea. Like Leroya, he was of mixed blood; his father had been a trader from Tall Trees Town, and his mother had been an innkeeper's daughter on Lys. He had served the Dondarrions as a sailor ever since they were still living in Ebonhead. Few knew more about swan ships and sailing than he did. In his youth, he'd been a formidable man, built like a barrel. Now his beard was turning grey, and his muscles were giving way to fat, but his brains and senses were as sharp as ever.

Xolanyay was just five years older than Leroya. She kept her hair short and wild, so that it often stood upright on her head. She had been an archer all her life, and the effect of it showed clearly on her body. Her left arm was thicker than her right and her spine was slightly twisted so that one shoulder dropped lower than the other. She was not fluent in the Common Tongue - as opposed to the other three languages she could speak - but she could speak enough of it to get by.

Leroya had met Xolanyay whilst she was serving the temple of love in Ebonhead. Xolanya had been a huntress there, and one of the finest archers that Leroya had ever seen. She had taken Leroya on her hunting trips into the thick jungle outside of Ebonhead, including into her tent. Years later, Leroya had persuaded her to join her crew.

They had already gone below deck and inspected every single corner of the ship with the help of candlelight. Now that the sky was brightening, they were examining the outside of the ship.

All throughout the inspection, Baalun was restless and surly, groaning and rubbing his head with both hands. Leroya had no pity for her baby brother; he'd insisted on drinking with some sailor friends of his the night before. She'd have happily joined them, but she got drunk the night before a voyage. The sooner you learn that lesson, little brother, the better.

Truthfully, Leroya had no need to wake him up this early, but he was fervently hoping to replace Xolanyay as captain of archers. He had only just left the temple of love, and he was already yearning to outdo Leroya by becoming ship captain at a younger age than she'd been. As a ship's captain, Leroya had little time for such ambition paired with such foolishness.

"We'll be sailing to Gulltown first," Leroya informed the others in the Summer Tongue. "Then we'll make our way to King's Landing." Lwandle and Xolanyay nodded dutifully, acting as though this were news to them. They were aware of Baalun's predicament and they were well accustomed to Leroya's sense of humour.

Leroya glanced over the side at the dock, where many members of her crew were busy with bringing the last of the cargo into the hold. Since they were sailing to Westeros anyway, Mama and Chatali had provided her ship with merchandise to sell. As usual, she also kept several casks of rum, mostly for herself and the rest of the crew.

All around them, all across the Purple Harbour, sailors were crawling up and down their ships like ants. By law, this harbour was reserved for Braavosi ships; this extended to the swan ships owned by the Dondarrions of Braavos, even though fewer than a quarter of the Dondarrion crews were Braavos-born.

As the sun finally became visible, the sky became a bright shade of blue, with not a single cloud in sight. Much to Leroya's great relief, there was a strong wind blowing in a westerly direction. Now all we need are the passengers, she thought, glancing about for any sign of her family.

Papa and Matthias were the first to arrive. They were brought into the Purple Harbour by the usual barge, stepping onto the dock beside Leroya's ship. Each had brought three rucksacks with them, which the bargemen obediently laid on the ground before heading out again.

Leroya grinned as she went down the gangplank. "Right on time," she called. She embraced Papa first, then knelt so she could give Matthias a firm hug. "I'll have someone to bring your things aboard."

Papa had already looked past her to Baalun, who was approaching them. "Good morning, son."

Baalun opened his arms to welcome his father, only for Leroya to pick up one of the bags and shoved it towards him. "Go on, bring these to the cabins."

"I think you're having too much fun, sister," Matthias observed as he watched Baalun stomp off with his arms full. Leroya merely smirked in reply.

There only two years difference between them, as opposed to Sadog and Miru being more than ten years her senior. As children, they'd often played together and collaborated on mischief-making. By the time Matthias was finished with such rambunctiousness, Baalun was only beginning to embrace the fun, much to Leroya's delight. At the same time, it was a new experience for her to be the elder sibling, and to have that sort of natural authority.

"Shall we depart, then?" Leroya asked her father.

"We're waiting on Miru," Papa reminded her. "Give her time. Doubtless she's saying farewell to all the children."

Thankfully, Miru did not require a great deal of time. She, too, arrived on a barge with several rucksacks in her possession.

