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.
Chapter 14: Winterfell
"Swear it by the sun and stars."
– Prince Willam Stark
Winterhold held a similar cold beauty, but Winterfell struck him as more ancient; and what old paintings Brandon the Shipwright had commissioned did not do it justice in the slightest. It was not hard to picture this grey-stone granite fortress as the home of his ancestors. Winterfell had not disappointed. He closed his eyes for a moment and Willam thought of home as the northern winds brushed through his hair and he sat atop his black destrier with the silver engraved circlet atop his head.
They'd been riding for little over a week and had made good time – or so it seemed – while Arthur and Edwyn had stayed behind with the ships; only a handful of their most skilled had accompanied them to see Winterfell. It was a risk, just as Eddard trusting them was a risk, but this whole damn voyage had been one giant risk.
Willam looked out at the sight of Winterfell and found that he didn't have any regrets over coming.
"She is beautiful," He could not help but smile at Lord Eddard who rode up beside him. "It reminds me of home, although I do miss the smell of the sea and watching the ships dock in the city outside my window. I didn't spend much time there, but the I do miss the smell of the sea…"
Eddard returned a smile in response, though the man had not understood his words; he seemed to grasp that Willam was in a degree of awe looking out at this place.
"Come," Lord Eddard said. "My household will be waiting."
"I shall translate for you," Lord Reed offered kindly. "Should you wish to say a few words."
"My thanks, Lord Reed – this difference in tongue I unfortunate…"
"Does your friend not speak his own tongue?" Howard looked to Suko atop his chestnut steed. "I had noticed that he does not speak Old-"
"I do," Suko interrupted the man with a shrug. "I simply choose not to."
"Suko has quite the ego you see," Willam began.
"Piss off Stark."
"And he has delusions of grandeur."
"Imperial is the more civilized tongue, Stark." Suko rolled his eyes.
"See?" Willam smirked at his friend's antics. "He's completely delusional."
"Completely," Aedan agreed with a nod from his prince's side as they rode.
Lord Reed found himself laughing, that earned the ghost of a smirk from Eddard.
"Are the old ways common where you're from, Willam?"
It was a young girl who asked. She was short and slim with long brown hair knotted up into a bun behind her head, with her father's emerald-green eyes. Meera Reed was equal parts curious and cheerful. That she wasn't using his title, he put down to simply childish innocence.
"What is considered 'old' by your standards, Lady Reed?"
"Lady Reed is my mother," She remarked happily, with a hint of mischief in her eyes. "My name is Meera, it's nice to finally meet you Willam – are you liking The North? Is it everything you hoped for? Has much changed since your people left all those years ago?"
"You ask a lot of questions," He smirked at the young girl riding on her horse.
If her father cared that his daughter was hounding him with questions, he didn't show it.
"Do I?" She asked, with that same glint of mischief.
"That was a question," Willam saw her game and knew from his own nieces that she wasn't going to let up. She wasn't a wolf, being a whatever-the-hell-that-lizard-thing-was; but children were children. "Very well, answer mine and I'll answer yours – how does that sound little lady?"
Meera Reed gave a firm nod in reply.
"What is considered Old?"
The girl looked around as if she'd be caught.
"Wargs," She whispered low as if it weren't only her father and – Willam assumed her brother too – that spoke their tongue and thus they weren't at any 'risk' of being heard. Still the girl spoke as if it were all some grand secret. "And magics…"
He raised a brow at her. "Wargs aren't common here?"
She shook her head frantically.
"Much has been forgotten," Lord Reed added to the conversation.
"It appears so," Willam replied with a hum of thought.
First it was the 'Old' Tongue now damn Warging wasn't known either? Madness…
"So," Meera pried further. "What about magic!?"
"No," His mind chased to flashes of black vapour and strange dreams. "No magic."
The girl stared at him as if doubting him for the seconds hesitation.
Ahead of their party was a town simply named 'Winter Town' because it was mostly deserted during summer. The smallfolk had seemingly begun to inhabit the town, however. "They fear a long Winter," Howland explained with a touch of concern in his voice.
Willam was used to the attention, youngest son or not, his adventures – or misadventures in some's opinion – were often told among the smallfolk in taverns or gossiping lords in quiet private places where the King couldn't hear their whispers. The people of Winter Town had left their houses to witness the Stark calling himself a Prince.
It didn't seem all that different to returning home, in truth; though there were far less people.
They rode past a market square filled with wooden stalls down muddy streets lined with rows of houses made from logs and undressed stone.
Less than one in five appeared occupied at a glance. "Back home," Willam spoke mostly for Lord Reed's ears. "Wrightport serves as all the shelter our people need, or the holds of our banners. It's the jewel of our kingdom. This place seems barely liveable…"
"It wasn't always that way," Aedan spoke as he looked around.
"And my people helped your Shipwright," Suko added.
"I suppose so," Willam glanced around. Winterfell was impressive, to be sure, but live for those beyond its walls seemed more akin to an Outlands village than a town bordering the North's capital.
"Over eight hundred years," Cregan frowned in thought. "Yet the town remains – it's surprising, no doubt – has there been no development in all this time?"
"The North is not a rich place my friends," Howland answered them as they rode through the town. "From what I know of Brandon the Burners days, many of the norths folk fled the Stoney Shore once ironborn raids increased in the absence of the Winter Fleet; in favour of White Harbour, or Borrowton."
"White Harbour?" Willam hadn't heard that name.
"Ah," Reed's gazed seemed to falter. "You'd know it as the Wolfs Den, though it has grown greatly over the years from what you might know – while the Wolfs Den is little but a fort at best or a prison at worst these days, I'm afraid…"
"What!?" Aedan barked in surprise from atop his horse.
"A tale for later," Reed assured as Lord Eddard dismounted. "I vow to answer all your questions then."
Aedan stared at the small man for a time before grunting his reply with a nod.
In the courtyard there were guardsmen and a family lined up to greet their returning lord. Eddard quickly walked over to embrace a red-headed woman who could only be his wife; alongside equally red-headed children.
"Prince Willam," Eddard called him over. "Allow me to introduce my lady wife, Catelyn Stark."
Willam planted a kiss on her hand when she held it out for him. "Lady Stark, my thanks for taking foolish lost adventurers into your house. I promise not to be of too much trouble, though I would keep an extra close eye on my friend Suko…"
"Piss off Stark," Suko scoffed in Imperial. A tongue that even Howland could not understand.
One of Starks daughters giggled at that when Reed translated his words.
"Welcome to Winterfell, Prince Willam."
Eddard went down the line and introduced the others. "This is my eldest, Robb."
