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 15: The Seawolf
"I value my integrity, that's why it has a price."
– Captain Jorg Seastark
Jorg Seastark was easily the youngest captain in Prince Willam's fleet, an honour beyond his years; though it was more punishment than reward – as Jorg knew that too well but didn't seem to care – as his family had all but exiled him; preferring the black sheep of the house to be out of sight and out of mind. His father was a prick.
You call one dead princess a useless whore and suddenly you're a disappointment. All the fighting, whoring and other such nonsense hadn't helped either.
"Captain!" One of the crew called him, a grown man twice Jorg's age.
"Aye?" Jorg asked, holding onto a railing at The Seawolf's helm.
Thunder raged in the sky above them, and sky was dark shades of crimson-and-black.
"We've lost sight of The Wanderer!"
What? For god's sake, what were they paying these men for!?
"Well then send out a damn worg!"
"We can't-"
"And why not!?"
"The storm," The crewman replied through gritted teeth.
Ah, yes, Jorg supposed the winds were too strong for safe flying. They'd already practically been swatted away.
Glancing out, surely enough; there was no sign of the Prince's flagship – as all was obscured by rolling clouds and high waves that rocked the Seawolf about like she was made of leaves drifting on air. The rain was torrential and without mercy as it fell on the ship.
"What is your order Captain!?"
An arch of lightning stabbed out from the angry sky.
In that flash of light, Jorg saw it over the crewman's shoulder, inside a wave two time the height of their ship.
"What the fuck was-"
Nothing had any business being that big. It had to have been a trick of the light…
"Captain?" The crewman practically yelled. "CAPTAIN!?"
Lightning flashed again, striking at the whirlwind of waves; revealing a vast endless shadow beneath.
The Seawolf jolted as If they'd crashed into a bed of rocks.
"Brace!" The crewman shouted aloud, ignoring his young blubbering captain.
"BRACE YOUR FUCKING SELVES AND-"
The sky grew closer as the Seawolf was lifted up out of the water by an island of obsidian scales.
"By the gods," Jorg muttered, as the Seawolf tilted and crashed back down to the waves – falling as no ship had any business falling – sending men and women flying about the ship like ragdolls, as more than a few were thrown overboard into the dark storming waters.
The crew was in a panic, but Jorg couldn't take his eyes off the monster before them.
He could see its scales, a snake-like head full of razor-sharp teeth diving up from the depths; away from them – straight to the Greysail floating not far from them – diving almost gracefully towards the ship. Time seemed to slow for them all as the giantdom creature roared an alien roar; shrieking in fury.
"Arghhhhh!" Half the crew had fallen to their knees then, desperate holding their ears; groaning or crying out in pain.
Jorg could hear nothing, as blood dripped from his ears – but he couldn't move – staring in awe as he lost his footing and fell to the deck.
The Greysail had splintered and shattered upon impact as the serpent raised out of the waves like a column made of black scales that reached up to the sky, with flaming red eyes and what looked like seaweed hanging from its neck; seeming almost disappointed as it dived back under the waves.
"BRACE!" One man still in control of his sense screamed atop his lungs. "LOWER THE FUCKING SAILS AND-"
The waves impacted them with a force that near torn the ship's hull asunder, and partially threw them aside.
"Captain!" One of the men shook Jorg violently.
The boy couldn't move, hunched up against a half-broken railing with bleed in his ears and hair – the young captain could only mumble incoherently – with prayers and curses on his tongue in equal measure; bumbling like a broken mad man.
"Fuck!" He heard someone curse.
"Full gods damn sails!" Someone barked orders, but it wasn't their captain.
"Use the wind while it's with us!"
"GET US AWAY FROM HERE!"
Was the serpent coming for them next?
Jorg Seastark prayed to every damn god that would listen.
They kept sailing South for days upon days, even as the weather cleared – then even as their warg reported a small chain of thirteen islands – the Seawolf's captain would franticly demand they press onward, rambling about how the serpent could be right behind them even now. Jorg was being ruled by his terror.
His crew was growing restless. The Seawolf was battered and practically limping through the sea, with torn sails and one shattered mast.
"Captain?"
The creature was close, he could feel it…
"Lord Jorg?"
Mmm? "Yes, what is it?"
"We've been sailing straight south for near a week sir," The man spoke, clearly tired and on edge.
