Chapter Text
King's Landing, harbour
The harbour district of King's Landing smelled of a mixture of rotting fish, rubbish, sweat, tar and the sea. The midday sun had not yet reached its peak, but even now, in the late morning, the temperatures were high. Men and women loudly haggled over fish, shellfish, tools and wages, sailors sang in the taverns and squandered their pay, and despite the early hour there were already one or two brawls. In this chaos, a little girl, wrapped in a simple, worn coat, slipped through the crowd. Arya Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, was on the run.
She had just been in her sword fighting lesson with Syrio Forel when Ser Boros Blunt appeared along with several red-clad Lannister guards and had ordered Arya to accompany them. When Syrio questioned this, they had tried to arrest him. Syrio had urged Arya to flee and she had followed his advice. With Needle, the gift from her half-brother Jon Snow, in her hand, she had run through the corridors of the Red Keep. In the stables, which were actually a shortcut, she had been stopped by a stable boy. He had grabbed her and mentioned a reward for the Stark girls. Arya had fought back and during the scuffle had finally stabbed the stable boy. The memory made her stomach turn and she had to fight the urge to be sick. In the saddle bags she had found a pouch of silver stags and had also taken a cloak from the stables which could conceal her face. And now she was trying to find a captain who would be willing to sell her passage to White Harbour.
Some of the captains, from Astapor and Volantis, had been out of the question from the start. So she began to search. Several hours later she was exhausted and on the verge of despair. There were only a few ships left that had not yet turned her away, and so Arya set out to test her dwindling luck. A large sailing ship, perhaps built to carry cargo over long distances, with yellow sails on the yards caught her eye. At the pier stood two men, tall and wiry with the skin and dark hair of a resident of the Dornish marshes. The second man, however, caught Arya's attention. He was small, similar to the dwarf of Casterly Rock, Tyrion Lannister, but without his deformities. He seemed friendly and for some reason was dressed in an apron and the hat of a cook.
She approached the strange pair.
"Greetings. I am looking for passage to White Harbour." Both men looked at her. "I can pay too." The Dornishman nodded and introduced himself. "I am Darion, captain of the Sunwind. I have a place and passage to White Harbour." He looked at Arya suspiciously. "If the silver is right." Arya counted half of her silver stags into the captain's hand. Darion looked at her with slight regret and Arya's heart skipped a beat. The voice of the little man with the cook's hat pulled her out of her rising unease. "Darion, we want to make an exception for someone who is really in a hurry and counts out forty-three silver stags to you without haggling." He bowed to Arya.
"I am Jasper, quartermaster and cook of the Sunwind."
Arya nodded to him and noticed with some surprise that Jasper was barefoot. His feet were covered with thick, black feet. He reminded Arya of one of the tavern cooks from Winter Town, a warm-hearted man with a fondness for stews. "Darion, the lady gets my cabin. It would be rude to quarter someone of standing with the rest of the passengers and the sailors." Arya's gaze flicked back and forth between the two men. A spark of hope kindled within her.
"I can work. I have to get out of King's Landing, please!" Jasper laughed. "The passage and my cabin belong to you. But on one condition. We have a stopover and will reach White Harbour in just under fourteen weeks." Arya reached for her purse, which hung by her belt next to Needle. "We need your name if you want to sail on our ship, my lady." Arya nodded and bowed slightly.
"I am Arya Stark."
Darion nodded and Jasper bowed slightly. "Welcome aboard, Lady Stark." As Arya stepped onto the ship, she felt a wave of relief. She now knew that she would get home safely.
The Bitter Sea, four miles off the coast of the Bay of Dread off the coast of Lybaras, Old World, four weeks later
The solar wind ploughed through the sea, driven by a light breeze in the yellow sails. The sun hung low over the western horizon, colouring the sky a pale orange. Arya Stark was no longer seasick after two weeks, and after four weeks the quality of the food had reduced to a mix of hard rusks, dried meat, stale beer, and water that tasted of its barrels. Jasper had repeatedly cooked something new from the fish caught by passengers and crew, much to the delight of the crew and passengers. Arya had repeatedly offered her help, whether with Jasper in the kitchen or with the sailors on deck, but Jasper had banished her from the kitchen and the sailors were reluctant to accept the daughter of a great noble house who wanted to lend a hand. The first mate eventually agreed to let Arya help.
