New chapter! Thanks for all the support!
x
Ser Meryn Trant, disguised in common clothes, kept a hard grip on the equally disguised Tommen I as he hurried toward the contact point in the center of Braavos.
When Robb's army had broken King's Landing, the battle among the fleets on the Blackwater had made flight by ship impossible. Meryn had taken Tommen and fled north with the crowds of commoners.
In the end, only after paying a heavy price at Duskendale's harbor had he managed to board a passenger ship bound for Braavos.
After so long spent running, Meryn was desperate to turn the priceless captive in his hands into coin.
He was like a man carrying a ransom greater than anything he had ever imagined. The closer he came to the place where he could claim it, the more excited he became. He did not notice the little girl drawing nearer behind him.
When he led Tommen through several turns and into an empty alley, faint footsteps sounded behind him. Meryn turned his head.
Steel tore through cloth and flesh.
He saw a small girl with her hair tied into two knots standing far too close. Alarm had only just risen in him when cold pain opened in the right side of his lower back.
The girl struck once, then slipped away with nimble speed.
Meryn released Tommen by instinct and pressed a hand against the wound. His right kidney burned with deep, sickening pain, and blood began to pour between his fingers.
"You..."
He pointed at the girl with his left hand, trying to say something.
But the blow had stolen the strength from his body. Speaking was difficult. Standing was worse.
The girl held a bloodstained dagger and circled him carefully.
"I know what you want to ask. Do you remember Syrio Forel? You killed him.
"It has been more than a year. You have probably forgotten who he was."
Steel flashed again.
When she moved behind his left side and saw him trying, and failing, to turn after her, the girl stepped in and drove the dagger into the left side of his lower back.
This time Meryn could no longer keep his feet. He fell heavily to the ground, bright blood spreading beneath him.
"I still remember Father dying in the square before the Great Sept of Baelor. You stood behind Joffrey with a smile on your face.
"Heh. I should thank the Many-Faced God for sending you to me."
The girl looked down at Meryn as he struggled on his back, trying to rise.
When he heard those words, he forced his right hand up and pointed at her.
"Oh? So you remember me now."
She nodded.
"Yes. I am Arya Stark."
With that, Arya dropped to one knee. One hand caught Meryn by the hair and pinned his head in place. The other drew the dagger cleanly across his throat.
Meryn choked twice as blood gushed from his neck. Then he stopped moving.
"Mmm! Mmm!"
The golden-haired boy beside them twisted his body and whimpered the moment Meryn died.
Arya looked at him. A cloth gag had been stuffed into his mouth. Still holding the dagger warily, she stepped forward and pulled it free.
"Arya, save me! I am Tommen Baratheon. We used to play together!"
The moment the gag came out, the boy begged her for help.
In truth, if Tommen had not spoken first, Arya would never have recognized the blackened, filthy golden-haired boy as the younger brother of that hateful Joffrey.
She stared at him. He was nearly two years younger than she was. Her right hand tightened around the dagger, then loosened slightly, then tightened again.
"Arya," Tommen said, his voice trembling. "My hands hurt. Please untie me."
Arya stood still for a moment. Then, because some stubborn goodness in her had survived everything the world had done, she let out a heavy breath, lifted Tommen's loose clothes, and cut the ropes binding his hands.
"Why did Meryn Trant have you tied up? Where were you going?"
Tommen rubbed his aching wrists as he answered.
"When your brother took King's Landing, Mother and my uncle were trying to flee with me. Meryn attacked them and forced me away.
"I do not know where he meant to take me. He kept saying he would trade me for money."
"Robb took King's Landing?"
Arya's eyes brightened at once.
"Good. He is amazing. What else do you know about him? Tell me."
Tommen had been little more than a lucky charm in Tywin's hands and knew very little about Robb. Hearing Arya ask, he could only say what scraps he knew.
"Your brother has a huge direwolf. When it stands up, it is taller than the gates of King's Landing. He has many soldiers too, and he has taken many places.
"That is all I know."
"That direwolf is Bloodwind. He was born in the same litter as my Nymeria."
Arya began to speak eagerly, but when she thought of her own direwolf, her face darkened at once.
The moment passed. She lost all desire to keep talking to Tommen.
First, she crouched beside Meryn's corpse and searched it, taking everything valuable or useful. Then she used her dagger to cut away Meryn's face and put it aside.
After that, she rose and walked toward the wheelbarrow she had left in the distance.
Tap, tap, tap.
After a few steps, Arya heard footsteps behind her. She turned and frowned at Tommen.
"Why are you following me?"
"I do not know where this is. I only know you, Arya. Let me follow you."
Tommen's voice was timid. The way Arya had taken Meryn's face had frightened him badly.
Arya rolled her eyes at his answer and kept walking.
One before the other, the two children reached a vast temple built of dark grey stone atop a small rocky hill.
Its doors were a pair of carved wooden leaves twelve feet high. The left door was made of weirwood, white as bone. The right was made of gleaming ebony.
This was the famed House of Black and White.
Arya told Tommen to stay with the wheelbarrow. She hid everything except Meryn's face in the stone pile where Needle lay concealed.