The boy was three-and-ten at most with blue eyes and thick red-brown hair, looking nothing like a Stark in truth; as the young wolf resembled his mother through and through. He didn't shy away from Willam's gaze however even as he towered over young Robb Stark.
"His brother Brandon," Eddard continued naming his litter of pups. "While our youngest Rickon is still a babe and isn't present I'm afraid – but you'll see him with his mother at some point I'd say – should our talks go well. Time will tell. "
"A pleasure to meet you all." Willam offered his hand to the young heir of Winterfell, who took it gladly, shaking it with a firm grip for such a young man. The youngest, Brandon, stood tall for his age. Will smiled down at the young six-year-old wolf.
"My daughters," Eddard continued. "Sansa and Arya."
"Are you really a prince?" The youngest Stark girl, a small skinny thing of only seven years, crooked her head to the side to inspect the alleged prince. She had a long face and grey eyes, looking far Starker than her siblings.
"Arya!" Lady Stark shot her a glare for her question.
Howland repeated the girl's question in the Old Tongue with some amusement.
"It's quite alright," Willam smiled and knelt to the girl's level, taking off his silver circlet and handing it to the girl without a fuss; even as Cregan's eyes practically screamed at his brother for handing over such an expensive and symbolic item.
It was only a piece of jewellery to Will and he didn't care much for it.
"Cooool," The little wolf said in awe as she held it. "Can I keep it!?"
"If you swear to return it by the dawn," He stood and shrugged. "I suppose…"
Arya Stark's eyes went wide with glee.
"Swear it by the sun and stars, little wolf."
She looked confused by the words as Howland said them, as did her family; but she visibly shrugged and said the words proudly – all while puffing out her chest to seem bigger and taller and older than she truly was.
"I swear it by sun and stars!"
Arya ran off with the silver circlet like a thief in the night.
"Arya Stark you get back here this INSTANT!"
Her mother sighed wearily and began spewing apologies to her guests for her daughter's actions, citing it as 'appalling behaviour' only for Willam to say how "children are children, let them enjoy it; while it lasts."
Catelyn Stark didn't seem to know how to respond to that, only looking to her husband.
"Well said," Eddard replied, though it was clear his wife disagreed.
There was one Stark unaccounted for, however.
"And this is?"
All eyes fell on Jon Snow.
"Ah," Eddard hummed, eyes darting to his wife. "Jon, step forward lad."
The boy was of similar age to Robb, at a guess, only Willam found this one looked every inch a Stark of Winterfell with his long face and dark-brown hair, with grey eyes that were so dark that they almost seemed black. Unlike most of his siblings, clearly, he'd inherited all of his parent's Stark blood.
"This is my son," Eddard motioned the boy to step forward. "Jon Snow."
"Your Grace," Jon Snow bowed his head with well-practiced respect.
Willam got a good hard look at this one, as the only wolf of Winterfell to not look him in the eyes, it was cause for attention – at least in his opinion.
Why wouldn't the boy look him in the eyes?
"Head up lad," He said simply, darting to Howland as if to say 'tell him'
Howland seemed conflicted and uneasy around this boy, for some strange reason – the moment Jon Snow stepped forward and lowered his head Howland's emotions had shifted like the tide. "I-" The boy seemed to panic under all the attention laid upon him. "Um-"
"Always look a man in the eyes Snow."
Jon Snow looked to his father, who gave him a nod.
"Aye," He seemed hesitant still as Catelyn glared at the back of the boy. "Your Grace."
"Will is fine lad, I'm no king."
Jon simply shook his hand as it was offered.
Cregan was actually smiling at that little show.
"My brother," Willam called him over and placed a hand on his shoulder. He watched Catelyn Stark closely before speaking; just to prove his hunch. "Prince Cregan Snow, son of his grace King Brandon the seventh of his name, and the Bastard of Winterhold."
He'd gone outboard on Snow's titles for one quite simple reason. Curiosity.
Lady Stark's features wrinkled only slightly in response, but enough for Willam to read. She'd hidden it poorly.
"Our thanks for your hospitality." Cregan bowed ever so stiffly. Not that anyone could blame him, as Lord Ryswell had kept him and his locked in a cell or in chains for little over a week – as if that one had his way, doubtless they would've fought on that beach. By some stroke of luck though Lord Eddard was a reasonable man.
Or he was far too trusting in his friend Howland's insistence that they were friends.
That they were, but still; it was unnatural 'luck' that graced them.
"Luck had nothing to do with it," Willam found himself thinking. "Howland knew we were coming. He'd known – somehow – and the ghost of Lyarra told exactly the right man for the job. No doubt anyone else would've been dismissed by Lord Stark as a mad man."
"She'd planned all of this," The voice of doubt told him from the back of his mind. He hated that thought.
Eddard Stark trusted Lord Reed with his life, seemingly without hesitating.
Was it loyalty or foolishness that led a ma to trust that fully?
"Aedan Greystark," Willam announced his friend and found himself comparing him to Howland for a moment. Did he trust Aedan as Eddard did Howland? Now there was a worrying thought for him. "Captain of my Greycloaks, my shield and brother in all but blood."
Yes. The answer was yes, he did trust Aedan as Eddard trusted Howland. That scared him; honestly.
Flash sat at Aedan's feet, still as a stature; except for his casually wagging tail as the wolf gleefully observed everything around him.
"An honour to be here," Aedan bowed lowered than Cregan had, though the looks he got were no less scrutinizing from Lady Stark – and Willam found that confusing. He'd thought that look reserved for bastards…
Why was Catelyn Stark equally disgruntled by Aedan of all people?
"The Wolfs Den is little but a ruined prison these days," Howland had told them before, so perhaps that explained it? The name Greystark clearly didn't hold the same respect that it did back in Winterhold. There was a story there, just as there was with House Ryder no doubt.
The air had turned uneasy as Lord Eddard stood patiently and his wife not so patiently.
"Lastly," Willam cleared his throat. "Prince Suko Lóng of the Dawn."
Suko bowed flamboyantly in the imperial style.
"Welcome to Winterfell," Lord Eddard spoke once Willam had clearly finished his introductions as Catelyn Stark quickly began to shoo her children away, telling her son Robb to 'find your sister' without needing to specify which sister. "Howland, please tell the Prince and his companions to follow us; there is much we need to discuss."
Lord Stark led them to the castles Godswood. It felt and looked ancient, far more so than Winterholds; as this place had a canopy of trees ranging from ash, chestnut, elm, hawthorn, ironwood, oak, sentinel and pine so dense that the sun barely crept though the leaves in places. At the centre stood an ancient weirwood with a carved face.
