Chapter 26
Castle Warg, Mid-Twelfth Moon, 286 A.C., Two moons later…
I inhale the frigid Northern air through my nose before exhaling through my mouth, my breathe visible in the sun's rays on a rare sunny day in winter. The temperature outside is well below freezing as I poke my head over the top of the snow trench we've created. Nearly a man's height tall and deep, and reenforced with wood and earth. The snow on top glistens in the sunlight, the trench built from snow cleared away for a small testing range in this quiet corner of the castle.
Ten yards ahead, set up on a wooden stand, laid a ten foot long spear. It looked unremarkable except for the large iron tube attached just under the spear tip with a small fuse sticking out. According to Wyman and the Liu-clan merchants, my fire lance appears closer to the ones seen in Yin than the cheap bamboo knockoffs found in Leng. Four yards down the sights is a test dummy from the chest up in full plate armor atop a wooden stand and behind that, the castle walls to absorb any stray pellets. A servant stands next to the fire lance with a torch ready to light a fuse set to ten seconds.
I glance to my left to see Wyman, Edric, Maester Armond, and Commander Donnel in winter furs and ushankas. My maester looks to me.
"We're ready to test the scattershot, Lord Seastark! You may give the word." He says as a freezing gust of wind whips through the castle grounds. The old Stormlander doesn't shiver, having lived through several Northern winters.
I turn to the servant and fire lance again. "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"
The servant stiffens before lighting the fuse and sprinting back towards the snow trench, desperately trying not to slip on the cleared ground. I countdown the seconds in my head. After ten seconds, just as the servant makes his way into the snow trench, a sharp crack echoes through the courtyard. A flash of fire followed by a plume of smoke bursts from the cannister. Almost instantly, I see the armored target fall backwards onto the snow. Behind it, I see the stone walls struck by stray iron pellets. I look towards the fire lance again to make sure it's finished. After a moment of silence, I shout that the range is clear and we make our way over to the weapon.
"At least this time it worked!" Edric exclaims and I wince at the memory of the first test a few weeks ago that exploded. Thankfully, the long fuse gave the servant lighting it enough time to escape with only a few minor burns.
"Aye, and the fire lance is still intact, though the cannister is spent. Let's go check the armor!" Wyman says as we inspect the weapon. We walk to the plate armored test dummy, dressed in thick plates of castle-forged steel, simulating the armor a charging knight would wear.
"It didn't pierce." Commander Donnel states plainly, pointing to the dozen dents in the armor.
"True, while those dents would leave nasty welts or possibly break bone, the knight would live unless the fall kills him." My maester comments.
"Still powerful enough to unhorse a knight. Not to mention a horse is going to be less armored…" I tune out Wyman's response as they discuss the results. I assess the tiny holes in the walls to check their spread.
"Good spread. About a half dozen pellets hit the wall on either side of the armor. With the right angle and a bit of luck, one could hit two mayhaps three knights in a single shot." I point to the stone walls.
"Aye, but the range is still miserably short. They'd have to time it perfectly so the charging knights are close enough to hit. While I see some potential, I think these fire lances are too risky to use on the battlefield, Lord Seastark." Commander Donnel gives his opinion.
"I agree with Donnel, brother. Wouldn't it be better to take the dragonpowder, put it in a barrel, and use it to blow up a gate or a wall?" Edric asks and Wyman lights up.
"The Yi-Tish have something like that! I can't remember the name but it translated as 'dragon barrels'." Wyman says and I'm unsurprised the Yi-Tish have their version of a petard. "Only problem is importing dragonpowder from the Liu clan will be expensive. We don't have much powder left from the batch bought from Liu Wei." He continues.
"We should be able to make our own dragonpowder. The Lengii told you the three ingredients did they not?" I ask Wyman, who acquired the bamboo fire lance we based our version on in Leng Yi.
"Aye, but only for 'false dragonpowder', charcoal, sulfur, and something they mmake with urine and manure called 'saltpeter'. Charcoal is simple, sulfur can be found in the Northern Mountains, but the Lengii and Yi-Tish have refused to part with the knowledge of saltpeter." Wyman explains.
To my initial confusion, there's apparently two types of dragonpowder, 'True' and 'False'. False dragonpowder is one-to-one with black powder from Earth and is known for it's explosive reactions. True Dragonpowder on the other hand, has a less explosive punch, opting more for creating a highly flammable reaction to project a jet of flames. The true dragonpowder has an additional ingredient, but when I asked the Liu clan merchants, they proved to be tight-lipped about giving away 'Yi-Tiish secrets'. This is because true dragonpowder is only produced in Yi-Ti while the false strain is produced in Leng and the other Jade Sea kingdoms. Considering the expedition brought back fire lances from Leng, it's no surprise the fire lances worked on by myself, the Lannisters, and the Citadel are based on false dragonpowder.
"Strange, I've heard of saltpeter in the Citadel. Described as a rare rock found in limestone caves. Mayhaps some can be found in this land's few limestone caves?" Maester Armond responds.
"I'll send word to the cave divers that collect blue amber to look for any deposits of saltpeter. If none are found, we can still make our own but we'll have to learn through trial and error. Marwyn told me the Citadel is hard at work trying to figure it out themselves and I have a few ideas of my own we can try after the wedding in Oldtown. Now let's test the scattershot filled with dragonglass pellets!" I declare and the servant unstraps the spent cannister and straps on a new one with a yellow painted dot.
We make our way back to the snow trench and soon enough I'm giving the order to fire again. The servant lights the fuse and we brace ourselves as he sprints towards us. The fire lance bellows even larger flames then the first test with an accompanying louder crack. To my surprise, I see the armored dummy and wall struck with dozens of smaller pellets.
"Strange, I thought the brittle dragonglass would shatter in the explosion." "Aye, it even birthed a larger flame!" My maester and commander echo my thoughts as we moved forward to investigate the carnage.
"Well, Marwyn told me of an ancient war between the Great Empire of the Dawn and the Old Ones, with accounts of warriors 'firing frozen fire'. It's where I got the idea for this." I say when we reach the fire lance.
Well, that and I'm hoping for a potential weapon against wights and the Others.
The fire lance seemed fine, with the iron cannister spent so we sought the armored dummy.
"It struck the armor with smaller fragments in greater numbers but failed to knock it over." Edric sums up the situation. My commander nods at my brother's words and points at a small dent in the breastplate.
"Like the iron pellets, it failed to pierce. Not only that, but struck with less force. May I speak freely Lord Seastark?" He asks and I nod.
"Of course, commander!" I say with a small smile. "I always welcome your counsel. You have served my father and myself faithfully!" The grizzled veteran of the Rebellion and Ninepenny War remains stone-faced but his green eyes soften at my words.
"I'm unconvinced these fire lances could stop a knight's charge and I question their use due to their limited range. They have power, I'll give'em that. But what's the point if they're too far away to hit? I'm more impressed with the false dragonpowder itself and believe we should arm the scorpions guarding the port with the stuff. Mayhaps even use it with scorpions on ships! If we're able to make our own powder then we can also make these 'dragon barrels' your cousin speaks of." I nod at his words while Wyman looks intrigued.
"We should look into acquiring the secrets to true dragonpowder, not only for fire lances that shoot flame. When we were in Yin, we saw warships equipped with strange devices that translated as 'spitfires' . They had pumps and bronze nozzles that they claim could shoot flames like the fire lance but on a larger scale! Of course, they refused to demonstrate it when asked, so take it with a grain of salt." Wymans explains. Commander Donnel and myself salivate at the idea of ship-mounted flamethrowers.
"I agree that we should test a potential 'dragon shot' for the scorpions and look into dragon barrels for sieges, but we're continuing tests on the fire lance. When we return in a few moons, I'll put you and Wyman in charge of arming our scorpions with false dragonpowder! As for true dragonpowder, that can wait for when we get back. Now let's do one more test! This time, with powdered dragonglass!" The commander bows his head as I order the servant to remove the spent cannister and replace it with a new one with a red painted dot.
We once again retreat to the safety of the snow trench and I give the order to fire again. The servant lights the fuse and ruses towards us. I wait in anticipation, wondering if the weapon will even fire at all only to be dragged out of my thoughts by a loud sharp crack and a stream of flames erupts from the fire lance reaching some ten feet, coating the armored dummy in flames for several seconds before the flames ceased like nothing happened.
We stood dumbfounded, my colleagues, for the sheer luck of discovering the secret to true dragonpowder. Meanwhile, my mind's in overdrive trying to figure out how obsidian mixed with black powder produces such a reaction, especially since I'm pretty damn sure such a thing wouldn't work on Earth. Hells, I did it on a whim to see if dragonglass did have some magical properties. Apparently, it does.
My colleagues whoop in celebration, even going as far as to hug one another. After receiving a hug from Wyman, he and the commander rapidly begin discussing the potential for our own ship-bound flamethrowers as we approach the armored dummy. The armor was scorched black on the breast plate but minimal damage done overall. After a few moments of analyzing the results, Edric decided we had enough.
"Are we finished with testing? We have only a few shots left of dragonpowder" Edric asks me.
"Aye, I think we're done for today. The tests proved to be successful!" I declare and the servant begins to clean up the range. I vow to test the dragonglass scattershot against pig carcasses to see how it'd fare against wights we return.
"One more thing." I announce, getting their attention. "We'll bring the false dragonpowder fire lance with us to Oldtown for a demonstration, but not the true dragonpowder. We must not let word get out that we've discovered the secret. After all, we need a stag card of our own, wouldn't you agree?" They all readily agree. I've been generous enough with my knowledge and inventions. I can't afford to give away something as potent as this. Not when I can use it to give the squids a nasty surprise.
"My lord, I know you leave tomorrow, but the boys must still attend their lessons with me." My maester says as we begin to leave.
"We'll swing by and pick them up from Jalabhar's archery lessons. Wyman, Edric, and I are leaving to meet with the former slaves and inspect the progress on the whaling ship. We're meeting my mother, Breyna, and Elsa there." The maester nods at my words before walking up to Wyman and my commander. The three of them talk animatedly about the potential uses for true dragonpowder and I'm distracted by Edric approaching me.
"Brother, I received a letter from Lord Petyr Baelish." He whispers. My eyes widen slightly.
"And what did it say?" I inquired in a low voice.
"He wrote of his father returning to their small keep, war loot in hand to oversee the construction of a small dock. They hope for success with their breeding rams won in Morosh. He also wrote of happenings in the Red Keep. The queen caused quite a stir in court when she invited the king for a winter ride claiming 'it's like a summer snow for us Northerners'! To the Southroners horror and Kingsguard's annoyance, the king rode with her on Dothraki horses outside the city!" I chuckle briefly at the image of the Royal couple riding through the snow but the moment of levity is short-lived.
"Anything else?" I ask warily.
