Behold My Power (translation of a ttgot fanfiction)
Hello there, guys .) I'm making this thread for my translation of a fanfic, written by my friend Marina. The original story in Russian can be found here, while I'm in charge of translating it for the english-speaking fans of the game. Nine chapters are currently out in the original language, three have been translated by me, translation of chapter four will be out real soon. After that, new parts will be coming out a bit slower, but I'll do my best not to make you wait for too long. Hopefully, you'll like the fic as much as I did.
Also, please do tell me if you notice any mistakes/weird phrases in the text that irk you, as I'm still learning & want to improve whatever needs improvement.
The story takes place after the ending of season one, so spoilers are obviously present.
Chapter 1: A Helping Hand.
Several days have passed since Beskha and Ryon had escaped Ironrath. Most of the way they didn't even talk, unless it was really necessary. Well, they didn't know anything about each other. The only things little Ryon knew about his travel companion were that her name was Beskha, she was his elder brother's, Asher's best friend... And, well, she could cuss even better than Ser Royland. The only facts Beskha knew about the boy were that he's been left alone and needed care and protection badly.
As soon as the travelers reached White Harbor - the largest port in the North - they headed to the nearest tavern to rest after the long and tedious way. During the four years of a sellsword's life Beskha got used to such adventures - but not her little ward. Though Ryon had spent a while in Highpoint's dungeon and was used to uncomfortable terms of living, he was still a seven years old child. Beskha realized that.
She had never had to take care of children, and therefore was pretty awkward with Ryon: looking after him in her own way, like he was more of a pet than a child. He, however, was glad even for such treatment, feeling safe by the big strong sellsword's side.
The tavern's owner looked askance at the travelers. Perhaps, he was confused by Beskha's unusual look. Despite that, he didn't refuse them the lodging. Wayfarers went upstairs.
To put it mildly, the room wasn't tidy but, of course, cleaner than Whitehill's dungeon: much less dust, dirt and spiderweb, no reek of dampness. They could spend the night there. Having their belongings in the chest, the boy and the woman began their settling down. Without any hesitation, Ryon plopped down on the bed, not even removing outerwear and boots
"I thought, I'd fell there, downstairs." He gaped.
Beskha smirked, looking at the tired kid.
"Have you even seen yourself ? Firstly, we should wash off all the dirt, and then have a good supper."
And so they did. After the long hoped-for bath, the boy's look changed to the better: his skin was literally shining and thick blonde hair became curlier and fluffy. Ryon was resting, laying on the bed, while Beskha was combing her auburn hair. The boy cast a glance at her. She differed much from the Northern ladies: dark-skinned, as tall as Asher, her features somewhat "catlike" - especially the emerald eyes. The woman had some scars on her face, but they didn't disfigure her. Ryon found her much more beautiful and pleasant than even Gwyn Whitehill. That Northern lady was cold and repulsive, in his opinion.
Another reminder of the Whitehills. Lord Ludd's insults to the boy and his family sank into his mind for a long time.
"Shut up, you, Forrestes's whelp! Your family have already forgotten you, it's not like they need you! Forget your fucking Ironrath! No one's waiting for you there!"
Every time he tried to contradict, Ryon got a hard slap. Lord Ludd was literally trying to beat his Forrester origin out of him. But can you ever beat one's family ties out of them? Ryon was a Forrester. He was born a Forrester and he would die as one.
"Well, Ryon, tell me, what're your House's words?" asked Ludd in a mocking tone
"Iron from ice!" The boy responded proudly.
"Iron from Ice?!" The lord of Highpoint bursted out laughing. "Bullshit! Remember, now the only words you must know now are "Ever Higher"!"
But Ryon didn't accept Whitehill's words. He'd better have his tongue out than betray his House.
And then they killed Rodrik. They wouldn't even let him see his brother for one last time! His heart was beating hard at the mere memory. But Asher avenged Rofriks death: he poisoned lord Whitehill. Ryon saw him choking and coughing his own blood, eyes darkening, face greying... Yet the boy felt no satisfaction - death of Highpoint's lord came at the cost of his mother's life. Lady Elissa sacrificed herself and "Iron from ice" were her last words.
He wished to avenge his mother, Rodrik, Ethan, father. Wished to put Ramsay's own blade through his throat and watch him suffer. Wished smug Gryff and cold Gwyn dead. He hated all Whitehills the same, and the bastards needed to die, slowly and painfully. What about Asher, Mira, Talia? Were they dead as well? Ryon couldn't know and that didn't ease his mind.
Wishing to distract himself from the depressing thoughts, the boy shook his head. He looked at Beskha. She took off her iron bracers, so Ryon could notice her tattoos - tigers.
"Nice tattoos." Observed the boy.
"These ones?" The sellsword smirked. "I like them too. Have had them for a while. Was only three when I got them... Eh, well, I'm ready, so let's go downstairs and eat. I bet you're hungry as a tiger."
"Yeah... A little bit." Ryon smiled modestly.
"Let's go, then." The sellsword smiled. The woman led the boy downstairs.
It was quite noisy in the tavern in the evenings, since the White Harbor's public that gathered by that time was known as local rabble. Drunk soldiers, sailors, sellswords and whores, ogling men - in other words, those, in whose's company there was no place for a child. Curses and unpleasant loud laughter could be heard all over the place. Ryon watched the scene, a bit intimidated.
"Don't stare." Beskha said strictly. Woman led the boy to the table in the corner, in a distance from most rowdy visitors. She was accompanied by whistles and drunken hooting, but men didn't have the courage to do more - she was a sellsword after all, and differed from the maids they were used to.
Ryon started wolfing the food down the moment it was brought, forgetting all his manners in a moment - champing, eating without a fork or a knife, swallowing one piece after another. But such behavior just called a bitter smile on Beskha's face. She understood - he hadn't eaten normal food for a long time. However, she had to pull his arm.
"Hush, kid! Do you want everyone here to think you have starved for weeks?"
In response, Ryon just looked at the sellsword with his big green eyes, surprised by her asking him such thing - it was the truth. And those eyes reminded Beskha of her "little brother" who stayed there, in Ironrath. Her heart sank at this thought.
Beskha had became attached to Asher in these four years - he became the family she needed so badly. Perhaps, she had one, the real one, but the woman didn't remember it. The only things stored in her memory were a beautiful Ghiscari lullaby her mother sang her at sleepless night, and the face of a handsome and noble man, her father. Beskha didn't know their names, where they were or if they were still alive. She remembered her master once answering those questions with a contemptuous smirk:
"Forget them. They are gone. The Basilisk doesn't need any family."
Two years after getting her freedom, she met a Northern highborn, Asher Forrester, exiled for an affair with Gwyn Whitehill. He became her family, her brother. But even he left her.
"You're the only family I've ever had. That makes Ryon my brother too."
In fact, those were her last words to Asher before the slaughter broke out in Ironrath's great hall. She hadn't seen him since then, and didn't know if he was still alive. Her heart told her, he was - she would've felt it otherwise. She would've. No matter what, she couldn't imagine a life without him now.
"Where are you, my little brother?"
"Is there something wrong, Beskha? - suddenly Ryon's small voice interrupted her grim thoughts.
"Ah.. Never mind, kid." Beskha lightly shook her head. "Eat."
Finishing his supper, Ryon put away the plate.
"Is this Merien far away from here?"
Beskha smiled gently.
"Meereen. Yes, it's far. I guess, it'll take two weeks and a half to reach the city. But first, we'd have to find a ship and a crew..." She didn't didn't finish her sentence as a stranger approached them. It was a handsome young man about mid-twenties with a Ghiscari appearance. He was notably tall, had an athletic build, long face, a crooked nose and wavy auburn hair, no beard or mustache, but a slight stubble. His most remarkable feature were the eyes - green, catlike, almost glowing in the darkness of the tavern. They were similar to Beskha's (Funny thing, but it was a common knowledge, that most Ghiscari people could be recognized by the eyes as dark as the night itself. Any other color was rare). He was dressed rather expensively - doublet and trousers made of leather and embroidered with silk. Strangely, the "cattiness" spread from his appearance to the clothing - there were tigers embroidered on the doublet's sleeves, the gold handle of a sword was shaped like tiger's head. Stranger certainly differed from the local folk, but what was he up to?
"May I join you?" He spoke politely, with a fancy Essosi accent.
"Well, then." Beskha ran a mindful eye over him. "I'd rather you at least introduced yourself."
"Oh yes... Where are my manners?" The Ghiscari laughed. "My name is Nathaniel De..." He paused for a moment. "Or just Nate. Now it's your turn."
"Well, then, take a seat, Nathaniel." Beskha pointed towards free chair. "I'm Beskha, this litle one is Ryon." While she talked, Ryon was observing the young man curiously - behavior natural for a child he was.
"I've overheard what you were speaking about. You're heading to Meereen, aren't you?
"Right. But we have neither ship nor a crew." Answered Ryon.
"Then you are lucky, since I can provide you with them." Having said that, Nate took a sip from his cup of ale. Beskha and Ryon exchanged their glances.
"That's a pretty interesting proposal, but... If you help us, how much will you charge?"
Nathaniel understood the hint and smiled at the sellsword. But his cocky grin disappeared from his face in a moment. He frowned as he noticed Beskha's tattoos. He had definitely seen those, but when and where?
"Where are you from, Beskha?" Out of nowhere, he asked the woman. "You are from the North of Essos, aren't you?"
Beskha didn't get why the man would ask her such thing. She didn't know - she didn't remember.
"I..." She stammered. "Is my origin so important?"
"Believe me, it is." His look became more pensive. Rubbing his eyes, the man then took a one more intent green glance at the sellsword. "And regarding the price?.. I would be a real scoundrel if I charged anything from you. De Moralles have always helped those in trouble. And so do I. You do need to get out of here fast, don't you?"
Beskha was confused. She's been taught there were no unselfish people - anyone was pursuing their benefits. But that was a lie. She met a truly noble family - Forresters. And now fate has brought them together with Nataniel. Perhaps, he was a noble man too? At least, that was what woman's intuition told her.
"And your answer is?.." Nathaniel frowned. "If I were you, I wouldn't risk it. This boy's life depends on your choice, Beskha. I'm waiting."
After some thoughts, Beskha shook his hand in agreement.
"Deal. But... If you try to deceive us, you can be sure, you'll pay for it." Strong handshake made the Ghiscari clench his teeth.
"My ship leaves this harbor at dawn tomorrow. Do not be late."
"Don't worry about us, Nathaniel De Moralle."
Comments
Chapter 2: A Young Wife.
I can get you out of here, Mira. One word from me - and that filthy boy takes your place on the block. All you need to do, is agree to marry me. You'll give up you power. You'll give up your ancestral home. But you'll be alive.
