The sea was rough. The waves were still 6 to 8 feet, but they were coming faster. The ship shuddered slightly in the chop. The west winds had swung around and were coming straight in from the NW. The headwinds were still below 30 knots but seemed poised to rise. The Sovereign had been tacking into this wind all morning—short 3-hour tacks to the north and then 6-hour tacks beating windward west. The 20 men on the sails were exhausted; tacking a large four-masted ship was not for the faint of heart. The ground crew was 2 men short on manning winches and sheets. The Many-Faced God had seen to that.
It was the second morning since the assassination attempt. The air was still somber on board. Arya's mood was that of an ice storm slicing into anyone within 10 feet of her. She was either scowling on the widow seat, looking out of the cabin, or stalking the decks with eyes on the horizon searching for storms. The only break came when she joined Brienne on the poop deck drilling. Willing herself to learn to counter the deft moves the assassin had thrown at her. She was fire and ice in those moments, Brienne pushing her harder and harder with each pass. The glinting sparks of steel on steel mirrored the looks in both women's eyes. Even with such fierce concentration, Brienne had been bloodied twice. Brienne snarled and pushed the girl back harder, sweat dropping off each of them. Bronn and Tormund had been watching this exchange, and at a lull, Bronn stepped forward and raised Arya's sword arm slightly. "That angle will give better leverage against a heavier weapon," Bronn offered. The look on Arya's face offered to bite Bronn's head off and shout down his throat. "Just trying to help girl," Bronn's years of harsh fighting experience spoke in the cold void around them. They all turned at a gasp from Captain Springer at the helm.
Tacking a boat the size of the Sovereign was a delicate task. It required the furthest aft mast, the spanker, to be trimmed to help turn the vessel. Then the foremast and the mainmast had to be rigged and trimmed to catch the new wind direction. Then the mizzen mast could be set, and the new heading, close-hauled or beam reach, could be held. A line(or sheet) from a spanker mast winch had snapped at the yardarm rigging. They were in dire need of it being repaired quickly, or the ship might strand itself directly in the headwind. Springer shouted, "Reef those sails, lads, and hold them tight until we can repair this spanker top sail sheet! We'll be in irons if it isn't perfect!"
Bronn dropped his sword belt and doffed his boots. He grinned at Arya, "Guess I'd better earn my keep." He jumped to the winch and pulled the extra line free, and he turned and went up the spanker mast rigging like a monkey. "Tormund, get to that winch and haul it in when I shout." Tormund looked stupid for a second and then grinned and jumped at the winch. "Captain, you're going to have to raise my pay if I'm handling winches now," Tormund giggled at the dumbfounded captain's look. Bronn walked the yardarm like a circus performer and dropped to the topmast rigging to make the repairs. The top sail had ripped an eyelet loose in the meantime as well. Bronn gathered the ripped sail corner and folded the end of the line in it. He then knotted the ripped sail around the line, leaving a loop at the top, and wrapped the extra line around the knot 8 times. He pulled the end of the line through the loop and drew it tight. It cinched against the sail corner, and he finished by knotting the rope end to the snapped rigging. He grinned down at Springer, "Good as new, Tormund now!" Springer gasped again, only this time in relief, "Who knew we had extra sail monkeys on board?" Tormund cranked the winch till Springer yelled to stop, and Bronn did a little sea shanty dance on the beam before skidding down to the deck. Spinger barked, "Ready about lads! Helm to lee," and as the boat responded through the headwind lull, Captain Dirk on deck shouted, "Lee ho!"
One crew scampered up the mizzen to set its sails while the other crew gathered around Bronn, clapping his shoulders and whistling as he danced for them. Tormund shouted, "Hey, I helped." And the crews blew raspberries in his direction and laughed deeply at him. He wandered over and took a few under his arms. Then they all fell to the deck to rest, blessed rest—6 hours or until Bart fed them on deck.
Watching this, Arya felt something melt inside her; she felt almost human again. She wandered down to the deck and stood over Bronn, smiling, "You helped Bronn, thank you." Bronn chuckled, "Guess this makes us even for that little dock incident?" Arya laughed, a real laugh, and smiled, "Maybe...."
When the crew awoke, it was dawn again. The captains had let them sleep the whole night running long on the tack. Bart had fed them at dark, and they had all fallen back asleep where they had eaten. It was time to tack again, as they had run long off course; they stretched their sore backs and got to it. As commands were being shouted and they were turning through the headwind again, the wind suddenly dropped. One of the crew, high on a sky sail, pointed SW suddenly and shouted, " Storm! Captain Portsmith followed the lad's arm and a dark black front, throwing lightning, entered his view. Portsmith muttered, "A blue Souther if ever I saw one." He shouted, "Belay those orders! Man, the halyards and drop and lash every sail like your lives depend on it!" As Portsmith swung the wheel into the new SW wind that was rising, Arya on the fore deck was watching the waves run before the approaching storm. She had seen it before, she grabbed a handful of cork floats and some thin rope and ran for the cabin....