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Robb Returns by The Dark Scribbler
 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: K+, English, Fantasy & Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Robb S., Theon G., Domeric B., Words: 627k+, Favs: 6k+, Follows: 6k+, Published: Jul 16, 2015 Updated: Sep 287,742Chapter 26
There will be a short hiatus in this story - I'm about to leave for a week-long business trip that will give me 0% time to write anything other than my own name and perhaps some burble about how tired I am. Normal service will soon be resumed.
Jorah
He liked Myr, even though it was too hot for his blood. Everywhere in Essos was too hot. He was of the North, of Bear Island and as he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling he thought of home for a long moment, before closing his eyes in anguish for a moment.
The thought of the trees and the steep hills, the little villages on the coastline, the fog that wreathed the island… He thrust the memories away before they could choke him with grief yet again and then slipped out of bed, leaving the girl sleeping on her side of it.
What was her name again? Oh yes, Leera. A sweet girl with a warm smile and a liking for him, given by the number of times she was available for him. He smiled at her slumbering form for a moment and then walked quietly to the chair and threw on a robe, before crossing to the window.
Ah, Myr. The city that people – men and women – never really slept. There was always something being made somewhere, or planned, or even thought up and then discussed very, very, loudly. He often wondered if the Citadel at Oldtown was like this place. Possibly it was lousder when inspiration struck.
He grabbed a chair from one side and then carefully placed it so the noise did not wake Leera, before sitting in it and then running his hands through his hair. The letter from Varys had been clear, he was to go to Pentos and spy on the Beggar King there. Pentos. He loathed that place. In Myr there were at least ideas and a slightly frenetic optimism. Pentos? It was riddled with cynicism and ruthless ambition. Trade was everything. And anything could be traded there.
But why was the Beggar King there? For what purpose? Apparently he and his sister were in the house of one of the Magisters of the city, one Illyrio Mopatis. He'd asked about the man. He was extremely rich and powerful and apparently wasn't a man who liked fools.
So why take in the Beggar King? Viserys Targaryen was penniless, proud, desperate and increasingly unstable. Given who his father had been, the instability wasn't that surprising. In his case the apple had not only not fallen far from the tree, but had nestled against the trunk.
No, Varys was right, something was indeed going on there. So he would have to leave Myr and travel North, to that city filled with men with deep pockets and naught but greed in their eyes. His own eyes flickered to the North-West. The pull of home was strong today. It grew stronger with every day that passed now, ever since the night that he'd come awake with a shout, startling Leera. It had been an intense dream. That voice… He felt the call of home. And yet home was denied him.
He ran a hand over his chin and resolved to shave that day. He preferred to be clean shaven here. Beards could be too sweaty otherwise. He thought of his father and the old man's great beard and then smiled slightly before the smile ebbed. Home.
"Jorah?"
He turned to the bed and smiled in reassurance. Leera was looking at him sleepily, hair tousled and one breast exposed. "I did not want to disturb you," he said softly. "'Tis morning."
She smiled at him and then pulled the sheet down to show the other breast. "Come back to bed."
He smiled back and then obeyed her command. Pentos awaited. Perhaps she would come with him? But the North still called.
Asha
There was a dead man in the gibbet on the end of the breakwater at Lordsport. Asha stared at the corpse as the Black Wind passed it. Whoever he was, he had not died well. His arms were bound behind him and what appeared to be wooden stakes had been hammered into his eyes. He hadn't been there when they'd left and her men did not like the way this greeted them on their return. Many turned their heads and spat to ward off evil.
As they made the ship fast to the pier Haken nudged her. "Look yonder." She looked and then blinked. She knew that ship, and that flag.
"The Sea Song," she breathed and then as soon as the ship was moored properly she leapt over the side. "Feed the men, I have to see my nuncle," she called over her shoulder and then acknowledged Halen's wave of acknowledgement with one of her own.
She had to admit that she was troubled as she strode over the stone quay and over to her Uncle Rodrik's ship. Perhaps he would have sound counsel for her. But he was not there. Instead his sailing master Dale was standing by the gangplank, one hand on his sword and a deeply worried look on his face.
He brightened when he saw her though, enough to crack a smile and joke about her hair. But then he stared at the castle. "Your nuncle has gone to see your father," he said grimly. "And Lord Harlaw is… well, troubled."
Asha nodded – and then she noticed the air of tension about the crew. The Sea Song looked as if it was ready to sail at a moment's notice. "Dale, what is wrong?"
