Jon
He had sent the word ahead to King's Landing when they left Volantis. He is coming with a huge host at his back. He has done what his King wanted him to do. He has succeeded in the duty King Rhaegar had entrusted onto him. He had done the hardest part and now all he had to do was to race North to King's Landing and put down the War of the Wolf for good. If it had been to him Jon would have set sail for the Seven Kingdoms right away, but the Essosi were made of different stock. Rhaegar Targaryen would be expecting them, but the masters and magisters were more concerned with the ships and the men they had lent him that none wanted to lose their goods before making the gold out of it.
They had made another stop, this time at Tyrosh to rest and gather supplies and to make sure the winds are in their favour. The command came down from Illyrio and his friends, through their captains and the serjeants. "Its not that them northern savages are wrapping their had around your King's city, swords raised to cut his head," said Illyrio when Jon told him to urge moving forward. "We'll get provisions in Tyrosh, maybe some fresh horses, then it will be on to Westeros to deal with this Andrew Stark. Rush across the seas quick without watching the wind, and our journey might end before we could even start it and King Rhaegar might not have the army he hoped to have."
Fortunately his own ship had been one of the first to reach their destination, along with half a hundred ships along with it, bringing in the huge host which might liberate the Seven Kingdoms off it's rebellious plague. Then it had only been a matter of establishing a campsite, assembling his men as they came ashore and moving quickly, making preparations to set sail as soon as he can. And there the Unsullied had proved their mettle. The chaos that would inevitably have delayed such a march with a hastily assembled host of household knights and local levies had been nowhere in evidence. These lot were as disciplined as they could come.
In Westeros Jon Connington had been the Hand of the King, but here in the eastern edge of the world he was only another commander in the command of Illyrio Mopatis and his wealthy friends. And so he had no choice but to wait, to gather supplies and watch the winds as Illyrio suggested.
Jon had no notion if that was the true reason they were making the stay. Since signing the deals in the great city of Mereen with all wise masters of Mereen, Astapor and Yunkai, he had been listening less and less to himself and more to these merchants and mummers with their dyed hairs and oiled beards. But he had to have their support if he wanted to win this war for his King. Rhaegar Targaryen depended upon him and Jon would not fail him.
At least they had stirred enough to leave from Astapor with the Unsullied quick enough. Jon was glad to put Astapor behind him. The Red City was the closest thing to hell he ever hoped to know. The sights that he had seen riding down those red brick streets would haunt Jon Connington forever. A river choked with corpses. The priestess in her torn robes, impaled upon a stake and slaves and children nailed to wooden posts attended by a cloud of glistening green flies. Yet it would be with men from such a city would he be fighting from now on. The way these wise masters treated their enemies would make King Aerys look so little.
From his place on top of the deck of his ship Jon could see the fleet and men loading the docks with wooden crates and planks. When the wind blew from the sea, the air smelled of salt and it was cold. The end of Summer could be felt even here, Jon thought.
The captain of the ship agreed. "Past time," he said, when Jon found him dicing with his crewmates Damon and Nic and Old Bill, and it seemed as if he was losing yet again. The captain was a big man and loved to dice, who bet fearlessly even when he lost. "The cold is in the air, my lord. We should be leaving before the autumn storms could take hold. Do you know when we might be leaving here, my Lord Hand?"
No, he had no idea of that, but he was not about to say that to his men. These men are not from here and they wanted to get back to their home as quick as they can. "Soon."
"We have to get back soon or we might not get back at all," Rykker said. He was wearing a silver mail, heavy and stained with blood and smoke at the chest. He was not wearing any plate now on the ship, but was always ready for a fight with a hand on his sword. Jon's own kit was back in his cabin. There was no need for steel in the company of friends. Or so he hoped.
"Soon," he told them, pushing his fiery red hair out of his face. Jon preferred to spend most of his time with his own men or the other Westerosi in the company. There were other Westerosi in the company, but not many, and he was tired of hearing the foreign languages. "We will make it back soon."
