Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin, other than my own the original character(s) in this story. This is purely a work of my personal enjoyment so don't expect anything worthy of GRRM. I fully welcome criticism/suggestions/questions. The story will eventually be finished (I hate leaving things unfinished) but I have no real schedule. Please review as I'd love useful thoughts :) feedback goes a long way to encouraging my writing.
Important Note: I have updated Chapter 1: The Shipwright with a 'Character Sheet' section at the bottom of the chapter, for those at all confused about who is who or what house is what, there's a handy little note/summery for each family too. I recommend checking that out :)
Chapter 12: The Wanderer
"I always come back."
– Prince Willam Stark
It had been nearly a month since the Godswood and honestly Willam wasn't sure what to think - and he hated that - his usual thousand voices had only doubled since his father's senile rambling. Was what he said truth or just more lies? He'd seemed so unlike the tyrant king he knew his father to be, so it must've been an act! Or was He the wrong one? Gods, the thought progress was tormenting! And worse yet he'd gotten no closer to an answer.
In fact, there were only fresh questions added onto the old ones. The gods were laughing at him again, somehow, he damn well knew it. The last few weeks had flown by in truth, he'd spend most of them sparring with Artos and the kids – surprisingly finding young Brandon to be rather impressive with a blade for his age; though he was his father's son – so one shouldn't be surprised there. Willam never considered himself much of a swordsman, in truth; but that was compared to the likes of Artos Stark.
Few men were truly 'great' in that one's shadow.
Prince Darion Stark was much as he'd expected him to be, the perfect picture of his father's duty, though less of a bore. Willam supposed time would ware away at that spirit; just as it had done for the boy's father.
Varik was Darion's shadow more than even their wolves were, almost in a manner acting as the son that Edrik never had. He followed his elder brother around like he was the greatest thing in existence.
Speaking of Edrik, his youngest daughters were all over Cai Lóng like fleas on a wolf; befriending the southern princess in a heartbeat. The eldest, Serana, kept to herself though – and Willam had barely seen her around the grounds at all. The girl was a loner, preferring the company of her wolf Volki over her own family.
He couldn't blame the girl though, he'd felt the same at her age after all, only she was bound by the specific expectations of a Princess that were considerably more restrictive than a Princes. At least, in Willam's view, it seemed that way; but he hadn't been home long.
His own sister Lyarra had simply ignored every rule there was though. And look where that got her.
The gulls flew overhead, damn flying rats; looking for food.
The sound of the sea was its usual calming self.
The smell of salt cling to the air to remind Willam of home.
How long had he been standing here?
"Gods," A man cursed. "This one's heavy!"
"You're imagining things."
"I bloody am not!"
"What's all this?" Willam walked over; snapped away from his daydreaming. The two men were carrying a barrel of what was, he assumed, smoked fish; or other such provisions for their voyage.
"Nothing much, Will – that is, Prince Willam…"
"Don't be so formal ya idiot!"
The Wanderer crewmen knew their captain hated his titles.
"You need a brake there?" The voice of Prince Suko asked as he walked over with a smirk. "Perhaps we should delay the trip Will? I'm sure this one's tired arms could find a whore or two to rest with..."
Suko left the scene with a chuckle, off to his ship to prepare.
"T- That's not necessary Prin-
His fellow crewmate slapped him over the head.
"Will! I'm fine, Captain Will; swear it!"
The barrel of fish yelped when the crewman dropped it.
"Did that crate just talk?" Will asked, tilting his ahead to the side for effect.
"I'm not that drunk…"
"You've been drinking!?" Aedan snarled from beside his prince, angered. "We're on the job you-"
"Gentlemen," Willam however was laughing at their antics like it was the funniest thing. "I think we should focus on the important things in life. Like good wine or women or, for example, talking barrels of fish? No? Merely a suggestion…"
A moment of silence passed before a blinding light forced the girl to cover her eyes.
"Serana Stark." Willam chastised his niece with a scolding look.
"I-" The young girl – a young woman in truth; barely able to fit inside the barrel she'd chosen to hide in – looked up at her uncles face as a smirk quickly broke through his hardened expression. It seemed this one was taking after Lyarra without ever meeting her.
