Disclaimer: GRRM owns all.
Chapter 56
Jon
"This is where we part then, har!" Tormund Giantsbane bellowed and laughed, giving his stomach a firm slap. "It's been a mighty fine time with you two men."
"It's always a pleasure, Tormund," said James briskly. "I'm sure we will see each other soon."
"We will," Jon lied. He had to lie. The Giantsbane was a man to talk and talk when in his cups of fermented goats milk. If they knew of their actual plan then someone would know, and no one could know. Tormund thought they were going to back to White Harbor to see the plans solidified with Lord Wylis. That was another lie. Jon and James had already supped with Lord Wylis for propriety sake when first arriving with Tormund. They had no intention of seeing the Lord Manderly again; they just wished to go on the boat headed for Braavos very soon.
"You're both liars!" Tormund laughed again. "How many years has it been since Mance died? Ten, I reckon."
Jon thought it so. "Yes, it has," James confirmed. "So long it has been."
"And with winter here it'll be even longer. Har!" Tormund grabbed the reigns of his shaggy horse and the wind cried between them. Snow fell from the sky in giant white globs, the sky a sheet of grey like rotten ice. Winter was truly here. And we must move quickly to see Ned and Jeyne home. "Don't make promises you cannot keep!" the Giantsbane bellowed. Six wildlings friends of his on shaggy mounts surrounded him with ten Stark Guards Bran had given as a token of their agreement. A grey direwolf on white flapped in the wind. Jon wouldn't see it in a long time.
"This is good-bye, then," Jon said and Tormund nodded. He gave them some fermented goats milk, water, and furs. James and he said their goodbyes, watching the wildings disappear into the grey darkness.
Once they were gone, James said, "We must make our way to White Harbor." He turned to the Captain of the Guard who had escorted them. Var, his name was. He was tall, grey haired, and had a peppered beard to match. "Give this message to my wife," he ordered and handed the man a scroll. "There will be ones for my children as well." He reached into his knapsack to pull out another. "Here is one special for my daughter Rhaenys. Make sure only she reads it, if you will."
The captain nodded dutifully. "It will be done, my lord." He gave Jon a good stare. "Any from you, Lord Jon?"
"None besides the ones I've already given you."
He nodded again. "So be it. May the gods grant you a safe voyage."
"Safe travels, Var," James said and the captain went off with the rest of his men. Jon and his brother-cousin were finally alone.
"Can we trust them?" Jon asked after they disappeared into grey.
"Bran does," James assured him. "Var is loyal and true."
"Even the most honorable fall to coin."
"Good thing he thinks we're going to King's Landing to parley with the Hand of the King and Stannis." James flashed him a smile dressed in Stark grey.
But we may be gone for years, Jon wanted to say, although he didn't. They had committed to this, had prepared for some time now. Many days were spent in Maester Willem's turret learning about the Seven. Jon learned about each of the seven faces, all belonging to one god, and even studied the words and blessings to give at each altar. He read about the seven wanderers in the sky, the seven aspects of grace. Jon studied the hymns, the seven oils used to anoint children, and how to lit the candles. In his knapsack was the Seven-Pointed Star, the candles, oils, chains, and Septon's robes. Jon had felt nervous since leaving Winterfell. He didn't know what dangers awaited them.
"Let us go to the river," James suggested and Jon could only nod. It was time they changed who they were; to let go of themselves as if they were faceless men. The nearest river was through a small patch of trees, but it was more a creek partially frozen save for an area near the bank.
James knelt and took the water into his mouth. "It's damn cold," he cursed and gave a laugh. His black breeches were soiled with dirty snow, his grey doublet wet with flakes. "We will do what we must, Jon."
"What we must," Jon said and went down beside him. He wet his beard and face, his hair, too. Jon cupped some water and it shot through his glove like a cold knife. After he drank some it numbed his tongue and teeth, but he didn't care. All he thought of was rescuing Jeyne and Ned.
He heard James unsheathe his dagger. "Sit up, Jon," he ordered. "Let us do this, quickly."
Beside the creek, Jon Targaryen sat up and his black clothes were now soiled with matted hair. James cut swiftly and strongly, pulling strands and hacking at them. Jon watched as they fell around him creating a circle of black clippings. Some fell on his shoulders, others his arms and legs. Cool wind kissed his neck and cheeks, his ears too after they'd been exposed to the wind. "Crane your head up," his brother-cousin ordered after his hair had been cut. James wet the blade in the water, shearing his beard slowly and patiently. After it was done his face was cold and naked, itchy and stubbly from the strands James had missed. Jon did all of this for Jeyne.
