Night falls over the city and the waters around the docks are filled as they always are with ships of all sizes and bound for a number of destinations. But among the many merchant ships the war galley, Warrior’s Sword, has pulled in to dock, carrying precious cargo. Her arrival is watched with great interest, not only from the men that make their livings down at the docks (and are probably the most knowledgeable about the situation) to curious city dwellers, not to mention a heavier guard presence than usual.
But there is no rush to see the injured off the ship. The crew goes about their docking procedure and seem to ignore shouts from the docks for information. Eventually the first figures appear on deck and begin to descend towards the docks.
They descend the plank at varying speeds, and seem to be in varying states of wellness. A particular lean and rather intimidating man in black leather clears a path just be walking it, and on his arm is… a boy? A lady? Someone, at any rate, with long brown hair in a tight plait and wearing baggy breeches under a tunic that reaches her knees, and belted with a black belt that wraps twice around her waist.
When Liane emerges onto the deck, it’s swathed in the folds of some sailor’s storm-cloak. It mostly hides the state of her gown - tattered, muddied, bloodied, and salt-stained - and the state of her arm - splinted in a make-shift effort at a cast - but it doesn’t hide the bruise that blossoms over one cheek, or the swelling of a split lip. Doubtless remembering the last time she disembarked here, the Dornishwoman lingers behind the others, trying to blend in with the small crowd of women.
Mere minutes after the ship’s arrival in the port, there’s a rider from the direction of the Red Keep. Well, three, with the two guards who accompany him. Cadan is dressed in dornish silks, looking all dramatic with the wind tugging at the clothing, billowing about him and the horse. Dramatic, and a bit unpractical. When the horse reaches the very first parts of the docks, a long way from the galley itself, he dismounts and proceeds on foot. Same dramatic style, with the wind from the sea!
Carmella is accompanied by Ser Giles and Sariah, the former has a rough beard and seems to avoid looking at any one person while the latter clings to Carmella’s side, or as close as she can, for the Dondarrion is carried off the ship on a litter. She’s been dressed in a long plain tunic with a similarly plain blanket over her legs up to her waist.
Ser Giles leads the sailors bearing his charge and his voice is sharp when he orders others out of the way. Carmella is awake, her eyes are open but she looks over the darkened docks in a somewhat dazed expression. Her jaw is darkened with bruises and her right arm is heavily bandaged from shoulder to elbow.
And amongst those wearing rather ill fitting garb and wrapped in a scratchy, too warm blanket is Kellyn. Her hair is somewhat bedraggled as it hangs about her cheeks and she moves woozily and squint eyed down to the docks, almost slipping on the plank before Jonn grumpily pushes her into a more upright posture. All in all, she looks rather like she’d prefer to be sleeping right now. It’s not exactly helped when he begins bellowing for a Maester rather loudly near her ear.
Something like an afterthought, Rosalind trails behind the Lannisters. She wears a heavy cloak over the tattered remains of her gown, hood drawn up to partially conceal a colorful bruise on her jaw. The girl walks with a noticeable limp, favoring her left leg. She says nothing, nor does she seem to pay a good deal of attention to what goes on around her.
The lady in the tunic looks as if she might be tipsy, so dreamily does she let the Smiler guide her down to the docks. She isn’t laughing, nor is she singing or anything of the sort; it is more in the way Reyna Saltcliffe walks, as if she’s not entirely there. When the Smiler has her sufficiently off to one side, she sits down on a crate obediently, nodding blankly as he flickers his fingers and gestures toward the ship.
Liane’s steps aren’t entirely steady, but the gold cloaks who left with her still dog her steps, ready to lend a hand should she fall. The sight of Dornish silks there on the docks brings tears to the Uller’s eyes - the result of either pain medication or too much stress - and her stumbling steps aim toward the prince.
As a gust of sea wind jerks at his tattered cloak, Yonel raises from below deck. His face is pale, his skin tight, giving an overall appearance of gauntness. Using the railing to move himself to the ramp, he walks as one who has had no sleep in some time. He begins a shaky decent down the wooden ramp, the occasional gust throwing off his balance.
Pushing past some of the commoners who have gathered to look, Cadan is still ahead of the two knights who accompany him, so kindly given by House Targaryen for his protection. The prince hastens his steps until he’s almost running, nearly tripping when a person steps out in front of him, and it’s by some fool’s luck that he manages to reach the part of the dock where he can see the departing women. Eyes scan one after another, some attention given to Jonn after the loud bellow. It’s almost like he doesn’t see Liane, he’s looking past her, as if he’s still expecting her to come off the ship.
“Get those Seven-cursed barrels out of the way!” shouts Ser Giles, his nerves frayed and showing badly. The men carrying the litter come to a rather abrupt stop, causing Carmella to let out a little cry as she reaches her good hand towards the bandaged arm. Sariah dabs a cloth to Carmella’s forehead, though the girl shows no sign of sweating. Carmella’s head turns lazily from the left to the right and back again, giving her her first real look over the docks, though she appears quite sedate. Those that know her could determine that she’s been given something to help ease her pain, for there’s little spark about her.
