A Proposition

Posted on Sun Jan 2nd, 2022 @ 8:47pm by

Mission: The Iron Price
Location: The Docks of Blackwater Bay

The docks beside Blackwater Bay was full to bursting with ships since the Great Council and sailors as well as merchants walked, talked, argued, bartered, and sold their wares. Edric didn't come down there often, but when he did, he was generally all business.

He wore a a silky green garment which functioned as a near floor-length wrap secured tightly at the waist with a wide grey belt. In his scabbard, his well-made sword rotated at his hip, often used and well blooded. He approached a clam-monger who was exchanging some coin for several of his shells and stopped beside two women who were clearly whores. One was young with a fresh, round face, and the other was clearly older, more attractive, but far less healthy looking. As he approached, they fixed their gaze on him with particular interest.

"Ah, Marta, it's a son of Dorne, and a right handsome one at that." said the older one to the younger.

"Yes, might be he'll give us his sunspear." the younger one replied and the two of them giggled unashamedly.

"Not today, I'm afraid." Edric said, his typical charming smile lingering on them both. "I have no time for skewering or for any for of wrestling. But, I think, there is something you can help me with."

"What might that be, My Lord?" asked the younger one, the lustful interest apparent in her expression.

"The Greyjoy Flagship is somewhere in this vast expanse of ships," he said, gesturing with his right hand toward the bay. "Point me in the right direction, please?"

He extended a hand toward the older of the two women and dropped a large silver moon into her hand. She responded with a very pleased expression.

"Right over there, My Lord." she said, pointing to a dark ship not terribly far away. "And please, come back soon."

Edric gave her a wink but said nothing more as he turned and moved toward the ship with a measured and confident stride. He stopped near the dock and looked for a crewman who might be able to point him toward the person he was looking for.

The Greyjoy flagship matched the aesthetics of Reaper's Keep: menacing. Made of Pyke Oak, its gray hull was something reminiscent of bone or cold sea stone. It's sails were furled and rolled, but were clearly black and had marking that, if undone, would have displayed the Kraken. Pale, hard men- the types of untrimmed, braided beards, tattooed faces and a bevy of scars- milled with silent work. They virtually ignored the pretty-clas Dornishman as great coils of rope were undone. It looked as if the ship was getting ready to make sail.

The floating dock swayed with the bay's tides, a rhythmic swell, and ebb. In silence a gaunt man as bony white as the ship passed Edric, his gaze an eerie pink, his hair limp and blonde. He stopped. "You look lost." he said plainly.

"You misunderstand. I know exactly where I am and exactly who I'm looking for." Edric said as he stood, his eyes fixed on the stark-looking man with a certain unspoken intensity. It wasn't clear by his approach if he was here for business or pleasure. Then he gave a concise and director order. "Take me to Neia Greyoy."

"Lady Blue Cheek huh?" The stark, albino-like man said. His pink-pale eyes were dismissive for only a moment- distracted as he finished untying a mass of rope as thick as Edric's arm. "Well come on. You're Dornish so I don't need to baby you on the water." He gestured with a blistered, sinewy hand and he easily, nimbly stepped from the gang onto the ship. With a skulking stoop he led Edric toward the ship's stern. They passed boys and men mostly, very few girls. The boys tended to stare at the newcomers while the men seemed less interested in this novelty.

The stark man approached a set of doors and knocked on it. There was a long pause that pushed into discomfort and awkward. One of the doors creaked open and a very blue eye peered out.

"Lady Blue. You have a visitor." The stark hand said. He looked at Edric. "Well go on," he encouraged the Knight as he stepped back.

"Go on Rourke," the blue eyed one said in the shadow. She opened the door more fully: bare breasted, her cheek unpainted, her hair trussed up for sleep. She stared at Edric for a moment and then gestured him inside.

Edric regarded her with a certain curiosity he'd always had for the Ironborn. They lacked the charms of Dorne in his view, but he'd always found they made up for it with the sharp bite of their speech and attitudes. He sniffed the salted air and then stepped through the portal. He moved by her into the dark room, the salty smell of Blackwater Bay surrendering to more human, feminine aromas. He looked out of place, suddenly, in his green-silken garment, though he didn't seem to be put off by the dissonance at all. He turned around, his eyes directed, for the briefest of seconds, at her exposed breasts before looking into her distinctive blue eyes. He grinned a handsome grin.

"Funny, I was hoping the blue went all the way down."

Neia seemed unperturbed by a man in her midst despite her half nudity. And, in the light of her inner sanctum, the mannish scars that crossed parts of her body gave her an angular and hardened look. She was a woman, and a warrior- and she was no lady. She stared at him with her cold azure study with none of the witty bemusement of the Dornishman across from her. She turned around and poured a cup of wine. She leaned on the table almost like a man. Neia was profoundly taller than most women- and even taller than many Westerosi men. Edric had her in height by less than a half foot.

She sipped her drink and waited for him to speak again.

Edric was unphased by her state of dress. In Dorne, bodies were not so much private things to be hidden, but a normal part of social life. People were rarely seen naked as such, but one typically saw more than a northerner’s share; Edric even more-so. He was familiar with women at arms.

“I come to you with an offer that will make those toes of yours curl.” He said, evenly, his eyes locked on hers. “I am Edric Martell, heir to Dorne.”

Neia raised an eyebrow. "I know who you are." Their eyes stayed locked. "I will bring your proposal to the She-Reaper of Pyke. But speak quickly, unless you want to find a cot on my ship."

