After less than a moonturn of marriage, the day came for Ser Jon to leave his keep of flecked, grey stone. Awake and nervously waiting for dawn, he told Lydrea that he would return within two months.
"And, Ser Wylis said that I might be gone as little as a few weeks."
"I know, Jon," she assured him once more.
Jon's trip to White Harbor and then Braavos was to coincide with King Robert's arrival in Winterfell. His lord father's letter, which had to be carried by rider because no ravens were yet trained for the excavated holdfast, insisted that Jon's duty to provide for his wife, in this case, was more pressing than joining his brothers and sisters in entertaining Robert Baratheon, the Lannisters, and the rest of the royal retinue.
Jon felt that his small household would do well in his absence. He'd left orders for them to follow Lady Lydrea's commands and all swore to do so. Nevertheless, a lack of a proper guard worried Jon. He told Gariss that every man, woman, and child should know how to loose an arrow and hold a spear. His master-at-arms promised to teach the household and have them rehearse defending the keep and the bulwarks along the wall.
Even with enough daylight to be underway, he still lingered in the narrow yard inside his walls. His Lydrea laughingly hollered that the holdfast wouldn't fall back into ruin in the short while he'd be away.
Upon reaching White Harbor, Jon found that the ship captain and Wylis Manderly had been awaiting his arrival for several days. Ser Wylis settled the terms on Jon's behalf and swore to him that this foreign trader was the most loyal and skilled of the ones who frequented his lord father's port. The captain introduced himself as only, Brox. He was of height with Jon and thirty years old. His skin was as pale as milk, which was especially unusual for a seafaring man in summer. His eyes were a light blue and his face was plain, except for his sharp chin. Around both wrists, he wore wide bronze bracelets, inlaid with black and colorful stones that Jon had never seen before.
To Jon's surprise, Brox did not balk at his intention to bring a direwolf on board. To the contrary, he appeared pleased by it. Besides Ghost, Jon brought his arms and armor, his best leather jerkin, the silver clasp Robb had gifted him, and few other articles of clothing. He even sold the garron he rode to White Harbor, for there was neither room nor need for it onboard.
Ser Wylis wished Jon a safe voyage, and Brox led him out of White Harbor's Seal Gate. Once past a cobble-stone market, they could see the Outer Harbor. The captain pointed out his six ships in the harbor. Comprising his little fleet were three, fat-bellied cogs that relied mostly on their sails, two galleys suited for battle at sea, and a much smaller ship, which looked little bigger than a skiff beside the others. Each had a name written in Valyrian at its stern. Looking out from high above the shore, Jon could only distinguish the names of the galleys, the Pale Blood and the Bronze Maiden.
"Ser Jon," the captain said. "Look to the hulls of both galleys. Do you see that each has a discolored section?" He smirked. "I painted them thusly so any corsair who eyes them is like to think they were wrecked and haphazardly repaired. 'Too many men and too much fight to be worth those barely seaworthy vessels,' any pirate shall say. The smallest is a scout craft. My grand armada," he said with a sardonic grin, "sails under six first officers, but only the one captain."
On the docks, he introduced Jon to the officers and the men as, "Lord Jon, the White Wolf Knight."
Ser Jon was about to correct the captain and say that he was no lord, but Brox dismissed the officers before he could. Privately, the captain said, "A lord, not a lord, it means little at sea. My men respect only a commanding presence. . . but a lordly title makes for a good beginning, ser."
Jon was shown to the Pale Blood, the sturdier of the two galleys. In addition to Captain Brox, the ship also had a first officer, a man called Xhar. He was a Summer Islander who shaved his hair into a thin, middle stripe. Long ago he'd marked the backs of his hands and his forearms with tiger stripes, by way of hot brand. When he saw Jon looking at them, Xhar explained, "Tattoo is rich, fire is cheap."
The captain granted Jon a cabin to himself. It was more cramped than even his quarters in the barracks of Riverrun. The pair of uncushioned bunks indicated that the cabin usually slept two. He tossed the rucksack containing his armor onto the top bunk and took the lower one for his own. Ghost made a den of the space beneath Jon's bed.
They set sail on the mid-day tide.
Ser Jon soon discovered that the growing pup was not fond of being below deck, but couldn't fault him for that. The queasiness that he too experienced in the cabin only abated in the open air.
The oarsmen on the galley took to Ghost quickly. In their cups, they changed a snake-game for the young direwolf. They placed a treasure beneath Ghost, and wagered on whose hand was quick enough to reach under him without being bitten. At first, the seafarers tried a dead mouse, like they'd used with the snake, but Ghost ate it before the game could start. On the second attempt, they tried a knot of rope. With some prodding from Jon, the white-coated direwolf quickly grasped that the knot was his to guard.
