Bab 255: 8
281AC – Part II
The waves did not agree with me any better after the first few days but at least I had stopped throwing up over the side by now. In my old world some would have said that I had found my sea legs but I would just counter that I was simply too exhausted to bother with anything anymore. Another week later as we passed the hight of the Rills with favourable winds at our backs I finally got myself back into some semblance of order and could actually enjoy the journey a little. It helped that we would be hugging the coast for the first stretch of our journey and anchoring close to the shore for the night. While the captain said that we could theoretically sail through the night he would only do it in dire circumstances this close to the coast. Running ashore or into a riff at night wasn´t something he was keen on, which I could gladly get behind. That the rocking of the ship subsided while anchored helped my skittish stomach a lot.
Standing on the small wooden castle-like construction on the back of the galley as I often did I had a good look at my surroundings and the other two ships keeping formation with us, all four ships flying my flag proudly. We had not set foot on land since setting out, provisions set to last us a while and even beyond if we stretched them some, and we would.
We could not really hide that four northern ships were travelling south, obscuring how far south exactly we might be going for a while at least should be possible. This of course would not work if we made port on our way, for I expected the information to be gleaned by interested parties the moment the first of my men made landfall. It might not even be one of the sailors or soldiers that would talk, simply looking at the amount of supplies bought and estimating our range from there would do the trick. I wasn't willing to risk it and left the opportunities of visiting foreign harbors unused, something which I mourned greatly.
At least I had wanted to before the realities of medieval sea travel were explained to me. My warships were not blessed with the storage capacity of trading ships, forcing me to make anchor roughly every two weeks to take on supplies, if I didn't want everybody to starve and/or mutiny on the way south. I had quickly come up with a way to stretch our range some by taking one of the cogs along, stuffed full of mostly food and water. This would nearly triple our range but we would be forced to make harbour at least once on our way south anyway, all the while hoping that nothing came along and sunk our bread basked – the cog having been aptly named `Plenty` by sarcastic sailors – which would leave us fucked three ways to sunday.
My cogs were of the smaller kind but even so they could store fifty tons of cargo easily enough, something which I would make great use of to offset the slower speed we would be forced to travel at in consequence. Even feeding as many people as we were on the ships, fifty tons was a lot. In addition to the stores on board of the warships we would be able to sail without making port for quite a while and might even make it in one go if we really pushed it...which I did not intend to do. Weighting risk and reward I had decided on a compromise.
I had ordered the path south to be planned with the greatest care and the directive to avoid as many eyes as possible while making good time. I would have loved to stop at each port and build my trade network, but this was not to be if I had to weigh the gain against danger. This had left me with few options, all equally problematic. On the way south I had to pass by the Iron Islands, geography alone not allowing for anything else. So I could either hug the coast, adding at least two weeks of travel to my already lengthy journey and risking every two bit lord on the way stopping my ships for inspection or I could pass to the west of the islands and risk conflict with ironborn ships that might be hunting on that side of their barren rocks. Here I would have to make a stop at Seaguard at the latest, hopefully the only one on the way south.
In the end I had chosen the second option, gambling that three warships and a single trading vessel would be too much of an effort for too little gain for most reavers. We would stay out of sight of the iron islands, braving the open sea in a more or less straight line from Cape Kraken to Oldtown while taking supplies at Flints Finger beforehand. This would leave me with having to dock either at Crakehall or somewhere around the shield islands, neither which I favoured. We would – of course – also try to avoid the maester capital and the fleet always present in the reacher town by sailing around the Arbor instead of going through the Redwyne straits. Time would tell if we had the devil's luck and actually managed to avoid unfriendly eyes until we reached Starfall, which would only be a few more days if we made it that far.