The heart tree stood over a pool of black water, with roots that stretched into the water.
Compared to the relatively lively Godswood back home, it seemed that Winterfell's was a dark and gloomy place – enclosed by moss covered walls – as if a small world unto itself had been caught here and preserved without the meddling of man. Willam thought this must have be how Westeros looked before the First Men arrived.
"Someone is enjoying themselves at least…"
Flash had sprinted ahead, tail wagging; spiffing the fresh air as he explored merrily.
"So," Eddard Stark stopped under the branches of the heart tree as he seemed to watch them all intently. "I have questions for you, though I trust Howland's faith is well placed – there is a great deal left unsaid – and I must have answers if we are to established trust…"
"Ask me anything," Willam replied as Flash bounded up to sit by his side.
"You can imagine my surprise," Eddard began as he scanned their faces looking for falsehoods. "When visiting my friend Helman at Torrhen's Square, that an older friend arrived in the dead of night – unannounced, with his children in tow, and an outlandish story of wolves chased by sea serpents across the sunset…"
That did sound like madness. So, the question was; what convinced him?
"It wasn't that I didn't believe you Howland," He was quick to not insult his old friend, though Reed simply smiled in reply and didn't seemed in the slightest bothered by his lords hesitating. "Yet, when you told me the tale; I admit I thought it some strange jest."
"So," Willam asked curiously. "What convinced you?"
"A raven arrived at Torrhen's Square not long after Howland arrived, from Lord Ryswell."
"Charming man," Cregan commented aloud.
"That could've ended badly," Suko muttered below his breath.
"Yes, he isn't the warmest of men." Eddard eyed Willam's party intently, still looking for some whiff of a lie. "His raven reported some 'pirates' calling themselves all manner of names – including Stark – anchored off the Stoney Shire with ships that, the way he described them, were beyond even the Braavosi."
"We've come a long way since the Shipwright," Aedan said proudly.
"I'd say so," Eddard hummed in reply. "Those ships are something many would happily kill to obtain…"
"We'd be willing to share our knowledge," Willam ceased an opening as he saw it.
Eddard looked suspicious, while Howland only seemed hopeful.
"Why be so forthcoming?" Eddard asked sincerely. "You could ask for-"
"I do not want riches," Willam dismissed. "In gold or title or land – for I have plenty of both at home, Lord Stark – or did I not hand your daughter my own crown; worth its weight in silver? I care nothing for such things and that wasn't our purpose sailing here…"
"We did not come here as beggars," Cregan added quickly.
"Nor I certainly, though; home is far away." Suko did have a point, speaking in the Old Tongue much to his clear distaste.
"No," Willam agreed with his companions. "We came here as friends, on an arguably foolish voyage across waters I would gladly never sail across again; all with the slim hope of returning to the home of our ancestors. We want for nothing; though a roof and food wouldn't go amiss…"
"I knew you would come," Howland said sagely. "I just didn't know when, or how…"
"What did she tell you?"
"Your sister?"
"If that is what you wish to call it," Willam gave a shrug, unbelieving in the supposed identity of whatever madness had gripped the world. "What did the dream calling itself my sister tell you, exactly, Lord Reed? I'd very much like to know everything."
"It was many years ago," He explained with a hint of sadness in his tone. "I had sought out knowledge among the Green Men at the Gods Eye in the hopes of unlocking my talents; though sadly, I failed. I was young and foolish back then…"
"You failed?" It was Eddard to ask, with his brow raised in question.
"It was not I who had the gift," Howland only shook his head.
"And yet, my 'sister' spoke to you…"
"In a dream," He confirmed and seemed to find something funny, chuckling lightly to himself at the memory. "I was thrilled beyond words, you see; for I thought with the arrogance of my youth that the Green Men had been wrong about me – but it was not so – and I was merely to be a messenger of things to come."
Howland explained how he'd drank from the sap of a heart tree and dreamed a deep dream.
"In the dream, she came to me." He placed his hand up against the white bark of the weirwood. "As shadows danced all around the trees, she appeared, dressed so similar to the Green Men as I knew them; with their coats sown of green leaves and white bark. She called me as if she knew my face."
Eddard's face seemed a mix of emotions as his friend spoke.
"She told me to return home," Howland sighed as he continued, removing his hand from the tree. "She spoke of wayward wolves across the sunset sea being chased by the ghost of a great serpent; and that – when they arrived – I would know, though she would not say how, only that when the time came; I would help Willam Stark."
"I saw her once," Willam admitted quietly, staring at Reed as if he were a threat.
"You saw our sister and said nothing!?"
"In a damn dream," He dismissed his brother's rage. "It was only a dream…"
"It was so much more than that Prince Willam," Howland practically vowed it. "What is it she told you Prince? The last thing she spoke, before the dream faded; she asked something of you – did she not? What was it she asked of you then?"
Willam stared at Howland Reed's emerald eyes and thought to lie.
"Who are you to-"
Howland interrupted him.
"-deny the will of gods?"
"How did you know-" Willam's hand had instinctively gone to the pommel of Frostbite.
"She asked me the same," Howland Reed was entirely unconcerned. "What did you tell her?"
He hadn't given that dream much thought in well over a year. He'd managed to forget the finer details in fact, pushing them down to suffocate them; but now they returned like a tide – and they returned with a vengeance, raging furiously in his mind.
"Watch me," Willam muttered. "I told her to watch me."
Howland nodded sagely at that. Had she been… watching him all this time?
"Impossible," He found himself muttering a curse to the gods.
"The Old Gods are always watching us," Reed declared. "Here of all places, they can see."
The hearttree of Winterfell's Godswood seemed to look straight though them all, if one glanced at it in the right way; or for long enough – it seemed to peer into ones very being. Or it might've just been Will's over-active imagination. He'd seen stranger things though…
Eddard Stark shifted on the spot as wind blew gently through the canopy above.
"We are not your enemy Lord Stark," Willam decided to cut through the tension building in the air around them all. "We can offer you much and ask for little in return; but if you do not wish us here. We shall leave. I've no decide to stay if we are not welcome."
Lord Stark seemed to consider, and for the first time; there was a cold judgment about the man where there'd otherwise been a kindness. "Howland vouches for you on his life," He began with a stern look at his friend who replied with a nod as if to say 'I do' in reply. "Your story – and everything about your people – speaks plain of something far beyond what any common pirate or trickster could muster up… and Howland knew your name before I'd even read Ryswell's letter…"
Eddard paused, closing his sigh briefly; before sighing.
