Negotiating on the Docks

It hadn't been his idea to dock at the White Harbor, even if it was just going to be for a few hours to take on new provisions. They were not far enough from the Wall for his tastes but apparently, one needed casks of fresh water when on the sea and theirs had spoiled. Just his luck. Now they were docking at one of the largest ports in the north. Thankfully, Josmyn had long since changed his attire and there was no one in the port that was likely to know his face. Instead of all black, the former man of the Night's Watch now wore an red silk tunic with a dark brown surcoat fastened over it. His boots matched the surcoat in color and over his shoulders he wore a fur lined cloak. His clothes marked him as a noble and not a black brother, something that was vital until they got further south.

However, the captain had decided against the wishes of the prince and docked anyway. Josmyn snarled under his breath. While he wasn't keen to thirst, with the ale and wine they had on board, it would have been easy enough to sail for a day until they were nearer to a town along the Vale instead of in the North. Passing as nobles would have been easy in the Vale. None of them ever had direct dealings with men on the Wall. As it was, people in White Harbor might have though. It irked him to think about it and if there was trouble because this captain has disobeyed him, well, it would not be good for the captain, Josmyn would see to that.

His dark eyes scanned the various men that were walking about, making sure there weren't any that could identify him or raise the alarm. The very last thing he wanted was to be taken back to the Wall. His hands were idly folded over the hilt of his long sword as he walked down the docks. His hearing picked up a few stray words over the bustle of those milling about and the noise of the water itself. Someone was looking to find a boat going south.

Using his peripheral vision, Martell sized the man up. He looked to be a healthy warrior, perhaps roughed up but able. While Josmyn was skilled in his own right and had his friend Florien with him, it never hurt to have an extra man you could count on with sword in his hand. This man was already looking to go South. Perhaps he could be convinced to go a bit further than he'd intended. No doubt it would cost him gold but as the Crown Prince of Dorne, Josmyn no longer had to worry about counting coppers. Ever. He hadn't before. The Night's Watch had taken care of him while he'd served with them. Prior to that, his father had always given him a healthy allowance of gold dragons every month. Indeed, even being just being a bastard of a Great House that had a booming trade business with Essos had its benefits. Now, though, he was a true member of the family meaning once in Dorne, he would never lack gold.

Slowly, Josmyn walked over towards the man, sizing him up.
“I have a boat bound for the South. It's taking me home. Mayhaps I have room for a man sworn to my service,” he said plainly, his right hand drifting to the pouch of coins kept inside his belt. His fingers found their prey and Martell pulled free three gold dragons. He held them up for the other man to see, watching his face curiously. Any man would take the deal without hesitation. Any smart man would have questions. Just what this one did would determine whether or not he got the job.

The journey had been…a difficult one, though not entirely in a physical sense. Tristan still moved with a slight limp, the injury to his thigh having not healed entirely up to this point, likely in part to his unorthodox methods that he had used to circumvent its effects on his body. However, the physical discomfort that he felt was nothing in contrast to the emotional destruction, no sleep and absolute exhaustion that he had been forced to endure over the last twenty-four hours or so. With no breaks for food or water, and no breaks for rest, Tristan had made excellent time in reaching White Harbour, though at a clear cost to his condition; he only slowed down once he had entered the city.

The city was busy, far busier than the general sort of setting that Tristan was used to. In fact, it was the most populated place that he had every travelled to in his entire life; he was a country boy through and through, and all his dreams of grandeur had ever brought him was death and pain. With his head down as to avoid attention, Tristan moved through the masses of people. He wasn’t safe in the North anymore, not after deserting his position as a soldier for House Bolton, killing two of their soldiers in the process. No, there was nothing left for him here now, nothing except for leaving, and everyone knew the quickest way to do that was via a boat; hence White Harbour having been his destination.

Finding the Docks had not proved difficult to find. All he had to do was follow the smell of salt in the air, though following individuals who were clearly men of the sea was also as simple. However, as the young deserter soon discovered, finding passage South without any means of payment was neigh impossible.

“I can work to pay my way. I just need to go South - as far as you can take me.” he stated calmly. There was no hint of emotion in his voice; no anger, no pleading, no sadness.

