GOT: P Chapter 19

[

Hey guys, quick note, there's a correction in the previous chapter. The MC actually pointed to Winterfell, not Bear Island. That was an honest mistake on my part, forgot Bear Island is on the other side of the map. My bad!

]

One beat and he's gone. Heat ripples once over the rail, then only sky.

Rhaenys keeps her eyes on the blue a breath longer, then turns to the deck. Non-chalant face on. The girl Arry, for now sleeps under a spare sail with her bad arm in a sling. Gerrin sits near, mending without staring.

Garrad shifts the tiller and comes to stand beside her. He doesn't crowd.

"He's been vanishing more," she says. Not a complaint. A fact.

"Aye." Garrad's spoke. "Comes back straight."

"The wind?"

"Holds north. If it keeps, White Harbor by tomorrow's dusk." He scratches his jaw. "After that, carts. Winterfell roads are not safer than water now."

She nods once. "Carts, then. Quiet ones."

Garrad's mouth tips, almost a smile. "Dull carts are my favorite carts."

She glances to the sleeping bundle. "He dragged a child out of dark and dropped her in my lap."

Garrad studies her a heartbeat. "Whoever she is, she's trouble."

There is a silence.

"He seems to feel me safe around you, Garrad." She tries a small smile with it.

Garrad snorts, shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tugging anyway. "Other way round, Rae. I feel safe around him. I wouldn't dare do aught to you with that fire-bird watching."

Her smile holds a moment. "He hears more than he shows."

"Aye. Men do. Birds too I guess." He glances at the sail. "We'll keep her ghosting. No lanterns till open water's behind us. Harbor's eyes are bad."

"Good." She looks back to the sky. Still blank. "It won't be long before we reach White Harbor."

"Not long," Garrad says. "Then carts north. Keep the girl's head down and your name off your tongue. "

Rhaenys nods. "I can manage that."

Garrad moves back to the tiller, voice low to the mate. "Ease a hand on the fore. Let her want north."

Canvas whispers. The ship leans a hair. Arry shifts under the sail-cloth, jaw tight even in sleep.

Rhaenys watches the wake, then the horizon. She doesn't ask who the girl is. Velmir wouldn't bring a child without a reason.

Velmir… what are you planning?

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Another night through trees. Cold air.

I slide the wind between branches, low and quiet. No scream. No show. Last night was fire and blood; this is clean-up.

There armor scuff, breath ragged. Ser Amory Lorch, staggering, sword gone, mail torn where a horse smashed through. He's terrified, terrified of what behind him, coming after him. He keeps glancing back like he would die if don't see it coming.

Good.

He mutters broken curses, half prayers. "Fire-spitting… thing. Seven take it… seven..." He trips. Knee buckles. He slams a trunk with his shoulder, shoves off, stumbles again.

I keep him between me and the moon glow, let his eyes blind on the open strip of sky. No rush. No taunt. Angles and timing.

One clean glide. Wing-edge across his gorget seam, dry ring-pop, cloth parting. He yelps, high and wrong, and runs crooked now, blood wet in his throat. He doesn't look up. Men don't, unless you teach them.

Root. Foot goes. He sprawls, rolls, tries to rise, palms skidding in his own mess.

Now.

Drop hard. Talons into shoulder and flank, weight on the spine to pin. He bucks once; the grunt leaves him flat.

Hands scrabble at my legs. He's strong. Doesn't matter. I take his head, one claw braced on the brow, the other at the jaw hinge.

And the chamber flashed in my eyes. Elia in the window light, stood straight, voice soft and gone. “May the desert wind carry you.” The bells after. Fuck.

Die.

Twist. Quick. Crack. Everything in him lets go.

I step off and listen. Just wind and branch creak. No witnesses.

Heat rose in me, eyes glowing in the night.

I throw my head back and make the word fit this throat. “Mountain.”

Let it sit.

“Next.”

Then I’m up again, red on black, back toward the river light and a deck with a sleeping girl, and the woman who didn’t ask me why when I scratched letters and pointed north.