Again. Again Mira Forrester sees that time in the cells, lord Rickard Morgryn giving her the choice: life or death. She knows her friend's life depends on it. She knows, that if she agrees, she'll be this man's slave, only serving the purpose of producing heirs. But she's overcome with animalistic instinct of survival, that puts aside all other values, pride & honor, and staying alive becomes the priority. Mira wants to live. But loveless marriage of this kind can sometimes be far worse than death.
But the nightmare was over & Mira opened her eyes. She was alone in her luxurious chambers. Rickard was nowhere to be seen & the girl let out a relieved sigh.
— Thank the gods...
Her husband is two-faced like Janus - seemingly handsome, decent & noble, but with time revealing his true, heinous, cruel nature, lacking merest honor.
A minute of peace was interrupted by a knock on the door.
— Mira, love, are you awake? — Rickard's voice was affectedly gentle.
— Yes, yes, my lord... — she hurriedly pulled a dressing-gown on.
The door flew open & lord Morgryn entered.
— My love, even in a mere gown, you're beautiful! — surprisingly happy about something, he quickly approached his young wife & pressed a kiss to her cheek. — Good morning.
— Good morning, lord Morgryn, — young woman spoke in a small voice. She didn't even want to look up & face the man in front of her, but was forced to do so when he got hold of her chin & slightly pulled up her heard. He narrowly looked in her big green eyes, filled with fear. His tone changed in a heartbeat.
— I thought, I told you not to call me that, — strong fingers grasped her chin firmly. — I like it when you call me by my name.
— I'm sorry, lord Morg... — the girl stumbled. — Rickard.
Satisfied, Morgryn let go of the other's face & lightly stroke her cheek.
— Thats more like it. Don't forget about your manners, Mira. Freshen yourself up. I'll be waiting for you downstairs.
The site of lord Morgryn's manor was north-east from Highgarden, Tyrell's castle, & west from Cider Hall, red-apple Fossoway's seat. While seemingly good-looking & richly-furnished, on the inside it was so florid, showy, and, at times, tasteless, as if the owner wanted to prove it to other houses of the Reach, that he had gold to burn now & they were foolish, laughing at him in the past.
Rickard owed his fortune to the skill of walking all over people. There wasn't a single licit source of his wealth - neither a satisfaction of his growing desires.
Mira entered the guest hall. Her husband was drinking wine in a golden armchair, padded with red velvet. The girl took a seat by his side. Table was spread & soon the servants brought food.
— I do not fancy repeating myself, Mira, but fortune is surely favoring me!
— Did something happen? — she asked quietly.
— It did, my love. I have acquainted myself with the right people.
— With whom, my lord? — frankly, she did not care.
— With a rich and powerful lord, Nathaniel De Moralle, a ghiscari from Braavos. His house is one of the most influential families of Northern Essoss.
— De Moralle? I think, queen Margery spoke of them once. She said they are good, noble people. Lady Olenna finds them to be some crazy cat-lovers though.
— Their gold is what matters to me. They factually own the Iron Bank of Braavos! One would be lucky to gain their support.
— Lucky you, Rickard, — Mira feigned a smile.
— I've only got to know them so far, but this is just the beginning. Shouldn't be hard. From where I stand, that Nathaniel's naive and foolish like a child. They say, his father was as stubborn as a mule, impossible to cooperate with, — Morgryn laughed. — And bit the dust just in time.
— That must be hard for lord Nathaniel, — the jeer was followed by his wife's reproach.
— We're all mortal, — the man shrugged indifferently. There was a long pause. — By the way, we were invited to his Tiger's Lair.
— Tiger's Lair? — that was a strange name for a keep, from northern lady's viewpoint.
— That's their castle, yes. Queen of thorns made a fine point about crazy cat-lovers. Their sigil's a tiger and two sables crossed. They've got tigers everywhere - clothes, armor.
— So when are you planning to leave for Braavos? — Mira questioned casually.
— When are we leaving for Braavos? - corrected her husband. — You didn't think I'd leave you alone, did you? Lord De Moralle says he had business in the north, and that the moment he is home, he'll let me know.
Mira sipped more wine. Maybe, it'd be for the best not to let Morgryn know the things lady Olenna told her about "crazy cat-lover's" guile & foresight.
"Beware not to be twisted round their finger yourself, lord Morgryn..." She thought, watching her husband, clearly pleased with himself.
That was the moment a servant entered the hall.
"Milord, milady. Lady Olenna Tyrell has arrived."
Chapter 3: Vengeance has already been passed.
Asher doesn't know where he is. It's pitch dark, impossible to make out a thing. He feels neither cold, nor warm. But that's not what scares him; what scares him is the unknown — young lord doesn't know where the path leads, but he keeps going.
It seems to him, that this road has no end, but all of a sudden, he hears a voice, painfully familiar, slightly hoarse, yet firm, calm & confident; the voice of his father.
— Asher, my son.
He can tell it from thousand others. And at last, he can see the light, dazzling white. Asher covers his eyes from the bright shining: being in the darkness for too long, he's no longer used to it. A little more time, and he opens them again, to find himself in the Ironwood grove — the one that holds so many memories. Here he would crawl as a baby, here he made his first steps, here he used to play with his siblings & confessed love to Gwyn Whitehill.
Beneath a giant Irownwood he sees his late family: father, mother, brothers — Rodrik & Ethan. They seem so happy, finally together after so long — and nothing can separate them now, not even death. His heart trembles painfully. How he missed them all this time. But now he's with them again. Asher rushes towards them. Tears stream down his face, but he doesn't care. He is happy.
— Asher! Asher!
Mother hugs him tightly, and he, like a child, clings to her as she soothingly strokes his hair. His brothers run up to him, just as overjoyed as he is. Ethan tackle hugs him, and Rodrik laughs sonorously, like before, when he wasn't so serious and stern, same as other northern lords. And father stands on the sidelines. He smiles wistfully, looking at his rebellious son — but he is happy to see him. After a short while, Gregor approaches and puts a hand on his shoulder. As composed as ever, even at a time like this — that's so much like him.
— Father, I'm so glad I'm with you all! We'll never part again!
His loved one's expressions change to sad smiles.
— That's not entirely true, my son.
— Why? — Asher doesn't understand, he can't understand what he's getting at.
— House Forrester needs you. Mira, Talia, Ryon... your sworn sister.
— Beskha... — Asher speaks quietly.
— For their sake, you have to fight, you have to live, my son.
— I'll avenge you, I swear! — the words leap from somewhere deep in his chest.
But Gregor just shakes head.
— What for? Vengeance has already been passed.
— How? I don't understand... — Asher gets more & more confused.
— Take care of your loved ones. They all need you.
All of a sudden, his father, mother and brothers disappear, and the Ironwood Grove is gone. Again, young lord is in the darkness, but not for long: it's replaced with bright light. Then he can hear the voice of his little sister, Talia:
— Asher, thank the Gods! Royland, he's waking up!
It was just a dream. If only anyone knew, how much did Asher curse the fact in his thoughts; how much did he wish for that dream to come true. Asher half-opened his eyes. He was in some sort of a cabin. It was night out, and only a candle on the nightstand lit up the room he was in. It was furnished quite simply, but cosiness, which can only be created by a woman, could be sensed. He was alone here, but, apparently, someone used to be by his side before — young man figured that out when noticing a chair near his bed.
Asher tried to sit up, but sharp pricking pain pierced his left side, strong enough for him to cry out & fall back on his bed. It wasn't until now that he noticed, that his wound has been bandaged.
That was the moment the door swung open, and Talia & Royland rushed in. Little sister ran up to her brother & hugged him so tightly, that it caused Asher to cry out once more. Afraid that she had hurt him more, the girl recoiled, but Asher just laughed hoarsely & pulled her back to his chest. He looked at ser Royland. It was rare to see this man, with face covered with scars obtained back during Greyjoy's Rebellion, smiling. His smile wasn't even like a normal one — it could be just a mere movement of the corners of his lips, like now.
— Where... Where are we? — Asher struggled to speak.
— One healer took us in, — the sentinel responded dryly.
— Her name is Maeve, — Talia specified. — She's amazing! Right, Royland?
— Whatever she is, she saved you, lord Asher. We didn't tell her we're from house Forrester though: she can very well be serving the Whitehills.
— You see an enemy in everyone, Royland, — Asher chuckled thickly. — For how long have I been passed out?
— Four or three days, no less.
The room fell silent, but suddenly, Talia spoke.
— We're safe here, right?
— I don't know, — Asher frowned. — We are, if no one gets to know we're here. But I doubt the Whitehills will stop until they find us. Especially that cun... — the Forrester stumbled, reminded that Talia was in the room. — Gryff. He won't rest till he avenges his daddy's death.
— There's reason in your words, my lord, — the sentinel paused. — But by the law, he's not the one to lead house Whitehill. It's his brother, Torrhen, meant for this. He served Roose Bolton while Ludd was still alive.
Asher ruminated on what was said. He recalled Torrhen. They used to be best friends as children. Their fathers weren't enemies back then, and no one could imagine a feud would erupt between them: Gregor & Ludd even considered actually marrying Gwyn & Asher, but then things went haywire... No one could even voice the true reasons behind the conflict. The ambitions of Forresters & Whitehills failed to come to an agreement, and now, after all the bloodshed between both families, peace & concord could hardly be achieved.
Asher remembered Torrhen to be a rebellious guys, similar to himself — a fighter, a regular of local taverns, ladies' man. But, as strange as that sounded, the young Whitehill was a peaceful man in his core: when the war just began, he once told Asher, he'd do whatever it would take to achieve peace between their houses. That must've been why Ludd was so eager to send his son away to serve Roose Bolton. Fate hadn't brought them together again since then, and who knows — he could've changed with time. Ten years have passed after all.
— What difference does it make, Royland? Torrhen and Gryff have the same father — Ludd Whitehill. They'll avenge him, same as me and Rodrik avenged ours, — Asher stated.
Talia stood by the window all this time. The girl watched dawn with grief in her eyes.
— I hope Ryon could escape.
— He's with Beskha, Talia. As long as she is with him, he is safe, — ser Royland assured her.
— And Mira? She hasn't written for a long time. Maybe... — the girl stopped.
— Lady Talia, she's under Queen Margery's protection. We'll pray that at least she is alright.
— I have a bad feeling, — young lady sighed & stepped aside from the window. Asher kept silent. He was just as worried for Ryon & Mira, as for his sworn sister, Beskha. But he was the lord of house Forrester now. Well or injured, he had to regain all that has been lost by his family. But why wasn't he supposed to retaliate against the Whitehills anymore? What did his father mean by saying that vengeance has already been passed? Could Ludd's death possibly be enough? Asher just didn't understand, couldn't grasp all of it.
Another thought wouldn't let him rest easy: Beskha. Why did lord Gregor mention her in his dream? Was she in danger too? They used to never part ways, but would fate bring them together again now — or was she gone for good? Asher didn't know. He loved the woman like she was his own sister. And now that she wasn't with him, longing grew strong, even stronger than when he had to leave Gwyn Whitehill. Memories of her made his heart ache & warmed it at the same time.