She had therefore spent three weeks learning and practising knots. In return, two sailors offered to show her a few tricks when she mentioned that she had trained in Braavosi water dancing. Now, after four weeks at sea, Arya Stark no longer looked like the daughter of a high lord but more like a ship’s boy on their first overseas voyage. Jasper had taken her aside when she first called him a dwarf. “I’m not a dwarf. I’m a halfling. Dwarves are grumpier and have longer beards. Besides, they very rarely leave their fortresses.” Almost every evening Arya helped him tidy the galley. In return, Jasper told her stories about the “old world”, the place they were sailing to. Arya knew from her father that far to the east there was a land from which merchants came to White Harbour with exotic goods, strange companions, some larger than Ser Gregor Clegane or similar to Tyrion Lannister, and even more fantastic ones.
Many of these stories were about green-skinned savages, animals that walked on two legs like humans, a realm similar to the Seven Kingdoms, lands where the dead wandered, or men and women who drank the blood of the living to become immortal. Jasper had filled the tales with details and Arya had been fascinated by the stories about this land. At the moment she stood at the bow, staring fascinated at the horizon. The coast was visible as a faint outline. The wind played in her hair and Arya wondered who lived on the coast and whom they would meet at the trading post. One of the sailors, John, from the Stormlands, appeared beside her and handed her a cup. Strongly diluted wine, the only way to make the water drinkable. “We’ll be there in two days. Darion said we’ll spend two days in harbour taking on new provisions, along with the cargo.” Arya sighed and took a sip. The wind was slowly growing stronger and rattled in the sails. “Is it normal for the wind to be this strong?” John paused. “Actually, yes, but it’s normal on the high seas for the wind to suddenly change…” He didn’t get any further. A shout from the crow’s nest made Arya look up. “Storm! Storm from port!” Arya and John spun towards port. What she saw made Arya’s blood run cold. The sky was covered with black clouds. John swore. “Arya, this is going to get ugly now.”
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Arya Stark fought her way out of the companionway with a leather bucket in her hand and staggered to the railing, where she emptied the bucket into the sea. Breathing heavily, she staggered to the second companionway to repeat the process. Below, the water sloshed freely in the bilge; with every roll, it shifted like a weight to the wrong side, making the ship unstable. If they didn't bail out the cargo hold, the Sonnenwind would soon not only fill up but also capsize.
Dinner had been cancelled; with this sea state, open fire in the galley was madness. After the warning, Arya had rushed to her cabin and tied Needle around her to avoid losing the sword. The rain had made the companionways slippery, and she had fallen more than once. Bruises adorned her arms, legs, chest, and back, her left side ached badly after the last fall, and she felt sick. The next time a full bucket was handed up to her, she only saw a wave wash a sailor overboard. "Man overboard!" someone shouted, and another threw something buoyant after him – but the storm immediately swallowed the shout and the man.
Arya managed the next trip to the railing and emptied the bucket when a wave broke over the ship. Gasping and panting, she fought to her feet, staggered into the companionway, and suddenly stood chest-deep in water. The ship had given way somewhere, a seam, a hatch cover, something, and now the sea was rushing into the belly of the Sonnenwind. A passenger, a merchant she recognised by sight, hurried past her. "Get out of here, girl! You'll drown down here!" With these words, he grabbed Arya and dragged her back up.
Men and women ran back and forth on deck, throwing parts of the cargo overboard and securing the rest. Jasper and two sailors had secured themselves to the main mast with safety lines and were trying to salvage as much sailcloth as possible. Arya ran across the wet deck, slipped and fell. Pain shot through her head, and she felt something hot running down her temple. She was pulled back to her feet as a sharp crack – like a whip crack – cut through the air. The sail tore, shreds flapped like flags, and the Sonnenwind suddenly lost speed.
A sailor tried to free a jammed sheet; Jasper helped him, cursing against the wind and rain. Another crash followed, this time duller and deeper, as wood strained under load. Jasper ripped open one of the secured toolboxes and pulled out a boarding axe. With it, he began to cut the tangled rigging before the torn ropes strangled someone or tore the mast into the hull. Arya tried to make her way to Jasper but could hardly make headway against the heavy seas and the next wave washing over the ship. The merchant who had hauled her up pulled her to a safety line. Another wave broke over the deck, and when Arya could see again, the man had disappeared.