I'm dreading the moment that worm Petyr Baelish calls upon Edric to pay back his blood debt. Surely he isn't calling it in so soon?
"Other than asking me how I've faired since the battle and wishing to exchange letters, there's two things…" I don't like his face and tone. "…First, he mentioned there are rumors of you and Lady Malora having an affair floating around the Red Keep!" I grit my teeth as this could be bad.
"How severe are these rumors!?" I inquire.
"Not too severe, according to him. Most dismiss them because of Jonos' presence." Edric says and I breathe a sigh of relief.
I didn't just bring Jonos Slate to Castle Warg to get to know his betrothed, I also did it in case of such a scenario. Harder to argue anything scandalous is happening between us if her betrothed is staying in the same castle.
"Anything else?" "Only that he 'wonders what happened to make the queen choose the Karstarks?'" I nearly trip over myself as we pass the glass garden. I regain my footing and search his face, finding it to no be a jape to my dismay.
"What's this mummery about 'choosing the Karstarks'?" I say incredulously. Edric raises his hands to placate me.
"I know brother." Edric drags me out of my thoughts, waving his arms pleadingly. "It's just that the Karstarks seem to hold much sway with the queen, one of her ladies-in-waiting is even a Karstark! Though I think there might be another reason…" He trails off.
"What is it?" I demand. Edric hesitates, letting out a sigh.
"The queen thinks our house supports Princess Cersei in their feud. Your friendship with the crown prince probably doesn't help. Despite your efforts to stay out of it here in Castle Warg, we're still being dragged in." He finishes gravely.
I clench my fists. Shit… Is that why the Karstarks are being favored in the King's Company!? A drunken memory of Winterfell and Karstark flashes in my mind.
"The queen sees you for the Greystark you are!"
I banish the memory, swearing under my breathe as it seems one of my fears is being realized. I've been determined to stay out of any factionalism in the Red Keep just so I can focus on developing my lands and prepare for the inevitable Ironborn attack. Playing the game directly would only distract me from my long-term goal: survive the coming apocalypse. I've been content to simply receive letters on events in the Red Keep but felt no need to interfere.
Mayhaps that'll have to change, but what to do? Is this true the queen favors the Karstarks? Or is Baelish trying to stoke chaos between the Starks and I to climb his precious ladder?
"Brother?" Edric asks hesitantly, his face anxious. I shake myself out of my thoughts.
"He didn't ask about clippers or any inventions did he?" I ask evenly. My brother shakes his head.
"No, he just asked about my wellbeing and wanted to know more about our family. He made no mention of ships or inventions." He said to my surprise. I honestly half-expected the greedy prick to ask for a clipper or the secret to my steel mills.
"Fine." I growl. "You may write to Lord Petyr, but you are to reveal nothing of my inventions or our military strength. If he pushes, ask him this: 'Does Lord Arryn know he took his wife's maidenhood in Riverrun?'"
Edric eyes bulge out. "Did he really!?" He sputters. My is answer is a knowing smirk as we approach the archery range.
The castle archers and crossbowmen practiced their shot under the watchful gaze of a blonde-bearded man named Rodwell, a captain in my castle guard. His sharp blue eyes inspecting each guard's form and accuracy, his new steel helmet glinting in the sunlight. The steel mills have been hard at work forging steel for new weapons and armor for my bannermen. First were the castle guard, the lads in the archery range receiving new visorless helmets and brigandine armor. The rest of the castle guard were finished being upgraded from partial plate to full plate armor and I'm replacing the Wolfsport city guard's chainmail for newly forged partial plate. Iron or rusted weapons are being replaced with new castle-forged steel ones. Old, but still useable weapons were being kept as a stockpile to arm the levies.
The middle-aged man bows his head as we pass him to walk further down the range where Jalabhar is training the fosterlings. The Summer Islander's colorful feather cape and headdress swapped for a snow bear pelt and a mink-furred ushanka when the first cold winds of autumn started blowing. Though he added his own flair by attaching a handful red and yellow feathers to shoulders of his bear pelt and a lone green feather jutted upwards from the right side of his ushanka. The feathers had long frozen over but the man neither noticed nor cared.
Commander Donnel finishes his conversation with Wyman and goes to speak with Captain Rodwell. I see the fosterlings with Jonnel and Quenten line up their shots with simple oakwood bows, except for Tyrion, firing a crossbow. I spy Ser Maynard and Ser Norman Flowers standing off to the side observing them. Ser Normund watches intently while Ser Maynard beams at his smallfolk son training with the highborn lads, especially his budding friendship with Tyrion. Jalabhar moves up the line inspecting their posture, pausing to straighten Patrek's back before giving the order to let loose. The arrows and bolt sail through the air and hit targets fifty yards away, all landing near their bullseyes.
"Good shots!" I announce our presence and the boys turn around to look at me.
"Lord Seastark!" They all jump at my voice.
"Jalabhar performed a trick shot for us! He shot a bullseye, then split the arrow with his goldenheart bow!" Asher exclaims. I look to the Summer Islander, who holds up an arrow split in twain.
"Impressive. Wish I witnessed it." I say in an impressed tone.
"We heard the fire lance. Sounds like it didn't explode if you fired thrice!" Tyrion keenly notes.
"Aye, we successfully tested our own fire lance! The first fire lance made in Westeros!" The boys gasp.
"You did it faster than the Citadel!?" "You beat my father to it!" "Can we see it shoot a target? Please, just one!" "Can I have one?" Humfrey, Tyrion, Patrek, and Asher bombard me respectively.
"Aye, as far as I know, the Lannisters and the Citadel haven't made one yet though I know they're trying. No, but you'll see it demonstrated in Oldtown. No Asher, you can't have one!" They laugh at my response to Asher's question and bombard me with more questions about the fire lances.
I answer them truthfully and with full honestly… At least about the false dragonpowder shots. I deliberately omitted our success discovering the secret to true dragonpowder, wanting it to remain it a secret. Once I satisfied their curiosity, I dismiss them to their lessons. The fosterlings trudge off still talking amongst themselves except for Asher. The lad approaches me, cautiously looking for anyone within earshot. Finding us alone, he lowers his voice.
"Lord Seastark, I dreamt of wings last night!" He excitedly whispers the code phrase for when they skinchange for the first time.
"Oh, what happened?" I say, not particularly surprised. I was expecting Asher to be the first to awaken his gift thanks to his Northern blood.
"I remember dozing off before I could put Tar in his cage for the night. Next thing I know, I was staring at my own body and flapping about the room. I eventually awoke, placed him in his cage, and went to bed." Asher tells of his experience.
"Well, congratulations, Asher! We'll work on your skinchanging when we return." The lad beams at the promise to work on his gift. "Has anyone else had any dreams?" I ask him.
Asher shakes his head. "No, just me. They'll unlock the gift, right?" He looks up at me with his green eyes.
"Mayhaps they will, mayhaps they won't. It's not up to me but whether their First Men blood sings true. Now go catch up and attend your lessons!" Asher nods and bolts towards the Great Keep.
Seeing him grow smaller in the distance, I turn and walk up to Jalabhar.
"So, how're their skills with a bow?" I ask the Summer Islander in a casual tone.
"Lacking by standards of my people, but worry not Lord Seastark, I will get them caught up. By the time they are men, they will be skilled enough to compete in the grand archery tournaments of Jhala. They would not win of course, but skilled enough to compete." He says in improved Common Tongue, though still thick in his foreign accent. I give an impressed look.
"Quite the boast! Your people are famed bowmen even in the North, and the castle guard loves training with you!" Jalabhar grins at my praise before turning serious.
"Captain Okonkwo returned with his usual shipment of kofi and spices." He says, mentioning the leader of the local Summer Islander trading post run by the Xaq Clan of Koj.
Years of increased trade with Westeros has led some clans like the Xaqs, Zokos, Harambes, Totos Fulanis, and M'Balles to send sons from lesser wives and concubines to found cadet branches in Westerosi ports. Born without any chance to inherit land or titles, many like Captain Okonkwo were either ordered or volunteered to put down roots to in our lands to facilitate trade. These Summer Islander cadet branches operate in a strange, legal gray area between merchants and hedge knights. Captain Okonkwo commands the trading post while his wife, Lady Natomi, runs The Frisky Dolphin, the most visited brothel in Wolfsport.
"Ah, good. We were getting low on kofi." I say, relieved that I wouldn't have to take an unplanned kofi break lasting moons.
"You Westerosi have been buying kofi 'like no tomorrow' as you say. Had we known how profitable trading with your people would be, we would have cast aside the Three Daughters and started centuries ago!" Jalabhar says the last part with a chuckle.
"And I'm sure if we knew of the heavenly drink, we'd have established trade centuries ago!" I chuckle myself. "As for the demand, you can thank a few prominent lords like Lord Hightower, Lord Lannister, and myself for starting the trend. Once we started, the royal couple introduced it to court and it has only grown from there. More and more lords are purchasing it for the first time, either to try it themselves or serve guests. So, I'd expect demand for kofi to keep rising if nothing else." I explain Westeros' growing love for the dark, caffeinated beverage.
"And the clans you trade with are no doubt thankful. Many like Prince Makathar have grown even wealthier exporting kofi to these lands. If only my sister wasn't so shortsighted." Jalabhar shakes his head in disappointment. "The Xho clan could have cast off the invisible chains of Lys and prospered from trade with your people. But instead, fearing change, she bound us further by marrying that damn Lysene man! Now she arrays my clan with those that continue siding with the Three Daughters!" I grimace at the frustration in his words.
"Aye, it's a shame indeed, my friend." I say wistfully. His mouth twitches into a wry grin.
"Being exiled from my clan and homeland has been a trial, but there are certainly worse places to be exiled to than here. You have been most gracious to me, Lord Seastark. I was right to take Wyman's offer to come here. Even if the winters here are horrible!" We laugh before he remembers something. "I almost forgot, Captain Okwonkwo brought back word from my homeland that I think you should know."
"What news from the Summer Islands?" I inquire, wondering if it's anything that'll affect trade.
"There is much happening in my homelands! The Geres has declared war on the Totos!" I search my mind for the two clans.
A picture of large island shaped like an arching leviathan appears in my mind's eye, Jhala, the largest and southernmost main island. It's home to princely clans: the M'Balles of Ebonhead in the Sweet Flower Vale, the Totos of Port Africa, the Geres of Leopard's Den, the Xhos of Blue Orchid in the Red Flower Vale, and the Yarubos of Parrot Harbor. Mixed in are dozens of petty clans with shifting loyalties.
"They're the two princely clans between the two Vales, right?" I hesitantly guess.
"Yes, and the Geres are allied to my clan. While they claim they are fighting over long disputed land, word is my sister is paying them with Lysene coin. They, like her, have deep ties to Lys and are no doubt incensed your king's trading post in Port Africa!" He responds, mentioning one of trading posts owned by the King's Company.
