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She slept with wolves without fear, for the wolves knew a lion was among them.
R.M. Drake, American poet
She’d named the ship in Robb’s memory. The Grey Wind was as swift as the direwolf had been, responsive, agile, quick, and easily maneuvered. It was one of the first ships Bran had ordered built, using the very best that Davos Seaworth and the Iron Islands could devise. And then Bran had up and given the ship to her, as sailing west into the unknown was plainly a matter of state security and national interest.
Sometimes it was good when your brother was a King. Until he started dispensing woolly advice.
“Not all gold lions on red are our enemies, Arya. Do give them a chance. I would prefer allies, not adversaries.” Then Bran went even more vacant and dreamy. “And see if you can prevail upon a raven to return with you. I would like to speak with one.”
The Master of Ships hadn’t been happy to give her his newest ship though, perhaps foreseeing the possibility that his King might elect to undertake just such an exploration, he had outfitted her very well. Seaworth selected her Captain and crew himself. “They're very fine sailors for one of the finest, trimmest ships we’ve ever built. But they're not fighters, Lady Stark."
She kept trying to correct him with the “Lady,” but it was pointless. Still, Seaworth knew what she was about. “It’s up to you to keep your ship and men safe. Use your wits and keep your eye out for trouble because you’ll see it long before they do. And if you see it, you guard the escape and trust Captain Seabright to sail you out of it.”
They’d been at sea sixty-seven days and if there were any grumblings or worries from the crew, she heard none of it. There were fish to eat, rainwater was plentiful without creating bad weather, and the wind pushed them steadily and ever westward.
The storm hit in the morning of the sixty-eighth day, suddenly blowing up behind them from the east and pushing them forward faster than a bird could fly.
They lashed down the sails, tied the steering wheel in place, hunkered down below deck, and let the wind take them.
They didn’t dare light the stoves, but there was still plenty of fresh water and salted meat, though the limes and lemons were starting to go soft. There was no way to measure the days or the time, no sunrise or sunset, no stars, no way to use the sextant or drop the log-line. They were weeks beyond the furthest maps of Westeros and the compass still showed them churning west.
Sailors were the most superstitious of all. Arya kept thinking at some point they should all be panicking. Weren't they going to sail through the gates of the Seven Hells, fall off the world, and burn forever? Weren’t they going to begin to starve and eat each other? But a peculiar mood seemed to settle on them. The wind howled but everyone was quiet, rocking in their hammocks, humming, sleeping, or trying to play dice or cards. It was boring, not terrifying.
At some point, she had no idea of the day, the air took on a strange smell and the water that dripped below (far less than she had ever expected) seemed sweet on her lips. Captain Seabright and some of the crew popped the hatch, lashed themselves to each other and the rails and went above, very briefly.
“Sky is still black as pitch and tar, can’t see a single star, and the sea is frothing white,” Seabright said, wiping his face.
“Strangest smell, though,” Ren Anker, the First Mate, said. “Like flowers.” He was smacking his lips.
No one would say it but they all noticed it -- the water seeping through the portholes was sweet, not salty. If this was the end of the earth and a death of falling forever, it was not what Arya, at least, had expected.
Another day later, or it might have ten, for time had no meaning, Arya woke up. Bright sun was pouring through a porthole and a white gull flew by. She scrambled out of her hammock and hurried on to the deck, blinking a little in the intense morning light. The sea shimmered blue-green and was topped with just enough white to show the brisk breeze pushing them onward. The crew had the lines out and were pulling in an enormous fish, the sails were full, and, shading her eyes, a mass of brown and green land was ahead.
Captain Seabright was at the helm and the bow was pointed toward the land -- an island, she thought.
“Good morning, Arya.”
“Good morning, Captain. Any idea where we are?”
“None. The wind died last night as quick as it had risen. When we came up, the sky was clear, and we didn’t recognize a single star in the sky. We’re not just off our maps. We’re someplace so far away, even the stars are different.”
Yet they were definitely not dead.
“How is the crew?”
“A lot of them think some protective magic brought us here. Given how long we’ve been at sea, we should be in pretty poor shape. We’re not. They think it’s a good omen and are in very high spirits. Not sure yet any of them are thinking about how we’re getting home.”
“Home? Captain, we’ve just arrived.”
“Aye.” Seabright rubbed his chin and gestured to her glass tucked in her belt. “I was just going to send the cabin boy to get you. Take a look and tell me what you see.”
