In the night, Edward Stark's father comes to him once again, as a living torch with flaming arms outstretched.
Edward jolts awake in bed to find the light of early dawn creeping through the windows and Iz letting out a muffled grunt of pain, having been kicked in the face during his friend's mad dash back to the waking world.
"Did you see him again?" Iz asks from the far end of the bed, stifling a yawn as he rubs sleep from his eyes.
"Yes," Edward nods, glancing down to the floor, where Tessarion gazes up with concern in his mismatched eyes. He slowly looks around the room, taking in every familiar corner to assure himself he is indeed awake, blinking away the lingering fragments of phantom flames from the edges of his vision.
"What was it like this time?"
"The same as it always is," Edward sighs, stepping out of bed, the stone floor relievingly cold. He walks into the light, looking out the balcony where the starry sky he had painted the night before still rests on the easel. "I wish I could make it stop, but I don't know how."
"I don't think you can," Iz follows him to the window. "They just… go away, eventually. I had dreams about my parents, after they left. They lasted a long time. I don't remember how long. But in the end, they stopped."
"I wish they would hurry up and go away." Edward slumps against the windowpane, chin resting on his balled fists. It certainly didn't feel like the nightmares were leaving. If anything, they were getting more common. But he was glad Iz had stayed with him for the last night before he would have to return to the Cinnamon Wind. Iz never doubted his dreams, like Jalabar did. He just listened and understood. "I'm afraid I'm going to remember him like that. Not like he really was."
"That's why you made this!" Iz turns Edward to the wall where his painting of his family hangs. He looks up at the carefully rendered faces of Father, Mother, and all his brothers and sisters, smiling back at him. Ned stands tall above them all, not a day older than when he rode out of King's Landing. Never a day older.
"You're right," he smiles, shaking the last remnants of sleep off his back. He reminds himself of the vow he made the night before. You can't go back to who you were. You have to paint a new future. "I think I'll help load the Wind today."
"Xondo will be happy to hear that!" Iz laughs. "But don't be too fast! I don't want to leave here any sooner than I have to!"
On the other side of the wall, in Jalabar Xho's bedroom, the prince of the Summer Islands slowly sits up in bed, the thin sheet slipping off his bare back. He looks down at his side, where Kojja Mo lies still half-asleep, her dark, slender body weaving in and out of the pale sheets, slowly rising and falling with her gentle breath. Glancing across the room, he sees his feathered cloak and goldenheart bow hanging on the wall, keeping silent watch over him through the night. But he does not want to take them up again, not now, not yet. Better to wait like this, naked and bare, purely himself – a feeling that, after years in exile, has grown all too difficult to grasp.
He takes his breaths deep and slow, smelling the overwhelming flowers from the plaza as they blow in on the cool morning wind. As he scratches the lingering sleep from the corners of his eyes, Kojja begins to stir.
"Kojja did not think Jalabar would wake before her," she murmurs, her voice still elegant despite the grogginess of sleep. She yawns, stretching her arms, joints popping softly into place as Jalabar lovingly traces with his eyes the sharp lines of her taut muscles and the soft curves of her figure, remembering how each had felt in his hands the night before. His body yells at him to stay.
"There is too much on my mind," he sighs, wishing that he could banish all thoughts save the captain's daughter, here in their last moments together.
"Jalabar worries too much." She tucks her head into the crook of his neck, her pointed chin resting on his collarbone. His muscles relax as he feels the warmth of her breasts on his back and her nimble fingers, calloused from a lifetime of archery, rap a slow rhythm across his chest. "There is good work in the city, not just in Tregar's court. Haccar will bother you no more. His hate is for Xondo, not Jalabar."
"That is not what I fear, Kojja," Jalabar sighs, taking her hand in his. He hesitates to hear that western word that has burrowed its way into his own speach – I, me, myself. The Island Tongue did not teach its speakers to consider themselves in the general. But now he finds himself more and more thinking in the ways of the courts where he has sought refuge. And now, more than ever, it frightens him. "I have wondered, for many years, who is Jalabar Xho beyond the Red Flower Vale? Is this all that Jalabar Xho is now? All that will ever be? A novelty in a menagerie? Taking trick shots and singing strange songs for clapping nobles who will never understand? What kind of man is that?"