“We need no more help lad.” the Captain of yet another ship told him. However, unlike Tristan this Captain did have emotion on his voice, and in his face. It said that he looked down on the young Northerner. “Ye either pay or ye don’t get passage on my vessel.” and with that he turned and left, not waiting for Tristan to respond.

Tristan looked down at his feet and sighed. This had been the fifth Captain to turn him down now, all giving similar reasons why. He was starting to run out of potential ships to find passage on, and if he did not leave on one of those ships then he would have to leave White Harbour on foot, travelling South the difficult way; that prospect was not overly appealing to him. Tristan began to think on why they were all declining him, there had to be something he could do differently to gain passage? But at that moment a voice, seeming as if it was meant for him, drew his attention.

“I have a boat bound for the South. It's taking me home. Mayhaps I have room for a man sworn to my service.” a man dressed in fine clothes stated, as he casually moved towards Tristan. Once he stopped moving, just in front of the young man, the stranger placed his hand into a pouch and produced three gold dragons, presumably as a form of payment for this ‘sworn service’ he spoke of.

Tristan eyed the coins briefly, that was more money that he had ever seen together, but his eyes quickly moved to the man holding them. For many moments he remained in silence, weighing up the individual who had so generously approached him. Was there an concealed motive? Was it a trap set by the Bolton’s? This offer seemed too good to be true, and he had learned that when things often seemed too good to be true it was usually because they were.

“I won’t accept that money.” Tristan finally said, his voice it’s now usual emotionless tone. “Passage South will be payment enough - the further you can take me, the better.” Not wishing to sour the surprisingly generous offer, Tristan was about to leave it at that, but a nagging voice in the back of his head would not allow him to. “What sort of…sworn service do you require?” he asked cautiously. “One too many times have I served a tyrant…I will not blindly swear myself into service again.” If anything, the Bolton’s had taught him that much…and it was not a lesson he would ever forget.

Word Count: 785.

So the commoner asked questions. And likely had been in the service of lords before. That made sense, given the state of the North and most of the kingdoms in Westeros. Those who could wield weapons and wield them well were in short supply. That was one of the reason that Josmyn had been so willing to offer the price he had. Gold, especially in the amount that he had offered, was enough to sway most men. It was interesting then that the man was willing to question someone offering him passage on a ship and gold.

He glanced about then decided that most of the smallfolk about would not know enough about his homeland so he could speak freely about his nobility, somewhat at least, provided he did not mention anything about the Night's Watch or being a former black brother. After all, some honesty would be better than none and it would not do for a fight to break out here on the docks. That would draw far too much attention to the prince. Josmyn took a step closer to the man and spoke in a low voice.

“I am Prince Josmyn Martell of Sunspear, crown prince of Dorne. I have been away from my home for some time on a journey of sorts but I am on my way back to Dorne. However, I find myself without a bodyguard. While I have enough martial prowess to take care of myself, I can not always be awake. As a prince, I have those would seek to take me hostage and hold me ransom,” a slight smile crossed his face. That much was true. He was the heir to Dorne and that made him a valuable hostage, especially when the North was at war with King's Landing. While the Dornish had not officially entered the War of the Five Kings, or however many there currently were, it was likely that they would get involved, somehow. Josmyn would do his best to keep his people out of it but given Westerosi politics, it was not likely they could hide forever. It would be an even shorter period if he was captured by either the North or by those in the south.

If there was one thing, it was that the Dornish were fiercely proud and protective of their own. If he was captured, his countrymen would rally to support him, especially given the conditions he had become the heir apparent to his uncle. No matter the fact that people would come to rescue him, Josmyn would much prefer just to avoid being captured at all, which was where this man-at-arms came in.

“You will not be in an army. You will not be forced to serve a tyrant. I merely seek someone to guard my back, someone of my own choosing and not that of others. For my life, I will pay very well. After all, a guard to the crown prince cannot be seen as wanting or impoverished. Take the gold and board my ship or not, the choice is yours. But know I am giving you the chance of a lifetime and one that will not come again,” Josmyn cautioned, peering at the man carefully. It seemed that he had become a sort of patron to the lost and misfortunate. He had taken Florien away from the Wall with him and promised him a lordship. To the man in front of him he offered what was a small fortune to the smallfolk. Perhaps he was just trying to spread the blessing that the Seven had given to him. After all, he himself had risen from a frozen bastard of the Night's Watch.