"Come to see me off eh girly?" He remarked with his smirk growing wider. She was smiling nervously at him. "You could've done it in a less amusing manner, I must say; this is quite the unconventional mode of transportation for a Princess…"
"I'm sorry uncle." Serana lowered her head after stepping out of the barrel.
"You'd smell less of fish too." Willam kept talking, seemingly to himself rather than the girl.
"I thought-"
"That you'd sneak onto my ship and reveal yourself when we arrived in Westeros?"
Serana Stark's face turned a bright red of blushing.
"You've courage, Sera." Willam ruffled his niece's hair, much to her annoyance.
"Take me with you uncle!" She pleaded, with a determination in her eyes.
"This is not a trip for children."
"I'm almost four-and-ten!" Serana protested, sounding as a child might. "I could help scrub the deck... or-"
"I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you." Willam turned uncharacteristically serious as his stern eyes burned into his niece. "This is not some voyage to the Empire or Mossovy. Where I'm going, I may never return from Serana. It's bloody dangerous and near foolish; my father is not wrong in this..."
"I could protect you!" She looked up, tears forming, despite her effort to fight them.
"Artos has been teaching you? I don't doubt it," Willam sighed. "But what of your cousins? Who will protect them if your off adventuring with your foolish uncle? Soloana doesn't fight, and Cali is only a cub…"
"They-"
"They'll need you," Willam countered.
"Father looks after them. I barely talk to them anyway – we're not the same!"
"Your father will be busy keeping Rodrik in line sooner or later," Willam stated as his mind wandered to the distant looming idea of Rodrik as a King. "Your sisters will need their big sis to protect them."
"It's not fair, uncle…"
"No." Willam laughed bitterly, as his men re-sealed the barrel that had acted as Serana's hiding place and took it onto the deck of The Wanderer. "Life is rarely that, I fear. That's why you must remain here Sera, to protect the family when my brothers cannot. Can you do this for me or can you not?"
If the girl were anything like him in the slightest, she'd take the bait. A challenge was just that.
At the challenge, Serana wiped away his growing tears and gave a stern nod.
"Good." Willam ruffled her raven hair once more.
"You'll come back to us, right?!"
Willam turned back to her as she called out to him.
He promised, not knowing if it was a lie.
"I always come back."
He turned away and didn't look back.
"You can't do this!"
"It's an OPEN invitation, Ashy."
"Damn it all Qrow!"
Willam neared the two as the fiery browned-haired woman ran off onto The Wanderer. "Trouble in paradise eh Ryder?" He recognised this one. He was the one that got knocked on his ass at his welcoming feast…
"Prince Willam," Qrow Ryder bowed his head stiffly.
"Lady Amber is joining us?"
"She insists," The man didn't see happy about that.
There was some story between these that Willam know, or care about; frankly…
"Charming," He walked past the man with nothing else to say.
"You can talk sense to her!"
Ah, excellent, was he coming too?
"I've known many women in my travels, my friend. "He halted to eye Qrow and get the measure of the man. His features screamed "Rogue" to him – and he was usually great at reading people. Usually.
Okay, sometimes he was good at it.
"Trust me, I wager there's no changing Lady Ash's mind; no?"
"She is stubborn," Qrow sighed.
They had that in common then.
"This is madness through – um, no offence…"
"None taken," Willam shrugged.
"Will," Aedan nudged him. "The tide is with us…"
Saved by the damn waves.
"Well then!" He clasped Qrow on the mans shoulders and smiled his best smile. "Are yee to join us and chase after your fair maiden, Ryder; or shall yee leave her to sail the high seas across the dawn?!"
Qrow blinked in response, clearly unsure how to respond.
Will's fake smile died as quickly as he'd summoned it.
"Prince Willa asks if you're joining us, Lord Ryder?"
The man wasn't a lord, but Aedan was the polite one.
"I-" Qrow seemed to shake himself out of it, looking wide-eyed like a young boy seeing the sea for the first time. "Yes, it seems I must – someone has to keep my betrothed from getting herself killed – and who better than I?!"
Who better indeed?
"Fantastic news," Willam declared with no heart.
"Find yourself a bunk," Aedan added. "We sail shortly."
Qrow Ryder walked off towards the crew quarters in a huff.
"Charming fellow that one. So glad to have him with us, eh Grey?"
"I didn't know the lady Amber was betrothed."
"It's clearly a love match," Willam scoffed in reply.