Arya pulled out her glass and and raised it to her eye. “That’s a nice, natural harbour. The seawall is well-built and maintained.” She scanned about and saw red flags bobbing in the water. ”Looks like they’ve marked rocks or other hazards.”
“What don’t you see?”
It took a moment to register the oddity. “War ships. No soldiery of any kind. It seems like they’re all merchant ships, fishing boats, and leisure craft. Except the big one.”
“Take a closer look at that galleon. Biggest ship in the harbour, though not by much. It’s the only one that looks like it could hold up to some fighting.”
Through the glass, Arya could see she was moored as close in as her keel would probably allow. Maybe it had been too close. “She’s listing. Looks like she took some damage?”
“Yes. Can’t tell what the problem is but she’s not seaworthy. No fire or fighting damage, though, so maybe some sort of accident. Look at her colors.”
Arya raised her glass up the masthead and sucked in a startled breath. “We have all the world to go to and we end up in the lap of House Lannister?”
“It’s not, though. The lion, assuming it’s a lion, is a different shape. That red is different, too.”
Arya nodded, scanning the ship more closely. It might have Lannister colors but it was not one of their ships. It was too plain? Humble? Functional? Maybe her sated revenge let her see more clearly. “Bran told me a vision before I left. He said not all gold lions on red are enemies and that I should look to make allies. Of course, he also said he wanted me to bring a raven home so he could talk to it."
Captain Seabright laughed. "The King's never wrong, even if the rest of us don't have the wit to understand him."
"Yes but if he wanted a diplomat, he should have sent Tyrion or Sansa.”
“So, let's get at what you're good at, Arya. I'm steering us to an unknown port. We would all like some time on land, we could use a resupply for fresh goods, and we’ve got gold and silver to spend. My instinct is that this is a commercial port and, judging from the different ships, one that sees business from all over this sea. You're the warrior, though, not me. What do you want to do?”
They were closer now and she could see people coming and going in dinghies and rowboats from the larger ships. She couldn’t see precisely what it was, but it all looked to be goods, fish, and nets. These were traders and fishermen, not fighters. “Captain, we should be cautious of course but I agree. It looks like a dull, prosperous merchant town, though they must have some defense against pirates and raiders if they’re as wealthy as they seem to be.”
“Unless they are the pirates. Or pay them for protection, though that doesn’t explain the lack of any soldiery.”
“Maybe we Westerosi are all just a war-like bunch, Captain, but I see nothing that seems to be a threat to our ship and crew.”
“I thought the same. But before I bring her in, take a closer look at the long dock.”
Arya again raised the glass. What?
She lowered her glass and rubbed her eyes. And then looked again. No, surely that was just a horse. But with a man’s head? And goats? Standing up and wearing trousers? Next to normal looking people?
“Captain, did you see the…”
“Things on the dock that are straight out of myth? Aye. We’re not in the Seven Hells unless hell is nice weather, calm sea, and good fishing. But we’re not in Westeros, either.”
This was why they had come. This was what she was supposed to do. But approaching a prosperous unknown harbor filled with people and -- Arya didn’t know what they were -- led to many, many discussions with Captain Seabright, the First Mate, and Master Tu, the Navigator, that they probably should have had before they began rowing in.
She wasn’t there as an emissary or diplomat, was she? No, she was an explorer. But what did explorers do, anyway? This bustling port was her discovery but it wasn’t as if it had suddenly risen from the sea for her to lay claim to. They weren’t here to conquer. Still, Arya knew she wasn't just any common sailor landing in a new port. She was the sister to a King and a Queen and Jon was a leader, too, a King in all but name. That made her valuable as ransom. The ship and crew were her responsibility.
Apart from whatever was on the docks, it all looked very normal and ordinary -- and those creatures were plainly typical for here given that, at least through her glass, no one seemed to pay them any mind at all. She'd seen so little peace and so much hardship, anything approaching the kind of normalcy of her childhood household made her suspicious. And that, ultimately, drove her decisions.
“You stay aboard, Captain Seabright. If all goes well, the men can come ashore in shifts. If we run into any problems, I'll offer myself as ransom in exchange for The Grey Wind and crew and you get out of here as fast you can.”
“We’ll take it quiet, Arya,” Seabright responded. “Every man here has sailed for years and has got a steady hand and cool head. We know what happens if someone makes a stupid mistake in a strange port.”
Arya made sure she herself was neatly dressed and clean. She put on the leather cuirass with the House Stark sigil, had Needle by her side, the Valyrian steel dagger in her belt, and carried a heavy purse of coin. More than arms, this just looked to be the sort of place where manners and money mattered. Those things had never been important to her but making it look like she had them seemed the right decision here.
