Chapter 1 Part A

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The Year of the False Spring

281 Aegon's Conquest

The North. Overton.

There was only a slight breeze to greet them, but beyond that the sky was fair, the sun bright, and little to distract. "You're riding south?"
"Technically I will be sailing south," Alaric corrected, adjusting the heavy woolen shirt. They had taken river barge most of the way down the Weeping river. While it was true there was a river road the river itself was much more effective, and it wasn't as if either option were precisely straight lines. Still the river made the more than a hundred miles south to the coast much easier for moving Maesters had suggested that spring might be coming, but one wouldn't know from the span of snow that had been pushed out of the way of the roads that had been before them. If they were right though they'd need to dredge the weeping again, make it easier to travel its course, and that would mean taxes, and the merchants, of the towns, wouldn't care for that. "I will ride south in due course, but for the moment its to white harbor. I'll be a few days there, as the party assembles to make for Harrenhall."

Roose's equally pale eyes narrowed, fixing his brother with a disdainful expression, "Its a queer thing." The 'thing' in this case was the cause to assemble at Harrenhall in the first place.

He wasn't necessarily wrong, it was a lot of money to expend even for a favored child, but he felt the need to disagree all the same, mostly because his brother disliked being involved with the south in general... especially after Duskendale. "Harrenhall straddles the god's eye, and is upon half dozen routes for trade. The tolls lord Whent takes swells his coffers without him even attempting to bilk anyone of more than he's owed," Whent could have easily taken cue from the Freys and charged more in tolls for such passage, but he didn't, and that kept the old man popular with his high born neighbors, and the merchants alike. "So, no its not a queer thing, Roose." He remarked lightly, "Lord Stark has his southron obsessions, and even if he didn't Brandon wedding Hoster Tully's daughter is reason enough, even without his second son, Lord Jon Arryn, and Lord Baratheon coming to the tourney."

Predictably the nearly nine, and ten second son of House Bolton and legal heir apparent scoffed, and turned to the issue. "And you'll not sail for Essos after?" Roose was looking at the massive form of the Harrier with its alien sail plan. Roose didn't care for the sea, and the recent deaths of Lord Steffon Baratheon in his own 'Shipbreaker bay' hung heavy between the brothers.

"You seemed to have liked those Valyrian scrolls I brought back from Volantis well enough," He chided, prompting his brother to look back from the ship, "I've got no mind to sail for Essos after this. Lord Stark wishes to make a presence in the Riverlands, and for the others who attend-" The Thanes, and their chiefs, of Skagos seemed to be the only ones who seemed as like to not come.

"And is suggesting a Stormlander bride," Roose grunted darkly in a quiet tone, referring to a suggestion from some months previous about marriage options, "This is a plot to tether and control us, to this mad ambition." Ambition by itself wasn't evil. Roose had no objections to if it resulted in a quiet land, but this was the exact opposite of what was likely to occur from dealing with the south. In Roose's ideal it would have been entirely acceptable to try and crack down on every breach of social order. If he thought he could have gotten away with it he would tried banning drink... though at least he was mellowing on that. Though he still felt being publicly drunk was a floggable offense. No, especially after the Defiance at Duskendale's bloody aftermath Roose wanted nothing to do with the Southern Kingdoms. As far as Roose was concerned Winterfell was far enough away, across river, and hill and mountains there was little point quibbling over the Starks and that was perhaps only five hundred miles... not that one would ever find a straight path between them.

"I'm leaving Eagle, and Raptor here," A pause, as he considered the docks themselves and the growing forms, before he gave explanation to the decision, "some of the Lorathi were acting queer, and," Whilst, he had his suspicions that they'd been looking for easy pickings. That didn't mean Overton was likely to be attacked, but he'd prefer no challenges to any of the shipping that fed the city; its belly or its coin purse. "Eamon should be able to manage things while I'm gone," Not that Lord Overton would be sailing anything into combat, but he would have the authority to direct the seamen in the event of a problem and be taken seriously.

