Jorah

The ship was named Adventure.

She boasted sixty oars, a single sail, and a long lean hull that promised speed, not unlike the She-Wolf named for Lyanna Stark which he had once commanded in the Royal fleet. But that was before Leyton Hightower had sent them to the depths of the Whispering Sounds. Small the ship was, but she might serve, Jorah thought when he saw her. She was not a fit vessel to bear a princess, but she would do well for a merchant man and his young wife to find passage across.

Jorah had thought about it long and hard. This seemed to be his finest chance. The port of Oldtown was open to all trade and busy as ever even with the recent battles fought here. Ser Garth had left with the best part of the Hightower fleet whilst the harbour was teeming with ships from both Westeros and Essos. Aboard one of the ships he could make his way out of Oldtown as easily as that. But he wouldn't, not without his princess.

Jorah looked around the ship one last time and climbed up the wooden plank to the deck.

"I want to see your captain," he said to the men mopping and scrubbing the wooden floor. All stopped their rubbing and scrubbing and watched him queerly. Jorah tossed a copper at them and they dropped the mops and rags they were holding to scramble at the copper coin. Finally one managed to get a hold of the coin and scurried away with an ugly smile.

Jorah waited for the ship's master to appear, amidst the cacophony of a hundred voices and the whispering of the sea and the wind.

The deck was almost clean when the master finally made his appearance, with two vile-looking crewmen at his side. His messenger greeted him with a smile but his captain did not. Though he did not like the look of the man, his ruse required for someone like him else another man was sure to go to Lord Hightower at the first instance of doubt.

He had done his best to stay in the shadows of Oldtown so far, and the city was crawling with the city watch and the Hightower soldiers. He never stayed long in one part of a city, not wore one name. Jorah had played a freerider for a few days, and when the mummery had chafed at him, he changed it to a wineseller at the harbour. In Ragpicker's Wynd, he became a blacksmith, and in the Thieves' Market he was a servant. Here he thought to be a merchant on his way to Essos or King's Landing for some business.

And Jorah had let his clothes suit and beard grow to look his part as well. He did cut a poor figure as a knight but a better one yet as a lowly merchant - tall and bearded and clad in the cleanest linens he could get his hands on.

"How swift is your Adventure?" Jorah asked as the captain halted in front of him.

The Adventure's master looked around at his crew and then at Jorah. "There is none swifter, everyone in Oldtown knows that. Adventure can run down the wind itself. Tell me where you wish to sail, and swiftly I shall bring you there."

"I seek passage to King's Landing for myself and my wife."

That gave the captain pause. "I am no stranger to King's Landing. I could make it to the city again, aye ... but why? There are no profits to be had in King's Landing, no good to be found there. Rhaegar Targaryen has put an end to that. Those Essosi masters of his has control of the port now and whatever they could get their dirty hands on belongs to them. Tell me, my friend, what is there in King's Landing that you should want to go there?"

My princess' home, thought Jorah. And my honour or whatever that's left of it, if the gods are good. Sometimes at night he lay awake imagining saving Daenerys Targaryen from the dungeons of Oldtown and earning her love in turn for it. It was a sweet dream, but a dream nonetheless. At least other things could be won by rescuing the princess of House Targaryen even if it isn't love.

Jorah answered with the tale he had concocted. "Smithing is our family trade. My father owned an extensive armoury here in Oldtown, and now I wish to find new markets. I hope that the good King Rhaegar will welcome what I could make for him and his army."

"Swords? Weapons?" The captain was not convinced. "I am told that Oldtown is at war with King's Landing. Can it be you do not know this? Why would a Oldtowner would want to make swords for the Targaryens"

"The fighting is between the nobles who won't ever stop playing their dirty games," Jorah said. "Why should I or anyone else for that matter should be involved in that? Lord Hightower has never done any good for me, only affronted me by bringing the war to us. It is not my war to fight and die in it."

"Not as yet. But soon you might find that in King's Landing. The King might have some use for you. Even the slavers pay handsomely for good metalwork. But the talk is that the Dragonslayer is already on his way to King's Landing, and war will follow once he arrives there. Then the defenders will have to start filling out their ranks and with the look of you, you will most likely end up fighting with a sword instead of making one."

"If you say so. I deal in making swords, not fighting with it. The Targaryens will pay a good price for putting swords in the hands of ten guards instead of dying in the first battle for them."

The master of Adventure fingered his beard. "I am not the first captain you have approached, I think. Nor the tenth."

"No," Jorah admitted.

"How many, then? A hundred?"