"It's all far too much to be some mummers farse."
Willam could only stand firm and await the man's verdict as Howland translated his words.
"I believe in my friend, and I believe that you believe your story Prince Willam; though I remain rather sceptical – it would be foolish of me to turn away what you might offer my people. Those ships of yours alone would rival that of even Braavos."
"That we would gladly share," Willam repeated, though he needn't have.
Eddard hummed in a moment thought. "You are welcome here at Winterfell," He decided in a stern official tone that seemed like how an old King in the North might've spoken. "And your ships may dock at White Harbour, where I would ask – as a show of faith – that your men work alongside my bannermen there."
"Arthur Wright was raised to be a shipwright as much as a sailor," Willam stated with some hint of pride on the man's behalf. "And my cousin Edwyn's family are traders and craftsmen at heart. If you allow me to send word, then I'm certain they'd happily share what they know with your people."
"Not least if we could somehow contact our respective homelands – though such a feat may prove difficult at best – I've no doubt trade could be very beneficial to all." Suko had put on his best 'Princely' sounding tone as he spoke. "Willam's people benefited greatly from their relations to my own, as could yours; Lord Stark."
"I ask only that my people are treated fairly and given shelter," Willam added simply. "Until such a thing that we're able to return home."
Howland informed his liege, who turn seemed to mull over the information.
The advantages far outweighed any potential negatives, if only to learn the secrets of their shipwrights; for there was a reason the Braavosi jealously guarded their own secrets – almost as much as they coveted their wealth – it was no secret that their warships were the subject of envy for many.
The potential to someday outshine Braavosi naval strength was nothing to scoff at. Many would, Ned knew, kill for this opportunity.
The North had no shortage of lumber but lacked the talent and know-how. Willam was offering the latter, for next to no cost!
"I will have my wife arrange chambers for you in the guest wing."
Lord Stark began to leave with a quick farewell and a request to talk further over a dinner later, plus a suggestion that Willam speak with the castles 'Maester' about sending ravens to his people as to inform them of events; assuming they'd make it to White Harbour safely.
Everyone seemed to breathe easier once the Stark lord had left the Godswood.
"That could've gone worse," Cregan spoke his view.
"At least he isn't kicking us out into the snow," Suko huffed out his opinion.
"Is sharing our naval secrets really wise?" Aedan was the voice of caution. "Your father wouldn't approve…"
"Father isn't here," Willam countered with a shrug. "Our people need homes here for the foreseeable future – not to mention a roof for ourselves. What better way than a show of good faith that'll greatly benefit The North? Eddard's people are our people too, in a manner. It is the right call…"
"I agree with Will in this much," Cregan decided with a sigh. "Actions over words."
Cregan was agreeing with his decision. Surely, this was a sign of the coming end times.
"Now," Willam looked to Howland and raised an eyebrow. "What the fuck is a Maester?"
Lord Reed laughed heartily at that like he was a man half his age.
"I should see to my children," He told them all before offering his own farewells and leaving the four guests of Winterfell alone in its Godwood.
Five guests, if one counted the wolf…
"Where has Flash gone to?"
They look looked around for the wolf.
"No," Whispered muttering could be heard. "Stop it, bad!"
"Flash!" Aedan barked the command.
"Stupid dog, give it back!"
Flash came out from behind the weirwood wagging his tail happily.
"What's that boy?" Aedan knelt and took the silver circlet out of the wolf's mouth, though it was covered in wolf droll; the furry beast looked immensely proud of itself for retrieving the object. "Will's crown, from behind a talking tree? How curious…"
"Come out," Willam demanded of whoever was behind the tree, ignoring Aedan's attempt at sarcasm.
A little girl sulked out from behind the giant weirwood with nervous smile and muddy clothes. She muttered "SorryaboutthecrownIdidntmeantogetitmuddyand-"
The girl was speaking too fast, not that any of the three could understand her regardless.
"The wolf has caught a smaller wolf," Suko smirked at his own genius.
"Arya Stark," Willam named her, recalling the young girl from earlier.
She seemed to understand the word "Stark" at the very least and connected the dots to realise the first word must've been her name.
"You speak funny," She tilted her head. "Why is that?"
Willam merely lifted up his silver circlet as if that were answer enough.
"Crown?" Arya thought for a moment, her head tilted to the side curiously. "Oh… OH! Father said there weren't any Stark kings since Aegon and his dragons – though I like Visenya more, she was a great warrior – so where are you from mister?"
"The kid know we can't understand her, right?" Cregan wasn't good with children, never had been.
"You must be from far away then!" Arya continued, ignoring the blank stares; though Willam was smirking at the young girls rambling nonsense. "Are you from Essos? Maester Luwin says that Brandon Snow – he was a bastard – fled to Essos; so, you must be his great-great-great son or something right!?"
"Curious little wolf this one," Aedan said with a smirk.
None of them quite knew what to say or do with the youngest Stark daughter.
"They can't understand you," came a monotone dull almost bored sounding voice from the trees.
"HOLY CRAP!"
Arya had jumped, wide-eyed.
"They only speak the Old Tongue."
"I knew that!" Arya snapped at the new arrival, a very slim boy of only ten, dressed in green with unusually deep green eyes.
A flash of realization sparked in the little wolfs eyes.
"I- Don't tell mother I swore! YOU HAVE TO PROMISE!"
The boy simply blinked and turned to the strangers.
"Jojen Reed," Willam spoke to the boy. "That was your name, wasn't it?"
"It is," Jojen confirmed simply.
"You know it isn't polite to spy on people – either of you."
"I saw you in my dreams," The boy spoke in the old tongue almost as perfectly as his father, surprisingly; for one so young.
Willam simply stared down at the boy and assumed that he wanted something.
"Father suggested I wait for the right moment to show myself…"
"Did he now?"
Jojen simply nodded.
"You say you dreamed of us?"
"I saw a black wolf wash up from the sunset sea," Jojen explained slowly, eyeing the silver circlet in Will's hands. "When father heard about it, he was adamant that he understood its meaning – so we left for Torrhen's Square immediately."
This boy spoke of his dreams as if they were stories yet to be told.
"Not only that," He continued in his almost bored-like sounding tone. "I dreamt of white striped cats feasting on giant legged serpents before the shadows consumed them all. I saw other wolves burning in that darkness, one frozen, one broken, one cursed."
The boy paused his rambling and looked Willam in his eyes.
"In the end, I saw the black wolf drowning under dark waves."
Willam scoffed at that. "Well, I didn't drown lad; so-"
"Not yet, no."
"Strange boy," Suko eyed him as if he'd grown a tail all of a sudden.
