The trip by boat from Gullstown to King's Landing took only six days to make. It was far shorter than the trip from the Bloody Gates to Gullstown, but it was only on the first day that he resolved he would sooner spend ten days on the saddle than one at sea.
Firstly, was the insufferable heat, he was used to the cold winds of the North and cool breeze of the great mountain ranges of the Vale. Here the sun bore down on them all day long, and even at night the waters around them would release all the heat they absorbed during the day. It was suffocating, even in the thin linen clothes the sailors wore.
Then was the fickle temper of the sea that demanded they remain forever in motion. He could never be sure of his step, never lie still even in his sleep, never have power over the ground he walked on. It left him a state of persistent nausea and discomfort that he longed to end.
The Gunthor Royce was quick to make progress towards the capital at least. A slim ship, it sailed over the hostile waves of the Narrow Sea with ease. It had one great sail the size of a castle courtyard that billowed in the winds and pulled them forwards, and with no oarsmen to make room for, the lower deck allowed more room for goods and quarters.
It was still rather cramped of course, cramped enough that he had been forced to leave his retainers in Gullstown to ride back to the Gates. The captain had filled one corner of the ship with wool and another corner with oil to sell in the capital. Then in the third corner, they had the hammocks for the crewmen, and in the last were two quarters, one for the captain and one for the passengers they were transporting.
For the Gunthor Royce had been at sea for the last century, and in that time, it had taken multiple generations of Royces to weddings and tourneys and summons all over the Seven Kingdoms. He enjoyed having his own space even in the cramped environment of the ship, and it gave him somewhere safe to keep the axehead and documents
He spent most days on the deck of the ship admiring the beauty and terror of the blue expanse surrounding them. The white froth of the waves as they endlessly danced and broke among themselves, the fish and whales that would peer their heads over the surface, and the occasional signs of something far greater and darker hiding just beneath the surface. Strange noises that came from nowhere in particular, lights far away on the horizon that disappeared when they got closer and shadows of the queerest shapes and sizes beneath the surface of the water.
The captain of the ship, the third son of merchant from Gullstown had no end of stories of strange stories to share, of merlings and sirens, of men and women he had met on distant shores who were born with webbed fingers and feet, of crewmen lost during violent storms who would be found bearing the seed of madness.
Theon Greyjoy's gods.He thought, feeling a tingle of uneasiness in his spine.If mine gods are true, and the gods of the Seven are true, then there may something sinister among the waters...
All the thoughts of gods and malevolent sea daemons only served to make him long to reach King's Landing even faster, though they were soon delayed by another few days through no fault of their own.
One night he would be awakened to a violent jostling of the ship and screaming of the crewmen. He jumped off his bed and oriented himself, though it felt impossible to stand in the ships swaying. He found his sword then rushed out of his rooms, ready for any pirate foolish enough to attack a vessel he was aboard.
But when he reached the deck, he found something even Valyrian steel would be useless against. He saw the heavens broken apart, infested with looming grey clouds that rolled and crashed against one another, spewing forth violent winds and freezing rain as they did. It was such overwhelming horror suffered in complete darkness, save for the light of torches which fought hopelessly against the rain and distance streaks of light among the clouds that heralded the sounds of thunder.
It was deafening, freezing and terrifying, he felt his clothes get soaked in seconds, and had to fight against both the winds and the waves to keep his feet planted. Around him, men ran in a panic, pulling on ropes, filling buckets with water and throwing them overboard and climbing the rope ladders in an attempt to control the sail.
He saw one such man be flung in the air like a child's toy, Jon's heart sank at sight, but soon it would quiver, for a blinding bolt of lightning reached down from the heavens and struck the man as he fell, before he crashed lifelessly into the raging waves surrounding them. In that same second, even as the rest of the crew were frozen stiff at the sight, the captain ran to the side of the deck the man fell and fearlessly leapt into the darkness after him.
I knew I liked him for a reason.