Flints Finger came into sight ten days later, the small harbour town seeming bust even from our vantage point. A few trading cogs were docked but most of the ships present were geared towards fishing with dozens of them either anchored, returning or leaving as we watched. From the sheer volume I suspected the town to be one of the few that would not suffer hunger during the winter as long as the seas remained open even if the diet might not have much variety during the cold season. In any case bland food would beat hunger or so any proper northmen would tell you.
Sailing into port we made an impressive sight, more so as we are the only warships around and could do so mostly uncontested. I spot a single tower with a scorpion on top guarding the harbor, the fortification being placed centrally between all docks on a small rocky outcropping a little before the port itself. A sensible construction even though I suspected it would be able to do little in the case of attack if more than one or two ships attacked at once.
The town itself was surrounded by a sturdy palisade, much as mine was as well even if the fortification was older by far. At first sight I estimated the settlement to boast no more than five thousand souls, maybe less. Overlooking the town was a small keep, making the entire set-up eerily similar to my own home. After docking we are greeted nearly at once by the harbourmaster, a portly – for a northerner – man that looked at me and all the warriors easily spotted on my ships with some degree of nervousness. Had I not been flying a clearly northern flag my arrival would have likely sent the whole settlement into outright panic, considering that there was a good chance that with the war going on I had more warriors on my ship than the local nobles had on land close by.
"My Lord Ryther, welcome to Flints Finger!", he greets with a bow.
"Well met, good man.", I reply easily before coming right to the point of our visit. "How much for docking and enough water and supplies to top off our reserves? How fast can it be done?"
He hesitates for a moment, glancing at the book he had been carrying around like his most valued treasure. Considering the value of paper in this time and age it very well might be, I muse.
"Well Milord… A silver stag a day for each ship to use the dock, a copper one if you stay outside the harbour and simply row in. We will be able to supply your longships for ten silver moon each, your galley for fifty moons...it will be mostly dried fish, mind you."
I wave his slight hesitation away with a smile. "No worries, good man. We are not picky and will take what is available. When will you be finished?"
"Assuming we start at once everything will be done tomorrow before midday.", he replies at once, a little more sure of himself. I agree at once and we shake on the deal before I fork over three fourth the money with the last bit to be paid after everything had been done. Not that I suspected the harbourmaster to be willing to risk angering me but one never knew – I did not know the man after all.
"And now", I mutter to myself as my gaze wanders to the castle rising over the town, "it is time to greet the local powers."
Grabbing Shale and three other guards, I make my way through the town in the direction of the castle, only to be met by a few men at arms halfway there. The ruling castellan had of course noticed my arrival and sent for me at once, thankfully bringing a few extra horses. After a short conversation we are on our way again, much faster now thanks to the steeds offered for our use. Before long we rode through the castle's gates, a small group of people waiting for us in the courtyard.
An older man is the first to step forward, bowing slightly and offering me a small plate. "Lord Ryther, welcome to Flints Finger. Please take this offer of bread and salt."
Dipping the bread into the salt and quickly swallowing it, I see the underlying tension flee the assembled people, guest rights being a powerful thing indeed. "I am Walder Flint, uncle to Halden Flint and castellan of his lands in his absence.", he continues after a short moment before waving to the three people standing behind him. "To my left you see Winnifred Flint, the Lady Flint and her infant daughter Starra. To my right Errol Flint, heir to Flints Finger."
The woman was unassuming and had yet to speak a single word, most preoccupied with the fussing infant in her arms. The boy of maybe eight on the other hand looked up at me with a frown. "You have no black hands."
"Errol!", hisses the castellan and slaps the boy on the back of the neck with some force, making the youth stumble a little forward. The older man bows in my direction, a pained expression on his face. "I apologize, Milord. He does not know what he is speaking of."
I snort, more amused than insulted at the youths' words, having of course known that my actions would likely lead to a less than stellar reputation. "Any what, pray tell, does a Blackhand look like, little one?", I inquired only for the youth to shake his head, struck mute. It seemed he didn't want to risk getting hit yet again for stumbling into another faux pas. My reputation had really spread faster than I could have suspected. Now it remained to see if it would actually do damage, be nothing more than an annoying paper tiger or develop to my benefit.