"A fine ship: it smells of salt, and smoke, and the waters of the sea. Though, if I were to stay, I'd prefer your bed instead." he said, pulling up a chair behind him and lowering himself roughly into it, spreading his legs and taking up a great amount of space. He rested his arm on the nearby table, his eyes still locked on hers. "And my price would be astronomical."

Neia drummed fingers in the nook of her elbow. "Why would I pay when I could take. What is your offer, Dornish?"

Edric regarded her question with interest. She was Ironborn, and she paid the Iron Price for everything. Perhaps it was because they were a hard people, or perhaps it was because their isles were nothing but rock, and salt, and grey haired people. He, on the other, had gold, and spice, and passion, and poison. He would bet on his taking any day.

“You are a woman who takes what she wants, and I am a man who does the same. I know that certain promises were made to your mother regarding the isles in this bay. I know he fucked you, and calls it reasonability.” He stated, adjusting himself slightly, still regarding her head on from his seated position.

“We’ve been fucked too, by him and his ancient Hand. My sister is the Lady of the Crossing rather than the Queen of the Six Kingdoms. I say it’s time you and me fucked back.”

"What do you propose?" Neia Greyjoy replied. With a breeze and a swell, the ship rocked in a lazy roll. "Make it good. We were Ironborn under Waynn and we will be Ironborn under this child. Who sits the throne in Westeros is of no interest to us."

“Horse manure.” He said, a grin crossing his face. He knew a falsehood when he saw one; he’d told enough of them in his life. “You we’re lied to and you want what you’re owed. Stop wasting my time and be serious. We talk of war.. and of secret things.”

"You don't understand, Dornish," Neia replied with a haunting gaze of amusement over a sip of wine. "We took our steps for independence when I was sucking a teat. Waynn never checked on our kind. We were quiet," she smirked, "Demure vassals as far as he knew. Our reaving days were behind us." Neia set her drink aside. She lifted up and sat on the table. She too sat mannishly. "Sunspear plans to war against the Boy of Dragonstone. Say more. Fact for a fact, Dornish."

“Fact for fact.” He repeated, angling his head toward her where she sat next to him. He eyed her breasts again, unashamedly, and grabbed hold of her cup, bringing it to his lips. He misliked the taste he got, but he sipped deeply anyway until it was gone. Then he placed it down between them again and his darling brown eyes returned to hers. “The Dornish Viper is a patient creature, drawing its prey in with guile and stealth. It only attacks when it’s morsel is immobile , writhing in agony, a victim of its own foolishness. Dorne was not conquered like the other kingdoms, but we came willingly through marriage.”

He cleared his throat, selecting a looking glass and picked it up from the table, the reflective surface offered him a distorted look at himself; he put it down. “Many times, the Iron Throne brought you to your knees, and they expect they can easily do it again. But my people remain unbowed, unbent, unbroken; we only go to our knees when it suits us. Now, here is the fact, Iron Islander: it no longer suits us.”

Neia smirked. "I remember history differently. That's the difference between us. You're hoping your history saves your ass. We are starting over. We used our time learning what we did wrong. We will depend on what we've built. You're depending on a myth." Her denim eyes stared at him. They were, in their own way, like a summer sea. But they had a hard intelligence to them. "This bay will be on fire in less than a day. Use it." She renewed her stare, "As a gesture of goodwill, my advice. Keep your sister out of the Riverlands for a while."

"The payment," she said as she slipped away. She reached for a man's shirt and pulled it on. "Is you will grant our ships safe harbor on our journey. And when, inevitably, the boy-whelp sends the two closest navies to assault our islands." She smiled, "You Dornish like wine." She picked up an eating knife. "Burn the Arbor down."

"That will just be the spark then, won't it?" Edric asked rhetorically, smiling now. "As soon as we set the Arbor ablaze, Garth the Traitor and his daughter's black-haired whelp will set their full force against us. After you have left the Blackwater Bay, sail due-south toward the sea of Dorne. When there, you will set the southern shore of the Stormlands ablaze with your raiding parties. They will bring their fleets into the bay to confront you, and we shall bring ours as well."

He stood, looking at her. "It will be an exhilarating threesome, and we shall envelop them with no escape. And when they send their armies down the Boneway and the Prince's Pass to bring us the fight on land, we shall destroy them in the narrows as we have a thousand times before."

Neia smiled briefly, coldly into one cheek. But her eyes flared with a lust that was frightening and beautiful. It was nothing short of a cool socipath sensing death. It was the kind of look that raised hairs on the nape and said, You are in the midst of a killer. "I think we understand each other very well, Lord Martell."

He approached her then, though the hairs on the back of his neck did stand up. Maybe he was extremely brave, or perhaps still, he was extremely foolish. He got closer than most men might to a woman who behaved thusly, playing with threat and death; what she had to offer was something very few women displayed.

"I think we do." he said, plainly, his eyes looking into the sea of hers. All there was to do was speak his mind and see what happened. Perhaps he would get what he was strangely after, or perhaps he would have to try to dodge an axe. "I've always wanted to make the eight, Lady Neia...to bed a woman from every kingdom...and the Iron Islands are next on my list."

Neia smirked coldly, "Then find a Sea Wife, my Lord. This cunt goes to war, not love."

Edric laughed immediately, finding her response very funny. He shook his head, rather amazed by the woman, and when the laughter had subsided, he started for the door, turning once before he left the cabin.

"Then, Lady Neia, let us dance the dance of death together." he said, and then he was gone.