There was little Jon could do to help, he knew not what ropes to pull, nor where to find a bucket to scup the water and were he to follow the captain, he knew he would drown in seconds. But he rushed the railing regardless, and with eyes sharpened by a year spent in Zephyr, he studied the waters for any signs of life whenever the world was bathed in white by a distant strike of lightning.
He held onto the railing for dear life even as he was pelted with rain and wind alike. The ship under his feet swayed and danced and soon the waves grew so tall that he was regularly doused in salt water as well as fresh rain. Men scurried and ran and screamed orders around him, but he held with vigil, his will was wholly bent on the dark blue water ahead, until, during a thunderstrike, he finally spotted the captain swimming back towards them, one hand fighting the waves, and the other wrapped around the lightning struck man.
Jon steadied his legs as the ship kept violently shaking, he let go of the railing and reached down to clasp the captain's extended hand. They were heavy, well-built men, just as likely to pull him down as he was to pull them up, but with strength borne from tens of thousands of hours in the training yards, he hoisted both of them onto the deck.
"Does he live?" the captain asked. They were soon crowded by the crewmen with dying torches and Jon knelt over the man to study him, his right shoulder was completely sharred, but somehow, he still turned over onto his left arm and began coughing up water. The captain only laughed and patted him on the back. "Oh thank the gods."
How?Jon wondered, but there was little time left to wonder, for they were still in the middle of a tempest.
The next morning, after the storm broke, the sun would shine down on theGunthor Roycestill afloat with all of its passengers alive. To Jon, it was the worst night he had in years, for the crewmen, it was a difficult night, but for the ship, it had survived a thousand storms over a hundred years, what was one more?
They were of course blown off track, but the captain of the ship proved himself to not only be a capable storyteller and daring leader of men, but also a knowledgeable navigator. It took him only a day to find the coastline again, and from there, they would soon arrive at King's Landing.
The first time they saw it was a days ago, when the great city was but a dot on the horizon, but every morning since it would grow larger and larger and larger, and until he could see nothing on their horizon but endless houses of brick and plaster surrounding them, and the Red Keep looming over the heavens above, and they were stillhoursaway.
When they eventually sailed into dock, they were surrounded by at least a hundred ships heading out to see or coming to moor. Some small fishing vessels with only a lone man with weathered skin and young apprentice aboard, others great galleys with dozens of oarmen and other sailors besides, they often came so close that he could see them scurry across the deck and yell orders among themselves.
He needed a moment to temper how small he was here, it was one thing to be small against Winterfell or the Redfort, it was another to be small against Gullstown or Fairmarket, but against King's Landing he was a fly in a forest, or a horse on a continent. He was genuinely amazed that the earth hadn't caved under the sheer weight of stone and flesh.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" The captain said, walking up beside him and laughing. "It begins to smell much less significant the further you get from the docks, so I will not venture far."
"Aye, I should only be…" He started then stopped, entirely unsure whether reforging Valyrian Steel was a matter of hours or months. "I actually don't know; the lord Arryn may have business he needs done."
"Do not worry or hurry yourself, ser, the Lord Royce's letter made it very clear we are not to leave without you." The captain said, then looked to the rest of the ship. "Besides, I think the crew could use a few days in the Street of Silk."
That's where the whores are.He thought, shaking his head at the thought.
"Do you know where I could find the Street of Steel?" Jon asked. "I have some business there before I deliver these to Lord Arryn."
"Head straight out of the docks till you find yourself surrounded by men and women selling fish, you'll be in fishmonger's square, ask anyone there and they will point you in the right direction. It should be a up a steep road climbing Visenya's Hill." The captain said, pointing far off in a direction, then he pointed up towards the great castle still visible to them from even from down here. "It leads away from the Red Keep however, so be careful you don't get lost and end up in flea bottom, you'll find few there who can afford to be honest men."
"I'll keep it that in mind." Jon said, extending an arm towards the man. "It was a pleasure sailing with you, captain."