Seven hells this was probably the way Sansa and Tyrion thought all the time. It was exhausting.
Seabright waited a few minutes once they dropped anchor to see if anyone would row out to to meet them, inspect them, or arrest them. No one did though there was at least one person, a woman, in a yellow robe on the dock peering at them through a glass. “Tax collector,” Seabright said. “That’s a banker or I’ve never paid a port fee.”
What was curious was the flurry of black birds, flapping about and roosting in their rigging. They ignored the sailors coaxing offers of fish. They looked like crows but were nearly as big as ravens. And the way they seemed to cock their heads to listen to every word spoken was unsettling.
“Those aren’t normal birds,” Arya told Seabright. She didn’t understand how Bran was able to see as a raven did but she wondered if there was something like that here.
One bird fluffed its wings and flew back to shore.
Arya joined the First Mate, Ren, and one of the cabin boys in the rowboat. Having the boy there was helpful because he was absolutely stricken at the sight of the creatures on the dock. It forced her to be calm even if they were something out of a Wildling nightmare.
“See, Shad, there’s nothing to fear. If they ate people, all those people wouldn’t be standing with them. No one has swords.”
“But what is it?”
“I think it’s a he,” Ren said dryly, which made Arya snigger.
He had the chest and head of a man and the legs and back of a horse. He was wearing a tassel hat and had a big, gold chain around his neck and a heavy medallion that rested on his bare chest. “I think he’s pretty important,” Arya said. “He might even be the ruler here.”
Shad moved a little closer to her on the boat’s seat. “I’m glad you’ve got Needle, alls the same.”
As they were closer, she could see that the “goats” that were walking on their hind legs, had arms, and were wearing trousers, were also carrying knives. They were long, fighting knives, not ceremonial ones. She looked carefully at the wooden buildings that lined the dock but, though there were upper storey windows that might hide archers, they looked like they were all offices and warehouses. It seemed there were a lot of dogs on the docks too and what appeared to be rats larger than she imagined were possible.
“No fighters,” Ren said. “They’ve not seen trouble here in a long time.”
Seabright was right about the woman in the yellow robe. She had a big ledger and a lead in her fingers and reading spectacles perched on her nose. She was waiting for them when they tied up the rowboat. She could have been squashed by the horse-man or run through by the goats and didn’t care a whit.
“Welcome to Narrowhaven.” She looked them up and down. “Who is in charge here?”
Arya was relieved that they all seemed to be speaking the same language -- at least she could understand her, though she had a heavy accent that made her think of Dorne. She'd also wondered if these people wouldn't recognize the authority of a woman in command of an expedition but as it was a woman questioning her, it didn’t seem so. “I am. I’m Arya Stark, House Stark.”
The woman was writing it down in her ledger. “Ship name, Captain, crew number.”
She supposed she was glad that they were being treated like anyone else.
“The Grey Wind, Captain Seabright, 25 crew.”
Where did you sail from?”
“King’s Landing.”
The woman looked up and frowned. “Where is that?”
“Westeros. At least 70 days sailing east of here. Probably further.”
“East? There’s nothing in the east.”
“We were in a storm. We don’t really know where we are. Or how we got here.”
“Oh. Well, as I said, you’re at the port of Narrowhaven, the island of Doorn, of these Lone Islands, under the rule and authority,” she pointed up with a grimace at the banner flying above them with the gold lion on red, “of the High King Peter of Narnia.”
Instead of asking their intents of murder, mayhem and invasion, the woman asked, “Any cargo to declare?”
Ren stepped in for this one. “No, Lady…”
“It’s Banker. Not Lady.”
So Seabright was right about that.
“No, Banker, we’re not here for trading. We've no cargo to declare. Brought only our own stores, which will need replenishing.”
“Plenty of goods for sale in the town. How long will you be anchored here?”
“We don’t know,” Arya said after a moment.
“Alright, then, 25 crew, ship of that tonnage, about 75 I’d say, that’ll be half a crescent for the first ten-day.”
There was an odd, irritable snapping of beaks and she looked up at the crows roosting above them on the flagpole. “Oh be that way,” the Banker grumbled. “Half-crescent, or one Lion if you prefer going Narnian.”
The Banker looked at them expectantly.
“Money?” she finally said. “They do have money in King’s Landing? For your docking fee?”
“Yes, we have gold and silver,” Arya replied. “But not Crescents and Lions.”
As one of the crows launched from the flagpole, Arya wondered if this land that had goats with swords and horses with the heads of men adorned in gold, maybe also had spies that flew.