Located on the northwestern Jhala on the shores of the Indigo Straits, it was founded by Princess Africa Toto thousands of years ago. While Ebonhead is by far the largest and wealthiest city on the island, Port Africa competes with Blue Orchid and Parrot Harbor for second place. It holds one of the King's Company's four trading posts in the region, the other three being in Ebonhead, Silverback Harbor and the Isle of Love.
"So not truly about land, but punishing the Toto Clan for trading with the King's Company?" My question is met with a grim face and grimmer words.
"That's not all. Tensions rise on Omboru!" I bring up a new island in my mind's eye.
This time I picture a smile-shaped island south of the Isle of Birds and aptly named Smiling Sea. Like Jhala, there are five major princely clans and dozens of smaller petty clans. The five princely clans west to east are the Fulanis of Fula Town, the Hausas of Hyenafort, the Wakandas of Birnan Zana, the Harambes of Silverback Harbor, and the Drogbas of Ivory Town.
"In the east, the longstanding alliance between Harambes and Drogbas was shattered with the trading post in Silverback Harbor. Myr had much influence in both but now only has the Drogba clan. In the west, the Hausas and Fulanis have always been rivals like the Xaqs and Zokos. Tyrosh has ties with the Hausas going back centuries, meanwhile your trading post in Fula Town barely goes back a year!" Jalabhar continues.
"We've been trading in the region for some four years now, why wait until now to strike at our trade partners?" I ask the question that's been bothering me.
"Each year, trade increases, and the number of trading posts with it. Your people now have three-and-ten trading posts! Six of those use to trade heavily with the Three Daughters and no longer do so." The former prince explains.
The Sunset Trade Company has Lotus Port, Port Malthar, Moluu, and set one up in Fula Town a year ago. The Royal Trade Company, commonly known as the "King's Company", has Ebonhead, Port Africa, Silverback Harbor, and the Singing Stones. The Dornish ironically has the most at five: Last Lament, the Isle of Women, the Isle of Love, their own separate trading post in Ebonhead, and recently the Isle of Birds through marriage like the Lannisters and Zokos.
"So, it's not just us cutting them out as the middle men. They fear we're going to squeeze them out of the Summer Islands completely?" Not that I or many Westerosi would oppose such a thing.
"Not just that. Word of this new kingdom in the Stepstones reaching my homeland has no doubt embolden these clans to act against those aligned with your people. They will see the Seahorse King as a potential ally." I repress a sign at hearing about the Rogue Seahorse, or Seahorse King, or whatever the hells they're calling him these days!
"Even with the Sunstone Corridor, the Rogue Seahorse still causes us problems! What else?" I ask, making a note to myself to let Lord Hightower and the Reachlords know about this proxy war if they didn't already.
Out of all the butterflies to flap their wings since my arrival, the escape of Lucerys Velaryon to the Stepstones remains one of the most unexpected. I've long given up on tracking every direct or indirect butterfly my presence has caused, but the existence of this Kingdom of the Stepstones is by far the most noticeable. Once he started carving out his kingdom, I expected him to unite the Stepstones at some point, so that wasn't a surprise. What I wasn't expecting was the alliance with Tyrosh, combined with the Baratheon seizure of Sunstone to seriously ratchet up tensions in the region. Lys and Myr have recognized the new kingdom but are the only other Free Cities to do so. The rest have yet to formally recognize the Rogue Seahorse's claims to sovereignty, but have quietly acknowledged its existence.
"The Three Exiles have begun raiding again. The Isle of Love and the Singing Stones have already been hit!" He reports. I search my mind for what I know about them, which isn't much.
"They're the westernmost islands of… well, exiled clans?" Jalabhar looks like he just sucked a lemon.
"Aye, Lord Seastark. The Three Exiles are barren rocks ruled by the Three Stained Clans. When Queen Xandra Qo united the islands, she ordered the clans to abolish slavery. All but three ended the foul practice. The queen had those three clans stripped of their lands and exiled to remote islands in the west. They are loathed throughout the Summer Islands for ignoring the sacred rules of war, acting no better than pirates and slavers when they raid the other islands. More than once, clans were forced to unite to halt their raids in the past. What you might find concerning is the Three Exiles have new leaders. Ones who came to power after being visited by a Kraken ship called the Silence." My face darkens at hearing Euron meddling in the Summer Islands.
"So, that's where the squids went!" I mutter. "They ceased operations Beyond the Wall when winter came and those reavers had to go somewhere. Guess we know now."
Jalabhar's face becomes grave. "Word is they have some kind of alliance or agreement. Some have said the Three Exiles are sending tribute of stolen riches and slaves to the Iron Islands!" I grit my teeth at the ill news.
"I knew your people were divided, but I never realized your lands were so fractured!" I say, frowning at news of war on Jhala and boiling tensions on Omboru.
"My people being divided is nothing new, but the spat between your people and the Three Daughters is 'adding wood to the fire' as your people say. Should war break out in the Stepstones, it will no doubt spill over to the Summer Islands. It is certain many clans will use it as an opportunity to settle old scores. If the fighting grows widespread enough, it could even trigger another Boogaloo!" I blink owlishly, repeating aloud the vaguely familiar word from Earth.
Jalabhar nods. "In your tongue, it means 'Reign of Blood'. The Council of Elders in Tall Trees Town acts as a mediator between the clans to keep the peace. When two clans decide to war regardless, they impose the Sacred Rules to limit the bloodshed. For them, dealing with one or two wars at once is a simple matter. But when war engulfs most or all the clans, their power to enforce the Sacred Rules becomes strained to the point of breaking, and when it breaks…" "…A boogaloo is the result." I finish, seeing where this is going.
"Yes, when they happen, the clans casted aside the rules that prevent our wars from being as bloody as the ones waged here. Battles no longer had limits to the numbers involved, leading to larger and bloodier clashes. Cities, once forbidden to attack, became the targets of sieges and sacks. Women and children, once forbidden to touch, were raped and slaughtered. Entire clans like the Tutsis, the Jambas, and the N'Dongos were wiped out. Atrocities like the Sack of Ivory Town, the Rape of Last Lament, and the Kigali Massacre happened in previous bugaloos. They are almost always followed by a unification of the islands because they some of the few times a prince or princess can amass the power needed to be crowned by the Elders.
The more the former prince speaks, the more it dawns on me that by trading with the Summer Islands, we made it unstable as an unintended side-effect. Sure, some clans are prospering, but our presence has divided many between us and the Three Daughters, inflaming existing rivalries and creating new ones. Now throw in the Ironborn and their local allies raiding…
"…And here I thought the Stepstones was a barrel of dragonpowder waiting to explode!" I half-jape as I process just how fragile the balance of power is in the Summer Islands.
"You are right in more ways than one, Lord Seastark." The dark-skinned man says in a flat voice, not finding my jape amusing.
"Regardless, you have my thanks for informing me, Jalabhar. And give Captain Okonkwo my thanks as well." I turn to leave, gathering Wyman and Edric.
We head for the stables and I inform them of everything Jalabhar told me. They both looked mildly disturbed by the end of it.
"Brother, are we heading for war with the Three Daughters? First the tariffs, then the creation of this new kingdom in the Stepstones, and now war in the Summer Islands" Edric asks, looking genuinely concerned. Wyman and I exchange grave looks.
"I don't know, but with the way things have been going…" Wyman trails off.
"We have at least a year, two at most!" My brother and cousin snap their heads to me.
"Why do you think that, brother?" Edric asks confused while Wyman waits patiently for me to explain.
"The squids will need at least another year to complete their Iron Fleet, that we can count on. It's the Rogue Seahorse that's the stag card. I'd wager he'll spend the rest of winter consolidating his kingdom. His alliance with Tyrosh could embolden him to make a grab for Sunstone when we least expect it, but I doubt it. As long as it's winter, we'll have peace. Odds are, war will start in spring, summer if the gods smile on us!" I respond. Edric and Wyman grimace at my dark prediction but give determined nods.
From my knowledge of the books and show, I know the Long Summer will last from late 288 A.C. to early 299 A.C. Since springs and autumns last a year in this world, that means winter should end sometime late next year. I expect the peace to last at least through the first few moons of spring as everyone recovers from winter, putting my earliest estimated date for war in early 288 A.C. Of course, I realize I'm basing my predictions on Balon being somewhat logical and Lucerys Velaryon, a man I don't know much about since in canon, he disappears after the Rebellion.
"What about Myr and Lys? Will they join Tyrosh and the Rogue Seahorse?" Wyman asks as we reach the stables. We mount our Northern chargers and ride out of the gate with a servant and four guards onto the road to Wolfsport. Cleared of the waist high snow that blankets the land, with sand poured on the surface to prevent slipping crunches under the hooves of our rides.
"At the moment, I'd say unlikely. All three may be becoming hostile to the Seven Kingdoms, but they're not the Triarchy of the days of old. There is currently no alliance between them, not even a truce in the Disputed Lands. Tyrosh still has to keep one eye on the other daughters because they are just as likely to attack them as they are to render aid. But of course, that could always change…" I trail off with a shrug. Wyman and Edric shoot worried glances at one another.
"If there's another War for the Stepstones, can we count on the Royal Fleet to aid us against the squids?" Edric asks the question that I dread to answer. I take a moment to consider the optics.
"Unfortunately, no." I say with a heavy sigh. "I doubt Prince Stannis will be able to render aid if he's focused fighting the Rogue Seahorse and Tyrosh, let alone if Myr and Lys are involved. If that war goes bad enough, they could pull ships from the Redwynes, if not their whole fleet, leaving us to contend with Balon alone with the Lannister fleet. We have to assume that the fighting in the Stepstones will not be swift." My riding companions go pale at my words.
The Rogue Seahorse on his own isn't that big a threat to the realm. At worse, he's at the same threat level as Balon. But with their alliance with Tyrosh? That changes things.
Tyrosh has a sizeable peacetime fleet of over a hundred warships, smaller than the Royal Fleet, but the big threat isn't their ships, it's their wealth. They can easily hire scores of sellsails, double the size of their fleet within a moon, and bankroll the war for both themselves and the Rogue Seahorse. Same story for land, their standing army is nothing impressive, being mainly relegated for garrison duty, but they can hire several sellsword companies at once, more than making up for it.
"We need to expand the Sunset Fleet. Even more than we are already are. We've finished three more galleys, bringing our fleet to three-and-forty galleys and can immediately work on another three." Wyman starts talking rapid fire as we reach my first quickstone kiln and turn down the road that wraps around the city.
"I'm going to halt the construction of whaling ships after we finish the first, freeing up shipbuilders that can work on galleys. Means we could we can build three galleys in four moons instead of six. As for the clippers…" I pause, not wanting to cease their production to maintain my lead in numbers.
The Lannisters currently field two with another two under construction according to Tyrion and letters exchanged between my wife and goodbrother. The Hightowers have one but are building more and while the Redwynes lost their one clipper, they're no doubt replacing it and then some.
"…We'll continue clipper production as planned. We just replaced the one lost in the Jade Sea and we'll keep building more." I respond after a moment.
"We need to warn our allies. We can send a raven to the Mormonts to see if they can expand their small fleet!" Wyman says with urgency.
"After Blackpool, we're stopping in Seagard, Fair Isle, and Lannisport on the way to Oldtown. We can warn the lords there and the Reachmen at the wedding!" Edric adds.
We continue discussing the Ironborn threat when we reach the mess of houses and apartments hastily built for the former slaves. Several wooden barns full of Essosi breeds of livestock ranging from pigs to goats to prized breeding rams. We pass by a few former slaves outside in heavy furs who quickly kneel until we reach the small wooden house sandwiched between two quickstone apartments where we'll meet with the elders. With no leader among them, they turn to the few elderly slaves as their voice when speaking with me.
We're greeted by a group of eight elderly Essosi and the godswife, Mirri Maz Duur, the same eight I spoke with when they first arrived. I spot Flarys, Son of Flagrem and two elders standing with Mirri while the old crone leads the other four, the ones who converted to the Old Gods.
Next to them were the ladies of House Seastark, flanked by four household guards in shiny new full plate armor adorned with cloaks baring the house banner. My wife, Elsa, my ten nameday old sister Breyna, and my mother, with the latter two leading efforts to teach them Common Tongue. Breyna simply wanted to get out of her lessons with Maester Armond with my mother allowing this in return for my sister aiding the Common Tongue lessons. They stand proudly, furs covering woolen dresses of the Seastark colors, my mother in blue, my sister in white, and my wife in black.
Surrounding them is a small crowd of former slaves, a mix of men, women, and children with skin tones ranging from pale to teak and everything in between, all clad in various furs. The former slaves kneel except the elders, who bow and curtsy. I give them permission to rise, hearing the crowd whisper in their foreign tongues as we dismount. The elders greet us warmly with heartfelt smiles and with broken Common Tongue.
I greet the ladies with a grin and a peck on the lips for my wife. "How goes the Common Tongue lessons?" I ask.
"It's been slow-going with the adults but the children are picking it up fast. Breyna has been wonderful with the children and Mirri has been most helpful in translating. We've had slower progress with her people because they wish to keep their native tongue." My mother gestures towards the Lhazareen godswife.
"I do what I can Lord Seastark. My people here are ones who were either enslaved or born slaves, only knowing bits and pieces of our culture and religion. I've been teaching them their history, training a local godswife to take my place, converting the willing, and assisting Lady Seastark in her lessons." She says with a tired smile.
"Well, your hard work hasn't been in vain from what I hear. Now let's get out of the cold and discuss your new home." I gesture towards the door and we file in.
It's a simple one room house with a large wooden table in the middle with a hearth providing warmth within the walls. Taking our seats, I wave over the servant who rode with us and he grabs a large roll of parchment from his satchel and rolls it out on the table.
It's a detailed map of Sea Dragon Point with Castle Warg and Wolfsport at the northwestern tip. The Wolfswood Road, drawn in a straight line from Wolfsport to the edge of the Wolfswood, roughly a third of its length represented portion currently complete. The unpaved two thirds, is marked with a dotted line snaking down the spine of the land through Amber Hill and Flatmire. A separate dotted line juts out from Amber Hill to a castle symbol next to a small settlement on the eastern shore labeled Stonedrift. Another dotted line branches out west from Flatmire to Stillport on the coast and continues southwest towards Blackpool shows the Stony Road, set to begin construction in spring. The Wolfswood itself is shown as a green covering of trees taking up most of the central and southern parts of the land, with the northern third being mostly farmland, and the eastern shore grazing land. Hills are shown around Amber Hill and marshes east of Flatmire
"I know the winter has been hard and I thank you for your efforts and your patience. Come spring, you shall settle in your new home." Mirri and a young freedmen translate my words to the elders who still have a weak grasp of Common Tongue. I point to Wolfsport.
"We are here. You will travel with Ser Edric down the Wolfswood Road to Amber Hill." My finger traces the dotted line to the town in the dead center of Sea Dragon Point. "From there, a road will be constructed that will run east of Amber Hill to the village of Stonedrift, where the ruins of a nearby keep will be restored under my brother." My finger moves east to the aforementioned coastal village located two miles southeast of Edric's rebuilt holdfast. "Those who assist with the reconstruction of the keep will be able to live and work as servants in my brother's household." This draws a large reaction from the elders.
The elders who converted to the Old Gods eagerly volunteer their men to rebuild the keep, looking hopeful that one day, their grandchildren and great-grandchildren will have a place in my brother's holdfast. Flarys and a few elders Mirri converted to the Great Shepherd looked less enthused. He speaks in Lhazareen, a tongue that sounded like the bastard lovechild of Arabic and Hebrew.
"Lord Seastark, our people hope to build their own village on your road to the keep." Mirri translates. I consider it for a moment.
"…I'll allow it. But in return, your people will earn their village by providing labor for road construction. Each family that provides at least one worker will earn the materials necessary to build their homes!" If I have to build a separate village for them, then I might as well squeeze them for additional labor. A hundred or a hundred and fifty additional workers will get the road built that much faster. With three roads under construction in spring, I'm going to be strapped for manpower and the Lhazareens workers will ease the labor strain a bit.
The elders quietly debate before Flarys speaks. "We accept your terms, Lord Seastark." Mirri translates.
We continue discussing the details of their settlement such as housing, grazing rights, the sale of breeding rams. The Lhazareen were particularly keen to sell their several of their rams in return for sheep, since they had too few. This worked out since I know the local have the reverse problem: too many sheep and not enough rams. This "Exchange of Lambs" as the Lhazareen called it will be something Edric will oversee when he settles them in his lands. I wonder how the local shepherds will react when they find out such trades are often accompanied with weddings. I also noticed an interesting trend with the former slaves, the ones who converted to the Old Gods respect me and acknowledge my lordship, but heavily favor my brother. The Lhazareen and their converts are the reverse; they respect my brother but seek to curry favor with me.
Then the question of levies came up. The Old Gods elders had no issue with their sons and grandsons fighting under my banner, quite the opposite! Many of their young men wished to become household guards to Edric or the "Black Wolf" as they've affectionately named him. The Lhazareen and Great Shepherd worshippers on the other hand…
"Lord Seastark, we are not a warrior people. We have no martial culture and the Great Shepherd preaches not to partake in violence and bloodshed, with the exception of in defense of one's life, family, and livelihood." Mirri translates.
"They will not have to fight in battle if they do not wish to. They may serve in other ways. They can be camp workers, healers, cooks, and so on. The only thing that matters, it that when I put out the call, your people will answer and serve." I declare to Mirri and the Lhazareen's shock. Flarys and the elders whisper amongst themselves before he speaks to me.
"You are most generous for allowing us to serve without fighting. Our people were right to trust you and the 'Black Wolf'. Should you put out the call, we will answer." Mirri smiles as she translates Flarys' words. The meeting ends with a prayer to the Old Gods for winter to end soon, the Great Shepherd worshippers remaining respectfully silent.
We head outside and part ways with converted former slaves and walk with Mirri, Flarys, and the Lhazareen elders a few blocks to a large bonfire. Some four hundred gathered the fire when we arrived. Half were Lharazeen by their short, stocky bodies with copper-toned skin and almond-shaped eyes. The other half were non-Lhazareen and mixed bloods, generally taller, with lighter skin and rounder eyes. The men wore rabbit-furred ushankas and have short, neatly trimmed beards while the women of all ages wore colorful headscarves with expertly woven geometric patterns. Only Mirri and her apprentice godswife had their curly hair out freely.
"Lord Seastark, as followers of the Great Shepherd, we wish to perform a ritual to mark you and your kin as our shepherds." Mirri declares and I allow her. She's already told us the details of the ritual days ago.
A lamb is brought forth on a rope leash by Mirri's apprentice, Korra, a beautiful young Lhazareen maiden around Edric's age wielding a ceremonial dagger. She goes to hand the dagger to Mirri, who holds up her arm to halt her. She declares something in her native tongue that causes the girl to react with shock and disbelief. They briefly argue before Korra gives in, glancing at us anxiously.
With a firm grip on the dagger, she chants a prayer in Lhazareen before slitting the lamb's throat in one swift motion. It tries desperately to bleat but can't, kicking its legs helplessly as Korra firmly holds it in place. The life dimming in its eyes as blood gushes from its sliced throat.
She places a clay bowl under the lamb's exposed throat, collecting blood until almost full before walking over me in measured steps. She hands me the dagger and I make a shallow cut on my left palm, letting a few droplets of blood drip into the bowl before she takes the dagger and makes her way to Edric. The process repeats with him, Wyman, his wife, Breyna, Myrra, and my mother before she stirs the blood with her fingers chanting a prayer. Once again, she's in front of me but this time, I move my dark brown hair out of the way of my forehead for her to fingerpaint a curled shepherd's crook. She chants another prayer before doing the same with the other Seastarks.
The crowd repeats her chants for each of us before making a long chant that sounds like an oath. They then get on their knees and bow forwards, pressing their heads to the cold snow three times before rising. Korra speaks again in her native tongue but this time Mirri translates.
"A pact of leadership has been made! Signed with lamb's blood in the eyes of the Great Shepherd! House Seastark is our shepherd and we are your flock!" I smile with satisfaction at earning their loyalty, stepping forward to give a speech.
"People of the Great Shepherd, I do not worship him, but he and the Old Gods have never quarreled! You have travelled a great distance, from a far off land of heavy chains and savage masters. But now you stand free, in a civilized land of men and laws! I am your lord, not your master!" I declare, earning loud cheers from the crowd. I wait a moment for their applause to die down before continuing.
"The Great Shepherd will be accepted in these lands so long as you follow my laws and serve when called! If you learn Common Tongue, you may proudly speak your native tongue without fear of punishment! If you aid in building a road through your future home, materials will be provided to build houses. What I ask is simple: a road for a village!" I'm cut off by many families offering male relatives in a mix of Lhazareen and broken Common Tongue. Men and lads with no families offered themselves. Though heartened by their enthusiasm, I quiet them down to continue as that will be sorted at a later date.
"I do not ask you to cast aside your culture and traditions, but to adapt them to living in these lands! As long as you respect the weirwoods, you will find us Northerners to be pleasant neighbors!" With my speech finished, another round of applause ensues. When it dies down, the crowd begins to thins out, with the remaining half gossiping and socializing.
Flarys approaches us, the thin elder's salt and pepper colored beard has grown even longer, now reaching his stomach. Accompanying him is his two sons. One is lithe and is almost an exact copy of his father, but the other is noticeably different. He stands a few inches taller than me and even under furs I could tell he's quite muscular. Unlike his brother and father however, he has lighter skin and round eyes, a sure sign of mixed blood. They both looked several years older than me and each held a bowl of water in their right hands and several cloths in their left. We gratefully wash and dry our foreheads before Flarys speaks in Lhazareen.
"Father say we be good flock for de wolf shepherds. He say I, Flagrin, and me brother Wahid, work to build road. If you make call, we work in war camp. I good cook, and Wahid good, strong worker! We serve wolf shepherds who give us home and let us pray in peace!" The leaner son, Flagrin speaks in somewhat broken Common Tongue with a thick accent that sounded vaguely Middle Eastern.
"I accept your service, Flagrin and Wahid, sons of Flarys. I will find you work in my war camps away from the fighting. But know that in battle, camps are sometimes attacked." I warn the brothers. They exchange a look.
"We know battle may come to camp. If it do, we fight to defend camp!" Wahid, the larger sibling said in a deep voice. My eyes flicker between the determined brothers.
"Very well. Should war come, you will both be mustered. Until then, you will be free to build your new lives." Flarys and his sons bow their heads in acknowledgement and leave us.
Edric, Wyman, and the ladies go to mingle with the crowd while Myrra and I walk to Mirri and her apprentice.
"Will you be ready to depart with us tomorrow?" I ask the godswife.
"I'll be ready, Lord Seastark. I've trained Korra to be the local godswife and you should have no problems with the flock. We are not the kind to force our faith on others and you've been more than generous with accommodating our beliefs." She responds contently.
"Where will you go after we arrive in Oldtown" Myrra asks her and she shrugs.
"I will stay in Oldtown for a few days before catching a ship sailing east. It's a shame the Citadel doesn't allow women to attend but I learned much in my time here. Your wife and Lady Seastark showed me your forceps and woundcleanser, truly amazing inventions!" Myrra and I exchange a glance. "The godswives must know of these tools. I will speak of your generosity to our people, telling our kalif, or king, of a far off land, where our people can live and pray in peace under a foreign shepherd. One who embodies the essence of the Wolf Sage!" She says enthusiastically.
"Wolf Sage?" I raise an eyebrow and Myrra scrunches her face in confusion. Korra steps in to explain.
"Long ago, our people lived in the lands east of Asshai. When the Lion of the Night swallowed the sun after the Blood Betrayal, the Great Shepherd, Moses Lhazarus, led our people west. Fleeing the destruction of the great cities of the east, he led them through shadowy, war-torn lands infested with demons and the walking dead. During this treacherous journey, Moses and our people encountered the Wolf Sage, who gifted Moses the knowledge to slay demons and the dead to protect his flock." Mirri takes over and I'm surprised to hear a wolf being mentioned with the Lion of the Night and the Blood Betrayal again.
"Wyman mentioned hearing of a 'Wolf of the Stars' in his travels in the Jade Sea and Marwyn mentioned Rhylor worshippers believe in a 'Mad Wolf of Midnight'. Is there any connection between them and the Wolf Sage?" I ask in a curious tone.
"I've heard of the 'Wolf of the Stars' but not this 'Mad Wolf'. The 'Wolf of the Stars' plays a role in the Blood Betrayal, something about him giving knowledge to the Bloodstone Emperor." Myrra notes, her face deep in thought. I'm slightly taken aback that even Myrra's apparently heard of this strange wolf from the distant past.
I keep hearing about a wolf being involved with the Blood Betrayal and the Long Night but I don't remember anything about a wolf from the books. Was a Stark involved with the Long Night in Essos? That shouldn't be possible as the Starks would have already settled in Westeros long before the Blood Betrayal. Hells, Marywn theorizes the First Men originally migrated to Westeros fleeing encroachment from the Great Empire of the Dawn, mirroring the Andals fleeing the Valyrians thousands of years later!
"The Cult of Starry Wisdom believes the 'Wolf of the Stars' was a celestial emissary that served the Lion of the Night. The wolf was known as a giver of knowledge, both magical and mundane. They believe the wolf gave the Bloodstone Emperor the secrets of the celestials, including how a mortal could ascend to godhood. The result was the Blood Betrayal and a great war between the Celestials and the Bloodstone Emperor that shrouded the world in darkness." Mirri explains in a low voice.
"The faith of Rhylor believe in the 'Mad Wolf of Midnight', a wolf with fur black as night that serves the Great Other. He whispers lies and false prophecies to the faithful to lead them astray. They believe the Mad Wolf tricked the Bloodstone Emperor into committing the Blood Betrayal so he could start the Long Night." Korra adds.
"Even the Dothraki have the Black Sun Wolf, a wolf with fur as black as coal. Through trickery, he imprisoned the Great Stallion and ate the sun. After plunging the world into darkness, the Black Sun Wolf slaughtered the Woodswalkers before the Great Stallion escaped his prison. The two fought a great and terrible battle that scarred the world! In the end, the Great Stallion won and in his victory, he freed the sun from the wolf's stomach and threw the dark beast's corpse into the great water, forever poisoning it." Mirri finishes.
"So many legends around this mysterious wolf. What do your people believe?" My wife asks Korra.
"The Wolf Sage is mentioned only briefly in a single passage…" Korra sings a soft hymn in Lhazareen. I'm caught off guard by her angelic voice and almost miss Mirri's translations.
The Great Shepherd walked through the valley of the shadow of death, but his flock feared no evil
Halted by an old wolf, sharp eyes gleaming with forbidden knowledge, and lips that spoke a dire warning
A ruined city of corpses and demons stood in the Great Shepherd's path,
but the Wolf Sage offered another way
A little known shepherd's pass led the flock to salvation
and the Wolf Sage joined the flock on their journey west
The Wolf Sage and Great Shepherd became brothers
when the sage taught him and the flock the secrets of frozen fire
They struck a bargain, knowledge of a world untethered by the gods
for the forgiveness of sin
The flock reached the promised land and the sage stayed one year,
He aided the Great Shepherd in building the newborn kingdom
He gave knowledge of better weapons and tools, better looms and forges,
He built better walls and granaries, then journeyed west to seek his brother
Myrra and I applaud Korra's singing. "You have a beautiful voice!" Korra blushes at my wife's compliment but I'm more focused on the translation. As Myrra speaks with Korra, I turn to Mirri.
"You said the Wolf Sage was forgiven for a sin. What sin did he commit? Did he cause the Long Night?" I ask her, trying to get to the bottom of this.
"Both the Cult and firepriests of Rhylor believe the wolf sage caused the Blood Betrayal and the Long Night, but our people believe the opposite. We believe his sin was the failure to prevent it." The godswife replies and I find myself intrigued.
"So, not a servant of evil or a god of knowledge? Just a man that failed to prevent calamity?" I snort as she nods. Every question answered seems to create more questions. I watch Myrra and Korra deep in conversation until I remember something Mirri said.
"Wait, hold on. You know the Kalif of Lhazar?" I ask skeptically.
"I do." She grins. "I've delivered many babes, including the kalif's son and heir. I have connections in Lhazosh high and low." I look at her in surprise, recalling Lhazosh as the name of the Kalifate of Lhazar's capital.
"Well, I always interested in new friends and trading partners, though it'll be difficult since your homeland has no ports or shoreline. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Lhazar completely dependent on river trade through Meeren?" I ask.
"While most trade flows down the Skahazadhan river through the Khyzai Pass to Meeren, some merchant caravans traverse the Red and Scorched Roads to Qarth. Doesn't your trade company have a trading post in Qarth?" She explains.
"Aye, a small one, but there's another one on the Isle of Elyria should your merchants go through Meeren." "Good, I will let the merchants of Lhazar know of these trading posts. Mayhaps some will travel to trade with your people." We fall into a companionable silence, both gazing at my family interacting with the former slaves as Myrra continues happily chatting with Korra.
My mother and Breyna begin gathering the children to return to their classes. Edric and a servant register the men who will work on the road and their families. Wyman is deep in his own conversation with Flarys, his sons, and several other Lhazareen men. I see the looks of reverence on their faces and the deference in their movements when they speak with my family.
"I want to thank you, Lord Seastark." Mirri finally says. I turn to her.
"Thank me for what?" I ask in confusion. She wears a melancholic smile.
"For what you've done for my people. They have told me of their time in captivity. How the Dothraki would beat and flog them for speaking our native tongue. How they would mock our faith by forcing the men to shave their beards. How they would stage 'lamb fights', where they would randomly grab two Lhazareen men and force them to fight to the death for their amusement.". Her voice becomes more heated as she describes the horrors her people had to endure. Her face is scrunched into an angry scowl and I notice her clenching her fists.
"But the women… they had it worse. They would rip the headscarves off maidens before deflowering them. Almost every woman here has been raped at least once, most several times, an unlucky few… dozens." Her face becomes haunted. "You see Flarys and his sons?" She points to the elder and his sons speaking with Edric. "He was beaten and was forced to watch his wife be raped by Khal Motho himself. She would die giving birth to the khal's son, yet Flarys still raised the boy as his own, naming him Wahid. He is not alone." I wince at the kind man having to suffer through that. I glance across the crowd, looking at the ethnic Lhazareen families in particular, and I notice a disturbing trend. Roughly half the families have at least one mixed blood child, hinting at stories depressingly similar to Flarys.
"You see the girl in the green headscarf walking beside your sister?" I look over to see my sister leading the children away. I zero in on a girl walking beside her with a green headscarf, who couldn't have been older than ten. "Her name is Alneera. Born into bondage, her parents worked in the Dothraki siege camp for moons in the bitter cold with only a tent for shelter. They froze to death in the night keeping their daughter warm. In the morning, the Dothraki threw their corpses into the wilderness and when her aunt and uncle tried to take her, they savagely beat them. She was made into a pillow slave and passed around for days before Dothraki were defeated. Only then, did her aunt and uncle gain custody of her!" She hisses in fury. I feel sick to my stomach hearing that, made even worse when I realize she was saved over a year ago.
"By the Old Gods…" I mutter in horror. I repress a shudder, feeling like I needed a bath just hearing about what happened to that poor girl. "No child should have to endure that!" I whisper mournfully.
As Alneera walks beside my sister, my heart breaks when I see her stiffen and hurriedly distance herself whenever she nears a man. As if feeling my stare, she turns around and our eyes meet from across. Her brown eyes light up in recognition and become a mix of hopeful and wary, as if waiting for me to yank off the mask of generous lord and indulge myself like her Dothraki tormentors.
A memory flashes before my mind, of the Queen on her wedding day feast. Her face is stoic and her words polite, yet her eyes bore into me with the same terrified wariness as Alneera. I shake my head, breaking eye contact and turning back to Mirri.
"Indeed, my people have suffered so much, for the Dothraki are truly cruel masters!" She whispers on the cusp of despair, tears in her eyes.
"But here…" Her tone, still soft, becomes lighter. "…They can start life anew, not as slaves but as people! Letting them speak their mother tongue and practice their faith openly may not seem like much to you Lord Seastark, but to them… it's everything! Your terms are light as a feather compared to the weight of Dothraki chains! You already earned their loyalty; this ritual was merely a formality signed in blood!" I hear her firmly declare as I watch the crowd.
I see three men speaking to one another in their native tongue, not as hushed whispers, but out loud in public. The shortest one says something that causes them to laugh uproariously. A few women nearby gossip about the happenings in their lives. They no longer resemble the thin, meek wretches that came here moons ago but a healthy and content people trying to survive the winter.
"Good. While my heart goes out for their suffering, my motives aren't entirely selfless. I need settlers for my eastern lands and with war on the horizon I'll need all the men I can get. Your people working camp jobs frees up good, strong Northmen for fighting. Not to mention they have to help build my road if they want their village. I may be generous compared to those Dothraki savages but I'm not doing this for free!" I counter but Mirri shakes her head at my cynicism, smiling softly.
"Even so, they were at your mercy and yet, you offer them a fair bargain. From how they speak of you..." She gestures to the crowd. "…They were expecting far harsher terms and weren't prepared for your lenient requirements. They once lived in shabby tents, and you gave them houses with hearths. Not long ago, they had to stitch together what scraps of cloth and furs their masters would leave for them. Yet you gave them fur cloaks that shield them from the cold and cloth for the women to knit their headscarves! From what Korra and Flarys tell me, whatever service you demand will be worth the price in their eyes!" I let her lords sink in as I gaze into the crowd.
A feeling of accomplishment wells up in my chest that my efforts weren't in vain. Sure, they refused to convert to the Old Gods, clinging to a foreign tongue and distant culture. But that's fine. At the end of the day, all that matters is that they're loyal to me and House Seastark!
We continue speak for a bit longer before I see Edric finishing up the registrations. I go to grab Myrra just as she's finishing her conversation with Korra.
We approach Wyman and Elsa, with the four of us mounting our horses while Edric stays behind to get better acquainted with his future subjects. We bid the former slaves goodbye and ride west to the castle road.
"So, what are you and Elsa doing in the city?" "We're stopping by our tailoring business to check on the corsets orders then moving on to the soapery and the perfume house. The ladies of the Reach have placed dozens of orders for corsets, perfumes, and scented soaps! We're delivering them at the wedding!" Myrra responds.
"The tailors have been trying new things with the whalebone, loving how flexible, yet strong it is. They've been experimenting with things such as hooped skits, collars for tunics, and even a collapsible parasol for easy storage!" Elsa chimes in and I'm intrigued by the potential for an umbrella.
"Hmm, a collapsible parasol could be useful, and with the right material, could even shield oneself from the rain!" Wyman comments, practically reading my mind. Elsa and my wife looked intrigued by the idea as we continue riding.
"When did you start thinking like an inventor?" I ask my cousin with a smirk.
"What can I say? Some of your ways have rubbed off on me. Next thing you'll know, I'll be the one coming up with new contraptions!" We share a laugh at Wyman's jape.
"Mayhaps you can use whalebone to brim hats?" I throw in my two cents before vaguely describing a nineteenth century top hat. Nothing like a dapper top hat to address Westeros' shocking lack of headwear outside of crowns, helms, and now ushankas.
We reach the castle road and turn right, heading north to Wolfsport. I sense Driver swimming with the pod happy as a clam and gaze out into the bay. A moment later, I see a tail surface from the water, launching a poor seal over thirty yards into the air. I let out an impressed whistle as the seal reaches the seagulls hovering over the bay, drawing the attention of my companions. They turn to the bay just in time to see the seal crash into the water with enough force to batter and daze the poor creature. After a few moments, a smaller tail smacks the seal into the air but it only reaches five-and-ten yards. Then, just when we think it's over, another tail smacks the unfortunate seal again, sending it spinning like a wheel for a good twenty yards to the side.
"Looks like my soon-to-be goodsister is having fun!" Elsa japes. Malora no doubt skinchanging into Orca one last time before we sail off tomorrow. They must be teaching Driver's younger sister and cousins how to sunt seals. Well, either that or they're bored…
Castle Warg, Later…
The only sounds in my solar are the rhythmic scratching of quill to parchment and a crackling hearth's fire. The large room is illuminated by a combination of firelight and a whale oil lamp that sits at the edge of my desk, safely away from any parchment. The whale oil lamp shines fuller and brighter than any flame, allowing for my last minute letter management to be easier on the eyes. The burning oil creates a strange odor that permeates the solar, one I and many in Wolfsport have long grown accustomed to.
I finish writing a letter to my Big Bucket namesake, inquiring on the existence of any known sulfur deposits in the Northern Mountains and requesting it be added to the list materials being surveyed. Unfortunately, any surveys looking for metals, dragonglass, and sulfur will have to wait until the winter snow melts away. I've already had my castellan inform the cave divers to search for any deposits of saltpeter but that'll take time. Until then, I'll have to rely on good old-fashion trial and error to make saltpeter since I can't recall all the details.
I place the finished letter in a stack of response letters off to the side. One to my cousin Yara, congratulating her on the news of her pregnancy, tying us further to House Tallhart. Another is one to Benjen Stack discussing details of our planned two hundred mile long "Cailin Way".
I would be investing coin to turn a tiny, unnamed fishing hamlet at the mouth of the Fever River into a small port town. The plan is for oceangoing vessels to offload their cargo onto smaller river galleys and barges, able to traverse the shallow river up to about six leagues west of Moat Cailin. From there, a paved road will go east through the massive castle to an unnamed fishing hamlet on the eastern shore being developed by the Manderlys. The Starks plan to levy a small toll to use the shortcut but the Manderlys and us will be exempt due to our contributions. I will also gain special trade privileges to the soon-to-be named Feversmouth while the Manderlys would get a similar deal in the soon-to-be named Port Cailin.
To the left is another pile comprising of the two letters I have yet to respond to, such as the one from Dagwell on events transpiring in the Red Keep. The king recently ordered the expansion of the royal fleet to over two hundred and fifty ships from the current one-hundred and fifty. He also notes quiet rumors of the Graftons and Tarths expanding their small fleets. Makes me wonder if Lord Stark will order the Manderlys to do the same. They've long maintained a robust merchant fleet and a handful of warships to protect White Harbor from pirates, but have never possessed a war fleet.
Underneath is a letter from Stannis. He writes of sending a few of my quickstone advisors to Sunstone to fortify the recently renamed wooden keep, Sunhold, and the pains of integrating my semaphore signal flags into the fleet. The prince inquired on establishing a local branch of my canning company in King's Landing to service the growing Royal Fleet and trade company. Both he and Dagwell mentioned my agreement with the Ibbenese generating controversy in court, with the queen and Northern houses the most upset.
I'm dragged out of my thoughts by the doors creaking open, looking up to see it's Myrra.
"Hugo? Are you coming to bed? It's nearly the Hour of the Bat." She says in a worried tone. Still in the black dress from earlier that brought out her hair and eyes, clasping a letter in her hand as she makes her way to me.
"Is it that late already?" I suppress a yawn before muttering. "…I need one of those kloks the court's obsessing over…"
"Aye, we sail for Blackpool early tomorrow and I don't wish to fall asleep too late." She says the last two words in a strange tone.
"Aye, just two more letters. I won't be able to write until we return so I'm getting caught up tonight." I rub my eyes.
"How did meeting with the shipbuilders go?" She asks as she reaches my desk, her tone neutral but I notice something is off. I tell her about the meeting with the Ibbenese shipbuilders, gauging her reaction.
"…Shipbuilder Bruk and Shipwright Horesso say with the furnaces finally installed after delays, that leaves only the mast and sails. The ship should be ready for its maiden voyage when we return." I finish. She nods and hums before her eyes meet mine. Knowing I'm waiting for her to get to the heart of the matter, she sighs.
"Hugo…" She struggles with her words. "…What was your relationship with the queen before the Rebellion?" She finally says. I lean back in my chair, stunned.
"…Myrra, is this about the rumors of Lady Malora and I having an aff-?" I ask, taken aback by her strange question.
"No, Hugo! I know you're not bedding her! Just… Please answer the question!" She cuts me off with tired frustration. I hold her stare before sighing.
"Not much to say…" I shrug. "We've met thrice before the Rebellion. Once the Starks came to Castle Warg when I was younger, before Lord Stark left to foster in the Vale. The second was when I went with my father to Winterfell, who attempted to have us betrothed. The third time was at Harrenhall, where we briefly spoke at the tourney feast." Holding up a finger for each one. "Why are you asking me this?" I anxiously inquire.
Myrra hands me the letter in her hand. "This is from Cersei…" She's been keeping her own correspondence with Cersei. Only natural since the two were childhood friends and I'm friends with her husband. I take the letter and begin to read.
Dear Myrra,
Winter is such a dreadful time. I don't know how the wolf bitch enjoys riding in the cold…
I skim through Cersei's unhinged rant on how the queen stole her birthright until I get to a part to causes my blood freeze.
…Arrogant bitch acts all high and mighty like her brother, looking down on us Lannisters! Those pathetic lackwits in court might be fooled into believing she has grace, but she's nothing more than a heathen whore playing queen! Yet most curiously, whenever I mention your husband, she tenses up! The mighty she-wolf is replaced with a meek mouse at the sound of his name! Did something happen between your husband and the queen?...
I feel a pit in my stomach as I read that part again. I feel myself grow heavy with dread and confusion that the queen is wary of me, but why!? I indirectly aided her rescue, so why would she fear me! The more I try to wrap my mind around it, the less sense it makes!
I read the rest of the letter hoping for some kind of clue. I roll my eyes when Cersei writes of "rumors that your husband has taken the Hightower wench as his mistress…". Then slog through
more unhinged ranting about how the Seastarks are the only "civilized house in the North besides the Manderlys" thanks to my wife's "thin Lannister blood". She then goes on to say if she becomes queen, she'd convince Stannis to give Winterfell to my house before turning around and complaining about how he's such a bore unless they're "hawking, fucking, or both". The letter ends with a single sentence asking Myrra how things in Castle Warg are, writing she's 'losing her wager to Jeyne'.
Wait, what wager?
"Myrra, I don't know why the queen is wary of me, but I swear on the Old Gods nothing happened between us." I firmly declare, still baffled and unsure what to make of this. Karstark's drunken words and Baelish's insolent scribblings flash in my mind.
"…The Queen sees you for the Greystark you are!"
"…What happened to make the queen choose the Karstarks!"
I run a hand through my hair, my breathes becoming shallow.
"It doesn't make any sense! I made the wayfinder that allowed her brother to rescue her with haste! Begged him to take the very midwife that would deliver her son and take a bolt for her! My uncle fucking died for her in Dorne! Why the fuck would she be afraid or wary of me!?" My voice grows more heated as I list the ways I aided the queen.
I barely hear Myrra telling me she believes me as my mind races a mile a minute trying to figure how to respond.
How do I even go about fixing this? Should I write to her directly? Or through Lord Stark, my liege? Or mayhaps Benjen, the Stark I'm the closest to? Would a letter even be enough or will we have to meet face-to-face to sort this out? Can it even be fixed? Shit, do Lord Stark and Benjen feel the same way as their sister!? Do the other Northern lords feel this way!?
"I need to write a letter… Have to clear up this mess!" I mutter hurriedly, leaning forward to grab a new scroll as my thought continue to spiral. I stare at the blank scroll with quill in hand, unsure who I'm even writing to.
Suddenly, two soft hands clasp my shoulders, causing me to freeze before I feel them start to squeeze and knead like they were making bread. I briefly glance over my shoulder to see Myrra leaning over me with warm green eyes and a sympathetic smile. I feel myself melting under her tender touch as my eyes return to the blank scroll. My quill hovers over the scroll, wondering if I should write to the queen directly or through Ned or Benjen.
"You're stressed…" She whispers into my ear and I feel myself grow hot as I feel her breath on my ear.
"My trade company, managing a city in winter, preparing for the Ironborn to rebel, tensions in the Stepstones, and now I find out, that for some unknown reason, the queen hates me. I got a lot on my plate." I let out an exhausted chuckle.
"Hm. But you're forgetting an urgent issue that demands your immediate attention." I tense up again at her words, racking my mind for what she could be referring to, only to hear her giggle at my confusion.
"My friend is with child again, her sixth, and yet we still only have four. It's been over six moons since Jeyne's birth, Hugo! You need to do your duty and aid me in winning this wager!" I feel a shiver slide down my spine.
Oh, that wager. The one she's guaranteed to lose going up against the woman who had a dozen children in the books.
"My duty, huh?" I say as my lips curl into a grin. I begin to write the words Dear Lord Stark,…
"Aye, your most important duty, my lord husband." I suppress a shiver when she says the last three words in a sultry tone but keep writing.
"Work before pleasure, my lady wife." I counter and I don't have to look around to know Myrra's pouting.
"Very well then…" I feel her breathe disappear as she stands upright but continues kneading my shoulders like dough. "I hope you don't keep me waiting, Hugo. I miss my favorite bedroom game…" She trails off as the kneading ceases and she begins to walk around my desk.
"Is it the one where you're the queen and I'm but a humble servant?" I ask confidently. After all, Myrra loves it when I pamper her, both inside and outside the bedroom.
"Close…" She smirks. "…It's the one I play a poor, pious, Southron maiden, captured by a cold, barbaric Northman in a raid…" The sultry tone returns with a vengeance, causing me to blush. I pause my scribbling and glance up to see her at the foot of my desk, eyes almost glowing in the lamplight. "…And you play the savage skinchanger that proceeds to…"
"Hold her hand and fuck her gently!" I jape dryly, bringing my wife's bedroom fantasy to a screeching halt. We stare each other down for a moment before bursting with laugher.
"Oh, my silly Lord-husband, no…" She says, getting her laughter under control but still blushing. Bending over to give me an excellent view of her cleavage, her voice becomes sultry again. "…He ravishes her!" Then makes her way to the door, drawing my eyes to the extra sway in her hips. She doesn't look back, but I know she's smirking at my reaction.
When she reaches the door, she looks back at me. "For the record, Hugo…" She says with a sultry smirk and green eyes gleaming with desire. "…While I enjoy it when you're gentle, I prefer when you're rough!" She leaves with a final parting shot in our little game.
I stare at the closed door for a moment, blush creeping up my neck. I begin scribbling hurriedly, making sure Lord Stark knew that I'm "concerned his sister views me as a Gold and not as a Northman.".
After a few minutes, the letter is finished. I place it in the finished pile and respond to the other two letters. To Dagwell, I order him to investigate the origins of the rumors Malora and I having an affair. To Stannis, I regretfully inform him that I'm currently training more quickstone advisors but when finished, a few will be sent to Storm's End. I confirm my interest in an expansion into the capital and give some advice on the semaphore flags. I finish by informing him of events in the Summer Islands. How the Three Daughters are using local allies to strike at our trade partners as Euron Greyjoy reaves with his Three Exile lackeys, cautioning that if tensions keep rising, the Summer Islands could become a bloodbath.
When finished, I turn a knob on the whale oil lamp to lower the wick before carefully blowing out the flame. My solar is still lit by the embers of a dying hearth as I walk over and pull a lever next to the hearth, closing the dampers and starving the surviving embers of air. After a moment, the embers dim further, and I leave to join Myrra…
The next day…
"Now your father and I will be gone for a few moons. I expect you two to be on your best behavior with your grandmother and uncle Edric, alright? If I hear you've been naughty, then no sweets and bedtime stories for the both of you!" Myrra say to the twins, Torrhen being held by my mother and Myranda being held by Katiya, the former pillow slave turned maid. Two more maids stand beside them, holding a six moon old Jeyne and a two nameday-old Stannis.
I fight to keep my face serious when their eyes widen like saucers and mouths gape in horror. "No, Mama! We'll be good!" Torrhen pleads, greenish-gray eyes full of childish fear.
"We'll hold you to that. If I hear you two are well behaved, you might receive a gift…" I join in.
"We will, Papa!" Myranda immediately declares.
Myrra and I drop the serious façade and smile, planting on kiss on a cheek of both twins before doing the same for Stannis and Jeyne. "We'll be back, I promise. Remember, your mother and I love you!" I say one last thing.
"Love you too, mama and papa!" Both twins cry out happily.
"We will await your return my son." My mother leaves with our children and the maids, having already said her farewells to the others.
My wife and I make our way over to the leaving party. Wyman and Elsa were talking to Malora and Jonos while Marwyn is explaining something to the fosterlings.
"Alright, are we ready to head off?" I interrupt their conversations and receive affirmatives.
"Aye, I have my writings!" Marwyn pulls out a bundle of parchments. Written proudly on the front is a mouthful of a title: On the Potential for the Domestication of Spotted Whales. Guess scholars are the same in any world.
We mount up and ride out with the luggage train and an unmanned horse following behind.
"Hard to believe my time here is over. I admit to becoming fond of this place." Malora says as we ride.
"You'll be close enough to visit and with you being family, you'll be here more often than you think." We both look out into the bay. She searches for any black dorsal fins slicing through the surface. I sense Driver a half mile away from the docks.
"Did you have fun swatting the seal?" I ask and her face lights up.
"Yes! Orca was showing the calves and I how to hunt seals. I never knew they could toss them so high! Though I did feel a bit sorry for the poor creature. It was a battered, bloody mess by the time they put it out of its misery." She says, turning slightly regretful at the end.
"That's just how they hunt and teach. Do we not do something similar? Fathers take their sons out to kill a deer or a boar to help them grow as men. It might seem cruel to us but that's what they know." Malora ponders my words.
"You're right. If there's one thing I've learned in my time with Orca is that they have emotions disturbingly similar to us. There were moments that felt more like interacting with another woman than a spotted whale!" She says as her betrothed brings his horse near us.
"I swear, the more I hear you describe your experiences with the spotted whales, the stranger they sound!" Jono Slate slides into the conversation, flashing a smile at his betrothed.
"You say that now, but you'll be singing a different tune when I have the pod around Blackpool aiding the fishermen…" Malora argues playfully and I silently observed the couple.
They certainly weren't head over heels, but they've steadily become more comfortable around one another over the moons. We're sailing to Blackpool for the two to have their Old Gods' wedding and for Malora to form a bond with the local pod. From there it's Seagard, then Fair Isle to dine with the Farmans and Cliftons in what has become a ritual to visit Myrra's best friend whenever we're in the area. Lannisport is next to inspect my canning factory, and finally Oldtown for the New Gods' wedding, inspecting the canning factory there, and visiting the Citadel.
"…Take comfort in knowing my wife is with the spotted whales beneath the waves." Jonos says warmly to his betrothed before turning his face to me. "I may not have the gift, but I have seen how you and the smallfolk hunt with the spotted whales and wish for the same in Blackpool. When you establish your whaling company, House Slate will happily join!" The heir of House Slate boldly declares.
"I'll hold you to it!" I grin back at him, having long decided to incorporate the Slates into my future whaling company. Since they'll have they're own spotted whales, working with them instead of competing against them will be better for our houses in the long run.
We reach the halfway point, where the road branches off to where the former slaves are staying. Mirri stands with her belongings, attended by Korra and a few Lhazareen men and women bidding her goodbye. She says something back in their foreign tongue and mounts the riderless horse brought with us. Her eyes meet mine and gives me a small smile and nod before turning to speak with Marwyn.
We continue riding until we reach the gates, manned by city guard donning brand new steel helms and brandishing newly forged steel weapons. The rest of their armor replacement is still a work in progress as they bow and wave us through.
As we enter the city, the first thing I notice is a sea of people, the winter cold failing to prevent its streets from becoming crowded. The second thing I notice is the absence of the stench of human waste that use to hang over the city. People no longer threw their waste into the streets and used soap far more frequently than before. A complete sewer system, combined with my Cleanliness Edicts and cheap, available soap, has created a far cleaner city. I still have to subsidize the production of basic soap for the smallfolk but having healthier, less smelly smallfolk is a worthy expense in my book.
The crowd parts ways as we head north on Wolf's Street, flanked by the thirty foot tall western sea wall that separates the harbor from the city. Three and ten scorpions are spread out across its length with more to follow. We pass by an eight-foot tall wrought iron pole with a whale oil lamp perched on top, one of dozens currently being built along the largest streets, the docks, and the metalworks. These street lamps are part of my effort to modernize Wolfsport, making it safer with better lighting at night. Wolfsport certainly isn't crime-ridden like Flea Bottom but it still has its fair share. A side-effect is the stench of human waste being replaced by the odor of whale oil.
Passing the High Street that acts as the spine of the city, running from the western harbor to the east gate, I glance in both directions. To my right, leading deeper into the city, is a large marketplace, with rows of vendors selling all kinds of wares. To my left, under the shadow of the Merchant's Gate that leads to the harbor, is a large fish market with fishwives selling the latest catch of the day.
"FRESH SALMON! HERDED BY SPOTTED WHALES!"
"HUMPBACK MEAT! HUNTED BY THE SEA MESSENGERS!"
"OYSTERS, CLAMS, AND COCKELS!"