"May we move to a less...exposed...location?", I ask as a few drops of water announce the start of a steady rain that we had seen coming for a while.
"Of course, Milord. Follow me.", Walder Flints agrees at once, shooing the other family members away with a look, making it very clear indeed who held the power in the local lord's absence. Before long I find myself in a near spartan solar, sipping a tasty ale while he looks at me with some caution.
"I wish to speak trade.", I finally state while continuing to sip at my ale to which Walder remains silent for a long moment before answering. "We have little to offer but fish, lumber and maybe some tin we have recently started to mine...would that be of any interest to you?"
"It might.", I answer slowly, "lumber I have myself in abundance but I might be interested in tin or even fish, if winter hits particularly hard. Would you be willing to trade fishing boats as well? I find myself in need of a more secure supply of food than what farming can provide on its own."
"You of course understand that I cannot promise you anything without Lord Halden's permission, yes?", he inquires and continues after my nod. "I suspect it to be possible but as already stated I will not be able to commit to anything before his return. A raven will be sent to Rytherstone once a decision is made."
"That sounds reasonable", I agreed readily before steering the conversation to another topic. "The lad had obviously heard some...things...about me considering his earlier outburst. Could you enlighten me to what the word is about myself?"
The older man hesitates for a long moment before grunting. "It seems only fair for you to know why you would be insulted instead of being greeted with courtesy."
"You have done a lot for the north recently...", he continues, "but you have also not fought in the war. Vile tongues interpret this as you using the absence of others to further yourself, more so as the houses around you seem to suffer in consequence. There have been...rumors...about you aspiring to replace lord Glover with all the growth you have been doing, despite what you have done to fight off the ironborn."
I remain quiet for a long moment. "And what do you think?"
"I think", he replies at once, "that you did what had to be done and were justly rewarded for it despite what some impressionable youths might think or say."
"Thank you", I raise my tankard in recognition and nod to him absently, deep in thought. Tonight I sleep in the Flint castle as an honoured guest of the castellan, the other family members I do not see again before I leave the next day.
Some days later we had left the Iron Islands far behind and I allowed myself to breathe a small sigh of relief, more so as I had not felt like throwing up in a while and could – for the first time – actually enjoy the time on the galley while basking in the sun as the weather turns slowly but steadily warmer as we move south. While I had spoken to the castellan about trade it had been more or less lacklustre, with reason. We were still to close to my home for most trade to made a profit as what I had to offer the Flints would also able to procure easily and the other way around. The greater the distance and with it the rarity of the offered goods, the better the profits would be.
The cog had a lot of storage and while I had filled up a lot with food and water, some space had been set aside for trading goods I intended to sell down south while buying what I could that would bring a good price up north again. Having been shanghai´d into this oddysse I intend to at least not make it a net loss after everything was done and we – hopefully – arrived back home in one piece. Next to warm and stylish cloath, herbs and some northern ale I had mostly brought one thing along that I had only recently started to produce. Salt.
I only had a very small production and filling a few dozen kegs of the fine powder had been quite a challenge with the little time I had to prepare. I managed to procure two tons of salt that I would try to sell down south and maybe also on the way back, intending to spread the tale of where more could be attained where I could. If my gamble paid off my port would see a lot of traffic in a hurry and I could finally start actually earning money instead of spending it.
Leaning against the wooden castle I shake myself out of my capitalist thoughts and address the captain, a middle aged and weather beaten base born Mallister that had come with the ship.
"Hoster, any problems I should know about?", I asked him the question that had become a habit by now, both of us having become quite comfortable with each other on the first miserable stretch of the journey.
"No Milord, just more of the same.", he grunts with at least some formality without glancing in my direction, his eyes ever flickering back and forth between the working crew and the horizon. "We are making good time, the weather seems to hold and we are currently passing Lannisport a few hundred miles to our east, if one could look that far."
