Visitors from the West

The sounds of the near-constantly creaking ship assaulted those below deck as the old vessel sailed through the waters of the bay of seals. The horrid howls of seals on the rocky beaches were now well behind them along with their pungent musk.

Seated atop an empty barrel, Brodd eyed the parchment in his hand lazily. This was the best time to check over the stock reports yet again before the ship entered choppier waters near the cursed isle of Skagos.

'30 stones of grain, 55 stones of cheese, 50 barrels of bitter ale, 70 stones of seal skins and 40 stones of salt beef.' He read internally. It wasn't a large list of items and he'd certainly memorized it by now, however, it gave him something to do and keep his mind occupied.

The storm crow had long sailed from the Eastwatch port headed for their first and final visit to the blighted isle of Skagos for the year at least.

They'd made similar trade visits to the main island just as winter set for the past two years. This visit would normally only be done during the winter years as in any other time, it was suicide to even sail near the isle due to powerful sea currents and turbulent waves.

Brodd extinguished the whale blubber candle and rose to his feet. The old floor boards creaked beneath his feet as he wordlessly avoided his fellows and ascended from the bowels of the ship to be greeted with the overpowering smell of salt and water on the deck.

He watched his fellow brothers tending to sails or rowing as Captain Lurs Fisher barked orders at them.

He brushed a few salt grains from his fur lined, black cloak and looked out to the sea.

"Heh, capt'n fishie always gets his drawers in a knot when we head out ta see the skags ehy!?" Ryler, his fellow black brother threw an arm around his neck roughly.

"Aye." He nodded not in the mood to say more. While it was rather safe in the winter, the waters around Skagos were always traitorous.

"No more o' those sour cunts 'til the gods bless us with a 'nother winter! I hate sailin' there, always wondern' if the ship will crash 'gainst the shores an' the buggers will come out and eat us!"

Brodd nodded as his only reply.

"Wot's with ye mate? Ye been down all day." The man looked at him with confusion.

"It's nothin' he said while folding his arms as he leaded against ship's mast.

"I'll get yah some ale, that'll mellow ye out." Ryler shuffled off, expertly moving about the shifting vessel.

A small chortle rumbled inside his throat at that. 'All ye know to do is drink an' moan about how ye miss cunny.'

Brodd had a lot on his mind. Today was an... anniversary of sorts.

'Seven years....' He released a breath.

It's been almost a decade since he's been a brother of the night's watch.

How? Why? What caused him to take the black?

Was he a man who looked up to the watch and wished to live his life killing wildlings and freezing his balls off at the wall?

No. he looked up to watch in his youth, but after his first experience with a woman, there was no way he would willingly leave the pleasures of a free man.

Did he commit a heinous crime? Rape? Murder? Poach in the lands of a lord?

Nay

He did something far, far worse, being born a bastard.

Brodd snow remembered the life he had in Iron castle; the ancestral seat of house Ironsmith. Though he also remembered his life before the castle, the hunger, the hard work.

Before the day armed men with ironsmith banner came to his mother and carted him off to the castle. He grew up as a simple bastard of a disgraced miller's daughter. However, as noble bastard things changed. Sure, his elder, trueborn sisters scorned and reviled him as him a common mongrel. But, as his elderly father was a widower without a male heir, Brodd snow had a chance to one day become Brodd Ironsmith, lord of Iron castle.

Despite the estranged relationship he had with his noble sire and siblings, Brodd was content. He- a bastard was living inside a castle eating as lavishly as a northerner could. He was taught by a Maester and a Master at arms to use a quill and sword, was sheltered from the cold by thick stones of castle and warmed by a hearth with ample fire wood with attentive servants.

As his father grew even greyer with age and weak from his days fighting the war of the nine penny kings, Brodd truly felt his day would come to ascend to lordhood, marry a lady of the north and live the life of a noble.

Imagine his surprise when his elderly father married the daughter of his master at arms. Brodd was rightly very worried.

He reassured himself of his old man's infirmity and withered vitality. On the night of the wedding where the bedding was to happen, he prayed to the gods and hoped the old lord wouldn't be able rise to the occasion and take the girl's maiden head much less seeding the girl.

The gods didn't answer his plea and in the end his hopes were dashed. By a moon's turn after the wedding, Maester roote confirmed the girl's pregnancy and in the moons to come the girls belly swelled and she grew great with child. It was his worst nightmare.

'Why'd the old fool 'ave to do this now?!' He thought every time he looked at the girl. He even had doubts about the girl's possible fidelity.

Could the wench have given herself to another and planned to sire a bastard that wasn't even his father's. Though he had his concerns, brodd didn't dare bring them up to his father.

He comforted himself with the possibility that the little thing in her belly could die upon its birth or be a girl and possibly the wench with it. The birthing bed was... dangerous after all.

In the end it seemed the old gods resented him.

A trueborn boy was born moons later. Fat and hale, ready to take the lordship that was within his grasp.

He thought about sneaking into the whelp's room and ending the bugger. But he knew he would be the first to be suspected. As he noticed that since the boy was born, he wasn't given the child to hold even once and was never left with the child unsupervised.

Even if he had the chance could he have done it? The consequences of kinslaying were harsh. The old legends say the gods punished them specially. There was nothing he could do!

Then it happened.

One morn he was summoned to his lord father's solar. They had a long discussion-the longest they ever had. In the end, Brodd snow entered as the prospective lord of Iron castle; heir apparent and left a black brother bound for a life of service at the wall.

The barest blessing he had was the dignity of riding there without being bound in shackles.

And so here he was, a black brother of the steward order. His literacy and knack for numbers and sums added him well in carrying out his tasks and kept him away from the dangers of ranging.