The Banker jerked her head. “There’s a currency exchange at the end of the dock. One of the Dwarfs there will assess the purity of what you have and give you a good rate.” She wrote something in her ledger. “But no one else from The Grey Wind comes ashore until you pay your fee. If you don’t pay by nightfall, we’ll get one of the Satyrs to escort you back to your ship.”
The Satyrs were probably the walking goats with the knives.
“Of course,” Ren replied. “We’ll see to it.”
The Banker snapped her ledger shut and spun about.
"They're all the same," Ren muttered. "We cross to a whole new world, and they're exactly the same."
Arya laughed. “Why don’t you and Shad stay here, listen to what is going on, and I’ll go to the exchange.”
Arya wasn’t sure if they heard her. They were staring at rats that were larger than dogs and the dogs were the size of wolves and they were all running along the quay. They looked like youngsters playing. Not animals.
The horse-man was at the end of the dock and she would have to go by him to get to the currency dealer. The horse-man was really big, like draft horse or war horse-sized. There was a woman with him, but dressed like Arya herself would, trousers and leathers, and not in a gown like the Banker. Confirming her suspicion of spies, there was a crow on the woman’s shoulder. Two of the Satyrs were with them.
It’s a guard.
And they’re staring right at me.
She made sure to walk slowly, hands at her sides, staring back as calmly as she could muster. A part of her wished for Sansa. Analyzing this type of situation and knowing the right thing to say and do was precisely what her sister excelled at; and what Arya herself really was not very good at.
But Sansa isn’t here. I am.
She had gotten close enough that she could see the Satyrs were on the tips of their … hooves.
The woman was blonde, a little older than she herself was. She had a jeweled dagger at her belt that also wasn’t ceremonial.
Do I bow? Do I speak first?
From around the far side of the horse-man, a big, shaggy dog, no, wolf, appeared -- a giant wolf, with a white muzzle, crown of grey between her ears, and intelligence and understanding in her eyes. Arya felt her heart break again.
It couldn’t be. It was impossible. But so were horse-men, goats with swords, crow-spies, and sweet sea water.
Arya went on her knees before the wolf. “Nymeria?”
The wolf blinked. “Excuse me? Did you mistake me for another?”
Now it was Arya’s turn to blink. But could she really be surprised given everything else in this very strange place beyond the ends of their world and at the beginning of the next?
“You’re… you spoke.”
“Yes, of course. I am Briony Goodheart of Narnia and Royal Guard to Queen Lucy the Valiant.”
“I don’t understand anything you just said.”
And a Queen? Here? Where?
Arya looked about and didn’t see anyone who looked like a Queen. Or even truth be told, much like a Lady, at least not as Sansa was or as her mother had been. The woman with the horse-man? That’s who it had to be. That dagger could be a fighting Queen’s weapon, if there was such a thing anymore.
She gritted her teeth. Sansa wouldn’t have made this many mistakes.
Still on her knees, she bowed and hoped she got it right. “Your Majesty, I… I beg safe harbour for my ship and crew.”
“Safe harbour? Is that all?” the woman asked. Arya heard the edge to her voice, punctuated with a low growl from Briony.
“It is, your Majesty. We’re just sailors from a very long way away, blown here with a storm.”
“Very well. Safe harbour you shall have, Arya Stark of Westeros, if you vouch for the conduct of your crew.”
The Queen already knew her name. If the wolf could talk, so could crows, and they could listen as well. Queen Lucy’s crow spies had heard everything said aboard The Grey Wind and their debates and had already reported it to her. Maybe the seabirds that had flown with them into the harbour had as well. Or the fish, for all she knew. Their relatively easy welcome was not because Narrowhaven was ill defended or lax but because these Narnians and Lone Islanders had already inspected their ship and crew, learned why she was there and concluded that they posed no threat.
“Upon the lives of family and the honor of House Stark, I vouch for them, your Majesty, and will be responsible for them to you.”
Arya thought maybe they were done but Briony growled and she could see the Satyrs tense.
“Lucy,” Briony said, “I warn you again that Arya Stark is one of the most dangerous threats to have ever come before you. She is a very skilled fighter and killer and you must demand her oath before I will permit her in your company.”
She wasn't surprised. If the direwolves could have spoken, this was the warning Grey Wind would have given Robb before entering the Twins or what Ghost might have said to Jon before his assassination.
“Your Guard speaks truly. I was a soldier in my House’s cause." She was interrupting a Queen -- Sansa would have been horrified -- but Arya knew she had to immediately answer the charge.
