A Life in Westeros Ch.13 - P1 [Game of Thrones] (Patreon)

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A Life in Westeros

Chapter 13 - Part 1

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The Narrow Sea was never kind, but this crossing felt personal.

Adian stood near the prow of the sleek Braavosi smuggling skiff, his cloak pulled tight against the constant salt spray that whipped across the deck. The vessel was fast and low-slung, built for slipping through dangerous waters rather than fighting them. Its hull was painted a deep black that blended with the night, the sails dyed the same dull shade to avoid catching moonlight. But speed had its drawbacks. They were cutting through the waves hard, and that kind of haste left a wake others could follow.

Three days out from the Neck, the air still carried the faint stink of the bogs behind them. Adian kept his eyes on the horizon, one hand resting on the rail. He felt sharp and focused, feeling the steady roll of the sea beneath his boots.

Then the lookout’s voice cracked through the wind like a whip.

“Ships astern! Three of them—low sails, pirate colors!”

Adian’s jaw tightened. He had expected trouble on this route, but not this soon and not in these numbers. He turned sharply and moved down the deck, boots thudding on the wet planks. His voice stayed calm but carried clear over the rush of water and creak of rigging.

“Arm up! Archers to the rails, now. Spearmen ready on the starboard side. No panic. We’ve done this before.”

The twelve-man crew sprang into action with the grim efficiency of men who had run these routes many times. Half were crannogmen—small, wiry fighters who knew how to move quiet and strike hard. The other half were Braavosi hires, lean and scarred, used to knives in the dark. They grabbed bows, spears, and short swords without wasting breath on questions.

Adian snatched up a round shield and his sword, testing the edge with his thumb. It was sharp enough to shave with. He glanced back. The lead pirate ship was gaining fast—an ugly, heavy bastard with a reinforced ram at the prow and tattered red sails that looked like they’d been through a dozen raids. The other two were spreading out wider, trying to flank and trap them against the wind.

“Captain,” Adian called, voice steady. “Hold course straight for now. Let them think we’re running scared. Don’t give them an easy angle.”

The captain, a grizzled Braavosi with a missing ear, nodded once and barked orders to the helmsman. The skiff surged forward, cutting through the choppy waves. Behind them, the pirates closed the distance with ugly determination.

The first volley of arrows came whistling out of the darkness. Most flew high or splashed into the sea, but one punched into the deck just inches from Adian’s boot, quivering there like an accusation. He didn’t flinch. Instead he raised his shield and signaled the archers with a sharp gesture.

“Return fire! Aim for their sail handlers and the men on the ropes. Make them pay for every foot they gain!”

His archers loosed a disciplined volley. The crannogmen were especially deadly with short recurved bows, their arrows flying flat and fast. Screams echoed across the water as a few pirate crewmen dropped from the rigging. One sail started to sag as ropes were cut.

But the lead ship kept coming, its ram cutting through the waves like a knife. The pirates were close enough now that Adian could make out their faces—dirty, snarling men with wild beards and eyes hungry for easy prey. They smelled of piss, cheap rum, and weeks without washing.

“Grappling hooks!” one of Adian’s men shouted.

Hooks flew through the air, trailing ropes. Most missed or were cut away by quick sword work, but three caught solid on the skiff’s rail. The pirates roared and started hauling themselves across, cutlasses and axes clenched in their teeth.

“Push them back!” Adian roared, charging forward.

The fight turned ugly in seconds.

The first pirate to swing across was a big brute with a jagged scar across his cheek. He landed heavily on the deck, axe swinging in a wide arc. Adian met him head-on, shield raised. The axe thudded into the wood with a loud crack, splintering the edge. Adian twisted inside the swing, drove his sword up under the man’s ribs, and twisted hard. Hot blood sprayed across his arm as the pirate gasped and crumpled.

Two more pirates jumped across right behind him. One went straight for Adian, cutlass flashing. Their blades rang together sharply, steel scraping steel. The pirate was stronger, swinging wildly with brute force. Adian parried twice, then stepped in close and slammed his shield boss into the man’s face. Cartilage crunched. As the pirate staggered, Adian kicked his knee out and drove his sword through the man’s throat.