"Beskha, sister, I promise, we'll meet again. And when I'll find you, I'm never going to leave you! Never."
So, I'm not sure if I should comment here or in the other thread. Just left my thoughts on this story in the other thread, but if you both prefer it here, then I can do that as well, at least the stuff I haven't mentioned over there. Though for the future, do you two prefer it here or in the other thread? I think it would be better if I use one comment for all of my thoughts. Anyways, this surely was very enjoyable to read! I mentioned most of my general thoughts over in my other comment. But well, kudos to you for translating the original. I always found translating to be a very hard task and I think you really deserve some praise for this, for smoothly translating everything without making things sound clunky. While I can't read the original, I'm going by your translation and must say that it is a really nicely written story. Your friend is a talented writer and you are a talented translator. Consider me excited for future parts
I actually discovered this story a few weeks ago and I really liking it so far. I cant wait for the next update
I am happy you liked it)) Chapter four will be comming soon. You are right, my friend is an excellent translator!
House De Moralle sigil
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Hm, it seems the other thread got deleted. Might have been better to merge them together. I don't know if you have managed to read my comment in the other thread before it got deleted, so I'll try to write it again. Basically, I praised your writing, which is very nice and enjoyable. I like the idea of continuing from Asher's story and with Mira alive, most fanfictions I have seen seem to focus on Rodrik and a dead Mira. Since I kept Asher, Mira and Sentinel Royland alive in my main playthrough, this really helped me getting into the story. And my favourite from the three translated parts is Mira's, as dark as it was. Ryon and Asher were also nice, I like that you use Ryon as a PoV. All in all, I'm really looking forward for the next chapter!
Well done, it looks cool
The next xhapter is comming soon! It's about Beskha and Ryon)) Again (Love those ones)
I tried)
Enjoying it so far
Thanks to everyone who has left comments & behold chapter four! It has a nice illustration by Marina. As for me, I gotta say, this has been the hardest part to translate so far — because there is actually a song in it! Hopefully, it's english version isn't awful, since it surely was tricky to write. Anyway, I hope you will all enjoy this.
Chapter 4: Dreje lentor *
The following day, at dawn, when the glare of sun just flashed at the horizon, Beskha and Ryon were already at White Harbor's port. The place's smell was spiced, salty and smacked of fish. View of ships, belonging to different houses of Westeros, greeted them. Many of those appeared familiar to Ryon — maester Ortengryn's tedious lessons weren't always for nothing after all.
— I know the houses they belong to! — the boy announced proudly. — You can test me.
His companion just smirked, but not quite sincerely. Of course, it affected Beskha in a way, that a seven years old lad knew much more than her, a woman of twenty-and-two, yet she realized perfectly, that Ryon was lord's son & must've got himself an education of sorts. Same couldn't be said about a slave & a pit fighter.
— Come on then — whose are those mermaids?
Ryon merely waved his hand, as if asked about something very simple.
— Manderly; this very harbor belongs to them.
— And the cluster of grapes on light-blue?
Ryon waved his hand again, but this time also rose head proudly.
— Redwyns, a house from the Reach.
— Good job, — the sellsword grinned. — And the golden hand on black and red?
— This is... — The Forrester paused, but, before Beskha could jape about it, he remembered. — Allyrions — dornishmen.
— Well done, then. Now, for the last one, — Beskha squinted pointedly. — Whose banner's that fancy tiger and crossed sables on azure field?
Ryon shrugged.
— I don't know, I must not've studied that yet...
Contended, the woman crossed arms on her chest.
— Serves you right for getting so smart. I know though — that's the sigil of our Ghiscari. Let's go, I don't think he'll wait for us long.
Travelers headed towards the ship with sky-blue sails. There they found Nathaniel, talking to one of his crew members. That was a large, brawny man, older than his captain: presumably, around forty-and-five, but looking older than that because of his scars. His wrinkly forehead caught the eye, making him seem like either a hot-tempered one, or a stern, serious and responsible man (not that he couldn't express both of the traits).
Both he and the captain spoke in high valyrian. Nathaniel was calm, opposed to the other, who seemed rather displeased by something. Ryon, not knowing any other languages aside from the common tongue, couldn't make out a thing, while Beskha understood why the giant was so discontent perfectly — Nate taking her & the boy aboard was the reason.
— My lord, that's a bad idea. You meet Gods knows whom in some godforsaken tavern, and now not only invite them on the ship, but to your own cabin to boot!
— Rasoul, I've said my piece. They need help, and if I can provide it, then why shouldn't I?
— And you plan of going to Meereen isn't any better. Your mother has tasked me with protecting you, my lord, so it's my duty to inform you about how unsafe... — Nathaniel motioned for him to stop: he has noticed Beskha and Ryon. Annoyed by his lord's unconcern, Rasoul shook his head & looked at the two with a scornful glare.
— Ryon, Beskha, you have no idea how glad I am to meet you again! — young man quickly switched to common tongue.
— Feeling's mutual, my lord, — the sellsword responded. — I'm afraid though, it isn't so for all of your crew...
— You're talking about Rasoul? He's my bodyguard, but he does not comprise the whole crew of mine! No offense, friend! — Nate laughed. In response to the taunt, Rasoul muttered something in valyrian. — We have a cabin ready for you.
— That's generous of you, my lord, — Beskha answered dryly.
Isn't he too generous? The thought flashed in her mind.
— Well then, welcome aboard!
By the evening, Nate's ship, «Riña Laena»**, has left Westeros & entered the Shivering Sea, and that must've been the moment when Ryon finally felt a little bit at ease: place, holding so many grievous memories, has been left behind. All of Nate's crew welcomed him & Beskha, aside from Rasoul, who, as Ryon found out later, was in a strained relationship with most of his surroundings. The captain, however, was his direct opposite, remaining on good & even friendly terms with the ship's company. Young lord's relationship with his bodyguard wasn't exactly cozy, but the two were still close, since, despite latter's temper, he trusted the man fully. Rasoul reminded Ryon of ser Royland: a man, who despised diplomacy & was ready to defend his lord till his last breath.
It's worth noting how plural Nathaniel's crew was: ghiscari, dornishmen, summer islanders, yet just one northerner — maester Ebbert. A handsome thirty-years-old man, same as most other maesters, he was humble, diplomatic, friendly & courteous, yet, in the depth of his blue eyes lurked some passion for life; something about him seemed unruly & restless, like stormy sea. He hasn't found the peace that most men of his kind impersonated.
Night fell, covering the sky in black. Ryon & Beskha were preparing to going to sleep. She took off the heavy armor, kicked her boots off, and remained in a shirt & leathern skirt. Woman had her hair down, and Ryon noticed that sea's dampness has made it more wavy. The boy took off his vest, trousers & boots, and stretched on his own bed, that, contrary to expectations, turned out to be quite soft.
— I like Nathaniel. He's a good man, I think, — Ryon stated quietly.
Beskha turned her attention back to the boy (she was cleaning her swords) & shrugged.
— May be, he agreed to help us in the end. As you, northerners, say, it does name to him.
— Does honor to him, — Ryon smiled.
— See, you know it better than I do, — with a laugh, woman stroke boy's hair. — Alright, go to sleep now.
Ryon closed his eyes. Turning away, the sellsword went on with her work, but a few minutes after heard the boy restlessly tumble about in his bed. With a sigh, Beskha put aside the swords & sat down near him. The boy opened eyes again, looking at her.
— I can't sleep.
— That I can see, — the woman stroke his hair once more.
— I used to drink milk with honey when I couldn't sleep, or mother or Talia would sing to me. They had such nice voices... — the boy turned away, reminded about his mother again.
Beskha smiled pensively. Her own mother used to sing her a lullaby long, long ago. The woman couldn't even recall how her face looked, but the song got stuck in her memory for good.
— My mom sang to me when I was a baby, still in cradle, — the woman felt Ryon's little hand touch her palm.
— Sing to me, Beskha.
Sellsword's green eyes widened & she cocked an eyebrow, surprised. She had never really tried singing before.
— But it's in valyrian...
— Doesn't matter. Please, — Ryon's voice sounded so pitifully, that Beskha was unable to resist. She agreed with a heavy sigh:
— Alright, then, — the woman started to hum the melody. Her voice wasn't as songful, as Talia's or Elissa's — hoarse, low, but soft in a way & quite listenable. Ryon shut his eyelids again.
Town's quiet now, it is dark outside.
Hush, little tiger cub.
You'll dream of wonders, my joy and pride,
Until at dawn you wake up.
Ivory stallion gallops through night,
Carries you to magic land.
Stroke his soft mane, hold the reins tight,
Trust him to bring you there.
That terra spreads out of reach, far and wide:
Mountains, forests and seas,
Roundelays in the shine of moonlight,
Witchcraft that kills and that heals.
I will remain by your side, tiger cub.
Night's not scary, my sweet.
Don't let those fears trouble your mind,
Neither — disturb your long sleep.
Town's quiet now, it is dark outside.
Hush, little tiger cub.
You'll dream of wonders, my joy and pride,
Until at dawn you wake up.
When Beskha stopped singing, she took a look at Ryon — the boy was long asleep already. She kissed his forehead & was ready to head to her own bed, when noticing that they weren't alone: Nathaniel has been in the cabin the whole time. His face expressed a mixture of joy & surprise. The woman looked at the lord inquiringly.
— Nice lullaby. How do you know it, Beskha? — Nathaniel asked quietly, not to wake sleeping Ryon.
— My mother used to sing it to put me to sleep, — the sellsword smiled.
— Well there... — the man spread his arms. — Mother used to sing the same song to me as a child, and then to my little sister, after she was born...
— Anything's possible, — was the woman's answer.
Both fell silent & the room got awkwardly quiet for a moment.
— Beskha, you must be wondering, why have I invited you to my ship?
— Why should I? I'm grateful for you helping me & Ryon, regardless of your reasons for acting nobly.
— Maybe, — young lord lowered his head. — My parents taught me to never leave people in trouble, to help as much as I can. We have to stay human, don't we?
— Perhaps, — Beskha agreed reluctantly.
— But I have to admit, it wasn't just nobility that made me do this, — Nathaniel seemed hesitant. It was like he wanted to say something, but didn't know where to start. His eyes moved constantly, hands were clenched into fists. The anxiety didn't go unnoticed by Beskha.
— My lord, if you want to say something, go ahead.
Nathaniel turned away from the woman, confounded by his reluctance & unrest. Suddenly, he turned back & stepped closer to the sellsword, grabbing her wrists. His bright cattish eyes stared in her emerald ones, lips formed a wicked grin. Beskha tried to wrest out of his grasp, but it just became tighter. The sellsword felt sudden pain.
— Let go of me, Nathaniel! Now!
— You want answers, Beskha? — the captain now spoke in valyrian. His grin looked almost animalistic, tigerish. — Then let's go to my cabin, you'll get them there!
