The Narrow Sea

298 AC

TWANG!

The pale, milky white blade of Dawn had clashed against the smoky, midnight black blade of Longclaw in the exciting exchange of blows.

Cling!

Clang!

Ting!

Jon Stark watched on as both of his uncles danced back and forth upon the top deck of their ship. Today, the weather was incredibly lovely, and the ship was gently swaying side to side with the light waves that crashed against the white steel hull.

As always, the two of them had gotten up before dawn and had gone to the prow of the ship to conduct their duel. On schedule, they'd be arriving in Pentos later today. Which meant they could get away with working themselves to their limits as they'd soon have access to baths.

Yet, despite their isolation, both men had managed to gather a bit of a crowd from the men who were eating their breakfast, or those not currently on duty with manning the ship.

Jon himself had not even been spared from having to perform the monotonous tasks and duties of keeping the Waking Serpent in absolute peak condition. The dullest (and quite possibly most dangerous) part had been when he and a few of the men had been ordered to mop the entire deck. Something which they still had to do even during a storm. Checking their provisions and painstakingly counting through every single portion of food or how many barrels of fresh, clean water they had left had also made Jon want to bash his own head against the wall.

But when he had to climb the masts and haul various ropes, to either tie up or let loose one of the sails… Those particular moments would always be the highlights of this voyage…

Those wonderful little bites of the journey when he'd feel as if he was standing on top of the world itself. When he could gaze out onto the Narrow Sea and just look at how small everything was.

In a way, it was… freeing. Instantly, the other mind-numbing duties he had to perform weren't so bad after all.

As a matter of fact, even Jon deeply preferred counting barrels and mopping the pine decks of this ship to the mountainous stacks of paper that probably awaited him back in Queenscrown.

There was little hope in Gerold taking that load off his back. The older man wouldn't dare make things easy for him. Something which Jon was absolutely thankful for.

That didn't mean it wasn't a pain in the ass sometimes.

He found himself coming back to watching both his uncles and their deadly whirl of flashing blades. It was clear to see that both of them made complete novices out of everyone watching at that moment. Even Jon, who had trained under The Sword of the Morning himself, could tell that he was only a lowly ant watching titans duel it out.

It was a duel. One might've mistaken their clash of blades for actual battle. And they would've been right. The difference was that both Arthur and Starag's control of their weapons was masterful to the point that their swords were extensions not only of their bodies but their minds as well.

More often than not, however, it was uncle Arthur who won these duels. Occasionally, Starag would get the better of him, but only on certain occasions. There were absolutely manufactured victories at times, so as to make Starag overconfident in their next bout. Arthur was evil like that.

But there was something strange about this one sparring match in particular that gave Jon an odd itch. Like something was… off. Not necessarily in a bad way, but the energy with how his uncles fought was… different.

Jon Stark was no pushover in the training yard himself. He could best most men far older than himself, but with all the technique that he knew, Jon would never dream of putting himself in the same class as his uncles.

Both men were experienced battle-hardened monsters. Jon may not have been on their level, but by now, he was good enough to recognize the subtle differences between experts.

And right now, it seemed as if the whole energy of the duel had shifted towards his uncle Starag.

This had only been the second duel Jon had witnessed since he arrived at Winterfell almost two moons prior. The first had been brief and had been a draw due to lack of time.

But this one? It was plain as day just how much faster Starag was than Arthur.

Jon would've been able to tell if Arthur was faking another defeat. And so would Starag at this point, as well. No, this change in speed was genuine. And Jon Stark didn't know why.

"Strange, isn't it?"

Jon had nearly jumped off the barrel he was sitting on. The hot porridge in his bowl had jumbled softly, fresh steam breaking from the cracks in the barley and oats. He looked over his shoulder to find the owner of the intruding voice.

Marwyn had stood just a few feet away, staring at the ensuing duel, completely enraptured in the violent and swift clashing of swords. At the same time, Jon knew that the Archmaester was addressing him.

It was not that Jon Stark disliked the stout and short Maester. In fact, Marwyn was a rather interesting man to be around. He liked to tell stories and embellished versions of history. Not to mention, he was quite funny at times.

But then there were moments when he'd become completely tunnel-focused on something… Jon knew it was because whatever he had seen, had fascinated him to no end.

Some habit of Maesters, no doubt.

"What are you talking about?" Jon asked the older man. He followed Marwyn's brown eyes to the duel. Starag was forcing Arthur back onto the defense. "The swordplay?"

