Chapter 03 – False Hope
Jon Snow didn't know what to make of destiny. Old Nan's stories and Sansa's tales of knights and romance made it feel right. The hero who was destined to defeat a greater evil, in the right place at the right time, or courtly, everlasting love that was meant to be. This was one way to interpret it, the brighter way.
However, he always felt there was a darker shade in destiny. The idea that he, or anyone else for that matter, was destined, either to greatness or failure despite their efforts and own volition was unsettling. Even unfair.
If destiny said he would never rise and die alone as a bastard he would accept it? Or he would desperately struggle to change it?
If destiny said he was destined to greatness he would hold these words in the highest of regards? Or he would grow complacent with it?
Jon had no idea.
Still, it was a foreboding sense of destiny and things falling into place that led him to ride a horse at dusk to leave Winterfell.
Raising Ebrion, learning to hunt from uncle Benjen, speaking with Alys, meeting the old sailor in White Harbor…
His experiences and insights both made him decide to leave his home and helped him along.
Rickon's birth turned out to be the perfect opportunity for Jon to enact his plan. His siblings and father became too preoccupied with Lady Stark's problems and paid him less attention, which helped Jon to prepare for his escape.
Now he needed Lady Stark to survive childbirth so he could leave without feeling bad about leaving his siblings unattended should the worse happen.
The opening he waited for wasn't Rickon's birth per se, but the ravens informing the new addition to the Stark family, being sent from Winterfell to the entire North, Riverlands, and some important holdings in the south. With the ravens away, his father would have a harder time contacting his bannermen and announcing his departure, at least for some time, creating a window of opportunity for Jon to create as much distance as possible.
He took some other precautions too. He tied scraps of his clothes to some of the wildlife in the Wolfswood so they could spread his scent and confuse the hounds. He used some of uncle Benjen's lessons in tracking to cover his marks, such as tying a branch to his horse's tail to his footprints erase his footprints and taking a long dip at the White Knife to erase his scent.
The letter he left behind was both a way to say goodbye to his siblings and further conceal his intentions from Lord Stark. In it, Jon wished well to his siblings and promised he would come back someday, with a name of his own. His reasoning was hidden behind words, as he stated he wanted to taste glory and would be traveling the world in search of opportunities.
It was a lie, he had one clear destination in mind: Starfall. Starfall and Lady Ashara Dayne.
By leaving in a horse and with his words, Jon hoped to trick his father into believing he took the Kingsroad and was headed south, when in truth he went east, back to White Harbor. From there he would take a ship, preferably to either King's Landing or Storm's End, although he would take Gulltown or even Braavos should the need arises. His main objective right now was not reaching Starfall, but distancing himself as much as possible from the North.
The White Harbor Jon came across this time is different than the one he visited. Made sense as Lord Manderly did not need to impress his father. He remembered the streets were cleaner and the residents' behavior more orderly.
He abandoned his horse at the Kingsroad, just before he crossed the White Knife. Hopefully, it would help trick his father into believing he went south. He was obviously tired, as he spent the previous five days making the trek on foot.
His window of opportunity still existed, and the fact that there were no signs of extra patrols on the streets signaled that news from his departure hadn't reached White Harbor at least.
Jon was many things, but a thief he was not. Thus, he spent the last few moons in Winterfell earning as much coin as possible. It wasn't much as he couldn't risk Lord Stark knowing, but it was enough for food and transport, besides a few pennies for other expenses, such as arrows and information.
It was already night as he reached his destination, the outer harbor was thankfully distant from the New Castle, which meant it was unlikely he was recognized. He dismissed the idea of wearing a hood as at that point it meant it would draw more attention than needed.
His steps were firm and he attempted to portray as much familiarity as possible with the harbor section of the city. He felt he did a good job considering he only had been there once.
The first detail that caught up his eye was the sailor laying on the wharf. Apparently, the sailor also noticed him.
"What do you want, kid?" the man's voice was gruff and unpolite.
"Which ships are setting sail today?"
"Why would I tell you that?"
He unceremoniously tossed the man a halfpenny.
"None."
"And tomorrow?" he tossed another halfpenny.