— This sounds like it can be taken two ways, my lord, — Beskha tried to break free, but the man just tightened his grip. He wasn't like the lowlifes she had to face before, but somehow managed to plant much more fear in her mind. Beskha felt like the little girl, that has been thrown into a pit to face a wild beast — she felt like prey again.
— You think getting you into bed is what I want? — the man sneered. — Was any other broad in your place, I wouldn't have thought twice, but it's you, Beskha, not anyone else. Let's just talk. Privately.
She listened silently, without interrupting.
— I'll go with you, if it won't take long. Ryon...
— He's asleep, — the ghiscari interrupted edgily.
— Fine, — Beskha growled. — Just get your hands off me!
Smiling, Nathaniel let go of her & left the cabin without saying another word.
The woman didn't know whether she was supposed to do what he told her, but wanted to understand, why it was her whom he treated so strangely. Hesitantly, she looked at Ryon — the boy was asleep & hardly about to wake up anytime soon. Curiosity was too strong, and, slipping her outwear on, she stepped out of the cabin.
Entering captain's quarters, Beskha saw Nathaniel standing by the window. Without a word, the man shut the door behind her; he's been waiting for her. The woman decided she'd cut straight to the chase.
— So what are the questions I need answers for, lord Nathaniel?
— Just one — who are you.
Beskha laughed out loudly.
— What can you even know about me?
Nathaniel smiled meaningly. Courteously, he offered her a sit, before getting a bottle of wine & two silver goblets out of a chest.
— You know why I love Dorn so much? They make the finest wines there! — pouring alcohol into the cups, he offered one to the sellsword.
— Quit beating 'round the bush, — Beskha muttered.
Another meaningful smile.
— You asked what I know about you, and now I'm ready to tell. Aged three, you were kidnapped and sold to the slavers. A master from Meereen, one Dezhor Zo Raza, bought you.
Beskha's eyes widened. Where did he know all the details from? But she decided against interrupting the man.
— You became a pit fighter when you were just seven years old. Soon, you brought glory to your master, and were better known as Beskha the Basilisk. Goddes of the pit! But when you turned sixteen, you bought freedom for yourself and became a sellsword. And then, two years later, met a northerner at Lys — Ryon's brother. I don't know his name, but you two became partners and fought side by side for four years...
— Fine, you're right. I've got no idea how did you get to know all this, but that's the truth...
— I can tell you more, I can tell you who you are and where you come from. I know who your real family is.
Beskha's hands went cold, shivers ran down her body: she's been craving to learn the answers for the questions Nathaniel voiced, albeit never knew whom to ask. Never — until meeting a man, claiming to know all about her, those answers included.
— Your birthplace is Braavos. Your home is Tiger's Lair. Your parent's names are Oscar and Delana De Moralle, — Nate rolled his sleeve up abruptly, revealing the same tattoos Beskha had to her gaze — tigers. Shocked, she stared back at Nathaniel. — You are Beskha De Moralle. You're my sister.
Notes:
*Dreje lentor — true family (valyrian).
**Riña Laena — lady Laena (valyrian).
Nice! I liked the artwork too. But isn't Beskha's skin alittle darker?
That was another awesome chapter! I really liked this song, I could never translate such a thing, much less write it. You both did great there! I also enjoyed the general scene between Beskha and Ryon, these two really fit together and their scenes are always cute. Loved how Beskha is taking over the role of a surrogate mother/big sister for Ryon, that's equal parts hilarious and cute. The image was very nice as well. And well, what can I say, I kind of had the feeling that Nathaniel and Beskha would be related to each other after their eyes were mentioned to have the same (pretty rare) colour in the previous part. While I wasn't expecting him to reveal this so early, it is good to see I was right with my general assumption and I'm looking forward to what is going to come out of this revelation
Loving the story. One small suggestion/criticism I have is to add quotation marks instead of the little dashes, as they are a little confusing. But other than that, keep up the good work and I look forward to the next chapter!
Thank you v much for commenting!! I'm especially glad you liked the song, since it's the part I was most nervous about. You're indeed going to see how it goes with the revelation, although not right in the next chapter, but that's all I can say without spoiling anything .) Thanks for the response & stay tuned for more)
Great to know you liked it! I can't really answer about the drawing, since it's not mine, but I personally think it's the matter of the lighting in the room. Still, I have a very poor understanding of how drawing/art works at all, so it's hard for me to tell.
Thanks a lot for you reply & advice! I just want to make something clear:
Are you talking about these things? :
Also, not quite sure what "quotation marks" are. Sorry, I'm really bad at this forum's formatting xD
I think this person is talking about the dashes for the dialogue? Like this:
-- Anything's possible, - was the woman's answer.
Vs
"Anything's possible," was the woman's answer.
I THINK?? I'm not sure though.
Oh shit, you must be right! Apparently, I can't even tell the difference between a small & a big dash :O Lol, isn't that embarrassing. I'm kinda used to the small dash thing, it's how it is in the original (same as pretty much every russian fic I've read, it's prolly the matter of different styles in different languages). I dunno, if it really grates on english speaking readers, I might have to change that.
littlehandmaiden is right, that's what I was talking about. It's really not a big deal though, I just thought I would point it out
Behold my power is back with a new chapter! As Marina says, there's a lot of dialogue in this one, but that's Olenna Tyrell for you)
Chapter 5: Queen of Thorns
No one expected lady Olenna to arrive.
When she was still a handmaiden at Highgarden, and her Grace Margery — just another Tyrell lady, she learned that such vagaries were common for the Queen of Thornes. People not familiar with the old lady could take her impudent & brazen behavior for extravagance — or the weakness of old mind. But those, who, same as Mira, looked deeper into her, realized, that Tyrell's every act, no matter how pointless it seemed, was fully thought through. Olenna could be old, but her wit remained as sharp as a razor. And though Mira couldn't know the reason behind her visiting Rickard Morgryn's manor, it was no mere whim nonetheless.
Hearing the servant report Olenna Tyrell's arrival, Rickard nearly knocked over his goblet. Getting up from his seat abruptly, he hurried outside to visit the guest, nervously beckoning his wife with a hand. Quickly but calmly, Mira followed her husband.
Putting on an expression of a welcoming host & loving husband, lord Morgryn greeted the important guest with his best bow, so low that it seemed like he'd fall, although the man remained on his feet. The gest looked so mannered, that Mira tilting her head slightly was the very end of grace compared to it.
— Lady Olenna, it's a great honor for us to welcome you in our...
— For the sake of all Seven, Morgryn! You're not entertaining a queen! — the guest quickly shut him down. Before Rickard could say a thing, she offered him her thin wrinkly hand, but, noticing Mira standing by, came closer to the girl, leaving her husband somewhat confused, and exchanged a triple kiss with her.
— Dear, I was a bit shocked when learning you've left King's Landing! But now I understand why, — Olenna turned her look towards the manor's owner & lowered her tone. — Judging by most lords nowadays, — lady Tyrell grimaced, — you're quite lucky, Mira. Your husband's not that handsome, but a man needs not to look like a pretty woman, am I right?
— You are, my lady, — Mira felt nothing but distaste for her husband, though couldn't deny, that he was of the good-looking sorts. She couldn't hide it from old lady's small yet visile eyes, that she didn't want to talk in his presence. Olenna was about to whisper something in her ear, but Rickard intervened.
— Lady Olenna, dare I ask, what made you wish to visit us?
— Visit? You? — Olenna sneered at the man. — I only wished to visit lady Mira. I've heard about you and your home, but to me you're still a stranger — unlike your wife. I remember seeing her grow as girl. As for you, we've only ever met once or twice, — Morgryn's expression turned indignant: she had put him in his place and humiliated the man by daring to contrast him with his wife. He looked at the girl, eyes full of anger: it seemed like if it wasn't for the presence of Queen of Thorns, he'd slap her that very moment.
— Do you have a garden here?
— Of course, my lady, — Rickard said with a faked smile. — There we got an arbor, in case we or our guests wish to dine in the open air.
— I wouldn't mind having a snack in the garden. I hope, Mira can accompany me there? — Olenna took the girl's arm.
— Sure, my wife will go with you, and I'll order the food to be brought there, — Morgryn was about to leave, when the guest stopped him at the door.
— And I want cheese to be served to me now.
The garden was Mira's favorite place in her husband's giant manor. She was fond of walking outdoors, breathing in fresh scents of leafs & flowers. Back at Ironrath, the girl loved playing with her siblings in the grove; at Highgarden — just walking around it's orchards, that never seemed to end, with Sera telling her latest tittle-tattle, although she knew Mira cared little for those. Here, in this golden cage, little garden became her only joy, where she could detach herself and, for a little while, forget about her grim fate. But Rickard wouldn't let her walk outside alone — only under the supervision of two guards & Alicia, a young & naif squabbly serving maid.
With lady Olenna Mira felt protected, at least for some time. She knew she had to watch her tongue when talking to her, but this company was still much more pleasant than that of her despotic husband, talkative servants or silent guards — Olenna was a part of the free life Mira gave up to Morgryn, attempting to escape death. She had ruined that life with her own hands & would be paying for it till the day she'd die.
On their way to the arbor Olenna asked Mira:
— Do you know why I'm here?
— I guess, you wish to know why I left King's Landing so soon?
Old lady graced the girl with a pithy smile.
— You're only half-right, my child. I've heard worrisome rumors about you being involved in a murder of a Lannister guard, which is complete nonsense, — Mira hid her eyes from the woman. That was true — she had killed him. Noticing her reaction & drawing due conclusions, Olenna went on. — How foolish was it to let the incident see light, — Mira glanced at the other, surprised, but decided not to interrupt her. — What an absurd death! Just imagine, a soldier, who probably fought at the Blackwater, stabbed to death by a simple handmaiden! You won't deny this, will you, Mira? — her tone changed abruptly. Mira remained silent. The story was much more complicated than described by lady Tyrell. She wanted to tell the truth, but didn't know how to begin.
Meanwhile, they have reached the alcove lord Morgryn was talking about, and took their seats. A minute later food & wine were served to them. As soon as servants left, Olenna reverted to their previous subject.
— Mira, I want to know — is anything of what I've said before truthful? — The woman looked narrowly at the whey-faced girl.
Mira jerkily sipped wine from her goblet, trying to recollect her thoughts a bit. At last, picking the right words, she started:
— Yes, lady Olenna, that's true, I've killed that guard... But it was self-defense...
— Self-defense? — Olenna interrupted her. — So he attacked you? Why?
— My husband had hired him: he wasn't planning to marry me then. I was just getting in his way. He couldn't accept that I was the one to get that Ironwood decree. He was working for the Whitehills then. But his plan failed, because I killed that guard instead.
— Then why was some boy executed? What did he have to do with it?
— He saved me. He had saved my life more than once, lady Olenna! And so he did that time. They were supposed to execute me, not him. An hour before, lord Rickard came to my cell and said I had two ways: to the block or the sept, to the altar.
