Tidehall, Early Afternoon, 2nd Day - Crefley, Lara, Daeron, Roger

“Let me help you with that,” Martin, the kennelmaster’s son, appears at Lee’s shoulder, and puts his weight into the fence, lifting it so that Lee can finish repairing the last crossbar with relative ease. It is, of course, something of a metaphor for their existences. Martin and Lee are of an age, but where Martin finds life just requires a little push and all is right, here stands Lee, soaked in sweat and sore from a day’s labor, with nothing to show for it but a dead man’s coin he can’t spend if he cares to avoid the lash. They had grown up together as children in the same loft over the kennels, but that had all changed years ago. Martin and he get on well enough, Lee supposes, but if his father Reuben is about…

As if reading his thoughts, Martin says, “Don’t worry. Father is down at the Quay. A ship from Oldtown arrived this morning, with some trained pups from the Maester’s Tower, or so he says. Maybe they’ve taught them their letters. I’d be more glad if they’d learnt them to clean up their own muck. Oy, look at that!” Martin points toward the gates, where a small wooden cart is entering. It is pulled by a mule, which is in turn led by two silent sisters and a chanting septon swinging a censer. Around the mule’s neck is a wreath of fresh flowers interwoven with tiny dangling crystals that dance with color as the mule trods forward. On the cart is a bound shape of a man, wrapped in linen. A pair of worn boots and some soiled clothing are neatly piled at the back edge of the cart. A man who Lee recognizes as Ser Bohemund is directing the cart over toward the newly fenced practice yard where Lee is standing, so it will not be in the way of the troupe wagons due to depart in the next few hours. As the septon and sisters approach with their cargo, Martin asks, “Who do you think it is, I wonder?”

Tannyr’s Quay, Early Afternoon, 2nd Day – Seff, Roger

Daeron stands with his Aunt, Ser Rymon and a handful of guardsmen on a long pier, made of sentinel wood atop dressed stone. The stone has blackened where a fire had burnt the pier during the Rebellion, but the wood was new, and the stone below still sound.

Sailors from the Ice Maiden are throwing lines to a number of men at the moorings, and the ship it quickly held fast. A heavy gangway is lowered onto the deck, and his Uncle Gilder strides across. Gilder looks well enough physically, although he has a small bandage on his upper arm. His smile beams as he sees Daeron, and walks to him directly, passing Lady Ayala without a word. “Daeron, my boy! I hope that you’ve had a good lesson in politics while I taught these savages something of war!” He gestures to the Ironborn vessel, which has also been brought into its moorings. It’s figurehead is more clear now: a mermaid, bursting out of seafoam, but her face is in a rictus of fear, and her eyes appear to be bleeding tears down her cheeks onto her breasts. Six men are escorted from the vessel in iron shackles; They are stripped to their leggings, and each bears a tattoo of a teardrop, blood red in color, on the center of their chest. “Two of their ships, Daeron! Two of them against us. It was like the old days, they chase, and we sweep their decks with arrows. I should give a title to that coxswain, keeping us even in the water as he did. When it was done, one of them turned tail and we boarded and took the other as a prize.” He turns to his wife, “A prize for your, Lady,” and bows with all the gallantry he can muster.

“The call her ‘Saltwife’s Tears,’ but you can change that, of course. Something more appropriate, I imagine, about herons or trout.” Gilder’s smile is genuine enough, but Lady Ayala looks shocked, and her eyes glint darkly. She nods her head and says without emotion, “Thank you, husband, it is almost as fine a gift as knowing you are home safe.”

“Well, quite right, quite right. I should like to have your company this evening after dinner, then. Good. And I see Ser Rymon has come to see me safely home. I hope that you are well, and that my wife’s hospitality has been to your liking? Good, good. So, Daeron, there will be time for my adventures later. Tell me, what have you learned these past few days?” He throws a conspiratorial arm over Daeron’s shoulder, and begins walking to the horses on the shore.