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Chapter 11 Part 5

=Sith=

291 AC

Driftmark

Tense silence held sway in Driftamrk's solar. Only shuffling of parchment and breathing of two men briefly interrupted it. At the same time, the Lord of the Tides read and reread a message from Lord Mooton of all people.

"Your thoughts, Maester Laenar?" Monford Velaryon asked.

Laenar Waters was a bastard with Velaryon and Celtigar blood in his veins. He had been a friend of Monford's father and one of the few people to caution against indulging Aerys for any scraps of power or reward the Mad King might have been enticed to give. To this day, Lord Velaryon didn't know what strings his sire and the Targaryens pulled to get Laenar assigned to Driftmark as if they had ensured a trustworthy Maester ended up on Dragonstone.

"We both know the reputation of William Mooton. He profited greatly from the death of Lord Myles at the Battle of the Bells. Lord Mooton has been a very vocal supporter of the Usurper and Hoster Tully since the death of his older brother. However, the King did kill said brother. This might be a case of blood being thicker than water," Maester Laenar suggested.

"Prince Viserys being a Sorcerer, having a loyal army, and taking Astapor has nothing to do with this implicit warning?" A sliver of amusement pierced Monford's gloomy mood.

"Lord Mooton might be placing himself in a situation he can't lose or trying to," the Maester suggested. "He can reasonably argue that after the Battle of the Bells, he was in no position to openly support House Targaryen and merely did what he had to survive."
Monford closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead while trying to recall what kind of forces were sworn to Maidenpool. He was pretty sure Lord Myles had taken as much of the military force sworn to him as he could get away with before leaving to fight the Usurper. His younger brother wouldn't have been in a great position after Hoster Tully married his daughters in the Vale and North. It might have been an untenable position.

"I'll allow that much. But even if the warning is true, it might be Jon Arryn or Tywin Lannister giving us enough rope to hang ourselves with," Monford warned.

"Ser Thorne deserting created a very dangerous precedent, my Lord," Maester Laenar pointed out. "For countless centuries, the Wall has served a fundamental purpose. It gave people an out that allowed them to keep their heads."

"From now on, no one will trust the Wall with loyalists. They will either keep us prisoners until we rot or take our heads," Monford concluded.

"Is that something to worry about before Prince Viserys returns?" Laenar asked.

"That's the question, isn't it? I believe it should be easy to say that the Usurper wouldn't risk moving against us without an excellent reason," Monford's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "But look at us and tell me we can take such a risk. I am not married yet, and there are no other Velaryons to carry my name. My blood might go on if something happens to me, but my name and House will fall for good."

Aurane was Monford's closest living relative, though cousins were spread across the Narrow Sea houses. None of them had the name or a particularly close connection, but the blood was there. With the Usurper on the Iron Throne, Monford had his doubts about the future if he fell dead tomorrow.

"Lord Bar Eamon is a boy of seven, with only a few distant cousins, female at that. Ardrian Celtigar is an old, bitter man with a young bride he is yet to put a child into," Lord Velaryon continued.

"His first cousin is your good friend Dunkan," Laenar reminded his Lord.

"My point still stands!" Monford sharply shook his head. "We've all been on our last legs since House Targaryen fell! If it wasn't for the Greyjoy Rebellion, the Usurper and his watchdog squatting at Dragonstone wouldn't have let us begin recovering at all. They didn't trust us when Prince Viserys was a beggar of no consequence. The Usurper will trust us even less now," Monford grumbled in vexation.

"Ravens from the North would have made their way to King's Landing by now. We have a day at most before a message can get to Dragonstone," Maester Laenar suddenly said. "We'll know soon enough what the Usurper intends."

"By then, it will be too late if he decides to do something mad, which he might…" Monford sighed. "Baratheon has the Stormlands. Jon Arryn gives him the Vale. Because Hoster Tully is a grasping cunt that makes Olenna Tyrell look like a saint in that way, they have the Riverlands and the North. Tywin fucking Lannister has his daughter as a Queen; may they all rot in the Seven Hells!"

"We also know that Mace Tyrell is negotiating a royal marriage in the capital, so his daughter will be the next Queen," the Maester added.

"That's five, perhaps six, of the Seven Kingdoms behind the Usurper. He has support to do what no other sane King would have dared, for Baratheon and his dogs have everything to lose in a Targaryen Restoration," Monford stared intently at Laenar. "Tell me I am wrong!"