"Same to you ser, I won't forget your aid in that storm any time soon." The man said, shaking his arm and bowing his head in respect as they sailed into the harbor, Jon nodded back, then headed below deck to prepare his bags.
In his room, he fastened his sword to his belt, then threw the leather scroll case over his shoulder, and the thick leather bag with his Valyrian Steel and gold over the scroll case. Brynden had warned him that he'd run into many thieves in the city, so he fastened them tightly around himself, if anyone wished to take them from him, they would have to do it by force, and force suited him just fine.
I've finally made it.He thought, almost lightheaded at the thought of the journey, but he quickly cooled himself.
When he returned to the deck, the ship was already moored to the dock, and the gangplank was already drawn. As Jon disembarked, an older man with a hunched back and a wax pad allowed himself onto the ship, likely a harbormaster of some kind, moving to speak with the captain.
Jon ignored him as he walked onto the harbor in wonder, there so many people around him, walking along both the stone and wooden walkways in between the docked ships that bounced lightly in the light blue water.
He saw dozens of men with pads of waxes like the one who'd embarked onto theGunthor Royce,harbormasters arguing with captains, fishermen returning, some barrels full of fish, other with empty lines and emptier stomachs. Then there were women, the many scantily dressed women who threw themselves at every man disembarking, himself included. They tried to pull him away to some corner or other until he gently pushed them off and hurried his step.
I'll father no bastards of my own.He told himself, though sometimes it was hard not to look.
As he got further away from the harbor, he had hoped then number of people would lessen, but if anything, it only grew busier. He had made it to a marketplace that reminded him of the tourney grounds of the Gates, countless stalls and bustle of merchants pawning off their goods to the thousands that passed every hour, though heavens the only thing these people sold was fish, and fish and even more fish.
It did make it easy to find someone to point him towards Visenya's Hill and the Street of Steel. Soon he got away from Fishmonger's Square and moved somewhere more residential, he saw doors flung open and men and women entered and left them at their pleasure, everywhere he looked he could see someone, be it women hanging clothing on a wash line, men sitting in circles under stairwells and children who ran and played atop roofs.
Someone should get them down from there…
But soon he would be drowned not in chatter or laughter, but in the sounds of clanging and shouting. It had somehow grown even hotter, enough to make his skin crawl even in his thin loose doublet and he saw countless trails of smoke rising around him, borne from many bellows and forges which made it difficult to breath. Through open windows or even on outside workplaces, he saw smiths dousing red hot blades in oil and hammering endlessly at pieces of armor, he saw dozens of young apprentices running up down the shops and streets each with their own orders and instructions to fulfill.
He doubted any of them were more skilled than the smith at the Gates or Mikken in Winterfell, but he had not traveled kingdoms for them.
The largest building on the Street of Steel, Brynden told me.Jon thought, nervously biting his lip as he continued down the street in question, walking alongside a dozen buildings of the varying sizes but of largely the same height.
It took him nearly two hours of walking since he'd arrived in the city, but he finally saw it. Right as he almost considered going to find a tavern to sleep, a great two storied building of lumber that towered over the street, with a large stone barn behind it from which a five different smoke trails emerged.
He approached the two great doors of ebony and weirwood and pushed them open as he did. Inside he saw two suits of plate armor flanking the doorway, as well as a stands for swords and hammers and axes and armor pieces of every kind.
Among them he saw comely young lady in a simple dress discussing something with an older balding man who bore two great arms and a coat of black velvet.
"Greetings ser!" she said, greeting him with a warm smile as he entered, the older man turned to him with curious expression, and continued for her.
"Come in, ser, you'll not find finer steel." The man said. "Though good work comes at high prices."
"Is this the shop of the man they call Tobho Mott?" Jon asked, moving to stand opposite them.
"Tobho Mott is I, ser." The man said lightly bowing his head.