While not all were as worthy or noble as he was, he needed those loyal to him and not his uncle or others. Josmyn intended to be a fair and just ruler for Dorne when the time came but he was going to do so with his own advisors, his own guards, and his own friends. He wanted to be able to separate himself completely from the man that had so callously sent him to freeze. To that, Josmyn needed to establish his own court and his own followers. His sisters that waited for him in Dorne would be part of that, without a doubt, but they could only do so much.

“Serve me well and this gold will be a pittance to what you shall receive. Keep my life safe until we get to Dorne and I will reward you well. Rumors are that Sunspear needs a new captain of the guard. Perhaps you could fill that role,” he paused for a moment, “And after that, well, who knows what continued loyal service could bring you? Maybe even spurs and a knighthood. Just know that I reward my sworn men well.”

The hook was baited. All Josmyn could do now would be to wait and see if the fish decided to take a bite.

Tristan watched the stranger with some suspicion. How often did one such as this stranger, dressed as if a noble, approach a lowly baseborn man, covered in dirt and dried blood, and offer him a large amount of money for some mysterious sworn service? It was the sort of tall tale that you hear about in stories of old, where the baseborn man went on to slay a great evil, become a Knight, and marry a beautiful princess; but this was real life, and Tristan knew the harsh realities of real life better than most.

Had he been offered this proposition a few days ago, Tristan may have snapped up the opportunity without even considering who he would be working for or what he’d have to do. It was a lot of money, and more importantly he would have been working for a man of noble status; there was no easier way to prove yourself and earn a Knighthood. But now? His experiences, his loses, it had all soured his taste for life, had all made him extremely cynical and untrusting. Some would say that it was rightly so, though in truth this stranger had done nothing to Tristan, had not insulted him or wronged him, but had instead offered him what he wanted when no others seemingly would. What more did Tristan want?

Nevertheless, the questions had been asked, and after a little consideration the stranger took another step towards Tristan and leaned his head in. “I am Prince Josmyn Martell of Sunspear, crown prince of Dorne.” Tristan found himself feeling something for the first time in a while upon hearing this; disbelief, shock, he wasn’t entirely sure. “I have been away from my home for some time on a journey of sorts but I am on my way back to Dorne. However, I find myself without a bodyguard. While I have enough martial prowess to take care of myself, I can not always be awake. As a prince, I have those would seek to take me hostage and hold me ransom.” the stranger, or rather Prince Josmyn Martell stated.

“And you…Prince Josmyn Martell of Sunspear, crown Prince of Dorne…want me to be your bodyguard?” Tristan asked, somewhat sceptically.

“You will not be in an army. You will not be forced to serve a tyrant. I merely seek someone to guard my back, someone of my own choosing and not that of others.” The logic in what Prince Josmyn was saying made perfect sense. It was just smarty thinking to surround yourself with loyal men, people who would protect you and perhaps even die for you, if need be. “For my life, I will pay very well. After all, a guard to the crown prince cannot be seen as wanting or impoverished. Take the gold and board my ship or not, the choice is yours. But know I am giving you the chance of a lifetime and one that will not come again.”

Tristan was not the most educated man, in fact his education didn’t really go past the ability to read and write, with a little information on the realms of the Seven Kingdoms. He knew very little of Dorne’s nobles, but enough to know that they were not known for being tyrants. That alongside everything else that Prince Josmyn had told him was starting to sound pretty good to Tristan. There’s was nothing that seemed terrible to him, there didn’t seem to be any hidden agendas, in fact it seemed to be quite the honourable position to hold.