"Will the supplies last until Crakehall?", I question quietly, trying not to be overheard by the many sailors and soldiers on the ship. In the end the Westerland port had been chosen because of the shaky state the paramouncy was in, the different lords being less likely to strong arm me into something than the nearly unscratched Reach. The news gathered at Flints Finger also pointed to the last lord having been with Tywin in the Red Keep, leaving house Crakehall in the care of the current Lady until the heir came of age in two years. I gambled on the assumption that she was less likely to be involved in anything but peaceful trade, avoiding any confrontation where she could because of the precarious state her lands would be in after the lord's death.
Hoster mulls over my question for a moment before nodding decisively, "Aye they will. It will be tight and we might lose a few stones as we will keep some supplies back for emergencies but we will make it without anyone feeling the bite of hunger too much."
And hadn't that been an adventure? I had completely underestimated the difficulty of sharing food between ships on the open sea while wind and waves tried their best to either smash them together or keep them apart too far to be of any use. Only twice the weather had allowed the manoeuvre with my men binding sturdy ropes to the supplies before literally throwing them at the other ship. They missed more often than not but the food and water got there in the end even if some would have to be thrown overboard immediately after, seawater having gotten to it despite our best measures. I heard some sailors complain about hurting arms afterwards and could not help but chuckle as the `throwers´ had received double rations for their trouble. Sailors would always complain, I supposed. Yet another reason not to brave the open sea but to go along the coast on our way back, allowing them time to unwind in port.
He glances in my direction. "Your commands not to make port beforehand stands? I would prefer stopping at Faircastle or another port to top off the reserves. The sea is a harsh mistress and I loath cutting it this close."
"My command stands.", I confirm before emitting a sigh. "You of course have heard the rumors of the current political situation, yes?"
He nods sombrely and I continue. "I have confirmed what I can but there still is uncertainty in much of what has been stated… and I will not risk our mission by partaking in the hospitality of the Westerlands or the Reach more than we need to. Both could be perfectly fine, of course. But they could also...not...and even stopping once might be too much. No, we will remain out of sight as we are able."
He grunts again in sullen agreement, acknowledging my command. Musing about it I smile a little as I again note that the sailor had taken to mostly communicating in grunts and glares, ticking off yet another cliché in my mind. Even if he turned out to be a quite grumpy fellow nine days out of ten I was grateful for his presence and the experience he brought with him. He was the one I was counting on to see us to our goal and yes, I was very much aware that I was betting a lot on a literal unknown. I had hesitated for a while before committing to him, the fact that he had brought his family along and settled them in Rytherport finally having made the decision for me. If he intended to betray me, he would not have placed his family in where I or those wishing to take revenge could easily get their hands on them.
The second gamble I took was the assumption that I was as of yet not important enough for the current spymasters to try to get an inside man on. As such I could still gain the loyalty of the captain and see that he remained 'bought' before someone else got his or her claws into the man. I had already started off well by making sure that the captain's family would stay in one of the better homes in Rytherport and be taken care of to the best of my ability, something Hoster Rivers appreciated greatly even if he had never outright stated so in my presence. The way he acted in my presence before and afterwards told me enough as it was.
Another dozen days later we spotted longship sails on the horizon but we continued to avoid any sort of confrontation by going full speed for a few hours while adjusting course a little, thankfully losing them again before long. Not that we had been chased with any sort of determination, as the speed or lack thereof of our cog would have made any spirited flight fail anyway. As such this actually felt much too easy, knowing the ironborn for the competent sailors they were. So they either had no interest in actually attacking other ships at this point in time...or they would be coming back at some point with greater numbers. I was tense for the following week, sleeping fitfully, but also grateful that we saw no further sign of pursuit. Temperature had rocketed up by now, most of my men only wearing light clothes to alleviate at least some of the heat. I allowed this without issue as long as they continued wearing their weapons, knowing that any confrontation on the open seas would have allowed us more than enough warning for everybody to get armoured and ready in time.