After he did the same to James they built a fire and sat around it. The wool cloak graced his head softly; Jon Targaryen did not feel like himself after his hair had been cut and his beard shaved. It was as if he'd become a new man, Jon the Septon. The man he needed to be in-order for Jeyne and Ned to return safely. How Jon thought of his daughter looking into the orange-red flame which licked the wind every so often.
James threw in another log and gave it a poke. "My head feels so cold," he cursed. "And these robes so itchy." He scratched his arms. "How long must we go through this, Jon?"
When you step foot there you'll be in high danger, Bran's voice echoed in his mind. "As long as need be, James, until Jeyne and Ned are safe in Winterfell."
He sighed. "Do we even know where to go?" The log caught flame and crackled. Fire engulfed it like a swarm of bees. "Does Bran have a plan for us in Braavos?" he asked.
"Can we have one?" Jon asked again. "All we know is what we found out in White Harbor through that contact in the inn."
"A Braavosi who follows the Seven…" His voice trailed off as in disbelief. "Can we scarcely believe the tales Bran has told us?"
"Can we afford to?" Jon had asked himself this same question as did Sansa. His wife was worried Jon would not come back for many years. He didn't want to tell her everything but it was Sansa. It was hard to keep secrets from his wife. For Jeyne, he'd tell her. We do it for Jeyne.
"I suppose I ought to start acting like a Septon now," James sighed. "Pious, righteous…a man who has let go of vanity and pride. We don't even know Braavosi fully, Jon."
"There are some who know the Common Tongue there, James," he reminded him. "This guide we found in White Harbor may know someone who's seen Ned and Jeyne."
"But we've never met him."
"We will on the morrow." Jon sighed and the flames danced. "And then we'll be on a ship to Braavos the very next day."
James nodded. "Did you pay for the ship?"
"Aye, I did. The Merry Midwife is the name of the ship. It's captained by an old captain who loves his wine."
"Good enough, I guess," James snorted. "Septons wouldn't complain about their accomodations—they'd just be grateful to have some. Do we have it in us, Jon, to do this? Gods know what could happen there to the both of us—can we even pass as Septons?"
Jon had thought the same. "Do we have a choice, James? As we told Bran, Stannis will find our children—it's only a matter of time. The time to act is now, of course." The wind kissed the back of his neck. "As if they'll know the difference, James. These Braavosi haven't seen the Seven as we have in the South. We'll be fine."
James sighed again. "I hope so. If not we're lost, and I plan on returning to Winterfell…"
"As do I…" Jon sighed to himself and the night grew dark. He laid on his roll next to James looking at the stars. Jon could do nothing else but think of what this trip would bring. It's mad, he knew. This is madness. How could they have any chance of success? Their good fortune depended on the right people seeing Ned and Jeyne at the right time—let alone being able to speak to Jon and James about it. But they knew where to look in Braavos, they supposed; by the docks and the market square. It's where Jaime's spies said they saw a girl working a stand with red hair and a brown-haired Westerosi loading cargo from ships. Jon didn't know how they noticed but not Stannis. It's why he was so nervous to get there.
It's too late to turn back now, he thought as the sleep took him. Morning came all too soon and they were greeted by another sheet of grey. Jon Targaryen, the Septon he must remember, shook the snow off his rags and mounted the knapsack on the saddle. His brown septon's robes made his skin itch and the seven-pointed star necklace was cold against his chest. James stood beside him dressed the same; his short hair made him more youthful and the shaved face even more so. Jon and he were posing as brown brothers, each pretending to have been sent by their superior to restore the dying faith in Braavos. James was to focus on the Father and Jon the Warrior. He supposed the Braavosi would like the Warrior seeing as they were so fond of duels.
They mounted their horses and traveled to White Harbor. James and he loaded their skins with fresh creek water, and Jon's mouth was dry from the boiled eggs and bread they cooked over fire. The water was wet and cold after he took a drink. Snow had begun to fall from the sky already as soon as they awoke covering everything in a blanket of white. Jon pulled up his cloak, as did James to protect themselves from the cold, and all Jon could do was practice the Braavosi he'd tried to learn in his mind. Certain sentences, structuring them together from the Common Tongue, but it was no use. Jon tried to remember to think in the language, not translate it. But it was hard for him at times. He wasn't given that much time to learn the language but he supposed they wouldn't expect a Westerosi septon to be fluent in Braavosi.
