Andrew
Andrew Stark stood beside the wooden frame near the grave, dressed all in white and grey, House Stark's colors. His fingers curled around the floral crown, the flowers and leaves all withered and turned to yellow and brown now.
There was no sun in the sky at dawn and even the beautiful garden turned dim and eerie today. The first light of day slanted down through the high trees, washing over the wooden frame in a red gloom. Her golden hair did not gleam in the light this time. Her fires had died out just like the way the sun would hide in a foggy day.
He wanted to run his hands through it, smell her sweet life in the golden locks, kiss those blood red lips and see the glitter in the green eyes of hers for one last time. But he couldn't bring himself to touch her. Not after what he had done. He killed her as much as the bowman did. He did it. The archer may have loosed the arrow that slew her, but it was him who pushed her away from one blade to the path of another.
Slynt had the right of it. I brought her into this the moment I saw myself in her room.
A cool breeze left the leaves rustling in the trees. Andrew was alone with Joy, amongst the trees and the breeze and the pleasant sweet smell of the flowers. His head ached from the hit of the wood, and his legs felt almost numb. His arms and back ached heavily with all the work he'd done to dig the grave. Frost sat leaning against the tree where he had kissed Joy once. The thought hurt more than any blade or arrow has ever done.
Slynt and his friends were lying down in the bottom of the canal, feeding the eels but they were just the tools that had made the sword which did the deed and the man who wielded it still lived in the Red Keep. Rhaegar was behind it, that much he knew. Janos Slynt had said that again and again before Andrew gutted him.
His grief was so hard that it felt as if a hand was crushing his heart from the inside. It was queer, but he had no tears running down his cheeks. Even his tears has betrayed him like the gods had done. Perhaps there are no tears left in him for crying, he must have spent all of them in the past for his father and mother.
He had dressed Joy in her finest gown of blue myrish lace with the sleeves designed in the pattern of various leaves and vines and flowers. The cuffs of her sleeves were adorned with bright sapphires; her hands placed neatly over her stomach. Even in death she was beautiful, he thought, and kind.
He gripped the crown tightly in his and placed it gently on her head. Grief choked him as it had never done before. Andrew caressed her cheeks one last time. The color had gone from them and she looked pale. It should've been me to lie down here now, not her. The gods have truly taken everything from him and left him as a shell to still live in this world. He closed his eyes once more, close those tears and the grief as he had done a hundred times before. He kissed her one last time, pressing his lips onto hers. Her kisses had always been warm but now her lips were cold.
Drops of tears slipped down his cheeks as he saw her for the last time, the woman he loved, the girl who made him happy, his love and his life. Andrew brushed off the tears in his sleeve, swallowed his grief and pressed his hand over the chain he had given her. His mother had given the pin to him and he had given it to Joy as a chain. Both of them were dead but he was still alive. He kissed her once more and with a heavy heart placed her in the grave.
The rowing back was as quiet and sad as the grave. The wound was so fresh to think about anything else. Braavos stood hidden in the fogs and so was his life, hidden to him with all the grieving and mourning. There was nothing left for him in Braavos anymore, nothing left for him in his life. Nothing but his vengeance. Rhaegar was still alive while all his loved ones died on his actions and no matter how far he tried to move away from his life there will be blades and price over him and the ones around him. If the dragon thinks he can play the wolf he is very mistaken.
Winterfell was waiting for him leagues away in the north. His home, his father's home, his family's home. His father had fought for the north his entire life and he will fight Rhaegar in Westeros, not in Braavos. No one shall think that Eddard Stark's son went down without a fight. If it is a fight the dragon wants he will have his fight. It was not the prudent course, but he was tired of prudence, sick of secrets, weary of waiting. Win or lose, he would see Winterfell again before he died, and some of the dragon blood in Frost.
He had to say his farewells to Illola and the girls first. It'll be good for them to stay away from him too. At least then they'll be safe. The Foghouse was already lit up when he entered it but there was no one in the inn. Illola was going through the account book.