I am very grateful that the weather holds and no storm or other calamity hits us on the way south, causing me to gaze in every direction in worry more often than not. The journey was going way too smoothly for my tender sensibilities and I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. But there was nothing and our peaceful journey continued uninterrupted, to my every increasing nervousness. This more than anything else led to my decision that I would be hugging the coast on the way back, visibility be damned. With my history with the ironborn being antagonistic to say the least I would not brave the open water a second time without at least ten times the ships I currently had. By staying close to the coast I would be in the water of lords that hated the reavers just about as much as I did, hopefully motivating them to help should I be attacked...but these were matters for another day.
Crakehall appeared on the Horizon one morning and I was almost surprised to see it, not having expected it for another day at least, but it appeared that we had made even better time than suspected. Gazing at the harbour city, for it was at least four times the size Flints Finger had been, I find myself surprised at the differences in architecture. Sure, I had known that the different parts of Westeros had been warring kingdoms at some point but to actually see such a stark contrast really brought it home. Where northern construction tended to be stocky, practical and almost dour in some aspects the western buildings I could see were much more open, almost elegant. Decorations adorned even some parts of the stone fortifications, something that no self respecting northern lord would be caught dead doing. If it had no use but to look pretty then it was of no use if you asked them.
Still, it looked mightily impressive and no less defensible for all the decorations. Most showed a...boar?...of some sort, which confused me for a moment before I recalled the Crakehall banner. Two war galleys escorted us into the harbour after being spotted, our banner thankfully keeping them from attacking straight on after spotting my two longships. The Westerlands and the Iron Islands had a long and bloody history so I was grateful for yet another piece of good luck that was thrown my way.
Anchoring ourself to one of the many stone docks, I am before long again standing on the ground of yet another harbor with its master bearing down on me and my guard. Prices were higher, roughly double what I had paid at Flints Finger but I did not even twitch, having known that the whole trip would be hard on my purse… and I did not have a choice anyway if I did not want to take what we needed by force, which I very much did not. While we might put up a good fight with most of the Crakehall men away it was still a much more powerful house than my own and had the numbers to drown me in blood even with as many men away near the capital.
The messenger asking for my presence in the castle that arrived a few minutes later – to the surprise of exactly no one – had thankfully brought horses, leaving me and my guards to make nice with the second noble house on our way south. The western castle looked to be a strong one I mused as we approached the fortification. High and thick walls dotted with half a dozen towers that could only be reached by crossing a wide moat over the lowered drawbridge. Taken together with the scorpions and catapults I could see on elevated platforms this would be a very bloody assault, if one tried to take the castle – something which could not be further from my thoughts.
Riding into the inner courtyard we are greeted by the residing household, a woman of roughly thirty years standing in front of her family and retainers, a youth that I take to be her son standing tall and completely armoured next to her. While I knew him to be not yet of age he sure as hell looked it and acted it as he was the one to greet me and not his mother, who should have been the one in power. Obviously this was not the case.
"Lord Ryther, welcome to my home. I am Lord Tybolt Crakehall. At my side is my lovely mother Gehnea."
"Well met Lord Crakehall", I greet with a slight bow, "I thank you for your hospitality and would like to talk to you a little more before we leave again tomorrow."
"Why so fast, Lord Ryther?", the youth inquired with not a little curiosity and a lot of suspicion. "Aren't the Westerlands to your liking? Or are you...fleeing from something?"
I slowly shake my head. "No, while we spotted some ironborn sails to our rear a few days past, we are not fleeing from them. We simply have an appointment to keep."
"Ironborn?", he asks at once, the rest of the answer completely escaping his attention after the reavers have been mentioned, much to my elation. It seems that his youth might yet be to my advantage.
