Chapter Text
I watched them walking down the quay towards my ship, the Petrel. It was supposed to be the family seeing her off but to me it looked more like “Prisoner and Escort”. The rest of Arya Starks siblings, legitimate or not, coming to see her on her way into exile because they couldn’t go to sleep at night with not knowing in whose body she might be lurking round the building planning her next revenge. At first I’d discounted as ale house tattle the stories of her being able to change into the form of another person, but it has been her elder sister Sansa who had confirmed this while paying me for my boat and crew. “My sister” she’d said with a slightly nervous look “has certain attributes that might be surprising”. So officially Arya Stark was “Restless” and wanted to “See what’s beyond the West”, but in reality she was being removed from an environment in which it was too easy to see chaos, death and destruction following in her footsteps.
Well they came to see me off, it was the least they could do and I suppose I should have been grateful they bothered. I wasn’t, I’d got back to my family without their help, killed the bigger of the two threats to them in the shape of the Ice King. I would have killed Cersei if the stupid Dragon woman hadn’t gone kill crazy and I wouldn’t have raised half of King’s landing and killed hundreds of innocent people on the way. People despise assassins and praise warriors, in my eye we’re both just killers, but assassins are a lot more selective. As a reward I’d been offered the ‘opportunity’ to do anything I liked as long it was well away from Westeros; so they didn’t need to continue to have to worry about ‘what Arya will do next’.
When I was approached to assemble this crew, I’d had wondered why they all had to be older men, single or widowed, like me. Why we were all to be paid handsomely in advance what amounted to a good years earnings and why there was to be no cargo on a cargo ship. Food and water, nothing but food and water had been when the penny dropped, we were going away and we were not expected to come back. In fact we were not meant to come back. We were going to sail into the sunset, literally, and just keep going. We were going to find some sort of fabled imaginary Western continent or we were going to die of scurvy or starvation if we didn’t. Finally and most telling had been Sansa’s observation that “If you were to find somewhere, we don’t really want to know about it. Westeros has enough problems without the arrival of the forces of a foreign empire. Just settle down there and enjoy yourselves”. So fourteen men plus myself, no idiots, they’d all sailed with me before, we’d all passed our pay straight onto our surviving children, said our goodbyes and were ready to go.
The boat in front of me was frankly, small, one mast, one simple square sail. I’d also been told by several people the crew were the scrapings of the dockside taverns, a collection of crocked old men who no one would miss and whose chances of survival were minimal in bad weather even before we’d reached Oldtown and set off on the real voyage.
She came down the gangplank quite nimbly, jumped down to the deck and walked up to me with an open face and what looked like an honest smile. “Pleased to meet you Captain, I’m Arya Stark.” She was small, not just short, but slim, barely more than a young cabin boy, only the baby smooth cheeks really gave away the fact she was female. He’d heard her called horse-faced, but that seemed unkind; I fancied if she smiled she might look almost pleasing. She’d dressed fairly sensibly mostly in leather and breeches, but she carried a slim rapier down her right side and had nothing on her head. Well they were two things that could be quickly remedied.
We’ll skip the hugs and kisses; I thought about leaping straight onto the deck from the dockside, then thought ‘why bother’ and walked down the plank provided. There was a man clearly waiting for me, tall average build, nondescript clothing apart from a red woollen felted hat, plenty of grey hair including the apparently obligatory face full of whiskers. I suppose shaving on a moving ship isn’t easy but you’d think when they got onto dry land they could try and make themselves look more like a human being and less like a wildling.
Well formalities first; “Good day M’lady”; I bent just far enough forward that you could call it a bow, without ever going far enough that someone might think I was seriously deferential. Firstly it was my ship, secondly I was getting old and rheumatism meant if I bent too far I might not straighten up again.
“My names Arya Captain, I’ve never been much of a lady and I don’t see I’ll need to start on your ship.” I thrust out a hand and when he clasped my arm made sure he felt a firm grip. I wanted him to realise early that I wasn’t a little girl he could treat how he pleased.
Well if they were going to Hell at least it appeared they’d do it in a companionable manner. “Well its Marcus Stanson then Arya, but as Master of this vessel I’m referred to ask ‘Skipper’ while we’re on board. Captain is for important people who don’t stand a watch and have servants and we have none of those luxuries here”.
Captain, skipper, he can call himself what he likes, I thought.
I looked forward, “Cast off then Haerd” and turned to the man behind me at the tiller bar. “Helm to port”. The first mates whistle sounded from the deck and with a crack the canvas fell from the yard and was hauled in getting the ship under way.
He turned away from me and started issuing orders and the sail was filling with wind and pushing us into the estuary. “Are you in a hurry - Captain”, I stressed the last word to see if he’d rise to the bait.
“Yes, the tides turning and if we don’t get out of port in the next hour we might as well stay the night, for we’ll just end up in the river with just enough wind to balance the tide and us actually going nowhere”. I was tempted to add “And I was told we should get under way sharply”, but I thought why bother, she knows what’s going on. I could see it written on her face as she stared back at the quay, where her family were waving with perhaps just a little too much enthusiasm.
No he didn’t react so I looked back as King’s Landing started to recede and there they all were waving, like I was on a day’s outing.
“So at this point I usually make some sort of bad joke about ‘All aboard the skylark for a trip round the bay’, but I have to be honest even I’m struggling to see the funny side of this voyage”.
I looked at him, paused and deliberately smiled, “Oh come on skipper, you have no idea what excitement we might have and how much you might enjoy it”. If he wanted to play comedian with me he was going to get a big surprise, some of my jokes hurt.
Well there’s nothing like an enthusiast, the question was, was it real or was I getting the false face of someone not wanting to admit she’d been turned out by her family and sent off to die. “Now let me show you to your cabin and we can lose that bodkin you’re carrying before it hurts someone, probably you”.
I turned sharply to face him, “You are the master of this vessel, you are not the master of me” and turned away again just as the Petrel hit the first serious wave and pitched. I shifted my balance it wasn’t hard, but I didn’t expect a swinging scabbard to flick between my legs nearly putting me on the floor. I had to grab the side of the ship to keep my feet.
“As I said Arya, that sword will get you hurt. You’ve no need for anything other than a good working knife on this ship, so do yourself a favour and leave it in your cabin until we reach dry land again. Your cabin’s this door here”.
My first reaction was to snap back at him, but what was the point; all right one to him, there’d be other times. He was pointing at a door so I got a firm hold of Needle and walked towards it.