“Keep the rails clear!” he shouted to his crew. “Don’t let them get a foothold!”

All around him the deck had become chaos. A crannogman speared a pirate through the gut and shoved the body overboard. A Braavosi hire was trading furious blows with another raider, both men slipping on blood-slick planks. Arrows still flew from both ships, one catching a crewman in the shoulder with a wet thunk. The man screamed but kept fighting.

Adian spun toward a new threat. A pirate with a wild black beard had just hacked through a defender and was charging him with a boarding axe. Adian caught the heavy blow on his shield, the impact jarring his arm. He countered with a low slash that opened the man’s thigh. Blood poured down the pirate’s leg. Before he could recover, Adian smashed his shield into the side of his head and finished him with a thrust to the chest.

“More coming!” the captain yelled.

Another wave of pirates surged across the ropes. Adian grabbed a fallen spear and hurled it hard, catching one man in the shoulder and knocking him into the sea. He met the next boarder with raw efficiency—parry, step, elbow to the jaw, then a brutal sword thrust through the belly. The man folded with a gurgling cry.

The deck was now a mess of blood, broken wood, and dying men. The smell of salt mixed with the coppery tang of fresh blood and the sour reek of fear-sweat. Adian’s breath came hard as he fought.

A pirate with a notched cutlass lunged at him from the side. Adian batted the blade aside, but the man was fast. In the chaos, Adian didn’t see the second attacker coming from behind. A rusted axe swung low and caught him across the left shoulder, slicing through cloak, tunic, and flesh in a burning line. Pain flared hot and sharp. Blood soaked his side instantly.

“Fuck,” Adian hissed through clenched teeth. He spun, ignoring the fire in his shoulder, and rammed his sword into the first pirate’s gut. The second man tried to swing again, but Adian was already moving—shield smashing into the attacker’s face, followed by a vicious downward chop that nearly took the man’s arm off.

“Cut those ropes!” he barked at two nearby crewmen, voice raw with pain and fury. “We’re not taking passengers today!”

One of the crannogmen darted forward with a hatchet, chopping frantically at the taut grappling lines. Two hooks fell away, sending four screaming pirates splashing into the cold sea. But the third line held for a moment longer as more attackers poured across.

Adian charged the last cluster of boarders, blood streaming down his arm. A lean pirate with braided hair lunged at him  lunged at him. Adian parried, stepped inside, and drove his elbow into the man’s throat. As the pirate gagged, Adian shoved him backward into two of his comrades, sending all three crashing to the deck in a tangle of limbs.

“Push them back!” Adian roared, his voice raw with effort and fury.

The remaining grappling ropes creaked under the weight of fresh attackers pouring across from the lead pirate ship. These men were bigger, meaner, clearly the veterans who had been held back for the kill. They came with wild shouts and the stink of rum on their breath, cutlasses and axes flashing in the weak moonlight.

Adian planted his boots on the blood-slick deck and met them head-on. A burly pirate with a missing eye swung a heavy boarding axe in a wide, chopping arc. Adian raised his shield just in time. The impact jarred his entire arm and sent fresh pain shooting through his shoulder from the earlier cut. Wood splintered. He staggered a half-step but held.

“Captain, keep us moving!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Don’t let them turn us broadside!”

The captain bellowed orders to the helmsman. The skiff surged forward again, ropes straining as the pirates tried to drag the two vessels together.

Adian twisted inside the axe-man’s reach and rammed his sword up under the pirate’s ribs. The blade sank deep. The man let out a wet, gurgling choke, hot blood spilling over Adian’s hand. Before the body even slumped, Adian shoved it backward into two more boarders, knocking them off balance.

“Spearmen! Form a line!” he barked. “Drive them to the rail!”

Two crannogmen rushed forward with short spears, jabbing viciously at the pirates trying to gain footing. One spear punched straight through a raider’s thigh. The man screamed and toppled into the sea. Another pirate lunged at Adian from the side, cutlass whistling. Adian parried hard, steel ringing, then drove his shield edge into the man’s jaw with a sickening crack. Teeth flew. As the pirate reeled, Adian finished him with a thrust to the gut.