"Helman is to set sail for Braavos, Calon is heading to Sunspear, Tomard will sail to King's Landing and Orson is set to return to Gulltown."
He nodded and set out to find these captains.
There's no turning back now. He realized as the ship set sail to Gulltown.
As practical as it was to sail straight to King's Landing or even go the long way to Dorne, Jon opted for the Valeman as he was the least likely to return to White Harbor. The other captains, all from the North were bound to visit the regional port constantly, which meant that they could easily recognize him from his description and report back to his father. The captain also didn't ask questions, a fact Jon thoroughly appreciated.
Jon doubted Lord Stark would be able to reach him in Dorne or even King's Landing, but he would rather not risk things. Besides, Orson charged the lowest fee.
Reaching Gulltown Jon was more likely to find a ship heading to either Planktown or preferably Oldtown, and then it was just a relatively minor trek to Starfall.
He realized voyages by sea weren't his forte soon after the cog left the port. The constant rocking of waves made him nauseous and truly helpless. The crew and other passengers watched with amusement as he tried not to throw up, a task he failed before the end of his first day.
Rather than making a fool of himself in front of the others, Jon attempted to spend as much time as possible sleeping. The extra rest would serve him well when he gets back into the land as he feared there were times, he wouldn't be able to find lodgings available.
His strategy would work brilliantly, if not for the fact that in Westeros voyages rarely go according to plan.
It was the warmth coming from the satchel that woke him up, most likely saving his life in the process.
The satchel he slung on his shoulder carried only three things: coins, food, and most importantly his dragon egg.
During the time he spent in Winterfell, the egg was hidden away under his bed. When Jon left, he knew he couldn't leave it there as Lord Stark would surely have his chambers searched, nor he could place it back on the Crypts, as he feared it could hatch, leaving the hatchling trapped and, unlike Ebrion without any source of food. Jon knew that the dragon egg was extremely valuable, and if he wished so he could head to Essos, sell it, and earn enough money to buy either a ship or land south of the neck. However, there was something about the crimson-colored egg that made him reluctant about selling it. Earlier, he pondered destiny, maybe it was it.
The egg never emitted any sort of warmth until now, and if he wasn't concerned with other matters, he feared he might've been burnt by it.
He was surrounded by sea, and a huge wave sent him underwater. Flopping his legs and arms Jon managed to get to the surface, only to be downed again by another wave. He thought of himself as a competent swimmer but was not prepared for the challenge posed by the tidal and currents.
It was getting harder to get back now, and Jon feared for his life. Each time it took longer for him to get back above and quick for him to get sent crashing down.
A wave, the biggest he ever saw pushed him further back, and he felt it was pointless.
Father, I'm sorry
Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, the sole stain on Eddard Stark's honor, half-brother of Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon Stark. The last person to lay eyes upon a dragon. So keen on heading to Starfall so he could meet his mother.
I wonder if it's too late to convert to the Drowned God now.
Some of the tales he heard mentioned men who were about to die reminiscing their entire lives before they were dead. Either those tales were untrue or Jon hadn't experienced anything worth reminiscing. The latter irked him more than anything.
In the end, Eddard Stark fathered three sons, not four
So, instead of visiting his past glory, Jon saw flashes of what was meant to happen.
His father sat upon a rock, solemn, polishing Ice at the Godswood, his lady wife beside him with a pained expression on her face and a hand on his shoulders. He mumbled something he could not hear properly, and tears were falling from his eyes.
Robb slashed at a tree, Greyjoy a few steps behind him with a concerned expression. Unlike his father, Jon could clearly hear his brother's yells and curses. After some time, Robb dropped his sword and started to punch the tree until his knuckles were bloody.
Sansa wept in a room, the Septa's gaze reproachful, whilst Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel hugged her.
Arya wept alone in his room, looking way older than she should, tear-stricken, frail, and with bags under her eyes.
Bran was atop a tower too high for his liking, surrounded by both crows and falcons, a mournful expression as he sobbed.
They are crying for me. Jon realized. The foolish boy who ventured far away from his home.
"Don't cry." He attempted to say, his voice muffled by the saltwater.
Yet, they kept crying.
You made them cry. A voice, his voice said.
Something woke in him.
"NO!" he yelled, finding a second wind and heading back to the surface.