"And we've yet to be fucking eaten, so I'd say the plan is working; wouldn't you?"
"Aye we all saw the-" What the hell was it? "The thing, sir, but-"
"This ship is Seastark built," Jorg growled out. "She'll last, I know she will…"
"Not forever captain." The man wasn't sure if his captain was even listening. "The rear mast was torn away in the storm; and our sails are badly torn from the wilds and we lost too many good men from the impacts captain – we if don't stop for repairs then we'll risk-"
"Do you see any damn land!?"
There had been land, days past; but Jorg had refused it with a fury.
"No," The man frowned, keeping his thoughts quiet for now.
"We continue fucking South until we-"
"SHIPS SIGHTED!"
For a moment, Jorgs heart had leapt out of his chest; fearing it was the creature.
He got up from his chair and rushed out onto the desk even as he shouted, "Keep eyes on the fucking ear for that monster!" while making his way to the helm. On the horizon were three galleys of modest size, with rows of oars heading straight for them; flying strange purple banners.
"Who are they?"
"I dunno captain," The useless reply came.
They weren't from their fleet, certainly; the designs were laughably primitive.
Burgundy sails with multiple banks of oars painted white and gold, flying a red grape cluster on blue.
"What kind of people put fucking grapes on their banner?"
"The kind that outnumber us," A crewmen scowled.
"We'll outrun em," Jorg scoffed a reply.
"No, we won't," The helmsman remarked. "We're too beaten up; and they're coming fast – plus the damn wind isn't with us Captain…"
He'd not escaped the wrath of sea dragon-snake-demons to be slain by men with grapes on their banners.
"To your FUCKING stations lad!" Jorg commanded. "If these fruity fuckers want us, they'll taste true steel!"
"As you say," One man scowled in reply.
Many others were eyeing the boy with contempt.
It wasn't long before the grape men were aboard, as the Seawolf anchored as the fruit ship oars resided – when one man in fine blue-and-burgundy red attire stepped onto the Seawolf with open arms and a confident smirk on his lips. "I am Ser Desmond Redwyne," He announced himself with gusto. "Who, prey tell, are you gentleman?"
The whole crew of the Seawolf was silent.
"What the fuck are you saying?" Jorg replied tactfully, with one brow raised and a hand resting on his sword.
The strange grape knight seemed to lose his friendly look.
"You are trespassing on waters belong to the Reach of House Tyrell," He declared with a frown that masked his confusion at their strange harsh tongue. "What business do you have here? You are clearly not Ironborn, and yet you are not Westerosi neither…"
"I can't understand a word you're saying mate…"
The two groups stared at each other blankly.
"Kill em," Jorg drew his sword out, causing the strangers to react in turn.
The Seawolves look to their captain with no love.
"Lay down ya blades lads," One man muttered.
"Aye," Another agreed. "I ain't dying for this boy!"
Jorg scowled furious at his crew as they either threw down their swords or refused to draw steel.
"I am your captain," He growled at them, turning his back to the stranger.
"I'll take this as a surrender then?" The Redwyne asked, curious and confused in equal measure.
"You will fucking obey ME!"
The crew stared and scoff at the boy.
"Treasonous fucking-"
*THUD*
Jorg collapsed to the desk.
"Charming," Ser Desmond said with a brief chuckle.
"We'll come peacefully," A crewman offered his hand, having knocked Jorg out cold.
"Welcome to the Reach," Ser Desmond smiled, assuming the gesture friendly as he shook the offered hand. "Pleasure to meet you gentlemen…"
The Seawolf limped behind the Redwyne ships, led south into unknown waters; but the crew – for the most part – were happier dealing with strangers than they were Jorg Seastark. The boy was put in his captain's cabin and stayed asleep for most of the remaining voyage.
Weeks later in the Redwyne Straits, the silver shark of Fisher and the black anchor of Wright found themselves in similar situations as the lost Seawolf; being escorted into port by clusters of grapes on burgundy sails – though their captains had thought to ignore the vessels, council had cautioned against it.
"You don't wanna go making enemies with the Redwyne Fleet," the voice of caution had come from Robin Flint; heir to House Flint of Widow's Watch and for all in intents and purposes, the man acting as translator and dignitary for The North. "We're all friends here – we've nothing to hide from these Reachmen."
Arthur Wright had scoffed at that. They hadn't gone a day out of Widow's Watch without encountering Ironborn raiders.