“Serve me well and this gold will be a pittance to what you shall receive. Keep my life safe until we get to Dorne and I will reward you well. Rumours are that Sunspear needs a new captain of the guard. Perhaps you could fill that role?” that caught Tristan’s attention well enough. Captain of the Guard in a famed city such as Sunspear? Many worked their entire life striving for less, and never reached it. “And after that, well, who knows what continued loyal service could bring you? Maybe even spurs and a knighthood. Just know that I reward my sworn men well.”

If Prince Josmyn had said anything else, Tristan had not heard it. At the mere mention of a potential Knighthood, Tristan had slipped into his own world. A Knighthood had been the one thing he had always dreamed about receiving, and now, as if by a stroke of luck, he had met the supposed Prince of Dorne who was offering safety from those who were after him, a way out of the North, a potential position as Captain of the Guard at Sunspear, and a potential Knighthood for loyal and outstanding service? It seemed too good to be true, but after hearing everything Tristan couldn’t help but hope that it wasn’t.

His expression had remained relatively blank up until this point, but now there was no hiding Tristan’s astonishment. “I…I’d be honoured.” he finally responded, unable to find any other words. “I’m ready to leave right now, I mean, if it pleases you…my Prince.”

Word Count: 849.
Total Word Count thus far: 1,634.

The fish took the bait tough it seemed to be the mention of a knighthood that had sealed the deal. Such was interesting, though not entirely surprising. Knighthood was the one thing that every baseborn male dreamed of. No doubt this man, as most boys did, had played at being a knight with a stick for his sword. Indeed, Josmyn himself had once done similar things, though he had eventually had live steel weapons put into his hand, instead of simply having to make do with a stick or a carved wooden blade. It seemed that his wanderings along the docks had brought to a man that valued honor and doing right. Indeed, it was most interesting that those of low birth seemed to be more interested in being noble than did the highborn. Perhaps a maester would have an explanation for that paradox.

When the man agreed to enter his service, a slight smile crossed Josmyn's face and he gave the other man a slight nod. It appeared that he now had his own sworn sword. Now if he only had the man's name. It was very odd to Josmyn that the commoner hadn't at least offered his name to the man seeking to employ him, though, the Dornishman wrote that off as being nervous around someone of his stature.

“And go we shall, but first, I must have your name if you are to enter my service,” he replied, his eyes taking in the state of the man's gear. It wasn't bad but it certainly would not do, either, if he was to be the sworn sword and bodyguard of the Prince of Dorne. They would have to wait until they were in Sunspear itself before they'd be able to get proper scale mail that wouldn't turn into a walking oven around his new bodyguard. Still, Josmyn was going to get him something more appropriate. He looked too much like a Northerner to be heading to Dorne.

“However, before we take our leave of this fair city, I must insist that we go properly equip you. We shall have to wait until we are in Dorne to get your scale mail but at the very least, I can upgrade your weapons and get you a spear. Man's not a man if he doesn't have his own spear,” a slight smirk turning the corners of his lips. It was Dornish tradition to use a spear whenever possible. While the Prince was only carrying his sword on this day, it was merely because he did not intend to do any fighting. After all, he was not even wearing armor.

A stray question floated through his mind. What if this man did not know how to use a spear? Surely the north had to train with them as well. After all, a spear was a great offensive and defensive weapon. Of course, here in the north, they were all about showing just how manly they were. Perhaps they thought a weapon such as the spear was a weak one. Still, if his new man wanted to fit in in Dorne, he'd have to at least have a spear, whether he used it or not.

Josmyn took a step forward and extended his hand to the other man, the three coins he'd previously offered in the palm of his hand.
“Don't worry. I shall pay for all the equipment and clothes you need in addition to those wages. The ship's captain is taking on new provisions so we should have plenty of time to procure proper weapons for you,” he stated. He didn't even think about what the cost would be. The pouch of gold at his hip was just the beginning of the money he'd have at his fingertips once in Dorne. It did not matter how much of it he spent.

While he was out against the merchants, he was also going to make a point to get some fine Dornish wine. It had been too long since he'd had a vintage from his homeland. It was time to fix that. After all, who would believe him a prince if he did not spend like a prince? Indeed, if someone claimed to be a noble but spent every second counting their coppers, it ruined the effect. However, a nobleman from a faraway place like Dorne spending gold in a city such as White Harbor? Well, that simply served to lend credence to his came of princehood.