This child was beyond strange. It almost reminded Willam of the old stories about-
"Greenseers," The word rang against his skull. It promised nothing good, that much he knew. Only one man in a thousand was born a warg, and only one warg in a thousand could ever be a greenseer. They'd only appeared a handful of times in the Sunset Islands; and usually ended up vanishing from all records.
"Arya," Jojen turned to the girl who was staring wide-eyed at the boy who spoke fluent Old Tongue. "Your brother is looking for you, and your mother is quite furious – should you not go to them? I do not think that-"
"You can understand them!" She ignored his words completely.
"I can," He replied with a weary look.
"Cool," She remarked with a smirk. "Teach me!"
Jojen seemed entirely out of his element, like a fish flopping around desperately looking for water.
"Flash," Willam looked to the wolf who looked straight back. "Take her to her pack. Gently." The practically skipped up to the girl, bit down on her arms sleeve and carefully began heading away – taking the small wolfgirl with him – though she was not happy about it in the least.
"Hey!" Arya protested as the wolf lead her away. "I wasn't finished! Bad dog! BAD!"
"Thank you," Jojen breathed a sigh of relief as they vanished from view.
Aedan and Cregan both stared at the young Reed boy blankly.
"Did you want something from us, young Reed?"
"No," Jojen shook his head. "Only to meet you."
"And?" Willam asked the boy, curious.
"You're strange," The boy declared blankly with no hint of emotion.
"Got that right lad," Cregan agreed with a scoff of amusement.
"The boy does have you there Stark," Suko laughed in agreement.
This boy had gone from strange to rude and strange very quickly.
"Not in a bad way," He countered, but hung his head in deep thought. "It's just – you're not supposed to be here, you've changed things. It is… strange…"
"What does that mean boy?"
"I-" Jojen blinked and shifted a little on his feet. "I do not know what it means."
The boy seemed genuinely shocked by that realisation, as if not knowing was a wholly new sensation to him; and that unknown scared him as the dark might a child. He looked about ready to faint. "I think that's enough talk of dreams for one day," Willam muttered aloud. "Or maybe one year…"
"Y- Yes," The Reed boy agreed though seemed to breathe heavier.
"Come on then lad," Willam put a hand on the boy's shoulder and looked down at him, finding himself concerned for the frail looking thing. If these were green dreams, they'd taken more than their toll on the boy. "Let's see to finding your father, shall we? I've had my fill of the gods for now."
Jojen Reed seemed to agree as he walked with Willam and the others in silence.
"Lord Reed," Willam quickly found the boy's father. "I have something that belongs to you."
"Jojen," Howland smiled at his son and ruffled the lad's hair.
If the Lord of Greywater was surprised at the boy's company, he didn't show it.
"I trust he wasn't any trouble Prince Willam?"
Strange, disturbing, concerning; odd – and yet; Jojen Reed was still only a child.
"He's gifted," Willam decided to say instead. Did the man know of his son's true gifts?
"Yes," Howland seemed to beam with pride. "He is indeed that."
"Lord Eddard bid me see the Maester, but I-"
"Try the Library," Howland pointed out a tower across the yard from them.
The Library Tower was across the yard and up a winding staircase that wrapped about the tower's exterior and within was a forest of books on dusty shelves
"Hello?" Willam called out, then realised that nobody had informed him if this 'Maester' would even be capable of understanding him.
Books upon books greeted him – some more dusty than others – while some were ancient looking; almost threatening to turn to dust should a man pick them up. "Prince Sedric 'the Sorrowed' Stark" one books cover read, and Willam dared to open it; hoping the thing wouldn't fall apart.
Turning the pages, it appeared to be an accounting of an ancient Prince's life, covering his early years only briefly; but going on to his later years. Sedric hadn't lived a happy live it seemed, as it spoke of love and betrayal and great loss to the point Will questioned if it were a work of fiction.
"Can you read it?" An old man spoke from the shadows of the library, his gaze judging and equally curious.
Willam only briefly glanced up from the pages to notice the man. He carefully flipped through the tome – as to not tear the clearly frail pages – only to stop at several runes and read over them in his head. There was a strange beauty to the words.
Sedric Stark had fallen in love it seemed, and there was a poem; or a song – or their short-lived dalliance.
"I can," Willam replied as he read over the page. "Why do you ask?"
"What does it say then?"
A too obvious test, frankly speaking. So be it.
"The sun, the moon, the stars," Willam spoke the short tune aloud and found they weighed heavier than he'd expected. Sedric's love had died young and the loss, it seemed, had consumed him. "Shine less brightly with you so far. I never knew sorrow 'til you asked me to follow my heart…"
"Continue," The old man bid him read further.
"For all the tales I've told," He did as the old man asked of him. "And these whispers of silver and gold. I'd throw them all away, to gaze on your face once more…"
The ancient prince had written the lines himself, or so it seemed; as many of the runes were faded and ill-kept.
The old man seemed content, humming happily as he took the book back and placed it away.
"It's not every day one finds another capable of reading the old tomes," He revealed honestly as he gently returned the book to its resting place. "Certainly, a gift I dare say few south of the Wall would possess – and even fewer north of it perhaps? The Wildlings are not learned folk as far as common knowledge would tell us…"
"I'm no wildling," Willam frowned at the old man.
"No," He agreed. "That would be quite extraordinary."
"Why would that be extraordinary?"
"A wildling with a solid silver circlet, ships beyond anything the citadel have knowledge of; all accompanied by numbers in the thousands dressed in fine steel and castle-forged blades?" The maester scoffed is disbelief. "Such a thing would require a fool to believe Prince Willam."
"And you are not such a man, Maester?"
The old man's identity was, one assumed, the Maester.
"Gods no," He denied with a kind smile. "I am many things, but never that."
The maester handed him another book, this one more ancient; near falling apart.
"The last book," He asked, curiosity glinting in his old eyes. "What did you think of it if you have an opinion to share young man? You glanced the pages, yes? I have been unable to translate it word for word – yet your own reading was quite illuminating!"
"It was a poem of sorts," Willam explained, opening the new book. "And may I know your name, old man?"
"I am Luwin," He answered with a kind smile. "Maester of Winterfell, and you must be our newest guest. Prince Willam?"
Willam gave the man a nod, surprised that he knew so much; not to mention that he spoke the Old Tongue fairly well.
"A poem though yes?" Luwin seemed to drift into thought. "Interesting, I had not thought the First Men versed in as flowery a fancy as poetry. I thought perhaps a song, or a war chant – or something to that effect. Remarkably interesting…"
"This book is older," Willam could barely make out the runes on these pages.
