The Summer Sea

The sea shimmered as ten large ships sailed slowly south.

Morning light dyed the canvas gold and red. The sea breeze filled the sails, making them flap and roar.

But the sound of vomiting came from aboard.

Leon turned and saw seven or eight men sprawled on the deck, vomiting over the rail.

The veterans recruited from Oldtown had cut men down like vegetables on the battlefield. Now they lay on the deck like dead dogs.

Oswell stood nearby, laughing so hard he could not straighten up. "Seven hells! You sorry lot call yourselves soldiers? One wave could finish you off!"

One veteran raised his head, his face white as paper. He was about to swear back when he retched and vomited again.

Norman Hightower sat at the stern, holding an old sea chart and leisurely smoking his pipe. "Everyone's like this the first week. When my ancestors first went to sea, they vomited for ten whole days. Once they got used to it, they walked more steadily aboard ship than on land."

Jalabhar stood beside him, looking rather pale himself. He was an islander, but he had grown up on the islands and rarely ventured far out to sea.

"How much longer?"

Norman glanced at the sun. "A month and a half. If the monsoon holds."

Jalabhar went even paler.

The first week was sheer hell.

The ten ships bobbed up and down in the waves like ten floating coffins.

The veterans lay on the deck all day, throwing up whatever they ate until nothing came up but yellow bile.

The sellswords fared little better. They had prided themselves on being hard men, only to collapse against the rail whenever a wave struck.

The exiles from the Summer Isles, on the other hand, were steady as mountains. They had grown up by the sea, and this little wind and swell meant nothing to them. One young exiled sailor even turned somersaults on deck, mocking the "landlubbers."

"You Westerosi are good at fighting, but at sea, you're nothing but a bunch of dead fish!"

A veteran raised his head and weakly cursed back, "Just you fucking wait! Once I get ashore-!"

Before he could finish, another wave struck, and he hurriedly clung to the rail.

Rhaenys adapted very well. She had not been seasick from the very first day. She ran barefoot across the deck, chasing the little black cat, Balerion.

Whenever flying fish leaped out of the water, she pointed her little finger at the sea and shouted, "Fish! The fish flew!"

Thea smiled and nodded. "Yes, they're flying fish."

Once, a seagull landed on the rail. She watched it for a long time, then reached out to touch it. The gull flew away. She pouted and whispered, "Bird... like me... flew away."

Thea hurried to soothe her. "It's all right, it's all right. You'll go back someday."

Leon stood a short distance away, watching. The corners of his mouth moved slightly.

Arthur noticed. "Did you smile?"

Leon shook his head. "No."

Arthur said nothing more, but a trace of amusement appeared in his eyes.

By the second week, most of them had begun to adjust.

The veterans could walk steadily, the sellswords began boasting, and the sailors returned to their work.

Leon and Arthur often stood at the bow, gazing out over the endless sea and chatting now and then.

Leon drew the shortsword that had been with him for years. "When I trained at Casterly Rock at seven, my dual-sword technique..." He handed the sword to Arthur. "My brother Jaime said I was like you."

Arthur took the shortsword and twirled it. "Being like me isn't a good thing. But I noticed your talent long ago. Do you remember that business with the Kingswood Brotherhood?"

Leon nodded. "I remember. Back then, I didn't care about anything. I just stabbed people with my sword."

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. "Jaime said I was like you then, too."

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"He said my swordsmanship resembled yours. Not strength, but... precision."

Arthur fell silent for a few seconds. "Jaime had promise. A pity he took that path."

Leon did not reply.

He knew what Arthur meant. Kingslaying. Jaime had killed the king and earned a name that would be cursed forever.

"If you'd been there," Leon said, "would things have been different?"

Arthur considered it. "Perhaps. But a man chooses his own path. He chose the white cloak and chose to strike that blow. He has to bear it himself."

The sea breeze lifted Arthur's silver hair.

Leon shook his head slightly and looked out to sea.

"You don't think Jaime did anything wrong?" Arthur looked at Leon.

"What did he do wrong?"

"Killing his king. He could have left. The Mad King couldn't have stopped him."

Leon was silent for a long time.