James and he spent the way in silence towards White Harbor's castle walls. From this moment on they had to pretend to be who they sought out to be in-front of everyone who crossed their path. Smallfolk were pouring into the castle to fight the cold and at times they'd have to stop to bless those who'd ask for it. "Seven blessings!" some would yell at them and they would back. Jon would offer the Warrior's courage to some and the Mother's mercy to others. James did the same whereas at times he'd stay quiet. It wasn't necessary for them to attract so much attention, which was difficult to do when White Harbor stayed closer to the Seven due to them trading so much with King's Landing.
The snow made his brown robes wet upon their arrival. Smallfolk were moving through the courtyard where the Merman statue of Manderly was held. Jon imagined Ned and Jeyne in this very place before their departure for the capitol where it all went wrong. He sighed as the thoughts consumed him; Jon was just happy she was with Ned. She wasn't supposed to be with him.
Their knapsacks were heavy as they moved their way towards the inn up the winding steps. On the walls graced whale fat candles burned down sending shadows upon the snow. This is where they were to meet the Braavosi who'd guide them in Braavos.
"The man is this way," the man who led them up the steps said. "He can be seen drunk each day in the inn."
This might be the very inn Ned stayed with Jeyne. "Does he follow the Seven?" asked James.
"Yes, he does," the man replied. He was a sailor who would frequent Braavos so he knew the language well enough to translate. "Or did, I believe. Some say he doesn't anymore."
"Well, which is it?" Jon asked.
"You'll have to ask him, Brother Robb," answered the man. Jon smiled to himself at the name he'd chosen. The name of his eldest son.
"I'll be sure to," said James.
"It's just up the steps." The steps wound up and up until the sounds of the inn were loud enough. Smoke, meat, conversation, and ale filled their nostrils upon their entry. Everyone was minding their business save for some who shot them queer looks. Jon was sure they'd never seen brown brothers staying at inns before. "Come, this way," the man said.
They followed him to behind the steps which led upstairs towards the bedrooms. Jon smelled a foul odor. "Delleno!" yelled the man. He approached another who was cowering next to the crates reeking of ale. Jon noticed an empty skin in the drunk Braavosi's hands; it was he who smelled so foul as if he never bathed. "Get up! These are Septons!"
"No!" the drunk bravos shouted. "I won't get up!"
James approached him cautiously. "We were told you could follow us to Braavos," he said almost in a whisper. It sounded as if he was talking to a child.
"Braavos is dangerous!" the drunk replied in broken Common Tongue. "I-I cannot go back."
Jon approached him this time. The smell of drink reeked off him along with another odor he could not name. It wasn't pleasant to his nose. "My name is Robb," he introduced himself, "and this is Brother Brandon. We were told you are a follower of the Seven."
"No!" he shouted. The drunk man wouldn't even face them. "I am not a worshipper of Seven!" He scratched his face as a dog would fleas.
"We have money." James pulled out his sack of coins and jumped it in his hands. "If you take us back to Braavos, we'll give you this sack of coins."
"We can take you home," Jon whispered this time. "Come with us on a ship on the morrow to Braavos and lead us to where the worshippers hide. Do this and we'll pay you, and you can go home."
The promise of home sent a glimmer into this man's eyes. Finally, he stood up to greet them. He was tall and lanky, although shorter than Jon. He was olive of skin with a thin beard and long hair. Dressed in a light blue tunic with brown woolen breeches, he was. "Come," James said, "and we will buy you some food and drink."
Delleno stood and followed them up to the chamber. It was best they spoke in-private about what their mission entailed. The chamber was small and modest, dark and gloomy. A big feather bed was in the middle of a dark planked room with a crackling hearth and table. Jon sat with James whilst the drunk Delleno sat at the foot of the bed eating some pork pie and a tankard of ale. He ate like a mad man who hadn't in days.
"Tell us about Braavos," James bid of him. "We will have to hear about it."
The man didn't reply, so Jon said, "Tell us of yourself first, then."
Delleno took a swig of ale. "I was a trader," he said between bites, "before I find the Seven." He took another drink. "I come to Westeros on boat every so often to trade goods. Before the red priests begun to find those who worship Father, I was adrift on sea when a Westeros ship find me."