The deck had become pure chaos. Steel clashed everywhere. Shouts and curses filled the air. Boots slipped and slid in pools of blood and seawater. One of Adian’s Braavosi hires was locked in a brutal grapple with a massive pirate, both men grunting and cursing as they tried to stab each other at close range.

“Get off my fucking ship!” the Braavosi snarled, headbutting the pirate and finally driving a knife up under his chin.

Adian had no time to watch. Another attacker came at him low, trying to hamstring him. Adian jumped back, then stomped down hard on the man’s wrist, pinning it to the deck. He drove his sword through the pirate’s neck in one clean motion.

“Archers!” he yelled, voice hoarse. “Focus on their deck! Take out the ones feeding us more bastards!”

His archers responded instantly. A fresh volley whistled across the gap. One arrow caught a pirate sailor high in the rigging, sending him plummeting with a scream. Another hit the lead ship’s main sheet, causing the sail to flap wildly. The pirate vessel began to lose speed, falling slightly behind.

One of the flanking ships tried to close in tighter, but a lucky shot from one of the crannogmen struck a sailor high in the rigging. The man cried out and fell, crashing through ropes and canvas on the way down. A tangle of loose lines followed, and the ship's sail sagged badly. Cheers rose from Adian’s crew as the vessel lost speed and fell back, its crew scrambling to get the rigging under control. 

“Keep pushing!” Adian shouted. Blood was running down his left arm now, warm and sticky, soaking his sleeve. The axe wound from earlier burned like fire with every movement, but he ignored it. “Cut every rope you see! We’re not carrying these scum to Braavos!”

He grabbed a fallen axe from the deck and hacked at one of the last taut grappling lines himself. The rope parted with a snap. Four pirates who had been mid-swing across screamed as they dropped into the cold, churning sea between the ships.

The fight was turning. His crew was bloodied but still standing. The pirates, seeing their advantage slipping and their ships falling behind, started to waver.

“Fall back, you dogs!” a pirate leader bellowed from the enemy deck. “They’re not worth it!”

Adian, breathing hard, helped his men haul in the final grappling hooks. One last desperate pirate tried to jump across but was met by three spears at once. He died screaming before he even hit the deck.

By the time the last pirate ship broke off, its crew cursing them in half a dozen tongues—Braavosi curses, Lysene insults, and common trade-tongue filth—the deck of the skiff was littered with bodies and blood. Broken weapons, torn ropes, and slick red patches covered the planks. The sea around them churned with floating corpses.

Adian pressed a wad of clean cloth to his shoulder, teeth clenched tight against the burning pain. The wound wasn’t deep enough to kill him, but it throbbed viciously and would definitely need proper stitching.

“Bind it tight,” he told the ship’s medic, a wiry Braavosi who was already moving toward him with needle and thread. “Make it quick. We’re not slowing down for anything.”

The medic worked fast, cleaning the gash and stitching it with practiced hands while the crew started throwing pirate bodies overboard. Adian winced but stayed on his feet, watching the horizon.

“You fought like a demon, ser,” one of the crannogmen said, wiping blood from his spear. “Thought we were done when those three hooks caught.”

“We weren’t,” Adian replied grimly. “And we won’t be. Keep sharp eyes on every sail. The next ones might be smarter.”

The rest of the journey was tense. Every distant sail on the horizon made the crew ready their weapons again. Adian spent long hours on deck despite the pain, shoulder throbbing under fresh, tight bandages. He walked the rails, checked the lookouts, and spoke quietly with the captain about alternate routes if more trouble appeared.

The wound kept him sharp. Pain had a way of reminding a man exactly what was at stake.

***

Braavos rose out of the mist like a fever dream carved in stone and water.

Adian stood at the rail of the battered skiff, one hand gripping the wood as the vessel slipped through the choppy channel. The wound in his shoulder throbbed steadily under the fresh bandages, a dull fire that kept him alert. He had barely slept the last two nights, eyes always on the horizon, but now the city itself demanded his full attention.