Later that day, freshly garbed and cloaked once more, Connington made an inspection of their camp and sent word to Illyrio and his friends and all his captains to join him for a war council. The Essosi took their time and it was about an hour before they could arrive at his place. Eleven of them assembled in the huge cabin of the Sea Dragon: Jon Connington and Illyrio, good master Kraznys from Astapor, great master Reznak from Mereen and wise master Grazdon from Yunkai. It had taken weeks for Jon to learn their names and he still couldn't manage to learn past a dozen of them. Each of the masters brought their own commanders as well. Yurkhaz zo Yunzak came with Grazdon, Supreme Commander of the Armies of Yunkai. An unsullied in a spiked bronze hat named Grey Worm came with Kraznys of Astapor. Reznak of Mereen was accompanied by Oznak zo Pahl, a callow youth armoured in scales of copper and jet and a pink-and-white silk cloak flowing from his wide shoulders. The lance he bore was fourteen feet long, swirled in pink and white, and his hair was shaped and teased and lacquered into two great curling ram's horns. And lastly the three triarchs of Volantis, tigers all three of them who were more interested in battles and wars than all the others from the east present in the pavilion combined. They owe their seats to King Rhaegar and Jon hoped they better keep their word for all the ends he had gone to put them there. At no time has more than one tiger been named triarch, until Jon had changed it with a couple of daggers in the dark for the elephants who weren't interested in wars.
Magister Illyrio had good tidings even before the Hand of the King started to speak. "Word's reached the camp from Kasporio and Groleo. The way is clear for us to cross and reach ashore to King's Landing." He turned and looked at Jon. "If the winds are good we would be at the city in three days."
At last. He had been waiting for so long to make it back to Westeros. "And what of the rest of the fleet from Volantis?"
"The damned Volantenes are taking their pleasant time to creep onto our positions," said the Tattered Prince who came with Illyrio. "I'll wager you that we've got lads scattered all over from Lys to Volantis." The soft-spoken, sad-eyed Pentoshi nobleman led his company Windblown for Pentos. His hair and mail were silver-grey, but his ragged cloak was made of twists of cloth of many colors, blue and grey and purple, red and gold and green, magenta and vermilion and cerulean, all faded by the sun. When the Tattered Prince was three-and-twenty, as Illyrio told the story, the magisters of Pentos had chosen him to be their new prince, hours after beheading their old prince. Instead he'd buckled on a sword, mounted his favorite horse, and fled to the Disputed Lands, never to return. He had ridden with the Second Sons, the Iron Shields, and the Maiden's Men, then joined with five brothers-in-arms to form the Windblown. Of those six founders, only he survived.
"You need to understand shipping elephants from one side of the world to other takes time," a triarch said. "And most of the company's horses are loaded within our ships as well."
"It's for the better," said Jon Connington. "If we should come upon any enemy fleet or a storm, part of our strength will be unhindered. I expect ravens would soon fly north when they see our fleet in the shores of King's Landing. It would be best if the messages they carry off to Andrew Stark speak of some garbled account of sellswords from the east. Stark would not even see our true strength and we could surprise him when he least expects it."
Even before they had sailed from Volantis, he had instructed his captains to show no banners during these voyages, not until they reach King's Landing. Sooner or later they would come across a ship bound to the White Harbour or Oldtown or Gulltown and that would give them up for the rebels to act against them. If they don't expect a massive army coming from the east, so much the better. The slower the rebels was to react, the longer they would have to push onto them and bleed them out.
"Let them set sail at their own pace," Jon said. "They will join us soon enough. In the meantime, I want half the ships we have here to turn and make for North with all their crew. It is the home of Andrew Stark. If he thinks he could take the lands of King Rhaegar for himself, then I suppose we ought to give him some taste of the same medicine and make him homeless."
"Wait, wait, wait," wise master Kraznys said. "This is not what we agreed upon, brave knight. What we agreed was to meet up with King Rhaegar, finalise our deals and contract and only then does our slaves take their spears to fight for you."
"As you say, master," Jon said, impatient. "Summer is at its end. Autumn is nigh upon us. It is too perilous to cross Shipbreaker Bay and the Narrow sea even in a pleasant day at autumn. We will never cross with the storms upon us."
"They we will cross through land," the Essosi replied.