"Yes, we spotted them roughly a week ago and lost them again a day later, not to be seen since. I have a ...reputation… with the ironborn and suspect that they will be waiting once I return to the north."
"No they will not", he states at once before turning to his castellan – a wide and slightly unhinged grin on his face. "Ready the `Raging Boar` and the rest of the fleet. Those reavers better pray to their drowned god that I don´t get my hands on them!" He then turns to his mother, telling her to take care of my wellbeing before nodding to me once and all but vanishing from sight.
I blink at the empty space in front of me in confusion.
"What the fuck just happened?"
"You poked a boar with a stick", the woman dryly replied and I had to fight down a blush, only not noticing that I voiced that aloud.
"I apologize for my crude words, Milady. The situation...surprised...me a little."
Gehnea chuckles only for her amusement to turn into weariness. "It is no fault of your own, Milord. My son has been looking for a challenge to prove himself worthy of his title ever since news came of the `Kings Fire` in the capital. If not this then something else would have come around...at least he will have the fleet with him when he is out seeking trouble where there is currently none."
I have to fight the urge to apologize again and instead try to lead the discussion to safer if not less controversial topics. "What is the word of the war, Milady? If I may be so bold as to ask. I have been on the sea for weeks and not gotten any news in the meantime."
"There is no war, Lord Ryther.", she smiles sadly, "It ended with my husband's death and those of so many others."
Taking a few seconds to gather herself she continues. "After the so-called `King Fire` destroyed the Red Keep, news spread fast. Many of the captains of the royal fleet deserting to his grace Robert Baratheon after the news reached them. They did not want to follow a royal house that stored wildfire where most of their families lived. Enough ships stayed behind to make any assault yet costly but the balance of power has shifted enough to bring the remains of house Targaryen to the table. Last I heard there are negotiations going on between Rhaella and King Baratheon, I expect formal peace to be had within a few months."
"And Dorne?", I ask, mind whirling at the new information. A negotiated surrender instead of the storming of Dragonstone had all sorts of implications I could not even come close to count. I was truly in dark waters now, my future knowledge becoming ever more useless with each passing day. But even so I still held a lot of cards that might yet prove to be game changing as the years pass.
"Dorne will follow where Dragonstone leads. The Dornish land borders are guarded tightly by what is left of their army after the Trident but they have yet to make a threatening move at...anyone, really."
"We live in interesting times, Milady.", I muse quietly to which she only nods before shaking herself out of the dark mood that I could see trying to settle itself on her shoulders.
"Be it as it may.", she starts up again, "Rooms have been prepared for you and your men. Please be our guest for the night."
"It will be my pleasure", I bow slightly and hesitate for a moment. "One last thing before I retire for the day. Would house Crakehall be amiable to trade with House Ryther?"
She frowns for a moment before throwing a half annoyed and half exacerbated look in the direction her son disappeared in earlier. "Most likely, yes. Our traders regularly make port in the north, adding yet another would be easily done. Still… I will have to consult with my son first before committing, you understand?"
"Of course", I nod and we part ways soon after, leaving the details to be discussed by raven after her son had returned from his pirate hunt and I would be home again in a few months time – hopefully. What she did on her own was to buy half of the salt in my store and some of the cloath on her own dime, paying handsomely for the deal. Already my hunch had paid for itself and if this continued if would be racking in quite a profit indeed.
More than with house Crakehall I actually was banking on my captains spreading the word in the taverns they would be sure to visit of opportunities to be had in the north. I had offered each a few silver and leave to drink to their hearts content as long as they praised Rytherport to the high heavens...and did not speak about us heading for Starfall. Heading south, sure, anybody could guess that. Everything beyond that had better stay secret or I would throw someone overboard.
Going at it this way was a risk for sure but I felt it worth it. Sailors had their own way of spreading news and if I managed to make them curious enough there would be yet more traders showing up in Rytherport before long, which would help me and my strained finances greatly. Of course one of the men might let slip where we were heading but in the end it mattered little as it would be known before long anyway and I had never expected for secrecy to hold forever.
