The morning mist over Lannisport was sliced into strands of golden gauze by the rising sun.
At the western docks, the sails of the Laughter and her two escorts, the Stone Lion and the Glory, were already half-raised, snapping in the sea breeze.
Leon stood beside the gangplank. His luggage was simple:
A few changes of clothes, Thea's dagger carefully wrapped in oilcloth, Tyrion's "experiment kit," and a sealed parchment tube Maester Loomis had pressed into his hands the night before departure, containing forbidden accounts of Valyrian bloodlines.
Tyrion stood beside him, looking up at the towering hull, his face green. "I hate ships."
"It's a long voyage this time. You'll get used to it," Leon said.
Melon, Alyn, and Rosso boarded one after another.
Ser Crakehall and his wife and the Banefort patriarch stood on the dock giving their sons instructions, while Ser Damon of House Marbrand spoke quietly with Rosso.
He also glanced at Leon.
Leon's Eye of Insight caught fragments such as "Thea returns" and "protect."
A horn sounded from the eastern gate. Tywin's overland party had set out.
Leon spotted Jaime in the distance, waving from his white warhorse.
Cersei leaned out of the carriage window, gave him a look of mixed feelings, then drew the curtain.
Dear Lord Tywin did not look back.
"All aboard!" Gerion called.
The gangplank was hauled up and the mooring lines cast off.
The Laughter's mainsail rose fully. The sea breeze filled the canvas, and the ship slowly left the dock, turning south.
Leon stood at the stern, watching Lannisport shrink and the western tower where he had lived for seven years gradually disappear from the sea's horizon.
The mountains of the Westerlands resembled slumbering golden beasts in the morning mist.
The ships sailed smoothly for half a day.
Then a shout came from the lookout. "Off the starboard bow! A small ship! Flying House Marbrand's burning tree!"
Everyone froze. Gerion strode to the rail.
A nimble single-masted sailboat came cutting through the waves like an arrow, its sail full. The flag at its bow bore a burning dead tree against a red and yellow field.
"Slow down. Let them come alongside."
The two ships drew closer. Lines were thrown and a boarding plank laid across.
A figure was the first to cross the plank, landing steadily on the Laughter's deck.
The sea breeze stirred her long dark brown hair, pressing it against cheeks tanned wheat-brown by the sun.
Her gray-brown eyes were bright and keen, surveying like a hawk's. She wore silver knight's plate armor, with signs of wear at the joints.
A burning tree emblem was inlaid on her breastplate, and the grip of the longsword at her waist had been darkened by sweat.
Thea Marbrand.
There was no trace of illness on her face now, only the dust of a long journey and a resolve thoroughly tempered.
Her gaze lingered on Rosso's face for a moment. She nodded, then fixed her eyes on Leon.
She approached Leon and dropped to one knee.
Her plate armor struck the planks with a heavy thud.
"Young master Leon," she said, her voice quiet but clear and strong, with a slight rasp. "I finally caught up."
The deck fell silent.
Leon looked at her. The sight of her lying in a pool of blood six months ago remained vivid in his mind.
"Thea... why are you dressed like this? Your wounds..."
"Completely healed."
Thea answered before he could finish, looking Leon straight in the eyes. "For two months, I relearned my old skills in Ashemark's training yard. The pain reminded me why I wielded a sword."
She paused, every word heavy. "I swore an oath before my late husband and in my family's sept:
"You won my life back. From this day forward, it is your shield and your sword. Any shadow that means to touch you must get past me first."
Brief. Direct. A declaration.
Leon gazed at her.
Her presence was entirely different. This was not merely recovery, but a complete transformation. Her grave injuries had forged her into an unsheathed sword, focused and keen, serving a single purpose.
"The road ahead is dangerous, Thea. King's Landing is full of smiling blades."
"Then that is exactly what all my training was for," she answered without hesitation. "I do not fear shadows, only that my sword will not be fast enough. Please let me stand at your side and fulfill my oath."
And within Thea's heart, Leon saw a mass of red hatred as well...
It was a hatred that demanded the death of every last Ironborn...
Leon was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Welcome aboard, Thea Marbrand. I accept your sword and your oath."