Close enough, thought Jorah. Ships were everywhere in the port of Oldtown, coming down the river or headed out to sea, crowding the wharves and piers, taking on cargo or off-loading it: warships and whalers and trading galleys, carracks and skiffs, cogs, great cogs, long-ships, swan ships, ships from Lys and Tyrosh and Pentos, Qartheen spicers big as palaces, ships from Tolos and Yunkai and the Basilisks. So many that Jorah had thought finding a ship would be his most easiest task.

Yet several days and several ships had passed, and here he remained, still shipless. The captains of the Flower Maiden, the Sea Shark, and the Mermaid's Kiss had all refused him. A mate on the Bold Voyager had laughed in their faces. The master of the Dolphin berated them for wasting his time, and the owner of the Seventh Son accused him of being a pirate. All on one day.

Only the captain of the Fawn even gave him a reason for his denial.

"It is true that I am sailing east," he said. "South around the Sea of Dorne and the Stepstones and thence into the sunrise. We will take on water and provisions at Tyrosh, then bend all oars toward Pentos and then Braavos. Every voyage has perils, long ones more than most. Why should I seek out more danger by turning into Blackwater Bay? The Fawn is my livelihood. I will not risk her to take a man and his wife into the middle of a war."

Jorah had begun to think that he might have a better chance of buying his own ship instead of convincing a sailor to bring him to King's Landing.

He gave the captain of Adventure his most disarming smile. "Truth be told, I have not kept count of all the cowards who refused us, but at the Thieves' Market I heard it said that you were a bolder sort of man, the sort who might risk anything for sufficient gold."

A smuggler, Jorah knew this one two. That was how the other sailors and traders styled Adventure's master, back at the Quill and the Tankard. "He is a smuggler and a thief, half pirate and half pander, but it may be that he is your best hope,"

The captain rubbed thumb and forefinger together. "And how much gold would you deem sufficient for such a voyage?"

"What do you expect?"

"Thrice the fee I normally collect, for everyone you bring."

"Done," Jorah said at once. He would have no choice but to steal again. He did not have the time to do honest work.

The captain showed his teeth in something that might have been intended as a smile though it gave his narrow face a feral look. "Perhaps. It is true, I am a bolder man than most. How soon will you wish to leave?"

"When do you intend to?"

"When you wish for me to," the captain said.

Jorah nodded and took a silver coin out of his pouch and tossed it to the captain. "There," he said. "Something for making you wait for."

"Done. Come an hour before first light, with your wife and your things. Best to be under way whilst the city and the city watch sleeps, so no one will ask us inconvenient questions about our destination."

"As you say. An hour before first light."

The captain's smile widened. "I am pleased that I can help you. We will have a happy voyage, yes?"

"I am certain of it," said Jorah. The captain called for ale then, and the two of them drank a toast to their venture.

The man just robbed him blind, Jorah thought afterward as he made his way down to the foot of the pier. The air was cold and wet, and the spray of salt water from the sea was on his face. It was a small price to pay for the escape he sought though.

He could only hope that he would be a better class of smuggler. And he didn't intend to pay him the entire amount. Half would be enough for him to make it safe to King's Landing and the other half he will promise to provide once they reach King's Landing.

Having found a ship to sail away from Oldtown, all that was left to do was rescue Princess Daenerys from the Hightower. Jorah would have preferred to save the princess first, but he couldn't find a way safe inside the Hightower and worse yet no way of getting anywhere close to her. Besides, it was better this way. At least he wouldn't have to worry about finding one once he has Daenerys Targaryen in tow. If it's this hard to find a ship now he supposed it wouldn't be any less hard to find one a few days later.

He kept along the wharves where the traffic was the most thickest and he could stay well hidden away from the eyes of the guards. The cobbled streets and alleys of Oldtown were packed at this time of the day, and it was the ideal place for a stranger to blend in with the city.

He wondered if some of the men he had brought to this city were still here like him. Jorah had lost many a men that same day - some to the sea and others to his goodfather's army. Men, whom he had known and whom he did not know alike, but all of those had followed him all the same and I led them all to their doom.

He wondered if they would even wish to gaze upon his face it he even found some. And others like Ser Loras Tyrell would no doubt want him to pay for something that was not his doing. Perhaps I could save them still, Jorah thought. Loras Tyrell and the Redwyne Twins and most others were still prisoners housed within the cells of the Hightower.

It was not supposed to end like that for them. Loras Tyrell had wanted to cross blades with the Dragonslayer and had vowed to end the rebellion in a single swing of his sword. This would've been a tale to tell our grandchildren, his young companions had declared as they spoke about the great heroic deeds they'd do over wine and food. Perhaps it was better that they failed right here in Oldtown after all. At least the Knight of the Flowers and the others were alive now, though captured. Not many men including Rhaegar Targaryen's sons and their dragons had that privilege. If not most of them wouldn't have even lived long enough to have children let alone grandchildren.