But we would be fine for yet another day I muse as I watch Crakehall vanish into the distance as the sun stands high in the sky the next day. For a few miles we were escorted by twelve war galleys of house Crakehall, which turned north some time later to hunt the ironborn that were suspected to ply their trade there. We on the other hand turned south, stores completely full and hopefully ready to make the rest of our journey without having to stop yet again. Sinking into my thoughts I cannot help my smile wryly as Hoster winces at every ray of sunshine in his eyes, the man having only stumbled back onto the galley half an hour before sunrise. He seemed to have had an eventful night but if you ignored all his grousing he still commanded the ship very well even as hungover as he obviously was. I may have paid for his binge but I nonetheless could not help feeling a little malicious glee at his state. That I gave him the money had not forced him to drink through every copper after all. If one could get shit faced one could also work, which had been a philosophy I had also adhered to myself in my old life.
Thankfully our luck seemed to hold and we passed around the Arbor on a brisk morning, the rising sun lighting our way as we made our final approach for Starfall, passing Sunflower Hall somewhere to our left still out of sight. More and more we spotted sails in every direction but one had yet to approach us or even make any move in our direction. Hoster estimated most to be traders and outright stated that we would not be able to avoid pursers anyway as we had entered a gigantic bay leading to the river Torentine, leaving us with little space to escape anyone. Not to mention that we would be too slow anyway if we didn´t want to leave the cog behind.
Not that we intended to do so anyway, this close to our goal. If we were seriously challenged I had ordered Hoster to run for Starfall with everything else to be sorted out once we arrived. A day before we got into sight of the holdings of house Dayne we found ourselves to be shadowed by half a dozen ships just over the horizon, without them approaching any closer. I suspected that the fleet's leader, whoever he might be, was content to follow us and shatter us against the defences of any harbor we would approach should we prove hostile. A good strategy I had to admit and one that I appreciated very much indeed as it involuntarily granted us an escort on the last stretch of our journey without me having to do anything for it.
Starfall looked impressive, gleaming white walls surrounding the town and the harbor with strong guard towers reinforcing the already impressive fortification even more. In the center of the town a strong castle could be spotted, the high towers of yet more white stone gleaming in the burning sun. The harbor itself was also impressive, three dozen docks being busy catering to merchants and warships alike. Our approach is quickly noted and a small signal fire lit on one of the more remote berths, clearly telling us where we should head if we didn't wish to be attacked once we arrived fully. Hoster glanced at me and quickly adjusted our course at my nod, we were here as friends after all.
Carefully manoeuvring into the berth I can already spot a small group of people waiting at the dock, the distinct northern colour scheme easily putting them apart from the otherwise colourful mix favoured by most dornish. I had used the time well and donned my armour and weapons, proudly displaying my sigil on my chest. The men had suited up as well – much to their displeasure – as I wanted to present myself in the most favourable light.
Taking a deep breath I finally moved down the gangplank with a purposeful stride, Shale and another three men following as guard detail a little behind. Stepping on the ground for the first time in weeks I stumbled a little as everything seemed to be suddenly moving. I have heard of sea legs before but actually experiencing it was something else I mentally grumbled while trying not to outright throw up. Stopping for a moment I try to control the sudden sense of vertigo, my men cursing behind me as they go through the same experience. So much for making a good impression.
Glancing up I saw the group already approaching and decided to wait for them instead of moving to intercept, hopefully hiding at least some of my discomfort even if it was slightly bad manners to leave the higher ranking person to come to me. But as the alternative was to fall flat onto my face or to throw up all over the place I considered it the lesser evil.