“Cadan.” Liane is nearly in front of the prince before she speaks, and her voice is hoarse, tired, and a little bit floaty. She looks to the knights with him, then to the gold cloaks who dog her steps before looking back to the prince with a tired, forced smile.
As he nears the end of the ramp, Yonel stops to see the Dondarrion girl’s knight shouting. His gaze remains on the young lady until he is interrupted by a docking sailor.
With a grumble, Yonel makes his way off the dock to see an old palfrey being led by and even older man. He approaches the man and greets him. In return the old man greets the knight in a surprised manner. Yonel leans in close to whisper in the man’s ear.
At first the man shakes his head in an unsure rebuke, but once Yonel presses something in his hand, after a quick bite of the item, nods. Yonel takes the horse from it’s owner, mounts and gallops into the streets of King’s Landing at a pace that shows haste, but not to kill the animal.
Kellyn won’t be at the docks for long, it seems. The only thing she really says is a final call out to Carmella. “Jonn says stay awake,” she slur shouts as a reminder. See? Jonn can watch out for Carmella now and again. But then? Then she is stumbling, admittedly with some help, towards home. A hand reaches out, patting the air in search of Rosalind’s. All in all, though, she seems particularly oblivious to her surroundings.
Cadan seems to be following whoever it is behind Liane up until the very point when the Dornish lady makes her presence known. “Liane!” he exclaims, shifting in an instant so he looks at her instead. His right hand is stretched out, offering support while his left goes up to swipe back a few strands of sweaty hair behind his ear. “You..” Eyes swivel to the right as some other nobles pass by, namely the Lannister knight with his semi-conscious wife. Lips tighten and Cadan looks back to Liane. “Are you all right? Come here. I have been..” He blinks and whatever he was going to say is forgotten.
The Smiler, assured of is lady’s safety on her crate, stands behind her watchfully. Reyna is watchful as well; she watches Cadan, the bright colors of his raiment catching her bleary eye. Clearly, she is struggling to cast some fog out of her mind. “Carmella!” she manages to call, reaching out her hand toward the younger woman.
Rosalind sees Kellyn’s hand reaching for hers and takes it, patting it reassuringly. “All is well, Kellyn. We’re back to King’s Landing now.” She murmurs.
The Dondarrion guard continues to bark at the dock workers as they clear a wider path. Six sets of eyes turn towards Reyna as she calls out, those of the girl herself, her maid and the four men bearing her litter. “Reyna,” Carmella says wearily but with a sing-song quality to her voice. “Oh good, you’re here,” she says and then looks past Reyna towards the Lannisters. She lifts her hand towards Kellyn’s back to show she kept her promise, she’s still awake.
“I have a broken arm,” Liane warns Cadan gently, though she steps closer to wrap an arm around the prince’s waist. “But nothing worse than that. A slightly less civilized hostage situation, really.” She closes her eyes for a moment, swaying. “Wish I was coming home,” she admits in a softer voice.
“Yes, I’m here,” Reyna says, her words oddly elongated. But she is watching Cadan and Liane, her head tilted. “Look, they’re very friendly. Isn’t that… er… the P… Prince? The Martell!” And she snaps her fingers, having triumphantly drawn something from her clouded brain.
Cadan moves aside, gently pulling the lady with him to make room for others to move past, guards and ladies and what have you. Carmella’s litter gets a quick look, a sigh of relief or something akin to it before the prince looks back to Liane. “A broken arm is hardly something that would stop you.” he encourages with a weak, tired smile. One that is soon wiped away by her swaying and her puts his own arm around her waist, careful not to crush her arm in some strange configuration. Just to be reminded of his presence there by Reyna’s loud words.
“It’s dark, I could be anybody,” he responds with dark sarcasm to the woman, then just shakes his head, his attention back at the woman at his side.
Rosalind gets sidetracked by a man with a maester’s chain. She pauses to talk at length to him.
Carmella turns her head and looks over at Liane and Cadan. It takes her a moment to connect the image with the names, but when recognition dawns she lifts her head and even tries to sit up a little, to search the crowd. She doesn’t get very far nor does she sit up for very long. Her head falls back in frustration and her eyes blink back tired tears. “Nevermind, he’s alone,” she says to Reyna without looking at the Saltcliffe woman. “I want to go home,” she tells Sariah in a voice so like a child, her eyes squeezed shut to stop the tears.
“Carmella,” Cadan quickly adds when she is carried closer, a way of acknowledging her in the middle of all the chaos there.
Frowning at Cadan, Reyna looks a moment longer in confusion. “Not the Prince,” she says before looking round to Carmella. And something -does- penetrate the befuddlement, and she rises to seize her friend’s hand. But she doesn’t have words for the girl; she only holds her hand and bends to kiss her brow.
“Oh, I’ll be all right,” Liane assures Cadan with a small smile, the same expression turned on Carmella and Reyna both. “It just hurts right now, really. Hurts a lot. My lip’s throbbing. And I wish I was going /home/, instead of back into the frying pan from the fire,” she adds, perhaps a little bit louder than she intended.