Thea rose joyfully and stepped half a pace behind Leon's flank, taking the proper position of a bodyguard.
Rosso approached. "Aunt Thea, did Uncle really agree..."
"Cousin Damon gave his approval."
Thea turned to her nephew, her expression softening slightly. "He said House Marbrand remembered kindness and respected the path I chose for myself."
She looked at Gerion. "My lord, I need a berth close to young master Leon and permission to stand watch on deck."
Gerion grinned, appreciation in his eyes. "Of course. Welcome aboard, the Laughter's lady... knight."
The sails filled again as they headed south.
The first night, the sea was calm.
Leon and Tyrion had adjoining cabins. Thea's hammock hung in the passage outside Leon's door.
Rosso, Melon, and Alyn were on the other side.
Maester Loomis's cabin was on the lower deck.
Late that night, waves lapped gently against the hull, and the wood creaked.
Leon had not yet gone to sleep. His Eye of Insight operated at low intensity, monitoring his surroundings:
The rhythm of the currents, Tyrion's steady breathing next door, the faint sound of Thea shifting her position in the passage. She was on watch.
Before long, he heard something else.
An extremely faint scraping came through the ventilation duct above his cabin door. Someone was outside, more than one person. Their footsteps were very light, their breathing deliberately suppressed, but they were not Thea.
Leon opened his eyes and sat up in the darkness.
Two adult men, wearing soft-soled leather shoes and coordinating their movements. One was near the vent, the other keeping watch at the bend in the passage. Their movements were professional. They were neither sailors nor ordinary guards.
Their purpose... was probably to sneak in and search.
They had bypassed Thea and knew the ship's layout. They might have help on the inside.
Leon slipped silently out of bed, walked barefoot to the bulkhead adjoining Tyrion's cabin, and tapped softly three times.
A few seconds later, two taps came back through the wall: understood.
Leon took a small cloth packet from his luggage. It was one of Tyrion's "experiments," mixed powder wrapped in oiled paper.
Finely ground chili, powdered itching grass, and a small pinch of improved, stabilized gunpowder granules. It had originally been a "self-defense toy."
He eased the cabin door open a crack. The passage was dim, with only a distant lantern swaying.
Thea's hammock was at the other end. She seemed to be asleep... but Leon saw that her hand rested on her sword hilt, her eyes open a sliver in the shadows.
She was waiting too.
Leon slid the cloth packet through the gap onto the floor outside, directly in front of the doorway, then returned to his bed and pretended to sleep.
The vent grille was removed with extreme slowness.
A dark figure slipped down like a cat, landing without a sound. He paused in the shadows inside the door and listened, confirming that Leon was breathing steadily, "fast asleep."
The shadow began to search.
He went through the luggage first, his movements quick and professional. He returned each item to its original place after inspecting it, leaving almost no trace. Beneath the bed, the storage compartments in the bulkhead...
He touched the sealed parchment tube, the account of Valyrian bloodlines Loomis had given Leon.
The shadow's hand paused briefly. He picked up the tube and examined its wax seal in the faint light from outside the door.
Leon sensed his breathing quicken with suppressed excitement.
Just then, an extremely faint rustling came from the passage, like a rat scurrying past.
Tyrion's signal.
The shadow grew alert, stuffed the tube back into the luggage, and prepared to withdraw. As he turned, his foot landed squarely on the cloth packet beside the door.
Poof. The packet burst underfoot, sending powder billowing up.
The shadow instinctively held his breath and stepped back, but it was too late. Chili powder and powdered itching grass had entered his nose and mouth.
"Cough-!" A choking cough escaped after being suppressed for so long.
Almost simultaneously, Tyrion rushed out of the cabin opposite with a small earthenware jar in his hand and hurled it at the passage floor with all his strength.
Crash! The jar shattered.
Inside was more of the mixed powder, along with flint and tinder. The impact struck sparks.
There was no explosion, but the sparks ignited the powder, producing a dazzling flash and thick smoke that instantly filled the entire passage!
"Fire?!" the accomplice on lookout cried.
Covering his nose and mouth, tears and snot streaming down his face, the shadow stumbled out of the cabin.