Jon didn't know if that was because of the man's drunkenness or not. There was a crafty way this guy spoke and look, as if he was always hiding something or everything bothered him. "Do you still keep to the Seven?" asked James.
That question made Delleno shut up like a clam. Jon didn't understand why James's question made him so unhappy. At first he didn't want to talk at all; but after further probing he yielded to their persistence. He began to tell bit by bit the story of the persecution of those who kept to the Seven in Braavos. Within the city itself they were persecuted first; during the day or at night they'd enter houses at will or your place of work—it didn't matter to them. The red priests with some soldiers would round them up, bind them in ropes, and lead them to gods knew where. At times public spectacles would be made of this to deter people from the Seven when the red priests squabbling and sermons had failed. Prices were put out for information and whispers about hidden worshippers. Pieces of silver ranging from one to three-hundred depending on if it was a simple worshipper, a bravos septon, or a Westerosi one. Those rich enough to buy their way out of apostatizing did so, those who could not had to in public. Deaths were reserved for those who didn't apostatize, such as priests; the red priests poured boiling water over them using ladles in public. They died martyrs, some said, because of how they chose death to show the strength of their faith. The poor weren't so lucky.
In villages on the outskirts of Braavos the red priests would go with the Braavosi soldiers ordered by the Sealord. In this village he had witnessed over twenty-four Seven worshippers burned or subjected to some sort of water torture were they'd be tied poles fixed on a beachhead. They would gradually become utterly exhausted and after about a week they died in the most terrible of agony. Jon couldn't imagine being burnt alive or killed through a slow drowning. The thought was nauseating.
During the conversation, Jon kept noticing something strange. While Delleno was describing this hair-raising spectacle, his face became distorted; then suddenly he'd lapse into silence. He shook his hand and head as though some terrible memory rose up from the past to haunt him. I wonder if some of those twenty or so worshippers who underwent that torture were some of his friends? Jon didn't know.
"Well, do you still keep to the Seven?" asked James. He had done so throughout their conversation. "You are. Aren't you?"
"I'm not," said Delleno, shaking his head. "No, I'm not."
"Not anymore, you mean," Jon said. "The guide told us you were."
"I'm not!" the man insisted. "I am not."
"Fine," James conceded, "but you do wish to return to Braavos. We have money to buy passage across the Narrow Sea and to get together a captain with some sailors. So if you would like to return there…"
In Delleno's eyes, Jon saw an eagerness there but at the same time this sort of self-pity that was hard to describe. In that moment the man leapt from the bed as if a great force had moved him. He went into the corner of the room and began to mumble to himself, as if in prayer, or as if he was weighing the worthiness of this proposition. It went on for a while until he stood up, wiped the back of his mouth and gave a nod. "I will go," he said. "I've been wanting to go back for a very long time." Jon and James smiled.
The next day the weather was like any other. The globs of white still fell from the sky and a sheet of grey lingered as if someone had thrown a blanket over it. James and Jon with Delleno boarded the Merry Midwife who was to take them straight to Braavos. The captain was a burly man with a big stomach, a beard to match, and always reeked of wine. Jon and James carried very little belongings so they stayed below with only two hammocks to act as beds. If they had been themselves this captain would have honored them with the finest accommodations he had. But they were no longer lords of Winterfell; they were simply two Septons on their way to Braavos in-order to save what was left of their faith. Jon thought this mad.
Jon let the spray of the sea hit his face while the ship bobbed and heaved against the mighty strength of the sea. He liked the feeling of the spray on his face. It reminded him of Winterfell and Jeyne. As a little girl, Jeyne would always run to the courtyard when it was snowing to stick her head up high and let the snowflakes kiss her face. She liked the feeling, she said. When she'd return inside the castle walls with the flakes in her auburn hair, Jon remembered Sansa at her age and how they looked so much alike. Jeyne had her mother's coloring, but at times she'd look like him. A balance of both, he assumed. Now his daughter was in the city he was going towards, and in this moment Jon clutched his necklace of the Seven-Pointed Star. He had never been a man of the new gods, strictly the old, but he didn't care which gods helped him find Jeyne so long as he did.
Go yee into the whole world and preach the seven faces of god to every living creature, Jon remembered Maester Willem saying. It is because of the Mother's mercy we do this. It's not an ordinary compassion but one borne out of love. To Jon those words meant nothing; they were just something he had to make stick in his mind for the sake of their mission. For it was Jeyne he was doing this. It was not for anyone else but her and Ned.