"Oh yes," Luwin confirmed with what could only be called a 'wise' glance at the book. "Far older. You'll find Winterfell's library is a treasure-trove; to those capable of reading them. I admit, my curiosity got the better of me, so I researched a grasp of the Old Tongue."
"You're quite the learned man Maester."
"A man's mind is his most powerful weapon, young Prince."
A common enough sentiment and a true enough one, if only in sentiment. Less so in practice.
"A sharp sword can be plenty powerful," Willam countered the old man.
"There are some who call my order the knights of the mind…"
"Knight is an Andal term, no?" He'd heard it before, even back in Winterhold from the ancient histories of Brandon the Shipwright. The old Kings in the North had stuck 'Knights' on pikes or had their banners flay them living as warnings. Foolish andals…
"Yes," Luwin explained. "A warrior tradition, of a manner – brought over during the Andal Invasion along with chivalry and the like; though some tales from the Reach claim chivalry originated with one John the Oak – founder of House Oakheart. The truth of that particular story could be disputed, however…"
The old man liked his history lessons, even when Willam hadn't exactly asked for them.
"And what of magic?" Willam closed shut the book in his hands.
"Magic?" Luwin scoffed at the notion. "See this link in my chain?"
He tugged gently at a link in the chain-choker around his neck.
"What about it?"
"When one of my order completes his education and takes his vows, he puts aside his past life and forges for himself a chain." The old man began another lesson. "Black Iron for Ravenry. Silver for Medicine. Iron for Warcraft. Gold for Economics. Copper for History. Bronze for astrology, and so on; the longer a chain the wiser the man."
"And what metal is that link?"
"Valyrian Steel," Luwin answered. "For studying of the Higher Mysteries."
"Why forge such a link if you dismiss magic?"
"I was a young idealistic fool, that's why Prince."
"So," Willam asked again. "Magic isn't a tool on par with the mind, or the blade?"
Maester Luwin looked at him with that strange mix of emotions again.
"I can teach history, healing, herblore." He began another lesson. "I can teach you the speech of ravens, and how to build a castle, and the way a sailor steers his ship by the stars. I can teach you to measure the days and marks the seasons, and at the Citadel in Oldtown they could teach you a thousand things more."
"But none could teach magic?"
"No," Luwin shook his head, though there was a hint of hesitating.
"None at all?"
"A mentor of mine for a time," He admitted reluctantly, clearly holding some annoyance towards whoever his mentor was. "Marwyn – though some called him Marwyn the Mage – fanned the flames of my idealism as a young man. He was a fraud though, nothing more."
The topic had clearly aggravated the old man somewhat.
"Lord Stark wished me to send a raven to a city called White Harbour."
"Ah," Luwin seemed glad for the change of topic. "This is something I can do for you Prince Willam, if you'd follow me to the rookery; we can have a raven sent in no time. I can prepare a quill and ink should you need it. And you must take the time to read some pages for me; if you wouldn't mind."
Willam couldn't say he minded. This old man seemed harmless, if not a little obsessed with books.
"Lead the way then Maester," He told the old man with a smirk.
It was a short walk out of the library tower to the maesters rookery, where a quill and ink waited.
His letter would reach White Harbour long before Arthur Wright or Edwyn reached the city on their ships, since they'd be sailing around the country – word wouldn't arrive from them for more than a month; assuming nothing interrupted their travels. Time would tell how well they'd fare sailing around Westeros.
The Great Hall of Winterfell was built of grey stone with wide doors made of oak and iron, which opened out to the castle yard. Inside were eight long rows of trestle tables, four to each side of the central aisle. They sat atop a raised platform, where the high seat of the old Kings in the North stood.
The seat had massive arms are decorated with the carved heads of snarling direwolves.
Willam and the others were seated on the raised dais with the Stark family for supper, a feast of freshly caught venison and vegetables grown in the castles glass gardens. "Prince Willam," It was Eddard to begin conversation; as his children ate in relative silence. "Tell me about your land – if you would…"
Maester Luwin was present standing by the lord's shoulder to translate. The language barrier remained a hindrance.
It was one that he aided to fix as soon as time permitted.
"My home is the Sunset Islands," Willam began as he finished a gulp of northern honeyed mead.
"How is it you came to survive there Prince Willam?" Catelyn asked, daintily cutting her venison.
"You know of King Brandon the Shipwright of course, an old King in the North that sailed across the Sunset Sea some eight-hundred or so years ago in search of new lands and a home for those who followed him?" It seemed they did as those present all nodded, seeming to recall the tale well enough.
"Aye," Eddard replied. "His son set fire to what remained of the western fleet ships in grief as all assumed King Brandon to be dead. That was the last time the North had any true strength at sea, and what was once the Western Shore became the Stoney Shore – as increased Ironborn raids drive the people to migrate inland…"
Willam raised an eyebrow at that bit of information, but it explained a few things.
"What ever happened to House Fisher? We had expected to see a port town on the shore…"
"House Fisher once ruled the Western Shore – as was its preferred name once – until with the Shipwright absence and Brandon the Burners short-sighted actions, the Ironborn seized the opportunity to raid with near impunity and slowly but surely the smallfolk fled in droves inland to safety. House Fisher, just as the Farstarks before them, disappearing into history. I was always taught that the Ironborn had been the cause for their disappearance."
"Why would the Shipwright's son burn the only defence the Western sea had?"
"Greif can do funny things to men," Willam replied to Aedan with a hint of sadness.
"Our people pride ourselves on the strength of our fleet," Cregan added with a frown. "To burn ships out of grief!? Madness…"
"The man had lost his father to a fruitless venture," Eddard commented, shaking his head slightly at the thought.
"Not so fruitless," Willam countered. "We thrived on the lands the Shipwright founded, with a little help at least."
The venison was well cooked and seasoned, so he couldn't help but take a moment to savour the taste. It had been too long since they'd had a good meal.
"Our records say King Brandon lost many ships to the storms and terrors of the deep, making landfall with barely a quarter of the fleets original size. The first thing King Brandon did after building Winterhold was order the construction of a statue in the centre of Wrightport to honour those that did not survive the journey." Willam paused to remember the rest and the names engraved on the statue, as it had been some time since he'd read the old stories.
"Wrightport?" Catelyn Stark asked, seemingly interested – though she tried to avoid looking in Cregan's direction.
