The Red Keep's gate loomed behind them as Edric Arryn led his crew through the shadowed streets of King's Landing, the 15-man Arryn escort trailing in disciplined silence, their blue cloaks catching the moonlight. The Blackwater's edge was alive with the creak of ships and the murmur of sailors, the air sharp with salt and tar. At nine and a half, Edric moved with a lord's purpose, his dark blue doublet and black bear pelt a stark silhouette, the three scars on his head a fierce mark of his grit. His crew—Tom, Wyl, Davos, and Waymar—followed close, their steel swords at their hips, their packs slung over their shoulders, ready for the journey to the Vale.
At the docks, the Moon's Grace awaited, a sturdy cog with a single mast, its hull painted a deep blue, the figurehead a crescent moon carved in pale wood. Lanterns hung along the deck, casting a warm glow, and the captain stood at the gangplank, a wiry man with a weathered face, his gray beard streaked with black, his eyes sharp as a gull's. He wore a faded green cloak over a leather jerkin, a curved dagger at his belt, and a grin that spoke of years at sea.
"Welcome aboard, m'lord," the captain said, bowing to Edric, his voice rough but warm. "I'm Captain Harrold, and the Moon's Grace is yers for the journey. I'll take ye wherever ye mean to go." He gestured to the ship, his grin widening. "The large cabin's yers, Lord Edric—finest on the ship. There's smaller cabins for yer crewmates, and the others can bunk with my men."
Edric nodded, his blue eyes scanning the ship, then turned to one of the Arryn guards, a lean man with a crooked nose—Gyles, who'd been with him since his Flea Bottom days. "Send word to my father," Edric said, his voice steady. "Tell him we're heading to the Vale—but we'll go to Braavos first."
The boys froze, their eyes wide with shock. Tom's jaw dropped, his black hair falling into his face. "Braavos?" Wyl whispered, his brown locks bouncing as he glanced at Davos, whose green eyes blinked in disbelief. Waymar's proud stance faltered, his dark hair shifting as he tilted his head, stunned. Captain Harrold's grin deepened, a knowing glint in his eyes—he'd been told the true plan when Edric paid him a week ago, but the boys had been kept in the dark.
Better to ask forgiveness than permission, Edric thought, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He'd planned the detour to throw off Littlefinger and Varys—both likely knew he was leaving, thanks to the gold he'd spent on the ship, but a sudden detour to Braavos would muddy their trails. Littlefinger wants me out of the way, and Varys watches everything. Let them chase shadows across the Narrow Sea. His past-life knowledge of their schemes—Littlefinger's ambition, Varys's web—made the deception necessary, though he kept that reasoning locked tight in his mind.
The crew boarded, the Arryn escort splitting—14 men to sail with them to Braavos, their blue cloaks a quiet promise of protection, while Gyles alone would return to Jon with the message. The Moon's Grace's deck creaked under their boots as Edric led the boys to the large cabin, a snug space with a wide bed, a small table, and a porthole overlooking the black water. A single lantern hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow. Edric turned to the boys, his tone firm but not unkind. "You can stay in my room if you like—there's space on the floor—but the main bed's mine."
Tom grunted, dropping his pack with a thud. "Floor's fine, m'lord." Davos nodded, his golden curls catching the light, while Waymar inclined his head, accepting the arrangement. Wyl, though, grinned mischievously, his brown eyes glinting as he crossed his arms. "Oi, the spoiled lordling needs his soft little bed, eh? Can't rough it with us lot on the floor?" He snickered, and the others burst into laughter—Tom's deep guffaw, Davos's bright chuckle, even Waymar's rare, dry laugh filling the cabin. Edric's lips twitched, a rare grin breaking through as he shook his head. "Laugh all you want, Wyl—I'll sleep better than you," he shot back, and the boys laughed harder, the tension of the night easing in the shared jest.
Edric led them back to the deck, the ship's crew bustling as they prepared to cast off. He gathered the boys near the railing, his voice low but commanding. "Pay close attention to how this ship works—the sails, the ropes, the way the men move. We're not just passengers—we're learning. A lord needs to know the sea as well as the land."
The boys nodded, their eyes already darting to the sailors hauling lines and unfurling the sail, the crescent moon on the canvas catching the wind. Captain Harrold shouted orders, and the Moon's Grace lurched forward, the Blackwater's dark waves parting as they set sail. Edric stood at the bow, his bear pelt swaying, Storm circling above with a sharp cry. Braavos awaited—a detour to throw off his enemies, and a chance to see the Titan before the Vale called him home.