"No, no," Kojja pulls back, turning his head to face her, her amber eyes now wide and fully awake. "That is not Jalabar Xho. The Red Flower Vale may be gone. But does not mean there is nothing else to be. Jalabar Xho is good man." She points to the wall dividing them from the room next door. "Jalabar Xho is man who risks everything for boy. A warrior. Brave, noble, true." She kisses him softly with each blessing.
"The future is so unclear…" He wishes he could return each kiss, but his mind will not yield from the fear, locked in a cage of doubt.
"The gods chart our path for us, Jalabar. Only looking to the wake does it become clear."
"Kojja is right," Jalabar sighs, carefully kissing her cheek. "Kojja will be missed."
She smiles a soft, sad smile back at him, her bright white teeth flashing briefly before vanishing again. We can stay a little longer, he thinks, leaning in, his hands sliding up her legs as she wraps herself around him. One last time…
They are only beginning to sink back into the bed when a slamming fist on the door of the inn shakes them back to reality.
"What's happening?" Iz turns to Edward as the pounding gives way to shouting in Valyrian. Edward shrugs back, nervously as Tessarion prowls near to the door, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
"Do you know what they're saying?"
"No," Iz shakes his head. He moves slowly to the table where his knife is waiting, slipping it carefully into his belt. "But it doesn't sound good."
"Stay, Tessarion," Edward commands, stepping softly past the wolf to creak open his door to their solar outside. There he finds Jalabar and Kojja, their clothes hastily thrown on, bows in hand. His blood goes cold when he sees arrows already notched in their strings.
"Edward!" Jalabar looks to him, face like stone. "Pack your things, quickly."
"What's happening? Who is it?"
"City guard. You must be ready to flee."
"What do they want?" Iz asks, stepping out of the bedroom, but Kojja silences him with a sharp click of her tongue. The boys watch as the two archers move silently to the window, then quietly open the door, slipping into the hall and towards the stairs. As the door swings closed, they rush to the window, craning their necks toward the street below, but can see nothing.
"The Lannisters," Edward thinks out loud. Could they really have found him here? It was said the wealth of Castlery Rock could reach across the Known World. "It has to be them. We need to go!"
He runs back into the bedroom, throwing open the lid to his trunk with a thud as Tessarion begins to frantically pace the length of the floor, the blue-grey fur along his back rising up on end. Edward begins hurling clothes back into the trunk, but as he runs across the room for another load, Iz grabs him by the arm.
"If we run, take only what we carry!" His eyes are nervously darting around the room – to the door, to the windows, as if waiting for an enemy to burst in at any moment. Life on the sea may be dangerous, Edward realizes, but his friend has never felt anything like this. He can feel the wolfblood begin to boil in the back of his brain. No. Stay calm. Clear head.
"You're right," he nods, letting the lid of the trunk fall shut. He steadies his breathing, scanning the room. What to take? Carefully, he pulls his paintings down from the walls, rolling them up and slipping them into a rough bag that Iz holds for him. Stopping by the bedstand, he grabs the weirwood ruby pendant from Heleana, dropping it over his head. Then to the far corner, slinging his quiver of weirwood arrows over his shoulder and taking up his goldenheart bow. But the paints… Where are the paints? He looks out the window – still on the balcony.
"Come on," he beckons to Iz, who follows silently, right hand clutched tightly over the sheathed knife in his belt. They creep back into the solar – the yelling downstairs has grown louder. Suddenly, he hears an unfamiliar voice speaking the Common Tongue:
"Enough bickering, Xho! We're coming in! These men have all authority in the city. Hand over the boy, and no one needs to be hurt!"
The voice sounds strangely familiar but lights a fire under Edward's feet. There's no doubt about it now – they're here for him. He dashes onto the balcony, leaving the fresh painting of the night sky on its easel as he scrambles to pack up his paintbox. Focused on his paints and brushes, he almost doesn't hear the rustling coming up the wall.
"Look out!" Iz shouts. Edward turns in time to see an ugly guard in a pointed helm, wrapped in lavender robes, lurch up over the edge of the vine-covered balcony. Iz' knife is already in hand; lunging forward with a wild shout, he stabs down on the man's hand as it clutches the stone. A howl of pain and the guard topples back into the courtyard below with a dull thud. Edward looks over the edge and sees two more men in the same uniform, fists wrapped in vines as they pull their way up.