"A city," Willam answered her gladly. "More of a small village at first honestly, built at the site where Brandon's fleet made landfall. Winterhold grew in strength atop the cliffs and so did the village below, then within a few years it became a small city and main trade hub of the Islands. A few hundred years passed, and now the city is host to the Winter Fleet and countless souls from the Islands and elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?" Robb Stark asked, nobody seeming intent on stopping the young heirs curiosity.
Willam was happy to share as he ate. "Other nobles settled the smaller islands with holdings of their own, but afterwards Brandon sent out men in search of more fertile land to settle. We've since opened trade with a people in a forested region that the locals call Mossovy, strange folk, but after they grew accustomed to our sails on their shores, we formed good relations and began trading lumber; for the most part – they also had remarkable knowledge of certain herbs and-"
"Mossovy?" Maester Luwin asked, as the man stood beside his lord in translation. "That is a land to the far east, Prince Willam…"
He was confused at that, raising a brow at the old man. What were the chances of two lands claiming same name? Luwin wasn't perfect at the tongue, nor translation, but he sounded certain. It was the names the locals gave after all, not one the Shipwright had given…
"I think we know the difference between West and East," Suko scoffed in Imperial as to not be translated.
"No insult was meant," Eddard commanded, reading Suko's scoff as being upset by the claim, though Willam was too busy thinking to have ever been insulted. If people from Westeros knew of Mossovy then perhaps that was a road home? "Please continue Prince Willam, it seems you've much to say…"
Mmm? Oh, right, Willam had gone silent for an awkward pause.
"As you say," He shook the thought from his mind, but he'd return to that later. "The first land Brandon came across past the Sunset Islands was barren, a cold and endless desert. What men we stationed there at first were butchered and villages there now live a harsh life. We call it the Outlands."
Willam's mind was still arguing with itself about the West-East concept, as the scowl on his face showed.
"Further west along the shore we found the Mossovy. Then, only a few years ago, my uncle Lord Fisher sailed further west and ventured to what he named the Hundred Islands, or in jest he called them the Hostile Islands; for the natives there were immediately hostile to his men."
Another follows up question, again from Luwin. "The Hostile Islands?"
Willam chuckled at it, agreeing that the name wasn't exactly original – though neither was the Hundred Islands moniker.
"The inhabitants are beyond fearful of anything foreign," He began to explain. "Lord Fisher landed and found himself beset upon by men and women with green-tinged skin and sharpened teeth, wielding no steel, they were quickly cut down although Fisher lost a handful of men during the initial shock. Hence, my uncle cursed the place as the 'Hostile' Islands in jest – only to return sometime later committed to adding the islands to my father's Kindgom."
It was best left unsaid that those green-skinned native worshiped strange fish-god things.
What was it that the Mossovy people called them?
"Demons," Willam recalled what his uncle had taught him. "The natives of Mossovy call them demons."
"You've not tried talking to these people like you did with the Mossovy?"
"No," Willam replied to Eddard. "The people of Mossovy were curious and willing to communicate, so they never attacked us nor we them. The people of the Hundred Islands attacked on sight and what words they spoke were short and likely curses. They are still human though; simply far removed from You or I."
"My lord," Maester Luwin turned to his lord. "I believe that Prince Willam speaks of the Thousand Islands."
The maester had spoken that in the Andal tongue, and Willam's thoughts snarled at the possible secrets being kept.
"Luwin," Eddard spoke with a nod. "No need to keep things from our guests…"
The Maester bowed his head slightly.
"I believe there are great similarities between what you know as the Hundred Islands and what we know as the Thousand Islands."
"I have spent time there years ago," Willam admitted curiously. "I can assure you there are not a thousand islands, but perhaps two hundred at most…"
Luwin smiled knowingly, as if he'd just been proven correct; and had every excuse for another history lesson. "Our own reports, coming from a man known as Ser Corlys Velaryon, estimate what we know as the Thousand Islands to be in truth closer to the numbers you just offered, Prince Willam."
Aedan stared at the old man. "You're calling my Prince a liar?"
"Not at all," Luwin shook his head in strong denial. "This is fascinating, simply put; the young Prince may have proven an old theory!"
"An old theory?" Willam asked, having already spent the last ten minutes forming his own theories.
"Indeed," The Maester once again jumped gladly at the chance to educate. "There was a Maester long ago – by the name of Pythagoras – that forged a ridiculous number of links for his study of astrology and naval practices. The man theorised, after lengthy study of the stars and seven wanderers, that the land is in fact curved!"
"Curved?" Eddard raised a brow as Luwin happily translated his entire damn history lesson.
"Quite so my Lord," The old man said with a smile, apparently glad for the question. "He believed – and even publish a book if I recall, should any wish to read it – that a man could travel into the far east of Asshai and end up back in the west should he go far enough. The theory was largely mocked however."
"Son of a bitch," Willam muttered out loud.
"Is something wrong?" The old man asked, surprised by the outburst.
"No," Willam grumbled at his thoughts. "No, please continue Maester."
The words "You must head West" taunted him endlessly.
"If there is some truth to this theory Lord Stark," Luwin spoke again in Andal to his lord. "I believe it may indeed be possible for our guests to sail East to what we know as the Thousand Islands; and perhaps reunite with these Sunset Stark's and their homeland."
"If true," Eddard hummed in thought. "It is indeed excellent news."
"Most fascinating, is it not?"
"I'm going to kill her," Willam muttered aloud, cursing the gods for their mockery.
"Will?" Cregan asked his little brother, who had made a show of slamming his head onto the oaken table in protest.
"My Prince?" Aedan asked with concern. "Is this not good news?"
"I think they broke him," Suko added with a laugh.
The gods were cruel devious bastards indeed if this 'theory' held water.
"I'm fine," Willam sighed as he lifted his head. "It's simply a lot to accept…"
"I understand," Eddard said with a frown. "You lost many lives in your voyage, did you not?"
A great deal of lives. And why? Because he'd been stubborn?
"If we'd gone West instead," The thoughts taunted him. "They might've all survived."
"Aye," Willam admitted to his host. "A great many were lost in the crossing."
"You couldn't have known Will," Aedan offered. "And it's only a theory, so it might be nonsense…"
"The greatest of discoveries are never without their peril I fear," Maester Luwin held to an understanding glance. "I am certain all those brave souls that choose to follow you knew the risks of such a voyage, did they not? You must've let loss weigh too heavily Prince."
There was a wisdom in that, though Willam had already learnt that lesson years ago.
"You're correct," He agreed. "They knew the risks, I know that Maester."
"We should inform Arthur of this theory once he arrives at that city," Aedan suggested to break the tension. "We may have a path home, and with that could come trade; among other things. This may be the greatest event in our history since the Shipwright…"
"It'll certainly be something," Cregan agreed.