"You didn't have the same tune about those Ironborn sails," Arthur pointed out to the man.
"That's different," Robin rolled his eyes as if it were obvious. "Ironborn are pirates and thieves; so ya can't trust em."
It seemed beyond madness that the Ironborn were allowed to act as they did but according to Flint the Lords of the Isles these days, House Greyjoy, would always simply claim the captain of these raiding ships were acting independently. They'd tried and failed specifically to attack them.
The man calling himself Desmond Redwyne had stepped foot on Arthur's deck, seeming not in the least surprised by them.
"Greetings!" He'd declared too cheerfully at the time.
It turns out, they weren't the first strangers he'd met in these waters.
"My lord cousin would happily welcome you to The Arbor," Desmond had declared upon speaking with Flint, who had introduced them as men of the North sailing to White Harbour on orders from the Warden of the North. "Please, follow my sails into port gentlemen; no doubt your crew could use some rest, yes?"
Robin Flint had dismissed all notions that it was a trap. King's peace, he said. Redwyne's weren't Ironborn.
"You can trust the Redwynes," He'd said with a shrug. "Good men, and better wine!"
Arthur suspected the man simply expected free drinks from this Lord Redwyne.
Redwyne's Keep was sizeable – but where most fortresses looked formidable – this place looked more like a walled palace than a keep, with its vibrant greenery and flowered vines on clean washed stone; the seat of House Redwyne was a testament to their vast wealth. The gates opened for Ser Desmond as they approached.
"Welcome home Ser," One of the guardsmen greeted the knight, shooting wary glances at his guests. "More northmen?"
"More guests," Desmond replied simply with his usual cheery self.
The guards all eyed them with suspicion and curiosity.
"Where is my lord cousin?"
"I believe his lordship is in the great hall Ser."
"Farther!" A young boy ran over the well paved courtyard.
"Denny!" Ser Desmond picked up his boy and spun the young squire around.
"You're back early," The boy said though his smirk; seeming to be without a care in the world.
His father put him down and ruffled his red-copper hair before he answered.
"More northern guests for cousin Paxter lad – they're growing better than a vineyard lately!"
"My Lords," The boy did his most knightly bow.
"Young lord," Robin Flint smirked at the boy.
Denys Redwyne blinked in surprise. "You speak! The other ones don't speak!"
"Robin Flint," He introduced himself gladly. "Envoy for his lordship Eddard Stark, Warden in the North."
"Woooow," Denys said in awe. "King Robert's friend? Is it true he defeated the Sword of Morning!?"
Robin seemed proud for his liege's apparent fame.
"Enough of that my boy," Desmond shooed his son away. "Tell your mother I'm back on shore for the day, will you?"
The boy ran off with a "Yes dad!"
Inside the hall proper, the keep only grew more luxurious with coloured glass windows of blues and reds and purples with fine pinewood floors and an ornate throne at the far end flanked by burgundy-red banners; plus, banners of Goldwyne and other houses sworn to the Arbor Island.
"And so, we bested the great serpent!"
The voice was familiar, quietly bragging as Arthur's party entered.
A greying maester was translating the tale of heroics and bluster as a young man dressed in grey and blues rambled over glasses of arbor red wine. "The creature was three times the height of my ship, and it bit down on the Greysail; crushing the vessel between its mighty jaws!"
"My Lord!" Desmond announced himself with a cough to get their attention.
Paxter Redwyne was an old bolding man with only a few orange tufts of hair sitting beside a far younger wife, with a young girl alongside them – seemingly captivated with the story being told as a maester translated the boy's words. Lord Paxter however looked bored with the story.
"Cousin!" Paxter beckoned the man over. "What news? Who are your friends?"
"Lord Redwyne," Robin Flint bowed respectfully. "I am Robin Flint, heir to Widow's Watch."
"Well met Flint, you're quite far from home young man. What brings you to my hall?"
"Lord Eddard Stark has tasked me with escorting our new friends here to White Harbour," Robin said kindly, putting a deal on emphasis on how 'official' their business was, going so far to name his liege as if Paxter wouldn't know the man. "We were passing through. May I do the honour of introducing you to-"
"Arthur fucking Wright," The boy at their table frowned in their direction.
"Jorg Seastark," Arthur glared at the boy sitting pretty with the southerners.
"I'm here too ya know," Edwyn waved absently. "Jorg."
