Chapter 51: Ch51: The most unexpected visitor
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Now, this is his own small harem and he has no fear of fathering bastards. So, by the time he was done, all three women lay on the floor with their legs spread and Jorah's seeds leaking from their cunts.
"Being a Lord is really not easy," sighed Jorah before going upstairs for much-needed sleep with his small family.
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The salty breeze whipped through the rigging of the ship, carrying with it the scent of the sea and distant lands. The Hightower vessel, adorned with the sigil of a burning tower, glided smoothly over the cerulean waves. There were few Maesters, at the prow, watching the Old Town fading behind them.
Maesters Lyman and Haldon, with their long white beards, were huddled over a table strewn with scrolls and maps, their heads bent in deep discussion. The cargo hold below was half filled with crates of books, scrolls, and some artifacts, collected from the vast libraries of Old Town. This trove of knowledge, discarded and hardly of any more research value, was bound for Bear Island, an isle shrouded in mist and myth for a long time in history.
There are legends about the most powerful fighters of the north living on the island and the legends of bears as tall as a hill. However, the recent information about the book printing method forced these two Maesters to make the trip.
"Do you think we will gain something?" Maester Lyman asked Haldon.
"We both were given this task, unlike others. You know better than me why. Our road ahead is already cloudy and covered in fog, to move high up on the ladder, we must clear the task and find the truth. If we are lucky and these men have really found a way to print the books at a large scale, we might establish a long-term trade with Bear Islands."
Maester Haldon spoke the naked truth silencing his volatile partner. Both of them, bastards from some noble family were sent to Old Town when they were young so as not to influence their family's succession rules.
Now, in old age, they have long lost the pursuit of wealth and power but are more inclined towards the world's truths. This journey allows them to move up in their circle and get access to some old and precious books that are only meant for the inner circle.
While these two Maesters were in debate and discussion, one curious visitor was busy watching the deep waters below the deck.
"I never tire of the sea," Tyrion remarked, his voice laced with nostalgia. "It has a way of erasing borders and making us all equal."
Tyrion Lannister, the youngest son of Tywin Lannister was also on board. He has his task from his family: to secure a few exclusive trading agreements, find out about the recent development in the north and finally get a measure of Lord Jorah Mormont and his militia.
He clearly remembered the way his father gave him the task before throwing his precious religious books in the fire pit.
"You are not meant to follow the priest or to become one. No matter what tricks fate has played on our family, you are my son. You will act like it and you will prove your worth. This is your first task. Don't let me down."
These words, somewhat harsh were the first time, Tyrion Lannister found that his father also had some expectations from him. They not only sparked a long-lost fire in his heart but also motivated him more than arbour gold.
"I hope Lord Jorah Mormont will bring me some surprises," Tyrion spoke to himself.
On the deck, the crew of seasoned sailors from Lannisport and Hightower went about their duties with practised precision, their voices rising and falling in rhythm with the sea's eternal song. The traders, well-versed in the ways of commerce, sought camaraderie in the shared pursuit of profit.
As the sun dipped low on the horizon, they approached the ominous silhouette of the Iron Islands, jutting out of the sea like dark sentinels. The crew exchanged knowing glances, for these waters were notorious for their treacherous currents and the unpredictable nature of the Ironborn.
"All hands on deck, let the torches burn bright and keep a lookout for the Ironborns. I don't want to take any chances," One of the sailors from the Old Town gave the orders before pushing these Maesters and Lannister Dwarf to their 'safe' quarters.
He wanted the deck to be open only for his sailors and soldiers. These learned men and the precious dwarf could only slow them down during any battle.
The ship navigated cautiously, guided by a steady hand and the combined wisdom of old sailors. Tyrion watched from the window of his room, his eyes sharp, though his stature was diminished. He was not unfamiliar with the dangers of the open sea or the stories of pirates from the Iron Islands.
Jumping down from the box he used to reach the window, he poured himself a few glasses of the finest wine and drank it like water. Then he wore his own armour and took out his sword.
He, Tyrion Lannister might be a dwarf but he is trained with a sword and he is not going down without a fight. Night turned to day, the voyage marked by a harmonious blend of knowledge, camaraderie, and cautious vigilance.
The Maesters and Tyrion exchanged some insights and knowledge exchange. Tyrion was fond of such open discussion where others could keep up with his chain of thoughts while Maesters were surprised by the trove of Tyrion's knowledge (considering his strange head).
Finally, after what felt like an eternity at sea, the first rays of dawn bathed the rugged cliffs of Bear Island in a golden glow. The air grew colder, the scent of pine and salt mingling as they drew nearer to their destination.
"Well, ten points for raw beauty and zero for their development."
As the boat came closer to the dock, Tyrion saw the island and the overall structure and he could never call this place a 'city'. It might be a town, a town of wooden houses at best.
"Well, it feels like north at least. True north." Tyrion thought before he saw a group of soldiers riding towards him and in front of the group, was a young and handsome man, riding his white horse. If his guess was correct, he should Lord Jorah Mormont.
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