The Valyrian freehold

"Good morrow, my love. I hope your day has been pleasant."

Roger spoke to himself in a fleeting manner as he fiddled with the coin in hand. It's seemed he alone fears the wrath of the Gods and their decision on his plight. That of the blood has a crippling effect on those who wield it, he reminds himself to be patient.

"We do not blame you." The man from behind had startled him. "Oh, it is just you." At the sound of his voice the man felt wounded. "What do you mean by that?" The man walked towards him leaving only a small distance between each other. "Faith is a dangerous thing when the tides are yet to turn." (ao3 quote)

"Perhaps you are right, but everyone aboard this vessel knows of my relations. I sometimes find it hard to be without him. I am angry that he is not at my side. I should have gone with him," he said it all at long last. "You are needed here at our side." The man's words seemed to hold a deeper meaning. "Your gesture is kind, thank you." The man nodded choosing to stay close. Roger could feel his warmth even as the breeze blew. He has no desire to be entangled with another; it's a shame that he must fight this battle alone when there are so many after his flesh. A particular slave master at the docks, has requested for them to be there in his company. His thoughts lied elsewhere.

The morning dew had given him some hope. The men aboard the ship grew restless by the day, they were tired of the stillness, and he in turn grew restless from their protest. They wanted their beds and wives to keep them company on many a night. He wished for the same, but they alone seemed to remember the coming and going of the captain and the commander. They could not keep away from their envy then, but now it is too quiet, and no amount of folly or secondhand banter could replace the captain's orders. They would sometimes catch him speaking to himself. More often than some, would think him mad, but they understood he was in mourning. 

Soon it began to seem as though they were followers of the Ghiscari, they took orders from them, even though they were being paid, they ate with them and told stories. When others would arrive to trade, they would make references to their wounded pride, demanding they join them at sea where the real men are fighting their battle.

They all looked alike, thick fleshy men with amber skin, broad noses, dark eyes. Their wiry hair was black, or a dark red, or that queer mixture of red and black that was peculiar to Ghiscari. All wrapped themselves in tokars. Two of the slavers wore tokars fringed in silver, five had gold fringes, and one, the oldest displayed a fringe fat white pearl that clacked together softly when he shifted in his seat or moved an arm. (G.R.R.M quote) The complete opposite of them, but to others they looked the same and it brought them shame. They are corsairs too, but they did not feel or move like one. 

Roger regretted the news, he was given. His men wanted to abandon these waters. They claimed that greater treasures were to be had, due to the war. It seemed the sky truly knew the might of a lover's hand, for there smite left a heavy blow, that left him in disbelief. It was then they were given the task to frighten the brindled men. Some reports claimed they were heading this way and the masters feared it would affect trading. "Men run when unsightly things are amok. If it were seen as though they could not control these native savages a slight would hang around Ghis." Roger the ever abiding took the task for he grew bored of the master's pleasantry. "I expect payment when I return."

"And payment you shall have." The master's wrists grazed his slightly, before he could say anything he felt the man's warmth behind him. He nodded to the master and left with five of his most loyal, who followed him to the shoreline, the same shore he gave his blood too. He believed the Gods would grant his plea; he could not stall them any longer. He would soon have to give up his quest. To stay on this island by himself is a death sentence.

The sound of the birds settling in the trees reminded him of his empty bed. Only their echoes remained. He recalled the motions of his lover when they were in ech other's company. Claive had expressed to him of his wants.

"I count no day as lived unless I have loved a ...., slain a foeman, and eaten a fine meal .... and the days that I have lived are as numberless as the stars in the sky. I make of slaughter a thing of beauty, and many a tumbler and fire dancer has wept to the gods that they might be half so quick, a quarter so graceful. I would tell you the names of all the men I have slain, but before I could finish castles would begin to crumble, the walls of Yunkai would turn into yellow dust, and winter would come and go and come again." (G.R.R.M quote (Daario Naharis is speaking with Daenarys in the book)

In these moments no step was ever graceful but rather pitiful. We came to this place to find settlement; we found only death and pain. During my time here I wondered, why that is? I could not escape, but I did, only to be stripped of that right because of a gun. I awoke to the sound of the barrel, still reeling from its effects, I could smell the smoke and feel the breeze upon my cheeks. It was just a dream, but the fear remained, and it took hold. This strange sensation in my right eye. I dared not touch it, for I already knew. 'Pus-eye', is what it is called. As you can imagine the swelling had taken route covering half my face. I looked disfigured and it truly matched what I felt on the inside, as I coiled for the figment which is called food. The feeling of a torn stomach as it ripped the last bit of strength the man possessed could not match the delirium of the fever that took hold. I did not know what was real. But there was this sharp pain in my leg as though I am running. The pus from my eye reeked as it entered my mouth. I felt as though I had stumbled upon some branches. The bark felt too real. I did not notice or heed the shaking of my hands. When I was able to take a breather, I could smell and feel the sizzling of burning meat. the heat almost so close at times, I truly wondered, where am I? It must have tasted charred for it was burnt and it was then that I realized why I was running. 

