Jorah
The most perilous part of the voyage was the last. The Redwyne Straits were swarming with longships, as they had been warned in King's Landing. With the main strength of the Arbor's fleet inland in the port of Oldtown, the few sellsword ships with the direwolf banner streaming from their masts had been attacking every enemy shipping bound for Oldtown to join forces with the Redwyne and Hightower navy.
Thrice longships were sighted by the crow's nest. Two were well astern, however, and the royal navy of King Rhaegar Tadown. The third appeared near sunset, to cut them off from Whispering Sound. When they saw her oars rising and falling, lashing the copper waters white, Ser Jorah Mormont sent his archers to the castles with their great bows of Dornish yew that could send a shaft farther and truer than any normal bows. Only the bows made of dragonbone and the goldenheart tree in the Summer Isles could outreach them. He waited till the longship came within two hundred yards before he gave the command to loose. One volley was all it took. The longship of the sellswords veered south and was caught in between Wolfsbane and Ruby, both of them crushing the galley as if it was some rag doll.
A deep blue dusk was falling as they entered Whispering Sound. Jorah stood beside the prow with the captain of the Dragonborn, the mightiest of the war galleys the new Master of Ships made for House Targaryen. Smaller only to Balerion, the flagship of House Targaryen, the vessel was a formidable foe to anything that comes in its path. Jorah Mormont had never liked Aurane Waters for he spent too much time with Princess Daenerys for his liking, but even he had to admit the bastard of Driftmark made a good job making the ship.
He gazed up at the castle on the cliffs. Three Towers, Jorah knew it, the seat of House Costayne. He had seen it before once, when he came here for his wedding to Lynesse. Etched against the evening stars with torchlight flickering from its windows, the castle made a splendid sight, but he was sad to see it. It reminded him of Lynesse and their miserable marriage.
"It's very tall," said Ed, the captain of the Dragonborn, who'd never seen these lands before.
"Wait until you see the Hightower."
The sellswords had penetrated even to the sheltered waters of Whispering Sound. Come morning, as the Dragonborn continued on toward Oldtown, he began to see other sellsword ships up the stream and drifting down to the sea. Scorched fields and burned villages appeared on the banks, and the shallows and sandbars were strewn with shattered ships. Merchanters and fishing boats were the most common, but they saw abandoned longships too, and the wreckage of two big dromonds. One had been burned down to the waterline, whilst the other had a gaping splintered hole in her side where her hull had been rammed.
"There has been a battle here," said Ed. "Not so long ago."
"I never knew that the wolf boy is so mad as to raid this close to Oldtown."
Ed pointed at a half-sunken longship in the shallows. The remnants of a banner drooped from her stern, smoke-stained and ragged. The charge was one Jorah has been seeing for a few days now: the grey direwolf of House Stark but it was the other one which caught his eyes: the violet rose. "The Company of Rose is here?" Jorah asked. Ed only shrugged.
The next day was cold and misty. As the Dragonborn was creeping past another plundered fishing village, a war galley came sliding from the fog, stroking slowly toward them. Huntress was the name she bore, behind a figurehead of a slender maiden clad in leaves and brandishing a spear. A heartbeat later, two smaller galleys appeared on either side of her, like a pair of matched greyhounds stalking at their master's heels. To Jorah's relief, they flew King Rhaegar black and red three headed dragon banner above the stepped white tower of Oldtown, with its crown of flame.
So Lord Leyton is sporting his King's colors, not his foolish grandson's. My work here might come in quite handy after all, Jorah sighed. Like everyone else at court it was shocking for Jorah Mormont when King Rhaegar chose him to take command of the royal fleet in their voyage to join forces with the Redwyne fleet. He couldn't understand why such an important task was given to a northman like , until Oldtown came into the talk. Unlike the other great houses of the Reach, the Hightowers were close kin to the Starks of Winterfell. Lord Leyton Hightower was the great grandfather of the rebel king Andrew Stark through his mother's side. Lord Leyton had stayed his hands in the wars between the crown and the Outlaw King in the past. For Eddard Stark was married to his granddaughter. Since the return of Stark's son, there has been whispers of how Lord Hightower had been scheming with his grandson against the crown. It was then Jorah was chosen to lead the expedition. King Rhaegar chose him not because of his ability to lead but because he is Lord Leyton's goodson, putting Lord Hightower in a position to choose between his families.