"That's not the complete picture, but I am sad to say you are right, my Lord. Usually, the danger of angering too many of the Great Lords and their key vassals would keep a sane King at bay," the Maester admitted. "The only stumbling block might be the loyalists in the Reach," he added.

Notably, that state of affairs did nothing to rein in Aerys. Still, he was insane, and people like Lucerys Velaryon edged him on, enabling his madness.

"Some of them are entangled with the Tyrells," Monford pointed out.

"The Hightowers and Redwynes in particular," Laenar agreed.

Considering how much House Hightower lost to the rebel cause, they should have been the primary supporters of House Targaryen in the Reach. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was Lord Hightower's brother; by all accounts, he was beloved by his close kin. He died in Dorne to Eddard Stark and his party. However, Lord Hightowers' granddaughter could be the next Queen. That and his daughter's marriage to Mace Tyrell complicated things in that regard.

Randyll Tarly was another loyalist, the only one who won a battle against the Usurper, no less… but did it matter in the end? There would be no salvation in the Reach, for it was always divided, and divided it couldn't stand against four of the Seven Kingdoms. The Usurper might be able to buy some of the loyalists there with marriages, dowries, and honors, further mitigating the risk from that direction.

"At worst, the Usurper will sick the Royal Fleet at us. We can't fight it, and we won't be able to escape it unless we leave tonight," Monford thought aloud. "Am I right, Maester?"

"It might take time for the King and Small Council to decide what to do about us if anything. Either way, the Royal Fleet will put to sea to try and intercept the deserters," Laenar raised a hand and scratched the side of his chin. "That will keep it in a position to intercept and hunt us down if the Usurper decides we've outlived our usefulness," the Maester sighed. "We are just thinking of the worst that could happen, my Lord. It is entirely possible that the Usurper will do absolutely nothing about the deserters or us."

"If we wait for Robert Baratheon to decide, we will leave our fate in his hands. I won't trust him with my life, thank you very much!" Monford scoffed. His gaze drifted away from the Maesters' Valyrian features and went to the tapestries. Even after all this time, many of them were brought or commissioned by Corlys Velaryon himself.

Corlys and his famous voyages that raised House Velaryion to its absolute height, only for it to fall far during the Dance of Dragons. Now, that was an idea…

"Maester, how do you feel about an expedition?" Monford's tense posture relaxed for the first time. Laenar brought him the news about the deserters. "We might not get to Leng or Yi-Ti, but Astapor? That's more realistic, don't you think? Besides, Dunkan's ships should still be at the port, which means he and Aurane can join us."

"Should I write to Lord Celtigar and Bar Emmon's regent?" Laenar asked without showing even a hint of surprise.

"Send them a warning, but do not sign the missives," Monford decided. "We will pass by Sharp Point, but stopping there won't be a good idea," Monford grimaced. "Duram's still a child. Convincing his regent to join us in exile if at all possible might take too long."

=Sith=

Chapter 11 Part 6

=Sith=

291 AC

Sharp Point

An uneasy atmosphere awaited Monford as he disembarked at Sharp Point's docks. There were only a handful of ships here, and just two wore the jumping swordfish blazon of House Bar Emmon. One was the aptly named Swordfish warship, while the other was an old merchantman who had seen better days. The other vessels were small cogs belonging to various merchants plying their trade through Backwater Bay and the nearby harbors.

The large war galley bustled with expected activity, making it the most interesting spot at the docks. Monford remembered that ponderous vessel well – she was impressive, just not in the way that would make a competent enemy Captain shiver. The Swordfish had two hundred oars and the largest ram in the Royal Fleet, regardless of whether it was the proper Targaryen one or the Usurpers. She was also ponderous and hard to handle at the best of times, making it very hard to bring her advantages to bear. A ramming attack from such a galley would be devastating for any vessel to ever sail the seas. Her size and large crew complement would ensure she would be deadly in any boarding action, and none of that really mattered; you needed a very accommodating enemy to make good use of such a ship.

Monford walked down the dock with a handful of his knights at his back. Everyone else of importance, his brother, in particular, was on Dunkan's ship far in the bay, safe. It wasn't like Monford expected some treachery here; on the contrary, he came to warn the boy-lord of such a possibility. The Lord of the Tides knew he might be acting rashly. However, he wasn't willing to bet the survival of his house on the Usurper or Tywin fucking Lannister being reasonable or less murderous than usual.