"Fisher," Jorg smirked at him. "I didn't see you there in Wright's shadow…"
The hall had a tide of silence wash over them as Redwyne's maester made a desperate attempt to translate, but the man was no expert.
"I see you too have encountered these strangers from distant lands, Ser Robin?"
"Aye my lord," Robin confirmed with a nod. "Their leader, Prince Willam Stark, is a guest of Winterfell."
Lord Redwyne seemed to glance at Jorg only briefly.
"Is that so?" He hummed in thought. "Jorg here is my guest, and – while I admit our new friend Maester Gawin from Oldtown is not so fluent in their tongue as I'd hoped – the citadel had assured me he was talented enough. So, why is it that young Jorg here never mentioned any such 'Prince' fellow to us?"
"I couldn't say my Lord," Robin answered with a shrug. "Perhaps he thought his prince dead? I'm told a great storm wrecked many of their ships…"
"And a sea-dragon," Paxter added with a huff of disbelief. "The boy is insistent on that part of the story."
"I think it's heroic father," the young Desmera butted in. "Like knights in the stories!"
She was a young thing, barely flowered – if at all – by the looks of her curly red-orange hair and freckles with the innocent of youth.
"You've been making up stories Jorg?"
The boy glared at that. "Not stories, Arthur – the beast is real…"
Arthur doubted that much. Most likely, a convenient excuse to flee away from duty.
"I didn't see any sea-dragons," Edwyn added with a scoff of disbelief. "How about you, Arth?"
"None," Arthur replied with a shake of his head.
"It was fucking real!"
"Sit," Paxter offered his guests. "Have a drink my friends."
"Gladly my lord," Robin was quick to take a seat and beckon his friends to do the same.
There was wine aplenty, salmon and steak and bowls of huge juicy peaches; and Jorg was enjoying them all.
"I have enjoyed young Jorgs company this last week," Paxter continued as he sipped from a silver-glass goblet of red wine. "He has many stories – but his ship, this Seawolf of his, poses great interest to us here. We've never seen its type before. Very impressive indeed…"
"Very," Desmond agreed as he took a seat near his cousin. "And these fine gentlemen captain two more of the vessel's cousin, without the damage our fair Seawolf was undergone – in their true glory, they are a sight to behold if I may be so bold. To imagine an entire fleet of such ships is beyond thought."
"Quite so cousin," Paxter hummed once more. "And so, I would offer our new friends much the same I have offered young Jorg!"
Arthur couldn't understand them, but the old Redwyne lord looked akin to a hungry shark – if sharks could droll over the thought of their next meal.
"They're offering a 'deal' of sorts for your ships," Robin explained between mouthfuls of smoked fish.
"You can tell him we're not for sale," Arthur replied with a glance at Jorg. "None of us are."
"Lord Wright respectfully declines any offers," Robin translated before the old man's maester could even attempt.
"Oh?" Paxter made no attempts to hide his disappointment.
"Give him our thanks Flint, but say that we'll all be leaving soon-"
"I'm staying right here," Jorg cut him off quickly, smirking.
"Jorg has already accepted my generous offer," Paxter explained with a smile. "I had hoped you too would see that-"
"The fuck is you playing at Seastark!?" Edwyn snapped at the boy, to the alarm of Redwyne's guards.
Jorg glared at Fisher and Wright with contempt. He knew what they were thinking, such was too obvious.
They stood there, judging him; he could see it clearly – in their damn eyes – while Fisher sipped from his glass of arbor red wine, his eyes gleamed with judgement and malice. Jorg wasn't stupid, oh no, he could SEE it! Damn fools. Damn the both of them! They hadn't seen what he'd seen!
He wouldn't be bullied into submission. He was his own man, free; far from Starks and their precious duty.
"Where's your damn integrity!?" Edwyn snarled at the young captain.
"I value my integrity," Jorg leaned back in his chair and smirked wide. "That's why it has a price."
"And when Redwyne finds out that integrity he's buying is worth shit," Arthur asked with a raised brow, not caring if the old lords grey roped maester translated the words or not. "What then, boy? You're no Shipwright, not like I am, so what use are you to them?"
"He'll kill you," Edwyn offered as he put down the chalice.
"He'll not," Jorg scoffed. Fools. "I may not be among the great Wrights, but I know enough – and Redwyne can learn a great deal from the Seawolf."