His gasps for air made a foreign sound to him, but as strange as it was, Jon recognized it as the sound of life, the sound of rebirth.
"I won't make them suffer." He croaked out, voice hoarse.
Before the next wave came, he went below the surface, saving himself from being pushed further down once again. When he got back up, he managed to regain some of his breath and calm down.
The night was still long and dark, but the worst it had to offer was already bested.
When he woke up next, it was with a kick in his ribs. He got up and threw up a mouthful of seawater.
"HEY! THIS ONE IS STILL ALIVE!" a male voice yelled causing Jon to groan before he once again emptied the content of his stomach.
Jon sat up and quickly moved his hands toward the satchel to reassure himself the egg was still there. Once he did, Jon could finally look around and see where he washed up: an empty beach with darkish sand and bluish-grey water.
The next thing that drew his attention was the three figures around him. A boy around his age if the height was any indicator, with curly dark hair and brown eyes. Besides him, there were two other figures with similar looks, which made Jon suspect they were related. Mayhaps his father and older brother. Jon mused.
"So, who are you?" the younger of the trio inquired.
"Don't be hasty Tristifer, let the boy catch his breath." The oldest admonished. "But I'm curious too."
He took a few minutes to recompose.
"My name is Jon…Jon Snow."
"A northern bastard?" the oldest asked, a hint of steel in his voice.
"Aye." He confirmed, already used to the change in treatment due to his status.
"What brings you to Long Sister?" the other man, a young adult inquired.
"Shipwreck." The bastard affirmed before backtracking. "Long Sister?"
The oldest of the bunch nodded. "I am Lord Triston Sunderland of the Three Sisters." The man said, Jon's eyes instantly going to the lord's webbed hands. "These are my sons, Gunthor and Tristifer."
Jon attempted to recompose himself. "I apologize, my lord."
If the man was offended, he did not show. Instead, he inquired him further. "You said of a shipwreck."
The bastard nodded. "I was asleep when it happened, so I'm afraid I won't be able to describe much. I only survived due to sheer luck."
"A Northmen, eh?" the older child, Gunthor asked. "This means that the ship is northern too? If so, I say good riddance, pays them well for all they did to our home."
Jon refrained from arguing with the boy, after all he was at disadvantage there. Instead, he took greater pleasure in his next words. "No, my lord. The captain was from the Vale."
As predicted, Gunthor's smirk was wiped off his face, with Tristifer glancing at Lord Sunderland in concern. "Father…"
"I know, Tristifer." He then turned to Jon. "The captain's name? Where he was headed?"
"He was called Orson, my lord. He promised to take us to Gulltown."
The Lord of Three Sisters sighed. "I knew him, he was a good man. Jon Snow, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to join us at our keep. We need to learn more."
Castle Sunderland, the seat of the homonymous house is for the lack of better words…homely. He knew better than offending a men's home, even more so when he was at said men's mercy. Southron lords often called the North backward and primitive, in that case, Jon guessed, they have never seen the Three Sisters.
The castle, which in Jon's opinion resembled a keep more than anything, and the lighthouse were the only buildings that featured stones in their foundation. The keep's fortifications were made mostly of wooden palisades although he could spot some watchtowers and arrowslits. The castle town, if it could be called that, was smaller than the ones he saw in the North, such as Castle Cerwyn and Deepwood Motte, with a few wooden shacks and wharves littered across the landscape.
Longsister, is the largest of the three islands, being the only one to house two noble families, House Sunderland, who oversaw the three isles, and House Longthorpe, one of their vassals. The other two islands, Sweetsister and Littlesister, housed the other two families that swore allegiance to Lord Triston, the Borrells and Torrents respectively.
As a Northman, Jon knew he was viewed with distrust by the Sistermen. They never forgot the Rape of the Three Sisters, the name given by them to the period in which the islands were occupied by the North. In the North, Maesters and Lords alike justified the invasion that happened a good two thousand years ago as being necessary as the Kings of Three Sisters were constantly threatening the North's eastern coast with slave raids.
