Swept Asunder

Joe knew he was getting close; the smell gave it away.

Layers and layers of salt swept asunder, an oceanic breeze.

The caws and squawks of seagulls bloomed in the sky, a strange nostalgia passing by.

Gulltown.

Joe was no stranger to port towns. He grew up in Auckland, known as the City of Sails.

Joe felt back at home as he rode top his gallant steed Cookie through Gulltown's bustling harbour.

Some things don't change. It matters not which time period.

The constant sound of forklifts, ships, and cranes of the modern day - replaced by the continuous rounds of hammers, hustle, and merchants of Westeros.

Joe knew where to go. As he paraded through the harbour, Joe spied a familiar banner flapping in the wind. As he got closer, the image became clear.

That of a Merman holding a trident.

"If it isn't Ser Joe!"

On a sizable cog parked in Gulltown's docks stood an even more sizable man.

His massive belly and long white hair complimented his cheerful face. If they ever celebrated Christmas in Westeros, Joe knew who to call to play the part.

Lord Wyman Manderly.

"My Lord!" called Joe with a wave, dismounting Cookie, "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

That's when a black mass leapt from Lord Manderly's ship and came sprinting down at Joe with a tackle.

Followed by licks and purrs and nips.

"Void!" said Joe, scratching his Shadowcat friend's belly, "I missed you!"

Void continued to purr. He was rubbing his face against Joe with more purpose than usual. Void didn't like it when Joe smelled too foreign.

"Haha, easy, tiger."

The gangway of the ship bent and creaked under the weight of Lord Manderly as he stepped off his boat.

"Lord Manderly, how happy I am to see you," said Joe as the two friends shook hands.

"And you, Lord Snow," replied the lord of White Harbor, "I trust the Eyrie treated you well?

"Well enough," said Joe, peeking around Lord Manderly's large frame, "The captain is still yet to arrive?"

Lord Manderly rubbed his neck awkwardly, "Just so, I'm afraid. And it appears our ravens are unable to find him."

"Tch. ."

This was not the news that Joe hoped to hear upon his arrival. "No matter," Joe said reluctantly, "There is still time."

Joe then put an arm around Lord Manderly's large shoulders, "Come, I'm sure they will find us at the tavern."

As much as Lord Manderly liked that idea, he still asked, "Are you sure we shouldn't wait at the docks?"

"I have never been more certain about anything, my Lord," replied Joe with a smile, "A smart place to meet travellers is a tavern. If one party is late, the other can drink some ale while waiting. If they can't find us there, they've already failed."

Joe, Void, and Lord Manderly opted for the tavern far removed from the more civilized establishments of Gulltown's hospitality. Instead, they found themselves at a little-known drinking hole where sailors and scalawags alike come to replenish themselves.

Void sat under their table as Joe and Lord Manderly drank their ale.

"How fares construction?" asked Joe, taking that first glorious sip.

"Excellent," replied Lord Manderly with an air of pride, "The groundwork for the construction of warships is moving along. We plan to build them at White Harbor and secretly hide them up the White Knife."

"That's what we like to hear."

Joe and Lord Manderly had been in correspondence since Winterfell's feast. They had formed a strong bond based on their love of food, the North, and laughter. Wyman Manderly was essentially Joe's only ally as far as Lords were concerned.

"And what of my brother? Robb's army must be assembled at The Neck by now."

"Mmm," hummed Lord Manderly, a foam moustache of ale on his upper lip, "I've sent my sons Wylis and Wendel with the bulk of White Harbors host to meet Robb Stark there. They ought to be nearing The Twins soon enough."

Joe raised a teasing brow, "You didn't join them?"

"Hahaha!" Lord Manderly belted his booming laugh, "If I had known another war would come, I'd have eaten less of your burgers!"

Joe laughed with him and gleamed a dismissive smile, "You're more needed at home, anyway. What of my father?"

"He's not seen the light of day, it seems. And with Arya and Sansa also in their custody, the Lannisters have overwhelming leverage."

"Ayra wasn't caught," corrected Joe, "And Robb won't come to the table just for Sansa alone. The Lannisters will need to keep my father alive if they have any hope of reconciliation."

"It's far past that point," said Lord Manderly like a sage of wisdom, "The battle lines are drawn. Stannis believes Lord Stark was imprisoned for backing his rightful claim to the Iron Throne. His brother, Renly, organizes his armies down South. Tywin will need a decisive battle with Robb Stark, and quickly if he hopes to rush to Kings Landing's aid."

Joe sighed, "Stannis won't have many men, Renly will wank around the Reach and Stormlands in a slow crawl, and it won't take long before the northern army loses its purpose and starts quarrelling among themselves."

"You speak like you know the future."

Joe scoffed, "Call it an educated guess. Anyhow, none of this matters where I'm going."

"Speaking of which," said Lord Manderly with an apologetic tone, "Forgive me, I had expected the captain to be here by now."

"Nonsense, my lord," said Joe with his usual warmth, "You did what I asked and made contact on my behalf. I can't fault you for their lack of turning up."

"But what will you do if they don't show?" asked Lord Manderly.

"Figure something out, I guess. Let's not entertain such pessimistic musings for now and just enjoy ourselves. Cheers, friend."

Yet, as Lord Manderly and Joe raised a mug of ale for Robb's good fortune, Joe gazed out the tavern window with mild concern.

['I sure hope they show up. . .']