The Arbor didn't lack for dockyards. It was among the greatest regions in the land for the contrition of naval vessels, after all.
"You have no right boy," Arthur was frowning heavily.
"It's my damn ship," Jorg scowled with a huff of breath. "I'll use her as I see fit!"
"King Brandon would never allow you to-"
"His Grace isn't fucking here, Wright!"
It was all Arthur could do to keep his calm.
"You ungrateful little shit!" Edwyn spat at the boy.
"Now now," Paxter was clearly unamused. "Jorg is my guest, and he will not be harmed!"
"No," Robin was quick to agree. "Jorg's business is his own – but I'm afraid that Lord's Wright and Fisher are under Prince Willam Stark's employ and as such, are honoured guests of Winterfell in their own right. I trust you have no intention of forcing the issue, my Lord?"
Paxter's smile was sweet as honey, sticky with greed.
"Oh, seven forbid it, of course not my friends!"
"It was merely an offer," Desmond backed up his kin in a heartbeat.
"If you should wish," Arthur offered calmly. "Tell the lord he should seek out the Prince to discuss any such arrangements…"
Lord Redwyne seemed to glow with excitement as he was told this.
"Gladly," He agreed heartily. "A fine idea, don't you agree cousin?"
"I do my Lord; these vessels could revolutionise the fleet…"
"It's settled then!" Paxter declared, raising his silver chalice up. "My dear cousin Desmond will accompany you to White Harbour and discuss the future with this Prince Willam Stark you fine gentlemen serve; so that all may prosper! A toast, my friends, to prosperity for us all!"
By "for us all" Redwyne had truly meant "for My family."
Arthur raised his glass stiffly and took a sip, finding he disliked this lord of wine.
Edwyn downed his in one gulp and moved to pour another.
Lord Redwyne's intentions were entirely selfish in nature, that much was obvious – and it was doubtful Willam would allow andals the secrets of the Winter Fleet; but Jorg's actions were unexpected. The boy was no shipwright, but the Seawolf? With enough skilled hands Paxter's men would learn from of its design alone.
It would take them a great deal of time and resources to replicate, but from a glance; they had the wealth to manage.
Redwyne Keep had sat atop a hill surrounded by the Arbors largest city – though it wasn't so impressive in Arthur's view – the dockyards were vast; though primitive. As the group returned to their ships, it had fallen to Ser Desmond to speak further on the island's history and reputation. They hadn't asked for it but speak he did.
The Wanderer and Sunwright rested at the docks, with their crews eagerly awaiting their captains return.
"Jorg's father would have that boy dragged under the hull of his fucking ship!"
Edwyn hadn't stopped scowling since they'd left.
"Nothing we can do about it though Fisher," Arthur repeating that for the umpteenth time.
The Seawolf was docked cosily at the dockyards heart, and alongside the banner of House Seastark; she flew a Redwyne banner – as if the bastards owned it already. "We could seize her," Edwyn argued as they walked to their ships. "That boy is crossed a damn line Arth!"
"Agreed," He couldn't deny that. What the boy was doing was amount to treason. "And yet, we can't be seen stealing ships from these people."
"Stealing?" Edwyn scoffed at that. "Is it really 'stealing' if we're simply taking back what's ours?"
"That old lord would disagree I'm certain…"
"He would," Robin added from the side. "No good would come from it. No good at all, ya hear?"
Edwyn made to argue with the man, but all eyes fell on the sight before them.
"Lord Wright," A stranger bowed to him. "Lord Fisher, sirs; an honour."
"Is it is?" Edwyn eyed the man, noting his Seastark attire.
"The name's Finnick, but the crew calls me Finn…"
"Speak your mind sailor," Arthur bid the man talk.
"Me and the lads," Finnick motioned to the twenty or so men that flanked him. "We served with Captain Jorg you see, but we're no traitors m'lord – we're Stark men, though and though. We'll not sail with that boy for his strange new friends!"
Shouts of agreement were met at that.
"You've abandoned your posts?"
"No," Finnick denied. "Well, aye but-"
"Jorg Seastark captains the Seawolf, does he not?"
Finnick and his men looked disheartened. "Captain Jorg may own the ship, my lord; but we're free men and we served House Stark!"
"Damn right you do," Edwyn muttered under his breath.
"It is not my plan to judge your decision," Arthur decided with a sigh.