The captain of the Huntress was a tall man in a smoke-grey cloak with a border of red satin flames. He brought his galley in alongside the Dragonborn, raised his oars, and shouted that he was coming aboard. As his crossbowmen and the Hightower archers eyed each other across the narrow span of water, the captain crossed over with half a dozen knights, gave Jorah a nod.
"My apologies," the captain said when he was done with the greetings. "It grieves me that our loyal friends must suffer such discomfort to enter our lands, but sooner that than the rebels in Oldtown. Only a fortnight ago some of those bloody bastards captured a Tyroshi merchantman in the straits. They captured her crew, donned their clothes, and used the dyes they found to color theirs whiskers half a hundred colors. Once inside the walls they meant to set the port and the Redwyne fleet ablaze and open a gate from within whilst we fought the fire. Might have worked, but they ran afoul of the Lady of the Tower, and her oarsmaster has a Tyroshi wife. When he saw all the green and purple beards he hailed them in the tongue of Tyrosh, and not one of them had the words to hail him back."
Jorah was shocked. "They cannot mean to capture Oldtown."
The captain of the Huntress gave him a curious look. "These are no mere sellswords. Half a hundred of their ships afflict us now, sailing out of the Shield Islands and some of the rocks around the Arbor. We couldn't sail for the north leaving them behind. Now that you are here we can deal with them soon enough."
"What is Lord Hightower doing?" Jorah asked. Surely he must be doing something. He was as wealthy as the Lannisters, and could command thrice as many swords as any of Highgarden's other bannermen.
"He is just following our good king's orders," the captain said, "waiting to join our strength with yours."
"The Hightower must be doing something."
"To be sure. Lord Leyton's locked atop his tower with the Mad Maid, consulting books of spells. Might be he'll raise an army from the deeps. Or not. Baelor's building galleys, Gunthor has charge of the harbor, Garth is training new recruits, and Humfrey's gone to Lys to hire sellsails. If he can winkle a proper fleet, we can start moving for the north without worrying a thing. Till then, the best we can do is destroy the enemy fleet at sea before moving anywhere else."
The bitterness of the captain's final words shocked Jorah as much as the things he said. If King's Landing loses Oldtown and the Arbor, the whole realm will fall to pieces, he thought as he watched the Huntress and her sisters moving off.
They reached Oldtown on a cold damp morning, when the fog was so thick that the beacon of the Hightower was the only part of the city to be seen. A boom stretched across the harbor, linking two dozen rotted hulks. Just behind it stood a line of warships, anchored by three big dromonds and Lord Hightower's towering four-decked banner ship, the Honor of Oldtown. Lord Redwyne's fleet had their own place in the port. Lord Leyton's son Gunthor eyed him from the port gate, dressed in a cloth-of-silver cloak and a suit of grey enameled scales. Ser Gunthor was an able man and had studied at the Citadel for several years and spoke different languages, but he had no words for his dishonored goodbrother.
For the first time in the entire journey Jorah Mormont doubted his entire purpose of being there. He was little loved in the Hightower family. They should have sent someone else, not me. But it was him who is here now. Its better to close your eyes and get on with it. Before getting down he took the time to explain his plans to his captain. "First the Hightower, to meet with Lord Leyton. I expect the commander of the Redwyne fleet will be there as well. Then we will talk about sailing to the north as the king instructed."
"Aye, my lord," the captain said and shouted some commands to the crew.
Ser Gunthor gave the signal for the chain to be opened so the royal fleet could slip through the boom to dock. Jorah joined Captain Ed and five of his knights near the gangplank as the war galley was tying up.
Jorah led his knights across the plank, ashore. He hoped he still remembered the way to the Hightower. Oldtown was a maze, and he had no time for getting lost.
The day was damp, so the cobblestones were wet and slippery underfoot, the alleys shrouded in mist and mystery. Jorah avoided them as best he could and stayed on the river road that wound along beside the Honeywine through the heart of the old city. It felt good to have solid ground beneath his feet again instead of a rolling deck, but the walk made him feel uncomfortable all the same. He could feel eyes on him, peering down from balconies and windows, watching him from the darkened doorways. On the Dragonborn he had known every face. Here, everywhere he turned he saw another stranger. Even worse was the thought of being seen by someone who knew him. Jorah Mormont was known in Oldtown, but little loved. He pulled his cloak up and quickened his pace.
Downriver, the distant beacon of the Hightower floated in the damp of night like a hazy orange moon, but the light did little to lift his spirits.