The Titan appeared first.

The colossal bronze statue loomed out of the sea fog like some ancient god standing guard. Its armored legs straddled the narrow entrance to the harbor, green with age and streaked with gull shit. The massive sword held ready in one hand looked big enough to cleave a war galley in half. As the skiff passed beneath it, the roar of the sea crashing through the Titan’s legs was deafening — a constant thunder that shook the air and made the deck vibrate under Adian’s boots. Salt spray exploded upward in massive sheets, soaking everyone on deck.

Adian stared up at it, jaw tight. Not with wonder. With cold calculation. Anything that big could be watched. Bribed. Avoided. Or, if someone was stupid enough, toppled. He noted the watchtowers built into the statue’s base, the faint glint of armor on the men stationed there. The Titan wasn’t just decoration. It was the first line of defense for the most secretive city in the world.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” the captain muttered beside him, voice raised over the roar. The grizzled Braavosi wiped spray from his face. “Most foreigners shit themselves the first time they see it.”

Adian gave a short grunt. “It’s big. Big things cast big shadows. Easier to hide in the shadows.”

The captain chuckled. “Spoken like a true smuggler. You’ll do well here.”

As they cleared the Titan’s legs, the full city unfolded before them.

Braavos stretched out in a thousand shades of grey and red and faded gold. Hundreds of islands linked by arched stone bridges and narrow canals that cut through the city like veins. Flat-bottomed barges and sleek black pleasure boats moved constantly along the waterways, oars dipping in rhythmic splashes. Tall towers and elegant domes rose from every island, some leaning slightly with age, others gleaming with fresh tile. Laundry hung from windows on long lines, flapping like colorful banners in the sea breeze. The air was thick and alive — heavy with the sharp tang of salt, the mouth-watering smell of frying fish and spiced sausages from street vendors, exotic eastern spices drifting from merchant ships, and the underlying rot of sewage that flowed openly into the canals from thousands of homes.

Incense from dozens of temples mixed with woodsmoke and the sour stink of low tide. Somewhere a bell tolled deeply. Voices carried across the water in a dozen languages — traders haggling, boatmen calling warnings, women laughing from upper windows. It was noisy, crowded, and secretive all at once. Masks were everywhere. Men and women in colorful silks and plain wool alike wore them — laughing foxes, weeping moons, stern iron faces. In Braavos, identity was currency, and anonymity was armor.

Adian’s eyes scanned constantly, missing nothing. He picked out the Iron Bank’s grim, fortress-like building squatting on its own island like a toad made of black stone. Its walls looked thick enough to laugh at sieges. Further along rose the Temple of the Moonsingers, its silver domes catching the weak sunlight. Crowded markets spilled right down to the water’s edge, where merchants in bright robes shouted over bolts of Myrish lace, casks of wine, and strange fruits from the Summer Isles. Faceless Men moved among the crowds like ghosts — grey robes, smooth featureless faces — silent reminders that in this city, secrets could kill you faster than any sword.

“Different from the Neck, eh?” one of the crannogmen said quietly, coming up beside Adian. The small man wiped blood from under his fingernails, leftover from the pirate fight. “Too many eyes here.”

“Too many eyes everywhere,” Adian replied. “The trick is making sure none of them are looking at you.”

He paid the captain a fat pouch of silver on the dock, plus a little extra. “You did good work. Keep your mouth shut about this run and there’ll be more.”

The captain grinned, teeth yellow. “Always do, ser. Safe travels in the fog.”

Adian slipped into the crowds alone.

He moved with purpose but without hurry, cloak hood up. First stop was a busy market square where he bought a plain grey cloak to replace his salt-stained one. He changed in a narrow alley, bundling the old cloak under his arm. Ten minutes later he traded that bundle for a cheap leather mask at a stall — nothing fancy, just a simple black half-mask that covered his eyes and nose. He paid with coppers and kept moving.

He took a public poleboat across the first major canal, standing among merchants and servants. The boatman chattered nonstop.