Leroya and the others embraced her, especially as she looked as though she'd been weeping.

"It's nothing," she told them when she saw the concern on their faces. Leroya couldn't help but notice that Lozyn, much like Mama, had not come to the harbour to see her lover off.

"Captain," Lwandle called down to Leroya. "The cargo's loaded and ready to go!"

"Good," Leroya replied loudly. "Prepare to cast off!"

A sound from Papa halted her in her tracks. When she turned back, she saw that the others were staring at a small yet regal-looking wheelhouse clattering over a distant bridge. As it drew nearer, they saw that the wheelhouse was painted purple, with the Iron Bank's symbol emblazoned on all its sides.

"Is that…" Miru began in astonishment.

"It can't be," Matthias remarked.

"He wishes to bid us farewell," Papa exclaimed.

I'm surprised that he could still find his way to the harbour. Leroya kept that barb to herself as she beheld her oldest brother's approach. Ever since he'd begun working for the Iron Bank, he had distanced himself from his kin. He'd put on airs, his speech became stuffier - or more refined, as he might put it - and like Belakka, he'd become very accustomed to men and women serving his every whim.

That was something Leroya would always be thankful for where her family was concerned. They'd had housekeepers and servants, to be sure, but Papa and Mama had never talked down to them as far as Leroya could recall. Common courtesy cost nothing, as Mama had so often taught the children as they were growing up.

When the wheelhouse came to a halt before them, the door swung open. The wheelhouse's driver leapt down and placed a short stool before the open door.

With some difficulty, Sadog swung his feet - the living one and the false one alike - through the doorway. Gripping his ornate cane, he clumsily clattered his way from the stool to the solid ground.

"Good morning," he declared as he adjusted his purple robes.

"And to you," Papa replied. "Very kind of you to see us off, son."

"See you off?" Sadog gave a half-smile. "I'm coming with you."

Leroya gasped in astonishment. The others were similarly shocked.

"Why didn't you say so before?" Miru demanded.

"It was a late decision. The Iron Bank decided that they should send one of their own representatives to Westeros," Sadog explained. "Someone who was familiar with the language, the customs, and whatnot." He gave his father a sheepish glance. "I meant to tell you about my intentions sooner, but I thought that my request would be denied."

Papa simply stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Sadog. "What a pleasant surprise you've given us." His eyes were misty as he glanced from Sadog to Miru to Matthias. "It seems we'll all be going back together after all." Even Sadog seemed visibly moved by that observation.

Leroya gave them a moment to let that sink in before clapping her hands. "Right then! Let's be off!"

With that, she took Sadog's bags and strode back up the gangplank, followed by Baalun and Miru as they carried Miru's belongings between them.

"Truth be told," Leroya called cheerfully as she handed the bags to a crew member, "I thought you'd try and pack the wheelhouse onto this ship, Sadog!" When he didn't rise to the bait, she turned back around. "Sadog?"

"Give him more time," Miru urged, gesturing to the gangplank.

"Oh, what now?" Leroya went back to the side and looked down.

Matthias, Papa, and Sadog appeared to be having a race to see who could be slowest up the gangplank. All of them were trying to make use of the rope railings which Leroya hadn't needed to use since she was a child.

"I can carry you up," Leroya offered teasingly. "One at a time or all three, it makes no matter."

"Piss your breeches," Sadog snapped irritably as he clung to the rope so that he didn't fall. "Just like you did when you first saw a dolphin!"

"Piss? Is that how bankers talk in that iron palace of yours?" Leroya teased him. Seeing the way two of her crew members looked at her, she quickly added, "and I thought it was a shark! I was eight years old!"

When Sadog finally made it to the top of the gangplank, Leroya held out her hand for him to take. "Come along now, big brother, it's going to be a long voyage!"

Sadog, who was shorter than all four of his siblings by Bellaria, shot her an exasperated glare. He did take her hand all the same. "Lovely to have you aboard after so long," she told him earnestly to ease his injured pride.

After Sadog, she stood aside as Matthias waddled the rest of the way on his own. She knew far better than to poke fun of his gait. Papa, meanwhile, was far more receptive to a helping hand than Sadog.

The ship finally began gliding out of the harbour, even as the Titan gave one of its usual roars.