— In other words, life or death, — Olenna specified. — And you chose the second way.
— Yes, — Mira's shaky fingers grabbed the goblet again. — I got my freedom and life... at the cost of Tom's. And he didn't say a word, till the end. And when they led him to the block, I saw that he was judging me, saw it in his eyes. Why? — a lump formed in the girl's throat. — I still can't believe they killed him because of me! It was supposed to be me, lady Olenna! — tears streamed from Mira's eyes, the girl covered face with her hands, as if not not wishing for the Queen of Thorns to see her like that, and turned away from her.
Realizing it must've been hard for Mira to talk about the past, Olenna stood up & approached the crying girl, taking out a silky green handkerchief with one more golden rose embroidered on it.
— Here, sweetheart, calm down now, — she gently pulled Mira's hands out of the way & wiped the tears that dripped down her reddened cheeks. — Crying isn't going to help. You tell me one thing: why would that Morgryn decide to marry if he wanted to get rid of you?
Having recovered at least a bit, Mirra found it in herself to continue:
— Ironrath has belonged to my family for one and a half thousand years. Whitehills, our enemies, have always had their eyes on it. War of Five Kings took the lives of my father and two brothers. Lord Morgryn claims that Ludd Whitehill has dealt with the rest of my family, with all the male heirs.
— So according to his plan, Mira, you inherit your family's keep.
The Forrester nodded silently.
— And if you marry and give birth to an heir, he'll be the formal lord of Ironrath, but in reality, it'll be the father of your child.
— Just like that.
Olenna narrowed her eyes, as she usually did when thinking, and then hummed & dug in the food like nothing ever happened. Having eaten a slice of cheese & taken a small sip of wine, she spoke again.
— I doubt that your husband is going to leave his luxurious manor for the cold and harsh North. He'll use you, or, namely, your future son as the heir to Ironrath. Before coming here, I've enquired about some things. They say, there has been a slaughter there, did you know?
— Yes, Rickard told me, but he didn't say what happened to my family. He just told that Ludd was poisoned, and his soon took charge of house Whitehill... Torrhen, I think. He also said their house is unfortunate to be led by a fool like him. He served at Dreadfort before that.
— If he managed to keep his skin intact serving there, he can hardly be called a fool. Trust me, I knew many lords who now hang at the walls of that dead men's castle, — Queen of Thornes waved her hand. — And I doubt he'll trust Morgryn after learning, that he married you. Rumor has it, your keep is occupied by his younger brother — those Whitehills have settled down there for good.
— But Gryff doesn't have an advantage like a Forrester lady he could marry. Only if... — Mira recalled Talia. She didn't know what happened at Ironrath exactly, what became of Asher, Ryon, Talia, mother.
— Only if you don't have a sister. If that's the case, and if Torrhen isn't stupid, he'll wed her to his brother, to even Morgryn's and Whitehill's claim to Ironrath. Then, whoever has an heir first is going to win, — the woman finished.
— But what can I do? — Mira questioned desperately. — I'm powerless.
— Your main purpose now is to birth an heir.
— But I can't! — protested the girl. — A child has to be born out of love, not... — Olenna stopped her.
— Your husband is a wealthy man, and needs someone to inherit his fortune. It'll be a shame if this manor's owner passes from this world without leaving it a successor, — Olenna squeezed Mira's hand. — So you have to make sure your husband gets an heir before meeting the Seven.
Mira understood perfectly what Queen of Thorns was implying. Come to think of it, this was her best option. She'd rather return Ironrath to someone with Forrester's blood in his veins, not a stranger, who had no right for it. A son, born in wedlock with Rickard, would be the legitimate heir of her family's castle. But if Morgryn was to die, as lady Olenna said, Mira could lay claim to her home, retaliating against her accursed husband & the Whitehills, avenging her loved ones' deaths. She had a goal now.
— And now eat something, for the sake of all Seven! You're thin as a twig, — Olenna pointed at girl's favorite lemoncakes. Obeying, Mira bit a small piece from her own dessert. The woman then took her hand & looked fixedly at her.
— You've served my granddaughter well, Mira. Tyrells don't abandon people that are loyal to them. I will try to help. I have a couple allies at North — I'll keep you informed, but you have to remember your main task as well. If everything goes like I think it will, you'll reclaim Ironrath.
— You know, lady Olenna, my husband has one more plan, — Mira suddenly recalled Morgryn telling her about his new allies on the other side of the Shivering Sea in the morning.
— He does? — Olenna asked with her mouth full: she was eating a lemoncake. — What is he up to?
— I don't know exactly. I can only tell it has something to do with house De Moralle, braavosi.
— For real? — Tyrell chuckled. — Can his head handle that though?
— Why? — the girl smiled.
— Because any plan those cat-lovers are involved in is a recipe for a good headache.
— What does that mean, my lady? — Mira cocked an eyebrow, puzzled.
— Let's just say, the cats don't fancy having wool pulled over their eyes — they prefer to do the pulling. De Moralles are like tigers: pretty and graceful, but you better refrain from wronging them. Their claws are long and sharp, trust me.
— Do they have any influence in Westeros? — Mira was intrigued at this point.
— Yes, and plenty, — lady Tyrell nodded. — They have suction in Iron Bank, that supports all kings and lords of all great houses in Westeros, Tyrells included. They prefer not to interfere in conflicts, but have a close intercourse with Dornish houses, namely Martells, and are known in the Reach as well. I even heard they have people in the North. As you can see, they are great players.
— But you said that they avoid war conflicts.
— My dear, — Queen of Thorns smiled. — A good player isn't the one, that seeks conflict — he is the one, who can avoid them, — she paused. — Remember that, Mira. It will be very useful to you in future.
Oh yes, this was great! I was looking forward for it ever since it was mentioned in the last Mira part that she was about to meet Olenna and well, you certainly did not disappoint with her
I guess writing a character like Olenna well is quite a lot of work, but you did a great job in portraying her wit and just overall awesomeness. I really enjoyed this entire talk, first between Olenna and Morgryn, where she just completely dominated the talk, and later on with her and Mira, where you showed a different side of hers. I'm really curious if Mira will go through with that idea Olenna just suggested.
You will see, my friend)) I am happy you liked it! I spent two weaks writing this chapter but I see, the results are satisfying)
Guys, I'm really, really sorry that this chapter, while not the biggest one, took so long to translate (a month, in fact, which is obviously too much)! I've been busy, but it's out now, & I'll try to make sure that part seven doesn't take as long (although it is quite big, certainly bigger than this one). I am working on it already.
Chapter 6: A warg and a witch
Striking changes in Asher's health could be noticed after three days already — he was getting better. He could stand now, although that did not come easy: sharp pain in his left side made itself known, so the man could only walk within his small room. After three more days Asher found the strength to put his clothes on (it's worth mentioning, that it's been washed & patched, presumably, by the cabin's owner, & looked as good as new) & explore the healer's house. Pain wasn't as strong as it used to be, but still made the man grit teeth as he made each step. Leaning against the wall & muttering curses, Asher slowly left his bedroom.
Meanwhile his sister Talia was in the next room with Maeve. That was the biggest part of the cabin, serving as a kitchen, dining & living room at the same time; it was furnished quite unusually. Wall closet beside the table had books, mortars, vials filled with some infusions & potions, boxes & even silvery scales on it's shelves. Herbs were hanged to dry on one of the walls; on the other one, to the entrance's left, a neat charm was hanging, one that Maeve herself called "a catcher". In the furthest corner there was a perch for Bermut — a tame falcon, healer's best friend. Talia couldn't help being surprised when she met him first — most healers & maesters preferred keeping ravens or eagle-owls, but most certainly not falcons.
However, Bermut himself wasn't like any of the birds the girl had happened to meet before: he seemed more human. She had a feeling, that he understood everything told to him, & looked like he was led by a conscious mind, not animalistic instinct. And yet, his owner was no ordinary woman either.
Maeve was young, in her middle twenties, but possessed an extensive knowledge of healing. She navigated in the Wolfswood perfectly & knew the forest like the back of her own hand: each and every bush or tree were as familiar to her, as the countless remedies for any illness that she could make. Woman's beauty, however, was a match to her wits. Maeve was like the maidens bards eulogized in their songs: slim, chesty, with soft blush on her cheeks & hair as red as fire. Despite all that, though, she had never married. So what exactly was unusual about her? Anything could be found in the woman — gentleness & quick temper, caring nature & foul mouth, kindness & suspiciousness — that was Maeve for you, as unpredictable as sea's tides. Unpredictable — there was no better way to describe her.
Talia sat at the table in silence, embroidering, whilst the healer whispered something softly to her falcon.
— There, there, — young woman gently patted Bermut's head.
— He means a lot to you, I see, — Talia noted.
Maeve didn't turn to the other, although she clearly heard what was said, & kept stroking falcon's feathers.
— He does, but not the way you think.
— What do you mean, Maeve? — wondered Talia.
— He's more than a pet to me, more like — a family member. Does your brother mean much to you?
Talia glanced at the other, surprised. She realized, that the woman meant Asher. He was a brother of hers, indeed, but things she knew about him were few & far between. She was far more familiar with proud & noble Rodrik, calm & pensive Ethan, timid yet curious Ryon, but not the rebellious & restless Asher: they haven't communicated as much. He spent more time with Mira & Ethan, then — with Gwyn Whitehill. The girl viewed him as a rebellious, furious one, refusing to accept his family's tradition. She viewed him as a stranger. It was not until his return from the exile, not until she saw how vehemently he fought for his home, doing everything possible, that she realized Asher was still a Forrester in the end, a brave & noble warrior.
— Of course he does. He is my brother.
— And Bermut is my brother, — Maeve smiled. — My family. I'd be left alone in this harsh, cold world was something to happen to him.
— You have no family?
Maeve sighed & lowered her brown eyes.
— I used to have one, of course. But I don't any longer. War took lots of lives, — she looked fixedly at the girl. — My father's, mother's and grandfather's too. Father was killed by the ironborn, protecting Winterfell; he served the Starks. That was more than mother could bear, and couple months ago she died too, and grandfather, — she turned her eyes to the falcon, that seemed to be listening to them. — He was ninety five already, and father's death just quickened his decline. He was a healer too, if you're interested.
— So you followed in his tracks?
— Yes, — Maeve sighed again. — Decided to dedicate myself to curing people.
— And you never thought of marriage? — Talia inquired meekly.
— 'Course I did, — the healer chuckled. — And I've been proposed to more than once. But... — she looked away from the girl, as if recalling something sad. — The man I loved with my whole heart made the same choice — to study, to learn medicine & anything that saves people's lives.
— Did he love you?
— Yes, — young woman smiled, mournfully, but with some strange hidden joy in her expression. — We both did, but each of us made a choice. You see, Talia, everyone has to choose between feelings and duty at some point. Me and Ebbert could marry and live happily ever after, but chose the other way. Helping people is important now, with all the wars and bloodshed, when capable maesters and healers are needed. So Ebbert left for the Citadel, and I stayed here, in the Wolfswood, to learn from my grandfather.