"I also killed to avenge those who murdered my father, mother, and brothers.” And so many others. “I have no quarrel with your country, its peoples, or your Majesty.” She stumbled a little over that. Wolves and crows and horse-men weren’t people. “I would break bread and salt with you and your House as proof of my word that no harm will come to you and yours at my hand.”
“Thank you, Arya, and I am sorry for your losses. But what is breaking bread and salt?”
“An ancient tradition, Queen Lucy,” the horse-man said, in a deep, solemn voice. “It is as sacred as the Deep Magic itself and binds the host and guest in a holy pact to not harm the other. I would be satisfied with this oath.”
“Briony?”
“Yes, Lucy, if Governor Warin is satisfied, I am.”
The Queen held out her hand. Arya wondered if she was supposed to kiss it but she was offering to help her rise from the wooden planking of the pier. “We’d best get to the Governor’s House and get this ceremony over with or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
As Lucy had moved and bent, the crow flapped awkwardly at her shoulder and flew to a railing. “Give me a warning next time!”
“My apologies, Sadie. Why don’t you fly out to The Grey Wind and tell Captain Seabright that the crew may come ashore with Arya vouchsafing for their conduct.”
“I’m not sure how they’ll react to a talking bird, your Majesty. It would be best if the First Mate delivered that message.” She gestured to where poor Ren had been sitting with Shad and wisely staying out of all of this.
“Ah, true. And Arya, please call me Lucy.” The Queen tilted her head. “And we should get your money before anything else. I may be Queen here but even I wouldn’t dare come between a Banker and her expected docking fee.”
After an hour in Lucy’s company, Arya realized that, in fact, she, and not Sansa, was the right person for this particular type of diplomacy on behalf of Westeros. She and Lucy shared bread and salt in the kitchen of the Governor’s House. The wine was not especially good. There were feathers and animal hair everywhere and the whole time a cat, whose name was Gahiji, sat on the kitchen table eating a fish. They had to feed the crows, Chayton and Sadie, bits of bread and sausage because they kept complaining, and then the crows dropped the crumbs from the rafters to the stone floor that an enormous rat ate.
There was a mysterious and silent Dwarf named Ajouga Fumb who brought food to them and who seemed to be a cook. Lucy put her elbows on the table and helped herself to olives, bread, cheese, and tomatoes. “Eat! You’ve been at sea.”
Ajouga Fumb deposited a plate of orange slices at her elbow and then stomped away.
“Ajouga says you should eat them and green things,” Gahiji the cat said, though Arya didn’t think Ajouga had said anything.
Briony was sitting at the table too, but not eating anything. Arya imagined that would be very messy. “You have a wolf sigil on your coat and you fly the same on your ship. Are wolves a symbol of your house?”
“They are. It’s a direwolf, which is a kind of very large wolf, and rare. I had one for a little while.”
“Nymeria,” Briony replied. “She was your pet?”
Arya didn’t need Lucy making a little choking sound to know that “pet” was not the right word here. Even in this short time, she could see that Briony was more like the Kingsguard than a common hound, or even Nymeria. “No. I raised her as a pup when I was a girl. We were pups together, I suppose.” The rage boiled up in her though Joffrey had been worm food for years now. Being avenged didn’t make the hate go away or the hurt. Some wounds were too deep and she thought Sansa would carry them for the rest of her life.
“Nymeria tried to save me from a vicious, sadistic prince and would have been executed for protecting me. So I had to drive her away from me for her own good. I saw her last year and hoped she would come home with me but she’s leading a pack of her own.”
The oranges were delicious and she knew her body was starved for fresh food. She wolfed down the whole plate and was licking her fingers when Ajouga brought another plate out with greens. She dug into that, too. The food was very plain but tasted very good.
“That must have been very hard to send Nymeria away,” Lucy said. “Surely, she eventually understood and thanked you for her freedom.”
“I hope so. I still miss her and dream of her sometimes. But I was proud to see her leading a pack, my baby pup all grown up.” Arya wiped her mouth on her sleeve and took another sip of the wine.
“The prince, who attacked you, did you kill him?” Briony asked.
“No. Joffrey was on my list but someone else got there first.” Arya dabbed her bread in some of the oil on the table as Lucy was doing. "He was poisoned at his wedding by his new wife's grandmother."
Ajouga came back and removed the plates but left the wineskin and their cups.
“That’s an order that we’ve been here long enough and they need to begin dinner. With Centaurs at the Residence, it takes a long time to prepare enough food.”