It's bidding us goodbye. In the spirit of that thought, she gave an ironic salute to the Titan's broad arse as it loomed above them.

She was turning to make a jape to her father, but he was staring in the opposite direction, back at the city which they were leaving behind. A resigned and bitter expression was on his face.

"Come now, Papa," she urged, putting an arm over his shoulders. "We'll see Braavos again soon enough."

"Of course we will," he replied, though he did not seem as confident as her. Slowly, he turned and gently kissed her cheek. "Thank you for coming with me."

Leroya made a dismissive wave of her hand. "Do you also thank the sun for shining?"

"Perhaps I should," Papa replied earnestly. Then, a small smile crept back onto his face. "Tell me, how many games ahead of you am I? Was it ten or eleven?"

Leroya clapped him playfully on the shoulder. "Whatever it is, it'll be a smaller number by the time we reach Gulltown." She linked her arm with his and escorted him to her cabin, where she'd already set up the cyvasse board before she made her inspection.

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Leroya could not recall the last time that she'd been more than a day's walk from water.

She'd loved the sea ever since her mother and older sister Miru had taught her how to swim in it. Like so many of the Summer Isles' cities, Ebonhead lay at the head of a natural harbour. Leroya's early childhood in that city was practically defined by the countless hours she'd spent swimming in the clear blue sea beneath the bountiful sun.

The day that she learned that they were leaving Ebonhead had been one of the worst of her life, until she'd realised that they would be spending months on the water, on one of those mighty ships which had always awed her. Like so many Summer Islanders before her, she'd always been enthralled by knowledge; as they'd sailed north to Braavos, she'd tried to learn everything possible about ships.

They'd braved storms on that voyage. Pirates and slavers had attempted to attack the ship. Leroya had seen all sorts of creatures in the sea: krakens and sharks, dolphins and whales, sea otters and sea cows, seals and sea lions, even the great leviathans which could have swallowed their ship whole if they felt so inclined.

From then on, though she never lost her curiosity for other subjects, Leroya had known what she wanted more than anything else was a life at sea.

She'd been a ship's captain for nearly five years, and the appointment had been a mere formality. Even before the appointment, she wagered that she'd spent a quarter of her life on a ship's deck.

It had been Ollo of Lannisport - or Uncle Ollo, as the younger children had called him, much to Miru and Sadog's amusement - who'd taken her under his wing to teach her about seamanship. At just eleven years of age, she served as a cabin girl for eight months straight on Ollo's ship, sailing from Braavos to the Summer Isles and back again, stopping at various ports on either side of the Narrow Sea. Papa had also accompanied them, but he had only taken command when they were under attack. That voyage was the first time Leroya saw the power of Valyrian steel against lesser metal. She'd also seen her father wield a goldenheart bow alongside the men and women who'd served as archers on Ollo's ship. Their captain had been a headstrong woman called Ntombi, whose arrows flew further than any other that Leroya had ever seen, and they never failed to hit their mark. She and Papa had been Leroya's first mentors with weapon training.

By the time she'd completed her education at the temple of love, she'd also become an accomplished fighter with bow and sword alike. As such, she'd hopped on the first swan ship sailing north, serving as an archer. Her journey had taken her across several ships, including one misadventure where she'd nearly been captured and sold into slavery. From Ebonhead to Braavos, she'd paid her way with her body, either in the service of seamanship, battle, or sex. She took great pride in her abilities at all three pursuits.

When she'd finally returned to Braavos, her parents had been alarmed and amazed by her account, as well as the scars she'd acquired along the way. When she'd insisted on captaining the ship which would take Baalun south to the Summer Isles for his own education, neither of them had objected.

It was the first and best of the ships which her parents owned. As with all swan ships, it sailed better and faster than any other galleys on the water. The only improvement which Leroya made on it was the figurehead.

At first, it was an ordinary swan's head carved out of blue mahoe wood. Leroya had something far more unique in mind.

During her time serving the temple of love in Ebonhead, Leroya had joined several of Xolanyay's hunting parties into the jungle. On the first of these hunts, as she spent her first night beneath the thick canopy, Leroya had awoken to a terrifying wail.

Seizing her bow, she'd emerged from her tent, only to see something staring down at her from the branches, scarcely visible from the light of the dying fire.