"King isn't here," Edwyn added. "Will's the highest royal we've got, no?"
"Fisher has the right of it. If you're decided on this, so be it – but you'll answer to the Prince."
"Gladly m'lord," Finnick agreed in an instant.
The me agreed with various shouts of "Aye!"
"How many stands with you and yours?"
"Few hundred m'lord," Finnick replied, glancing looks to his friends.
"Aye m'lord," Another agreed. "Near half the crew; and all the fighting men!"
"Jorg will hate this," Edwyn couldn't contain his smirk.
"Gather them up then," Arthur ignored Fisher's glee for the moment. "We set sail within the hour."
A chorus of "Aye Sir!" replied as the Seastark crewmen rushed away.
"Hold," Arthur bid the man called Finnick.
"Aye m'lord? Was there some-"
"These docks, what's been your view on them?"
The man paused but a moment thought, his eyes darting about before he spoke in a hushed tone. "Tis beyond poor, captain; they're sizeable enough aye but I haven't seen so much as a single drydock. Some slipways and plenty of manpower but I nor the lads have seen nothing that you'd expect…"
"Very well," Arthur hummed in thought. "See to your crewmates then, be on the ships within the hour Finnick."
"Aye captain!"
He ran off without another word.
"Could be hiding em," Edwyn proposed once the Seastark men were away.
"Perhaps," Arthur doubted. "From the design of their galleys and class of their ships however, what do you see?"
"Numbers," Edwyn could see that – as even a blind man could honestly – but as numerous as the Redwyne fleet appeared, well…
"Numbers," Arthur agreed with a nod. "And yet, it's quantity over quality."
The Sunset Islands had long ago began grading their ships. First-Rates were flagships, usually; floating castles in all but name – with four massive decks requiring at least over eight hundred crewmen to sail. The Shipwright is the only ship in the fleet to hold this rating, after House Stark spent years and a small fortune on it.
Second and Third-Rates were three-deckers with crews in the six hundreds. Most houses boasted at least one Third-Rate, acting as their own flagship.
Fourth-Rates were among the most common vessels in the Winter Fleet, with two-decks; they were considered 'small' warships – but were faster than their bigger counterparts – carrying as little as three hundred crewmen. Their design was made up of near identically designed parts, allowing for faster construction.
There existed Fifth-Rate vessels, though in the last few hundred years most nobles worth mentioning had replaced such ships; or repurposed them.
"The largest ship here barely looks large enough to be classes as a Fifth-Rate," Arthur reckoned from what he could observe. The largest vessel, apparently called The Arbor Queen, was a galleas with three large burgundy sails and multiple banks of oars painted white and gold. At a glance she could crew two or three hundred.
"And that's the largest of em," Edwyn added with a scoff of disapproval.
The Arbor Queen was sizeable, but she was an exception to the apparent rule – aside from some single-decked galleass with near two hundred oars and a number of square-rigged sailing vessels – the vast majority here appeared to count merchant carracks, wine cogs, trading galleys, and whalers among their number.
The Winter Fleet numbered some two hundred in peace time, but they were all ships of war, all Fourth-Rate at least; littered with mounted ballista.
"They boast numbers," Arthur paused in thought. "Focused on ramming power too…"
Another difference – although the Winter Fleet had its share of such tactics – these Redwyne vessels seemed wholly designed to crash into the enemy and board; with only a handful of certain class boasting scorpions. The Winter Fleet by comparison had decks lined with ballista where Redwyne seemed to have oars instead.
The Shipwright could sink several Redwyne vessels with one broadside volley before they even got close.
"Ramming," Edwyn laughed aloud. "I'd like to see them try that…"
"Pray we never do," Arthur scowled at the thought. War was nothing he'd like to see in his time.
In theory, it would be a slaughter for the Redwyne Fleet, but one shouldn't tempt fate.
Ser Desmond returned not long after, with his son in arm; smiling his usual cheerful smile.
"Friends," He clasped Edwyn on his shoulder.
"Redwyne," Edwyn remarked, a brow raised in question.
"Ser!" Robin had walked over to greet the man. "Said goodbye to the misses?"
The scandalised look on the knight's face was rather amusing.
"The lad will be joining us," Desmond replied with a smirk, riffling his son's hair.
"Thank you for having me Lords!"
"Our pleasure little lord," Robin gave the lad a smile of his own.
