Dearest Lya,
I hope you read my last letter to you. I meant every word.
By now, you should know why I'm gone.
Everything they told you is true. Bellanora Tallhart is bearing my child. I had an affair with her during my stay in Torrhen's Square.
I cannot claim that I love her, as that would be a lie.
A horrible thing to say, perhaps. But it is the truth.
Lyarra, you're the only one who's ever had my heart. I wish I could say it in person, but here we are.
You may not believe me. You may even hate me. And you'd be well within your right to do so.
Just know that I never meant to cause you pain. You're very dear to me, and I would never do anything to deliberately hurt you.
I sail for Essos tomorrow. I don't know if I'll ever see you again.
But, if I do return, you should expect a full bundle of winter roses.
Love,
Your Dunk
Pentos - Two Weeks Later
314 AC
Duncan Mormont hadn't admired Pentos for very long.
In anyone else, it might've been a sign of ingratitude. One's dismissal of objective beauty in the things that man had created with his bare hands.
Usually, Mormont was one to appreciate the finer things in life. The fancy clothes and garments, the expensive food and booze, the scantily dressed women who'd flaunt their bodies at him. Even the grand sights that he'd seen on his journey thus far, the simplicity of the clear night sky and the stars that hung in the great black, or the sheer magnificence of the Hightower and the Citadel. All of them would appeal to him any other day…
Yet now that he had a mission, it seemed as if something else was driving him altogether. A fresh sense of determination. Vigor, energy that seemed without end.
It had been like this for over a moon thus far. It was all he could think about day and night. Even on the nights that he was tired. Sleep was difficult to come by now that he was out wandering the great wide world all on his own.
After his visit to the Citadel, he'd gone to the Isle of Ravens located out on the Honeywine. Mormont had taken care when writing his brief letter to Lyarra Stark. Of course, by the time she'd received it, he'd already be across the Narrow Sea. At the same time, if there was anyone Mormont would like to see before he went off into the unknown, it would've been her.
From there, he'd gone back into the city and found a rather good-natured blacksmith who joked with him about the lack of snow in the South. Duncan had purchased a sturdy longsword from the man before moving on.
He stayed at one of the local inns that night and attempted to soothe his grating nerves over a plate of grilled lamb chops rubbed down with garlic and rosemary, and drizzled in a sauce of lemon and parsley. The realization of what he was about to do, and where he was going to go, had hit him full-on like a tidal wave.
Mormont knew what it was. The initial resistance. The threshold before the opening of an adventure. His father mentioned it all the time in the bedtime stories he'd tell when Duncan was a child.
The next morning, he'd found a ship heading for Pentos and had signed on as a crewman.
The voyage alone had taken another two weeks, naturally. Yet it was nothing Mormont couldn't handle.
Armed with the knowledge that the YiTish often traded back and forth with Volantis, Braavos, and Pentos, it had been a rather easy choice to make in hindsight. Duncan had opted for the latter, as Braavos was simply too far to the North, and Volantis likely not the safest place for a Westerosi to land.
And now, here he was, walking the finely cobbled streets underneath the many walled-off manses by the wealthier side of the Pentoshi harbor. The tall, square brick buildings that served as the port city's skyline loomed high over him and everyone else going about their day on the streets. The light of the sun splashed a colorful sheen of gold against the orange-tiled rooftops all across the city, almost giving it a sort of heavenly glow.
Mormont wasn't one to complain about nice weather. He enjoyed sunny days as much as he enjoyed rainy days. And it gave the maidens throughout the city plenty of reason to not wear as much clothing.
Pentoshi women, like all Andal women, were fair-haired and tall. Though Mormont did see the occasional head of dark hair. It was to be expected. These people were descended from Andals, Valyrians, and a whole mixture of other peoples from the East.
The men, however, he considered strange. He'd heard plenty of stories about the dyed, forked beards that they'd often wear. Duncan had even seen many such men make port in Frostgate or White Harbor. Always it would be in ridiculous, vibrant colors; sky blue, crimson, green, or even an odd turquoise.
Ought to have been fools, more like. But to each their own, Mormont thought to himself as he made his way out along the stone pier. The long line of ships docked here was seemingly infinite.
Duncan knew what he was looking for. Therrin had been so kind as to show him several pictures of various YiTish seafaring vessels.
YiTish ships, which Therrin had called junks, typically had around five masts, with square sails set into linen matting flattened with a native material known as bamboo. Not to mention the slanted, arched hulls that would be sleeker as opposed to their western counterparts.
It wasn't particularly long until Duncan had found several such vessels in the harbor.
They stuck out rather easily. About eight of them lined up side-by-side. And, as Duncan noted in the slight differences in color and wear, they were made with fir wood, as opposed to pine or oak.
Mormont walked out along the stone branch of the pier and looked at the ship in question. It was somewhat smaller than even his father's personal brig, The Maiden Fair, yet it had five masts and matted sails placed diagonally.