“Centaurs?”
“Oh you probably don’t know, do you? We Narnians and our queer ways and novel folk! At the dock, Governor Warin, he’s a Centaur, part horse, part human? They eat a lot.”
Lucy stood and brushed the crumbs off. Arya managed to not flinch at the Rat, whose name she hadn’t heard yet, began cleaning them off the floor. Lucy’s boots were under the table so her feet were bare. “Come. Let’s take our wine to a more comfortable room and get to know one another.”
Arya followed Lucy down a long corridor with Briony trotting beside them and crows flapping from one beam to the next. The Governor’s House, she had to admit, reminded her more of a barn than a home. It was a very nice barn but the smell of animals was pretty strong.
She stopped at a row of portraits. One was Lucy herself, but all prettied up in the way that portraits were. There were three others, two men and one woman, all crowned.
“Oh, sorry, yes, I should have explained. It’s a little odd. My brothers and sister. Everyone always thinks we’re married or something. That’s Peter.” She pointed to the blonde man. “High King of all Narnia and Emperor of these Lone Islands.”
So that’s who the Banker had complained about.
“And that’s Edmund and Susan. Do you have any siblings, still alive? Don’t say if you don’t wish to. You said earlier that horrible things had happened to them and I am terribly sorry to hear of it. If someone had murdered my brothers or sister, well, I’m not quite sure what I would do but revenge would surely be at the top of my list.”
It was a kind thing to say and made her feel a little better. Briony didn’t say anything but wagged her tail and Arya thought maybe the Wolf would help in the revenge if such a thing happened.
“Two of my brothers are dead, but my sister and one brother are still alive, and another who is like a brother to me.”
“Are they all explorers like yourself?”
“No!” She laughed at the prospect of it. “After what they’ve both been through the last few years, they are very happy to stay in their kingdoms, be good rulers, and send me off to explore the farthest borders of their lands.”
“Oh dear.”
Briony and Lucy both said it at the same time.
“Arya, what do you mean by your brother and sister being rulers of kingdoms?”
“My brother Bran is King of Westeros but gave the northern part of the realm to my sister Sansa to rule as Queen of the North. And I suppose I should include my adopted brother. I’m not sure what Jon is doing now, but he could have been King but didn't want to be. That’s ... complicated. He’s leading the Free Folk and Wildlings now.”
“Susan is going to murder you, Lucy.”
“And Peter. He’s even worse than Susan is.” Lucy smacked her forehead with her hand. “I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”
“What?” Arya asked, genuinely mystified.
“You’re the sister to three monarchs of a land we have no diplomatic relations with, and I feed you in the kitchens and now I’m wandering about in bare feet and we’re drinking bad wine out of tin cups. Lady Stark, on behalf of Narnia and my royal siblings, please forgive me. Surely your visit is a matter of State and…”
Arya burst out laughing. She clinked her tin cup to Lucy’s. “And here I’ve been worrying over and over that Bran should have sent Sansa because I’m no diplomat and really not fit for a Lady’s company and certainly not a Queen’s.”
Lucy clinked her own tin cup with Arya’s and only spilled a little bit of her wine onto the dirty floor. “I think we’re going to get along splendidly but should you ever come before Peter or Susan, please do not mention this.”
“Only if you promise to not say anything to Sansa.”
“Is Sansa the sort who remembers every detail, and is always properly dressed for every occasion, and you love her dearly and admire her immensely because she is so very competent and clever but can absolutely drive you spare with discussions of wardrobe?”
“Lucy, there have been epic poems written on how my sister changes her hairstyles and dresses to match whoever happens to be in power.”
Lucy laughed. “Susan and Sansa would get on very well. And your brother, Bran, is he magnificent, kind, and annoyingly noble to a fault?”
“No, not Bran. But Jon, definitely Jon.” Arya laughed in return. “Jon can be such an idiot, and so stubborn. Once he’s made up his mind, it’s like trying to move…”
“A boulder,” Lucy finished. “And always concerned for everyone else and never himself?”
Arya nodded. “He was wonderful to me growing up. He would practice swordplay and archery with me.” She patted her sword. “He gave me Needle.”
“Truly a wonderful brother, then. And enlightened. Peter was reluctant at first to let me train with the Army.”
Briony growled. “It was so stupid. You humans are so defenseless without training and weapons. Why wouldn’t any female learn how to hunt and defend herself, her young, and her home?”
“Yes, Friend,” Lucy said with another laugh. “As you can imagine, Arya, it was a pointed and very brief argument.”