Then he smiled. It was a faint smile, but a genuine one.

"Left? And let the Mad King ignite thousands of barrels of wildfire, burning King's Landing and hundreds of thousands of people alive?"

Arthur froze and said nothing more.

He turned to gaze at the sea, thinking of the young man he had knighted with his own hands at Harrenhal.

Oswell and Pudding Face could not sit idle, so they began organizing wagers.

They bet on everything. Whether there would be wind tomorrow, which ship the next seagull would land on, who would catch a fish first, and what they would eat that evening.

Oswell ran the bank, while Pudding Face kept the accounts.

At first, only a few veterans participated. Then the sellswords joined in, and eventually even the sailors began placing bets.

"I bet there'll be wind tomorrow." A veteran tossed down two copper stars.

"I bet there won't." Another tossed down three.

Oswell collected the copper stars and scribbled in his book. "Even odds. The house takes all."

Pudding Face rolled his eyes beside him. "You're the banker. What do you mean, 'takes all'?"

Oswell grinned. "Don't understand, do you? Taking it all is what the banker does."

Jalabhar watched for a while, then could not resist taking out a silver stag himself. "I bet... we'll see whales in three days."

Oswell's eyes lit up. "Good! That one pays high odds!"

Sitting at the stern, Norman leisurely exhaled a mouthful of smoke. "We really might see whales in three days. The pods migrate south this time of year."

Jalabhar's eyes brightened. "Really?"

Norman nodded.

Three days later, they did indeed see whales.

It was a pod of over a dozen humpbacks, sending tall spouts of water above the sea. The largest breached, its body tracing an arc through the air before crashing back into the sea with an enormous splash.

Everyone leaned against the rail, staring in amazement.

Thea lifted Rhaenys up, and the little girl pointed at the whale, shouting excitedly, "Big fish! Big fish!"

Oswell sheepishly took out ten silver stags and handed them to Jalabhar. "You're fucking lucky."

Jalabhar accepted the silver coins, grinning from ear to ear.

Pudding Face recorded it beside them and said leisurely, "The banker lost ten silver stags. Noted."

The sea was calm during the third week.

Leon gathered Arthur, Oswell, Jalabhar, and Norman to begin planning the landing at Red Flower Vale.

Norman spread out the century-old chart of the islands. It marked the water depths at the mouth of Red Flower Vale, the locations of reefs, and the harbor's layout.

"This is Red Flower Port. The water's deep enough for ten ships to dock at once. According to the records, the harbor isn't large and usually can't hold many ships, but if all ten of ours enter together, we'll certainly arouse suspicion."

Jalabhar frowned. "The harbor is much bigger now. What do we do?"

Arthur looked at Leon.

Leon took out the map he had drawn himself. "Two groups. The first three ships will enter under Jalabhar's command, ostensibly for 'the exiled prince's trade.' The other seven will wait three li offshore from the harbor, then approach quietly after dark."

Oswell nodded. "What about the soldiers in the holds?"

"They wait. Once the first ships dock, they unload normally to draw the garrison's attention. After dark, the second group docks, and all the holds open at once. Three hundred men rush out together and seize the docks, warehouses, and barracks."

Arthur added, "Speed is the key. We must seize every vital position before the rebels can react."

Jalabhar was somewhat nervous. "What if the rebels recognize me and attack immediately?"

Leon looked at him. "Then you'll have to make your performance convincing. You're there to trade, not fight. Smile, talk, slip money to the rebel leaders. Stall until dark."

Jalabhar took a deep breath and nodded. "I'll try."

Norman interjected, "Roughly how many men guard the harbor?"

Leon looked at Jalabhar.

Jalabhar thought for a moment. "One or two hundred normally. If they haven't imposed martial law."

"That's enough. Three hundred against two hundred, with surprise on our side. Our chances are very good."

Arthur was silent for a few seconds. "What about the palace? How far is it from the harbor?"

Jalabhar pointed at the map. "Five li, deep inside Red Flower Vale. There are roughly eight hundred rebels. When I escaped, they were spread across three large camps nearby."

Oswell sucked in a cold breath. "Three hundred against eight hundred?"

Leon did not panic.