"No." Marwyn had shaken his head. That was when he looked over at Jon, though his eyes were apologetic. "Well, not that it isn't impressive to see two masters of the sword at work. I meant the rather outstanding ability for the human body to adapt and change in real-time."

Jon had raised a curious eyebrow. He had no interest in the sciences, but he'd picked up some of it from Margaery, who loved pretty much anything inside of a book. But now of all times, he couldn't be bothered to remember any of it.

Marwyn continued, almost sensing Jon's curiosity. "I assume before all of this, that Starag would lose more often than not to Arthur. Am I correct?"

Jon nodded instantly. "Yes. What about it?"

The Archmaester had snickered to himself and came closer. He nodded his head towards the blur of Valyrian Steel and milky white. "It would only make sense. Strength is important to a swordsman, yes. But it is speed that is the deciding factor on whether or not one lives or dies on the battlefield."

Almost as if Starag had heard Marwyn's commentary, he had immediately seen Arthur's next follow-up lunge perhaps half a second sooner than expected. Jon watched amazed as his mountainous uncle pivoted on his right foot and bashed Dawn out of the way, nearly throwing Arthur off balance.

Jon saw the face of his Kingsguard. Arthur was perspiring a little. A bead of sweat rolled down his left temple as he turned towards Starag.

It could've just been the warm weather after all. Perhaps they just needed to get more practice in.

"What do you know about the Others?" Marwyn had asked him then. Almost immediately skewering Jon's attention into two different directions.

"Not much," Jon admitted. He'd never fought them before. Had never seen one in his life. "Only that they're the reason we're out here. And that they command an army of dead men."

Marwyn nodded. "True. On both counts." He pursed his lips as he paused. As if contemplating whether or not he should divulge what he was about to say next. "Your uncle told me as much as he could about them. Said they were living, breathing creatures just like us. But… Much different than us. Not human, necessarily speaking."

"What are you getting at?" Jon asked, impatient. What in the Seven Hells was this old man going on about?

The Archmaester held his staff tighter in his grip. "The Other that Starag had fought had been inhumanly fast. So fast that it had nearly overwhelmed him, nearly killed him." Marwyn said. "It is when our lives are on the line that we see the most change in ourselves. We had developed over centuries across time to quickly adapt to our circumstances, so we could survive and procreate. Humans are deceptively strong creatures…"

Jon Stark did not consider himself an expert on this matter, but as he piled together the older man's words and aloud thoughts… It had soon begun to come together. "You're saying that since uncle Starag had fought an Other, a creature much stronger and faster than himself, his body would adapt as a result?"

Marwyn nodded with a smile. "More or less. His reflexes would certainly see the need to sharpen themselves. They'd need to incase he came face-to-face with the Others again." He nodded once again to the duel. "As the saying goes; what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Right then, Jon Stark had looked back to the fast-paced trading of strikes and lunges. Starag had seen Arthur's side lunge much sooner than Dayne had anticipated and sidestepped as to let the strike go through. At the last second, Arthur realized just what had happened, but he was too late to stop it. A blindingly fast yet heavy blur of smoky black Valyrian Steel had slammed down just above Dawn's crossguard, the sheer force making Dayne drop his family sword.

Dawn had clattered to the pinewood deck, making small cuts into the floorboards as the blade tumbled against it. The milky white blade glowed brightly against the dark brown wood.

All the while, murmurs had spread among the men present who had watched the whole affair.

The two men standing in the middle of the ship had ignored them. Starag held Longclaw to Arthur's throat for a second, while the Sword of the Morning had stood there astonished. Soon enough, however, a hearty grin had broken out across Arthur's face. One that read of total and absolute pride.

"Yield."

Jon Stark looked back to Marwyn wondering if the man really was a wizard as the rumors said. How in the Seven Hells had he seen Starag's victory?

"As I said," The Mage tapped his forehead with a knowing smile. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Or faster in this case."

As the Archmaester walked away, Jon watched his back, absolutely speechless.

Perhaps, there was little he knew about the world at all.

They had arrived at the Free City of Pentos a few hours later.

Upon seeing the shimmering blue water of the golden harbor, Starag Mormont had immediately set about dividing up duties between the men on board.

Wendel would take a party of ten to go and find food and provisions in the markets. They needed more fresh water as well since the trip from Braavos had taken up most of their good drinking water. The weather itself wasn't helping either.

More often than not, Mormont hadn't needed to wear anything less than a shirt due to the hot and sticky southern air on this side of the Narrow Sea. It was almost like King's Landing, but worse because Mormont himself was in charge of navigating. As such, he'd needed to be at the ship's wheel more often than not.