"In that case, I've something I must discuss with you in private." He said, eyeing the woman suspiciously, she looked towards Tobho, then scurried away at his nod through some door behind them.
"I've an axe of Valyrian Steel." He said, bringing the bag over his shoulder and pulling it open. Jon carefully grabbed the axehead wrapped in cloth and pulled it from his bag, it felt weightless in his grip, even though it was as wide as ten of his hands and the base of it as thick as his thumb.
He put it down on a nearby table surrounded by other blades and carefully unwrapped the thick blanket to reveal the dazzling ripples in the steel that brilliantly shined against the sunlight pouring in through the windows. For a moment, Jon was back in Willowbrook, his mouth bleeding, an ugly gash in his chest and his sword cut in two. The chieftain was opposite him, waving the same axehead through the air as though it was the Stranger's scythe come to take him.
And now it is mine.
"I've heard tell that you're one of the few men in the world who can work Valyrian Steel, is this true?"
"Yes, ser." The smith said, tearing his eyes from the steel and frantically nodding his head. "I apprenticed in Qohor, the last bastion of knowledge on Valyrian Steel in the world. You'll not find anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms who can reforge this for you."
"Then all that remains is a question of trust." Jon said, raising an eyebrow and trying to sense any deceit from the man, as though he was back in the Vale, playing a game of Flush against Mya, Redfort and Hardyng. "I'd wager it is more valuable than even this impressive shop you've built for yourself, can I trust it in your care?"
"I understand the value of what you carry, ser, but I would ask you not question my honor as a craftsmen and armorer." The man said, a scowl adoring his leathered face. "I am no scoundrel, and I've built a smithy that is unequaled in the realm, I would not run away from it even for a castle in the West. If you leave this my care, you will have it returned to you, I swear this on my life and my honor."
"Very well." Jon said. He would still have Zephyr watch the shop for any signs of chicanery, but he had found the man honest, regardless. "I would have you reforge it into a greatsword, if there is steel enough in the axe."
"There is." The man said, almost immediately, nodding his head. "There are at least seven ingots of steel that go into an axehead like this, and you need only six for a regular greatsword, I could make it thicker or longer if you wish."
"Have…" Jon started, then stopped himself, some lingering shame from his childhood not allowing him to say it, but then his tongue powered through regardless. "Have you heard of Ice? The ancestral greatsword of the Starks?"
"Aye, I've heard tell of it, but a blade that large would require at least eight or nine ingots of steel to forge." The man said. "I can try to get as close as I can with what I have however."
"That will do." Jon said, nodding. "And what of your fee?"
"A hundred dragons." The armorer said sternly, and Jon nearly keeled over at hearing the sum. "As I told you when you entered my shop, the best work comes at steep prices, ser."
"I understand." Jon said, he did not have other options, there was no other man that Brynden knew of who could do such work, but… he did not carry a hundred dragons with him. "Half now, and half on completion?"
"Very well."
And so, with heavy heart he reached into his bags and gave the man every last penny he had won in the tournament at the Gates a year ago, all fifty dragons.
He left the house of Tobho Mott with concern and worry on his mind, he had nineteen dragons left with him, the sum Brynden had given him for the journey, as well as what was left of the sum his father had given him when he left the North.
It was still no small sum, were he to rent some shack near Fishmonger Square, he could likely live out the rest of his days there. But he still needed more, and not a pittance more, butthirty-onedragons more.
I could always ask Lord Arryn for it, he'd likely just give it to me…But the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, he was a man grown, far too old to ask for money, especially for a sum as large as thirty-one dragons.
In a city this large, there was likely no end of work to find, but most commoners saw only a dragon every year at the most, and he had not thirty-one years to spend here. He was a knight of course, he could enter the service of some lord as a retainer, but even then, his allowance was likely no more than a dragon every month, and he did not have thirty-one months to spend here.