"Jon," a voice whispered suddenly and he startled himself to attention. It was James beside him. "The captain has something we wish to hear," he said.
Jon noticed his brown robes were wet from the snow. "You told him our names?" he asked sharply.
"No, I didn't." James came to next to him and looked out to the sea. "He knows we're from the North. He can tell from our accents. It was him who said he ferried Ned and Jeyne."
Jon felt his eyes grow wide. "Ferry them?"
"Yes, to King's Landing. He knows of the ship who took them to Braavos. Said he knows the captain himself."
"Then we must hear what he has to say." Jon gripped the wooden railings. "Can we trust him, though?"
"Of course not." James had his hands hidden in the sleeves of his robes. His hair was short and wet, his face so clean, that Jon thought he looked like a young man. "But I was so intrigued by his story that I had to bring you to hear."
Jon nodded. "Mayhaps he has something else to tell us. Mayhaps the captain told him of where Ned and Jeyne are in the city."
"No." James shook his head. "All we can hope is that my son still ferries cargo for Salladhor Saan. I just want to know who this captain is so we may find him in Braavos."
"Should Delleno know him." Jon sighed and so did James. The drunk had not left the bellies of the ship since they departed White Harbor. All he did was drink his wine, vomit it up, and drink again. He was not a man of many words due to his timid nature. The man our whole trip depends on, Jon thought. He hadn't even told him where they plan to go once they're within the city. Delleno claimed to know where the faithful were hiding, yet had told them nothing of their whereabouts in detail. Jon trusted the man's cunning seeing as he was still alive, but even then he had his doubts. For who else could they depend on?
"If only Arya were here," Jon swore almost in a whisper. It was loud enough for James to hear. "She knows this city well. She would have helped us."
"Would have," said James. "She can't now. Her son is the Hand to Stannis, and her husband is a lord of the court. Arya wouldn't risk their lives—and she wouldn't for Ned now after what he's done."
Jon knew he was right. "I don't think she wishes death upon him," he had to say. "Arya loved Ned a lot, if I remember."
"Loved." James sighed. "No matter. It's best we don't linger on about them, Robb. Come." For a moment Jon did not remember but then he did. Robb, my name is Robb now. It felt good to hear his son's name out loud.
What did him no good, however, was seeing the captain of the ship handling the steer with a wineskin in his hand. The ships steer moved swiftly in his hand as if they were made for it, and snowflakes landed in the man's dark hair. Jon could smell the wine on him like a putrid smell. He couldn't believe his daughter's life was in this man's hands.
James approached him with his hands in his sleeves. "Are we making good time?"
"Very good," the captain replied. He gave Jon a curt nod of hello. "We shall be upon the shores of Braavos in no time. If the gods grant us good weather, that is."
Jon closed the distance and asked, "Do you travel much to Braavos?"
"King's Landing, mostly," the captain told them. "Not too long ago I transported a couple of Starks there. Lord Eddard, was one of them, and another with red hair. Saw them kissing, those two. The whole crew did." He gave another laugh and took a drink.
Jon did not have time to imagine his words. He didn't think Jeyne that bold; where were the courtesies Sansa had taught her? "You saw two Starks?" James asked in a hurry, as if the act had already been broken. Jon felt they had to tread carefully, here. "When?"
"Moons ago," the captain told them. "They were on a mission to see the King." He stared James up-and-down. "Heard they escaped King's Landing, however. Lord Eddard turned out to be a traitor and that red head girl with him. A shame. She was quite the sweet gal." He took another drink as if he was reminiscing on his time spent with them.
"Have you heard of where in Braavos they went?" Jon asked him.
"Not a word," replied the captain. "I know the man who took them there, though. A good captain."
Jon felt a sudden urge to leap forward at such news. Should they find this captain, then they could know where Jeyne and Ned might have headed within the city? He knew there was a sense of urgency which was quite plain in his breast, and by the looks of it James was feeling it as well. They both huddled about the captain, looking around at the crew who were just busy minding the ship.
It was James who proceeded forward with this questioning. "Where can we find this captain?" he asked in a whisper.
"Most likely in Braavos," the captain said. Even with them on both of his sides the man did not flinch. All he did was hold the steer and keep his eyes forward. The waves could be heard crashing alongside the hull. "He goes from King's Landing to Braavos, but he likes to stay in the city for long periods of time before crossing the sea again. I reckon with the weather the way it is he'll stay in Braavos a bit longer. His ship is large with markings alongside the hull such as the Titan of theirs."