"Run!" He shoves the paintbox into Iz' bag and sprints back into the solar, where Tessarion has begun to bark furiously, jumping at the door.
"We can't go that way!" Iz runs after him, hand shaking but still clutching the knife, now dripping with blood.
"There's no other way!"
Edward swings open the door into the hall and Tessarion pounces out before them. With Iz following reluctantly, they run to the stairs, skipping over steps down to the lower hall and rounding the corner into the entry hall.
There Edward comes to a screeching halt. Jalabar and Kojja stand, arrows aimed, facing down another half dozen guards in the same lavender regalia. The innkeeper, Drezno Olare, is restrained in the corner. The men seem to be commanded by a thin young man, seemingly Lyseni, with brightly died blue hair and a shocking resemblance to Ser Gunthor Hightower. But Edward's focus immediately stops on the lone Summer Islander among the lilac guards, bow in hand, with a face he will never forget – Haccar.
"There is the boy, ser!" Haccar points.
"Edward, stay back!" Jalabar warns. Tessarion plants himself between the boys and the guards, snarling. He, too, recognizes the cruel archer. But the blue-haired man steps toward them, seemingly unafraid.
"So you're the little lost wolfboy." He extends a hand and a warm smile. "I'm Humfrey. I hear you met my brother. He sent me here for you. I'm going to take you home."
"Humfrey… Hightower?" Edward looks the man up and down. No wonder he looked and sounded familiar. He looks to Jalabar for an explanation, but the prince's eyes remain locked on Haccar, bow drawn tight.
"That's right," Humfrey assures him through his unbreaking smile. "I'm going to take you to Heleana. You don't need to worry about these pirates anymore."
"We're not pirates!" Iz shouts, shouldering past Ed, knife outstretched. Suddenly, every drawn weapon shifts from the archers to point at the boy with the shaking arm. But Humfrey only throws up his hands with a disarming laugh.
"Of course not! I'm sure you're very respectable merchants. But that boy is not yours to sell. He's returning to Oldtown. Today."
"Edward will return with his family, no one else," Jalabar insists. At that, the smile slips from Humfrey's face. He turns to the prince with a confused look, his mouth opening… but Haccar cuts him off.
"We're wasting time, ser! The rest of their crew could be coming as we speak! They're savages!"
"Savages?" Kojja spits with disgust. She turns her bow to point straight towards Haccar.
Edward nervously looks over the room, pulse pounding, trying to mark every flinch and shift, hoping the standoff will defuse, but with no sign of relenting. He watches so intently, he does not hear the guards from the balcony creep into the room behind them until he feels a large hand drop onto his shoulder.
"Ed!" Iz shouts, whipping around to find the second guard lunging towards him. Edward tears himself away, dropping to the floor as Tessarion bursts into action, leaping into the air in a blur of fur and fangs, the first guard letting out a scream of terror as the wolf collapses onto him. Beside them, Iz slashes out with his knife, but it rips a tear through the purple cloth to clatter harmlessly against the armor underneath. The guard punches down, striking a hard blow to the top of the boy's head. Iz hits the ground.
"Don't let them get away!" Humfrey shouts. Spear in hand, the nearest guard rushes forward, head ducked, but Kojja does not hesitate to loose her arrow, whistling through the air with deadly precision. The pointed head bursts out the back of the man's neck, splattering blood across Humfrey's horrified face. Without another world, he dives for the floor, crawling desperately for shelter beneath the nearest table.
The other guards rush for cover as Kojja notches her next arrow. Jalabar spins around to see Edward scrambling on the ground to notch an arrow of his own. Iz' attacker looms over the prone boy, drawing his sword with a flourish, but Jalabar's arrow splits his face first. He hits the ground dead beside his companion, Tessarion looking up triumphantly with a bloody snout from the ruined throat of his victim.
"Find way out!" Jalabar commands, pointing to the plaza. But Edward is frozen in place, arrow and bow shaking in hand, looking down at the carnage before him and the blood pooling on the floor. The heat in the back of his head is growing unbearable, fear and rage roiling about all at once. He forces himself to tear his eyes away and look up to Jalabar instead, the prince stoic as ever, seemingly unflustered, arm still pointing the way to safety. He steels his nerves and slips the arrow back into his quiver. "Run!"
