MORAL CODES Motivation
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GOT: P Chapter 18
🕑 Added 2025-10-05 02:42:48 +0000 UTC
Dawn makes everything look honest. Also tired.
Men stare. No one knows who the girl is. No one asks loud. They look at me, then at her, then at Rhaenys. Garrad keeps his jaw shut and his hands on the tiller. Good. Let the captain be a captain.
The girl sits where I dropped her. Knees scuffed, shoulder pulled wrong, breath held like it might fall apart if she lets it out. She keeps one hand on the deck to feel the ship's move. Sensible. She is small, not soft.
Rhaenys comes down slow. Empty hands, open stance. Straight back. She stops two steps out of the girl's reach.
"Drink," she says, warm and flat, as if she were talking to a spooked mare. She slides a tin cup along the plank, then backs her hand away. "It's clean."
The girl watches both of us. Her eyes are hard in a way that doesn't belong on a child. Stubborn in the gaze. She takes the cup with her left hand; the right hangs close and useless. She sips, jaw tight against the taste how dull and salty it is.
"Can you stand?" Rhaenys asks.
The girl nods, tries, winces, sits again without pride. Good. She has no time for pride.
Rhaenys glances at me. We both know I could fix the swelling with heat and that would scare the whole deck more than they are already scared. So we don't.
"Gerrin," Rhaenys calls, not loud.
The broad-armed woman from old days, grease on her sleeve, sure feet pads over with a strip of canvas and a short stick.
"Hold," Gerrin says, rough. "I’ll rig a sling. Won't be pretty."
The girl squares up and lets them. Hisses once through her teeth, then clamps down. The canvas goes around shoulder and back. Knot at the ribs. Stick for brace. Done.
Garrad leaves the helm to his mate and comes down two steps, not closer. He tips his head at Rhaenys, voice low so it carries only to us. "What’s this we’ve hauled aboard, then?"
Rhaenys does not look away from the girl. "A child," she says. "And hurt. That's enough for now.".
He studies her, then me, then the wake.
The girl breathes easier when no one crowds her. She keeps staring at me. I stare back. Safe game for both of us.
Rhaenys crouches, careful of the girl’s space. “I’m Rae,” she says. “You’ll have a name you give strangers. Give me that one.”
Silence. Ship creaks. Gulls argue a long way off.
Finally the girl says, “Arry.” Quiet. Not her truth. It will do.
Rhaenys nods. “Arry, you’re safe here for now. We’ll put you ashore where you choose, north or west, but not today. You’ll sleep, you’ll eat, and you’ll not trouble us.” She adds, mild as winter sun, “Nor will anyone lay a hand on you. Captain’s word and mine.”
Garrad says, “Aye,” because he knows what kind of ship he runs when she’s aboard. Men pretend they were always going to say aye.
The girl’s throat bobs. But hold back at last second.
The girl looks down at the boards and holds still so she won’t shake. She doesn’t cry. Good and bad in equal measure.
I step closer. She lifts her chin like she’ll bite me if I try anything. Fair.
I lower my head and bump the cup with my beak so water ripples. Drink. Live. Simple orders.
She glares, then drinks. Good.
Rhaenys stands. “Gerrin, porridge and a corner below. Hobb, you mind the pump and keep your lads away from this deck unless sent.” Hobb salutes with a grimy hand and vanishes because he is not a fool.
Garrad eases back to the tiller. “Course?” he asks without looking down.
Rhaenys raises her eyes to me.
I hop to the rail and look north-northwest. Winterfell sits in my head like a target in a map. I lift one wing toward the empty blue and hold it there. Garrad watches, mouth a thin line. He shifts the rudder. The bow noses where I point.
Rhaenys turns back to the girl. “We’re going to Winterfell,” she says. “You’ll decide the next step when you’ve slept.”
“Why there?” the girl asks, sharp. Good. She’s coming back to herself.
Rhaenys glances at me. “Because he pointed,” she says simply. That’s all she’s willing to say and that's all she know for now. Atleast for now.
The girl looks at the sling, then at me again. She is measuring me the way she measuring that she can't understand. I let her.
Crew whisper when they think we can’t hear. “Shut it. Captain said.”
I flare once, small just enough heat to make the nearest whispers die. Then I take off. One beat. The deck falls away.
Up high: wind clean, sun mean. I circle once and check the wake. Two hulls astern. A third way out, too broad in the beam to be quick. No colors I know. Fine.
I set high watch and let my chest cool. Mind runs the same thing: It's time.
[Quest Updated: Get the Wolf North.]
Later, midmorning, the girl stumps to the rail, sling tight, porridge gone. She keeps one eye on the sea, one on the ladder. Rhaenys stands three paces off, not mothering, just there.
“Thank you,” the girl says at last, so low the wind almost takes it. Not to anyone, not out of debt. Just because her father taught her manners. I hear him in it though I never met him in one piece.
Rhaenys answers in the same tone. “Eat when you can. Sleep when you can. Keep that blade, but don’t show it.”
The girl gives a single, southern nod her mother taught her.
I bank into the light and ride a warmer strand of air. North and west. Bear Island. Just heading and speed and a deck that isn’t trying to kill a child today. That is enough.
Comments
Jonathan Shaw
He has quest now?