He pointed to the three camps on the map. "The rebel leader could be anywhere in the central force. Once we control the harbor, Pudding Face will take a few men to scout. We'll seal it off overnight and make sure not a single rebel gets out to carry word."

One evening during the third week, Leon began to feel a change in his eyes.

His ability had grown to its third level.

At first, he could only see the colors of emotions and words. Later, he could see the images behind those words. Now he could pass through another person's mental barrier and alter those emotions and thoughts.

At the time, a veteran and a sellsword were arguing over something trivial. Both were red-faced and bristling, on the verge of coming to blows. A circle had formed around them, some egging them on and others trying to break it up.

Leon stood a short distance away, watching the two men.

He tried to focus and "touch" their emotions.

The veteran's chest held dark red anger, while the sellsword's held orange irritation.

He did not intervene directly. He merely tried gently "nudging" the veteran's anger, letting it dissipate a little.

The veteran suddenly paused. He looked down at his clenched fists, then at the sellsword trembling with rage opposite him.

"Forget it. Someone like you isn't worth getting angry over."

The sellsword froze. "You... what did you say?"

The veteran turned and walked away.

The sellsword stood there scratching his head, then left as well.

The people around them exchanged bewildered looks. A brawl had inexplicably ended.

Leon stood where he was and suddenly felt warmth in his nose.

He touched it and found his hand covered in blood.

Arthur hurried over and steadied him. "What happened?"

Leon shook his head. He was about to say he was fine when his vision went black and he collapsed.

Leon remained unconscious for two full days and nights.

Arthur stayed beside him without leaving for a moment. Thea was so anxious that her eyes reddened. Rhaenys leaned over the bedside, holding Leon's finger in her little hand and calling softly, "Leon... Leon..."

Pudding Face and Oswell took turns visiting. Even Norman came to see him.

Jalabhar paced anxiously. "What's wrong with him? Is he ill? Is he going to die?"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't know."

On the evening of the third day, Leon woke.

He opened his eyes and saw Thea's face, then the wooden boards of the cabin overhead. Rhaenys lay asleep beside him, her little hand still clutching his sleeve.

"I..." His voice was hoarse.

Thea handed him a waterskin. "Young master, you're finally awake. You were unconscious for two days and nights. This little girl stayed beside you for two days."

Leon looked down at Rhaenys. The little girl was sound asleep, her small mouth slightly open.

He drank some water and slowly sat up. "I tried it."

Thea looked at him. "Tried what?"

Leon fell silent for a few seconds. "Changing someone's thoughts."

Thea's pupils contracted slightly. "You can do that, young master?"

Leon nodded. "But the price is steep." He touched his nose, which still bore traces of dried blood. "One attempt left me like this."

Thea was silent for a long time. "Please don't use it recklessly."

Leon nodded and looked out the window. "I understand."

Beyond the window lay the azure sea, its waters dyed gold and red by the setting sun.

From that day on, Rhaenys became even more attached to Leon.

Before, she had only looked at him occasionally. Now she followed him all day. Wherever Leon went, she went too, like a tiny little tagalong.

Nothing Thea said could persuade her. "Little princess, wouldn't you rather let me hold you?"

Rhaenys shook her head and pointed at Leon. "Leon."

Thea looked helplessly at Leon.

Leon crouched down to meet Rhaenys's eyes. "You want to follow me?"

Rhaenys nodded.

"Why?"

Rhaenys thought for a moment, then said in her childish voice, "You protect me... you're nice to me."

Leon was silent for a second. "Then follow me."

From then on, Leon had a tiny shadow beside him. When he studied sea charts, she crouched nearby. When he spoke with Arthur, she sat on his lap. When he ate, she insisted on sitting beside him too, clumsily scooping up food with her own little spoon.

Once, when Leon stood at the bow, she stood behind him, her little hand clutching his clothes.

Arthur walked over and looked at the scene. "She sees you as her father...? No, that's not right. You're only ten."

Leon did not answer. He only looked down at the little girl. She was looking up at him, her black eyes full of trust.

In the fourth week, Leon tried his ability again.

This time, he used it on an old soldier.