By this point, he had acquired a tan rivaling that of his close friend Oberyn Martell. Mormont had chuckled, realizing that their positions were now reversed in a way. Oberyn was likely somewhere in the Riverlands, while Mormont was sailing down the western coast of Essos with his efficient crew.

Which he could largely thank Arthur for. Dayne served as the ever-diligent quartermaster, and he'd run both the men and the ship like a military operation. Strict punishments, speed and quality of execution, and an almost frightening level of efficiency.

As such, they had arrived in the Bay of Pentos and had landed at the Blue Harbor perhaps an hour before midday.

Mormont had seen the war galleys docked in the harbor as well, but they were nothing impressive. Not like what he'd seen in Braavos, with the innumerable amount of ships that were docked and housed within various storehouses lined along Sellagoro's Shield.

Pentos was often regarded as the most vulnerable of the Nine Free Cities. Despite the high, impenetrable stone walls surrounding the city, Mormont knew that even with a hundred men or so, he could take this city in a day.

Were he in such a mood right now, he could probably make it happen with the seventy men onboard his ship. Not that he would, but the thought had crossed his mind.

And besides, Mormont figured he wouldn't have much trouble with the Pentoshi themselves. They were kind to foreigners. Had to be. If they got into trouble, it was unlikely that they would be saved by any other of the Free Cities.

It was just after noon when Mormont had been walking the wide stone brick streets with Arthur, Jon, Marwyn, and a few men-at-arms.

Sigmund had not taken well to the large cloistered city districts in Braavos. He was not used to so many people being focused in one place at a time. City life and wildlings were not exactly the most cohesive mixture.

If needed, Sigmund would leave the Waking Serpent, especially if there were heads that needed to be bashed in. Otherwise, Mormont would not force the man to leave. Besides, he and the wildlings were far better at crewing a ship than he had expected. They would care for the Serpent like it was their own child.

As their party walked the wide stone streets, passing by numerous market stalls filled with fresh exotic fruits from Yi Ti and the Summer Islands, Mormont had begun hearing a sort of echoing drumming sound throughout the city. A sound that permeated around the tall square buildings and high walls.

Soon enough they came upon the source of the overbearingly loud music.

Once they had come upon the Street of Gold, the main route that led to the rich manses in the city as well as to the Sunrise Gate, they had found practically all of the citizens of the city itself carrying out a celebration of some sorts.

People of all walks of life had dancing and sang along with the drumming music. Rich floats upon large wooden wheels had slowly made their way along with the crowd down the street.

Even the nobility themselves had taken part, though strains were taken to ensure they stood out from those less fortunate. They were atop their mounts, or even sitting on their own luxurious floats, sipping wines and eating the finest fruits.

"Must be that time of year." Marwyn snickered to himself. Though Mormont and the others had glanced at him as if he knew something they didn't. Which he probably did.

The Archmaester had relented. "It's just a week-long celebration or so. Happens every year. Something to do with the Prince of Pentos and some courtesans."

Mormont smiled as he recalled a stray fact. "Something to do with him deflowering two maids, isn't it?"

Marwyn nodded his appreciation. "Right. The Maid of the Fields and the Maid of the Sea. This deflowering of them both brings prosperity and good fortune to the people of Pentos by land and sea."

"And does it actually bring good fortune?" Jon asked the Maester with a curiously raised eyebrow.

"Wouldn't know. I'm not Pentoshi."

It was then that they saw the head of the large caravan of people. Laying back inside a rather wealthy-looking palanquin was an older man wearing a fine doublet of white-gold and sinew-red. On either side of him were two young women, both of whom looked as if they were ready to attach themselves to the man's hips for life.

"Say what you want. They know how to have a good time." Mormont said. He looked back to his current company. "Let's get on. I'm hungry."

They had gone out onto the Street of Gold, and Mormont had decided instead to walk through the crowd in the opposite direction of the flowing stream of dancing and laughing people.

Behind him, the others had managed to keep up. Though it was fairly easy to be distracted by the flashing rainbow of colors, the elegant face painting and symbols on the dancer's faces, and the general atmosphere itself; wild, unrepressed enjoyment.

The sheer opulence of the whole parade itself was completely lost on Jon, as Mormont soon found out. The boy had not ever been accustomed to all of the lively and thronging behavior of the people now around him.