But the man had never been a very eloquent or talkative man and all she got from him was some hemming and hawing, before an entreaty to go to the castle and see if Lord Harlaw was alright, that he had been gone for too long. And so Asha finally nodded and left for Pyke.
The wind was blowing hard by the time she made it into the tower where her father's solar was situated and she stopped to sniff it. There was more rain in that wind, and it was veering to the South-East again. There might be a storm on the way. She shrugged and then opened the door and strode down the corridor.
And then she heard the voices. The guards outside the solar looked nervous and on edge and when she identified the voices she knew why. Uncle Rodrik and Father were both in there – as was Uncle Aeron. Damphair himself was in there and she shuddered a little. He had been a very different man since his near-drowning, colder than the sea and as devout as any Drowned Man could ever be – and sometimes even more so.
The guards saw her and nodded at her as she reached for the door – only to have it opened in front of her. Uncle Rodrik stormed out and very nearly collided with her, changing course at the last moment. He looked as angry as she had ever seen him and beneath that anger was worry. His eyes widened as he realised who he had nearly knocked over and then he strode away down the corridor, although not before whispering: "I sail on the tide. See me before."
She watched him go with a frown of puzzlement and then she turned back to the solar, only to see Damphair stride out. He looked at her, narrowed his eyes slightly and then left down a different corridor and she stared after him. There had been something about him that set her teeth on edge. There had been a set to his shoulders and a glitter in his eyes, almost amounting to a look of ecstasy, that worried him.
Father was staring out of the window of his solar and only looked around when she closed the door. He looked preoccupied, with a scowl on his face. "Asha," he said eventually. "You are back early."
"I had to return," she said. "I felt…"
Father forestalled her by scowling even more and holding up a hand. "Speak not of it. It was Greenlander mummery."
Asha stared at her father in astonishment. "Father, we were at sea! Half my crew heard it and the other half felt it, or felt something at least!"
"Speak of it not!" Father roared at her and she took a step back before Father rubbed at his forehead and then waved a hand in a semi-apology. "I have had your uncle Rodrik in there from an early hour. The Reader… spoke nonsense. I fear he is addled in his head. Anyway – Aeron was here and he explained everything. 'Twas naught but a Greenlander mummery, as the Drowned God denied this 'call' to the North. We are to pay it no mind."
Asha opened her mouth to passionately argue against this, but then she caught the fire in Father's eye. Now was not the time. Not with his memory so fresh with Uncle Rodrik's sanity and Uncle Aeron's madness. No, she had a good idea about what was going on here.
So she nodded sharply and then passed back out through the castle, noting absently that the storm was indeed building but that it might pass to the West. And then down to Lordsport, where she found her sane nuncle pacing about on the quay by his ship.
"Asha," he greeted her. "Let me guess – your father claimed 'mummery' of some type?"
"He did. But I heard it nuncle. I heard it as clear as I hear you. The Others come. The Stark in Winterfell needs us." She shook her head, bewildered. "How can Father deny it? My own crew feel it!"
"I know, little one," he said, another sign that he was very worried, "I know. It was strong at Harlaw. But your father…" Uncle Rodrik looked about carefully and then lowered his voice. "Your Lord father hates the North and the Starks for their role in the suppression of his rebellion. For the death of your brothers. To admit that he has felt the call to aid them? He cannot do that. Even if the threat is from the Others. He simply claims that the Others are no threat to the Ironborn, even if the Others even still exist and are not some tale told by old women in the North."
His face set slightly. "And then there is your uncle Aeron. Damphair will never admit to hearing that call. Never. To do so means admitting to the existence of the Old Gods and to acknowledging that we are linked to the First Men. Drowned Men claim that we were made by the Drowned God. To your father and your uncle, admitting that they heard the call to the North to aid the Stark means that the Old Way is weakened. And that is something that they cannot abide."
Asha thought it through and then sighed. "So what shall we do?"
"We watch and we wait and we keep our mouths shut." Uncle Rodrik gestured at the breakwater. "Do you see that man out there?"
"Aye."
"He traded with the North a lot. He heard the call and talked about the Old Gods in earshot of Damphair. So your uncle had him bound and then hammered stakes whittled from Weirwood driftwood into his eyes until he died. Damphair will deny everything and kill anyone who contradicts him. So I will sail back to Harlaw and I will read my books and do my research – and protect my people. Because foul things are coming from the North, Asha, winter comes. And with it… death. Don't be on Pyke when it comes, niece. Because the Drowned God…" he paused for a long moment and then sighed. "The call to Winterfell is louder."
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