"Good to know," said Jon this time. "We just want to know how to find him."
The captain chuckled. "Not hard. He most likely keeps to the ship and fishermen's square, but…" He eyed them curiously. "With two brown brothers such as yourselves, pardon me asking, why are you so curious about these two and the captain?"
Jon felt his nerves rise and he gulped a stone; James did, too, he could see and both shared a glance. We must tread carefully, here. "Everyone is a child to the Father above," James said quickly.
"Pardon me, if I offended." The man stuttered as he spoke. "I was just curious as to why you'd ask so many questions seeing as your men of the cloth."
"We were entrusted by our superior to help our followers in Braavos," said Jon now. "If that means those two, as well, then, so be it. Let's say our orders come from the Father and other authorities." He gave the captain a knowing look. If we instill the fear in him, he'll no longer ask.
The captain nodded. "Not my place to question the orders of holy men. I don't want no trouble with the gods. They're the ones which keep me safe across the sea and into my wife's arms."
"May the Father watch over you," Jon blessed him. He was hoping James did not reveal too much, but how else would the man believe them? Come up with some lie that a brown brother would not tell? They had to play the part.
"And Seven blessings to you." The captain took a nervous drink. "You two aren't right in the head to go there, I reckon. The red god has it out for the seven faces of god."
"So we've heard," James said smoothly. "But what have we to fear with the Father watching over us?"
"I'd fear their fires…" The captain sounded ominous as he spoke. "Fires which consume the hearts of men; they say their shouts can be heard through the night as the red priests chant their prayers. You're going into a place filled with danger. You're both mad."
We are mad, Jon thought. It was this knowledge which filled his breast with fear. So many things could go wrong while they were in Braavos. Jon didn't have the slightest clue how they were to find Ned and Jeyne, but this captain filled them with hope after learning about the one which ferried them across the Narrow Sea. Yet how were they to find him? It was the question which came to his mind. James nor Jon could just go to the docks during the day dressed as they were, and gods knew if the captain was even there to begin with. Jon could only feel hopeless in these times.
Feeling a bit of fear in his breast, Jon was glad James broke off the conversation with the captain. "We must find Delleno," James said as they walked onto the deck; it was slick with the sea and melted snowflakes. Men were pulling on the masts, shouting grunts, curses, and orders. The wind billowed into the sails filling them with girth. "He may know of where to find this captain," his brother-cousin went on.
"He might," Jon replied. They moved down onto the lower deck and he said, "Do you think the captain suspects something?"
James shook his head. "I fear his sailors more so. The answer we gave, although not our best, was mayhaps one he would expect from two brown brothers. I am not supposed to be who I am, Robb."
Jon could only nod and look about. Sailors who would man the ship at night were asleep in their hammocks and the ship cried as it moved about the waves. It was the only sound which could be heard besides the swaying of the hammocks and the light snores of men; yet there was one loud enough to break them all.
"He's been drinking again," James complained and they moved past the hammocks. Some men slept with open mouths and others with their limbs sprawled about.
"It's all he ever does," said Jon. "The wine flows plenty with the captain drinking and this man has something to hide."
"I thought the same." The sounds of Delleno grew closer. "As if he's trying to bury something under all that wine."
Delleno was vomiting his drink in a corner of the deck uttering words that Jon had learned from Maester Willem in the turret. He was praying, perhaps, Jon thought, but they were just words associated with asking the Mother for her mercy. Was it a hymn? Jon didn't know. All he could listen to was the sounds of the vomit other than his thoughts. The sailors stayed away from Delleno and didn't like the man's nature. Because of his affinity for drink, Delleno did not make an attempt to help handle the ship, and that earned their contempt. Part of Jon felt bad for this man; he could understand being shunned by his fellow peers for his nature. His name was Snow, once.
The drunk continued with his mutterings and hymns. James and he exchanged glances. Could he be of our faith? Part of Jon did not want to believe it. Faith turns a man strong, as some would say, and he couldn't see how a man such as Delleno could cling to the Seven being the way he was. Jon didn't know.