Truth be told, Jon doubted both accounts of the facts. As much as he loved his homeland, he knew that it still contained some unsavory individuals, for instance, his Lord Father always instructed him and his siblings to be wary of the Boltons, who were known for flaying their enemies. The Sistermen apparently agreed with that as they claimed Lord Belthasar Bolton had a Pink Pavilion made of the flayed skins of a hundred Sistermen.
Still, the few inhabitants of the isle that he spoke with forgot that the Pirate Kings' practices were also abominable, and brought destruction to the North, especially around the White Knife.
At Castle Sunderland, he was a hostage in all but name, thankfully Lord Sunderland had no idea of his parentage. According to the lord, Jon's testimony was to be provided to his bannermen as proof of the threat.
After bending the knee to House Arryn, piracy was outlawed and the Sistermen turned to the wreckage as means of obtaining extra income. A practice as unsavory as piracy, that consisted of luring unsuspecting ships to hazardous conditions with the use of false lights to profit from the wrecks.
However, Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships and King Robert's brother was keen on ending that practice as well. Triston feared the sinking of a ship would draw his and Jon Arryn's eyes to the islands, and thus they were set on discovering who was responsible for the unintended wreckage and delivering them to justice, making a statement that the Lords of the Sisters upheld the King's justice.
Jon called bullshit on that. They were looking for a scapegoat so the master of the ships would get off their back for some time.
His stay at the castle was as miserable as the islands themselves. The sister's stew, the local specialty that consisted of a creamy white stew with vegetables and crabs was not that bad, the warmth provided was much needed in the cold damp climate. However, if his estimations were precise, it was already three moons since he left Winterfell, and by now he should've been en route to Oldtown or Sunspear. The glares and frowns sent his way were more pronounced than the ones he received from Lady Stark and the Septa in Winterfell, and unlike the North, he didn't have his siblings to make things more bearable for him.
So, he was pleasantly surprised when he was allowed to the courtyard, only to find the Sunderland siblings waiting for him.
One could say many things about Lady Sunderland, a homely woman, but could never say she failed her marital duties. After all, she gave her husband seven children, all male. Jon could understand the high number of children, honestly, there wasn't much to do at Longsister.
Of the seven siblings, only two were at Castle Sunderland: Gunthor and Tristifer, the third and fifth sons. The others were away either as pages, squires, or even trying their luck as hedge knights.
"Snow." The eldest greeted mockingly, reminding him of Theon. "You know how to use a sword?"
"Prick". Jon muttered. "Aye."
He threw him a wooden sword, unbalanced and warped. Jon scoffed and twisted the sword in his arms, trying to adapt to it.
Wordlessly, Gunthor took a sword of his own, one that looked in way better condition, and smirked.
Jon did nothing but analyze his opponent, namely his footwork as he seemed to mimic Jon's gesture with the sword hand. When the first strike came, a slash, Jon dodged with ease. The Sisterman attempted to put pressure on him, but as time went by Jon found him lacking, less skilled than Theon, and without the Ironborn's strength advantage.
After getting used to the sword he had, Jon began to try his hand at parrying and counterattacking rather than just dodging the strikes. His swift, fluid motions were well connected and came naturally, whereas Gunthor started to pant from overworking himself, each attack taking more of him.
When Jon felt his opponent was tired enough, he changed his form and went on his onslaught. The first strike proved his growth in the strength department as he slashed so hard Gunthor's sword was knocked off his hands. The Bastard of Winterfell was sorely tempted to wind the arrogant Sisterman with a strike on his ribs but surmised it would not be a good idea to strike a noble of the castle he was currently being held hostage.
Thus, he just extended his sword to the opponent's neck, who looked at him in surprise.
"That, Gunthor, is why you never should go around challenging people to spars." Lord Sunderland said from a dais atop the training yard, surprising the duo. "Snow, please join me and my bannermen, we have some things to discuss."
When Jon left Winterfell in search for his mother, he imagined his travels would lead him to many different places before he got to Starfall. He also considered the possibility of fighting too, as he imagined he would be a rather inviting target for bandits.
But he never imagined his first taste of battle would come on a raid to a wrecker's den. Even more so when he would be using a bow rather than a sword.
The den was located on a very minor island north of Sweetsister, hence most of the party of thirty were men from these lands, including their Lord Godric Borrell who often eyed him in curiosity. Gunthor was there too, his animosity towards him gone as he knew Jon was the one supposed to protect their backs.