He'd been fifteen when he'd undertaken his expedition into the disputed lands. Fifteen, though with a whole other lifetime underneath his belt. He hadn't been worried about dying with access to his magic, and his upbringing's contempt for the essossi way of battle. Truthfully that contempt had proven valid, even though it didn't make the Essossi completely useless in a fight either. The children of Valyria, the colonial cities of the now gone freehold, those feudatory city states may have been long free of the dragon rider yoke but they still spent their time in the pursuit of the same grandiosity where possible. He was not overly keen on trusting their academics as he was the maesters of the citadel. Another possible bias he recognized, but was difficult to combat.

The idea of a singular institution controlled learning was alien. In his previous life it would have been absurd a combination of religious and secular authorities generally quibbled over large duchies, never mind actual kingdoms, never mind again the prospect of empires. There were no temples of any pantheon he recognized from his past life, and certainly none which educated either the nobility or the more affluent peasantry. That was well beyond his ability to hope to set up. One cleric, or wizard could not a school raise in a man's lifetime, though a wizard's that remained to be seen.

He turned towards the gantry. He remembered enough, at least of how to wage war. That had included raising the ships they sailed. Harrier was nearly seventy meters long and over a dozen abeam. He he had no way of replicating the sloops of his past world's mage fire cannons, and as a result Harrier to make do with the more traditional siege weapons which still wouldn't have been out of place in that world either. The boseman Luhrs adjusted the ropes as they brought the last bits of cargo aboard.

Roose still looked sullen at the prospect. The trade missions to essos were possible because of the conditions of the realm. They profitable because there was a demand, but never enough supply. He had a leg up in the ships. Roose's complaints were less that they were in any way undignified of high born, but because it attracted the wrong sort to harbors. Drunken sailors, and merchants were less than deferential of men born their betters, and caused trouble in town. That was what Roose most of all didn't like.

"We're ready, ser," Luhrs declared, "thats the last of it." He called once he was sure the provisions for the journey were secure.

Then that was it. It was time to sail before they wasted the whole morning. The trip to White Harbor wouldn't actually be that bad. The Manderlys were expecting them, and while he was unlikely to ever have the relations he enjoyed with the Karstarks he would certainly prefer to enjoy their support against the animosity of the Umbers that had developed over the years at Winterfell. It also wouldn't hurt if he was right about Lorath's ah hemm privateers. They were really pirates, but insistent terminology, and there was no denying they had some official support. So privateers... except when he caught them... then they were crow food. Still the coast was wide, he'd need the Manderly's help to keep an eye on things, especially with so many northern lords south for Rickard's impression.

He crossed his hands behind his back and traversed the deck. "So then whats Harrenhall like?" The man who fell into step beside him, "I hear Whent is good people for a blue blood."

"Lord Whent is a good man, but Harrenhall is the largest and thus the most dilapidated castle in the whole realm," Which said something given how much wealth the Whent's took in per annum. Of course rebuilding the massive Hoare fortress would have made all of his neighbors very nervous... though Alaric would have been lying if he had said he wouldn't have tried to bring it into some what more practical military functionality. "But please avoid saying that in front of any of the seven worshippers. The Manderlys might take it in stride, but I don't know how well the riverlanders will..." Gods forbid the Reach...

"Fucking weirdos and their godhead," The man hocked and spit over the side. "Thing." Alaric groaned... Professional sailors... well no there weren't really any 'professional' sailors, life long sailors on this world were... well, generally like this. "Oh come on you've said the same damned thing."

Alaric's eyes narrowed, but it was true, he had gotten more than a bit mouthy about what he thought of the southerner's and their strange superstitions. Even the weird fire worshippers at least got magic for some of their clergy... even if from everything he'd heard thus far on Rhllor screamed lawful evil fiend from the nine hells. "I'll have to watch how much I drink," he muttered more to himself, and watched the ratings adjust the sails, "Show me a septon with spells from his gods and I'll admit they're clerics worth the name." The distinction he knew was lost to the men, in truth.