As the early morning's mists burned away, Oldtown took form around him, emerging ghostlike from the morning gloom. Where King's Landing, was a daub-and-wattle city, a sprawl of mud streets, thatched roofs, and wooden hovels. Oldtown was built in stone, and all its streets were cobbled, down to the meanest alley. The city was never more beautiful than at break of day. West of the Honeywine, the Guildhalls lined the bank like a row of palaces. Upriver, the domes and towers of the Citadel rose on both sides of the river, connected by stone bridges crowded with halls and houses. Downstream, below the black marble walls and arched windows of the Starry Sept, the manses of the pious clustered like children gathered round the feet of an old dowager.
And beyond, where the Honeywine widened into Whispering Sound, rose the Hightower, its beacon fires bright against the dawn. From where it stood atop the bluffs of Battle Island, its shadow cut the city like a sword. Those born and raised in Oldtown could tell the time of day by where that shadow fell. Some claimed a man could see all the way to the Wall from the top. Perhaps that was why Lord Leyton had not made the descent in more than a decade, preferring to rule his city from the clouds.
The foundation of the Hightower was a fortress of black stone of uncertain origin on Battle Isle. The stone reminded him of the indestructible Valyrian roads and the Black Walls of Volantis. A possible Valyrian origin of the black stone was supported by the claim of Maester Jellicoe. Jellicoe believed that Oldtown began as a trading post for ships of Valyria,Old Ghis, and the Summer Isles, predating the arrival of the First Men to Westeros. While Septon Barth claimed that Valyrians came to Westeros because their priests prophesied that the Doom of Man would come out of the land beyond the narrow sea and they assisted in building the foundation.
In contrast to the Valyrian theory, Archmaester Quillion in his words suggests that the fortress was made by the mazemakers.
Maester Theron suggests it was created by Deep Ones, citing its similarities to the Seastone Chair of the Iron Islands.
Some smallfolk even believed that the High Tower simply appeared one day and has been there ever since.
The fabled High Tower of the Hightowers itself had stories of its own. The first Hightowers ruled from the ancient black fortress. Dwelling in the chambers of the fortress, the family built a wooden beacon tower rising some fifty feet rising above to light the way for trading vessels in foggy Whispering Sound. Over the years the first "high tower" was followed by taller timber towers.
King Uthor of the High Tower paid for the construction of a stone tower. Some say that this fifth tower, which rose two hundred feet above the harbor and made the castle a seat worthy of a great house, was designed by Bran the Builder, while others say it was by his son, another Brandon. Whichever tale was true, the Hightowers finally had their High Tower worthy enough to be called as the tallest tower in the known world.
The labyrinthine square fortress of unadorned black stone at the castle's foundation contained gloomy halls, vaults, and chambers. To meet with his allies he would have to reach the high hall. He wondered if Lord Leyton would come down from the top of his tower to receive him.
Inside, they were led to the high hall by the steward of the castle. Once inside the doors he found his thoughts going back to Lynesse again.
The high hall was a huge room with a stone floor and high, arched windows. At the far end of the hall a close group of men sat upon the high table on the raised dais, breaking their fast on bacon and eggs. It was Ser Baelor, Lord Leyton's heir who saw him first. Clad in a lush velvet doublet, the future lord of Hightower was as handsome and charming as a prince. Ser Baelor was well known and well loved around Oldtown that it was him who ruled the city for his father for the last decade.
The steward cleared his throat to announce their presence. "My lords, Ser Jorah Mormont and the knights from King's Landing."
"Good morrow," Jorah greeted them when he was finished.
The men glanced up and saw him and his party.
"Come join us," Ser Baelor replied. "We were waiting for you."
Jorah took a seat on the bench and his men followed him.
"Took you long enough to come," said a comely youth in green satin clothes who sat beside Ser Baelor.
"We had troubles on the way."
"Don't tell me that a couple of sellsails managed to hinder the royal fleet." He chewed a crispy bacon.
"No," Jorah replied, "but it takes time to sink the ships which dares to hinder us on the way."
"But not too much like this, I believe."
"Come now Ser Loras, at least our friends from King's Landing helped us by sinking those ships," Ser Baelor said.
"I would've said its helpful for us if we didn't have to stay here so long for them."
So, its him who is leading the Redwyne fleet. Now Lord Leyton might have to choose between one grandson or the other. Tough choice for any old man, Jorah knew.