Hearing the sharp twang of a bowstring, Jalabar jerks his head to one side, whipping around to see Haccar rushing towards him as Kojja grapples with several more guards. With no time to draw, he leaps into action, swinging his bow in a long arc to connect with Haccar's head with a sharp crack.
As the two archers trade blows, Edward looks down at Iz, still crouched between the dead guards, hands wrapped tightly around his ringing head. He blocks out the sight of the gore.
"Come on!" He offers his hand to Iz, taking a nervous look back as Jalabar throws Haccar down to the floor. Shaking, Iz slowly raises his head to look up, eyes red and hazy with pain. Edward forces a bold face – the type of face Father would make to say everything was going to be okay. He takes his friend's hand, carefully helping him to his feet. Iz takes a step forward and slips in the blood, gagging.
"Where are we going?" he asks.
Edward does not know. He can only point ahead, out to the plaza. There is only one place he can think of to go. And so together, they run out into the sun and through the gardens, away from the sound of killing. Tessarion follows, leaving red footprints as he races after his master, once again fleeing home in a storm of fear and steel.
The crew of the Cinnamon Wind are hard at work loading for their next voyage when Tessarion, muzzle still bloodied, charges down onto the dock with Edward and Iz close behind in a mad dash towards the ship. Loud shouts of shock beckon the wolf's arrival, turning the crew's attention toward them as they crash to a halt, out of breath, at the bottom of the gangplank.
Xondo, one huge barrel on his shoulder and two bags of grain beneath his arm, stops at the top of the plank, letting his cargo drop with a loud thud when he sees the boys.
"What has happened?" He looks up the dock towards the bustling crowd in the harbor, searching for signs of pursuers – friend or foe. "Where are Prince Jalabar and Kojja?"
"I don't know!" Edward gasps for air, hunched over as the rest of the crew begins to crowd around them. "We have to go!"
"What you mean, wolfboy?"
"The guards are coming!" Iz adds, a small line of blood beginning to trickle down the center of his face. Xondo carefully reaches down to wipe it away, his face turning grim.
"What guards?"
"We don't know!" Edward stands up straight, looking behind him anxiously. "Haccar was with them! He was fighting Jalabar!"
"Haccar?"
"What is all this?" Captain Quhuru Mo's sharp voice cuts a path through the crowd as he walks to the head of the plank. "Where is Kojja?"
"They told us to run!" Edward insists. "We have to be ready to leave when they get here!"
"The Cinnamon Wind will not be ready for sea for another day, at least," Quhuru shakes his head. "Get onboard. See to your wounds."
Iz nods obediently, stepping slowly onto the deck, holding one hand to his head. But Edward does not move, looking to Xondo for help. But the tall mate says nothing.
"You don't understand! We have to leave now!"
"Go on, boy," Quhuru points up onto the deck. "Wait for Jalabar. Then all will be settled."
Edward opens his mouth but can think of nothing better to say. He can only let Xondo place one huge hand on his shoulder and guide him back aboard, with Tessarion reluctantly following.
"Back to work!" Quhuru orders, and the crew snaps back to their tasks, murmuring suspicious and hushed tones amongst themselves. But as the captain turns to return to his own goals, there is at last new movement in the harbor.
Jalabar and Kojja emerge from the crowd, descending the steps onto the dock in a hurried way that carries them as quickly as possible without arousing undue suspicion. Quhuru immediately marks something as deeply wrong. Their clothes are rustled and torn, capes missing clumps of feathers and trailing stray fragments of color with each step. Jalabar's chest is bloodied and Kojja is bleeding from her arm. Both their quivers are nearly empty. The captain's blood goes cold.
"Where is Edward?" Jalabar shouts, abandoning discretion as soon as he reaches the ship, dashing up the plank and past Quhuru without another word. But Kojja stops to face her father. He reaches his hand out cautiously to touch the hastily bandaged gash running down her arm, but she pulls away.
"We must take to sea," she demands, her voice cold and calm. The voice of a captain. For a moment, Quhuru's concern is replaced with pride. "Now."
And in the darkness of her eyes, he can see there is no other choice.