Creak.
Arya had only just approached the House of Black and White with Meryn's face in her hands and Tommen behind her when the great black-and-white doors opened from within.
Jaqen stood in the doorway, dressed in the robe of an acolyte with a hood over his head.
His face was expressionless.
"A girl has taken a life," he said. "But it was the wrong life. Therefore, a girl owes a life debt to the Many-Faced God.
"If a girl owes a debt, then a girl must pay."
After more than a year in the House of Black and White, Arya understood enough to be afraid. Panic touched her features.
Tommen, standing behind her, did not understand Jaqen's meaning. After making sense of it in his own way, he stepped forward.
"She killed Meryn to save me. I am Tommen I. I can help her repay whatever debt you mean."
Only then did Jaqen turn and study him carefully.
After a little while, Jaqen smiled, and his voice became gentle.
"A boy is willing to help a girl pay her life debt? Good. Come inside with a man."
Arya looked at Tommen, who had just helped her, with a complicated expression. Then she bit her lip and walked through the doors.
Tommen, feeling that he had solved Arya's trouble, followed her happily inside.
After they entered, the black-and-white doors closed heavily once more.
Not long afterward, the corpse of Ser Meryn Trant was found in the remote alley and reported to the city patrol.
The shadow behind prosperous Braavos was as vast as the city itself. Death and disappearance happened every moment. A foreigner's murder should not have caused even a ripple.
But to certain people who knew Meryn's identity, his death carried enormous weight.
The Long Canal cut across Braavos in a broad waterway. At its northern end stood the green-copper domes of the Palace of Truth. To the northwest lay the House of Black and White, the temple of the Lord of Light, the Isle of the Gods, and other temples.
In the center of the city, along the Long Canal, stood the Antaryon Palace, the Prestayn Palace, and the tall towers of many noble families.
Inside the Antaryon Palace, in a luxurious bedchamber decorated with gold and countless gems, an old man in plain grey-brown clothes lay on a feather bed.
Several guards stood around him. Beside the bed, a graceful maid in gauze knelt and fed him medicine with a golden spoon.
"Sealord, Lord Bessaro requests an audience."
A lean, perfectly balanced swordsman dressed in tight black clothes entered the chamber and reported to the old man on the feather bed.
"Cough. Quarro, all of you go out. Let him enter alone."
Ferrego Antaryon, the current Sealord of Braavos, swallowed the medicine in his mouth and weakly gave the order to his First Sword, Quarro Valentyn.
"As you command, Sealord."
Quarro nodded, motioned to the guards and maid, and left the chamber.
Once they were gone, the keyholder Bessaro, so fat he seemed barely human, entered the room at a tortoise's pace, panting as he came.
"Sealord... bad news. Meryn Trant is dead in an alley not far from the contact point, and the precious cargo is missing."
Bessaro took several deep breaths to calm the wheezing brought on by the effort before he reported.
"Useless. You could not even handle this?"
Ferrego flew into a rage at once, though his voice was still thin and weak.
"Why did you not send men to wait for him ahead of time?"
"Sealord, please calm yourself. I did not send men ahead for two reasons.
"First, Meryn Trant was overly cautious. I received word only that he was coming to Braavos with precious cargo. I did not know the exact time or place of his arrival.
"Second, the noble families led by Prestayn and Fregar are watching our every move. If I had sent men to wait for him in advance, trouble would have been even more likely."
Bessaro lowered his head beneath Ferrego's scolding and explained his reasoning with deep respect.
"Cough, cough. There is some sense in that. Braavos is no longer what it was. Every faction is tangled through it. Even among the founding families of the Iron Bank, there are few I can trust now.
"That cargo must still be in Braavos. Send every trustworthy subordinate you have and search carefully.
"Do not worry. Once I am reborn, your House Reyaan will become a legend in Braavos alongside me."
Ferrego's anger eased slightly. He gave the order weakly, not forgetting to offer Bessaro a future worth imagining.
"I understand. I will arrange it at once and do everything possible to bring the precious cargo before you quickly.
"But Sealord, you are already a legend of Braavos."
"Heh. I have merely lived longer than most. Tell me, has the next Sealord been chosen?"
At Bessaro's flattery, Ferrego gave a soft laugh and asked another question.
"Yes. A few days ago, the magisters and the other keyholders chose him through the old secret process. The ceremony will be held soon."
Bessaro answered immediately. After a slight hesitation, he continued in a probing tone.
"Sealord, if all we needed was king's blood, we once had many other choices.
"For example, Viserys Targaryen and Daenerys Targaryen, who had lived in Pentos with Magister Illyrio.
"Why pay so much for a boy from Westeros?"
Ferrego understood the careful thought behind the question at once. A strange light flickered in his eyes.
"Tommen Baratheon possesses more than king's blood.
"He possesses the true king's blood of one who sat the Iron Throne, the center upon which the wills of countless people in Westeros had gathered."
x
x
x
If you're enjoying the story so far, consider supporting me on Patreon ❤️
You'll get weekly early access to chapters, along with some exclusive content:
https://www.patreon.com/cw/TheDevotedReader