— And you don't regret that choice?
Maeve mused over the question, looking at Bermut again, who, understanding everything, moved his head.
— No, I don't. And neither does he.
Wooden floor creaked & both girls turned to where the sound came from. It was Asher. Putting her work to the side, Talia ran up to her big brother & hugged him carefully. Smiling, he kissed his sister on the forehead & took the nearest seat. Maeve quickly swept her watchful eyes over him, went to the shelves & took a flacon with some purple tincture in it, then poured it into a cup she handed to the man. Breathing in it's strong unpleasant smell, Asher winced & put the drink aside.
— What's this?
— A medicine, — Maeve answered coldly. — The one you need to take if you want your wound to heal. If you prefer to keep groaning and hunching like an old man though, you don't have to drink.
Rolling eyes & grimacing, Asher still took the cup & made a sip of the liquid, that tasted as awfully as it smelled. Maeve crossed her arms, displeased.
— Bottoms up.
Talia giggled: watching the healer make her older brother drink, as if he was a petulant child, was indeed quite a treat.
Having drunken it dry, Asher put the cup the hell away from himself.
— And how often do I have to take this shit?
— Four times a day, — young woman smirked gloatingly. — As well as other, just as disgusting shit. Consider yourself as having taken the tastiest one.
Asher winced, discontented.
— Where is your cabin exactly? — he asked after a short while.
— In the heart of the Wolfswood. North-east from Deepwood Motte and Ironrath. We're lucky it's far from Winterfell, — Maeve opened the window to let some fresh air in.
— Why so? It's like the North's capital, after all, — questioned Asher.
— You don't say, a capital! — the woman waved her hand. — It used to be, when Eddard Stark hadn't faced the gods yet. It even looked better then, though for me, it was the same ugly keep. When those skinners came to power, capital moved to the dead men's castle. How's it... Dreadfort. Stinks for miles around — they leave corpses to rot there for long.
— You don't seem to like them much, — the man smirked.
Maeve cast him an upbraiding look.
— I don't — not the Boltons, not the Greyjoys, neither the Starks. What's there to like them for? First are flayers, second — raiders, third — simply fools.
— Starks are fools?! — Talia couldn't take this. — They fought for the North! For us to be free from the Iron Throne! — Asher carefully tucked at the girl's sleeve. Noticing that Maeve, smiled.
— And that's why they are. If they didn't ally themselves with Boltons, and didn't cross that old fart from the Riverlands, there'd be no Red Wedding, and so many warriors wouldn't have gotten killed. Those Starks should've realized it long ago — noble people never last in this world. It's the most sly and faithless who survive.
Asher listened quietly, frowning. When she finished, he stood up, holding onto the corner of the table, & spoke:
— So you're saying, we're supposed to live the way those scum do?
Maeve cocked an eyebrow, surprised. Crossing arms, she turned away from him & looked in the window.
— Now look who's back from the hunt...
Talia ran up to the window & saw ser Royland, accompanied by several people, dressed in rags. She recognized one of them, a young man with wavy dark-brown hair, about seventeen years old. Girl's big green eyes widened happily.
— Gared! Asher, he's back from the Wall! I thought I'd never see him again... Who's that with him? — she noticed the several men near former squire, ten or eleven of them. — Some people... I don't know them...
— Wildlings, plain as day. And what is this?! — healer's equanimity & calmness were gone in a moment. Asher was confused as well.
— A bear?..
Asher, Talia & Maeve went out & now were gaping at the strangers, shocked. Those indeed were wildlings, ragged & battered-looking. Ser Royland, Gared & two of the wildlings (their leaders, apparently) headed towards them.
— Gared! — Talia flounced to the young man & hugged him tightly. — How did you leave the Wall?
— That... just happened, my lady, — Gared smiled.
— What does all of this mean, Royland?! — Maeve was indignant. — So you go on a hunt — and bring a bunch of strangers with you!
— Why only strangers? — the sentinel smirked. — I got prey, — the man handed a couple of rabbits to the woman. He then approached Asher, beckoning the two wildling, a man & a woman. Lowering voice, he whispered:
— My lord, that's Elsera and Josera Snow. Heads of this group, — A sturdy & rough-looking man offered his big hand to the lord. Asher, although hesitating for a moment, still shook it.
— Didn't think I'd get to meet you, lord Asher Forrester, — Josera spoke first, in a deep hoarse voice.
At the mention of a title Maeve listened closer: she didn't know about Asher's standing before.
— It's nice to see you too, — Asher grinned: he had always enjoyed meeting new people.
— You're truly like your father, lord Gregor, my lord, — the wildling went on.
— How did you know him? — the man was surprised.
Josera & Elsera exchanged a look. Still hesitant, however, but having made up his mind, Josera responded to the young lord:
— Gregor Forrester was our father, lord Asher.
I am so glad this story is back! Don't worry about the wait, when it comes to such great quality, I am always patient
First of all, I don't think I have mentioned it before, but I love these illustrations you have there. They are well-drawn and for me at least, they add something to the atmosphere of the scene. So, for the part itself, I liked it a lot, as always. Maeve is a pretty interesting character and I am willing to bet that this Ebbert she mentioned is none other than Ebbert Whitehill. If I'm not mistaken, he studied at the Citadel. Makes me curious if we're going to see him. And I enjoyed to see Gared and Joserea and Elsera in the story at last. They have been among my favourites in the game and I can't wait to see how they will interact with Asher and Talia. This part made Talia's storyline even more exciting for me. Keep up the great work, both of you!
I'm very glad you liked it. Liza did a great job! Warms our hearts) You know, this drawing is one of my favourites but the next part is going to have more then one illustration! The next part belongs to Beskha's storyline, so you'll see if your theory is true!
By the way, prepare for the Valyrian dialogs!
So, today I'm publishing not a complete chapter, but just a half of it — the original part seven is twice as big. It'd take me too much time to translate all of it & I don't want you guys to have to wait for too long, so here's the first half — the second will come out later. It's quite fitting, actually, since this chapter has two illustrations — one for each part:)
Chapter 7: Tiger's lair (part one)
You are Beskha De Moralle. You are my sister.
Words rang in her ears like echo. Clueless about who her real family was for so many years, she had given up even hoping to find them. Yet now, almost twenty years later, a man calling himself her brother showed up in her life. But could it be true? — Beskha wondered. Having lived a life of hate & distrust, she was past believing in noble & honest people. On the other hand, what could Nathaniel be lying to her for? Could he be lying, when presenting such convincing proof: he knew almost everything about her life as a slave. Why? It meant Nate had been looking for her this whole time. And what about the tigers tattooed on his wrists? Strikingly resembling her own. And the eyes... Just as cattish as hers.
De Moralle... Beskha De Moralle. Could it be that Nathaniel was her brother, her family she lacked for nineteen years? Could it be that she had regained it at last? But she did much earlier, four years ago, when she met Asher in Lys. He became her family. Not a blood brother, perhaps, but a loved one. Nathaniel though? It could be truthful that De Moralle's blood ran in her veins, & she was his sister... blood sister. Yet a brother? No matter how much she tried, even in her thoughts, Beskha couldn't call Nathaniel that. A blood sibling? Maybe. But her own brother? No. He wasn't the one to fight by her side. Wasn't the one to come to her aid in time of danger. Wasn't the one she could trust with her inmost secrets. May be she'd be able to call him brother once, but not now. Right now, in front of Beskha stood a man, who called himself her brother, but wasn't one.
Stunned by lord De Moralle's story, Beskha was silent. She felt unable to say a word, & it wasn't like she knew what to tell him either way. Young woman's big green eyes were fixed on the man, filled with daze, confusion & fear. Shock was strong enough to keep her motionless. Nathaniel saw that. Without saying a word, he went over to the desk & took some silvery box from the drawer. Carefully, like it was a precious thing to him, he opened it & took out a small golden bracelet, looking like it'd fit a child's wrist. The man approached Beskha & handed her the item, which she accepted with a shaky hand, observing it closely. It seemed to her like she had seen it before.
— Our father gave it to you on your first name day, — whispered the young lord.
Beskha lifted her sad eyes to her brother, tears swelling in them. Indistinct memories were invading her, she was starting to recall events from the distant past, & golden bracelet was the reason.
— I must've been happy & laughed when receiving this? — she asked quietly.
— Laughed out loud, — Nathaniel smiled. — Do you remember? — brother knelt before her & took woman's hands in his tightly, overjoyed.
— I think, I remember something, but... — Beskha turned away from him. — But it's all unclear... I'm not sure... — her speech was discontinuous, due to her agitated state.
— You were still too young then, — Nathaniel tried to console her. — But you'll recollect it all, I promise. I'll bring you to our family's castle, there you'll remember everything and you'll be safe and sound for the rest of your life.
— Your castle? — the woman was taken aback: she remembered about the promise given to Asher. — What about Ryon?.. I have to get him to Meereen...
— Don't worry, sister, I know what I'm doing. It's highly unsafe there now. Overthrown masters of Meereen, Astapor and Yunkai have turned against Daenerys Targaryen. Some Sons of the Harpy, slavers' forces, are raging there. It's no place for the boy.
— So what do I do? I made a promise, — she asked with more confidence.
— Let's bring him to the castle, — the ghiscari offered calmly. — He'll be safe — no one's going to look for him there.
Beskha was unsure — everything was happening too fast, yet something had to be done. Nathaniel was obviously right, Meereen had never been a good place for a kid: people didn't call it "a city of dead children" for nothing. Having decided at last, young woman nodded to her brother silently.
— This will be the right thing to do.
— So you're saying, I'll get to see my family in two weeks? — the sellsword asked after a short while.
Nathaniel put a hand on his sister's shoulder.
— In six days, Beskha. We're going to Braavos, and it's a lot less far.
Young woman turned away, wiping the treacherous tear, that trickled down her face. She was flurried, of course; any would've been, a tender, fragile lady or rough & hardened warrior. Gently, Nathaniel took her by the chin & turned her head to face him. Her eyes blubbered, she looked at her brother with a completely child-like expression. Sweeping tears away, he then kissed her on the forehead, like a real big brother would.
— I have to tell you so much about your family... About our family, — young man corrected himself quickly.
— I think, we'll have time for that. It's late, I want to get some sleep, — young woman said, barely audibly. Lord De Moralle nodded, & then kissed his sister again. She didn't resist.
A short while after, ready to come up to the deck, Beskha handed the little golden bracelet she's been holding this whole time to Nathaniel, but the man shook his head.
— It belongs to you, sister. I'm just returning it, after all these years. It's yours.
