A Knight Comes to Meet the Sun (Unfinished)

One thing that Josmyn had to admire about his younger companion was how well he'd taken to Dorne. Yes, the heat and sun still gave him fits at time but he had adjusted very well to his new life and done his best to assimilate into the culture. He had a bit more to do, but Josmyn was going to see him through every step. After all, he'd been the driving force behind uprooting the young man's life. While it had certainly been for the material better, the prince did worry about his sworn sword. However, as he expressed concern for his new countrymen, the salty Dornishman could not help but smile. Indeed, he had chosen well on the docks of White Harbor. Anyone who could adopt a new people as his own as quickly as Tristan was doing was someone Martell definitely wanted on his side.

Indeed, even his cheeky remark as Ser Nash prattled on showed that the Captain of the Sun Guard was truly integrating into his new surroundings as best he could. That did not matter, though, for Josmyn had to focus his attention on the man before him. Asking for gold to either buy or man a ship. Well, it was certainly a foolhardy proposition, one that Josmyn was not surprised that he did not want getting to the public ear. After all, a man who begs for gold to chase after the shadows of dragons would never find any support for his plans. It would be considered folly to aid him, if any others knew. However, judging by the fact he was so willing to risk his own life, this was something that was dear to Ser Nash. The least he could do would be to hear him out and keep his mocking to himself.

As the idea's ferver spread to Tristan, Josmyn smiled. This time it was his younger friend's age showing. Like most young men, Tristan likely still remembered the stories his mother and father had told him at bed, of knights and dragons and dragonslayers. Josmyn had never had any of those stories. He'd heard tales of the Martell greatness from his mother but after she died, his father had never so much as bothered to tuck him in. That had been left to servants and those servants had never seen fit to dazzle their charge with daring stories.

The mention of sending Dornish soldiers to guarantee the return of his investment was a smart one, though the mention of a Valyrian steel spear was something that almost made Josmyn roll his eyes. Every lord and his brother wanted a Valyrian steel weapon. The seeking of such things among his fellow nobles or even some of the small folk was akin to men seeking ways to enlarge their manhood. It was so ridiculously commonplace that Josmyn had to contain his laughter. No, he was quite happy with the weapons he had as well as the size of his manhood. However, the symbol of a Dornish spear made from Valyrian steel was not entirely without merit. It would give a stronger image in the mind of his banners when he asked them to rally.

Looking from Tristan to Nash, Josmyn drew in a deep breath and shut his eyes for a moment, weighing the various options before him. Slowly, his dark eyes slid open and smiled at Nash calmly.
“I am willing to give you both funds and a small retinue of Dornishmen that I trust absolutely. The most that I can offer you is three hundred fifty gold dragons and this amount comes straight from my own coffers and not that of Dorne. I will not hand out my people's money but I will give you a few of my own coins, earned by House Martell in our own trade ventures,” he declared, hoping it would be enough that Ser Nash would take his gold and scamper away into the Doom of Valyria, never to be heard from again. Perhaps he would instruct the Dornish he sent with him to toss him overboard and sail back to Sunspear. No, that would be too cruel for a man that was just trying to learn.

“As for the men to join your expedition, I can only promise ten men. They will be a mix of lowborn and noble men to better be able to slip out of town. If I gave you a host of knights, too many people would begin to ask questions but a few second and third sons going off to seek their fortunes, that raises no eyebrows,” he concluded, looking back to Nash to see how he would respond. Both the gold and the amount of men were fixed. The prince would not negotiate on any of it, though he would be arming and armoring the men he sent with Ser Nash. To do otherwise would be mean and cruel. After all, Josmyn would be asking these men, not only to risk their lives but to risk their lives for a pipe dream of a few maesters and one potentially addled-minded Lannister bannerman. The very least he could do would be to ensure they could fight back against anything that they would encounter.

Things had started becoming more and more luminous for the Western knight, all things considered; he trusted the younger Martell to remember whatever slights he had made himself guilty of as they spoke in the Throne Room and he was certain that his Guard Captain would be swift and merciless if his leader decided to take action, but he was still a guest under their roof and his luck seemed to smile on him more and more, in spite of some rather foolhardy deeds he'd done - so he remained as stoic and impassive in appearance as ever, while keeping his senses sharp and his tongue far less so.

"Indeed, Captain," or so he told his fellow foreigner as he gave him an approving nod. The Targaryens had been the main power in Westeros for decades upon decades, even without dragons; when a force like theirs was stopped, whether by the unforgiving nature of the realm or by the arms of the Dornishmen, one had to stop and ponder upon their options if they thought to ever do better; Nash was all too aware of that and he trusted he'd made his position clear. As for the Valyrian steel Rydralle spoke of, he was quite certain that such things could easily be found in a land mostly untouched by looters and pirates, but he knew better than to speak of ambitious promises to the new Prince of Dorne by then; instead, he held his tongue and waited for him to make the next move.

When Josmyn Martell finally spoke, the Westerner felt like he had made a wise decision to address the man he had, even if the manner in which he'd done so was severely lacking; to walk away with a hero's ransom and a handful of good men, as the former Black Brother offered, made him regain his fate in his negotiating skills and actually managed to coax an honest smile out of him. "Verily, Your Grace," he began, with a knee to the floor, "your wisdom humbles me. Here I come upsetting prince and court akin - but you saw beyond my foolish words and graciously offered more than a simple man as I could hope for." Actually, he would have preferred some solid knowledge on the waters and the lands his expedition would cover more than men, whom he'd have to keep a close eye on, but Nash had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. After all, he couldn't expect a ruler to be animated by the same sort of dreams those like him were animated by - and, even if he was, there were responsibilities to see to before anything else.

"Such men should not be missed," he agreed, deciding not to say anything about there not being a real tradition of Dorne to travel by vessel; if they did get greensick, which he expected, surely the sailors he would hire had cures for such matters. "Their talents will be put to good use," he added, hoping that they would prove useful against boarders, if they chanced upon any, and on dry land as well. "Your Grace, what you speak of is a gift that can never be repaid," he stated, finally looking upward to meet Josmyn Martell's gaze. Once more he brought further peril upon his head, but he couldn't appear ungrateful before a ruler - that much even Nash knew. "I fear I have troubled you enough as it is, but, if it please you, I would know if there be anything of the old Freehold that you would have, you need but say so and we will seek it." He hadn't seemed by far as enthusiastic as Captain Rydralle at the thought of Valyrian steel weaponry, but who knew? Perhaps his host could benefit from such wares - or some other ones altogether.

Word count: 646
Total word count thus far: 5521