Thea had already leaped from her hammock, her longsword drawn, but the smoke was too thick. All she could do was shout, "Stop!"
The two shadows charged desperately toward the deck, their footsteps frantic.
In the smoke, Thea did not pursue. She swiftly retreated to Leon's cabin door, sword ready, blocking the opening with her body.
Hurried footsteps came from the stairs.
Gerion rushed down with several sailors, their lanterns illuminating the rolling smoke. "What happened?!"
Leon emerged from his cabin, rubbing his eyes, looking bewildered at being woken by the commotion.
Thea held her sword, her face livid. "Intruders. At least two. They came down through the ventilation duct. I heard movement overhead, but I couldn't intercept them in time."
Gerion's eyes sharpened. His gaze swept over Leon and Tyrion, then moved to Thea.
"You two," Gerion told the twins, "an extra lock outside your cabins. Thea, move your hammock into Leon's cabin. Rosso, switch cabins with Tyrion.
"I need someone who can fight guarding that side."
He looked around at everyone, his voice deepening. "It seems we have a few... uninvited 'friends' aboard, besides sailors and passengers. And they're very professional."
Gerion Lannister still wore that smile of his, as though nothing mattered.
But Leon saw the mass of light inside Gerion's chest...
At that moment, its edges were trembling irregularly, and tiny dark red cracks were spreading outward from its center.
Anger. Suppressed anger he did not wish anyone to see.
"Thea." Gerion beckoned as he headed below deck, his voice as flippant as ever. "Come with me. Everyone else, get back to whatever you should be doing."
Tyrion tried to follow, but Gerion poked him in the forehead. "Imp, your job is to make sure no more rats crawl out of that ventilation duct." He paused, unusually serious. "And keep an eye on your brother."
Rubbing his forehead, Tyrion retreated, grumbling curses.
Leon stood by the rail, quietly extending his perception to its limit.
The sailors' quarters, in the lowest part of the ship.
More than twenty bunks were crammed into a sweltering space of less than ten square meters. Sweat, tobacco, and moldy wool blankets mingled into a thick air peculiar to the lowest deck.
Gerion stood in the middle of the cabin. He did not sit.
He would not sit here.
Lannister blood could flow on battlefields, in taverns, even in brothels, but they could not sit on the same bench as lowly sailors.
It was a rule Tywin Lannister had never spoken aloud, yet every Lannister had engraved in their bones.
"Everyone." Gerion's voice was quiet, but it drove into every ear like a nail. "Those on watch tonight, step forward."
Four sailors stepped out.
Three young men and an older sailor in his forties, with a graying full beard and palms covered in calluses.
"Who was near the passage tonight?"
Silence.
The older sailor stepped forward. "My lord, I had the aft port watch, from eleven until three."
"See anything?"
"Nothing at all, my lord."
Gerion stared at him. The old sailor did not look away. His back was straight, his gaze steady.
Gerion suddenly smiled.
"Good," he said. "Then tell me. While you were on watch, that lantern at the bend in the passage... was the crack in the left side of its cover horizontal or vertical?"
The old sailor froze. His lips moved, his throat bobbed, and his gaze began to wander.
"...Horizontal, my lord?"
Gerion's smile vanished.
"It's vertical," he said. "I noticed it the first day I boarded. I never had anyone repair it, because that crack is only visible from a spot three inches directly beneath the lamp."
He watched the blood drain swiftly from the old sailor's face.
"You weren't at your post at all."
The cabin was as silent as a tomb.
The old sailor's knees gave way, and he fell to the floor. He offered no defense, his head bowed and his shoulders shaking violently.
Gerion crouched to meet his eyes. "Who sent you?" His voice was very soft, as though asking what was for supper.
The old sailor shook his head desperately. "My lord, I can't say. They'll kill my family."
"I don't kill your family," Gerion interrupted. "Lannisters pay. They don't silence their hirelings. That's the rule between Casterly Rock and its hired hands."
He paused. "Provided you're useful to me."
Tears spilled from the old sailor's eyes, dripping down his graying beard onto the filthy deck. "Three weeks ago... in Lannisport, at the Saltwater Cod Tavern..."
His voice broke. "There was a man in a gray robe. He gave me five gold dragons to hide this aboard. Once the ship sailed, he'd have someone come collect it..."