“The High King got pummeled in the training yard by a Tigress, a Centauress, and a female Dryad.” Briony sounded very smug. “He never made that silly argument again.”
“I think Jon and Peter would get along very well. They could beat each other up with the flats of their swords and have contests to see who can make the most sacrifices for the good of everybody else.” She stared at the portraits of Edmund and Peter but neither had Bran’s otherness.
Lucy guided her to a lighter, slightly cleaner room that had a nice view of the harbour. She could see The Gray Wind at her mooring and the ship looked very well. Some of the crew were scrambling down the ladders to the rowboat.
“She’s a lovely ship,” Lucy said.
“She is. I named her for my brother Robb’s direwolf.” She turned to Briony. “And I did kill the men who broke the guest right to murder Robb, his pregnant wife, my mother, and Grey Wind.”
It was really quiet but Lucy put an arm around her shoulders and Briony came up and nosed her hand.
“You’re no diplomat, Arya Stark, but I would like to call you a friend before your journeying takes you elsewhere.”
“Friend?” Briony replied. “Lucy, Arya should ride in your van under your banner the next time you go into battle.”
Lucy laughed. “Briony, dear, I think becoming friends might be a good first step before we raise swords together.” She glanced at Needle. “Though I admit to admiring yours, Arya.”
She felt a surge of delighted pleasure -- that she was in a place that welcomed women warriors and saw and respected her skill, that she might have a friend, that she was not being so harshly judged and despised as she had feared -- and sometimes felt she deserved.
Lucy turned away from the window. “Come, let me show you a map. We’ll make sure to provide you with something when you sail so you can learn these waters. We’re about twenty-one days from Cair Paravel, our royal seat in Narnia."
Lucy was tracing the route from the Lone Islands through the Bight of Calormen when there was a sound of flapping wings and then trotting hooves.
One of the crows swooped in. “Queen Lucy! Two Albatrosses have been sighted.”
“Oh! Thank you, Sadie! Please have Pim and Garin help them land and bring their pouch. I’ll come see them once they’ve rested.”
The crow flew out again, calling out the Queen’s instructions.
Having messengers who could talk and fly was really quite efficient.
“It’s a long enough journey for the Birds that we don’t tend to do it often,” Lucy explained. “And they are so big and awkward they need help landing.”
Lucy hurried back to the window and pointed. “There they are.”
Arya saw two absolutely enormous seabirds slowly gliding into the harbor, wingbeats perfectly matched. One of them had a pouch around its neck.
Lucy was tapping her fingers restlessly on her legs. “I do hope there’s no ill news.” Briony pushed her nose into Lucy’s hand and Lucy stroked her a little. “Thank you, Friend.”
“If there’s a problem, we’ll solve it, Lucy.”
The birds flew up, over, and out of sight. Arya could hear doors opening and shutting and more hooves on stone. A few moments later, Sadie flew back in with a letter in her beak. She landed awkwardly on the table where Lucy had rolled out the maps.
“It’s from the High King!”
“Oh good!” Lucy cried, snatching up the letter.. “I’ve been worried that if it was from Edmund or Susan, I’d have to translate it from that dreadful code!”
Arya could see it was plain parchment, like what they would use at home. It was sealed with red wax, embossed with a lion’s head. She was glad she didn’t feel an immediate revulsion. Lions were prominent in the Narnian heraldry but Bran was right -- not all gold lions on red were Lannisters.
“But the High King never writes,” Briony said in a tone that even Arya could hear was full of worry.
“Blast!” Lucy cried. She’d torn open the letter, scattering the wax everywhere. It was a short, single page, so probably ill news.
“Lucy, maybe I should…”
“No, Arya, please stay. I may want your views, actually,” Lucy said, scanning the letter, turning it over, and then back again before finally folding it up and slumping into an overstuffed chair with a sigh.
Arya took that as an invitation and sat across from her. The chair was shaped a little oddly, like it wasn’t meant for normal humans. There was a lot of hair on it. Maybe the Satyrs sat in it a lot.
“What is it?” Briony asked.
“Well, as I feared, Peter has asked us to make haste home.”
“Oh dear,” Briony replied, so she obviously understood whatever Lucy’s concern was.
“Just so. Susan has decided to accept Rabadash’s invitation and visit Calormen.”
Arya didn’t know what any of that meant. Briony’s growl made the hair stand up on her arms.
“Edmund is going with her, which is good. They intend to sail, also good, and they may take as many in their guard as they wish. But Rabadash has asked, as a courtesy, that Jalur and Lambert remain in Narnia.”
