The Iron Thorn | Theon Greyjoy

53.

Massey

It seemed to me that I wasn't on some grand ship, but instead in a shabby carriage with mismatched wheels, hitting every rock and ditch from Dorne to the Wall. On several occasions in which I forced myself to spend time in the sun, I had to grasp the railing of the ship so that I wouldn't be tossed overboard, often fighting to keep my meals down. I persisted as long as I could most days, but ultimately retired to the comfort of my cabin. The cabin Rowen had acquired for us both. That's where I'd spend the next weeks, trying to hold down my dinner and praying for faster winds.

   The days passed excruciatingly slowly within the confined stretches of the ship. There were only so many nautical knots a lady wished to learn. I had read and nearly reread Lord Rodrick's copy of Watchers on the Wall, which turned out to echo Osha's ominous warning of the Others far too closely for my comfort.

Osha. I wonder where she is. I wonder how she is.

It was a monotonous journey which I spent tending to minor wounds of the crew, wearing thin the recipe for the salve Luwin had taught me.

Luwin. I wonder how he's fairing serving the Boltons. At least Sansa has him to turn to.

A journey so slow paced and boring that I began to wish for poor weather. On the twelfth day, I got my wish, and I regretted my foolishness immediately. The storm that had found us was violent, with rain that stung as it hit your skin and waves so tall and unpredictable that they spilled into the boat from each side. If at all possible, I was so scared that my body didn't even urge me to vomit from the sheer motion of it all. I was too busy worrying for my life, it seemed. The storm lasted nearly a full day as well, going from one night well into the next. When the sky had finally broken, Rowen and I ventured out to the upper deck to see what damage the ship had taken, which turned out not to be anything too terrible.

   The two of us had grown tired of whatever meaningless conversations we could stir up after only the first few days on board. It seemed almost as if I didn't care for conversation after having gone without real companionship for so long, but I knew that wasn't true. I desperately wanted someone near, I could feel that desire lying dormant somewhere in me. It was difficult, though. Whether the time I'd spent hiding away from others struck such a blow to the ability I once had to converse with anyone that the skill was irreparable, or if the losses I'd faced hardened me so much that I feared caring for anyone else, I did not know. It was easy to avoid everyone back on Harlaw, but here on this ship for days on end, I was made to face the challenge of finding my place with others once again.

   "I don't think I've ever seen so many stars at once," I said as we stopped near the back of the ship, rain still puddling at our feet. "I mean, seeing them back home is one thing, but against the absolute darkness of the sea? It's not to be compared."

   "Yeah?" He nearly laughed. "Easy to take for granted, I guess. My mother loved the night sky. She's the one who first taught me navigation. Not just by the stars, but the sun, the moon."

   I turned my head at the mention of his mother, my eyes and lips working together to give a hesitant smile.

   "You've never told me your family name, you know," I said softly, suddenly feeling guilty upon the realization that I'd never taken the time to ask.

   "Oh, yes," he mumbled, raising his chin toward the sky and scratching the stubble that grew part of the way down his throat. "Pyke. My parents never wed before my father's death. I'm a bastard. Suppose that offends a fine lady such as yourself."

   I might have laughed at the accusation had it not stirred a longing inside of me. "Not at all. My very best friend is a Snow."

   "A Snow at the Wall?"