He pulled a small oilcloth packet from inside his clothing.
Gerion took it. Inside was a palm-sized dragon emblem carved from obsidian.
The workmanship was crude, but two tiny dark red gemstones were set into the dragon's eyes.
Thea's breath caught noticeably. "A dragon emblem in the Valyrian style," she said softly. "This isn't Westerosi craftsmanship."
"Who told you to hide it?" Gerion closed his fist around the emblem. "That man in the gray robe-what did he look like?"
"I couldn't see clearly... his hood covered his face... he had a strange accent, like someone from overseas..." The old sailor knelt prostrate on the floor, his forehead pressed against the cold planks. "My lord, that's truly all I know..."
Gerion was silent for a moment. "Tonight, you saved your own life, and your family's."
Then he stood and tucked the dragon emblem inside his clothes.
By the time Gerion called Leon and Tyrion back into the captain's cabin, dusk had gathered outside the window.
The dragon emblem lay on the chart table, reflecting a muted gleam in the candlelight, the two rubies in its eyes like congealed blood.
Tyrion leaned closer, those two scarlet points reflected in his mismatched eyes.
"A dragon emblem in the Valyrian style," he said, his fingers hovering an inch above it without touching.
"But it's an imitation. Real Valyrian steel doesn't have this pattern, and the rubies were cut in the Lysene style."
Gerion raised an eyebrow. "You know about gem cutting, too?"
"Maester Loomis taught me."
Tyrion shrugged. "He said learning to tell real jewels from fakes was a required lesson for nobles, so merchants from the Free Cities wouldn't fleece us."
Gerion gave a rare smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Early the next morning, Gerion called Leon and Tyrion into the captain's cabin. A chart lay spread across the table, sunlight streaming through the porthole. Gerion wasted no time.
"What happened last night wasn't a coincidence." He pointed at the chart. "Someone has their eye on us. Or, more precisely, on you."
Tyrion frowned. "Because of us?"
Gerion lowered his voice. "Because of... the increasingly mad obsessions of that king in King's Landing."
He paused. "King Aerys is obsessed with two things:
First, restoring House Targaryen's absolute rule.
Second, finding Dragon Eggs and awakening dragons.
He's nearly gone mad over the second. He's offered enormous rewards in gold dragons and promised titles. There are several 'Dragon Eggs' piled up in the Red Keep, all lifeless stones, but he won't give up."
Gerion looked at Leon.
"He's also searching for... anyone and anything that might be connected to dragons or the ancient blood of Valyria. Maesters have been forced to study ancient texts, sorcerers and alchemists have been summoned to court, and there are even rumors that he's secretly performing blood sacrifices."
He tapped his fingers on the table. "Your father took a dangerous gamble by sending you to King's Landing. When Aerys sees Leon's eyes, he's certain to think of Lady Joanna and those rumors about bloodlines.
He'll test you, probe you, and want to know... whether this 'purple miracle' holds the secret to awakening flame."
Leon said nothing. He remembered Loomis's warning and his mother's dying delirium.
"Then why are we still going?" Tyrion asked.
"Because not going would be even more dangerous."
Gerion said, "Rejecting the king's 'interest' would be as good as admitting we had something to hide. My elder brother chose to let this meeting happen so he could face the risk within controlled bounds. And..."
His expression grew complicated. "Lord Mace of Highgarden is interested in you, too. Especially Leon. A 'beautiful collector's piece rarely seen in the Seven Kingdoms' might become a bargaining chip in their negotiations with the royal family, or even the Westerlands."
Tyrion swore. "So someone's already watching us out at sea."
Leon said, "Those infiltrators might have been the king's men, or they might have belonged to other forces that want to know exactly what secrets we're carrying."
"That's right." Gerion nodded and stood. "Remember, boys. From the moment you stepped out of Casterly Rock, you were already on the board. Now the pieces must learn to watch the board as they move."
The Joy continued south.
The waves traced white trails along either side of the hull, like a road leading into the unknown.
And ahead of them lay the roses and thorns of Highgarden.
And, at the very end, the Iron Throne of King's Landing and a pair of mad purple eyes.