Carmella turns her head away from the kiss as some of her Dondarrion temper simmers deep within somewhere. “Want to go home,” she murmurs again in a hoarse whisper as Sariah reaches over to dab at her eyes instead of her forehead. The sound of her name brings her eyes open only briefly and burned there is a brief lingering hope. But she only finds the Prince. “Home!” she cries out loudly, not caring who hears her as she rips the cloth from Sariah’s hands and covers her face. The sailors jostle her a little in their surprise and soon Ser Giles is leading them into the city.
“Remember Highgarden, Liane,” Reyna says, letting go of Carmella’s hand and watching her go with a sad expression. She turns to face the Uller heiress. “Next time, Highgarden. Nothing but space and roses and not a bandit or drop of mud within leagues.”
Cadan’s eyes drift into a lack of focus, a tired exhaustion settling over him, the smell of sweat and armor and days of nervous waiting without much washing reaching her. “I.. Yes. Let me take you back to whatever home we have here. I will see that there’s a..” And his attention is once again snapped away by Carmella’s cry. “Home.” he replies, a tad bit bitter and sad, and tired and everything at once, all in an attempt to be encouraging.
“Highgarden,” Liane echoes with a faint smile. “Maybe someday I can return the favor, Lady Reyna,” she laughs weakly before moving back to Cadan’s side. “Can you send for a Maester?” she asks of him, voice low. “The sailors straightened it and set a splint, but if there’s anything more that can be done, I’d like to stop hurting now.”
Seeing that she is not really helping, and coming more fully from the fog clouding her brain, Reyna turns to Smiler. “Do you see Dagur yet?” she asks the far taller man, who nods and points at the man with the restive courser approaching down the dock.
Cadan, first there among the people from the keep, seems to be the last one leaving the docks, at least among the nobles. He leaves together with Liane, whispering and speaking quiet reassurances that he’ll get her a maester, a bath, anything she needs to recover. He makes a good showing, looking quite enduring and strong where he walks with her, arm held about her in support.
With help from the Smiler, Reyna is soon riding pillion behind her husband, head drooping against his back. She raises her head once to look back at the ship—but only once. Once they are clear of the crowds, the courser is spurred to a canter and the Saltcliffe’s are soon gone.
Rosalind speaks with the man in the maester’s chain at length, apparently surprising him by her knowledge as she details a list of items she requires. A nod is given to the departing Lannisters as a promise to pay, for the shipwreck/kidnap survivor has not the coin on her person to pay. That accomplished, Rosa takes another look around her, to see who is where and doing what.
Cadan, first there among the people from the keep, seems to be the last one leaving the docks, at least among the nobles. He leaves together with Liane, whispering and speaking quiet reassurances that he’ll get her a maester, a bath, anything she needs to recover. He makes a good showing, looking quite enduring and strong where he walks with her, arm held about her in support.
Rosalind speaks with the man in the maester’s chain at length, apparently surprising him by her knowledge as she details a list of items she requires. A nod is given to the departing Lannisters as a promise to pay, for the shipwreck/kidnap survivor has not the coin on her person to pay. That accomplished, Rosa takes another look around her, to see who is where and doing what. (re)
Liane falls in alongside Cadan, well ready to move on and get away from the ship and back to the Dornish tower. If it isn’t home, at least it’s a warm, dry place with clean clothes and proper medical treatment.
It’s all well and good, until the prince reaches the area where he dismounted. Only now, there’s no horse, and when he dismounted, he had no thought of telling anyone to keep a look out for it. A silent curse and he looks about with the tired hope of someone who tries to convince themselves that they are just.. looking in the wrong place. “The horse.. it was here..”
The maester to which Rosalind had been speaking departs, with a promise to come to the Lannister manse anon. The girl glances over at the sound of the Martell prince seeking his mount, then scans the crowd briefly for anyone who appears to have a horse that it just a bit too fine for their station.
Liane sighs wearily when there’s no horse, trying not to look too dismayed. “It’s fine, Cadan,” she says after a moment, voice strained and weary. “Let’s just…Just get back to the keep.”
“It’s.. bloody..” The prince bites back a curse. “Stolen, someone stole it. Someone around here..” He glances about in a similar fashion as Rosalind, tired desperation and disbelief fueling his actions. “Get my horse back here! Someone.. Find the son of a ..” He just swears again, kicks at a rock and turns to Liane. “I should have told someone.. It’s not fine, you shouldn’t have to walk..” Still, he takes a slow step towards the street, even more tired now.
And whoever it was that took it must have led it along with all the other departures, cause it’s no where to be seen.
Liane says nothing further on the subject, simply holding the cloak more tightly around herself and starting to trudge up toward the city and the keep.
Rosalind suddenly looks around for the red cloaks and the Lannisters, but has lost them in the crowd. With a little sigh, resigned and a little melancholy, the bastard girl pulls the hood up and wraps the sailor’s cloak more tightly around her and limps toward the city. Covered so, she could easily be mistaken for one of the smallfolk.