Suko's ship had already began to sail out of the harbour. Willam would remain on The Wanderer as planned, but others were joining them too. More than he'd expected had showed up to join their little venture.
"Is this everyone?"
"Prince Suko is ahead of us," Aedan remarked. "No surprise there…"
"He is quite impatience…"
"The Galewind was fitting and stocks just yesterday," Aedan listed off those joining their little fleet. "Edwyn was afraid he'd not be ready in time – but your cousin is quite excited Will."
Edwyn Fisher had jumped at the opportunity to follow Willam across the sea.
"Arthur Wright and The Sunwright have been ready the longest; though don't tell Jorg that I said as much – he's turned the Seawolf into his own private party barge. That one is quite something."
"Not a fan of the kid I see, Grey?"
Aedan scoffed. "I'd rather deal with Bhelen than Jorg Seastark."
Bhelen's addition had been a surprise that he'd argued against, for Aedan's sake – despite keeping him alive this damn long House Greystark was sending young Bhelen Greystark on The Greysail to represent their house.
"I still argue we could've left without him," Willam suggested; not for the first time.
Aedan once again ignored his suggestion as if it were wind.
"Arving Mormont has brought The Farclaw."
"Not everyday House Mormont risks its flagship," Willam commented as The Wanderer began to leave its resting place in the docks of Wrightport. "It was probably Edrik's doing."
"Prince Edrik means well," Aedan argued. "He wants the best for you, Will."
He hated it when Aedan was right… and Aedan was often annoyingly right…
"You must be drunk Grey," Willam denied it with a shrug.
The Wanderer left the waters of Wrightport behind as strong easterly winds spurred them on their way.
Willam's fleet – if seven ships could be called a fleet – set off to cross the sunset, and unto a new dawn.
Wanderer's Log – Day 1 – In the Wright Sea
This is the personal log of Prince Willam Stark. If you're reading this then Hello to you.
The Shipwright left his ancestors a log of his voyage, so I thought (in a stroke of genius) to steal his original idea; that's not very original.
I've never been much of a writer, so please do forgive me for what you're about to read.
We set sail from Wrightport on the 831st year of BL and have been at sea for a little over a day at the time of writing. I suppose I should list the mad fools sailing with us; least someone read this in some strange land? Actually, can you even read this? Perhaps not, in which case these pages will become fuel for a fire somewhere. In the event you CAN read however, we've set sail alongside five fellow ships of sizable class; built for long voyages across high seas.
Suko Lóng is present on his flashy dragon-ship. A friend of mine and one of the better men I've come to know, but don't tell him that. Suko my friend, if you're reading this, stop stealing my shit. I'll not say much about the man beyond that, least any praise goes straight to his already massive head and risks sinking the fleet.
Edwyn Fisher, a cousin from my mother's side, captains The Galewind. I hadn't expected him to join us in all truth, my uncle Odyn Fisher is usually so very protective of his children; though I suppose Ed's the spare. There are some few benefits to being the youngest son.
Bhelen Greystark captains The Greysail. I don't know much about the young man, honestly; except that I heard his father explain how he'd be damned if there weren't a 'true' Greystark here to protect me. As if Aedan hadn't kept me alive all these years and somehow wasn't enough Greystark.
Jorg Seastark captains The Seawolf and I cannot help but think the name fits the boy, for he's quite the sailor – and quite the arrogant bastard – from what I've heard; he'd got into some trouble with Lord Sunstarks heir and being sent away is the boy's punishment. Jorg doesn't seem to consider it anything of the sort though.
Arthur Wright, his father's youngest, captains The Sunwright. What is there to say except that the Wrights once again play at mediators – since House Sunstark had no spares to represent them, it was Lord Wright's idea to make The Sunwright a joint effort. The new Lord Admiral has wasted no time mending fences it appears.
Arving Mormont, lastly, captains The Farclaw in his family's name. Not every day a house sends its flagship on such an uncertain voyage – it surprised many – but I suspect my brother Edrik had some part in that. House Mormont has always been among the most loyal of my families bannermen, married to my brother's line or not.
I captain The Wanderer and lead the way across the dawn – such as it is – while in reality I give credit to Aedan Greystark (as I often find I do) for his role here. Without him I fear that we'd never have made it out of port alive. He has everything so damn well organized...