Its large black eyes seemed to be sunken deep into its head; beneath those eyes, she saw a massive hooked beak from which another shrieking call emanated. Terrified, Leroya had loosed a shaft from her bow. The monster had fallen from the branch and disappeared in the shadows of the forest floor.

After reviving the fire and making a torch, Leroya had found her prize at the foot of the tree from which it had fallen.

The following morning, her fellow hunters had identified it as an eagle-owl. It was not fit to eat, but Leroya did not mind that; instead, she'd had the dark brown bird stuffed, and claimed it as a prize. At sixteen, she'd considered it to be proof that she could overcome her fear, whatever they might be.

Thus, when she became captain of her own ship years later, she was mindful of the kind of bird that she wanted on her prow. The eagle-owl's head was carved from the finest ebony wood, and though it became weathered by voyage and toil, Leroya was always proud of it.

Before she and Baalun had embarked on this ship, her father had gifted her with the black sword which she'd always admired in her childhood.

"This belongs to you, now," Papa had told her. "Name it how you wish, and may you wield it for longer than I did."

It was far lighter than any might presume, sharper and stronger than any other weapon she would ever come across. Since Doom was a bastard sword, she could wield it with one hand or two hands. It whistled through the air as she'd swung it delightedly.

"What else could I name it?" She'd asked her father incredulously. "Doom is the perfect name for such a blade."

The ship was another matter, but she'd struggled with what to rename it. Originally, it had been named the Thesyos, named for some ancient Braavosi admiral who'd won great victories against Pentos. Over the years of repair, she'd arranged for its parts to be replaced with ebony wood to match the new prow. It made for a strange sight, giving the ship the appearance of having stripes like a tiger.

"Nay," Mama had said the year before when she looked upon it. "It looks as though it's been struck by lightning."

"Like you were?" Leroya had teased, thinking of the sigil which Papa still wore proudly on his clothes.

Mama had laughed loudly at that jape, but it had also inspired Leroya to finally rename it. Thus, in honour of her parents' love story, and in tribute to the ship itself, she dubbed it the Black Bolt.

As for the stuffed eagle-owl which she'd slain, Leroya had left it behind in Ebonhead, donating it to one of the temple's priests that was fond of studying birds. He'd lamented that the bird had been killed at all, but Leroya reckoned that he would at least take pleasure in studying a specimen of such a rare breed.

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One morning, the lookout shouted that they'd reached land. Excited, the crew and passengers went on deck to look upon their distant destination.

It wasn't long before Westeros loomed over the horizon, but it was quite some time before the Vale's mountains became visible beyond the emerging city of Gulltown. Heavy grey clouds were half-concealing them, hovering above a land which was carpeted in snow.

She glanced to her right when her eye caught some movement. Papa seemed to be in the grip of a powerful emotion which Leroya couldn't place. He stood stock-still, with one arm wrapped around a mast for support.

As Leroya approached his side, he spoke to her without taking his eyes off the horizon. "Do you recall those stories I used to tell you?"

"I do," she answered.

"My ancestors came to Westeros from this route, more or less," Papa mused. "Thousands of them, in primitive ships half the size of yours. There used to be dragons in the east and giants in the west during those terrible days. The First Men and the children, living together in harmony, so it's said. The Andals changed all that, and not for the better."

Leroya could agree with that. She was not particularly fond of the Andal ways. She still recalled her second visit to the Seven Kingdoms, when she was thirteen. She would never forget the way that one begging brother had glared at her as she'd hurried through the streets of King's Landing with her family. He'd shouted angrily at her parents too, calling Papa a traitor and an apostate. He'd called Mama a heretic and a whore. Others had joined in, looking upon the Dondarrions with loathing and contempt. Leroya had been little better than a child back then, only newly flowered and early in her lessons at weaponry, but that feeling of fear she had felt back then still filled her with shame, and the fact that she hadn't defended her parents was a failing which she still couldn't help holding against herself.

"And yet," Papa continued, "I can't help but wonder. What must it have been like for them? To see this world rise up before them after who knows how many days of sailing? How desperate must they have been to seize that world from those who already inhabited it?"

"Take what you can," Leroya mused. "Kill or be killed. The Andals were not special in that regard, Papa."

