It was the hour of the wolf, said to be the darkest part of the night, a time when you wouldn't even be able to see your fingers. The moon, waxing and waning, cast an eerie glow upon the ocean, illuminating the waves with a silver light. A lone ship drifted across the expanse of the Sunset Sea, the Sea West of Westeros, without a care in the world.
And why would they care? Since the crew of the ship had little to fear at night since the only obstacles they could run into out here would be the occasional storms which didn't seem to be a possibility considering the calm weather and open sea stretching out before them.
The darkness of the night made it impossible to see anything beyond the ship's wooden planks which meant it was almost impossible for a night attack to happen as there was no way to find the location of any ships at nighttime and any potential pursuer could be easily scouted from far away during the day so no ships were ever afraid any kind of night attack.
And since they were quite a bit away from the coast there was no need to pay any special attention to reefs and rocks so the captain only left about three people on the lookout while the rest of the crew slept peacefully with the gentle rocking of the ship.
Now, different cultures in Westeros followed different rules for sailing at night. For ex: if you asked any Riverlander they would tell you that it was stupidity to sail at night. As they were mostly accustomed to travelling through rivers, they had a habit of mooring their ships to the coast at night so that they can rest on land and not have to worry about damaging their ships on rocks and reefs.
Same with the fleets of Reach and Westerlands, they too do not prefer to travel at night and sail their ships hugging the coast while travelling from Port to Port. And if for some reason they are too far away from the coast, they lower their sails and anchor themselves at sunset hoping to not drift too far away from their path when the sun rises.
The exceptions to this case are the Ironborns, they are so skilled at seafaring and navigating through the knowledge of the Stars and Constellation which had been passed from their ancestors. That they only need a handful of their crew awake at night to make sure that their ships are going in the right direction given the winds are in their favour.
One of the main reasons they are known for their speed is their ability to travel at night. Albeit at half the speed compared to the day since they still lower their sails halfway through so as to not move too fast.
Now the ship mentioned earlier cleared every checkpoint that you would associate with the Ironborn. They were sailing even though it was night and even though the seas were at their calmest there were about three people on board that were on the lookout and of course, they displayed no coat of arms on their sails which in these parts most probably meant Ironborn.
Suddenly, a ship appeared on the horizon, its resemblance to the previous ship strikingly uncanny. The vessel glided through the water noiselessly, its approach masked by the cover of darkness. Out of sight of the single torch on board the Ironborn ships, it came to a halt.
The Ironborn ships had only one torch burning as a safety measure, as the fire was a constant threat to the vessel. The limited space on the ship also meant that stocking too much wood was impractical, and they could not afford to waste valuable space that could be used for more essential and expensive items. Therefore, unless it was necessary, they refrained from lighting more than one fire aboard the ship at night.
The eerie silence was soon broken by the sound of smaller rowboats being lowered from the new ship. Each boat was manned by about five lightly armoured men and women carrying various weapons. One last boat was lowered but this one only had a single man.
Jon signalled to the other four boats to gather around him, and he whispered softly, "There are three lookouts, two asleep and one barely awake. I'll take them out, but be ready in case anything goes wrong. And you," Jon suddenly turned and pointed towards the tallest man on his right, "I don't want a repeat of last time so don't shout before you attack this time otherwise I'll feed you to Dacey's Orca,"
The man sheepishly rubbed the back of his head while the rest snickered softly, one of the women snorted and said, "As if Cory would ever his fat ass,"
The tension among the northerners on this excursion dissipated slightly. It was a mixed group of men and women, each armed with a different weapon, but the daggers they carried on their hips would probably be the only ones seeing action that night. Jon nodded toward them one last time before he silently rowed his boat toward the target ship.
"How does he manage to take out the lookout every time?" the sheepish man asked Jon's second-in-command, Dacey, in a hushed voice.
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Dacey quipped nonchalantly, straining to catch a glimpse of Jon who had already reached the ship.
Jon had been blessed with good fortune in the past few years. He had hit puberty early, giving him a height that was not lacking at all lacking among the people of Bear Island. Years of systematic exercise and a careful diet had ensured a powerful set of muscles that were primed for speed, agility, and surprising strength. His genes were also in his favour - he inherited his prince of a father's good looks and his mother's wild beauty, enhancing his natural charm and confidence.
As a result, Jon exuded an aura of charisma that was hard to ignore. He commanded attention effortlessly, whether here on the ship or in a social gathering. His confidence and natural leadership qualities were evident to all those around him, earning him the respect and admiration of his peers. The last few years had indeed been kind to Jon, and he had made the most of his blessings to become the best version of himself.
Jon calmly put down the oars and, taking his Weirwood bow in his hands, stood up in a balanced position. He knocked an arrow and raised his bow at a 70° angle, appearing to aim blindly from afar. The base of the boat he was on was much lower than the ship, making it impossible for him to see anyone on it, let alone shoot them. Fortunately, the darkness of the night concealed Jon's actions from the people in the rowboats, who would have had many questions otherwise.
Taking a deep breath, Jon made some final adjustments to the bow's angle with his quiver just a few inches away. At that moment, his mind was not completely in his body. About one-fourth of it was in Frost, who was circling high above in the night sky.
Using Frost's perspective, Jon was able to see through two different viewpoints simultaneously. It was an incredible feeling as if he was playing a game from both first- and third-person perspectives at the same time, and his mind processed the information seamlessly. The third-person perspective, viewed through Frost's eyes, provided an incredible amount of zoom and depth, allowing Jon to see fine details with ease.
He had never stopped working on his archery skills and it had taken months and months of practice with Frost for him to be able to pull off the shot that he was about to do. A shot that would be impossible for anyone else but him.
The three people on the lookout were not all on the same side, two figures were perched on the right side, with one barely awake and trying to count the stars to pass the time while the other snored loudly. On the left, a drunk figure had long fallen asleep.
The scene on the deck was eerie and quiet, save for the sound of waves gently lapping against the ship's hull and the occasional creaking of the wooden boards. The only sailor awake felt the salty sea spray on his face, and the cool breeze that blew across the deck left a chill on his skin.
"Ah! Shit! I forgot the count again," he grumbled to himself and was just about to start from the beginning when he noticed a small dot in front of the moon that gradually grew larger. With a sudden realization, he widened his eyes but it was too late as an arrow pierced his eye, killing him instantly. His body fell to the deck with a soft thump, waking up his nearby friend who met a similar fate as he too was killed by an arrow through his eye.
The last person on the lookout didn't even get the courtesy as he died in his sleep. The Drowned Gods would soon have a very confused sailor on his hands.
...
To read ahead go to: pat reon.c om/lazywizard