She smiled when she saw him but the smile dried off in her face within a moment. "Andrew, what's wrong?" She looked behind him. "Where is Joy?"
The look on his face must have told her everything she needed to hear. Illola rushed to him and put her arms around him and embraced him. There was some comfort from her that he absolutely craved for.
"What are you going to do now?" Illola asked him as he finished his breakfast.
"I'm going to Westeros," Andrew told her. "I'm going to face my destiny once and for all."
There was genuine fear in her face. "Andrew it is dangerous."
"I know," he told her. "So is cowering from them. All my life I've been running away from my identity and my life. No matter how fast I run and how hard I try to evade destiny is always inevitable. I'm tired of running away from it, I'm going to run towards it. All of it started in that castle and let it end in the same castle."
Illola placed her hand atop his. "Then let us come with you."
Andrew thought about Joy. She wanted to come with me to Winterfell. "It's too dangerous," he said. "I'll not have anyone else dying because of me. It is time I faced it alone." He gave her a smile. "Perhaps we'll meet again. When it all ends I'll have someone to come get you." He left the if I am alive part unspoken.
The girls came from work to meet him. All three hugged him showering him with questions. Andrew answered all of their questions, forcing a smile as good as he could. "I'll be away for a while in the sea," he told them when it was time for the farewells.
"When will you return?" Ivanna asked at once.
"I don't know," Andrew said. "I'll try to come back as soon as possible."
The girls hugged him, raining down kisses. He kissed their foreheads and gave a smile. It hurt to leave them too. He had walked with them, laughed with them, played with them and when they were younger they would even sleep together in the same room. They were his sisters in all but blood. It was best for them. He will not put their lives in danger. No one else will die because of him.
When the girls left him alone Illola embraced him painfully tight. "Be careful, Andrew."
"I will," he nodded.
As always Ragman's harbor was crowded and filled with ships.
Three of the ships were getting ready to set sail to Westeros. One of them was a wine cog from the Arbor. He knew it at once he saw the burgundy grape cluster on the blue sail. It is probably returning for the Arbor in the Reach. He could go to Oldtown in that ship. His grandmother had been a Hightower and old Lord Hightower might still remember his daughter, granddaughter and great grandson. Or not. The second was from Dorne with the Martell sun and spear in the sail. He had no reason to be in Sunspear and his mother's home was on the other end of Dorne away from Sunspear. The third ship caught his eye, a salt sea trader with two banks of oars, a gilded prow, and three tall masts with furled purple sails. Her hull was painted purple too. Andrew pushed past the line and moved past all the people to the ship.
"Oi, pal, there's a line here," one of the bravos in the crowd told him as Andrew went past him.
Not this thing again he thought. Throughout his time in Braavos Andrew had stayed away from the bravos but today he was not in a mind to hear their talk. He turned around and gave a look at the man, a lean one with an equally lean sword at his hip. His companion took a step back at once he saw Andrew's face.
"Terro," he called his friend and shook his head. "Don't."
Terro took his hand away from the hilt of his sword and raised his arms. "All right, pal."
Andrew nodded at him and walked to the ship.
A cask of mead was being rolled up the plank of the ship when he arrived. When he tried to follow, a sailor up on deck shouted down at him. "What are you doing here?"
"Who's the captain here?" Andrew asked him.
"I am the captain here," stout grey-haired man in a coat of purple wool said, "What is your wish? Be quick about it, we have a tide to catch."
"Are you going to Westeros?" Andrew asked him.
"Of course we are." The captain said. "We sail to the north."
That was what he wanted to hear. "Good," Andrew told him and threw a pouch to the captain. The stout man caught it in his hands and spilled out the silver onto his palm. His face brightened as the silver flashed against it and Andrew knew that it was done.
The captain grinned widely. "Welcome to the Fair Maiden."