He wanted to fight with a blade in hand, but he was the smallest of the bunch and also the best marksman, so Lord Triston tasked him to fight from behind the lines, hopefully providing support to the infantry.
The wreckers almost killed him when they sunk the ship, so Jon had no qualms in fighting against them, but in truth, he was also frightened. This irked him, as he already had a near-death experience before, courtesy of the same men he was supposed to kill.
A burly, webbed hand held his wrist. Jon glanced at Lord Borrell. "Your hands are trembling kid. Get your shit together, we need you to take down their sentries."
"It's cold." Jon lied.
"Even I know you're used to colder temperatures than that, get your shit together or all of us will die."
Jon nodded. "I know."
The den consisted of a small encampment and a tower in which a false beacon was lit. According to the Sistermen, the fire could burn differently depending on what it was lit upon. Lighthouses signaling ports were lit with yellowish fire, whereas those signaling hazards were red. The beacon burned a yellow light, likely to attract the ships hoping to anchor in a port, but in truth they were heading to the sharp rocks nearby.
"Now, Snow." Gunthor said to him.
Jon nodded, wishing he still had the bow gifted to him by his uncle. It was lost during the sinking of the ship, and now he had to do with a bow of very low quality, pretty much like everything in the Sisters.
The arrow let loose by him flew directly at the guard's throat, causing him a slow, gruesome death. He had no time to deal with the magnitude of what he did as he quickly had to fire another arrow at the second sentry, that one at least went to the man's head causing him a quicker death.
With the two sentries dead, Jon climbed the tower, doing his best to avoid stepping on the corpses. From above, he signaled to the party below, and the assault began.
For the length of the raid, Jon found himself relatively safe, as he had the higher ground and the wreckers were surprised by the attack. So, he leisurely rained arrows from his privileged spot. Hitting moving targets was harder, and thus Jon only managed to kill another bandit. He did cripple some, even piercing the knee of an axe-wielding soldier, easing Gunthor's task.
He had no idea of how long he had been there when he spotted Lord Godric being overwhelmed by a bandit with a sword. He took a deep breath and aimed his bow, only to curse loudly as its string snapped, causing the arrow to fly far away from the target.
Lord Godric was now on his back, knocked out by a slash that also cut his left knee.
"Shit." Jon cursed and leaped from the post and into action.
The soldier, surprised by his sudden appearance, could not finish Lord Borrell, instead having to parry Jon's strike with the bow's arc.
The man smirked as the arc was slashed in two, which turned to be his last deed as Jon used his left hand to pierce an arrow at the man's neck.
The bandit dropped his sword, which Lord Borrell caught and used to end his suffering, severing the head from the rest of the body.
"You saved my life." The Lord of Sweetsister said.
"And I ruined your bow." Jon replied holding half part of the bow in his right hand.
"Don't matter, it was shite anyway. Besides, the battle is won." The man said, signaling to the center of the fray, where the remaining wreckers surrendered their weapons.
Sansa's songs often told of balls, tourneys and celebrations in the aftermath of a won battle. Jon knew reality would be far from those ideas, but he had to admit he was not prepared for what he was experiencing.
None of the books he read, whether on Daeron the Young Dragon or the Kings of Winter described what happened after a battle ended. Now he knew why.
He took four lives today, two in gruesome ways, and helped in ending many others. Sleep would evade him today, he was sure.
He sat down far away from the action, glancing at the blood in his hands, as the men who fought beside him ransacked the camp and the dead, cheering when coins or other items of value were found. He tried his best to disguise his disgust at the action but apparently failed as Lord Borrell came to him, a bow in one hand and the sword he used to behead the last bandit in another.
"These men killed innocents and stole their belongings." He justified. "It's fitting we do the same."
The Lord then offered the weapons to him.
"It's not needed…" He tried to justify but the burly Sisterman was not having any of it.
"Bullshit. I guarantee this bow won't have its string snapping any time soon. And if Gunthor is to be believed you're the next coming of the Dragonknight."
"I'm not. Gunthor is just shite at swordsmanship."
