The Last Sand Snake of Dorne (Game of Thrones Fanfic)

Chapter 2: The Spearman of Braavos

Sweet Lady was a great hulking cog, almost a misshapen giant that blocked the night's starry sky. She was docked along with the other ships along the harbor of the Sea of Dorne, dwarfing them by her vastness. She was a trading ship, traveling from Qarth to Westeros, across the Summer Isles and as far as Dragonstone and Lannisport to Winterfell.

Lord Merrys had to disguise himself as a ruddy knight, taking down his coat and arms off along with Gwyen's fine clothes. She wore dark breeches and an old brown sleeveless doublet, a cowl hiding her face and features. She was Brandy Brian's, Lord Merrys had named himself, squire, but she still had problems calling him Lord or plain Ser. She had agreed that she would keep her name as it was.

"You have to be brave. As all of us had been," her aunt told her. And she gave her the spearhead. "It belonged to your other aunt, Obara Sand, the most hard-headed sand snake I've ever knew. Use it well." The spearhead was inlaid with two silver snakes entertwined to meet in the middle of the rib, one half of the head black as night and the other silver, sharp but surprisingly light. "Dragonglass and Valyrian steel," she realized.

It was as long as her arm, and she let the smith bind the socket with leather and wood. It was strapped at her back, but Merrys armed her with two more daggers in each of her boot. Throwing daggers had always been her favorite past time shared with her mother's castellan, Ser Perros Blackmont. Her heart clenched itself painfully as she stepped into Sweet Lady, the lanterns that lit up the Water Gardens flickering dimly through the blood orange trees. Lord Merrys, or Brandy Brian, nodded at a man on deck, who hurried down and brought more men with him. They hauled two great chests up on the cog and Gwyen looked at them with remorse, the clothes she had to sell when she had to. Her hand crept to the little piece of obsidian at her neck, Princess Arianne's last gift. It felt cold and hot at the same time, its smooth sides reassuring against her skin.

"Come along," Rhoy called in a low voice, dragging her gently beside him as they walked up unto the trading ship. She glanced at the Water Garden's lanterns for the last time, and let herself be pulled.

The salty air and the moving deck wasn't a problem for Gwyen; she was told to be born in a cabin of a ship. She loved the sea, and the storms that had sometimes bent too low to kiss the waves. She liked the air, that sometimes it would toss and play with her hair.

Rhoy had a shortsword strapped on his hip, a leaf-shaped blade sharp enougn to cut meat. Rhoy wore it all the same. He sidled up to her as the captain of the Lady commanded that she take sail, looking at the same direction as she did. Brandy Brian was nowhere to be seen, but they could hear his voice over the rushing water, helping the other sailors unfurl the thick dark sails of Sweet Lady. Gwyen knew each sailor was of her mother and House Qorgyle's own swornswords and bannermen: twins Genandre and Gennite moved side by side as they secured the ropes on the starboard, thin Mycrorey handled the underground oars, and her uncle, the young Jimheon Martell as first mate under the captain, the lord himself of Yronwood, Lord Seandry.

He gave her the captain's quarters, to her delight. "To see you safe and sound is enough for us, m'lady," he told her as he loaded her belongings in the cabin himself.

Dinner on Sweet Lady was not meager for a normal trading crew: rabbit basked in honey and baked persimmons, dog swam in gravy with slabs of beef curried into sweet potatoes, a soup with a slightly warm spicy smell Gwyen couldn't name, trout freshly salted from Riverrun and lemon cakes were washed down with red Arbor wine. As appetizing as they could be, Gwyen felt her stomach roil around each bite of each course. The glances they were giving her were almost pitiful, filled with remorse, and one had looked so fiercely at her that she had almost dropped her wine cup. They know, she told herself as she accepted another piece of honeyed rabbit. And they are trying to help me.

Soon as the cook and his boys had taken the dishes and tables away, the one who looked at Gwyen fiercely, stood up, and then went tap tap tap on the deck. Gwyen looked to see that his boots were tipped with copper at the toes, and noticed for the first time that he was not a face she recognized.

"Tyr Satarys," he called out loudly, his wine cup disappearing from his hand and soon held a six foot spear. Tap tap, went the spear along with his copper toes. Brandy Brian and everyone else took their places alongside the edges, leaving the whole deck for Tyr, banging with his spear. A braavosi, she realized. He spun the thin wood above his head so quickly and jammed the butt loudly on the deck once more, his eyes looking at her, gazing and wise. He turned his heel again. "Tyr Satarys I am named, from the bastard son of Valyria..."

"Braavos," they said together. For the first time, Tyr smiled a genuine smile that melted all Gwyen's fears away. Gwyen had studied about Braavos, one of the nine free cities of Essos. And so she had also heard about Water dancing. But Tyr had a spear in his hand. Braavos was renowned for swordfighting, not spears.

"Tyr Satarys," he said again. "I first who danced on water with a spear. I first Bravo who knows the Spear Dance," he said in the common tongue then in high valyrian, which Gwyen had also enjoyed studying. "And you," he wheeled the blade of the spear in her direction, "the first apprentice of the Tyr Satarys, the Spear Dancer."

Brandy Brian smiled at her encouragingly. "He is the best we've found, Gwyen. There is no better teacher."

Tyr nodded, and whirled the spear above his head, twisted his body around and caught the spear before it embedded itself on the wood of the deck. He grinned and skipped around, his boots singing tap tap tappity tap as he whirled his spear around his head, above and throwing it in the air without impaling himself.

Then this time, he suddenly hurled the spear towards her. Her hand droppdd the cup, the small thunk drowned by the sound of her boots slamming themselves to curve her body in a small arc as she grasped the spear on its shaft and bring it, quivering, deep in the wood.

She breathed, the elated feeling running up and down her chest. Tyr smiled at her as the crew clapped and cheered at her new achievement. Her new teacher approached her and she saw that he had the same eyes as hers: hazel brown speckled with gold.

"I teach you more," he promised her.