Approaching I can finally make out more details and blink a little in surprise. Next to a young Eddard Stark I spotted a small figure that had to be Howland Reed and some other men of obvious noble birth that I could only sort out by their heraldry. The lanky man wearing the colours of house Dustin would be Willem Dustin I supposed, one of the original companions Ned took with him to rescue Lyanna. While he had died in the other timeline, he obviously survived this time around. I also spotted the signs of Houses Wull, Cassel and Ryswell amongst others, most which I knew should have been dead by now.
A small smile growing on my face, I went to one knee before the approaching group, my guards doing the same behind me.
"Lord Stark, we are yours to command.", I loudly announce as soon as the man comes to a stop before me.
"Rise, Lord Ryther. Welcome to Starfall...I heard much about you.", the young man answers at once, his voice holding the tone of command expected of him even though I still detected some undertone of uncertainty hidden deep within. Not surprising, considering that he had not expected ever gaining the Lord Paramountcy, being the `spare`. Looking over me, my men and finally the vessels I arrived with I see his eyebrows raise a little before he continues. "We have much to discuss and not much time to do it, Lord Ryther. But first we will observe common courtesies."
The assembled nobles start to introduce themselves at his behest and I find myself even more surprised to meet Ethan Glover, the son of my direct superior, among their number. He should be dead as well, had history played out the way it had. While necessary the round of introductions only got really interesting as it was the turn of the two women present.
"Lady Ashara Dayne, Milord.", speaks up a ridiculously beautiful woman combining near valyrian features with a dornish tan. Glancing down at a small bundle in her arms she shows a small sleeping face for a moment before drawing him close again. "My base born son by Brandon Stark, Jon Sunstark. He will found a new house in the north as he comes of age, paying homage to the Starks in Winterfell, as will all of his line henceforth."
I am struck dump for a moment, silently staring at the child while the last woman introduces herself as Wylla, a midwife and wetnurse. Glancing between Eddard Stark who had registered my incredulous look with a mix of nervousness and suspicion, Ashara Dayne and the child who obviously had been known as Jon Snow in another life I take a deep breath, calming myself.
"Well meet, Lady Dayne… and the little Sunstark as well, of course.", I fall back on the expected niceties while my mind races. Not claiming Jon would do Eddards marriage a world of good but playing him off as the bastard of the elder brother created as many problems as it solved. Having him as the founder of a new vassal house to the Starks this might be somewhat migrated but I had the feeling that many would try to use the boy against the old kings of winter. Well, at least any valyrian features popping up in the little one would be easily played off as having been inherited from the mother.
"The Lady Lyanna is not with you?", I ask hesitantly after a moment of staring at the little boy, forcing myself to inquire on the only person obviously missing from the group in front of me.
Eddard Stark looks deeply pained at my question but also a little suspicious at my first reaction upon seeing young Jon being to ask after his sister. "No, Lord Ryther, she is not. We found her at the Tower of Joy, just having given birth to a stillborn girl by the rapist Rhaeger. She did not survive the labour for long despite the best efforts of Lady Dayne and Wylla...we will be taking along their bones to Winterfell."
"My condolences, Milord.", I mumble with a slight bow, not wanting to inquire further at this point in time even if my mind screamed "bullshit!". Gaze flickering between Ashara, Eddard and little Jon I could almost taste the real story. It seems that Ashara had survived long enough this time around to spare the Stark Lord the dishonour of claiming Jon as his own to hide his identity. Instead he would replace the stillborn babe of Ashara, while the dead infant would be passed off as Lyannas. By having found a new northern house they would also sidestep any inheritance claims by him being or pretending to be the child of the elder Stark brother. More so as he had been supposedly born out of Wedlock anyway. With the house being new they would also not have the prestige or power to threaten Winterfell for generations to come after which Eddard's line would have been secure from any form of usurpation. Either Eddard Stark was much more politically savvy in this world or Ashara had her fingers all over the plot. I suspected the second one but could not know for sure until I got to know the man better.
Either way it seemed like little Jon would be spared much of the hardship he had experienced in canon. I hoped so at least but again time would tell.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone