Escape from Bear Island

Late 283 Spring

After spending eighteen months under a radical feminist regime, the men of Bear Island didn't just hasten to carry out my command, they sprinted, leaping for joy, even breaking out into song. It turns out the matriarchy is a system of oppression upheld by violence.

I can always count on Maege to get my approval ratings up. 

The old curmudgeon held the babe I handed her with reverence, finally having a real life Stark of her own to worship. She'd raise the boy till Ned managed to build a good secret family narrative around Benjen Stark, and then reveal the boy as a bastard he kept quiet about. Certainly a better plan from the young man than telling the Tully wife he'd hardly seen that he had a son of his own nearly the same age as his own firstborn with her. Till then the boy would remain with the great she-beast. 

With Maege distracted, the men of Bear Island wasted no time fleeing from her, and though these men weren't the best of my lot, not equipped or trained for the job, they certainly had the enthusiasm I prefer in my crews. They came to me with pitchforks and splitting axes, carving knives. All in all we had enough to get the Bronze Fleet of Bear Island half crewed which is enough for my purpose of bullying pirates on my trip back around Westeros. Though they may be green, this journey will harden them up nicely for the future. The older men made more a mess of things than the younger, who grew up in my naval focused culture and spent a good deal of their childhoods on these ships. Many served as junior crew members alongside their fathers. It was up to them to teach the old dogs new tricks. 

Forty ships left Far Harbor for the Sunset Sea, and I made sure to keep it close to the coast. After bonding with my dolphins I learned full well how fucked the open water is around here, and my years of filling the Bay of Ice with chopped up people only brought the monsters closer by greatly boosting the marine life in my local waters. We'd seen a great increase in sharks and orcas over the years, come to feast on the fresh abundance I brought, but slowly following them came the real rulers of the sea. 

I needed to turn my gaze to Ibben, and steal their secrets to combating these beasts. The exploding population of my island gives me the manpower I need. Combating the horrors of the Sea will keep things interesting until the Ironborn need my attention again. Speaking of the vicious sea dogs, though their main strength returned home, small bands of reavers still operated in the Sunset Sea, preying on small folk and the increasing number of pirates. While I need not fear setting loose my green seamen on the pirates, I took my half crewed Great Seabear to hunt down the Ironborn, often slaying the entire crew with arrows from my crow's nest on the approach. 

These small sea battles didn't even provide enough loot to make the practice worthwhile, which is why most lords don't even bother hunting pirates in their waters. I considered the blooding of my sailors reason enough to undertake the task, and never bothered chasing anyone capable of sailing us too far off course for King's Landing. 

We did stop by Lannisport before Tywin gets back and ruins my prospects in the port, and I said my farewell to my old friend, Ser Lionel. Over the years the man rose high, within the Lannisport Lannisters, and it smarted to lose such a valuable contact. Such is the price to be payed to speak uninhibited. He helped me load up on goods that would make me a tidy profit in Plankytown, and I left the port behind for the final time until I dominate this seas and become too important for Tywin to insult lightly.

Old Town didn't suffer the depredations of the Ironborn, but still I continued to build up my goods for Plankytown. The weight of our goods slowed us down, and the Dornish coastline made me miss my sea chariot. Maybe one day I will lasso the Great Seabear to a sea dragon and create the ultimate sea chariot. Who can know these things? Even with my dolphins aiding me, I can only know the present conditions of the seas. The dark magic of the Deep Ones to this day still pollutes the waters of the world. 

The Bronze fleet received royal welcome in Suspear and Plankytown, and the presence of Martel guardsmen ensured that my inexperienced crews found no problems making their trades. As for myself, first I had to pry Prince Oberyn off me as the man leapt upon me as soon as I stepped foot on the docks and declared his undying love, and after I passed on wrecking his ass he brought forth a trio of girls below the age of ten, one holding a baby and introduced he daughters before declaring me their husband. 

"I will also pass on the consummation." I informed the man who nodded and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Worry not, my good-son." he gestured, "For like you, I too shall father descendants as numerous as the grains of sand in the desert, and all of my daughters shall be your wives. Though we will never be of one flesh, sadly, our blood will be united more closely than any others." 

"Brother." Doran Martell chided the younger and incredibly impulsive man, "While your offer is certainly a method of repaying Lord Mormont's swift and furious vengeance for Elia, he is a newly married man, and perhaps should have some say in things before we force ourselves and any strife into his household."

"Strife?" Oberyn furrowed his brow.

"Women of the northern kingdoms do not approve the taking of paramores." Doran explained to his brother, "Especially not when they come bearing the title of wife." 

"What small mindedness." the Salty Dornishman hissed in response.

While the pair put on a dry comedy show I knelt down to get closer to eye level with the boy holding onto Doran's yellow robe. 

