The Lost Griffin

I failed the father, but I shall not fail the son. The carrack swayed upon the open ocean, and once again Jon's thoughts began to drift, the sounds of orders making their way through the ship's upper decking slowly becoming muddled. The Septa was on a bunk nearby, with the Heir in hand. Aegon. A fitting name for the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms. The lad's cries are strong. I expect he'll make a fine warrior one day. The babe was aught more than a nameday and a half. They had been delayed heavily and had to head south to avoid Stannis' patrols. More ships were being added to the fleet as time passed. The fool, Jon thought, He's going after Dragonstone for the remaining Dragons when the one he's searching for is here. Of course, Varys' had done an excellent job - he had found a babe of roughly the same size. A good fortune to our cause that that bastard Clegane bashed the decoy until he was unrecognizable.

He was saddened at the line of thought. Elia had been a sweet lady, and had she been able to bear another a child none of this mess would have happened. But the Gods play a cruel game, and Rhaegar ran off with the Wolf. And now the greatest line to ever hold the Seven Kingdoms has been forced into exile. Rhaenys, too, had been stabbed near a hundred times. I swear upon all the gods, when we return I will have Amory Lorch tortured to death. Rhaenys had been such a sweet, kind girl. Though she favored her mother's colorings, there had been Rhaegar in there too. She had a sweet singing voice, like honey in summer. He had been like an uncle to her, and she was a sweetheart to the end. Cowering under her bed with her kitten, murdered in cold blood. I hope that kitten lives. It would be good to see that thing raise hell upon the Usurper and his dogs.

What an utterly awful situation. Jon had failed his silver prince. He should have razed Stoney Sept to the ground for harboring the Rebel Usurper, and instead he had shown mercy. Now the greatest Targaryen to live lies dead in the Trident. Suddenly, the boy began to squall, evidently hungry once more. Jon smiled wanly, and left the chambers. He made his way onto the main deck, where men were rushing about preparing for the storm ahead. He turned to the captain, who was keeping an eye on the men. "Captain, Whereabouts are we?" The captain turned at his question.

"If my charts are right… Twelve leagues off the stepstones. Though you needn't worry about pirates; they've been out of commission for a while now." The captain nodded his head at the aft storage. "If needbe, we got plenty of bows to fend em off. Most pirates, they go fer the slaver cogs those Mereenese send out." The captain looked fairly sure of himself. Jon was wracking his brain. He'd had a few reports from Tarth during his handship, but he'd been so preoccupied with the war he'd hardly read it. Something about a Sallador fellow who was trying to unite the Stepstones. Of course, there were about twenty 'kings' of the Stepstones so he hadn't bothered with him, but who knew?

An hour later, Jon was running around the deck assisting the men. They were finishing preparations for the storm when a great shape appeared in the foggy rain of the storm. What in the Seven hells? The captain began to shout, "Pirates on port! Arm yourselves!" With an experienced but rusty way about them, the sailors began to move to the fore and aft storage rooms, grabbing daggers, bows, and quivers of arrows. Though they were not as efficient as the Summer Island ships, there was a certain grace to the men. Jon felt a sudden sense of horror wash over him as another ship, and then a third joined them. The largest was front and center, roughly the size of a mid-line galley. The other two were smaller in size, but looked no less fierce. The galley and it's supporting ships approached. A man stood at the fore, dressed in Myrish silk, with white hair and two fine daggers at his hips.

The man flashed a toothy grin. "Hello! My name is Salladhor Saan. Prepare to die!"

The Quiet Wolf

The Fair Maid made good time. Though they had to cut through the Stepstones, they deftly evaded the Stepstone pirates and continued north. They passed the gorgeous Stormlander countryside, through the Sapphire Straits - a choice name, as the water appeared to be the same color as a Sapphire. Ned could feel nothing but sadness. War would likely come to Dorne. Would the Northerners support heading South once more? He did not know. Arthur had been melancholic ever since they had passed through Sunspear. Perhaps he is reflecting on those he could not save, just as I am. The ghosts of the past haunt us all.

Ned dreaded his arrival at King's Landing the most. Varys would try to get any information he could out of Ned, through conversation or spies. The Spider is an apt nickname. He gets through the smallest crack in a wall and he's a pest. If he didn't know all the secrets in the Kingdoms he'd have his head lopped off by now. Ned looked pointedly at Jon's room, where Arthur stood vigil. Not all of them, I pray. Ned hoped to keep the boy's secret safe. The less that know, the better.

The Stormlands, though ruggedly beautiful, were largely unpopulated - there was a single town, the Weeping Town, which had been little more than a wooden walled hamlet with a few docks. But The Crownlands, there was a place with populous towns - the many estuaries of the Blackwater provided good spots for towns, with Maidenpool to the North, Duskendale to the East, and King's Landing in the center. More population meant it was more likely there were spies afoot. Still, they sailed yet.

The next day, after a good wind helped them along, they reached King's Landing. Ned had been there a scarce few times, and it was always the stench that stuck with him the most. A few hundred thousand people dumping their waste into the streets or river created a Gods-awful stench which permeated the air. Arthur looked uncomfortable with the stench, but he had been accustomed to the smell when serving on the Kingsguard. They slowly made their way to dock, putting their board down. Ned sent a messenger ahead while he prepared for his meeting. Slipping on a doublet with a gray velvet and a darker grey wolf, Ned washed his head as best he could. When he was ready, he called for Jon and Wylla. Arthur nodded, though he was evidently disappointed he would not be protecting the babe. The rest of his companions were either nursing bruises or seasick, so they stayed behind.

They made their way to the Red Keep with little trouble, though Ned had to dodge a man dropping his waste onto the street. The guards let them in with little trouble, and Ned noted the Lannister crest. This does not bode well. He entered the Great Hall, where Robert sat upon the Throne. He was dealing with a minor lord's dispute with a merchant, evidently, and looked bored out of his skull. Ned saw the way his face looked and knew he had to be at least three cups into his wine. When Robert saw him, his face brightened a little. "Right, off you go. Ned! Gods, you are a sight for sore eyes. I, ah, I received your letter from Sunspear. I, ah, I'm sorry about Lyanna. Who's the lass?" He nodded at Wylla.

"She is my nursemaid Wylla. She has been helping me care for my bastard." Robert laughed jovially. "The stoic Ned got a bastard on a Dornish wench! Next you'll be telling me sows can float!" Robert laughed, and beckoned to a servant to bring him two cups of wine. "What is the boy's name?" Ned looked at Robert. "Jon Snow." Robert grinned at that. "A fine name for the boy! Jon has been quite useful to me. If he weren't in Dorne trying to negotiate peace I wouldn't have to sit on that ugly chair." Robert saw the servant returning with his wine and rushed over. As Ned waited for him to return, he smelt a perfume that stank worse than the city. The sound of slippered feet shuffling on the floor alerted him to the presence of the Master of Whispers. "Hello, Lord Eddard."

"Hello, Varys."

A/N Cliffhanger, I know. Another chapter should be up in a couple days.