"I know," he agreed. "But all I have in the world, what life I've lived, it is all thanks to that conquest."

Leroya shrugged. Ordinarily, she would have followed Papa down this meandering path of thoughts, but it was getting cold and if she stood in one place, she would start shivering. "You can spend your life musing about these things. We won't find answers in this life."

"Perhaps you're right," Papa agreed. "But I think it's past time I prepare for our landing." Leroya ignored that knowing tone to his voice as he went below deck, along with most of the others.

She wanted to follow them, but Baalun had not moved from his place. He was giving her a side glance, daring her to give in. Instinctively, Leroya accepted the challenge by standing exactly where she was, feigning indifference and aloofness. Nearby, Lwandle gave Leroya and Baalun an amused glance as he made his way below deck.

It was no easy task for Leroya to stop herself following in Xolanyay's wake. For all that she liked to explore, she also had a special loathing for snow and ice. She'd once ventured into the Shivering Sea to look upon the dreaded isle of Skagos, where her father had fought during the First Blackfyre Rebellion. Just two days into the venture, the Black Bolt had been forced to turn back when it nearly ran aground on several floating islands of solid ice.

Gulltown was much further south than that, but Leroya was still disheartened by the chilly air which slowly descended upon the ship.

"F-f-fuck," Baalun cursed, even as he forced himself to stay where he was. Leroya had to start pacing up and down the deck to drive warmth into her limbs.

Finally, a hand clasped her shoulder. Papa was back, dressed in warm-looking furs. He smirked as he handed her a bearskin cloak and robe. "For my sake, have more sense than your brother."

"Fine," Leroya grumbled. "For your sake." She couldn't resist pulling the cloak over her shoulders with all haste. Too late, she saw Sadog leaning against one of the masts, dressed in much heavier purple robes than before.

"Still lovely to have me aboard?" he japed. Leroya felt herself flushing as she heard Baalun give a triumphant whoop before hurrying away to grab his own winter clothes.

The ship glided towards the Gulltown harbour, guided to stop at a specific area on the dock. As the captain, Leroya made sure that she was the first to step into the gangplank.

"Welcome to the city of Gulltown," announced a young-looking official as Leroya's feet touched the wooden dock. He was speaking slowly and deliberately, as if she were hard of hearing or a halfwit. "The master of this vessel must pay two stags to ensure my lord Grafton's approval."

As with all of her brothers and sisters, she had learned the Common Tongue from Papa. She was also fluent in the High Valyrian and trade tongue of Braavos, the Summer Tongue, and could speak smatterings of at least four other languages. She was not unique in that; most of the sailors she knew had picked up at least three or four languages across their journeys.

That mattered little to such arrogant men as this, of course. He struck her as the son of minor lordlings, one who had spent his life looking down on those beneath him. Or worse, he was one that spent his life kissing noble arses so they might toss him a scrap from their table. Leroya was no fool, to be sure; she had never been forced to know true hunger. It simply irked her to see others with her good fortune use it to belittle and mistreat those who hadn't been so lucky.

She approached the official, who suddenly looked nervous as she towered over him. "Your lord's approval means nothing to me, sirrah," she answered him, mimicking his patronizing tone and even his Gulltown accent. "But do accept these alms on his behalf." She took out two silver stags from her purse and placed them on top of his ridiculous-looking hat.

The official bristled, but he did not dare challenge her as she towered over him with a fearsome sword at her side. He swiped the coins of his hat and bustled on his way as Leroya looked up at the tight clusters of buildings big and small. Her breath was a mist in front of her face, quickly vanishing with the breeze.

It never failed to tickle Leroya that Gulltown thought itself a city. Only in Westeros, heh. Meanwhile, this so-called city could fit comfortably inside Lorath. It would scarcely fill a neighbourhood in Volantis!

"So, this is Westeros, is it?"

It was Matthias. He and Miru had followed Leroya onto the dock and now stood beside her. A broad scarf was wrapped around Matthias' neck, going all the way up to below his nose. Miru, meanwhile, had put on a thick woollen robe, with a hood that helped conceal her burned face.

"Aye," Leroya told him. "More specifically, this is the Vale." She pulled her cloak around her as she turned to Miru. "Who lives here again?"