I believe that's everyone. We sail forward, and I intend to be drunk for most of it!
Wanderer's Log – Day 7 – In the Sunset Sea
I'd thought to note every day but quickly remembered how dull life at sea can be, despite what the bards may say; it's mostly a lot of doing nothing – at least in my case – the crew does nearly all of the work; except for when I take the wheel purely to kill the time. We're further out than anyone else has gone now, and I am bored.
On the second day, the crew made up some sea shanty. How did it go?
And it's windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows, we're all together, boys
Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds blow
At times I almost regret making my crew up of largely the maddest bastards I could find. At other times, I remember they're the best at what they do; and I wouldn't replace em – mad as they are. In other news, Aedan worries that we're going through the rum too quickly.
I made sure we'd stocked up extra before leaving port, so we should be fine...
Wanderer's Log – Day 12 – In the Sunset Sea
There is a storm ahead, vast and ugly looking; almost unnatural in the way it seems to twist and turn. I'm reminded of the old Shipwright's log that spoke of a crimson sky and storms that seemed to chase them across the waves – but then the old king had at some stage smacked his head, so our histories tell his account is unreliable.
I have yet to smack my own noggin, dear reader; and I tell you – that storm screams of nothing but trouble.
The men sing their tune louder than ever in defiance of the storm we face. Aye, its bloody windy weather ahead boys, you mad bastards; I only prey the Shipwright's accounts were indeed unreliable. He spoke of stranger things in his logs than merely queer weather.
He spoke of sea dragons the size of islands. I think I speak for the whole crew when I say, fuck that.
Wanderer's Log – Day 15 – In the Storm Sea
The Farclaw is gone. The storm was beyond our worst fears and things haven't improved – as more storms on the horizon taunt us while the last two days battling the elements saw The Farclaw struck by an arch of lightning that practically ripped Mormont's ship in half. The singing had died with Arving Mormont and his crew.
Suko's ship has sustained heavy damage. The main mast is simply gone, ripped clean off only a few hours prior and I've precious little time to write; there's little chance it'll survive the next storm intact or at all. We intend to abandon his vessel and transfer his crew where needed across the fleet while we can.
Ahead lays the second storm lurking like a hungry predator. Turning back is not an option.
I'm renaming this gods-forsaken place The Storm Sea and if we survive, that'll be its fucking name.
If this is my last entry, and you're reading this; then I should probably say something important – but find that I have completely no idea what to say. I regret nothing. There's simply no time to spare for regret. The storms aren't giving us enough time to even breath.
Wanderer's Log – Day 21 – Past the Storm Sea
We're alive. The Greysail and The Seawolf are both missing however plus The Galewind is in bad shape though still seaworthy, we are in fact still alive! Those were possibly the hardest days of most of our lives I'd wager, though we didn't encounter any giant sea dragons (I admit, I'm somewhat disappointed; but also not) the damn storms were beyond madness; and it's a wonder the Shipwright ever made it through with his comparatively primitive ships!
The Storm Sea may not be a damn original name, but it's a damn fitting one – for that place is a chain of storm after storm; with pockets of wind that flung ships aside like they were made of straw! I saw the Greysail blown away like it was GRABED by an invisible hand, only to be tossed aside.
Gods know where those men are, or if they live. I hope for the best but fear we'll never see them again.
Moral is a strange mix of highs and lows. On one hand, we are all beyond revealed be alive, but on the other; we have lost a great many men and women. I'll not dwell on the losses. They knew the risks. The wind has died since we limped away. It's almost as if the Storm Sea is sucking away all the damn air around it and throwing the stuff around inside its grasp; just as a man picks up a sword to swing it wildly at an enemy.
I'm hoping that we're past the worst of our voyage now. Gods willing.
Wanderer's Log – Day 24 – Unknown Waters
The days have passed without major incident, but we have slowed to a crawl. I'd thought that the winds would grace us with their damn presence once we got some distance between us and the storms; but still we haven't had a breeze in days! The crew is on edge. Aedan suggested, and I agreed, that an extra serving of our leftover rum stocks is due to lift spirits somewhat – or it'll start fights – but I'd sooner the crew vent now than let it boil over.
Aedan has informed me that today is my twentieth name-day. A perfect excuse to drink, I say!