“First time in Braavos, friend? You look like you’ve seen fighting. That shoulder bandage is fresh.”

Adian kept his voice low and bored. “Bad fall on the ship. Nothing serious.”

The boatman laughed. “Plenty of ‘bad falls’ in this city too. Watch your purse and your back.”

Adian changed boats twice more, each time picking smaller, less crowded canals. He doubled back once, pretending to browse a spice stall while watching for tails. No one seemed to be following, but caution had kept him alive this long. Only when he was certain did he approach the quiet district where the safehouse waited.

The modest manse was tucked along a narrow side canal, its walls plain grey stone, windows shuttered. Nothing that would draw attention. Adian found a small tavern across the way with a good view of the street. He sat in the corner for nearly an hour, nursing a cup of watered wine, watching servants come and go, noting every face that passed. A woman selling fresh bread. Two boys chasing a dog. An old man pushing a cart of empty wine barrels. Nothing suspicious.

Finally satisfied, he crossed the street and knocked on the plain wooden door in the exact pattern Lira had been told to expect — three slow knocks, two quick, then one more.

The door opened a crack. Lira’s familiar face appeared, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of his bandaged shoulder and the mask he still wore.

“You’re here,” she said quietly, relief clear in her voice. She stepped back and let him inside, closing and bolting the door behind him.

Adian pulled off the cheap mask and tossed it onto a side table. “Trouble found us. We handled it. How are they?”

Lira studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Alive. Healthy. Waiting.”

The house was quiet and well-kept. Simple but comfortable. Thick stone walls kept out the damp sea air, plain wooden floors were swept clean, and sturdy furniture filled the rooms without any wasted space. Nothing screamed royalty. No gold leaf, no dragon banners, no expensive tapestries. Exactly as Adian had instructed years ago through his intermediaries. A modest merchant’s home on a quiet canal — safe, unremarkable, and easy to defend.

Adian stepped through the narrow hallway and into the main courtyard. Sunlight filtered down through the leaves of a small lemon tree growing beside a simple stone fountain. The gentle trickle of water mixed with the distant sounds of the city — boatmen calling, gulls crying, the faint ring of a temple bell. It was peaceful in a way few places in Westeros ever managed.

Three children were playing under the dappled light.

Viserys looked up first. The boy was eight now, all sharp angles and restless energy. His silver hair was a bit messy from running around, and his violet eyes held a mix of suspicion and barely contained excitement. He gripped a wooden practice sword tightly in both hands, the tip pointed at the ground.

“You’re the new tutor?” Viserys asked, his voice still high with youth but trying hard to sound commanding. “Lira said you know real fighting. Not just the pretty forms the others taught me. She said you’ve actually killed men.”

Adian met the boy’s gaze evenly. “I do. And yes, I have. We’ll start training tomorrow morning if you’re ready to work hard. Real fighting isn’t pretty. It’s painful, dirty, and it leaves scars. You still interested?”

Viserys’s eyes lit up despite the warning. He gave a sharp nod. “I am. I need to be ready. When we take back what’s ours, I won’t be some weak boy hiding behind skirts. I’ll make them pay for what they did to my father.”

Adian gave a small, noncommittal grunt. The boy had fire, that much was clear. But fire without control got people killed. “Good. We’ll see how much work you put in.”

Before he could say more, Rhaenys approached. She was a bright-eyed girl of six, with the same silver-gold hair as her brother but a much softer, curious expression. She studied Adian openly, tilting her head as she took in his travel-worn cloak, the bandage on his shoulder, and the faint smell of salt and blood that still clung to him.

“You smell like the sea,” she said with a quick, sunny smile. “Did you fight pirates on the way here? Your shoulder is hurt. Does it ache a lot? I can get some herbs if you want. Lira taught me which ones are good for wounds. I know the difference between the ones that help and the ones that just smell nice.”

Adian couldn’t help a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. The girl was sharp and kind in equal measure. “Pirates, yes. A few of them. The shoulder stings, but I’ve had worse. Herbs would be welcome later.”

Rhaenys beamed, clearly pleased. “I’ll pick the best ones. Mother says I have a good eye for plants. I even helped Lira make a poultice last month when she cut her finger.”

Little Daenerys, barely two years old, didn’t bother with questions. She toddled straight over without a trace of fear, her chubby legs working hard on the uneven stones. She grabbed onto Adian’s leg with both small hands and looked up at him with enormous violet eyes and a wide, gap-toothed grin.

“Up?” she demanded, bouncing slightly on her toes and reaching with both arms.

Adian hesitated for half a second. Then he reached down with his good arm and lifted the little girl onto his hip. She was surprisingly solid for her size. Daenerys immediately patted his cheek with a sticky hand, babbling happily in a mix of broken Common and a few Valyrian words she’d picked up.

“Big man,” she declared proudly, as if that settled everything. “Sea man. Smell funny.”

Adian shifted her weight carefully, mindful of his injured shoulder. The simple trust in the child’s eyes hit harder than he expected.

Rhaella appeared in the doorway that led back into the house.

She had changed in the years since he had last seen her from a distance. Still slender and regal in the way only Targaryens seemed to manage, with that famous silver-gold hair braided simply down her back. Her violet eyes carried the weight of everything she had survived — kings, madness, loss, exile. But there was new strength in her posture now, a quiet steadiness that came from years of keeping three children alive and hidden. Motherhood had softened her figure in subtle but beautiful ways — fuller hips, a more rounded softness to her breasts and belly. She carried herself like a woman who had learned exactly how fragile safety could be, and how fiercely she would fight to keep it.

Her eyes locked onto Adian across the courtyard. Recognition hit her instantly. She glanced quickly at Lira, who had followed her out and gave the tiniest, confirming nod. Then her gaze returned to him. A storm of emotions crossed her face in rapid succession — shock, overwhelming relief, a flash of shame, and something warmer, deeper, almost hungry beneath it all.

“Children,” she said softly, her voice steady despite everything. “Go inside with Lira for a little while. I need to speak with our guest alone.”

Viserys opened his mouth to protest, clearly wanting to ask more questions about fighting and pirates, but one firm look from his mother silenced him. Rhaenys took her little sister’s hand after Adian gently set Daenerys down. The three of them disappeared inside with Lira, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving the courtyard suddenly quiet except for the fountain’s gentle trickle.

Now they were alone.

Rhaella crossed the courtyard slowly until only a few feet separated them. She studied him for a long moment, taking in the bandage, the salt-stained clothes, the tired lines around his eyes, and the way he held himself despite the obvious pain in his shoulder.

“You,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “The Frey. The one who sent the ship all those years ago. The messages through the years. The gold, the safe house, the arrangements… all of it. It was you.”

Adian inclined his head respectfully. “Your Grace.”

She let out a shaky breath and took another step closer. Her hand rose halfway toward the bloodstained bandage on his shoulder before she caught herself and lowered it. “Why? Why risk so much for a fallen house? For a woman and children you barely knew? You could have let us burn with the rest of my family.”

Adian met her eyes without flinching. “Because some investments take years to mature. And because I wanted to. Simple as that. I don’t need songs or glory. I needed something that might matter later.”

Rhaella’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She looked away for a moment toward the lemon tree, composing herself, fingers twisting in the fabric of her gown. When she looked back, the loneliness in her gaze was raw and unguarded.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, the words carrying years of weight. “For my children. For giving us this life instead of fire and chains. I have spent so many nights wondering who was helping us… fearing it was a trap that would spring someday. But you kept us safe. All this time. You gave Viserys a chance to grow strong. Rhaenys her books and plants. Daenerys… she doesn’t even know what she escaped.”

The air between them thickened. Adian could see the way her breathing had quickened, the subtle flush creeping up her neck and across her cheeks. Years of careful control — of being only a mother, only a survivor, always watching over her shoulder — were starting to crack right in front of him.

He reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and brushed a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered for a moment against her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin.

“You’ve carried enough alone,” he said, voice low.

Rhaella watched him with those violet eyes that had seen kings and madness and loss. For a long moment neither of them spoke. The fountain trickled softly beside them. Then she gave a small, tired smile that held more warmth than he had expected.