"All my god gave was a big swinging dick, sir." the Third Man called to them as he came to announce the last of the ropes had been cast away, and the anchors were secured.

He sighed... it was going to be one of those days, "Set a course, take us for the cape."

"Right." His voice raised to a shout as he addressed the men on the deck, "All right you bastards, and keep an eye for those Lorathi scum!" The man added perhaps unnecessarily after.

Alaric stared into the eastern sky as they turned away from the delta of the weeping. Dipping into the wind they might clip ten knots on this part of the coast this time of the year. Realistically he expected about three quarters of that today. They'd spend too much time dodging fishing, and whaling ships to make speed. When they got into open sea, and into the trade winds they'd be much faster still.

By about three in the afternoon Navigator Caird had them plotted, and First Officer Falmouth was leering off into the clouds, "That Lorathi ship has been trailing us, and they've struck colors," It wasn't smart... Braavos would likely sink them on sight for that sort of thing. Ask questions never in this situation. "We can outpace them easy, but they have to know where we're going." He muttered lowering the spyglass.

"Chances that there are other ships? Or what this could be about?"

"If they were Tyroshi, or out of Myr they'd make more sense." Falmouth grunted. "Lyseni even more so than that." The lesser noble shook his head, hocked and spat over the side.

"We did fuck them last season, on that run to Volantis, but no I don't recall screwing the Lorathi over anything. Ever."

The Lord of the Dreadfort pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought, this was the problem with having ships running across the narrow sea like this. "What about Pentos?"

The two officers shared a look, "Yeah, yeah thats possible. Pentos has the coin to bribe privateers from Lorath to make trouble for us." Lorath's finances were supposed to be in dire straights, but he'd never been to the northern free city, only as far to Braavos, and from the North the Titan's city wasn't far at all.

If they had had Raptor, and Eagle it would have been different. Better to try and out run them to the Manderly waters. There was no sense getting into a fight off the coast. "Keep me apprised," and he headed for below decks. The massive dog cracked an eye at his approach, but he paid it no mind moving for his trunk. Magically speaking, especially in his weakened state. The truth was if they were close enough for magic they were close enough for ballistae... which admittedly was not an ideal solution at extreme ranges either; not on a churning ship at open sea. There were a dozen different reasons someone of means could be set off against them... and this was why his little brother opposed these ventures gold involved aside. Alaric unrolled a series of scrolls that had yet to be transfered to his master ledger, and shook his head in disgust. Literacy was hardly common even with the nobility, after all there were only so many maesters to go around, and the result had been that most landed knights remained illiterate because of the lack of martial application in a largely peaceful realm. It put a distinct strain on who he could trust to name as officers of rank... or more reason for such strains. He disgustedly pushed the chicken scratch away from him. It would give him a headache trying to parse out the intermittent gutter Valyrian that cropped into it. He sighed, and reached for the small tins containing salt, and soot. He slapped a hand on the parchment.

Comprehend Language.

A direct literal translation into gutter Valyrian wasn't always useful. Idioms, the cultural expressions, of for that matter Southern Westerosi didn't' always make literal sense to him, but in this case he didn't have anything more pressing. If the Lorathi were engaged as sell sails this was the nearest thing he could do to turn up something. Besides with any luck they round the cape and be into Manderly waters quickly enough. His previous life had put significantly more time at sea than this world seemed to.

It told him enough though, as he walked around the cabin, and loosened the top two buttons of his heavy wool frock he was wearing. His cabin was one part mobile office of affairs, some of his baggage was here, though his two sets of armor were down below... goodness knew he had no intention of riding through the eastern Riverlands in a set of full plate if he didn't have to. He looked back at the scrolls. Armor in the Merman's court wouldn't be needed except in the practice yard, and more than likely he'd only need his bow for that. Wendel would be good to practice against. Still he'd need to practice for the melee.

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The officers of the ship stood gathered amidship to enjoy the sun and clear air while it was available. They'd broken contact in the night. A couple of cat's eyes charms meant his night watch knew what to keep an eye for. "Surprised they gave up that easy."

"I'm not, even the Lorathi should know they can't match our ships," Not with sails open, not for speed, even laden with cargo"in open seas. They should know they'd never catch us if wanted to. Only the iron born would be stupid enough to try and chase us." First Officer Karluv Falmouth grunted, "I don't get them trying though."

Ahead of them were the first signs of Manderly influence though as they passed into the Bite, and ships surounding the sisters splayed out. They'd probably make White Harbor by this time tomorrow. "Speak with the Manderly captains about it," He grunted, but it really was the question better posed to the likes of the Vale of Arryn's coastal holds. Those ports would likely have had more trade with Pentos directly, and could have said something about the politics, or motivations of the magisters. The Manderly were certainly the biggest harbor and port in the North but that meant they were unlikely to know specifics.

"You think this could be blackfyre related?" Alaric's pale eyes narrowed, and Caird raised his hands defensively, "I'm just saying the trip down a few years back in the disputed lands wouldn't have won us any friends of whats left of the ninepenny kings."

That had been twenty odd years ago though, and while it was possible he had his doubts even given the precarious situation the city's northern neighbor had put them in, "And that still doesn't give us an explanation."

Caird, Snow, shook his head, "Boss, we might naht ever get one. You might not, and yet tomorrow some bravo might swagger along and tell us everything before we cut his throat. Its not likely though," That was true, much as he loathed to admit that. His navigator was right though, and..."Look its probably I was gonna say you slept with the Prince's daughter, but everyone agrees that isn't you," Falmouth glanced at the Navigator, "besides Pentoshi blue blood cunts are a drag anyway. Besides what I meant to say is this could be something really really petty, and nothing to worry about. If it comes to it well we'll just kill 'em by the barrel."

Falmouth nodded over his tarred jacket, "Aye, Caird is right Harrier is capable of outturning any ship in the narrow sea, we take their masts out without much trouble." It was true that Lorathi galleys did have two, three decks of oarsmen, meaning they wouldn't be quite dead in the water, least if they kept them far enough away, but in open sea it would be close enough. "Wait, what if thats the problem?"

"I don't follow."

Falmouth looked at him, and then waved to the masts, "Harrier, Raptor, Eagle, You planned the ships."

"Falmouth."

The officer swept a hand towards the galley bearing the merman banner, "Harrier is the fastest ship anyone has ever seen." They'd seen a few of the far southern caravels hit twelve knots in favorable winds, largely for brief jaunts as the winds held. "We made the run from Overton to Volantis in Twenty four days, and thats cause we stopped in other ports of call along the way. Eagle, and Raptor they're not slow either." They'd been built with larger hulls, for somewhat greater cargo, "We're hitting them in the purse." Never mind that there were other ships he'd done the draft work, and other ones which were now being fitted out, even if it might be another year. "Its not gonna stop, especially not with the Braavos breathing down Pentos's neck."

"Fuck, he's right." Caird grunted, "and we're cutting their purse. Falmouth thats pretty merchant of you, whats your mum do again?" The baseborn snarked.

Alaric groaned, but he hadn't considered that. Harrier was relatively mundane by the standards of ships of his past life. She certainly didn't fly, and had no elemental systems to speak of. She would have a normal ship of voyage in his past life. The kind of ship he likely would have sailed on with no real notice, but that wasn't the case here. Those same funds from his brigs were fueling the expansion of Overton shipyards, which wasn't the sort of investment nobles made in this world. "It is possible. Falmouth with the coins we take in what would the lord of Gulltown spend his share of it on, if he were me?"

"A cadet Arryn, or a Grafton," He shook his head to indicate that it didn't matter which, "tapestries from Myr, fine silverware, goblets, food fit for feasts. That coin would be spent for luxury, and he'd spend it as soon as it touched his purse." Falmouth shrugged, and ran a hand through his thinning seaswept blonde hair, "They'd spend the money so fast they wouldn't remember what they'd spend it on."

Alright so the Gulltown Arryns were probably not the best example, nor the Graftons who legally held the city proper, but it didn't change the fact while it did make much more sense than their previous speculation. On the other hand their original Essossi expedition hadn't been all about making friends. That hadn't been the goal at all, but then neither had been making money in the disputed lands either. "We're still going to need to speak to the Manderly about this," and how it was their portion of the coast was dealing with this intrusion.

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The Court of the Merman was the same as his last visit, and the visit before that, and the one before that. The Bite formed a massive bay that marked the maritime border between the Vale, and the North. Coming down from the north was the delta of the White Knife, stradling which was White Harbor itself. The White Knife of course could be sailed up to until one reached Cerwyn one of the fiefdoms sworn directly Winterfell, and access to the King's road, which all the more cemented White Harbor's importance to Northern Trade.

It was the largest city in the North by virtue of that access. The river, and the sea permitted mobility and access to food in a way that far deeper inland cities couldn't. In all likelihood Overton, and Ethering both, would one day have more people living in it than the Dreadfort. Cities outgrew castle towns, that was the way of things.

"I'll never get used to seeing all of these seveners." Alaric muttered something that Karluv Falmouth knew intellectually was the Imaskari language, but could not translate himself, "Apologies," He returned, "but its true." Falmouth shrugged having not been told what precisely was true, but left the matter.

... and there was the problem. Alaric had fostered at the court of Rickard Stark briefly, the same as most of the first born sons of the eastern shore's great houses.

Essossi was religiously cosmopolitan. In fact even in Old Andal, now under Pentos and to a lesser extent Bravosi sway, there wasn't much in the way of Seven worship there. Oh there was a sept across the sea yes, but that was the point. It was the Sept across the Sea. The Olds Gods, the nameless gods of nature, were still worshiped in the North. It was a reflective religion rather than the aggressive tribal way it had been hundreds of years previous. In twenty one years on this world, which admittedly including grow to manhood for a second time, he had seen no real example of organization in the faith of the old gods. Priests were few and far between... and old. Mostly relegated to the hill, and mountain clans of the North, and supposedly in the Neck. Though he honestly thought of them as Shamans than Clerics. There in lay the issue. He took fasts in the groves of weir woods in the morning, but he still held to the god of another world. Besides he received spells for his end of things, and even if he hadn't no one questioned it. At some point though he was going to have to fully codify the texts in the local tongue, but his previous's life's religion hadn't been inclined towards proselytizing as say Pelor's, who held similar domains, church had. Though he could understand where the lack of spells from ones deities would encourage the pursuit of temporal power in the realm of finance, and social influence.

The great hall in the New Castle's seat creaked as Wyman Manderly stood. He had put on some weight over the last few months... probably from that broken leg last year. He had heard it had been a fairly bad fall. "Ah, you'd made good time Al." Wyman rubbed his beginning to bulge stomach. "I wish some of my sworn men kept a schedule as well as you." The Almost forty Lord of House Manderly barked straightening, and clapped his hands, "Aye lets eat, it will be seven days yet," likely at least, going by the wolf's road, with pack and tack and carriages if word of Lady Lyanna was coming, "before Lord Stark arrives, and we set out for the Riverlands."

It was rather sad actually, Alaric thought helping himself to a boiled egg. The final, admittedly circuitous route, route to their destination, would be to sale back out of the Bit, down around the fingers, into the Bay of Crabs, past quiet Isle, the Saltpans, and make landfall at Castle Darry, take the road down to Harrenhall. It let them neatly side step the Riverroad, and the Twins. "Was there some delay?"

Lord Manderly's chuckle became more strained, "Ah, not really. Not of Lord Stark's party, but," He sighed and shook his head, and smiled, "Brandon is your generation's wild wolf."

Of that much, Alaric had no intention of disagreeing. Snows perhaps... He had very little exposure with Lord Stark's second son, but Brandon, and his sister Lyanna were significantly more reckless than their third brother Benjen. Well as long as it didn't result in another Greystarks problem, not really his problem... "Will this delay our sailing for Gulltown?" Eddard Stark, and Robert Baratheon were supposed to still be traveling with their guardian the honorable Lord Jon Arryn of the main branch of the Vale's ruling House of Arryn.

"No, I don't think so." Wyman shook his head, "eat, lad." He pushed the plate of boiled eggs, "The maester says its good for you to eat boiled eggs."

That sounded like even more insufferable advice than the simpering reachman already provided unbidden, but he took another egg. "Have your captains taken note of the Lorathi's turn of behavior as of late?"

His cheeks puffed out, and he exhaled, "We get them every season, but rarely in the numbers we've seen of late." Wyman shook his head, "I suppose you take the good with the bad." He shook his head, muttered about fishing complaints, and then after another egg spoke up, "Still my captains haven't come to me about any serious pirate problems."

He shrugged, "It may be nothing," Though it was a concession in name only, he had already planted the idea in the lord of White Harbor's head. He had already confirmed that at the very least the Lorathi were more active than normal. There wasn't anything in Northern Essos that had ever caught his eye west of Bravos. He'd never sent ships that direction, and probably wouldn't. "It could be simply smugglers."

"Aye thats true." Wyman agreed, "But one often is or attracts the other."

One of the knights, who Alaric didn't know, wrinkled his nose, "Lord Manderly if it pleases you, I would be happy to rouse some upstanding men to deal with any such dockyard ruffians." Alaric glanced at the man's gold spurs... and appearance, surely the man didn't dress like this every day... that was a ridiculous amount of effort spent on grooming. What was that in his hair?

Wyman popped another egg into his mouth to avoid having to answer the question immediately, and held up a hand to stymie a repeat of the question, "Not quite yet, but with Lord Stark coming we'll need to be on our guard, so keep the harbor watch on their toes." That seemed to assuage the knight into quieting down. "So four weeks to Volantis," He whistled, "How was it?"

Alaric shrugged, "They finally let us inside the Old city," He'd only been a half dozen times, "They are very insistent about palanquins."

Wyman nodded through another mouthful, and wiped his lips, "Lord Steffon Baratheon, may he rest in peace, traveled to Volantis looking for a bride for Prince Rhaegar." He had heard that the king had been searching for someone of Valyrian stock to replenish the blood. "Bad luck that," Still the arrangement with Dorne wasn't all that surprising. The Princess Elia had already given one child to Prince Rhaegar so soon into the union was likely a good sign.

"I had heard that Princess Elia is with child again?"

"I have heard the same from the capital." Wyman nodded, and likely the word had come from here in white harbor "Time will tell, Mother, and Crone willing." That the birth should be easy. That there would be a son. Oh it was true enough that Rhaegar did have a younger brother... but the Defiance at Duskendale had shaken the realm... and what had happened after. No one liked talking about that. It hadn't helped the change in the Stormlands overlordship had passed from Steffon to his first born son either. The realm seemed all the more insecure.

The nobility needed reassurance. Rickard hoped that this disquiet could be used to empower the north it was obvious. Lord Whent wanted to use it to show off the wealth and power of his estates, and hopefully find a match for his daughter. There were others too. Harrenhall was going to be very, very crowded. It was likely to be the biggest social event he had ever attended. A great deal of chance of squabbles and trouble besides.

"So will you be making the run to Volantis again, Myr perhaps?" Wyman questioned as some of the 'extras' cleared way from the hall as a screen had been pulled to grant a measure of privacy, "I mean it four weeks, that kind of turn around."

It was time for business, since of course Lord Manderly was the other part of the financial network which financed the trade voyages in Essos, for his share of course.

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