Briony’s growl was even deeper.
“And Peter’s worried about border incursions in the north again.”
“It is that time of year,” Briony said.
“With Edmund and Susan going south, and Peter headed north, I need to be at the Cair. Now.” Lucy sighed, rose from her seat, and went back to the window, tapping the letter against her leg.
“Arya, tell me, if Nymeria had taken a dislike to someone, what would you have done?”
“What do you mean?”
“If she growled at someone, bared her teeth, or her hair stood up,” Briony said. “That’s what Lucy means.”
“I’d not trust that someone,” she replied immediately. “Doesn’t matter who it is. A direwolf knows things even if a person doesn’t. Nymeria hated Joffrey from the moment she saw him and he was a sadist. And if Robb had listened to Grey Wind, he wouldn’t have trusted the Freys. He might have lived.”
Lucy crossed her arms and stared out the window at the boats in the harbour. The sun was starting to go down. She should probably try to track down Captain Seabright.
She rose from her seat and dusted off the long, reddish brown hairs. Definitely the Satyrs.
“Why do you ask, Lucy?”
It was Briony, though, who answered. “Prince Rabadash is heir to the throne of Calormen and Queen Susan is going to Tashbaan to court him. My mate, Lambert, is her guard. He doesn’t like Rabadash and I suspect the Prince knows this and this is why he is not permitting Lambert to come.”
“And Jalur can't go either,” Lucy said. “That’s not going to go down well, either.”
“Jalur is King Edmund’s guard?”
“Yes,” Briony replied as Lucy said, “He’s a Tiger.”
“It’s a trap.” The words came out of her mouth before she could censor them. She had no business offering advice. These weren’t her people, she knew nothing of them and these places. She’d only known Lucy for a few hours. But this smelled too much of what had happened to her family, over and over, when they were betrayed by those who pretended to welcome them. To Sansa at King’s Landing and with the Boltons, to Robb and Mother at the Twins, and to Father and poor Rickon.
She was bound by the guest right. It might not go this far, but she wasn’t going to let her host wander into what sounded exactly like what had nearly destroyed her entire family.
Briony growled, though not, Arya thought, at her. Lucy nodded. “It may very well be a trap, Arya, and I suspect that I would have no greater luck in getting Susan to change her mind than you would Sansa, if they both thought they were acting for the good of their realms and that the risks were outweighed by the potential benefits.”
“Still, I was rude,” Arya said, still feeling embarrassed for letting her tongue get away from her. “I don’t know anything about you, or your family, or what the politics are like here.”
“That, Arya, is called a fresh perspective. I asked for your views. We also broke bread and salt together, so I believe that if you saw harm, you would take very seriously the importance of warning me of it.”
Lucy hadn’t known the rite, but she had innately understood why it was so sacred and that it now bound them together.
“I’m better qualified to advise on the views of your brother, the High King. If he’s north with his army and King Edmund and Queen Susan are away south, your enemies will know it. He's right and I'd tell my own brother the same. You need to be at Cair Paravel to defend your keep.”
“I do. I just don’t know how we can get there.” She pointed out the window and Arya understood now why Lucy wasn’t already packing to leave with the tide.
“The galleon. The one that’s listing. She’s yours.”
Lucy nodded. “She’s my ship. The Lioness. She broke her mooring three days ago when a squall came up. Ran aground. Repairs will be more than a ten-day, maybe a month.”
“I’d suggest requisitioning a ship but there’s not another swift one in the harbour that could get you across what you described on that map in good time. Except mine.”
Lucy laughed, but sounded bitter. “Arya, if I commandeered The Grey Wind, Susan and Peter would never forgive me. I’m no more a diplomat than you are, but even I know that taking your ship would be, at best, an act of piracy. We could spend years trying to rectify such a wrong with Westeros.”
“I wasn’t actually suggesting you seize my ship. I’ll need to discuss it with Captain Seabright and the crew. We’ve just had a long crossing and my crew will want a day in the taverns and brothels here. But for the price of a good map of your waters, some provisioning, and some additional hazard pay and rum, The Grey Wind will take you to Narnia, Queen Lucy.”
Bran did ask her to find allies. And a talking raven. So, taking Queen Lucy to Narnia so that she could defend her country was, as Arya saw it, practically a royal command.
Of course, maybe, in doing this, Narnia’s enemies would become her enemies. That probably wasn't what Bran had in mind. Well, she’d deal with that later. Or, actually, she’d let the diplomats handle it. That was the sort of problem for Sansa or Tyrion to solve. Eventually.