The old soldier's name was Harold, a man of few words. He always sat alone in a corner, speaking to no one.

Leon noticed the color in his chest-a deep gray sorrow that had hardened like stone.

He found a chance to spend some time alone with Harold. "What are you thinking about?"

Harold raised his head, glanced at him, then lowered it again. "Nothing, my lord."

Leon did not press him. He simply sat quietly beside him and tried to "nudge" that mass of deep gray sorrow. Not to remove it, only to loosen it a little.

Harold suddenly spoke. "My son. Died at the Trident. Fighting for Robert."

Leon said nothing.

"Only seventeen. His mother died young. He grew up following me around army camps. He said he wanted to go to war. I told him not to, but he wouldn't listen."

Leon was silent for a few seconds. "Do you hate him?"

"Who? My son?"

"No. Robert."

Harold shook his head. "No. I hate myself. For not stopping my boy."

Leon looked at him. "What was he thinking when he died?"

Harold froze. "I... I don't know."

Leon said softly, "Maybe he was thinking, Father, you'll always be proud of me."

Tears streamed down Harold's face.

He did not sob, only shed tears in silence. But Leon saw the mass of deep gray sorrow in his chest growing lighter, little by little.

Leon stood up to leave. He had only taken two steps when he felt warmth in his nose. Blood flowed again.

He quickly covered his nose and hurried away.

This time, he did not pass out. He was only dizzy for half the day.

In the days that followed, Leon made no further attempts. He was waiting for his body to adjust, for his ability to stabilize.

In the fifth week, fog rose over the sea.

The fog was so thick it seemed impenetrable, with visibility of less than a hundred feet. The ten ships had no choice but to slow down and stay close together, keeping in contact with horns.

Everyone grew tense. Norman stood at the bow with a torch raised, staring fixedly ahead. The old sailors could not sleep either, taking turns watching the sea.

Leon stood beside him. "Is there danger?"

Norman shook his head. "No, but we're worried about going off course. There are a lot of reefs in these waters. If we can't see them, we'll be in trouble."

Leon said nothing. He only closed his eyes.

Those reefs, those enormous dark shapes hidden beneath the surface, flashed with lines of text-their depths and positions clearly displayed.

He opened his eyes. "Turn fifteen degrees to port."

Norman froze. "What?"

"Fifteen degrees to port. There's a reef three hundred feet ahead."

Norman stared at him, then looked at the white expanse of fog ahead and gritted his teeth. "Fifteen degrees to port!"

The helmsman turned the wheel, and the ship slowly changed course.

An incense stick's worth of time later, the fog thinned a little.

Everyone saw what lay to starboard. Less than two hundred feet away, a stretch of jagged reef jutted above the water.

Norman drew a sharp breath. "My lord... how did you know?"

Leon said nothing. He simply turned and walked back to the cabin.

Behind him, everyone's gaze rested on him. There was shock, awe, and a trace of fear.

That night, Rhaenys curled up beside him, her little hand gripping his sleeve tightly.

"Leon," she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I'm scared."

Leon was silent for a second. "Of what?"

"The fog."

Leon reached out and gently stroked her head. "Don't be scared. I'm here."

Rhaenys nodded and closed her eyes, soon falling asleep.

On a morning two months later, the fleet finally sighted land.

A long, narrow coastline gleamed red and gold in the morning light.

In the distance, a palace stood alone on high ground. Houses built of goldenheart wood and stone were scattered around it, their roofs covered in palm leaves or colorful feathers, vivid with color. Beside the river valley, terraced houses climbed the mountainside.

Red Flower Vale.

Jalabhar stood at the bow, trembling all over. The exiled islanders knelt on the deck, bowing their foreheads toward it.

"A year." Jalabhar's voice was hoarse. "It's been a year..."

Leon stood beside him without speaking. He only looked down at the island map in his hands.

Beside him, Rhaenys stared wide-eyed at the unfamiliar land with curiosity.

"Leon." She pointed at the shore. "What's that?"

"Home. Jalabhar's home."

Rhaenys tilted her head, only half understanding.

Arthur walked up beside him. "We're here."

Leon took a deep breath. "Yes. Let's begin."