I woke to pain.
A deep, steady pounding behind my eyes, like someone had taken up residence in my skull with a mallet and no intention of leaving. The ship rolled beneath me, each sway tugging at my stomach until I regretted every cup I'd emptied the night before.
So much for moderation.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the low planks overhead, listening to the groan of timber and the slap of water against the hull. Note to self: Arbor Gold goes down easy but keeps you down harder. Why did I think it was a good idea to fight off a hangover with more wine?
I looked around me, squinting crusty eyes. I didn't even want to imagine how my breath smelled. Dim light streamed through an open shutter to one side. Morning already. The room was small, neatly kept and cleaned. Not the captain's quarters, but the lack of stench of too many unwashed men crammed into too little space meant I had not slept with the crew.
Guess I'd have to give my apologies to one of the Fair Winds' officers. When I finally pushed myself upright, the world tilted unpleasantly, and I had to brace a hand against the bunk until it settled.
That's when the shouting started.
Boots thundered overhead. A sharp call went up on deck, voices raised and panicked. I straightened up on instinct. Pulling on my boots, I buckled my belt with fingers that felt too thick, pulled the door open into a cramped hall, and ran into another hurrying sailor.
A boy, really, older but shorter than me. Reddened cheeks yet to grow a hint of fuzz. He was carrying a half a dozen shields in his hands, balancing them
I stopped him by the foot of the ladder. "What's happening out there?"
"Ironborn spotted, m'lord," he said, weary eyes flitting between me and the open hatch above.
Nodding, I let him go first before climbing quickly behind. The deck was a frenzied scramble of sailors rushing about tightening lines and stowing loose gear. The captain and his officers huddled by the forecastle, pointing south, and I spotted my lads standing nervously beside them.
I marched up to them as quickly as my hungover body allowed, jumping the steps up the slightly raised upper deck and stopping beside them by the rails. Grey and the twins bowed their heads when they noticed me, recalling to me quickly how they'd come out to enjoy the breeze when the Ironborn were spotted.
"Where is it?" I asked, scanning the horizon.
The early morning was hazy, and the sea lay heavy and dull under a low sky the color of old steel.
"There," Jack said, pointing southeast.
I followed his finger, eyes narrowing against the haze, and saw it: a longship cutting through the water faraway, low and lean, oars rising and falling in a steady rhythm like pinpricks in the distance. It was coming toward us as we made our way south, the two courses set to cross within hours. Too close for comfort.
I turned to the group of officers, mind trying to work through the headache. "How far to Crakehall, captain?"
Jarak of Feastfires gave me a hard look. "We should be there by noon, lord, should the winds and the gods favor us."
The way he said it made his meaning clear. We'd either get there by noon or not at all. I'd let myself drink the night before thinking of solid ground for a few hours at Crakehall and the Lannister carrack meant to escort us the rest of the way to Tarth. A foolish mistake.
I was never much for drinking, in the past life or in my short one here, and my fifteen year old body was not quite used to so much alcohol. Now, it might cost me everything. With the hammering behind my ears, I was not in good enough form to fight, but I'd do so anyway. Not like there was any choice.
"Go below and prepare our gear," I said. Foolish I might've been for drinking, I had not come on a month's long journey across three seas without my arms and armor. "Get the bows, too. If needs must, we'll take our pound of flesh before they board us."
My voice was firm, centered, but I did not feel like that. I had my hands clasped behind my back to hide their shaking. I was scared, I realized. Truly, undeniably scared.
This would be my first battle. Not a fight, not a spar in the courtyard, training in the woods, or riding against another man with barded horses and cheering crowds in a show of chivalry. This would be blood and guts and screaming men pleading for their lives.
I could only hope I would not be one of them.
"Aye, m'lord," they chorused, before leaving to follow my orders.
I watched them go for a second. I could see it in their steps—they were nervous and scared like me, but my lads would not fail me. I trusted them as much as anything else in this life.
With a word from Jarak, the three officers moved away as well, already shouting orders to the helmsman and the rest of the crew.
"I don't suppose we can outrun them?" I asked, even if I already knew the answer from all my studies.