As they passed by another float on large wooden wheels, this one filled to the brim with various talented bards who strummed their lutes or beat their hands down on drums. There were also plenty of dancing courtesans in flowing, frilly dresses, their bodies contorting and sighing along perfectly with the music. Mormont wouldn't deny the beauty of Pentoshi women. He'd watched the lewd movements and saw their wanting eyes as they found him walking through the crowd.

Jon had been the closest to the float, and just before it had passed them completely, one of the courtesans had reached down and pulled the collar of Jon's tunic towards her, almost like a jailor would when accompanying a prisoner.

Mormont watched on with a grin as the girl pulled Jon towards her and kissed him firmly on the lips, the boy's legs somehow moving along with the wheels of the float.

They separated an instant later, and Mormont saw the girl- who was perhaps only a few years older than Jon- giggle and smile at a now beet-red fifteen-year-old. She waved at the boy and blew him a kiss as the float continued on its journey in the opposite direction as them.

Jon Stark had stood on the same spot for the next few seconds, absolutely dumbstruck at what just happened and not really knowing what to think about it.

Mormont had decided to save the boy his embarrassment. For now at least. Later, he'd tease him to no end. "Jon. Let's go."

Those gray orbs had damned near turned violet as Jon had looked back at him. His long pale face was still blushing red. "B-But-" he pointed back at the float that had passed by.

"Come. Let's find a place to put our heads down in the evening first."

The boy had nodded and slowly continued walking with them up the Street of Gold. But occasionally, Mormont would still catch the boy looking back at the float, probably wondering if the girl was still waving at him or something like that.

Mormont laughed to himself. From Pentos with love, it seems.

The late morning had turned to the early afternoon by the time they'd found a worthy establishment in the richer part of the city.

The Blue Mermaid was definitely one of the finer taverns that Mormont had ever been to. The staff had the professionalism of a group of hardened mercenaries, and the beds were soft and cool on his tanned skin.

And then there had been the food.

Mormont had quickly taken to the portions of spiced chicken laden with herbs and a creamy orange sauce. Along with the fresh, flat bread and rice, he soon found himself a content and happy man. If only for the evening.

With not much else to do for the rest of the day, they had opted to play cards. The experience had livened up as soon as Wendel had gotten back from securing their supplies for their continued voyage.

The fat man had immediately ordered a cask of ale to be brought for their table and had sat down at the large round table with a fistful of gold dragons in his hand. "Ha! Today is the day Wendel Manderly cleans you lot out once and for all!"

"You lost all your gold last night," Arthur said with an amused shake of his head. He shuffled the cards with the same dexterity and skill as he would when holding his sword. "Did you have more stashed away on the ship?"

Manderly twirled his mustache in contemplation. "Err… No." He lied. Probably. "You forget, Arthur! I had taken some coins off of you two nights ago! I am simply using what I have left. For why would I ever have gold kept safely hidden on our ship, hmmm?"

Mormont shared a brief knowing glance with Arthur, who tossed out a gold dragon as the small blind, while Marwyn had contributed two as the big blind. Wendel's hidden bank of gold was rarely important.

Once all the cards had been dealt out, Mormont had scooped up the two cool flat pieces of paper in front of him and pulled them close. With a scrutinizing eye, he looked at the pair in his hands.

A Dragon of Clubs, and the seven of hearts. Not exactly a winning hand, but he wouldn't dare give his disappointment away. He glanced at the other players around the table in order to see their reactions.

Arthur's bemused expression from earlier had melted away completely. Now he was as blank as the statues in Winterfell's crypt. Perfect poker face.

Wendel had also done the same, but his left eye was twitching slightly. It only did that whenever he had something good, or above average.

Marwyn had also given nothing away. His face was entirely devoid of feeling, or expression. Even his eyes seemed misty and empty as if he were a dead corpse.

It was Jon who had caught Mormont's eye. The boy seemed troubled judging by the tightly-knit eyebrows on his forehead. He looked distracted, and his face was still partially red from when he'd been kissed earlier during the parade in the Street of Gold.

Mormont's suspicions were confirmed when Jon reached up with his hand to smoothen back his head of black curls. It was a comforting gesture. One that stuck out like a prostitute inside the Great Sept of Baelor. Is he embarrassed because she liked him, or…

His mind began to work while each player took their turn. Mormont knew that his hand was less than ideal, but it was still early days. As such, he raised the current bet to three gold dragons, which was also called Wendel. It was Jon who had lagged briefly, seeming to shake out of his reverie and call the bet as well.