Prince Josmyn seemed pleased when Tristan finally accepted the offer, though there was something in the smirk that followed that aired confidence, as if he had never doubted that the young Northerner would ever have declined the proposition. It bothered Tristan that, excluding if Josmyn had come across in a similar fashion to the Bolton’s, the Prince was likely right. The mere mention of a Knighthood had been enough to almost completely sway his decision; he would have to work on that weakness of his, unless he wished to be potentially manipulated by it in the future.

“And go we shall, but first, I must have your name if you are to enter my service.” Prince Josmyn asked, and Tristan realised that he had been so concerned with asking questions that he had neglected to give it.

“It’s Tristan, Prince Josmyn. Tristan Rydralle.” he answered quickly, bowing his head; he wasn’t exactly sure how one was supposed to act with Royalty, and felt mostly awkward in his attempts. However, it didn’t seem as if Prince Josmyn minded all too much, for when Tristan raised his head he noticed that the Prince was looking at the Northerners dirty and bloody attire; it caused Tristan to look down at his own clothes too.

“However, before we take our leave of this fair city, I must insist that we go properly equip you.” the thought did somewhat excite Tristan. What sort of equipment did Prince Josmyn have in mind? A brand new Bastard sword perhaps? Fancy armour that was befitting of a personal bodyguard? Maybe even some new bow-string for his longbow, or some fine new arrows? Besides his longbow, which his mother had given to him as a gift many years ago, the rest of his equipment had come from House Bolton when he had become a soldier. “We shall have to wait until we are in Dorne to get your scale mail but at the very least, I can upgrade your weapons and get you a spear. Man's not a man if he doesn't have his own spear.”

“A spear?” Tristan asked, somewhat surprised. He had never had need to use a spear, had never been given one to practise with while a soldier. Of course he had, as a young boy, messed about with large sticks while pretending that it was a spear, but that had been the extent of his experience; if that’s what it could be called. “I…I’ve never had much call to use a spear before.” he admitted. “But I am a dedicated learner.” he added, which was true enough.

At that Prince Josmyn took a step forward, extending his hand and re-offering the three gold dragons that he previously tried to tempt Tristan with. “Don't worry. I shall pay for all the equipment and clothes you need in addition to those wages. The ship's captain is taking on new provisions so we should have plenty of time to procure proper weapons for you.” as he finished speaking, Tristan looked down at Prince Josmyn’s hand and the coins on his palm. As if cautious, he slowly reached forward and took the coins for himself. It was a strange sensation, to have in his hand more money than he had ever had in his life up until this point.

Looking back to Prince Josmyn, Tristan absentmindedly rolled his shoulder and adjusted how his longbow was resting over it. “I would like to keep my longbow,” he stated, perhaps beyond his stature. “It has…settlement value to me.” he finished, his voice quieting towards the end of the sentence.

Word Count: 599.
Total Word Count thus far: 2,233.

He was not at all surprised when the Northerner-cum-bodyguard mentioned that he'd never truly had training with a spear. The Northmen and their bloody honor likely felt that using a spear as a primary weapon was a sign of cowardice as it kept the enemy at a farther distance than they would be with a mere sword. Josmyn and the Dornish knew that weapons were only useful if they kept you alive while ensuring the other person died and quickly. This was not to say that the Dornish did not have honor. Only that they had better things to do than worry if a man got a fair chance at beating them. War was about winning. Those that lost battles were forgotten by history while the victors reaped the rewards, whether they used sword or spear matter little when those that had challenged them were dead.

“Not to worry, Tristan, I shall see to it that you have the finest training available. After all, in Dorne, a man is judged by how well he can wield his spear,” a slight laugh formed on his lips but he smothered it before it could truly form. He cleared his throat and continued, “In order to be a proper captain of the guard, you'll have to put others in their place, lest they try and challenge your authority.”

A reassuring smile found its way on to Josmyn's face. After all, it was unlikely this man before had much, if any, command experience. Josmyn, in his many years in the Night's Watch, had commanded ranging parties and had been trained from a young age to be able to make do with any martial weapon, though he was still partial to the spear.