The captain grumbled and shook his head. "We keep course fast as we can. Got some wind on our sails for now. Will make it harder for them to come against us."
Harder, but not impossible. Say what you will about the Ironborn, they were skilled seafarers.
I looked behind me and regarded my new ship. My little cog was not built for speed. Single-masted, it had one big square sail, but even with the wind in our favor, they'd be able to catch up to us before we made it to a safe port.
I turned back to watch the horizon, our own speed working against us as the longship grew closer and closer.
"Has Ser Gerion been told?"
"Sent a boy to warn him," Jarak said, and just then I heard footsteps climbing up the deck.
Ser Gerion Lannister came up beside us, his steps unhurried. He stopped by the rail at my side, eyes already fixed on the coming ship. Somehow, he looked no worse for wear despite how much he drank yesterday. I supposed Tyrion had to get it from someone.
The Lannister knight had a helm tucked under his arm, fashioned in the shape of a roaring lion. Gold-filigree accented the red-enemalled steel, and red and orange plumes rose from its crest to form the lion's mane.
I had to give it to him. If you were going to die, might as well go in the coolest helm money could buy. Aside from the helmet, he was not wearing any heavy armor, just boiled leather over a thick, salt-hardened woolen shirt.
"How many fighting men do we have?" Ser Gerion asked.
"The entire crew will fight," Jarak said, "and your lordships and guardsmen should you wish to join us."
"Fighting Ironborn?" He smirked. "Whyever would I refuse such an offer?"
"Wait." I frowned, just now realizing something. "Did you not bring guards for the trip, ser?"
"I did," he said, and his smirk grew deathly ironic. "It so happens that they are waiting for me at Crakehall with the other ship."
"Oh."
"Indeed," he said. "Who knew a single day's trip would be so eventful?"
We did not talk much after that.
Soon, the lads came back with our gear. We strung the bows, counted the arrows in the quivers, and mechanically checked and re-checked our weapons, more to cover the nerves in front of the other men than for anything else.
Grey and Jace favored swords like my own, while Jack had twin axes he kept twirling in his hands to pass the time.
Behind us, the crew lined up ready for a fight too, carrying short spears and maces and short swords. Only the helmsman stayed at his post, but the axe at his belt and the scars on his face told me all I needed to know whether he would join the battle should it be needed.
Then it was a matter of waiting. My heart thumped in my chest, beating against my ribcage like the water lapping at the Fair Winds' hull.
As the longship drew closer, details sharpened. The curve of the prow. The shields lining its sides. Then the wind shifted, and the sail of the longship unfurled just enough for us to see it clearly.
A golden kraken.
I drew in a sharp breath. Around me, my lads and the younger crewmen swore and gripped their weapons tighter.
But Jarak of Feastfires let out a huff, while Ser Gerion's mouth twitched into something that might have been a smile.
"Greyjoy," the knight said. "Quellon's colors."
The words took a second to register in my mind. Quellon. Quellon Greyjoy. Not Balon or Euron. I closed my eyes, let my head droop to my chest, and let out a sigh. I never expected an Ironborn's name to sound so sweet.
"That supposed to make us feel better?" Jack asked, disregarding propriety.
Ser Gerion didn't seem to care. "It should," he replied. "Quellon Greyjoy keeps his reavers on a tight leash. Hasn't raided our shores or taken our ships in years." Then the smile came back. "Not openly, that is. The Seven know I'd trust a Greyjoy's restraint as much as I would a bitch in heat."
The men let out chuckles all around us. Despite the small relief, we did not leave our posts or stowed back our weapons.
My muscles grew stiff from clenching at my sword's hilt for so long, but when the time came, the longship passed us without slowing, its crew watching us with the same guarded interest we gave them. Hard men, by the look of them. No songs. No taunts. Just another ship on another stretch of open water.
Only when they disappeared into the northern horizon, more than an hour later, did I feel the tension drain out of me. Then my headache rushed back in and reclaimed its territory.
Suffice it to say, my first day on my new ship could've been more pleasant.
xxx
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