In response, Arthur had taken the deck, drawn three cards, and placed them down on the table. He'd also matched the bet along with Marwyn.

In the middle of the table lay the Dragon of Hearts, the four of spades, and the King of Diamonds.

Not bad… Mormont thought. Could be better. So far he only had a pair of Dragons. Definitely better than average, but he had the distinct feeling that someone else at the table held something higher.

If another Dragon had somehow found its way onto the table, then Mormont knew that the game would be his for the taking. But the chance was slim if anything. For all he knew, the other players held the other Dragon cards…

But that didn't mean they knew what was in his hand.

"Check," Arthur said. He tapped his hand against the sleek wooden table.

Marwyn also wrapped his knuckles against the table. He had a good enough hand to continue, but not well enough to raise the bet.

Mormont knew that the winning hand was either being held by Wendel, or by Arthur. Potentially even by Jon. He decided to bet on his own odds though. It was time to play his opponents rather than his cards.

He picked up two more gold dragons from his pile and tossed them out into the middle. "Raise."

The other players had looked up from their cards to look at him. Mormont didn't care what they saw, only that they knew he meant business.

Wendel quickly matched his raise, which practically gave away that he held a more than impressive hand. Mormont would have to watch out for that one.

All eyes went directly onto Jon, who seemed torn between playing the game at hand and whatever else was on his mind at the moment. It was the kind of troubled look that Mormont knew well. So it is about that girl…

The boy also matched the bet. Meanwhile, Arthur flipped down another card in the middle of the table; the Queen of Diamonds. Dayne soon matched the previous bet and raised another two gold dragons.

"Seems like you lot know something I don't." Marwyn tossed his cards into the middle, folding.

Mormont was not about to be shown up at his own game. He took Arthur's two gold dragons and raised him further by three more.

Now the game was getting very interesting. Starag had even managed to see a bead of sweat roll down Wendel's right temple as he contemplated the state of the game.

"Bet." Manderly threw in another five gold dragons, so as to match both Arthur and Mormont. He added shakily. "I told you, my friends! Today is the day that Wendel Manderly wins back his gold!"

Jon had pursed his lips with a deep-set frown. He eyed the four cards in the center of the table and glanced back precariously at his own hand. Mormont knew that something was weighing on the boy, even as he perched his hand against the side of his head.

"Bet." Jon had said. He matched with five of his own gold dragons.

Arthur had burned the card on top of the deck and turned the last one. It was a blessing in disguise, the Dragon of Diamonds.

Three-pair for Mormont. Bloody hell… But what about the others?

"Alright, time to play." Arthur gestured to the rest of them to flip their cards. "Flip over." Dayne was the first. He showed his decent enough King of Hearts along with the four of hearts. Two-pair was solid enough.

Mormont showed his Dragon of Clubs and his seven. He was now fairly confident in his hand.

But that confidence had been quickly squashed by the two cards in Wendel Manderly's grasp. With a boisterous smile, the fat man slammed his cards onto the wooden table with furious gusto. "Haha!" He pointed at the two. The Dragon of Spades and the King of Clubs. "I win!"

Jon had sighed through his teeth and tossed out his own cards. The Queen of Spades and the Knight of Clubs. Had a ten been played, the boy would've made a straight and stolen the game from Manderly.

Yet Jon hadn't even been angry that he'd lost. It sounded more like he was angry at himself for getting twisted up in his thoughts. The same exasperated sigh that Ned would give when he was pouring over a big decision.

"Something the matter, Jon?" Mormont had asked from across the table. Despite their habits and a shared love of cards, Mormont wasn't about to have a single man on his ship be distracted from the mission at hand. They could lose a game or two of poker and be fine. Valyria would not be so forgiving.

Jon had waved a hand aside and gave him a delicate grin in return. "Nothing, uncle. Just some worries of mine with Queenscrown." He lied.

"Hmmm." Mormont gave an understanding nod. Obviously, the boy didn't want to be called out in front of everyone else. He probably knew that both Mormont and Arthur would have no qualms against sending him back to White Harbor if something were wrong.

Probably confused as to what he'd tell Margaery… Mormont figured. The boy had been raised by Ned Stark, who was far more pious in his marriage than Mormont had been. No doubt that kiss had embarrassed him in more ways than one.

We'll have to make sure that's changed once this is all over.

If there was one thing Starag Mormont was sure of, it was that if they all managed to make it out of Valyria alive, he's see to it that each and every one of these men's lives would turn out for the better.

And that included Jaehaerys Targaryen as well.