The lord laughed at that. "Take the weapons Snow, if you don't those ugly fuckers will and I guarantee they won't be as honorable as you wielding them."
He finally relented and took both the bow and the sword. "Thanks."
"I spoke with a captain from White Harbor in Sisterton, before Lord Sunderland summoned me." The balding lord confided to him. "He says Eddard Stark's bastard has gone missing several moons ago."
Jon felt his eyes widen at that. "How do you…"
"Your father was in the Eyrie when his head was demanded by the Mad King. He had to head back North to call his banners. Rather than risking capture at loyalist Gulltown, he headed north, crossing the Mountains of Moon and the Fingers, before being caught up in a storm at the Bite and washing up at Sweetsister."
Jon nodded along, captured by the tale. His father rarely spoke of the rebellion.
"I was there when my father debated on whether to sell him to the king or let him go. When news of the Taking of Gulltown reached us, we let Stark go, with the condition of never speaking of his stay in Sweetsister. Apparently, he keeps his promises, as it seems it's the first time you heard of such a tale."
"Yes." Jon nodded. "Father seldom speaks of his past."
Godric apparently sensed the bitterness in Jon's tone. "I take you don't appreciate his demeanor."
"Aye. I imagine he has reasons to not speak of my grandfather and his siblings, after all the three of them departed way ahead of time. I can also see why he opts to not regale us with tales of battles as they are either untrue or too gruesome for children." The bastard then clenched his fist in anger. "But I'd be lying if I said I don't resent him for keeping my mother's heritage a secret. Hence why I'm heading to Starfall."
"Starfall?" the lord inquired.
"Aye. Starfall and Lady Ashara Dayne, my mother."
"I'm afraid you are mistaken kid, she's not your mother."
Jon looked at the man, his interest fully caught by his words. "You know Lady Ashara?"
The man shook his head. "Heard she's a beauty, though. But I do know your mother."
"Who? How?" the bastard demanded.
"Remember when I told of how Eddard Stark had to travel from the Eyrie to the North?" At Jon's nod, the man continued. "He paid a fisherman to take him from the Fingers to White Harbor, when he got caught up in a storm the fisherman died, but his daughter managed to get him to Sisterton. Stark left her with a bag of silver and a babe in her belly. You."
Snow was silent for a few minutes, still reeling from the revelation. "Is she alive?"
The man nodded. "She was the one who named you, after Jon Arryn. After that I have not heard of her, I imagine she's still living off the Stark silver."
The bastard offered the Lord a smile. "Can I have her name? And how she looks?"
"Her name is Ursula. Brown of hair, of petite build. Her eyes are brown too if I'm not mistaken."
"Guess I will have to head to the Fingers now."
"I will help you." The Lord promised. "Don't think I forgot how you saved my life today."
As backward as the Three Sisters were, Jon was glad he washed up there. He took Alys' words as absolute truth and was about to cross the entire realm in pursuit of a false lead. He was also thankful for Godric's help as the Lord of Sweetsister rallied the help of the fishermen in Sisterton and in less than a moon's turn Ursula, my mother, Jon reminded himself was tracked.
The Fingers did little to improve Jon's opinion of the south. They were somewhat warmer than the North, but dreary, with a stark contrast between mountainous terrain and the craggy coast. The climate grew colder as he climbed above sea level, and it rained more often than not.
It mattered little as the days passed by and he got closer and closer to his final destination, the northernmost of the fingers. The Fingers were a curious place as both the peninsulas and keeps weren't given names.
Still, he steeled his gaze when he reached the white house built atop the mountain.
"Nervous?" Lord Godric asked
He nodded. "I don't even know what to say. What if she doesn't want to see me?"
The Sisterman shrugged. "Whatever happens you'll know who your mother really is."
"You are a surprisingly wise man, Lord Borrell." Jon complimented as he knocked on the door.
Instead of the woman, Jon expected to see, a boy around Bran's age.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Jon…" he said, opting to not reveal his surname. "May I speak with Ursula?"
The boy shrugged and yelled. "MOM. There's a boy who wants to see you."
With his mind reeling from the words of the boy who was most likely his brother, he almost missed the woman.
As a young boy, Jon imagined his mother as beautiful and highborn. Ursula was neither.