The young Redwyne boy ran up the ramp to The Sunwright with looks of awe.
"At least the child isn't coming on my ship…"
"Lucky you," Arthur scoffed.
"I'll keep our southern friends busy," Robin vowed. "It's a way off till White Harbour."
"Keep an eye on the knight Arth, we know he's a damn spy…"
"Aye," Arthur could believe that, aside from the man's attempts at discovering trade secrets – that Prince Willam wouldn't doubtlessly refuse – it was clear Ser Desmond had been sent to see how their crews operated; and to see the insides of the Sunwright, that was a class above The Seawolf's rating.
It was surely no coincidence they'd picked Arthur's ship over The Wanderer. Edwyn hadn't come across as the most approachable.
"Fisher," A womans voice greeted him as he walked onto the Wanderer's deck.
"Lady Amber," Edwyn gave the woman a nod.
She scowled at the title. "We leaving? Where's the Seastark boy?"
"Jorg will be staying behind. He rather likes the south…"
"Like it?" Ashlyn scoffed. "I'm fucking melting here, how can he like it!?"
"Aye," Edwyn laughed at that. Ashlyn and most of the crew had removed their furs and warm thick cloaks long ago – leaving most the crewmen and women in their shirts and trousers. "We're not made for this damn weather – but the bastard Jorg is intent on staying. Think he has a thing for the Redwyne lords daughter…"
"Men," Ashlyns coffed and rolled her eyes.
"Boys," Edwyn corrected. "That traitorous little shit ain't no man."
She left him then with a shrug.
"I hate this damn weather…"
The sun was high in the sky and it was far too hot. How did people live like this?
Ahead laid colder waters and the safety of the North. So long as they remained in the South, things felt uncertain; like at any moment another storm could take – as unlikely as that was in reality. One supposed that at least with the smiling Redwyne knight here they'd have extra credibility with the locals…
The Wanderer raised its sails and made to follow The Sunwright out from the harbour, back into the straits; then east past Dorne.
Note(s): In regard to the conceptual set-up of the fleet(s) in this setting, from what we know of Westeros it's most 'impressive' naval vessels are Galleys that DO use sails; but have a row of oars for that extra speed; for reasons – normally ramming, since most naval combat back in the era consisted of "crash into the enemy and jump onto their boat to poke em with sharp objects" and that's about it – plus it seems common practice in Westeros to call on every able seaworthy vessel in war.
The Sunset Islands are centuries ahead of Westeros when it comes to naval design. By historic standards, their ships should have bloody cannons; but (although it's an idea I have played with) they don't because it would just be far too overpowered. This massive gap in naval design is also the primary reason I haven't simply had the Winter Fleet arrive in all its glory from Day1 because again, they'd just wreck anyone that looked at em funny; at least at sea – Westeros would be incapable of beating them.
Braavos is the in-lore equivalent of Venice (they literally both have a dockyard called "The Arsenal" though historically we're talking about the Venetian Arsenal) that effectively puts Braavos way ahead of everyone else in shipbuilding (just as it did for Venice) and they even ability to mass-produce galleys on an almost assembly-line process. I'll spare yee the history lesson :P but aye, the only ones remotely capable of putting up a fight Vs the Winter Fleet would be Braavos… and they'd still lose…
All in all, the Winter Fleet is OP as fuck. As we learn here though, the Redwyne's are already making moves thanks to young Jorg; though it'll take them riches and many years to retrofit the Seawolf's design. Now, if Arthur Wright helped them things would be FAR quicker, but Redwyne's still won a jackpot with Jorg.
This chapter isn't as long as the last two, obviously; as said before I do the occasional 'shorter' chapter largely as world-building :) The next chapter will be set 2yrs after Willam's landing in the North for story reasons, jumping to the start of the books in the year 298 AC with Willam and the others in Winterfell.
Chapter 16 should be fairly long. I'll update Asap, trying to do a chapter a week but can't promise that'll always happen ;)
Review(s): In regard to Theon Greyjoy, honestly, I completely forgot about the boy last chapter – he was supposed to be with Ned when he'd ridden to meet Willam. That's canon too; he was at Torrhen's Square with Ned at the time in the books. For all intents n purposes, he was there but just wasn't introduced hahaha. I highly doubt other seafaring powers will be thrilled by Will's arrival but for now, it's only 3 ships. Now, when/if the Winter Fleet eventually arrives? Well, the day that fleet of 200-300 warships arrive, short of using dragons to do the job that fleet is entirely unstoppable by Westeros standards until they step up their game by a few decades.