However, the Martell Prince was pleasantly surprised when the commoner spoke up and asked to keep his longbow. With a quick, sweeping glance, the salty Dornishman took in its quality and nodded. After all, he still had the weapons his father had given him and he did not even like his father. He would not begrudge the man keeping something that so clearly had special value to him.

“Of course you may keep your longbow, as well as anything else that might have such value to you. I merely seek to ensure you have the best chance of winning if you are going to be protecting my life,” Josmyn answered as kindly as he could.

As it seemed the man was acquiescing to the Prince's demands that he be re-outfitted, Josmyn turned and began walking towards the area that all the blacksmiths had set up shop. It was not a hard place to find even though Josmyn had never set foot in White Harbor before. The smell of fire and hot metal was all that Martell needed to direct him to those that sold the goods he was after. He spent a few moment pursuing a few of the open air stalls before turning to his companion.

“We shall have to wait until we get to Dorne to get you armor and clothing appropriate for the climate. However, while we are here, take your pick of any of the weapons here. Arrows, a dagger, a new sword, whatever equipment you might have need of for battle, pick out and it shall be yours,” he intoned, waving his hand idly. It felt good to be able to assert and conduct himself like the Prince he was, instead of just being a member of the Night's Watch. Josmyn relished the feeling of power and individuality, knowing the rest of his days would be spent in much the same way, doing what he wanted and spending how he wished. Of course, he would have to temper his enthusiasm once he took the ruling throne of Dorne for himself but for now, his behavior could easily be excused by his new freedom and the fiery Dornish blood that flowed in his veins.

“Of course you may keep your longbow,” Tristan was relieved to hear Prince Josmyn say as such. He hadn’t been sure how he would have responded if the Prince had decided he didn’t want his new bodyguard to have any sub-par pieces of equipment or ties to his previous life. “As well as anything else that might have such value to you. I merely seek to ensure you have the best chance of winning if you are going to be protecting my life.” for someone of royal stature, Prince Josmyn was extremely understanding and kind. Tristan was sure that the man had a sterner side to him, almost all people did, but he had never expected royalty to be like this. Then again, this was his first encounter with royalty.

“Thank you.” he responded in kind, dipping his head in thanks as he walked beside the Prince. “It’s just the longbow I want to keep, perhaps my dagger too, but that’s it.” the dagger had belonged to him for years, since he was younger, and he never went anywhere without it. Though as far as the rest of his clothing and equipment, it reminded him of the Bolton’s and he was more than glad to get rid of it. By this point they had made their way to what appeared to be the merchants quarter of White Harbour, where seemingly the weapon and armoursmiths also resided.

“We shall have to wait until we get to Dorne to get you armour and clothing appropriate for the climate.” Prince Josmyn explained. Tristan nodded to show he understood, though he truly knew very little about Dorne; were the conditions so different from the North that they required an entire different way of life? “However, while we are here, take your pick of any of the weapons here. Arrows, a dagger, a new sword, whatever equipment you might have need of for battle, pick out and it shall be yours.” Price Josmyn waved his hand idly, gesturing to the stalls of equipment in front of them.

As Tristan scanned all the potential things he might have purchased he noticed the clear glee in the eyes of those who owned the stalls and stores - he doubted they were visited very often by individuals who were willing to spend such an amount of money in one go. He was unaccustomed to spending large amounts of money, let alone money that wasn’t his, and so when Tristan gingerly stepped towards the stores he was a little reserved, though soon enough he began to get used to the notion.

A quiver made from fine black leather, specifically designed for quick drawing and speed shooting, was the very first thing that caught his eye. It was expensive, clearly not for lowborn individuals, which did bring Tristan a hint of satisfaction as it was purchased. Naturally, enough of their finest arrows to fill the quiver were also bought. Having seen to the needs of his longbow, Tristan moved on to replacing his sword. What he was carrying was a standard, low-quality long sword; he could use it easily enough, but it had never felt truly comfortable. After test-swinging a few of the blades on display, he decided that he preferred the feel of a bastard sword instead. He had been ready to purchase the one he had tested, it had been made well and was sturdy, but Prince Josmyn intervened and demanded that they purchased nothing less than the best bastard sword the man had. Its craftsmanship was beautiful, and he seemed torn to part with it, but for the money on offer the weaponsmith soon gave in.