The woman was far from being ugly but was nowhere as beautiful as Lady Stark. She was shorter, pudgier, and didn't have any distinctive features other than her long, flowing brown hair and kind eyes.
Ursula gave him a look over. "How can I help you?"
His mouth opened, but no words came out of it. It was Lord Borrell who came to his rescue. "My friend here is from the North, and was wondering about how you knew Lord Stark."
The woman smiled; way too wide for his liking, different from the smiles he and his father had. "Lord Stark is a very kind man, he gave me the coin to build this house, buy land and marry a good man."
"You are married?" Jon asked.
The woman nodded. "Hubert, he's a blacksmith."
"The boy I spoke with is your only son?" the bastard prodded.
"No, my eldest is around your age, we named him Jon too, after Lord Arryn. He's with his father at the workshop."
He did his best impression of his Lord father, offering a stony expression. He would not cry. "The coin he gave you, what it was for?"
"Gratitude for my father's help, and he felt moved when I told him wished to marry for love."
He smiled. As much as he disliked Lord Stark's secrecy, he is indeed a good man. "It was enough? Are your children taken care of?"
The woman nodded happily.
"I'm glad." He said, turning to leave, Lord Borrell in tow.
"What's next?" the burly Sisterman asked
"I let myself believe in baseless rumors and strayed away from my path. I will ensure this won't happen again."
"I'm sorry about that."
"You aren't to blame for that; it was my father's love of secrecy that caused rumors like these to arise. Even now I fear that I'm walking in circles, going nowhere." He confided to the Lord.
"Maybe you should head back." He suggested. "Hopefully your father saw the error of his ways and will be more open with you."
"So far I've achieved nothing." He retorted. "If I go back now, I'd be simply proving my father right as I've come running back at the first sign of challenge and the first taste of disappointment."
Jon took a deep breath, his eyes firmly on the horizon.
"I will go to Starfall, even if it costs me dearly. At this point, it became an obsession and even a matter of pride."
"Where you will go next?"
"Gulltown. Then I'll take a boat to either Storm's End or Oldtown, and then proceed to Starfall by horse. That's if my coin lasts long enough;"
"What about Dragonstone?" the man suggested.
"I have no reason to head there."
"And what if you were paid for it."
In response, Jon raised his eyebrows at the man's proposition.
"We need to report to the Master of Ships. I was the unlucky bastard selected for the task."
"Unlucky?"
"Last time I've spoken with Stannis he threatened to have me hanged. I'd rather not be at his mercy at Dragonstone."
"So, you send me, a bastard in your stead. I'm sure Lord Stannis will be thrilled with that."
"Hence why I'm paying you."
The bastard sighed, coin was always needed, even more now that he was delayed by at least five moons. "How much?"
"Forty moons."
"Make it seventy."
"Fifty."
"Sixty"
"Fifty-five."
"I saved your life."
"And I armed you."
"Fine, fifty-five."
The Sisterman smiled at him. "Always a pleasure bargaining with you."
The bastard just shook his head. "What do I need to do?"
Lord Godric offered him two letters alongside a pouch containing the coins, with the seals of Houses Sunderland and Borrell. "Give those to Stannis, along with your testimony of the events."
He nodded, counting the silver coins.
"What is the best way to get to Dragonstone?"
"It's already arranged. Be at Coldwater Burn in a moon's turn. Head to the ship flying the onion banner."
"Onion banner?" he asked in amusement.
"Aye. The captain's name is Davos Seaworth. He will take you directly to Stannis."
Notes: I'm unsure whether it was intended or not, but I find it funny that in the context of the Vale-North wars from before the conquest, House Sunderland's advances at North were held back by the Manderlys...and New Castle. I'm not British but I know there's some bad blood there, as seen whenever they face in football.
I had to take some liberties with the canon with the creation of OCs to fill in some shoes in this chapter, as well as in naming certain places. Petyr said that his keep had no name so I didn't think it would be so far-fetched that the entire region followed that custom.
Now to answer some reviews:
suppes1: I'll probably keep the catspaw dagger as it was placed in canon as it will be needed to advance the story.
Tom2011: Does being shipwrecked count as a beach episode?