I wouldn't have known it either if Aedan hadn't somehow been keeping track! Half of the crew should be nursing hangovers by the morning – the poor bastards – while I'll shrug it off as I always have. I've never understood hangovers. I've drank gallons in my time and never felt more than a touch groggy in the mornings.
The gods blessed me with an immunity, it seems; though Aedan calls it a curse of mine because I apparently don't learn. Oh, and speaking of drunks, some fool went overboard last night, or at least we assume as much. He's missing and nobody seems to have seen a damn thing.
Ivar worked on answers but tells me that if anyone knows, they're not talking.
A mystery that may never be solved I suppose. Nothing rum cannot solve though!
Wanderer's Log – Day 26 – Unknown Waters
The winds have returned and by the gods, it couldn't have come slower; or I hope not – because any longer and the crew was close enough to try sacrificing in the hopes the Old Gods would somehow grant us… I'm not sure exactly… were they hoping a drowned man would give us strong winds?
Last I checked, the gods didn't care for the sea, or drowning fools to create wind. The men were getting desperate.
In some 'happy' news they've named an island after me! I say island, but it's a damn rock honestly; barely larger than if we tied all our remaining ships together and walked across the decks. Still the aptly named "Willam's Rock" was an amusing boost for the crew. The bastards seemed cheered up by my reaction…
Aedan had suggested the name too. The damn traitor, I'll get him back for it somehow; or more likely just forgot about it entirely.
At any rate, things are looking up for us, although the Galewind is limping behind dangerously; seeming more beat up than first thought.
Wanderer's Log – Day 28 – Unknown Waters
The rum is gone and we've nothing to drink besides damn water. All hope is lost.
Wanderer's Log – Day 31 – Unknown Waters
Scratch the last entry, the wargs have reported sighting land after days of finding nothing. Damn useful thing warging for those capable of the gift! It's something I never grasped personally but we've eyes in the skies; and they claim a shoreline is only a day's sail east of our current position, assuming the winds stay with us.
How I wish it were possible for wargs to see weeks ahead of them, but alas; such strength is unheard of and not to mention dangerous. Spend too much time in a bird and you'd soon lust for the open sky so much that you'd throw yourself off a cliff just to feel the wind between your non-existent feathers.
At least, that's my understanding from what I was taught. Spend too long as a beast and you'll soon become one.
Needless to say though this news was met with thundering applause. Just a shame we've no damn rum left to celebrate properly. Aedan insists I 'dine' with my fellow nobles in my captain tonight as a way of marking the occasion and I swear that man takes his duty far too seriously lately. He's been acting like he has something to prove but I'd never required him to prove anything – so perhaps its to the others sake? Who knows?
I do wonder what land we'll find. It's entirely possible we miss the North entirely.
Wanderer's Log – Day 32 – The shore of Westeros
The wargs weren't lying – not that anyone doubted them – we've anchored off the coast from a large rocky shoreline that stretches as far as the eye can see. It's either Westeros or we've somehow found some unknown land that the Shipwright sailed straight past. I find that latter option exceedingly unlikely.
It has to be Westeros. The only question remains: where exactly in Westeros are we? The Shipwright by all accounts set sail from the northern reaches of the North, so we could be in similar territory; or we could have been knocked off course by those damn storms. We've really no means of telling just yet.
I have ordered men to the boats to make landfall and set up a perimeter while our wargs begin to scout the skies inland for any sign of towns or roads that might give some indication of our location. This'll be my final entry I believe, assuming we're not chased back to sea by the locals.
The only thing left to do now is wait and see, but we've made it.
We actually made it to Westeros.
"You done writing in that diary of yours?" Suko spoke from the doorway with a mocking smirk.
"It's a captains log," Willam scowled at his friend. "Not a damn diary!"
"Suuuure it is Stark. Sure it is."
East or West, some things never changed.
Review(s): My thanks for those taking the time to review :) very glad to hear people are enjoying the rewrite! I know I feel it's a vast improvement personally, and I am confident about the direction I've planned out for the story. I have every chapter up to 65 more or less planned out at the moment; and things get more interesting now we enter Westeros so with any luck I'll keep up the writing n uploading at least a chapter a week :D if all goes well.
Thanks again, reviews are great - as always I do encourage them as they're a big motivator to keep writing.