Wise master, Jon thought, there was nothing wise about that one. Jon cursed at his stupidity and cursed himself for having to treat with these spice merchants and fishmongers. What was he about to do with these men who has never even held a sword in hand before. "If you land an army in the north where the rebels least expect you, while we land another one in the south, the rebels will be caught in between. Then we will have an easy time of destroying Andrew Stark and his allies by trapping them from both the North and the south."
"I don't think that is happening, Lord Hand. . ."
"If it is gold you want you will find a lot in Winterfell," Jon lied. "And it is the King in the North's own home, as it happens. You will have good hostages."
"And good ransoms," said Rykker, happily picking up the ruse.
"It is time we sent word to the King as well," Lord Jon announced. "He should know that we will be reaching King's Landing in a couple of days."
"We can send a word with our fastest ship before us," said Illyrio.
"Has the time come to raise our banners?" asked Rykker.
"Not yet. Should the rebels see us for what we are it would give them the time to act. Let them think that this is no more than some sellswords trying to earn some gold to make their purses fat. An age old story, that and a very common one. And whilst they dither, we will make our move secretly to strike at them unawares." That was the crucial step. If he gave up their positions before he could even get back to Westeros, it will give Stark and his friends to prepare themselves. Only if he could succeed here should they had the power to put down Stark and his allies. "Above all else, we must keep Andrew Stark from moving further close to King's Landing."
"And how do we do that?" asked the Tattered Prince.
"By attacking his own home," Jon said. "He will never move south while his own kingdom is in danger. So to push him back we need to take Winterfell."
"We will do that after we meet up with your king," argued the wise master. "If that is all, I will take my leave. I have to make preparations for voyage ahead of us."
Connington gave the plump master a cool look as he left. This man is barely a man at all. He would wait until all seven hells were frozen if he could rather than risk another bout of blisters. "We did not cross half the world to wait. Our best chance is to strike hard and fast, before the rebels know we are here."
The men in the council all exchanged glances and the masters of the slaver cities walked away without a word.
That put an end to the talks and his war council. Finally when everyone had the King's Hand found himself in the cabin alone with Franklyn Rykker and the ward of Rosby. "Hoping to determine what we should do next, my lord?" Connington asked him.
"Would that I could," Jon sighed.
Fifty thousand men had sailed from Volantis, with all their weapons and horses. Yet he was not so hopeful as he should have been. They should be back at Westeros by now, yet not even all of them had turned up this far at Volantis or near their intended landing site. This was not a fight for them, but another one of their business.
Only a few days ago, he had thought they would be landing on Westeros by now. He had thought to send half their numbers to the North, while the other half comes with him to King's Landing. The northern Lords were fiercely loyal to their King, but with Andrew Stark away with most of the fighting men in the south, everything was changed for the better. Stark was half a world away from his home, and should they take Winterfell he would be homeless once again. All that was left to do was to block his way from the front and back and smash him once and for all. If only these merchants and traders had some sense at all. . . At the very least they had the sense to set sail once again. And it wouldn't take so long to reach Westeros now. When he does he might actually win this war for his King.
"If only these wise and great masters would listen, we could be holding castles and footholds in the North itself within the fortnight," he said. The force that had come with him to Tyrosh itself was strong and large enough to take field against the rebels. If they had set off simultaneously for the seat of House Stark at Winterfell while Jon Connington led the others south to King's Landing the war was good as done. With each force of comparable size attacking simultaneously from the north and the south, the Dragonslayer would have no choice but to yield or to die fighting. Even if by some miracle Andrew Stark managed to survive all that, their numbers would only continue to swell, as more ships were straggling in behind them every day carrying men and horses and elephants.
"They are not so eager to fight," Ser Franklyn said.
"They will be once we pay them good for their support," said Jon Connington. "To win the support of our Essosi friends, we must needs have something to offer them."
"Gold and land are the traditional incentives."
"These merchants, they don't lack for either," Jon said. "Promises of land and promises of gold may suffice for some, but men of such ilk, they don't risk all their ships for some extra pot of gold."
"What are you saying, my lord?" Rykker asked.
"I don't know," Jon admitted. "We won't know until we hear it from themselves when we reach King's Landing." And all through the journey, he would be worried what the Essosi expected from the Iron Throne in return for their support.