Raising his face up with vomit smeared down the sides of his mouth, Delleno turned on them a glance of pain. The sun was setting behind the grey sky, so the lanterns below deck made his eyes shimmer in the gloom whilst the shadows danced upon them. Vomit tingled Jon's nostrils and he looked down to see his boots nowhere near it. Delleno did not pay them any mind and gave them that awkward smile of his. The smile which did not give them too much comfort and was borne of cowardice. It left a bad taste in Jon's mouth, although part of him still felt for the man.
James bent down to get a better look at him. "I heard the hymns you were uttering, Delleno. I'm going to ask you a question, okay?"
Delleno nodded and James asked, "Are you, or are you not, a man of the Seven? Do you still follow the faith?"
Delleno shook his head vigorously; Jon swore he could see bits of vomit fling about as he did. Some of the Braavosi sailors rose from their hammocks to prepare for the night's duties but paid them no mind. What Jon did not understand is why Delleno decided to withhold his faith, should he still look to the Seven for guidance? They were brown brothers, or at least pretended to be, so why not confide in them? Jon figured that mayhaps he feared being handed over to the red priests should they learn of his faith. He certainly knew the words.
"Why do you lie to us?" James asked him. "We mean you no harm. We just want to know if you can help us…"
"We seek a follower of our faith." Jon came closer to the man. "He's a very important man, some say." He looked to James who gave a nod of approval. It was best this drunk thought they were looking for one instead of two. Eddard would lead them to Jeyne. He doubted she'd ever leave his side unless the gods themselves separated them. "We need to know if we can trust you, Delleno."
"Which means we must be honest with one another," James went on. "Are you, or are you not who you say you are?"
"I do not follow the Seven!" the man almost shouted in contempt. "No, I do not!" He flailed his arms about as if the notion disgusted him. "I-I do not deserve…" he whispered.
"Deserve what?" asked Jon.
"I do not follow!" he shouted again.
James nodded. "Fine, we believe you. Just tell us if you know where the fishermen's market is?"
"Yes, I do!" the drunk was happy to exclaim. "I-I know where that is."
"Good." James sighed. "Now, we need to know if you can go there upon our arrival to find a man."
He shook his head. "No, no. You cannot go. They'll find and kill you."
"Not us," Jon said, "you. We need you to find a ship captain who might have some information."
His face turned to fear. "I'm not sure…"
"If you are not a follower of the Seven," said James, "then why are you afraid?"
Delleno nodded. "You-you are right! I will do this for you, yes." He nodded vehemently. "Yes, yes, I will, after we find the village—the villagers…"
"Yes, the villagers." James shared a look of worry with Jon. In the gloom it was easy for one to see it in his silver eyes. "We'll leave you to rest, Delleno."
Jon stood up with James to make for their hammocks. "I do not believe him," his brother-cousin was first to say. "I think he's hiding something."
"Such have been my thoughts as of late. It feels as if he's burying something horrible under all that wine."
"I agree." James looked younger in the gloom. "Upon our arrival we must speak to these villagers, but not lose sight of why we're really there."
Jon nodded. "Yes, I know. Do you really think it's smart to send him to find the ship captain?"
"Who else but him do we have?" James sighed. "Our Braavosi is okay, at best, Jon, but this man knows the language."
"Certainly a ship captain who frequents King's Landing can speak the Common Tongue, Brandon."
"Yes, I know, but we cannot go, Robb. We wear brown robes, have no other clothes, and one look at us…silver eyes, dark hair; we are Starks, it's plain to see. A spy for Stannis would see that."
What must we do, then? "And leaving our villagers could pose a problem. We cannot leave them. I'm sure a king holds more promise than a red priest; and Stannis is not lopping heads off those who follow the Seven. We must be swift."
James sighed. "Yes, we must. I do not plan on staying there for long. We must act quickly upon our arrival."
They laid on each hammock, across from each other. Jon slept in his robes because he figured a brown brother would never part from them. James, on the other hand, stripped down to the tunic and cotton breeches he wore under them. They were too itchy, he said, to be worn for sleep. Jon didn't mind; he had been through much worse in life.
"We cannot act too quick." Jon nestled in the hammock and it sunk under his weight. "Remember, Brandon, that although we are nervous it's our mission to protect the faith."
"Protect Ned and Jeyne, you mean." James rolled onto his side. "We will find them, Robb, that we will. I know it's just a matter of time."
Yes, Jon thought, a matter of time. Silence filled his ears and the sounds of the moment filled the void. Soon the sleep took him.
A/N: A short chapter. Next they will arrive in Braavos.