Probably takes advantage of the wind more often than not, Duncan guessed, marveling at the overall, strange foreign design of the vessels.
At the bow of the first ship, there was a blunted platform with wooden guardrails, likely meant for lookouts when sailing through mist, or for navigators looking to adjust course. Along each side of the hull were six square-shaped holes with long barrels of iron jutting outwards on either side.
What in the Seven Hells are those meant to be? Duncan thought to himself. Ballast? Couldn't they use stones or even water for such a purpose? What an alien sort of people these YiTish were! They certainly had a sense of humor when it came to watercraft.
Sallow-faced men were walking back and forth between the main deck of the ship and the stone dock, bridged only by a wide plank of wood. Their looks were distinct from the Pentoshi, and even from Duncan's people for that matter. Heads of thick, black hair and almost slanted bright eyes. A sort of golden pigmentation in those long faces as well. Nothing at all like Duncan's own pale complexion. Then again, it was supposedly warmer in Yi Ti. Significantly so.
Many of them wore simple garments. Sternly tucked linen tunics, pallid sets of trousers to protect them from the cold, and leather boots. It almost seemed to be a uniform of sorts, now that he'd noticed.
The chattering of many voices could be heard from the crew, in what Duncan could only assume was their native tongue. One man had pointed at a smaller crate with a strange zig-zag sort of label marked in red chalk. Another was speaking harshly to a pair of bowed heads as he'd gestured to the rowboat they had onboard.
That one, he narrowed his eyes on the authoritative figure. He was dressed differently, clearly, judging by the longer coat he wore, adorned only with a linen belt tucked across his waist. A sword hung by his side, and on his head was one of those 'monkey tail hats' that Therrin had told him about.
Instinctively, Mormont went out along the stone pier and mingled with the yellow-faced men. Many of them glanced at him, but none of them looked him in the eyes or face. Strange…
He approached the well-dressed man, whom he decided was the Captain. The other man had since dismissed the two boatmen and glanced back out to sea by the time Duncan had come up behind him.
"Hello," He started, not entirely reassured that the other man would understand him or Westerosi language in general.
Slowly, the Captain had turned to look at him. That was a good sign, surely. This time Duncan was met with a pair of bright blue eyes that looked at him as if he were a fish jumped up onto land.
After looking him up and down for a few moments, the Captain faced him. An air of supreme confidence about him. "Andal?" He spoke calmly, with a peculiar, forked accent in the Common Tongue.
"Westerosi."
"Ah!" The YiTish had said with a short nod. "What do you want, Westerosi?"
Duncan wasn't in the mood for power games. "I'd like to go to Yi Ti. I will gladly pay for passage there."
He'd already had the pouch of gold dragons in his palm. He knew that they could be exchanged at the Bank of Pentos for whatever currency they traded in, after all. Duncan tossed the pouch over to the YiTish Captain, who caught it effortlessly with one hand.
The coins clinked on impact. The older man gave the pouch a simple glance, almost inspecting it minutely before he tossed it back to Duncan. "No."
No? Duncan contained his surprise. Of course, there was resistance here. He was a foreigner, an outsider. Some pale-faced brute of a young man who'd come to play the tough adventurer.
He'd already had another offer in mind, though.
"I'll work as a boatman. One of your crew. I've done my fair share of sailing."
This time, he was met with a slight, amused smile. "No."
Duncan's own high spirits had since evaporated. Was this Captain making a mockery out of him?
"I'll work double shifts. Completely free."
Those thin, almost feminine lips had pursed. A sharp, deep voice came out. "You are persistent. Why do you wish to come to Yi Ti? For… what purpose?"
Mormont was careful with his answer. "I wish to find work in Yi Ti. I've heard stories about your lands. Lots of wealth to be found there."
The Captain had given him yet another once over. "The stories may have some truth to them." He said. "However. I cannot accept you onto my crew because it is not mine."
"What? You're the Captain of this ship, no?"
"I command this ship, yes. But I do not own it."
Mormont widened his eyes briefly. "I see… then who's the man I should be speaking to?"
Approval tugged at the other man's lips. He turned and gestured over to another, grander ship docked at the end of the line of YiTish vessels.
It was a tough monster made of fir wood, but darker in complexion than its smaller siblings, with its hulls painted red and gold. Nine masts stood tall along the main deck of the beast, each with the same diagonal matted sails that would undoubtedly hold up in any storm the Summer Sea threw at them. Mormont knew it must've been at least close to two hundred feet in length alone, larger than any war galley he'd seen back home. On the front of the blunted nose of the ship was a large blazing orange sun, likely made out of bronze or some other metal not known to him. And finally, there seemed to be multiple floors to the helm, with two long sets of stairs leading up to the first floor, a second, and the top deck.
That was easily a ship that kings would kill for. It would be the ultimate flex on their subjects, and their rivals. And the YiTish presumably used something of this sheer size and caliber for mere trade?
Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Of course not! He'd just have to adjust his plan in this case.
"I understand," He looked back to the Captain, who seemed to have been pleased at the wonderment Duncan had in his eyes. "Who should I speak to once I'm aboard?"
"You cannot miss him." The older man said. "Ask for Commander Chen. He is more acquainted with Westerosi and Andals than I. Very fortunate, in your case."
Duncan gave a mirthful chuckle. "No doubt we appear a strange lot, I gather. I thought much the same of you and your crew when I first saw you."
"Hah! Humor and honesty. It is much appreciated, young man." The Captain said. "Now, if you will excuse me. I must see to the men at work."
Mormont waved the YiTish farewell and strode off. He made his way down the pier, occasionally diverting his gaze to the various other crews of sunburnt faces and strong jaws. He thought it strange that the crewmen did not look their Captains in the face, or even in the body. They seemed all but allergic to even glancing at their superiors. What was this? Some odd social custom of theirs? Probably. But right now it wasn't entirely important.
The plank leading up to the main deck of the 'Painted Beast' as Duncan now referred to it was steeper, no doubt because of the damned thing's height alone. And the hull! It was slanted, curved upwards, even. Would the floors and interior decks be slanted just the same?
The question lingered in his mind as he watched more YiTish lumber up and down the plank with crates and barrels over their broad shoulders. A hearty, efficient people. Yet it was odd that there was still none of the usual carousings that often accompanied sailors, none of the vulgarity and the like. Perhaps the crewmen would get around to that sort of thing in their downtime.
Mormont stepped foot on the plank. More gazes leveled in his direction, but still, he was undeterred. He marched up the ramp and onto the main deck, carefully scanning the bustling crowd of sailors and crewmen who hurried about.
Mormont glanced up to the helm, knowing full well that that would be the first place to look for the man in charge.
And sure enough, Duncan found him.
Commander Chen, as the other YiTish Captain had so eloquently called him, was a towering figure of a man. Broad chest, wide shoulders. He wore a long silk robe set in a light green which shimmered in the light of the sun, with the rims of the robe being ordained with gold threading. Weavings depicting long serpents with dragon's heads, or griffons with lion's tails were expertly sewn into the fabric. Similarly, a sword hung at his wide linen belt. And finally, on the top of his head was a monkey's tail hat topped with silver curls.
Mormont had the strong impression that the Commander had done some soldiering in the past. Perhaps he retired or had earned his fortune after many long years of service to his Emperor. The correct at-attention posture, no matter their differences, was unmistakable.
Can't be missed, supposedly. This has to be him.
Mormont went up the long staircase closest to him. He'd either make it or break it with this one.
Once on the top deck, he'd witnessed the Commander give a dismissive wave to a crewman, probably his aide. The crewman immediately bowed low, almost folding himself in half, before coming back up and making a mad dash past Duncan and back down the stairs behind him.
It was then that Duncan realized Commander Chen was staring at him.
"Hmmm… Andal? Or Braavosi?"
Mormont locked eyes with the older man. "Westerosi."
"I see…" The Commander said without expression. "You are a long way from home. Why have you come aboard my ship?"
"You're sailing back for Yi Ti, yes?"
"We are." The cold, simple answer was not a good sign.
Duncan took his chance. "I'll pay for passage or work as one of your crew. It makes no difference to me."
It was then, much like with the first Captain, that the Commander glanced him up and down with a particularly careful, severe gaze that reminded Duncan of a Shadowcat sizing up its prey.
What would the damnable answer be? What if the man refused him? What would he do then? Probably look around the harbor for another YiTish vessel. Or perhaps head to Braavos to see if others would take him to Yi Ti.
How big of a deal was this to them? Therrin had said that the YiTish had something of a tendency to look down upon younger civilizations. No doubt that would give them plenty of reason to rebuff him.
Then I'll just be back to square one. Oh well.
The Commander had stroked his long beard, already resting a hand on the pommel of his odd-looking sword. "Why?"
"Looking for adventure," Duncan answered plainly. "Heard stories about your homeland, and that there's supposed to be wealth there, too. Lots of it."
"It is possible." Commander Chen let his hand rest at his side now. "If I accept… you will work. Double shifts. This is acceptable to you?"
"Of course."
The Commander nodded firmly. "Then we have a deal, Westerosi." He offered his hand, a seemingly foreign gesture from such a foreign individual.
Whatever the case, Duncan shook it, making sure to keep his palm vertically centered. He was pleased to find that Commander Chen's palm was warm, firm, and dry. He smiled. The expression had been returned as well. No doubt, the Commander understood the social etiquette of the West, knowing that a handshake was all you'd ever need to judge whether or not a man was immediately trustworthy.
"You will be given quarters in the decks below," The Commander said breezily. "You have sailed before, yes?"
"Naturally."
"Good." The Commander gave him a mirthful, almost sinister smile. "Now. Get to work."