Knowing he would receive suitable armour when he arrived in Dorne, Tristan refused to waste money on armour for the journey there, but his clothes were dirty, blooded and even a little tattered, and needed replacing. A tailor quickly outfitted him with the clothing he desired; a loosely fitted black cotton shirt, and a sleeveless leather tunic with straps across the chest over it. It was black, though it had a tinge of dark brown or red about it, Tristan couldn’t tell exactly. The rest of the attire consisted of black leather trousers and black leather boots, and a hooded cloak for travelling; its colour was similar to that of his tunics.

His attire was a relatively bland in appearance, but Tristan was feeling a little morbid, after what he had been through, and the colours seemed to reflect that. Finished and changed into his new clothing, having first cleaned himself at the hospitality of the store owner, Tristan ordered his own clothing burned before leaving; that part of his life, that chapter, was over and dead to him now. Before finishing up Tristan made one last purchase of a dozen standard spears, their metallic spikes removed, to be delivered to Prince Josmyn’s ship. It was an unusual buy, a very specific one, but Tristan felt it was a necessary one.

“I need the practice.” Tristan explained, returning to Prince Josmyn. “After all, in Dorne a man is judged by how well he can use his spear.” and despite the obvious pun, Tristan would need to practice with a spear a considerable amount on the way to Dorne, else he would stand out even more than he was like to upon his arrival.

Word Count: 892.
Total Word Count thus far: 3,125.

When discussing things he would like to keep, Tristan spoke about his long bow and his dagger but did not further elaborate on them. Perhaps they had been gifts from a deceased relative or maybe they had even been spoils of war at one point or another. The Dornishman would not press the issue right now but at some later date, he would see if he could find out the story behind both of those items. After all, if he was entrusting something as precious as his own life to this man, he wanted to know a bit more about him. After all, the Martell man was very fond of breathing and wished to continue to do so for as long as humanly possible.

As they made their way through the bazaar, it was clear that Rydralle was enjoying his spending kick. If Josmyn worked the math properly, his new guard had spent roughly twice what the lowborn man would likely ever earn in his lifetime. However, the Martell Prince made no move to stop him from purchasing anything else. The sheer joy that Josmyn saw on his face was enough to warm even his icy heart. The quiver and arrows Tristan had picked out were exquisite, easily matching with new status. However, the concept of buying the finest of everything had not fully sunk in when they had begun to negotiate about his new bastard sword. The one that he had originally picked out had been of decent quality, very near to something Josmyn had seen in the hands of those on the Wall. They weren't headed for the Wall, though. They were on to the Dornish court and nothing but the best would do.

It had been rough to interject and find a price that the weaponsmith had been willing to accept for his masterwork sword. However, all it had taken was a flash of a smile and the glitter of gold and they had been on their way faster than Martell had expected. The next memorable experience was at the tailor. While the man had little experience creating clothes to suit the heat in Dorne, the ones that he had provided well enough, even if the colors picked by his new retainer left something to be desired. The northerner would have some major adjusting to do in his new home where silk and color reigned supreme.

The cheeky man then proceeded to order twelve spears, causing Josmyn to frown slightly as he did so. While he was glad Tristan had bought a spear, it was baffling why he had bought so many. Did he intend to break them or think that spears were fragile? The smaller throwing spears were breakable, yes, but the longer fighting spears were very durable, his own a testament to that. With proper care and upkeep, his own spear had lasted for years and was still in perfect fighting condition. While it appeared that he had not entirely enjoyed the pun Josmyn had made, Martell ignored it, nodding as he agreed with the man that he would be judged on his skill with what was the Dornish preferred weapon. Even in his youth, Josmyn would not remember breaking twelve spears. Perhaps those in the north just underestimated the weapon or did not craft them as expertly as they did in Dorne. Likely, it was some combination of the two.