On the third day, the ships finished rounding the coastline and set out into open water.
The Narrow Sea was calm and, in less than a fortnight, they crossed without incident.
Jon felt smaller than a mouse when they rowed beneath the Titan of Braavos. They glided by the Arsenal, and he studied the passing houses. Is there no open space in this city? Each home was built of brightly painted stone. To Jon, the tightly situated houses resembled a bench at a feast, after someone arrived late and elbowed his way into a place he couldn't quite fit.
They landed at a bustling place called Ragman's Harbor, but only Captain Brox disembarked. Some hours later, he returned on a canal barge with a line of boats in tow and declared that the Sealord of Braavos had bought their entire haul of northern timber. The Sealord's men carried a small chest of gold and another of silver onto the Pale Blood. Though Jon knew far more gold lay within Winterfell's vaults, he'd never actually seen so much in one place.
After half a day of loading the wood onto the barges, Jon found Brox in his cabin. "Now off to White Harbor," he said cheerfully.
Brox dismissed his cabin boy and asked for a private word.
"Lord Jon," he began, "sail with me. Sail through the Summer Sea, sail to my city in the East. You can use your gold to buy rare spices, jewels, silks. We will return and sell them in the great ports of Westeros. On the way, I could help you to profit at each harbor on your voyage. On this trade route, merchants of my city grow richer than even your king. What is eight moonturns, a year even, measured against a lifetime?"
Jon was surprised by this proposition. As extending the voyage wasn't part of his plans, he told the captain, "I cannot go with you. I must return. To my home. To my wife. We've only just been wed. You have my thanks for your offer, but we must return to White Harbor."
"I gave Lord Manderly my word and I will do as you wish, but to err in this way. . . I fear that you may not like where this choice leads, my lord. Yet as you say, we shall cross back the Narrow Sea."
"Explain your meaning, captain."
"You are so young. . ." He stared at Jon's face as if seeing his own reflection. "A wife means children, and they can be a boon for any man, yet. . . they also tether a man to his home. A man so full of youth and life should feel the thrill of adventure before he decides to affix himself to one place."
Jon answered, "A keep, a wife, and if the gods are good, sons and daughters, I can be content with such a boon."
"Ah, and you are right, my lord."
The captain thought quietly for a moment, and then said, "I had a wife once. I was barely older than you are now. Well, no. She was to be my wife, but life had another journey for me. . ."
Brox, fearsome as he could be with his men, looked like he might cry. Jon put a hand on his shoulder and assured, "I would hear the tale, if you can bear to tell it. You can trust that I'll not repeat it. Not to the men, or anyone."
"Jon, what is a man's first duty to his wife?"
"To keep her safe," he replied.
"Yes, yes." The sea captain looked at his feet. "Keeping a wife safe means more than drawing your sword against a man who would do her harm. What can a sword do against hunger? I was not so lucky as to be born of noble blood. The girl I was to marry, and she was so beautiful, realized I had no trade, no gold. When she came of age, she chose another."
Captain Brox twisted away from him.
"I do not blame her, Lord Jon. Could any woman respect a husband, such that I would have made? When last I heard, she had given her chosen groom six healthy sons. But," he paused and raised his eyes, "I knew then that I had to leave, to find my fortunes on the sea. One day I will return to take a wife, but I will do so with gold enough that she will never fret over the next day's meal.
"Alas, you have your wife already," Brox said, straightening his posture. "She has made her choice, and I am certain that she is an honorable woman who would never leave you. No matter how she might struggle in the years to come. Yes, you are happy and must return to her." He got to his feet. "I shall ready the men for White Harbor."
Jon didn't think that Lydrea would ever break her marriage vows. But would she be miserable? Might she come to rue her choice? He felt certain that she would be a loving wife to him, and Ser Jon resolved to be a man deserving of her. He stopped Brox in the doorway and commanded him to set a course to the trade ports of Essos.
After the captain had begun to ready the ships, a doubt caught hold of Jon.
"Captain Brox!" he called, racing onto the deck. "Captain, how would I get word to my wife? We'll have to return to White Harbor first."
"No, no. I have an easy fix. For a few silvers, the Sealord's steward will get word to Lord Manderly." Brox offered him a reassuring smile. "He, of course, will make certain that your lady knows of your wise decision."
"But why would you do all this?" Jon asked, uncertain of Brox's intentions.