Lord Velaryon didn't like the looks on the sailor's and dockhands' faces as his party passed by. They were uneasy and often relieved to see him, which made no sense.

The Harbormaster striding to meet him with a thunderous expression on his face did nothing to reassure Monford.

"Lord Velaryon!" The old official greeted. His face scrunched into a tight, forced smile. "This is a pleasant surprise, though your arrival caught us at a bad time."

Monford's eyes narrowed at that. His ears perked up as he heard a distant commotion – shouts and curses coming from the harbor.

"Do I dare ask what's happening?" Monford sharply looked around, keenly watching the reactions and bearing of everyone besides his party.

"It's the damn Septons and Septas the Lady welcomed earlier in the year," the old man spat. "We are all good Dragon men here," the Harbormaster added in a whisper, "or so we thought."

Monford really didn't like where this conversation was going. He could feel his knights stiffen behind him. Armor shifted quietly when warriors tensed, and hands fell on the hilts of weapons.

"Please, elaborate," Monford offered a disarming smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"If you intend to visit the Young Lord, you'll have to get past one of their preachers, my Lord. You'll see," The Harbormaster shook his head. "They've been preaching against the Dragons for months, and the Lady's guards had kept them safe. No one paid them attention before, but as more news about Prince Viserys being a sorcerer reached us, some of the smallfolk began to wonder and to listen…"

"Ah," Monford grimaced. There was no such thing on Driftmark or across the lands of the Lords he regularly exchanged letters with, but those were all loyalists across the Narrow Sea. The Faith in their region had supported the Targaryens for a long time. Most of their ancestors didn't tolerate anything less. Monford was vaguely aware that this was different across all of the Seven Kingdoms. "Is it safe to proceed?" He asked bluntly.

"It should be. Just unpleasant," The Harbormaster promised. "And embarrassing for us all."

Monford briefly pondered if he should just turn around and sail away but dismissed the idea. Duram was a boy of seven. For his father's sake, for his sake, and for the sake of their ancestors, Monford owed him a warning, even if it was likely to be dismissed as baseless paranoia. Besides, he wanted to see what the Faith was up to.

"I intend to briefly see Lord Bar Emmon before I leave for an expedition," Monford admitted.

The Harbormaster looked at him in confusion before realization dawned on his face, and he smiled. "An expedition. Yes," the old man chuckled and leaned forward. "I wish you a fortune in the wars to come, my Lord Velaryon. The same to our Prince," He whispered.

Monford nodded at the man and walked past. He had no illusion that his excuse would fool anyone, even if it was plausible enough. After Corlys, many of Monford's ancestors tried their luck. More often than not, they failed, which partly explained their House's sorry state since the Dance of Dragons.

=Sith=

They found the commotion high up in the harbor, on the edge between it and the small town separating it from the keep above. A Septon in gray robes stood on a bench, surrounded by nearly a dozen guards. Most of the men-at-arms looked like they wanted to be anywhere but there; a handful were more interested in listening to the preacher instead of looking for threats.

"It's the laws of the Gods you should fear!" The Septon decreed in a voice fit to burst with conviction.

From the moment Monford heard the man speak, it was clear he was a true believer.

"There is no place for vile sorcery in the light of the Seven! Cursed is the Witch! Damned is the Sorcerer! You will recognize them by their foul, vile actions! To consort with them is to imperil your very soul! To serve them is to damn yourselves to the deepest of the Seven Hells! Pray with me, brothers and sisters! Pray for salvation and deliverance!"

A small crowd stood before the Septon, drinking his words as if they came from the Seven themselves. Meanwhile, everyone who passed by did so quickly, giving dark looks to the gathered people and the preacher.

It was painfully obvious who the sermon was aimed at. And if something like this was happening here, in Sharp Point, who knew what was happening throughout most of the Seven Kingdoms. The Reach, Riverlands, and Crownlands in particular.

Monford walked past, ignoring the crowd's fever-rent prayers, and headed towards the keep. The place was like he remembered it, with more Septons and Septas. Over a dozen were scurrying around, making the place resemble a Sept instead of a castle. A small Sept was in the keep, which appeared to be very busy.