“Alright, well, if you are done spending my gold,” he began with a chuckle, “I believe that we need to be on our way. The captain will have finished resupplying the ship and I am anxious to see my homeland again.”

He left out the fact that he was more anxious to be on the boat and away from the ice and snow of the North and the black of the Wall. It would not do to get this far only to be hauled back for execution. And not only would he die, his friend Florien as well as his new guard Rydralle would also be executed for consorting with deserters. Indeed, it was best for all if they got back to the ship. The two men made their way through the crowd with little effort, most of the common born not daring to want the attention of a noble for fear he would become displeased with them. As they approached the ship that would carry them to Sunspear, Josmyn looked over his shoulder to Tristan, a smile on his face.
“I do hope you don't get sea-sick, Tristan. Though, if you do, don't worry. Once we get to Dorne, we will be doing far less sailing,” he joked, though it was a true enough statement. Once they were in Dorne, they only traveling they would be doing would be on the backs of Sand Steeds. Idly, his mind wandered to the horse that he'd had during his teenage years, the golden stallion named Glavyn. There was little doubt that the animal had long since died but if he did still live, it would be an interesting experience if the horse still lived to see if it remembered him after all these years.

“You do know how to ride a horse, yes?” It was a common skill for any noble but Josmyn had to remind himself that Tristan was not even yet a knight. However, it was clear from the garb he'd been wearing previously that he had been a soldier so perhaps there were hope yet.

“Alright, well, if you are done spending my gold,” Prince Josmyn said with a brief laugh. It was clear that he was joking, though Tristan felt quite bad and uncomfortable about having spent any of it; he felt as if he was taking advantage of the Prince, even though he had been pretty much ordered to do so. “I believe that we need to be on our way. The captain will have finished re-supplying the ship and I am anxious to see my homeland again.” he finished. It made sense, after all they had taken a fair amount of time while shopping for Tristan’s essentials. With a nod of the head Tristan began to follow Prince Josmyn, who had already began making his way back towards the docks, where their ship was laying in wait.

The walk wasn’t a particularly long one, though it felt longer due to the fact that Tristan remained completely silent throughout it. He was lost deep within his own thoughts, stupidly running over everything that had happened to him during the last few days. He wanted nothing more than to completely forget about it, to pretend that none of it had ever happened, that his life before meeting Prince Josmyn had never existed. Though no matter how hard he tried, his mind stubbornly kept rushing back to everything at the first chance it got, as soon as he was no longer preoccupied by something, and no matter how much he cursed his idiotic mind for doing so, it did not stop it from continuing thusly.

Suddenly Prince Josmyns voice broke the silence between the two. “I do hope you don't get sea-sick, Tristan. Though, if you do, don't worry. Once we get to Dorne, we will be doing far less sailing.” The Prince said while looking over his shoulder. Tristan wasn’t sure if he would be sea-sick or not. In truth he had never been on a sailing ship, had never sailed on the open sea; the closest he had come was swimming in the sea, and that was hardly the same.

“I don’t know,” Tristan honestly admitted. “I hope not though.” how could he not have considered such a simple possibility? If he did get sea-sick, and badly, then how would he be able to practise his spear wielding while they ravelled to Dorne? Yet another issue that he no doubt had to deal with. However, before he could begin to dwell on the matter, Prince Josmyn spoke once more.

“You do know how to ride a horse, yes?” he asked, though Tristan could not tell if it had been a serious question or something said purely in jest, and so he answered the question anyway.

“I can.” was the simple answer, though he elaborated. “I grew up on a farm, and it often involved me riding a horse.” it was the most simple and vague of elaborations, but his own thoughts had dampened him at that moment, and he feared he would not be an exceptional conversationalist. Luckily they reached the ship at that exact moment, and together they boarded it in silence. Tristan’s life as a man of the North had come to an end, and soon enough he would be well on his way to Dorne, the most Southern part of Westeros. The young man who had always said he’d never travel South was going to live there; life sure had a sick sense of irony.

Word Count: 575.
Total Finished Word Count: 3,700.

Tristan Rydralle - 1050g + 210xp.

Josmyn Martell - 1050g + 210xp.

Great thread guys, I enjoyed reading it.