Ser Wylis has confidence in this man, he reminded himself.
"Ah," replied Brox. "Coin is the seed from which trade can sprout and I am in need of it, ever since I bought my three cogs in White Harbor. This was their first time at sea under my command. I would ask for one third of the gold and silver you earn on our voyage. You will still have much more than those two small boxes below deck."
"One third? Too much. One fifth?"
"That is a deal," the captain answered, without further resistance.
Brox spent the better part of a week in Braavos, haggling with merchants for many types of trade goods, rations, barrels of fresh water, and strong wine. After telling Captain Brox what to say in the message to Lord Manderly, Jon explored the trade-stalls for himself. He bought shackles and locks for his chests, though they were all but empty after the captain filled their cargo holds. He also came by an armorer trying to sell him substandard chainmail. Instead, Jon purchased wooden swords and suits of padded training armor.
The ships left Braavos during a series of gusts from the east. Jon and Ghost were bound first for Pentos and then other foreign ports.
Please don't be cross with me when you hear of my decision, Lydrea. I am doing this for both of us. When I return, you'll see the sense of this choice and, hopefully, you'll be proud of your husband.
Jon's fleet sailed within view of the shore, bearing south towards Pentos. Crossing the Narrow Sea, he'd been unable to gauge their speed. Measuring their progress against the land, he guessed that with just a moderate crosswind they covered more leagues in a day than a horse could, even while the galleys slowed to accommodate the cogs' leaden pace. After each dusk, the ships coasted under quarter-sails with a night helmsman and two lookouts who doubled as deckhands.
Jon began to lose track of the number of days so while laying in his bunk one morning, he decided to start a count. He raised up his dagger and held the point against the wooden bed above his own.
He hesitated. How long's it been? Three days along the Manderly shoreline, nine more crossing to Braavos. . . a week at anchor, then yesterday and this morning. That is. . . twenty-one. Has it been three weeks already? Jon cut six hash marks into the wood, then a seventh to cross them and mark the first week. He did likewise for the other two weeks since he left White Harbor, determining to score every morning with another hash.
Looking up at the five clusters of seven hash marks and the two cuts towards a sixth,Jon thought, It's been five weeks and two days, as of this morn. Five weeks in all to reach Pentos.
Knotted to its mooring, the Pale Blood dipped and rose with the breakwater churning beneath it. Jon stood on the deck in his black leather with Ghost at his side. Brox descended the gangplank onto the docks of Pentos. A Pentoshi lord in a white-curtained litter and his attendants were waiting for the captain. Jon couldn't hear the words exchanged, and he doubted that he would've understood the Pentoshi dialect of Valyrian.
A hunch-backed old man, either servant or steward, stepped around the litter and whispered something to his lord. They must have liked the captain's terms, because servants soon came over to the ships and the Pale Blood's first officer, Xhar, showed them to the cargo.
"Lord Jon," Brox beckoned. "The magister wishes for a closer look at your direwolf."
Jon looked at Ghost and cautiously led him ashore. My wolf is not for sale, no matter the price. He subtly loosened his sword in its scabbard as he crossed the gangplank.
Servants and magister alike stared at the novel beast, but none dared reach a hand towards him.
"Very well, captain," said the obese lord. He waved his hand and was wheeled away.
The old, bent servant looked deep into Jon's eyes, then offered a humble bow.
"Captain, he didn't wait for confirmation from his men inspecting the holds," Jon observed, once the magister and his attendants were out of earshot.
Brox dismissed Jon's concern by saying, "In Pentos, just as in White Harbor, I am a trusted man." A bright grin flashed across his light-skinned face. "That magister of Pentos bought all I had to trade. When I awoke this morning, I knew it would be a pleasant day."
The ships' men unloaded the holds of everything they'd ferried from Braavos. The crew lined up in a train to carry the goods. An oarsmen with a thick ring in his nostril asked Jon if both his skinny arms could bear as much weight as even one of his own.
Jon shrugged off his cloak and jerkin. "Take these back to my cabin, then you'll see what my skinny arms can bear."
Not long after the column began to walk, Jon regretted hoisting the half-cask by himself. Too stubborn to admit defeat, he nudged the barrel of wine from high on his chest, up onto his shoulder.
The gates of the magister's grounds were guarded by plumb, beardless men in spiked helms. Once inside, a long-robed servant waved each shipman in the direction he was to carry his goods, with little interest.
"Wine," stated Jon in the Common Tongue. The deckhand behind him translated, and the steward pointed Jon to the main house. He followed the crushed-shell path to the ornately decorated building.