Jorah walked through the dockside throngs. It was strangely cool as evenfall arrived and the sun was shining red amidst the clouds on the western sky. On a good summer's day one could see the city steaming and sweating in the summer sun and then the nightfall would bring relief to all that. He could taste the end of summer on his tongue and it was strange to feel it so far down in the south. Back in Bear Island it might not have been a strange thought, to see the end of summer but here though it was a different story. And only then Jorah remembered the Stark words, Winter is Coming. He had heard Eddard Stark say it once before, with all the gloomy melancholy of the world. The words didn't strike true anymore than it did now.

He walked amongst the warehouses and the wharves, shops and stalls of many sorts crowded the waterfront as easily as an Oldtowner. A girl was selling fresh oysters beside the gate and nearby a trader was working on the coins set before him. Jorah might have to rob the man should the time come, for now he had enough to see it through to Oldtown without any stealing.

It was almost night when he reached the Thieves' Market. The Market had come alive with the night, teeming with commoners, sailors, merchants, traders, thieves, whores and guards of all kind. Jorah found his destination with the pillow houses which stood shoulder to shoulder with the inns and taverns. Women called down from balconies to men below.

Something made Jorah hesitate for a moment but then he steeled himself knowing that Daenerys waited for him. He went inside, through a crowded common room where a fat woman was singing bawdy songs while pretty young girls in linen shifts and wisps of colored silk pressed themselves against their lovers and dandled on their laps. No one paid Jorah the least bit of attention.

He walked around the room, figuring out who might be the best one for his ploy. Finally an elegant woman in a red silk pressed up against his chest, moving her hand against the laces of his tunic and whispering sweet promises that were equally filthy at the same time.

"I would like for you to do something for me," Jorah said as the whore kissed his ear.

"Anything for you, ser," she hissed as she ran her hands along his arms, feeling his muscles underneath the tunic. "You have strong arms like a knight. Would it please you if I called you that?"

Jorah stopped her at that. "Its not that," he said. The whore pulled back and regarded him with a bored look on her face. She put her hands on her hips. "What are you doing here then?"

"I want you to bring someone to me," Jorah said.

The girl smiled. "Who then?"

Jorah looked outside the window and pointed out one of the guards standing by the entrance to the market. "That one," he said. "Bring him to the alley by the next street and you will be paid handsomely in silver." He slid his hand into his pouch and took out a coin. "One for now and the rest two you will get when you've got the job done."

The whore looked at him and then at the guard before taking the coin from his palm. "Go wait by the alley," she said. "He will be there in a minute."

She slipped the coin beneath her bodice and went out the front door. Jorah used the one on the side for a more elusive exit. He waited by the alley impatiently, his hand on the hilt of the knife he'd taken from an inn as if to make sure that it's there.

He heard the gaggle of the girl after a few moments and readied himself. Jorah pulled his hood on and slunk back in the shadows. He saw the girl first, leading the guard behind her. When they slipped into the darkest part of the alley, the guard pulled the whore and kissed her much to her delight.

Just as they fell deeper into the kiss Jorah stepped out of the shadows. He was light on his feet and crept up behind the man. He was enjoying the woman in his arms more so than he saw or heard Jorah behind him. With a smooth move of his knife Jorah slit the poor man's throat. The blood gushed out in a scarlet fountain, drenching his arms as he dropped the guard down to let him die in peace.

The whore stared at the dying man with wide eyes, perhaps not believing what he had done. She looked up at Jorah. "You... You killed him," she said in disbelief. "I... It's none of my concern anyway. We are done, then. Where's my price?"

Ah, yes, the price, Jorah thought. He stepped over the dead man to move closer to the girl. "Here's for your trouble," he took two more silver coins from his pouch and dropped them down.

The girl gave a cold look at him and bent down to pick up the coin.

Jorah caught her by her hair and yanked her back up before plunging his knife deep into her belly. He pressed his palm over her mouth to silence her cries before removing the knife and stabbing her in her belly once again.

"I am sorry," he said as he slowly laid the girl down. "I have no other way." That was what he told himself. He had no other way. Daenerys was waiting for him. It was a smaller price to pay in his way to get to her. Go. Run back to the Hightower, wake Daenerys with a kiss, and tell her that you are there to rescue her. Yet still he lingered. The blood that stained his hand making him balk.

"There was nothing else to do," he murmured more to himself than the corpses.

Jorah removed the tunic and mail and cloak of the guard and stripped him of his weapons and boots. He even took the golden chain and the rings the whore had worn on her fingers to make it look like it was the work of the thieves.

He rolled the tunic and mail within the cloak and made it out the alley. He was feeling light-headed, almost as if he'd dishonoured himself by dealing with the slavers once again. Daenerys, he reminded himself. I am coming.