"The Arryns," Miru answered. "The Royces, the Redforts, the Hunters, the Belmores…" She shook her head. "It's been too long. And I was never familiar with this region."

"Luckily, you won't have to be," Leroya quipped. She couldn't help but notice a strange expression on Matthias' face. When their eyes met, he shook his head at her look of curious concern.

"How long will we stay here?" he asked her.

Leroya shrugged. "I was going to say two days, but it's probably best if we just resupply our stores.

"Aye," Matthias muttered; he had no more love for winter than Leroya did. The front of his scarf was already damp around his mouth. "Please tell me that King's Landing will be warmer than this."

"King's Landing? Did you say King's Landing?"

Leroya turned around to see a man approaching them warily. Unlike the newcomers, he seemed utterly at home in this weather. He wore furs and leather, to be sure, but he didn't bother to cover his head like Leroya and her siblings were doing. That might have been because of his shaggy hair and beard the colour of bright copper. His surcoat bore a strange sigil which Leroya had never seen before; most of it was blue, but the top part was yellow, except for two blue eyes. It made for a bizarre sight, especially since the eyes were almost exactly where his nipples might be. She bit back a burst of laughter.

"I did," answered Matthias, even as he pulled down his scarf and raised his voice.

The man gave a start, as if he hadn't expected Matthias to be the one speaking. He didn't see that Matthias was a dwarf. As he stepped forward, he also seemed to register Miru and Leroya. Even Leroya could imagine what an odd image they presented to such a man. He's probably told japes in taverns that started with such a grouping as us.

The man recovered himself quickly and gestured to the ship. "Where is the master of this vessel?"

"Right here," Leroya answered, sensing the same tone in his voice for the one which the official had used on her. There's something especially irksome about Westerosi arrogance.

"I see," he answered, unable to conceal his astonishment at a woman being captain. "I am Graeme of the Sheepshead Hills. I serve Lord Errold Flint of Widow's Watch."

Does he expect us to know who that is? "What of it?" Leroya asked curtly.

Graeme was surprised, though he still kept his tone civil. "We were on our way to King's Landing, but our ship ran aground off Runestone. Would you aid us so that we may go south? Our lord has given us strict commands to represent the North at this great council."

Well well… Leroya folded her arms in front of her. "How many of you?"

"Fifty men and women all told," came his muted reply. "My lord Errold, Lord Tolman Manderly, Lord Rory Locke, and their retinues."

Leroya cocked her head, scrunching up her face as if she were thinking. "That will mean plenty of supplies. And plenty of room. How much can you offer?"

"Alas," Graeme muttered. Based on the look on his face, he was forcing himself to speak even more meekly than before. "We lost most of our valuables to the sea. And winter is upon us in the North, so our families will have little to spare for us. But if there is any arrangement that you might accept…"

Leroya was fervently thinking up a good jape, or some outrageous demand that she could flummox this man with, when she felt a tug on her fur cloak. Miru was looking at her expectantly, and with a hint of reproach. Aye, you're right, big sister, Leroya thought. He's pompous, but he's given no true offence yet.

"Very well," Leroya declared before turning back to Rory. "Most of you will have to stay in the hold, though."

"That is no matter. You have our gratitude, milady. We shall not forget this debt," the northman declared humbly but also gruffly, as if he were utterly embarrassed by this predicament of depending on a stranger's kindness.

Now that I can understand, Leroya thought wryly to herself; whatever lingering spite was left in her quickly vanished. "How soon can you assemble your company? We don't intend to stay too long."

"Nor do we, rest assured," Graeme declared. He then hurried away towards the city, as if he feared that another minute's delay might cause Leroya to change her mind.

"Well," she mused, glancing at Miru. "I suppose I'll be sitting on this debt for quite some time."

"Mayhaps," Miru agreed. "But if there's one thing I know about the North, it's that they remember."

"Let's hope he remembers which ship agreed to take him south," Leroya quipped. She could see another swan ship docked in the harbour, its crew unrolling barrels onto the dock.

"How could he forget?" Matthias laughed. He put on a sarcastic voice. "Oh bollocks! It must have been that other ship with tiger stripes and an owl prow!"

"Eagle-owl," Leroya corrected him, even as she grinned at her brother's wit.