"Son." I greeted the boy. 

I'd only seen Nymor Sand a handful of times before I disappeared into a winter and war the lasted over half his life. The boy knows me not, and is more a son to Doran. Despite this he stood tall with just the reassurance that his real dad was within arms reach. 

"The world is a hard and terrible place." I told him, "To master it, a man must become hard and terrible. Not every man can achieve the kind of power that makes that sacrifice worth it. Think hard on this." 

Of all my children thus far, Nymor has the most potential for greatness. Magic is a force of change, and it pollutes my future sight. The farther I see forward the less certain my vision becomes, and after the return of the Red Comet, it becomes less sight and more paying witness to interpretive dance performed by vague symbols. The boy's future is uncertain, even more so than just the interference caused by all the forms of magic growing stronger. Within him is magic different from my own, potential that makes him even harder to predict, but I know that he will dream of Mother Rhoyne and travel east and into the Sorrows. What destiny he finds there, I know not. Perhaps death. Destiny is a mean bitch like that. 

I joined the Martells for the evening in Sunspear, and witnessed their greatly diminished mother. While none of the remaining Martells came out of this war better than they went into it, the ruling Princess of Dorne physically withered after the deaths of her brother, daughter, and grandchildren. When Nymor returned to the palace, she clutched him in her bone thin hands like clinging to the last treasure in her possession. 

"You have made a terrible enemy, Jorah." she rasped from her seat at the head of the table as Oberyn once more brought up my actions following Elia's murder.

"Yes." I agreed. 

There are few better suited to side stepping the consequences of their actions than I - Euron Greyjoy comes to mind in that category, at least in a world I don't live in - but even still Tywin has enough control over resources I want to inconvenience me. 

"Much of your authority stems from your control of the supply of coal and iron into the North." the Princess started, "Both of which you source from the Westerlands, both of which you will soon find the price of beyond your means to sustainably access. These things can be found in the Red Mountains, and House Martell will see to it that you can fill your ships here in Dorne. Iron and coal will flow down the Greenblood for you." 

"Thank you, my Lady." I tilted my head down to her in 'humble' acceptance.

The price of my most valuable resources more than doubles sourcing from Dorne, and that is just in shipping costs. Productivity loss also drives the price up, though nowhere near as severely. A large portion of my income is wrapped up in the ironworks of Farharbor. Bear Island has transitioned from subsistence fishing to industrial center during my fifteen year rule, my ships bringing in raw materials to feed my crucibles and forges, especially so after I gained control of my Greensight and started pulling means and methods from Essos.

The dark magic of Qohor may keep me from easily sussing out their secrets of steel, but it is nowhere near as all encompassing as the mystic pollution put out by the Valeryians, and thus I have slithered my sight into their more mundane facilities. Plus, Tobho Mott wasn't the first master smith to leave the city and practice in locals far more friendly to some peep game. 

Major investments have been made, and my smooth year over year growth suffers exactly how Twyin expects with his coming actions. What he cannot expect is the richest iron deposits in Westeros suddenly experiencing critical vacancies five years from now due to sudden onset of a longtime coming cultural suicide. How I'm the guy to finally put those mad sea dogs down after all the times they've been conquered, is a mystery of the human psyche my sight cannot pierce, but I'm happy to do the dirty job and reap the rewards. 

You hurt me now, Tywin, but checkmate son!

Though the Martells would sponsor the growth required to fill my needs in the meantime, they wouldn't beggar themselves subsidizing a major industry so that I can keep my gains peeked. We hashed out the details quickly, then Oberyn brought the family back to what really mattered to them. 

"Lord Mormont has dealt with the killers, but the one who gave the command still walks this earth unharmed." the angry young man grimaced, "Mother, allow me to dedicate myself to seeing this changed. I will not rest until Elia's revenge is complete." 

"Be still, my son." the Princess commanded, "Do not spend yourself in vain. Dedicate yourself to vengeance, but do not destroy yourself for it. If all it took to slay high lords was competence and motivation, then the entire political history of Westeros would look like that of the Riverlands. If all it took to hire the Faceless men was gold, then no one would dare act as beastly as that man. Dealing in death at the highest levels is no simple task, even for the suicidal. You wear the face of his enemy, my son, and he knows this. If you move to slay him, he will know. You must strike when his focus is consumed, and his resources are committed. An opportunity will appear. He is too dedicated to playing the game not to leave openings. Every hand that reaches upward, is one not there to defend yourself. We know this all too well." 

I admired the woman's ability to learn from her mistakes. Few people are capable of that. 

Soon after our meeting and meal concluded. Oberyn escorted me to a chamber filled with more Dornish pussy than any brothel in Sunspear. I gave him a crisp bro fist and committed my body to the night.

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