The King of Winters

Chapter 38

They had already decided to walk the way. Joy loved to walk and Andrew was more than happy to walk with her. It might help him with learning about Rhaegar too, a word or two slipped from a drunken sailor or some westerosi guards still searching for him. He had thought Rhaegar to be better than this. He had let him get away twice now and he'll never get a third chance, Andrew was sure about that. He is not ready to give Rhaegar a third chance. 

Joy preferred to go the long way, down the Ragman's Road along the Outer Harbor, where the sea was there before them and the sky above, and a clear view across the Great Lagoon to the
Arsenal and the piney slopes of Sellagoro's Shield. Sailors of hundred different places hurried and rushed along the way as they passed the docks, some calling down to their crews and shouting orders from the decks of tarry Ibbenese whalers and big-bellied Westerosi
cogs. Andrew never got any useful word he had wanted to hear about Westeros. He had hoped to get at least a bit of the king but there was none. 

Some drunken men growled at Joy along the way, but once they saw him beside her they had a good reason to back away. Joy gave a knowing smile and shook her head as he chased another one away.

The long way took them across the Bridge of Eyes with its carved stone faces. From the top of the Bridge of Eyes, Andrew could look through the arches and see all the city: the green copper domes of the Hall of Truth, the masts rising like a forest from the Purple Harbor, the tall towers of the mighty buildings of the Braavosi nobles, the golden thunderbolt turning on its spire atop the Sealord's Palace... even the Titan's bronze shoulders, off across the dark green waters. But that was only because the sun was shining down on Braavos. Somehow the day had turned out to be one of them sunny days. If the fog was thick there was nothing to see but grey.

They crossed the Pearl House on the way. Andrew looked at the brothel as he crossed it. The board from which he had hung Viserys Targaryen stood still but the rope had been taken down. They had managed to clean most of the blood from the white paint with which they had written the word Pearl House in neat letters but there was still the dirty brown stain on them, the stain of the dried blood of Viserys Targaryen. 

He remembered the day as much as he remembered his name. He remembered the fear on Viserys' face as he told him who he was, he remembered the crack and crunch of the bones as he punched his face in, he remembered the chokes and gasps and he hung him from the brothel. Nothing had made him so happy as that . . . except for her, he looked at Joy. 

If he knew one thing and one thing only it is that he loved her. He knew that Joy was too good and sweet to be with him. It was easy to forget that sometimes, when they were laughing together, or kissing. But then the dreams would come back with blood and gore and bitter goodbyes, and he would suddenly be reminded of the wall between their worlds. She had no reason to be in his life of shadows, she deserved better, a better life and a bright one at that without blood and swords and well away from his dark and bloody one. His whole life had revolved around a sword but now when he was with her he didn't even want to wield the sword anymore. He had even left Frost back home. No man can own both a woman and a sword, Andrew knew it.

There was chill in the air. With his jacket flapping, he made his way along the cobblestones toward the Ragman's Harbor with Joy. They stayed to the smaller, darker streets, where he was less likely to encounter anyone, there were still men searching for him.

The best alehouses, inns, and brothels were near the Purple Harbor or the Moon Pool, but it was the Ragman's Harbor which sported many numbers, where the patrons were more apt to speak the Common Tongue. He passed the Inn of the Green Eel, the Black Bargeman, and Moroggo's, places which had been the fellow inns of the Foghouse. He crossed the Outcast Inn, the House of Seven Lamps, and the brothel called the Cattery, and far away in a neat place between two canals stood the Foghouse.