The Shipwright alone is larger than anything Westeros has ever seen. She is, for reference, essentially the HMS Victory. Google it if you're unfamiliar.
It'll be a while before the Winter Fleet makes its debut though, given the vast distance they need to sail West from the Sunset Islands.
Naval Essay: Okay so I wasn't going to write an essay going over the ins and outs of naval history and construction because frankly while the subject interests Me it's not a subject most find exciting; and you're not here to read a damn history book – so feel free to skip this section if you're not interested and/or grasp what this chapter was showcasing. The naval situation in Asoiaf is pretty vague, but generally speaking we've multiple types of vessels that include the following below…
I full disclosure, I ain't got any history major; just happen to enjoy the subject and think stuff like this vaguely interesting at time :)
Galleys (historically coastal ships that weren't ideal for the open ocean) are counted as being the flagships for major naval fleets like House Hightower or even the Royal Fleet outa King's Landing; whom boast the largest galleys in Westeros. King Robert's Hammer for example is a war galley with 400 oars. Now, historically speaking, your average Galley had a long but slender hull with sails for use in favourable winds; but almost always replied on human manpower rowing as its primary propulsion.
Longships (think more or less 'Vikings' and you've got the idea) are used primarily by the Ironborn and small/poor coastal lords (likely as a means of defence against those Ironborn) They're used for speed and are generally double-ended, that's a great boon for the whole 'Ramming' tactic that's prominent with these kinda ships.
Cogs are where Asoiaf begin to utilize Sails as a primary means of propulsion, though these Cogs are stated as being largely subject to how the winds blow; they're seemingly used by merchants as they've room for cargo and can manage rougher seas more so than the smaller alternatives used.
Carracks are where Asoiaf start getting into the realms of what most people think when you think 'sailing ship' more or less. Historically (again, assuming history is an accurate representation of Asoiafs setting) they're ocean-going ships developed in the 14/15th century. Mostly by the Spanish tbh.
Swan Ships are a Asoiaf class of ocean-going vessel designed in the Summer Islands – described as having high masts and forecastles – and seemingly only called as such in the Seven Kingdoms due to the ship's large white sails and figureheads. From what I recall of them, the closest 'cousin' historically to their description would be a full-rigged pinnace? It's hard to say, as the books give so little information; they could just be more advanced/larger Carracks – as the whole Carrack rank/class varies so damn much that I'm simply not educated enough on the subject to give anything but my best guess there. I'm just a guy who likes history a little too much.
Ibben by comparison is stated to have 'fat-bellied' ships with hulls black with tar. They're said to be renowned for their strength; built to weather any storm or the assaults of the largest whales. Caravel maybe? I dunno, again we've like 0 information in the books on these ships.
Hulks are mentioned too. Davos mentions them I believe, tho Hulk can mean a ship that's afloat but incapable of going to sea – so this is less a class of ship and likely just referring to what would historically likely just be any vessel that has been gutted but is still afloat without its bits and pieces.
The Winter Fleet is like, what? 300/400 years of historic naval developments ahead of the rest of the world? Braavos is less far behind.
Lastly, not a ship but a method of construction, the use of (or lack of in the Arbor's case this chapter, as far as You know :P because one PoV from outsiders isn't gonna show you everything – hint hint nudge bloody nudge) drydocks came about 'prominently' in Renaissance Europe (tho I think China had something similar long before Europe did) roughly around the Tudors days (1490 or something) when full-rigged ships came about in force and basically processed to fuck the Spanish Armada in 15 Something? I'm rusty on my dates. So, the concept of drydocks as WE know em came about around the popularity of Carracks – meaning that YES there are indeed Drydocks in Asoiaf (according to Me by processes of assumption since they're NEVER mentioned in the books) but they aren't plentiful; except for Essos / King's Landing / Oldtown / Etc. The Arbor probably DOES have them, but this chapters PoV didn't explore the whole damn island; that is rather massive. Historically (look at Venice) such important dockyards were separated from the civilian docks; behind walls, in certain cases, just like Braavos does in the books with "The Arsenal" etc.
Tl;dr? I know what I'm doing :D I may have messed up some dates tbh, but got a pretty decent grasp on what is what and why.