“Call me Rhaella here,” she said softly. “There are no graces left in this house. No crowns. No thrones. Just a mother trying to keep her children breathing… and hoping one day they might live without fear.”

Adian nodded. “Rhaella.”

She stepped even closer, close enough that he could smell the faint lavender soap on her skin, mixed with the clean scent of the house and something warmer, more personal. Her gaze dropped again to the bloodstained bandage on his shoulder, concern deepening the lines around her eyes.

“You’re hurt,” she said, voice gentler now, almost hesitant. “That looks fresh. Pirates, you said?”

Adian replied with a slight shrug, trying not to wince as the movement pulled at the stitches. “Pirates. A lucky axe swing during the boarding. Nothing that won’t heal in a few days with proper care. I’ve had worse.”

Rhaella’s fingers hovered near the wound, trembling slightly with hesitation. For a moment she seemed torn — the queen who had once commanded respect warring with the woman who had spent years owing everything to this stranger. Then she took a steadying breath.

“Come,” she said firmly. “Let me clean it properly. Lira can watch the children a while longer. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for us. Please… let me help you.”

She led him to a small side room off the courtyard, simple and practical like the rest of the house. A sturdy wooden chair sat near a low table holding a basin, clean linens, and a few jars of herbs and salves. Sunlight came through a narrow window, catching on dust motes in the air. Rhaella moved with quiet purpose, rolling up her sleeves and pouring warm water from a pitcher into the basin.

Adian sat on the edge of the chair. She stepped between his knees without hesitation, close enough that her gown brushed his legs. Her hands were gentle but sure as she began unwrapping the rough, blood-crusted bandage the ship’s medic had applied. Each tug made the wound sting sharply, but he stayed silent, watching her face.

“You’re not what I expected,” she murmured as she worked, eyes fixed on the injury. “When the first messages came years ago, I thought you were some merchant playing at mercy. Or perhaps a man with ambitions of his own, the sort who would one day demand something terrible in return. But Lira speaks of you differently. She says you’re a man who gets things done—quietly, efficiently—but never without remembering the people behind. 

Adian looked up at her. The angle gave him a clear view of her face — the fine lines at the corners of her eyes, the way her silver-gold hair framed her features. “I am a Frey. We don’t play at much. Songs and glory are for other houses. I prefer results.”

Rhaella’s lips curved slightly, a small, tired smile. She dipped a clean cloth into the warm water and began gently cleaning the cut. The touch was careful, almost tender. Every time her fingers brushed his skin he felt her breath catch, a subtle hitch that spoke volumes.

“Results,” she repeated softly. “You have given my children years they would not have had otherwise. Viserys is learning to hold a sword instead of hiding in fear. Rhaenys has her books and her plants. Daenerys… she laughs without knowing what terror feels like. All because of you.” She paused, pressing a fresh cloth against the wound to staunch a small trickle of blood. “I have replayed every message in my mind a thousand times. Wondering who this Frey was. Why he bothered. Now that you’re here… I still don’t fully understand.”

Adian remained still as she applied a salve that smelled of honey and some sharp herb. “Understanding isn’t necessary. I saw an opportunity. A queen and her children in danger. A bloodline that might matter again one day. And… I wanted to.”

Rhaella tied the fresh bandage with slow, deliberate movements, her fingers lingering on his shoulder longer than needed. The closeness was electric. He could feel the warmth radiating from her body, see the faint flush on her neck and cheeks. When she finally stepped back, her violet eyes met his directly.

“No,” she said quietly. “I can see that you are not a man who does things without reason. But there is more to you than cold calculation. I can feel it.”

She rested her hand lightly on his good shoulder for a moment, the touch warm and steady. Then she pulled away, smoothing her gown.

“Thank you,” she whispered again. “For letting me do this much.”

***

The rest of the afternoon passed in the courtyard.

Viserys practically bounced with energy when Adian finally picked up the boy’s wooden practice sword. The eight-year-old gripped his own blade tightly, eyes bright with determination.