Lady Bar Emmon – the late Durran's widow, came hurrying out of said Sept, followed by a gaggle of Septas and Ladies.

"Lord Velaryon, this is an unexpected surprise! Welcome to Sharp Point!" the young woman curtsied, and her attendants followed suit.

"My Lady," Monford greeted. "Can we speak in private?" He pointedly looked at the keep's busy courtyard.

"But of course! I can receive you in my solar or in the Sept if you desire! Either way, only the Seven will overhear us!"

That stark reminder made Monford recall those old rumors that Lady Amelia Footy, of the Tumbletown's Footys, was a pious little thing. Well, that and the Faith becoming more active at the prodding of the Usurper, no doubt, explained what he witnessed. The Lord of the Tides liked it not, yet he was a man with a purpose and wouldn't see himself diverted at the last moment.

On the way to Sharp Point's solar, Monford asked a few leading questions about the presence of the faith, and Lady Amelia was more than willing to explain it all to him.

"Moons ago, my Septa received a letter from Old Town, inquiring if we would be willing to host a group of faithful to better spread the word of the Seven in these dangerous times!" Lady Amelia gushed. "I agreed, of course! As a good daughter of the Seven, I could do nothing less!" she looked at Monford with such earnest conviction it was painful.

While her next words confirmed it, Monford could already tell what had happened – the Septa in question knew of her Lady's deep faith, and the Faith saw an opportunity to act. Someone at the Starry Sept might have thought to send a few more Septas or Septons this way on that merit alone. However, what Monford saw at the harbor and overhead while passing through an otherwise calm and peaceful town told him another story.

"The men and women here are all good and true," Lady Bar Emmon babbled. "I must safeguard them and do my best to aid the Faith in protecting their souls! As I hear them whisper, they might be good dragon men, but there are no more good dragons!" At least the pious girl had the decency to sound sad when she said that.

Monford was convinced he was wasting his time by the time they reached the solar, yet he had to try. It was just that he wasn't sure how to convince someone who apparently saw Viserys rumored sorcerous ways as evil incarnate that fleeing to him, or at least Essos in general, would be for the best.

"May I presume that you've heard of the events at the Wall?" Monford inquired after he sat in the solar's presumed privacy.

"Desertion and murder most foul!" Lady Amelia shook her head and muttered a quick prayer for the dead. "Those beasts must be hunted down! I've ordered the Swordfish to sail as soon as possible and join the hunt! Are you here to lead it, my Lord?" she looked eagerly at him.

"That is a task best served by the Royal Fleet. It is in the job description," Monford deflected. "However, I am here on a related matter. King Baratheon is known for his wrath towards anything concerning dragons," Lord Velaryon pointed out.

"His wroth is legendary," Lady Amelia agreed.

"It is no secret that our Houses were Targaryen loyalists, and many of our people hold certain sympathies. After what Alister Thorne did, and with Prince Viserys having a large army at Atapor, we are all in a dangerous position."

"That is why our people must see the truth, my Lord! Is this why you are here?" Lady Bar Emmon perked up. "I will speak with Septon Marrik! I am sure we can spare a few people of the Faith to help you convince your people of the truth! We can petition the Starry Sept or even the High Septon for aid as well!"

Monford's smile froze at that. He had to re-evaluate his read of the woman's character. She wasn't merely a very pious noble Lady led astray by the Faith; she might just be a fanatic herself.

"That is something to consider at the very least," He allowed and greatly misliked how Lady Amelia's eyes lit up at that. "However, I am currently more concerned about more tangible threats. Like a furious Robert Baratheon or Tywin Lannister who might want to ensure there are no present threats left in the realm for his grandson's claim on the Iron Throne."

Lady Bar Emmon's large brown eyes stared blankly at Monford until comprehension dawned, and she shook her head in denial.

"We've done nothing but what's right! There are no more good dragons, as I've told you, my Lord! Things might be different otherwise, but neither I nor my son would ever follow a vile sorcerer, and the same is true of our people. Sharp Point is loyal. But you are right to be concerned! We must pray for deliverance and write to the High Septon and the King to make things right!"

Monford wondered if young Duram would be better in the snake pit that was King's Landing instead under the complete influence of his pious mother, or the Septons and Septas crawling all over the place. Lady Amelia writing to King's Landing might be the best possible outcome.