When Beskha returned to her cabin, Ryon was already sound asleep. She saw him smile, seemingly dreaming of something good. She realized she forgot to do out the candle, but, luckily, it didn't wake him up. Putting it out, she laid on her bed, without undressing or getting under the covers, bracelet in her hand. She simply stared at the ceiling, thoughts far away from reality. Beskha went over all that had happened today in her head. Just this morning she was Meereen's Basilisk, & at night turned into Beskha De Moralle, daughter of rich parents, one of the wealthiest families in Essoss. But how could a highborn lady end up a slave? Why didn't they keep her safe? What happened back then? New questions arose, ones she wasn't even sure she needed answers for. It was all in the past now. What for her new family though? Would she have to choose between the old one & the new one? Those questions tormented former sellsword, lady De Moralle. Despite that, sleep was displacing woman's unpleasant thoughts, & she slowly fell into slumber.
— Beskha! Beskha! — she heard some ghiscari boy call out for her. She couldn't see him, it's like he was nearby, but far away at the same time. Beskha headed towards the sound of his voice, realizing suddenly, that she was no longer in a cabin, but a palace's hall, among tall columns & with a painted ceiling above her, rich furnish, floors covered with carpets... But how did she get here? Why did guards by the door fail to see her, like she wasn't even there?
— Beskha! Beskha! — she heard the boy call her again. Entering the corridor, she was greeted by a beautiful sight: hall she was in had more columns instead of one of it's walls, between which a large park could be seen in the distance. Passing the columns, she found herself under the cascade of two fountains, water from which fell into the third, the finest, marble one. There water poured from a jug in the hands of a girl's statue, so realistic, it could hardly be told from a real one. Beskha breathed in the fresh, wet smell that she enjoyed immensely, that she'd gladly breath in forever if possible.
— Beskha! Beskha! — this time she could see who's been calling her name: a ghiscari boy, looking four or five years old. Sturdy fellow, with a bit of baby fat, tanned skin & curly brown hair. His big & bright, cattish eyes looked around with childish curiosity. Beskha spotted tigers, tattooed on the both forearms of the kid, realizing that the boy was her brother, Nathaniel. But he wasn't calling for her. He was calling for a girl, his little sister, that seemed younger than a year old. She couldn't walk yet, but crawled in the grass nimbly, laughing loudly & sonorously. On her small wrist Beskha noticed the very same bracelet Nathaniel has returned to her. This girl was her as a child.
The young woman, sitting near the children, was beautiful — with good features, big sea-blue eyes, slim figure & graceful posture, wavy brown hair, that reached her waist. Her beauty stunned Beskha — this must've been her mother, Delana De Moralle, watching her children play with a broad joyful smile on her face. She looked so... perfect. It seemed impossible to imagine, that this noble woman could be mother to a daughter, so wretched on both the inside & outside. Could she possibly inherit a thing from the likes of her?
A short while after, a man approached the children, Beskha's attention turning to him. He looked like he was in his late twenties, athletic & well-built, outstandingly tall. Man's features were rough, like they were etched from stone, but that did not disfigure him, on the opposite making his appearance more unique. Nathaniel looked a lot like him, but, in contrast to his son, this man wore a beard, and his raven-black hair reached the shoulders. Eyes were as emerald-green as those of any other De Moralle. Doubtless, that must've been lord Oscar, Beskha's & Nathaniel's father. The moment he appeared, little girl stretched her tiny arms towards the man, happy to see him. Amazingly, despite his hard look, he smiled momentarily, picking his daughter up. The baby immediately wrapped arms around his neck, giving her father a kiss on the nose. Laughing out loud, he instantly kissed her back, & then tossed the child up & caught again, causing more laughter to echo through the park like ringing of a little bell.
— My little princess! — lord De Moralle spoke gently & kissed the baby on the forehead. Beskha watched them, without noticing tears starting to swell in her eyes again. Could she truly be that joyful, naive child, so happy, so beloved by her family? There was nothing she wanted more than to feel that once again! More than to hug her parents. Unable to bear this any longer, she cried at the top of her voice:
— Father! Mother! — but they couldn't hear her, & she yelled again, even louder. — Dad! Mom! — all in vain. Suddenly, she sensed deadly cold behind her back. Turning around abruptly, Beskha realized, horrified, that it was her former master, Dezor Zo Raza, in front of her.
— They are gone. Basilisk doesn't need any family, — he repeated with a smirk.
Beskha turned back to her parents, but they have vanished, along with the castle. The woman was back in the painfully familiar house, her master's house. She was back in Meereen. Next second she felt the leather collar around her neck, the symbol of her belonging to the master; symbol of her being a slave. Beskha tried to tear it off, but the more she struggled, the tighter it constricted her neck. She choked, while the master watched the woman's suffering, gloating smirk on his face.
— Ah! — Beskha jumped in her bed, gasping for air. Her master was nowhere to be seen. Her hands move jerkily to touch the neck — collar was gone. She was in her cabin, on «Riña Laena's» board. That was just a dream. Just another nightmare.
Ryon woke up at dawn. Yawning lazily & rubbing his eyes, the boy looked around his cabin as if seeing it for the first time — quite naturally not recognizing the new sleeping place. Beskha was still asleep; he couldn't see her expression as she laid facing the wall. Yet sleep must not've come easily, as he noticed a cup with the remains of wine on the bottom on the floor by her bed. Deciding not to disturb her, the boy dressed up hastily, &, trying not to make any noise, left the cabin.
The first man he met at the deck was no other than maester Ebbert. Man was sketching something in a notebook, so focused on the task, that he didn't notice the boy approaching him.
— Good morning, maester Ebbert? — Ryon greeted him quietly.
— Sorry, Ryon, I didn't see you there, — young healer gave him a welcoming smile. — Good morning. How was your first night at "Lady Laena"?
— Slept like the dead, — the boy chuckled, as Ebbert huffed slightly.
— Same can't be said about lady Beskha.
Ryon's eyes widened from surprise.
— Lady? But Beskha is...
— She didn't tell you? — the maester cocked an eyebrow. — I understand, I only learned it today myself.
— Learned what?
— Beskha is lord De Moralle's sister, that went missing many years ago. For nineteen years she was considered lost, until he found her now.
— How did lord Nathaniel know it? — Ryon was confused.
— The tattoos, those are their house's marks. That's how they worked out, that Beskha is his sister.
— So she's a highborn lady now? — the boy frowned.
— Aye, so she is. Indeed you can never know… What's the matter? — he noticed, that child's expression changed to a gloomier one.
— It's nothing, maester, it's just... I was thinking, that's all. It's nothing, — boy turned away from him, but then felt other's cold hand touch his shoulder. Ebbert was looking at him, eyes serious. An experienced man, he was able to read Ryon's discontent.
— You're afraid, that the title will change things between you two? Afraid she's going to abandon you, am I right?
— Just don't want her to become stuck up, is all, — young Forrester smiled sadly.
— I understand. See, that's what happened to my younger brother, — Ebbert sat down on the nearest barrel. — He was just fourteen when our father sent him to squire for one powerful lord. He sent lots of letters to me and my younger sister during his time there. But four years later he was knighted, and since then we got much less letters, and those that came differed vastly from the former ones. Knighthood has changed him. So I understand your concern perfectly, — the maester sighed heavily, returning to his job. However, his young companion didn't look too comforted by the story; quite the opposite, it made him more worried. Without saying a word, he headed back to the cabin, leaving Ebbert to what seemed to be his favorite pastime. Young man noticed that, but decided against calling him, realizing it'd be for the best to give the kid some time by himself. Pensively, he watched the boy leave, but did not return to his task, since the massive figure of lord Nathaniel's bodyguard has approached him. His graceless face formed a grimace as he looked at the Forrester; arms were crossed on the chest. Ebbert winced slightly, seemingly uncomfortable in the man's presence, & spoke to him in Valyrian (knowing, that his Common Tongue was terrible):
— Skoros massitas, Rassul? — young man's voice contained notes of indifference, obvious to anyone, because he clearly anticipated more complaints from the ghiscari.
— Ziry iksos nūmāzma bona valītsos, — Rasoul shot a glance towards the cabin's door that Ryon disappeared behind. — Nyke ȳdra daor pāsagon zirȳla.
Ebbert arched an eyebrow, his expression ironic: there wasn't a single man, that Tiger Lair's captain of guards would trust. It seemed like his entire life was being spent questioning & distrusting people around him.
— Skoro syt? Issa sepār iā valītsos!
Responding to the comment, ghiscari turned his annoyed gaze to the lad.
— Issa iā Vesterozia, iksin āzma isse Jelmor. Konir sagon skoro syt nyke ȳdra daor pāsagon zirȳla.
— Yn iksan iā Vesterozia se iksin āzma isse Jelmor, hae zirȳla, Rassul! — Ebbert hummed in response.
Ghiscari seized the younger man with his small & dark as night eyes, filled with contempt:
— Qilōni vestās nyke pāsagon ao, tolī?
Maester looked away from him.
— Paktot… — he huffed & returned to his work, demonstrating his unwillingness to listen to ghiscari any longer.
— Zȳhon dārōñe jaelagon naejot ȳdragon naejot ao.
— Nūmāzma skoros?
— Kostilus, nūmāzma Giēñatī Allister. Аo gīmigon, se uēpa vala iksis olvie quba se mōrī jēda, — Rasoul yawned lazily.
— Рen rhinka, issa! Issa nūmāzma vōrēpsa iā sesīr tolī, — an ironic grin found it's way to maester's face again.
— Ziry se uēpāje vala isse Brāvos. Kostilus, ziry ūndan se mōrī zaldrīzoti.*
*— What is it, Rasoul?
— The brat. I don't trust him.
— Why? He's just a boy!
— He's a westerosi, and was born in the North. That is why.
— But I'm a westerosi, who was born in the North as well!
— And who says I trust you?
— Who would've guessed...
— His Lordship wants to speak with you.
— About what?
— About maester Allister, perhaps. I heard the old man isn't doing too good lately.
— No wonder! He must be ninety, or even older than that...
— He is the oldest man in Braavos. Wouldn't be surprised to know, that he had seen the last dragons.
Great part! I really adore Beskha in this story. I always liked her, but I feel like you really enhance her character in a great and believable way. I just wonder, how old is she in your story? It seems that she is pretty young there, like in her very early twenties, and I always thought of her to be a couple years older than that. But anyways, that scene between her and Nathaniel and later her dream really made her my favourite character in your story for now.
I must say, I feel a bit stupid that I have only now realized that there is a Maester Ebbert on the ship XD Well, with the earlier connection to Maeve and Asher's storyline, I am excited to see what this will bring.
Also, the drawing has to be by far my favourite out of the ones I have seen so far. It's so colourful and nicely drawn and there's that sweet tiger, I love it
One thing I want to state right away is — I know, that no one's probably expecting this translation to be continued after such an awfully long wait & I apologize for it, guys. Real life was a big distraction & I've dropped most of my online activities for a long period, but my wish to continue this work is still there. Behold My Power is still going, new chapters were released in my absence, and I am going to try & keep translating them, & not make you wait for so long anymore. Hopefully, someone will still be interested in this
Chapter 7: Tiger's lair (part two)
When Ryon entered the cabin Beskha was already awake, standing near the washstand & rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She turned to the little Forrester, squinting to make out what she saw, still not quite awake.