“Show me proper forms,” Viserys demanded, voice eager. “Lira only knows the basics, and the cook is too slow. I want to learn how real men fight. How you fought those pirates.”

Adian tested the balance of the boy’s sword, then handed it back. “Alright. Stand like this.” He corrected Viserys’s stance, adjusting his feet and grip. “Weight balanced. Don’t lean forward too much or you’ll fall into your own swing.”

They began simple drills. Viserys attacked with furious energy, silver hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as he swung again and again. For all his arrogance and talk of thrones, the boy listened when corrected. Adian let him land a few hits on his shield, then showed him exactly how easily a real fighter could counter.

“You swing like you’re angry at the world,” Adian said quietly after one exchange where Viserys had overcommitted and nearly lost his balance. “Anger is useful. It gives you strength when you need it. But patience and coin win more wars than dragons ever did. Remember that.”

Viserys paused, breathing hard, his narrow chest rising and falling rapidly. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, violet eyes narrowed. “You speak like a commoner. Merchants and coin. Not like a knight.”

“I speak like a survivor,” Adian replied evenly, tapping the boy’s sword with his own to reset the stance. “Knights die pretty deaths in songs. Survivors live to see another day. You should learn both. Now again — slower this time. Control it.”

They continued for nearly an hour. Viserys asked questions between bouts — about how Adian had killed the pirates, what the boarding felt like, whether the axe hurt much. Adian answered honestly but carefully, never glorifying the violence, always circling back to practical lessons.

Nearby on a stone bench, Rhaenys sat watching everything with wide, curious eyes. She asked questions constantly, her young voice bright and inquisitive.

“What does the sea smell like up close?” she asked during a break. “Is it different from the canal? Did the pirates have black sails? How many were there? Did you cut their ropes yourself?”

Adian answered patiently between drills, describing the Titan, the salt spray, the chaos of the fight without making it sound like a heroic tale. When he mentioned the arrows whistling overhead, Rhaenys’s eyes grew even wider.

“You’re nicer than the other tutors,” she declared at one point, swinging her legs on the bench. “They talked down to us. Like we were fragile little birds. You don’t do that.”

Adian gave her a small nod. “You’re not fragile. None of you are.”

Daenerys refused to be left out of anything. The toddler kept toddling over on her chubby legs, grabbing onto Adian’s leg with both hands and demanding “Up!” again and again. Each time he lifted her carefully onto his good arm, mindful of the fresh bandage. She played happily with the leather cord around his neck, babbling in her mix of words and pointing at the lemon tree or the fountain.

“Sea man funny,” she giggled at one point, patting his cheek again. Her laughter was bright and infectious, cutting through the courtyard like sunlight.

Rhaella watched from the doorway the entire time. She leaned against the frame, arms crossed loosely under her breasts, her expression soft and almost wondering. Every so often her eyes would meet Adian’s across the courtyard. Something unspoken passed between them each time — gratitude, curiosity, and a growing warmth that neither of them tried to hide.

At one point, when Viserys was catching his breath, Rhaella called out gently, “Don’t push him too hard on his first day. He’ll wear himself out trying to impress you.”

Viserys protested immediately. “I’m not tired! I can keep going.”

Adian chuckled under his breath. “He’s got spirit. That’s good. We’ll stop soon.”

Rhaenys hopped off the bench and came closer, holding out a small bundle of herbs she had gathered while watching. “For your shoulder,” she said proudly. “These ones help with swelling. You can crush them with honey.”

Adian accepted the bundle with a serious nod. “Thank you. I’ll use them tonight.”

Daenerys, still in his arms, reached out and patted Rhaenys’s head, making her sister laugh. The simple, domestic scene felt strangely right in the quiet courtyard — the fountain trickling, the lemon tree rustling overhead, three children who should have died in fire now safe and lively because of choices he had made years ago.

Rhaella’s gaze lingered on him again, softer this time. The weight of years spent in hiding seemed to lift just a little from her shoulders as she watched her children interact with the man who had kept them alive. For the first time in a long while, the courtyard felt less like a cage and more like a home.