Abruptly, a voice began shouting at Jon.
"I couldn't see you!" he yelled back. "I have a bloody cask on my shoulder."
The servant just shouted again in Valyrian and gestured at a door. Whilst his hands balanced the cask on his shoulder, Jon could only stand in front of the door until the serving man opened it for him.
When he saw the dimly lit steps, Ser Jon groaned.
Carefully, he descended the stairs. He continued around the curve of the stone tunnel, barely able to see in the shadows. The tunnel opened into a wine cellar, which was lit by only a single torch. Jon stumbled, knocking his knee on something in the dark room, but caught himself from falling and set the cask down.
Of all the torches along the walls, only the one on the far side of the long cellar was burning. Jon carefully stepped over barrels and between crates to get to it. Trying to pull the torch off the wall, he dropped it. The pitch caught flame on the floor, but he quickly stomped it out.
Seven hells, Jon.
The cellar was as dark as a dungeon, though a flickering light reflected from down a walkway. It was in the opposite direction from the stairs. He whispered to himself, "Go get that torch, light some of the others, and get out. Just don't be so damned clumsy this time."
Jon reached the end of the passage and picked up the torch. The stairs on this end of the cellar looked just like the ones he'd come down from. Rather than traverse the wine cellar again, Jon shrugged to himself and thought, One staircase is as good as another. He climbed the nearby steps.
If that servant thinks to yell at me in Valyrian, he's like to hear me yell right back in the Common Tongue.
Despite the boldness of what he told himself, Jon was reluctant to be caught wandering about a stranger's grounds. He glanced around for a door outside or any of the other deckhands.
". . . but, buying three ship loads for a glimpse at that boy? Why?" a voice asked.
Shiploads? Whose shiploads? Ours?
"After all we've labored for, old friend," a second voice responded. "This turn is so delicious, mayhaps it's fate."
I knew some scheme was in the making, Jon thought to himself. The trade was a farce.
He set the torch into rungs on the wall and silently shuffled out of the light. Jon flattened against an alcove in the airy, white-brick lounge. He couldn't see the two conspiring, but could hear them well.
"I am not so convinced as you."
"I have long held suspicions; who would know his father's lie better than we?"
"I can think of one." They both laughed at that. One laugh was a heavy rumble and the other a light giggle.
"My crux exactly," the lighter voice said. "When the realm believes something I know to be untrue, my curious nature is roused. I set my little mice to task. One mouse of mine went and looked for himself. His build, his disposition, how he moves. . ."
"If you are right, what then? Do we kill him?"
"We use him. He would be our third." The man tittered at his own cleverness.
"I still have reservations about our second."
"The prince has assured me that that one will be toothless, and besides, he was necessary for the alliance. He. . ."
Jon heard light steps trail away from him and could no longer hear well enough to distinguish their words.
Should I follow them? Or mayhaps find my way out of this house?
He peered around the corner. Suddenly, Jon heard the voices return and darted back as quickly as he could.
". . . and finally our lady will be at peace."
"Just so. I am like to enjoy your new plan, my friend. Ha! And about the boatman?"
"Men like to think themselves clever, respected even. We shall let him. He knows nothing, and we will give him no hint. Mice can find their way on and off ships easily enough, as we both know all too well," the lighter voice said grimly. "So can gold. We will wait, and we will watch."
They said no more and their footfalls trailed away again. Jon crept in the opposite direction and rounded a corner, watching over his shoulder for the two he'd spied on. Before he could turn and look for a way out, he bumped into someone.
Jon caught the girl's upper arm to stop her from falling.
Before he had a moment to look up, he felt the point of a blade against his neck.
"Excuse me, my lady. I did not intend to. . ."
With a guard at their side, two young women stood before him. Both were older than Jon; one had dull red hair and freckles, but the one he'd bumped into had eyes of dark blue and pale blonde hair. Her beauty compounded his tension.
Jon saw the confusion on her face. "Oh, right. You won't understand a word of this, but I'm sorry still. Even a wine hauler should know better than to be so clumsy. I would appreciate it if your bodyguard lowered his spear." He pointed at it with both hands. "I do not mean you harm, so please don't order him to pierce my throat."
The blue eyed girl gradually started chuckling. The freckled one did likewise, though her laughs were silent.
Did they understand me?
The armed watchman withdrew his spear.
"My lady," Jon said as graciously as he could manage. Not wishing to linger, he hurried to take his leave of them and searched for a doorway out.
Seven hells, Jon, what did you overhear?