— Up already, — young woman yawned lazily. — Did you sleep well?
— Peachy-keen, my lady, — muttered Ryon, & without sparing a look to his companion, laid on his bed, turning away from her.
For a second, Beskha was confused about what could cause such a reaction from the child. It hit her then. My lady. She hasn't spoken to him about the conversation, that occurred at captain's cabin the night before yet. But how could he know that? The woman sat down on the boy's bed & shuffled his hair — however, he just jerked, demonstrating unwillingness to talk.
— What's the matter, Ryon? — Beskha asked carefully.
The boy turned to her, his big round eyes full of resentment. She gave him a small smile.
— Tell me what happened.
— You already know what happened. You would! You're a highborn lady now and won't care about me, right? — Ryon snapped.
— Who told you that? — Beskha frowned. — It may be true that I'm De Moralle, but that isn't going to affect us. Do you really think I'd abandon you when getting a title?
— Yes, I do, — muttered the boy.
— Then what you think is stupid! I would never do that, do you hear me? I don't break my word. I promised your brother to protect you, and that's what I'm going to do. End of story! Don't think I'm just some swollen-head, cocky and spoiled highborn bitch! And if that's your opinion of me now, — Beskha was about to get up, when Ryon's small hand grabbed hers. Quickly, the boy pulled himself up & hugged the other tightly. Touched, she kissed him on top of the head, & then lowered her own to whisper in his ear:
— Iron from ice.
— Iron from ice, — Ryon answered quietly. A happy smile found it's way on his face.
In the evening, when sun was almost down, painting the sky in peach & lilac, sailors were starting to light the torches on "Lady Laena". Beskha & Ryon were talking & watching the sunset. The woman was starting to notice, how much the crew's attitude towards her has changed: from friendly to sycophantic. It would — she was their captain's sister after all. It was was dazing, what a last name alone could do to people.
Meanwhile, Nathaniel has joined them.
— How do you like the ship, Ryon?
— Big and beautiful, — the Forrester smiled.
— Typical northerner — short and clear! — the young lord laughed. Beskha didn't hide a smile either.
— Will we see the Titan? — the kid wondered.
— Of course, — ghiscari smiled. — We'll go right under it! It's like a giant gate, guarding the city. It comes to our aid in a moment of danger.
— So it's alive? — Ryon blinked at what's been said.
Brother and sister exchanged a look.
— Well... You could say that.
It got quiet for a short while, before Ryon spoke again, slightly tugging at Nathaniel's sleeve.
— Can I have some more lemoncakes?
— Ryon, — Beskha hissed. — You've already had about a dozen during the supper, you'll explode!
— I deal with problems as they come! — the Forrester declared proudly. Nathaniel shuffled boy's hair, then ordering a whole plate of the dessert to be brought in his room, making the boy's smile widen further. He immediately ran off to the cabin, leaving two siblings alone at the deck.
Beskha kept silent, same as her older brother. There was an awkward pause, until the sellsword finally decided to speak up.
— My mother must be a beautiful woman...
— One of Essos's best. Father was incredibly lucky to have her. They've been together for twenty five years, you know. Both coming from powerful houses, yet they have married for love. That's a rare thing... Happens one time a million, — silence fell again.
— Nate? — the woman lowered her head.
— Yes, sister?
— Since you're the lord of our house, does that mean father has died?
The man sighed, like one would if having to touch a hard subject.
— Unfortunately, yes, Beskha. His only wish was to find you. He's been searching for you all for all these nineteen years, till that shipwreck happened two months ago. He'd be in seventh heaven now. Do you know just how much he loved you?
— I do, — his sister sighed
— More than life itself. You were his favorite, although he loved me and Caleb too, of course.
— Caleb? — she repeated the name.
— Yes, — Nathaniel smiled. — Not only you got a mortally boring big brother, but a nimble little one as well. He's already nine. There is one more thing I wanted to warn you about, so that there are no excesses when we're in the castle...
— Regarding my manners? — Beskha smirked. — I get it. Fork in the left hand, knife — in the right.
— No, that's not what I meant, though I'm glad you remember. I was talking about our pets — tigers.
For a moment, Beskha cocked an eyebrow, but simply brushed it off then.
— Now that makes sense: tattoos, clothes, jewelry, banners — would be absurd not to have any living ones!
Her brother laughed softly in response.
Seven days after leaving the White Harbor, at dawn, "Lady Laena" was closing in on the city. Ryon stood at the deck, admiring the famous Braavosi Titan, with curiosity in his eyes. For a seven years old, it was simply dazing — to see one of the world's biggest wonders. While he was lost in the sight, Beskha felt sickened by the nervousness the soon-to-be reunion with family caused her. Nathaniel noticed that, & tried not to leave his sister's side for as long as it was possible
Meanwhile, ship was already passing the Arsenal, that reminded a cliff, protruding from the sea water, & looked like a clenched fist, bristling with scorpions, spitfires & trebuchets. Shipyards & docks were scattered by the keep. Soon they left it behind, to enter Purple Harbor, only meant for Braavosi ships; the rest were forbidden from mooring there by law.
— Nate, will we be there soon?
— I don't think so... They'll probably halt us for half a day more in that Chequy port. Customs officers answer to the Sealord of Braavos, that old man Antaryon. Looks sickly, but he's one heck of a weasel....
— A rival? — Beskha guessed.
— Not really... They say, Antaryon isn't going to last, so a successor must be chosen soon. The question is, who that is going to be.
— Clearly, you're among the contenders.
— Correct, — Nate smirked. — Along with that Tormo Fragar. That one can not stand us, the bloody valyrian. He's going to get his, mark my words.
Just as Lord De Moralle expected, officers have been inspecting their holds for half a day, keeping the captain busy to no end.
At sunset, the ship's crew, or, to be exact, most of them (some people returned to their own homes) headed towards the palace. Outside the harbor, five De Moralle's men waited for their lord with horses, so that he & his companions would not have to walk.
Tiger's Lair was a stunningly beautiful castle. Large territory comprised hundreds of rooms, five gardens, parks & cascades of fountains... Of course, quite a few marble & gilt statues depicted De Moralle's talisman, tigers. As soon as she entered the palace, Beskha was struck with a feeling of dejavu, as if she had seen all that already, had walked those endless corridors. Ryon peered closely into everything he saw around him, as if afraid of missing any detail; his mouth remained wide open almost the whole way.
At last, the travelers stopped. Nathaniel spoke to the maester, and the latter accompanied Ryon to the chambers, that had already been prepared for him, while the lord himself gave his arm to Beskha and led her to the main hall, that offered a beautiful view of the Purple Harbor. With each step, young woman's heart sank a little more. Four people were awaiting them there.
To their left stood a tall, lank woman of sixty and five or so. Despite the old age, she held herself with elegance & grace of a true noble. Her dyed chestnut hair was upswept neatly, dress strict & simple, with a high collar; it's dark-azure color matched the color of her eyes, which expressed weariness, as Beskha noticed. That was lady Laena De Moralle, her late father's mother & her own grandmother.
Left from her there was a woman, whose age couldn't be guessed as easily — in her forties already, but looking younger than that. Beskha recognized her right away. That was the woman from her dream, her mother, Delana De Moralle. Years take their toll, they say, yet despite that, Beskha's mother's title of one of Essos' most beautiful women was a well-deserved one. In her eyes, as blue as the sea itself, one could notice the pent-up yearn for her late husband.
A nine years old boy stood by the woman's side. He was quite tall for his age, making him look a bit older than that, a little chubby & round-faced. Small nose & mouth, big emerald eyes, curly, pitch-black hair — he did resemble a tiger cub, just as his brother has described. That was Beskha's little brother, Caleb De Moralle. From what Beskha has noticed, his eyes were lively, expressing joy & openness; as if trying to tell just how warm-hearted & harmless the tiger cub was.
The last, fourth De Moralle, was, apparently, Beskha's uncle, Miraz. Tall, square-built, he differed from other family members. His features were rugged & sharp: long chin, a hawknose, wrinkled face — he didn't age well for a man of just forty and one. Even his small, emerald eyes had a different expression. Just as Nate said, his grim look made one feel uneasy. Beskha felt exactly that when the man periodically shot glances at her.
All De Moralles were watching the young woman, but the keenest stare was her mother's, Delana's. Surprised expressions could be explained easily — Nathaniel was yet to tell them about having recovered his sister.
— Mother, grandmother, uncle, Caleb, — Nathaniel began, his voice quivering. — What we've been waiting for so long has finally happened. Nineteen years after, our Beskha's returned home, — to show the proof, he rolled up the woman's sleeve.
De Moralle's reactions to the stunning revelation varied: Laena was silently shocked, Miraz eyed the woman distrustfully, while Caleb seemed genuinely interested. But Delana... Shock, distrust, fear, joy, all rushed through poor mother's head in a heartbeat. She peered in Beskha's face, then strode up to her & put hands on the sides of sellsword's face. She looked directly in her eyes & felt her skin with her hands, as if trying to somehow make sure this was her daughter, her flesh & blood. Then lady's eyes rested on other's mouth. Carefully, she touched a small scar on Beskha's upper lip.
— Where'd you get that? — she questioned in a shaky voice.
— I don't know, my lady... I mean, I don't remember.
All out of sudden, Delana's sorrowful face lit up with a smile. She was recognizing her daughter, like any mother would've recognized her child, no matter how they'd look like. Tears of joy filled her blue eyes.
— Jaehossas sȳris sātās! Nuha tala! Nuha Beskha! * — the woman embraced her daughter tightly.
Tears streamed down Beskha's own face as she returned the hug.
— Muña…*
Finally. At last, after all these years she felt like she was home; somewhere no one could cast her out from, somewhere she didn't need to fear for her life. She was back. She was Beskha De Moralle.
*— Thank the gods! My girl! My Beskha!
*— Mother…
Ah, I am so glad this returned! I actually just thought about this story a couple of days ago, when I went through my followed discussions and I wondered what happened. Thank you for picking it up again. I can assure you that I am still interested in the continuation
And well, I surely loved this part. I was able to dive right back into it, with only a brief reading over the past parts to fully remember everything that has been going on there. As always, I love the Beskha/Ryon relationship there and Nathaniel is shaping up to be a very cool character. The one thing I liked the most is the drawing though, that is just beautiful. Don't even have another word for it, the colours look so vivid and nice. This is quite probably my favourite of the drawings that were made for this story
I also can see how Beskha's family will play a key role in the future parts, I'm sure of it. I'm getting some pretty chilly vibes from Miraz though. He might just be a bit sceptical of Beskha's return, but I can totally see him being a pain in the ass for her. That said, I doubt he'll be anything she cannot overcome, if he poses a problem at all. So, well done and I am glad you're continuing with the translation 