He huffed and looked up to see the sun still high in the sky, then he lowered his gaze to find the Red Keep only slightly below it, still towering over the buildings for miles around him. He tightened the with leather scroll case around his shoulder and set off towards the castle.
After a few hours of walking back the way he came, now far easier on his legs as he was headed downhill rather than uphill, he found himself drowning in fish and eel and clamps once more. With some help, he found the way towards the castle in the clouds, traveling northwest at first along the Muddy Way, then taking a turn right to finally travel towards the castle by a road the locals called the Hook.
As he got closer to the castle, the more goldcloaks he saw patrolling the roads, the larger and nicer the houses all became, no longer the residence of simple fisherman or craftsmen, but of merchants and knights, which soon became manors and manses with gardens and guards where dwelt minor nobles or especially well-off merchants.
Don't enter court as some filthy country bumpkin.Brynden had told him, and truth be told, even with him jumping into the sea before they came close to the city to wash himself, he was still rather disgusting, especially his clothes which he had not washed in weeks.
He found a seamstress selling luxury clothing, though she did not allow him into her shop until he flashed what was left of his dragons to get her attention.
Her prices were steep, and he would not be surprised if she regularly had nobles and knights frequent her shop, in either case, he got himself a fine doublet of velvet, and some thinner shirts of wool and linen he could wear every day for two dragons, as well as a few pairs of pants and undergarments for another dragon.
Thirty-four dragons I must make now…He thought, sighing under his breath as he wracked his mind for ways to make the coin.Gambling seems like a way for me to lose money rather than make it, I'll never engage in thievery or skullduggery, and there is not tournament for me to win…
In either case, he found a bathhouse and paid for tub of hot water and soap in spare change, then sat and rubbed off every speck of grime, sweat, dirt and sea salt from his skin and hair over the course of thirty minutes. The color of the water when he was finished left him confident that he had made the correct choice to make. He dried and dressed in his velvet and buckled his sword around his waist, finally looking like he belonged in court rather than a war tent.
Soon the Red Keep grew larger and closer, until he finally stood at its gates. It was smaller than Winterfell, but he could hardly fault it given its surroundings. It still had curtain walls and towers and inside of the open bronze gates, he could see maids, nobles, horses and gold cloaks aplenty milling about.A home worthy of a king.
He expected some challenge as he crossed the gates, some gold cloak to stop him and ask his business, some guardsmen come and demand he declare his intention, but there was none, and he entered the castle with no issue.
Brynden was not wrong about appearance.He thought.Now to find Lord Arryn.
He knew the Hand of the King had his own tower he lived in, though he had no clue where it was, he doubted he could find it on his own even if were to enter Zephyr. Some people may spend hours running up and down the castle looking for it, but Jon walked behind the first man he saw, a short man of slender build, and tapped him on the shoulder to draw his attention.
The man absentmindedly turned to him, but when his green eyes caught sight of Jon, they widened in a terror he had not seen since he rescued Ser Gilbert in Willowbrook. But then the terror left the man just as quickly as it had arrived, fading into a look of ease and indifference.
Strange.
"Are you alright, my lord?" Jon asked, some concern in his voice.
"You… you just reminded me of someone." The man said, a pleasant smile crossing his face as he moved to straighten his pointed beard. "Please, what can I help you with?"
"Can you point me in the direction of the Tower of the Hand?" Jon said, still puzzled by the man's outburst, but otherwise choosing to ignore it. "I've letters to deliver to Lord Arryn."
The man gave him rather detailed direction then excused himself citing some buisness or other before scurrying off. Outside of his initial outburst, Jon sensed no more fear or discomfort him, which was rather strange all things considered. In either case, he shrugged and moved deeper into the Red Keep.
It took Catelyn 16 days to make it from white harbor to king's landing, looking on a map, gullstown to kings land looks like a bit more than a third of that distance so we get a way shorter time on the boat than I thought lol, I was ready for some wacky boat adventures
Also poor littlefinger getting jumpscared by brandon stark like 20 years later