Every year He thought about his 'brother' in Iron Castle. The boy should be around eight name days old by now. His father- the old goat should be dead by now as well. He couldn't help but hope the boy caught a fever this winter and died.

He took a long deep breath of the salty, frigid air. The boat was making good speed as the coming winter winds howled and was caught by the sails and smiled. He would never share these dark thoughts with anyone, he knew what they would say or think. They would see it as proof of his bastard nature.

'Where's that fool with the ale?' He turned to look behind himself.

"I reckon he's down there drinkin' it all." He mumbled to himself.

(-)

Captain Lurs couldn't believe what he was seeing as the ship neared the craggy Skagosi island. As they approached the island, a first he saw the snow-capped peaks of the cannibal island which made it a beacon of sorts. As the Storm crow steadily approached the island's chaotic waves, he began barking orders at the oarsmen and seamen in preparation, only to look out and glance a very large thing bobbing atop coastal waters of the desolate Skagosi harbour.

'A ship?' He wondered.

It certainly appeared to be a sea vessel but no matter how he closely he peered at it, he couldn't spot the vital sections which any sea vessel of that size would need- the sails. Before becoming a watcher on the wall, he was smuggler that plied his trade along the blackwater. He'd seen many varieties of ships in his old life. From the Westerosi cog, Braavosi trading galleas , to the massive swan ships of the summer isles.

As a brother of the night's watch, he'd seen the large yet slender war galleys of slavers and carracks of smuggler ships. All had sails and mot had oars, yet as they got even closer, he still couldn't see any sails, only a bulky collum which couldn't have a mast.

"Capt'n! There's a vessel in the harbour! Should I call the men to arms?" Dovan asked.

"No, but be ready." He shook his head at his firstmate, whatever the thing was, it was no slaver ship or smuggler ship.

By now the men on deck could see the vessel. However, he wouldn't allow them to keep gendering at the thing like men enraptured by lusty merfolk and have them crash into the rocky shoreline.

So he stood up and began barking to the men tending to the sails, calling each of their name and insulting all of their mothers to get their attentions and remind them of their duties. As the momentarily, the strange vessel moored in the harbour faded from his mind as he commanded the ship's men while they wrestled with the sea and air currents.

He commanded the anchor to drop as they slowly pulled into the berth next to the damned vessel. By this all the brothers could have a gander at the vessel.

"By the seven! What is that?" Dovan's voice cut over the rabble the others were making.

He didn't respond, couldn't respond. Who knew what the thing was. It had the ship of a sea vessel, however, it didn't look to be made of wood, instead he could barely believe his eyes at the sight.

'Stone?!' He was appalled at the sight. Lurs walked over to the edge of the ship and leaned over it to somehow see the individual lumber but only saw the smooth-looking grey hull. It wasn't possible! Stone would be too heavy to float!

His mind ran a mile a minute. Forget the impossibility of the vessel floating; how was stone able to be cut in such a perfect manner!? Even if it wasn't and the thing was made of cut stone like a stone keep, how were the individual cuts of stone fitted so well as to not leave crannies?! Not to mention the wind needed to move the damned thing, yet it lacked sails!

Eventually, he collected himself. Instead of just guessing about the origin of this ship, he could question the Skags. With that decision, Lurs surd the gawking crew into action. In no time, they were descending the gangplank onto the creaking docks.

This was one of the few times he ever walked on the lands of the Skagosi since becoming the captain of the storm crow. As he walked onto the shore proper, he noticed certain differences.

There were quite a few wooden structures erected along the shoreline which hadn't been there before. The shacks were well made and seemed fresh. There were also many racks covered with disemboweled fish.

He then noticed the skags themselves; they crowded the shacks and racks. Some scaled and gutted fish, while others salted and hung them on the racks. He could hear the bleating of goats as the Skagosi seemed to be... bartering fish? Lurs was so captivated by the mystery of the ship that he almost didn't notice the natives.

The Skagosi weren't every good at sailing or fishing as they couldn't build anything better than crude, leaky fishing canoes.

'How'd they get so much fish...' He wondered idly, barely noticing the Skagosi as they approached.

They weren't alone, amongst them stood strange men in crimson furs and scaly armour. They were shorter than the towering Skagosi- which was typical. The Skagosi were said to be half giants with their hairy bodies, square teeth, sloping foreheads and jutting jawbones. But many of these foreigners were even shorter than his men.

Clearly these were foreigners. 'They must've come here on the stone ship!'

He heard a commotion from the ship and turned to see figures standing atop the deck of the stone vessel. Lurs couldn't focus on the stone ship as he heard the squeak of snow as someone approached him.

He and his brother's hands fell onto their sword hilts as they regarded the Skagosi and foreigners who were now a few paces away. They didn't come forward and kept their hands to their sides. Lurs noticed that these Skagosi were cloaked in well stitched furs; far better than he'd seen from the island's savage lords.

The crimson wrapped foreigners were all armed from what he could see; especially the few who wore dreadful helms, though none of them were gripping their hilts. He was starting to want some answers at this point. Just as he was about to demand some, one of the Skagosi raised his massive hands and spoke.

"Peace. We greet ye in peace." The man spoke in the piggish accent of the Stoneborn.

"Yer from the night's watch aye? Why are ye grippin' yer weapons?" The man accused.

Lurs frowned before replying, though his hand didn't leave his sword's hilt. "Aye, we are brothers of the night's watch. Who are these men and who's vessel is that?" He nodded his head in the direction of the stone vessel behind him.

The large Skagosi man seemed to smile- though it was hard to be sure with the thick beard he sported.

"These are the Fire men they came ta our lands on their stone ship." The man opened his hand and gestured to the shorter foreigners who stood stoically in the lightly falling snow.

"The who? Fire men?" Lurs was thoroughly confused.