"It's good news," Suko too agreed, looked to Willam with concern.
There was nothing to be about the dead. They knew the risks, but still; it was a cruel jest.
"You will be returning home then, Prince Willam?" Catelyn Stark asked with poorly veiled hope.
"I near enough two thousand souls under my care Lady Stark," Willam was beginning to dislike this woman who clearly wished them gone, though he couldn't quite blame her for the distrust – it was her distrain for Cregan's mere existence that tugged at his patience. "Some may wish a return home in time, aye."
"So many?" Catelyn seemed curious at that.
"Most are sailors, my Lady." He explained with a sip of the served wine. "Only a few hundred are trained soldiers."
The crews were all capable of holding their own, certainly; but far from all were trained for battle.
"Do you not miss your home, Prince Willam?"
Did he miss it? At first thought, the answer was a simple No.
"I've always been the black wolf of my family," He replied to the young Robb with a smirk.
"He has an annoying talent for running from the family," Cregan scoffed at the motion.
"And yet you follow me about brother of mine! Why is that?"
"Someone has to keep you out of trouble Will."
"I have Aedan for that," He scoffed, motioning at the Greystark.
"It's often too difficult a task for but one man," Aedan remarked. "The support is welcome."
Suko was laughing between his own gulps of northern mead.
"You see what I have to deal with, Maester!?"
"Oh yes," Luwin joined Suko in his amusement, "I see."
"I had a request for you," Willam looked to the Maester and his lord.
Eddard Stark seemed interested, putting down his dinner knife.
"If he is not too occupied, I would be interested in learning Andal, or common; as you call it – from Maester Luwin."
Luwin repeated the words for his lord, seemingly excited for the prospect and adding in Andal how "I would be pleased to educate the Prince in this, and perhaps in turn he may assist in my translating of the old tombs you request Lord Stark. It may prove fruitful in time."
"I agree it would make your stay with us more pleasant," Lord Eddard could see the wisdom in it.
"My thoughts exactly," Willam raised his mead up to the man.
He feared that a great many history lessons were in his future.
"Could I learn too father?" Robb Stark asked sincerely.
"The Old Tongue?"
"Aye," The young heir confirmed. "I think it'll prove useful, no?"
"I don't see why not," Eddard decided with a bite of his venison.
"The mind is a powerful tool young Stark," Luwin seemed thrilled at the idea of teaching the boy.
Robb Stark nodded in understanding. It didn't take long for his little sister to jump in after him.
"Me too! Me too!" Arya piratically demanded, dropping her knife as it fell to the floor with a clink.
"Arya!" Her mother scolded, moving to deny her unladylike request. "It is-"
"So long as it doesn't interfere with your other lessons, Arya."
"But daaaaaad!" Arya pouted with a huff, poking at her food with a finger.
"I leave it in your hands Luwin," Eddard said with an amused smile.
Maester Luwin looked like a giddy child. Willam thought that the old man would teach any child or man or woman or damn beast if it would only ask it of him – for his sincerity was genuinely pure. The man clearly had a great love of teaching and helping others.
It was a trait to be admired. Few people, Will believed, had ever appeared so genuine to him.
The feast had gone well – and the fresh venison had been to die for after so long at sea – although it was evident the Lady Stark held distrust for them; it was understandable. In truth they'd been lucky the Lord of Winterfell was seemingly a truly honourable man.
Willam wouldn't usually call such honour a good thing for a man, honestly; but in this case? Thank the gods.
In his chambers was a feathered bed that was just another thing to be grateful for after a month on rough seas, to sleep here would be an easy thing to be sure. The guest quarters of the keep weren't the grandest of places, but they certainly weren't poor by any stretch.
"Talon," Willam greeted the eagle as it handed at his window in the dead of night.
The bird eyed him, waiting impatiently; eager to take flight again.
"My thanks," He dismissed the bird after taking the note it carried.
Now, he wouldn't exactly call this 'spying' so much as 'curiosity' – and curiosity never hurt anyone – right?
The note was short and simple.
"Luna fears to lose Winter,
Alpha smooths her fears,
Beta close with Omega,
The Den is secure."
Willam made a mental note to give Rowana some kind of promotion…
There was a saying back home. Wars were fought on the ground but won in the sky.
Note(s): Okay so we've another 10k chapter. I hadn't planned it to be this long, but I got carried away introducing Will and the others to their new environment and rather liked using Luwin as a tool to explore things; and to bring up the possibility that traveling further East would return them home. We also meet the Reed kids, who are at Winterfell MUCH sooner than in the books as a result of Will's arrival and the gods interfering. The next time we see Willam Stark it'll be at Winterfell but after a little time-skip; but nothing jarring. The next chapter however will detail the fates of the other ships sailing/lost around Westeros.
The date at the time of Chapters 13/14 is 296 AC so it's 2yrs before the events of the books :)
Review(s): As usual, huge thanks for the comments :) always inspires me to continue writing when I see people like what I'm doing. Not everyone will, naturally (this is the internet and people like to forget about common decency :P) but to each their own. I do like the "rented house" analogy, think that's rather nailed the way I tackle my stories – since the idea is usually doing a fic with a concept that you won't easily find elsewhere, or find at all. I like a story to be my own n feel unique.
Happy to hear people liked it! I've been on a bit of a roll with writing, so I'm trying to keep this speed up while updating :D
Machiavelliwasright: First, damn long name, but while I see where you're coming from I have to disagree; as perhaps is was further shown in this chapter – that Ned trusts Howland with his life and there was an array of things that convinced him to take a chance on strangers. Snapping at Ryswell was expressed clearly as potentially a mistake as Will feared if he'd made a mistake with the bluff, that ultimately paid off – but not because it was the 'correct' decision. It was actually reckless. I don't know where you got the impression that Howland or Ned was 'ordered around' either; when Willam only ever asked for his brothers return – and that was a risk in of itself. Lastly, it's the Sunset Sea, not Narrow Sea. With how outlandishly strange their arrive was for Ned (+ with Howland's support) he took a chance on them.
Mister LaGuardia: Glad you're enjoying it :) but its the Sunset Islands, not the Summer Islands. There's no jungles. The climate is much the same as the North if not slightly warmer in the summer; and the closest thing to 'jungles' is over a months travel away via ship to the South of their islands etc.
KingOfSummer: I dunno how to answer this one… but no, events take place at the same time as the books. As for 'China' and 'Trains' well I'm afraid I don't know what you're smoking my friend, but I'd like some please :P tho jokes aside, do feel free to PM me if you're confused about the setting of the story :)