The King of Winters

Chapter-87

Jon

He had sent the word ahead to King's Landing when they left Volantis. He is coming with a huge host at his back. He has done what his King wanted him to do. He has succeeded in the duty King Rhaegar had entrusted onto him. He had done the hardest part and now all he had to do was to race North to King's Landing and put down the War of the Wolf for good. If it had been to him Jon would have set sail for the Seven Kingdoms right away, but the Essosi were made of different stock. Rhaegar Targaryen would be expecting them, but the masters and magisters were more concerned with the ships and the men they had lent him that none wanted to lose their goods before making the gold out of it.

They had made another stop, this time at Tyrosh to rest and gather supplies and to make sure the winds are in their favour. The command came down from Illyrio and his friends, through their captains and the serjeants. "Its not that them northern savages are wrapping their had around your King's city, swords raised to cut his head," said Illyrio when Jon told him to urge moving forward. "We'll get provisions in Tyrosh, maybe some fresh horses, then it will be on to Westeros to deal with this Andrew Stark. Rush across the seas quick without watching the wind, and our journey might end before we could even start it and King Rhaegar might not have the army he hoped to have."

Fortunately his own ship had been one of the first to reach their destination, along with half a hundred ships along with it, bringing in the huge host which might liberate the Seven Kingdoms off it's rebellious plague. Then it had only been a matter of establishing a campsite, assembling his men as they came ashore and moving quickly, making preparations to set sail as soon as he can. And there the Unsullied had proved their mettle. The chaos that would inevitably have delayed such a march with a hastily assembled host of household knights and local levies had been nowhere in evidence. These lot were as disciplined as they could come.

In Westeros Jon Connington had been the Hand of the King, but here in the eastern edge of the world he was only another commander in the command of Illyrio Mopatis and his wealthy friends. And so he had no choice but to wait, to gather supplies and watch the winds as Illyrio suggested.

Jon had no notion if that was the true reason they were making the stay. Since signing the deals in the great city of Mereen with all wise masters of Mereen, Astapor and Yunkai, he had been listening less and less to himself and more to these merchants and mummers with their dyed hairs and oiled beards. But he had to have their support if he wanted to win this war for his King. Rhaegar Targaryen depended upon him and Jon would not fail him.

At least they had stirred enough to leave from Astapor with the Unsullied quick enough. Jon was glad to put Astapor behind him. The Red City was the closest thing to hell he ever hoped to know. The sights that he had seen riding down those red brick streets would haunt Jon Connington forever. A river choked with corpses. The priestess in her torn robes, impaled upon a stake and slaves and children nailed to wooden posts attended by a cloud of glistening green flies. Yet it would be with men from such a city would he be fighting from now on. The way these wise masters treated their enemies would make King Aerys look so little.

From his place on top of the deck of his ship Jon could see the fleet and men loading the docks with wooden crates and planks. When the wind blew from the sea, the air smelled of salt and it was cold. The end of Summer could be felt even here, Jon thought.

The captain of the ship agreed. "Past time," he said, when Jon found him dicing with his crewmates Damon and Nic and Old Bill, and it seemed as if he was losing yet again. The captain was a big man and loved to dice, who bet fearlessly even when he lost. "The cold is in the air, my lord. We should be leaving before the autumn storms could take hold. Do you know when we might be leaving here, my Lord Hand?"