Check out advanced chapters on : patreon.com/Veni_V
---------------
The sea's surface heaved like rolling hills, wave after wave crashing against the ship's sturdy hull. With a sudden jolt, Arya slammed into the wooden planks of the deck.
"Careful, little sister Stark. Don't fall into the sea," Cole said with a teasing smile, his eyes twinkling.
Arya picked herself up, glaring at him with a fiery intensity. By now, their ship had sailed far beyond the Vale of Arryn, out into the open waters. They'd been held up at Cape Wrath for a day due to a fierce storm, but now the journey continued.
Cole had spent that day teaching Arya proper swordplay. Both wielding wooden swords, Arya attacked again and again with all her might, yet Cole effortlessly blocked every strike.
It was as if she'd found an outlet for her pent-up anger, letting it loose with wild, sweeping blows. But no matter how fiercely she fought, Cole remained firm and steady. Finally, Arya threw down her sword with a frustrated pout and walked over to lean against the ship's railing.
Everyone treated her like a child, keeping secrets. Arya had overheard that her mother had shut herself away in the cabin, praying to the gods day and night without cease.
Cole picked up the discarded wooden sword. "What's wrong? Done practicing already?" he asked.
"Why won't anyone tell me anything?" Arya's voice was thick with unshed tears. "I'm worried about Bran and Rickon too!"
"They just don't want you to be sad," Cole said, leaning beside her against the railing. "Some things are better left to the adults."
"I want to help too," Arya cried, tears now streaming down her face.
Watching her, Cole thought to himself: This Arya was not yet the girl who had witnessed her father's beheading, or her mother and Robb's brutal murders at the Red Wedding. She was not yet the girl trained by the Faceless Men. Right now, she was just a ten-year-old girl—lively, stubborn, and brimming with curiosity.
"Did the First Sword of Braavos only teach you how to cry, little sister?" Cole's tone was lightly mocking.
Arya looked up at him through her tear-filled eyes, then shouted, almost roaring, "No! You're not allowed to talk about him!" She snatched up her wooden sword and charged.
Cole dodged easily. "In the Night's Watch, everything depends on the sword in your hand. If you choose to take up a sword, you shouldn't complain, little sister Stark."
Thud, thud, thud. Her strikes all missed. Just as Syrio Forel had taught her: "Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords." It amazed her how true his words still rang.
Suddenly, she felt a light tap on her head.
"When you fight, keep your eyes on your enemy," Cole instructed. "Who's the enemy you hate the most, little sister? Pretend my face is his," he added, tapping his own cheek.
Arya thought of Joffrey's face—but strangely, Cole's face reminded her more of home. "I don't want to fight anymore," she said, lowering her sword.
Cole blinked in surprise. This little girl wasn't playing by the rules.
"You're not Joffrey," Arya said stubbornly. "And you're not Cersei either."
Just then, with a loud crash, the entire ship rocked violently. Arya stumbled, almost pitching over the side.
"Ahh!" she screamed, clinging tightly to the railing, her body dangling precariously above the crashing waves.
A giant wave surged toward them. Cole gripped the railing, managing to keep his footing, but when he turned, he saw Arya hanging over the edge.
"Hold on! Hold the railing!" he shouted.
Arya's hands were slipping. She couldn't hold on much longer. Cole lunged forward and grabbed her hand, pulling with all his strength. But another lurch of the ship sent him sprawling across the railing, with Arya dangling from his one hand.
What's happening? he thought. He looked up and saw the storm ahead—dark clouds blanketing the sky, roaring waves crashing all around them, the sea wind whipping at the ship's flags. Sailors scrambled across the deck, rushing to lower the sails. Some of the crew spotted Cole and Arya struggling and started toward them.
But Cole gritted his teeth, held tight, and hauled Arya up, pulling her safely over the railing and back onto the deck. He handed the trembling Arya back to safety—back to Father and Mother Wolf, he thought with relief.
Cole quickly moved toward the ship's captain, a man from Myr named Malko Beka, who was barking orders to his crew. "Captain, what's happening?" Cole pushed against the wind and rain as he made his way over.
"We've run into a storm, my lord!" Captain Beka shouted over the howling wind. "By the gods, it's good to see you're safe. My sailors said it's dangerous to stay on deck now."
"What do you plan to do?" Cole asked him.
"Storms are every sailor's worst enemy, but don't worry, my lord. I've survived storms like this at least five times," Captain Beka replied with a grim smile.
Cole looked at him. There was nothing more he could do—it was better to leave it to the experts. He nodded. "Then may the gods protect us. I leave it to you, Captain."
Inside the cabin, the ship rocked and swayed wildly. More than once, Cole felt like the entire vessel was tilting at a forty-five-degree angle. He could hear the sailors shouting and working hard to keep control of the ship. Time seemed to blur as the ship continued tossing and groaning in the storm.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the ship steadied. Cole climbed out of the cabin. The sudden brightness of the setting sun stung his eyes, and he rubbed them with his hands. The sea was calm again. A cold wind blew across the deck, but it wasn't biting; it almost felt peaceful.
Cole spotted Captain Beka nearby, looking exhausted but still standing strong. "You're a good captain, Captain Malko Beka," Cole said. "And your crew is just as capable. Would you be interested in working for me?"
Captain Beka looked at him, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He knew something of Cole's reputation.
"I can give you a larger ship," Cole offered, "and you can continue to be her captain."
"You don't have to answer right away. Think it over," Cole added. "As for now, I'll also give each member of your crew five silver stags as thanks for getting us through the storm."
Cole then asked, "Where are we now?"
"We're almost at the Bite, my lord," the captain answered.
They were nearing the North. Once they sailed into the Bite and passed the Three Sisters, they would soon reach White Harbor. White Harbor was the main trading city of the North, and one of Cole's important destinations.
The Manderly family ruled White Harbor. Their sigil was a white merman holding a trident. The Manderlys had once lived in the Reach but were driven out over a thousand years ago. They had wandered north and were taken in by House Stark.
White Harbor had originally been a stronghold the Starks built to fight off pirates, but it had been granted to the Manderlys by King Cole Stark long before Aegon's Conquest.
It wasn't until the morning of the third day that they finally arrived at White Harbor. They disembarked at the docks, where Captain Beka promised that his ship would remain ready for Cole's call, even if he hadn't sworn loyalty yet.
Waiting for them at the dock was Lord Wyman Manderly, surrounded by a dozen guards. Cole had brought ten guards of his own.
"Lord Stark," Wyman said as he stepped down from his litter and bowed. "We meet again, Lady Stark. I hope you are well," he added, giving Catelyn a respectful salute.