GOT: P Chapter 20

They gave the girl a pallet in the fo'c'sle, out of the wind. I brought a blanket and a cup myself so the crew didn't crowd her.

"Arry," I said, crouching to her level. "Are you hurt?" My voice was soft. "Arms? Shoulders? He carried you rough."

She set her jaw and didn't look at me. "I'm fine."

"That means 'no,' does it?" I waited. "Drink."

She took the cup. Two fast swallows. A cough. She blinked hard, eyes rimmed red still and pain of loss she didn't want me to see. Don't know where it came from. But sure not from being around us.

"Food comes in a bit," I said. "Bread first. Then stew if your belly keeps the bread."

A beat. "What is that bird?" she asked, the words flat.

"I don't know what he is." Truth sits easier than stories. "All I know, he's my Velmir. That never changed."

"He listens to you?"

"Sometimes." I let a thin smile show. "Mostly I listen to him."

Her eyes flicked toward the hatch where a strip of night showed. "He killed men."

"He saved you," I said. No pride in it. Just that the way how things work. I watched her face; saw she didn't argue over that.

She gripped the blanket tighter. "If I ask to go back..."

"Not tonight." I kept my voice level, steady. "You sleep. We're shaping north. You tell me in the morning what you remember and what you want. We'll see what can be done."

Her chin came up, stubborn and young. "I don't tell strangers."

"Good," I said. "Keep that rule." I rose, set the cup by her hand. "If the ship rolls, brace your back on the post. It helps."

She didn't thank me. North folk don't when it hurts. She pulled the blanket to her shoulders and stared at the dark. That was answer enough.

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My cabin door stuck on the swollen frame. I shoved it with a shoulder and stepped in.

Scratches everywhere.

Floorboards, bench, even the low chest- scored lines, some shallow, some deep, torn splinters still standing. Not claw-rake wild. Lines that tried to be straight. Letters hacked with care.

I didn't breathe for a count.

I knelt, hands over my mouth like a fool, and read:

AEGON ALIVE.

YOUR HALF BROTHER.

THE PRINCE THAT WAS PROMISED.

DARKNESS COMING.

TIME TO RETURN.

AS RHAENYS TARGARYEN. FIRSTBORN.

DRAGON WILL RETURN. SO DO WE.

FOR ELIA. FOR AEGON.

I WILL AVENGE OUR FAMILY.

The words weren't all in one place. They ran in broken trails across the boards, cramped where space narrowed, big where he had room to drag the claw. Some letters were wrong then fixed-struck, re-scratched, made ugly but clear. A few strokes were scorched, not carved- the wood browned and bubbled under heat.

My throat closed. I pressed my palm to the "ELIA," then to the "AEGON," as if that made it truer. Fool's habit. But I did it anyway.

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"Bucket!" someone shouted on deck.

I backed out, hauling the door wide. Two men clattered in with the sand tub and a pail, slopping water across the sill.

"Keep it low," I told them, calm because they needed calm. "Don't drown the seams." The older one nodded and went to his knees, scooping sand onto the glowing lines and patting it down, sailor-sure. The smoke died to a sulk.

I left them the mess and climbed to the weather deck.

He was there on the rail by the quarter, big as ever, soot-red back, hard gaze. He didn't move when I came up. Just watched the east go grey.

I stood beside him, shoulder to wing.

"How much do I not know about you, Velmir?" I said at last. No heat in it. No plea. Just a woman asking the sea why it rolls.

He didn't answer. Of course he didn't. He turned his head a fraction and pointed his beak at the rim of the world where the first light showed. Then he looked back to me, held me there a heartbeat, and returned to the dawn.

I followed his gaze. The sun pushed up out of the black water, thin and pale, then stronger.

"All right," I said, very low. "All right."

Behind us the men stamped and cursed at the last hiss of sand on ember. Ahead, the day came on. He stayed on the rail. I stayed at his side. No vows said aloud. None needed.