Wooden boards of crudely painted orcas were hammered onto some stalls and most had small, carved wooden figurines of spotted whales on them. Oddly enough, I noticed some stalls have tiny wooden dolphins figurines alongside the wooden spotted whales. The fish market is unsurprisingly packed, with seafood being a vital source of food in winter years. The customers seem to gravitate towards the stalls with spotted whale signs and carvings and I see a surprising amount of them are purchasing whale meat. Whale meat used to be a rare commodity but has since become much more readily available thanks to the spotted whales and my growing whaling industry.
"This is where we part ways, dear husband. Elsa and I will meet you later at the castle." My wife rides off with Elsa and two guards.
Wyman and I continue on with two guards flanking us, passing by a bakery, a shop advertising lamps and whale oil, and a tavern with a sign baring an intoxicated clam chugging a horn of black beer to reach another important intersection, this time between Wolf's Steet and Pillow Street. To my right are numerous brothels like The Precious Pearl, Lucky Mermaid, and the Summer Islander-owned Frisky Dolphin. The latter being particularly popular if the number of patrons entering and leaving its doors is any indication.
We turn left, heading towards another, smaller fish market with a Summer Islander-run stall smack dab in the middle, selling spices and kofi to the wealthier smallfolk. A single small wooden dolphin and spotted whale carving each sit on their stall like many of the others. Next to it is a food vendor run by a Northman serving freshly cooked spiced fish, its mouthwatering aroma tempts us but we continue to the Fishermen's Gate, taking us to the docks.
The harbor stretches out in both directions with my quickstone quay near completion to the south. When finished by spring, it'll increase the harbor capacity by over a quarter. Not that it's needed now with less ships venturing up here in winter. Even still, there's plenty of ships and people in the harbor. Directly in front of us is the Summer Islander trading post formerly owned by the Xaq Clan of Koj but now owned by the Xaq Clan of Wolfsport, a recently created cadet clan. The trading post itself is quite humble, being made up of a single pier, a warehouse, and a small administrative building.
The first thing that strikes me is that the orange, triangular pennant-shaped banner that stood over the administrative building has been replaced with the familiar square banner ubiquitous in Westeros. The banner is split in half horizontally with the top half being a golden swan spreading its wings next to a silver dolphin on a field of orange and the bottom half a spotted whale on sky blue. Dozens of Summer Islander men and a few women move about the trading post dressed in the same heavy furs as the locals. Most of the women aren't at the trading post but instead working in the various brothels of Wolfsport.
We ride past the small headquarters and I spot Captain Okonkwo and his two young sons around Breyna standing outside with snow bear pelts wrapped around them. The captain's teak colored face is worn by the long years at sea, with a short, neatly trimmed beard with flecks of gray, and his long, gold and seashell studded dreadlocks spill out of his ushanka. His elder son looks on the cusp of manhood like Edric with seashell studded cornrows poking out behind his ushanka and peach fuzz on his chin. His younger brother meanwhile, looks to be around Breyna's age, baby fat still on his face with shorter dreadlocks peeking out of his cap. Upon spotting us, the three smile and cross their arms fists to shoulders and bow in the custom of their people. The captain's wife, Lady Notomi and their three adult daughters are nowhere to been seen, probably working at The Frisky Dolphin. His daughters, the eldest as old as Malora and the youngest a year or two older than Edric, have already acquired a reputation as the Black Pearls of Wolfsport. I grin and wave my hand as we pass by.
We finally reach the pier where the Swift Wind lays anchored and dismount. My eyes gaze northwards to the whalery further up the docks where the baleen, meat, blubber, and bone harvested from hunts is processed into various products. It's already working at maximum capacity but will be aided by the new whaling ship being constructed a few piers down. The unfinished ship has the hull of a large barque and reminds me of the old Nantucket whaling ships of nineteenth century America. It's three masts have yet to be placed on it, planned to have three square-rigged forward masts and fore-and-aft rigged mizzen masts. The real magic will be the brick furnaces called tryworks recently installed that will boil the blubber into oil. This means the crew can process the blubber out at sea instead of having to come ashore to the whalery, allowing for much longer voyages like the Ibbenese whalers. Our whaling will no longer be confined to the tip of Sea Dragon Point, free to expand throughout the northern Sunset Sea.
A dark blue banner flies proudly above the whalery, depicting a crimson-leaved white heart tree with roots stretched out beside a spotted whale clutching a bloodied whale tongue in its jaws. I had asked the whalers to design their own banner and they did so with glee, taking my fake sermon of a connection between spotted whales and the Old Gods as gospel. They, along with the fishermen, are the most zealous supporter's of Driver's pod, holding them as sacred as direwolves.
Speaking of Driver, I sense him swimming for the docks as we walk to the clipper, servants and luggage following behind. Marwyn and Mirri speak in hushed whispers and Wyman informs the rest of events in the Summer Islands, drawing unnerved faces and anxious comments on the growing strife.
"Hail, land-friend!" I hear the voice of a young man, but his words sound like they're dubbed over happy whistles and clicks. What's strange is his voice sounds like a cheesy, underpaid anime dub voice actor from my childhood. The sudden noise draws the attention of the others.
"Hail, sea-friend!" I turn around and greet Driver, spy-hopping out of the water, brown eyes staring at me with his mouth hung open, showing his sharp teeth.
"Are we swimming to the podkin this day?" He asks me before turning to see the others staring at us. "Hail, friends and family of land-friend!" He greets them despite knowing they can't understand him. An interesting quirk with their speech is they struggle with names so instead they assign nicknames and epitaphs, such as mine being "land-friend" and Myrra's being "land-friend's green-eyed mate". These epitaphs can change depending on their perception and opinion on the person.
"Aye Driver, we make sail for Blackpool. Is the pod ready to leave?" I ask him before turning to the stunned group. "Driver gives his greetings." I translate, sparking reactions from them. The lads look on with awe, looking at Driver the same way I use to look at T-Rexs in my childhood. Marwyn scrambles to get out his personal notebook to record more research while Mirri just looks lost. Wyman, Elsa, and Myrra, long used to my antics, greet Driver with a bow and curtsies. Jonos struggles to comprehend what he's witnessing while his betrothed beams at Driver and curtsies herself.
"Greetings Driver! Is Orca nearby?" Malora asks the spotted whale, who makes a joyful clicking sound despite not understanding a single word she said.
"Lady Malora greets you and asks if your mother is nearby." I translate to Driver, feeling like Mirri from yesterday.
The whale in question reacts with a high-pitch squeal-like noise. "Hail, land-friend's purple-eyed mate! Mother is close by. We are ready to swim to the podkin!" My eye twitches at his new nickname for Malora. Damnit, even the pod thinks I'm bedding her!
I translate his words, deliberately omitting his name for Malora. Suddenly, a second spotted whale breeches their head above the surface before repositioning themselves to spy-hop. Malora beams, immediately recognizing the newcomer.
"Orca!" She curtsies. "Always good to see you!" I translate to Driver, who translates to Orca, who herself makes a whistling noise with a series of clicks.
"Mother hails land-friend's purple-eyed mate. Grandmother will speak with the other matriarch and find a good match for her!" Malora's smile widens at my translation of only the second sentence.
"You have my thanks, Orca! I will miss you and the pod but I promise we'll visit often, won't we my betrothed?" She turns and gives Jonos a look that indicates the only acceptable answer is "yes".
"Aye, we will." Jonos wisely gives in, instinctually knowing this isn't a good hill to die on. When their words reach Orca though Driver and I, she makes more orca sounds.
"Mother says Grandmother welcomes you to our waters any time! Now we must return to the pod, we have much swimming to do!" They duck under the surface when I finish translating Orca's words and swim off deeper into the bay.
Malora smiles brightly while the other adults look equal parts awed and disturbed at the game of interspecies telephone they just witnessed. Marwyn continues scribbling in his notebook muttering to himself and by the faces of the fosterlings, they're still gob smacked I can speak with Driver. I ignore the disturbed looks of the servants carrying our luggage aboard, glancing between me and where Driver and his mother just were. Their faces unsure whether I've gone mad or if the spotted whales truly are divine messengers.
"Alright, show's over! Let's get aboard!" I quickly say we make our way towards the gangplank.
"Is Lady Malora going to talk to spotted whales like you do?" Jonos asks in a low voice as we ascend.
"Aye, once she fully develops a bond, she'll be able to speak to and understand her bond-mate and only them." He nods at my explanation.
"Well then, I guess Blackpool's about to get stranger!" The Slate heir softly japes and I chuckle as we climb aboard the clipper.
Soon enough, the ship raises anchor and sets sail. As the clipper's speed climbs to six-and-ten knots, eight jet-black dorsal fins surface and slice through the water. The pod swims alongside us in a perfect V-formation with Old Gladys in front. Together, we exit the bay and turn south, making for Blackpool…
A/N: Whew! Finally done. Real life got in the way and work is only getting crazier with the holiday season upon us.
Hugo and co. discover the secret to "true" dragonpowder. Decided to lean into dragonglass' magical properties since that seems to be the main difference between it and our world's obsidian. He's definitely going to keep it a secret before unleashing on the Ironborn. Even after the war he'll try to hold on to the secret.
Meanwhile, tensions rise in the Summer Islands as the animosity between the Seven Kingdoms and the Three Daughters intensifies. I see the Summer Islanders as too populous and developed to be outright colonized but they do have a huge weakness. The lack of a king or queen means foreign powers can play the clans off one another like pieces of a cyvasse board. This is why when war breaks out, it'll not only spread to the Summer Islands, but puts it in danger of a Boogaloo. I see their history is similar to Yi-Ti/Chinese history. Mainly defined by mostly peaceful periods of unity and disunity with brief spouts of Hotel Rwanda sprinkled throughout.
The former slaves will be interesting as they are mainly divided into two camps, the Old Gods converts and the Lhazareen/Great Shepherd worshippers. The Old Gods converts are closer to Edric and are eager to assimilate, aiming to become "tanned Northerners".
The Lhazareen in contrast, free from religious and linguistic slavery and persecution, jealously guard their religion and language. Hugo knows forcing assimilation with a group like that is only going to end badly, so he's willing to work with them. This is something they notice and appreciate, earning their loyalty. It's also beginning to dawn on them that being a serf in Westeros, while certainly not great, is leagues better than being a Dothraki slave.
Hugo also finally gets a clue that the queen isn't as fond of him as he assumed and has a mild freakout. The revelation shakes him because he genuinely thought his relations with the Starks was good, even great. Now's he's wondering if Ned views him with wary suspicion. Hugo ultimately wrote to Ned because he's his liege and the queen's brother and he doesn't feel comfortable enough to write to the queen directly.
I also wanted to describe more of Wolfsport and some of the changes Hugo has introduced like streetlamps.
Driver finally speaks! I'm going to have him give a nickname to everyone he comes across, some humorous.
Also, editing this on my own was a slog and I'm certain I still missed things. I'm announcing that I'm looking for an editor if anyone if interested. I going to try write smaller chapters in the hope I can get them out faster. Enjoy!