Slim as a sword, lithe and fit, Ser Loras Tyrell wore a green satin tunic and gold wool breeches, with a gold belt around his waist and a gold rose clasping his fine silk cloak. His hair was a soft brown tumble, and his eyes were brown as well, and bright with insolence. He thinks this is a tourney, and his tilt has just been called. "Surely we had not kept you so far away from your victory, Ser," said Jorah.
"Of course not," replied Ser Loras. "For we had been hunting the sellswords infesting our lands and waters."
"You must be proud," Jorah said.
"Yes, my lord." He smiled.
Jorah hated that smile. "You need to remember that its no tourney that we are sailing for, Ser Loras. War is much different than what you young men believe it is."
"And you're old," the boy said. "My lord. It doesn't fare well with older people as well."
The men on the bench laughed. Even his own men did laugh at that. "Old, aye," he admitted. "Older and wiser, ser. You should learn from me."
"As you learned from the sellswords in your exile?"
That arrow hit too close to the mark. "I learned from Eddard Stark, the King in the North," Jorah snapped. "Surely your lord father must have taught you something about him."
"Yes," the knight of flowers admitted. "But only that he is dead."
"He might be dead and gone but it is his own blood we are going to fight against."
"Even Eddard Stark was killed," said Loras Tyrell, "let's see what his blood can do. I hope to come to grips with Stark. Then we will see if he is as deadly as they praise him to be." With that Loras and his companions left the table leaving him alone with Ser Baelor and his men.
The rest of the meal continued in a complete silence except for the talks of his men and Ser Baelor telling his plans to Ed, his captain.
They were to set sail for the north at dusk. The Hightower fleet would stay at Oldtown with the Honor of Oldtown as the main center of defence should Stark have any sellsails hidden behind the rocks to take them in the rear. It was a sound plan.
With another voyage coming forth at dusk, Jorah Mormont opted to drowse for the rest of the day in a featherbed. At dusk, he was woken up by Iven, the second mate of Ed.
By the time he reached the Dragonborn, she was all ready to set forth for battle. All around her the other ships were also packed with men and swords. Jorah saw Ser Loras upon the flagship of the Redwyne fleet with one of Lord Paxtor's twins beside him but he couldn't tell who it was from the distance.
The port was crowded with the ships in their hundreds: Queen Lyanna, Sea Dragon, Wolfsbane, Ruby, Blackfyre, Queen Rhaella, King's Fire, Pyro, Princess Rhaenys, Justice, Red Dragon, Swift, Viserion, Queen Alysanne, Rhaegal, Prince's Power, and Nightmare.
There were others as well, but he could not find the Hightower fleet anywhere around. Even Honor of Oldtown was nowhere to be found. They must have gone to take care of the sellswords, he thought then.
Across the sea a warhorn boomed, telling the world that they are sailing for war. The men put up shouts of their own, battle cries of thousands that filled the city.
The warhorn boomed from the High Tower once again. This time though it seemed as if the sound came from the sky. He looked up at the High Tower and could see a couple of movements there at the top. He could not make out as to who they were but he still knew them. So the Oldman of Oldtown finally came out of his chambers to see us off.
For a moment silence took hold of the world. The blowing west wind seemed to stop. Suddenly, like a bird that makes quick changes in its flight, the wind started to blow from the east, then from the north, then from the south and from the west until it all met at the port causing the ships to collide with each other. The calm evening sea roused its waves slowly, boiling like an overcooked stew. Before he could figure out what was happening the waves were upon them smashing anything and everything in its path.
He saw the flagship of the Redwyne fleet engulfed in a huge wave nearing almost fourty feet at height. The wave hit them with such force that Ser Loras and his men were thrown off the deck three boats away. He stood there frozen for a moment and then the deck disappeared beneath him and the water rushed to kiss him.
Everything in his eyesight around him split asunder by the power of the water and was smashed against the waves. The huge war galleys, the pride of the great fleet were destroyed as if they were nothing more than a child's toys. Rocks around the port burst and fiery fountains spewed molten rock a hundred feet into the air, and onto the men. To the north, the chain was lowered at the entrance to the port to cut off any escape, and the angry sea came boiling in. Jorah looked around him. The proudest fleet in all the world was gone in an instant, smashed away to the wrath of the sea.
Then he looked up at the High Tower. In the setting sun the glow of the flame on its crown gave the High Tower an ethereal beauty but it was not the ordinary orange flames he had seen earlier that day. No, now it was a bright green flame which lightened the High Tower, calling its banners for battle. Jorah smiled weakly from his watery grave. So Lord Leyton has finally chosen the grandson he is going to fight for.