I should have been weary, but, when you're running for your life the actions you would have taken prior in order to sanctify your freedom is the only reason you were ever being held back in the first place. My head swung in all direction from the light. The curdling screams of my forgotten men reminded me of the sea. The glory days of battle, now I have been forced to flee from the attack of the brindled men. They were hungry and we were all but prey for the taking in this infested wretched jungle. The hatred seeps off of him in waves. He wanted retribution but more than anything he wanted to stop running. He was so tired, and the pain only added to his misery. 

He remembered in great detail the description Roger had given to him of the isle. The largest of the Basilisks is the isle of tears, where steep-sided valleys and black cogs hide amongst rugged flint hills and twisted, windswept rocks. He could feel it now as the terrain grazed his body. He knew that, on the southern coasts stand a city. Founded by the empire of Ghis, it was known as Gorgai for close on two centuries or perhaps four there is some dispute. His body knew the land for this is where he parted ways with Roger and his crew. His steps became quicker in his haste. They would not venture to the ports lest they be gunned down. This place is evil and for that reason alone it is the perfect place for his corsairs. In his coat pocket he had a detailed place of all the regions not to go, certainly, one of them will suit their needs. Some called her the Tenth Free City, but her wealth is slowly being built on slaves and sorcery. 

One reason or another he came to a halt like he did in his dreams. Claive's body keeled over as he died on his stomach gasping for air as the knots in his chest still invaded his rest. Another shot rang out as a group of men came closer to the scene. 

There at a sort of distance stood Roger as he smiled to his men. "Bloody bastards", he had said. Only to take notice of the man lying dead. He looked far smaller than his own frame. The sound of waves gently caressing the body as though it was taking the lad to a better place brought a sort of resentment to his features. He wanted his Captain back and here he was instructed to wait for a fleeting promise. Those around him decided to loot the poor fellow. As they rummaged the man's body, did they find only parchment, crumple, creased and wrinkled it may have been, but the marks remained fresh as though it was placed, they're daily in hopes of it not fading. This was the only thing of importance to the man. It sickened Rogers.

Claive left them with gold and a ship, and this man only carried a piece of paper. It made them laugh. It was only when the men pointed out his signature at the back of the page did the laughter stop. Rogers looked at the face of the man and wept for he could not tell that this was his lover. His prayers had worked at long last, but he was the one who shot him dead. The world seemed to go out of focus. He watched as the waves sucked him in. His body had not been washed since. The smell so foul it made the sight unpleasant. That's when he moved to bring him back. He looked at his swollen face. His tears had already begun to wash away the pus in his eye. He rocked his body back and forth as he begged forgiveness. He kissed the side that had the least swelling as an attempt at redemption. He felt hideous and ugly inside for he had cursed and blamed his lover only moments prior. The Gods taketh, as they giveth, he remembered.

The men around him could only bow their heads in shame. As much as they had gotten sick of this place, now that they would be finally able to leave, it would never be the same. The red spot that was engraved upon the map had to be taken seriously. When they return to this place it will be with a hundred men or more. Roger made a promise to the dead. Something that you should never do in moments of grief. 

They carried his body back to the ship. They spared no efforts as they began to wrap his body in cloth. Roger only watched in the sidelines as he drank his fill of dream wine. The wine was sweetened with honey, with just enough of the poppy to make his wounds bearable for a time. (G.R.R.M quote) 

He began to hum a silent prayer that only grew more louder as his voice gave way. "Sorrowful are these sailors, sorrowful are these tears. O sailor, bind me to the mast. Among the sea, leave me astray among the Gods you fear. Let the flesh, his words trembled as he continued. Of our foes turn weak, for their day is near. The crew slowly joined in. As the Gods proclaim Eth your soul. Let it be pleasant to thy eyes so he may grant your wish. And return your gold to our waters where we will lay in time. O sailor, bind me to the mast, oh sailor oh sorrowful are these tears." He placed the coin he had prayed upon and laid it on his body. Roger watched as they threw his body into the sea. For a short moment he could of have sworn the coin had blood upon it. It was then that he realized it was Claive's blood among the bag of coins they collected at the port from the Master. He could still feel him upon his skin. He could not tell if he should be frighten or sad at the last embrace of his lover. He had probably drunken himself to sleep for when he woke one of the men gave him, licorice stepped in Vinegar, with honey and cloves. "It will give you some strength and clear your head."

Before the man left, he grabbed his cloak. And threw up the contents that laid in his stomach. "We must use his death as leverage. No one is to know of his pitiful descent. Let it be known that he was lost to us on the Isle of dreams excavating those deep trenches for gold. His enemies will grant him a great feast in his honor. His sacrifice shall naught go in vain. Let me do this at least for the sin I have committed," his tone almost pleading as if he could grant him release. The ship began to sway and that just made matters worse. The man took this chance to embrace him and reminded him that he is naught to be blamed for what had taken place. Roger could find no strength to push him away. He did not like this embrace, but he held him close as he wept, for he too held his lover in his final moments. They were far out to sea now and their next destination is one of treachery.