She clung desperately to the rope, feeling it dig into her hands and tear her palms. From inside the ship came a dull creaking. Arya was no expert on ships, but that sound could mean nothing good. Mixed with the creaking was rumbling – crates coming loose, cargo shifting.
Then a wave hit the ship broadside, across the keel. The Sonnenwind was thrown around, and a dull crunch went through the main mast. It held for a heartbeat longer in the shrouds, then suddenly tilted to port and struck the sea.
Jasper tried to straighten up but found no grip in the rolling sea. The halfling slid across the deck screaming, desperately searching for something to hold on to. Arya clung to a rope and watched in horror as Jasper struck a secured crate and his scream abruptly stopped. Another sailor had also grabbed a boarding axe and began cutting the ropes that still held the broken mast to the ship. But the mast was already pulling in the water, as if it were an anchor, and every tug on it caused the ship to lean a little further to one side.
The Sonnenwind developed a list. Somewhere below deck, water sloshed freely back and forth, and with every roll it ran to the lower side, as if it wanted to capsize the ship completely. Another creaking sound went through the hull; this time it sounded as if an entire beam was giving way. Secured crates came loose and rolled across the deck, tearing off the tarpaulin that sealed the hatch of the cargo hold. The next wave washed masses of water over the ship, and Jasper's body was dragged into the sea.
Arya stared after him, while the rope she was holding onto rubbed her palms bloody. Salt stung her hands and eyes; the wind and her panic made breathing difficult. Meanwhile, the ship seemed to be breathing. The deck trembled, deck planks vibrated, and water sprayed like fine rain from the joints of the railing. There was a rumble from inside, then a hard blow went through the sun wind – as if a wave had lifted the bow and stern simultaneously and bent the ship in the middle. The wood creaked, and with a dull crack, a frame gave way. Then another. And another. The hull buckled, slowly for a breath and then faster and faster, until the ship began to fold around its broken ribs. The railing broke with a crash. Arya desperately climbed along her rope towards the broken mast, which promised the deceptive safety of a flotation device. She managed to reach the mast and clung to it. The next wave tore the mast from the remaining ropes holding it, and Arya Stark clung to it desperately. With her last strength, she managed to pull herself up onto the mast using a rope.
Coast of Nehekhara, 20 miles southeast of the city of Lybaras
The white sand of the coast and the blue-green sea offered a visually stunning contrast. Normally, the beach was empty and quiet by late morning, but today it was a field of debris. The remains of a ship were scattered along the beach, serving as a reminder of a desperate, albeit hopeless, struggle. The morning sun blazed down and the temperatures rose relentlessly. Seagulls and vultures circled above the wreckage, searching for their breakfast among the debris. One of the seagulls picked a target and found it in the form of a girl lying face down among the wreckage.
The seagull landed on the girl's back and pecked at her sunburnt skin.
Arya Stark was awakened by a sharp pain in her left shoulder. The sun burned down on her and the heat was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Her chest ached, her hands burned, and nausea tightened her throat. Added to this was thirst and worsening headaches. She struggled to her feet, only to find that her doublet and trousers were torn in several places. Her belt was empty, and there was no sign of a needle anywhere. The hot sand burned beneath her feet as she slowly stumbled through the debris field. She climbed over frames and planks, found one of the sailors lying face down, half-hidden under some wreckage.
She recoiled, gagging, as she heaved the boards aside and saw that the man's head and upper body were a bloody ruin. Arya stumbled on. She found a water barrel, which had miraculously survived the disaster intact. The contents tasted stale and of wet wood, but it revived her spirits. She trudged inland from the beach, searching for people, water, or anything that could help her.
The dune was a good vantage point, and she saw a group of men and women in long, flowing robes moving in her direction.
Then she saw something that made her doubt her sanity.
Riders, on skeletal horses, clad in gleaming lamellar armour with shields, curved swords, and spears, were approaching her.
Before they reached Arya, she staggered and fell unconscious into the sand.
And that´s everything for the Beginning.
English is not my main lauguage, so please overlook my grammar.
Reviews are always appreciated.
Till the next tme