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Chapter 11 Part 6
=Sith=
291 AC
Sharp Point
An uneasy atmosphere awaited Monford as he disembarked at Sharp Point's docks. There were only a handful of ships here, and just two wore the jumping swordfish blazon of House Bar Emmon. One was the aptly named Swordfish warship, while the other was an old merchantman who had seen better days. The other vessels were small cogs belonging to various merchants plying their trade through Backwater Bay and the nearby harbors.
The large war galley bustled with expected activity, making it the most interesting spot at the docks. Monford remembered that ponderous vessel well – she was impressive, just not in the way that would make a competent enemy Captain shiver. The Swordfish had two hundred oars and the largest ram in the Royal Fleet, regardless of whether it was the proper Targaryen one or the Usurpers. She was also ponderous and hard to handle at the best of times, making it very hard to bring her advantages to bear. A ramming attack from such a galley would be devastating for any vessel to ever sail the seas. Her size and large crew complement would ensure she would be deadly in any boarding action, and none of that really mattered; you needed a very accommodating enemy to make good use of such a ship.
Monford walked down the dock with a handful of his knights at his back. Everyone else of importance, his brother, in particular, was on Dunkan's ship far in the bay, safe. It wasn't like Monford expected some treachery here; on the contrary, he came to warn the boy-lord of such a possibility. The Lord of the Tides knew he might be acting rashly. However, he wasn't willing to bet the survival of his house on the Usurper or Tywin fucking Lannister being reasonable or less murderous than usual.
Lord Velaryon didn't like the looks on the sailor's and dockhands' faces as his party passed by. They were uneasy and often relieved to see him, which made no sense.
The Harbormaster striding to meet him with a thunderous expression on his face did nothing to reassure Monford.
"Lord Velaryon!" The old official greeted. His face scrunched into a tight, forced smile. "This is a pleasant surprise, though your arrival caught us at a bad time."
Monford's eyes narrowed at that. His ears perked up as he heard a distant commotion – shouts and curses coming from the harbor.
"Do I dare ask what's happening?" Monford sharply looked around, keenly watching the reactions and bearing of everyone besides his party.
"It's the damn Septons and Septas the Lady welcomed earlier in the year," the old man spat. "We are all good Dragon men here," the Harbormaster added in a whisper, "or so we thought."
Monford really didn't like where this conversation was going. He could feel his knights stiffen behind him. Armor shifted quietly when warriors tensed, and hands fell on the hilts of weapons.
"Please, elaborate," Monford offered a disarming smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"If you intend to visit the Young Lord, you'll have to get past one of their preachers, my Lord. You'll see," The Harbormaster shook his head. "They've been preaching against the Dragons for months, and the Lady's guards had kept them safe. No one paid them attention before, but as more news about Prince Viserys being a sorcerer reached us, some of the smallfolk began to wonder and to listen…"
"Ah," Monford grimaced. There was no such thing on Driftmark or across the lands of the Lords he regularly exchanged letters with, but those were all loyalists across the Narrow Sea. The Faith in their region had supported the Targaryens for a long time. Most of their ancestors didn't tolerate anything less. Monford was vaguely aware that this was different across all of the Seven Kingdoms. "Is it safe to proceed?" He asked bluntly.
"It should be. Just unpleasant," The Harbormaster promised. "And embarrassing for us all."
Monford briefly pondered if he should just turn around and sail away but dismissed the idea. Duram was a boy of seven. For his father's sake, for his sake, and for the sake of their ancestors, Monford owed him a warning, even if it was likely to be dismissed as baseless paranoia. Besides, he wanted to see what the Faith was up to.
"I intend to briefly see Lord Bar Emmon before I leave for an expedition," Monford admitted.
The Harbormaster looked at him in confusion before realization dawned on his face, and he smiled. "An expedition. Yes," the old man chuckled and leaned forward. "I wish you a fortune in the wars to come, my Lord Velaryon. The same to our Prince," He whispered.
Monford nodded at the man and walked past. He had no illusion that his excuse would fool anyone, even if it was plausible enough. After Corlys, many of Monford's ancestors tried their luck. More often than not, they failed, which partly explained their House's sorry state since the Dance of Dragons.
=Sith=
They found the commotion high up in the harbor, on the edge between it and the small town separating it from the keep above. A Septon in gray robes stood on a bench, surrounded by nearly a dozen guards. Most of the men-at-arms looked like they wanted to be anywhere but there; a handful were more interested in listening to the preacher instead of looking for threats.
"It's the laws of the Gods you should fear!" The Septon decreed in a voice fit to burst with conviction.
From the moment Monford heard the man speak, it was clear he was a true believer.
"There is no place for vile sorcery in the light of the Seven! Cursed is the Witch! Damned is the Sorcerer! You will recognize them by their foul, vile actions! To consort with them is to imperil your very soul! To serve them is to damn yourselves to the deepest of the Seven Hells! Pray with me, brothers and sisters! Pray for salvation and deliverance!"
A small crowd stood before the Septon, drinking his words as if they came from the Seven themselves. Meanwhile, everyone who passed by did so quickly, giving dark looks to the gathered people and the preacher.
It was painfully obvious who the sermon was aimed at. And if something like this was happening here, in Sharp Point, who knew what was happening throughout most of the Seven Kingdoms. The Reach, Riverlands, and Crownlands in particular.
Monford walked past, ignoring the crowd's fever-rent prayers, and headed towards the keep. The place was like he remembered it, with more Septons and Septas. Over a dozen were scurrying around, making the place resemble a Sept instead of a castle. A small Sept was in the keep, which appeared to be very busy.
Lady Bar Emmon – the late Durran's widow, came hurrying out of said Sept, followed by a gaggle of Septas and Ladies.
"Lord Velaryon, this is an unexpected surprise! Welcome to Sharp Point!" the young woman curtsied, and her attendants followed suit.
"My Lady," Monford greeted. "Can we speak in private?" He pointedly looked at the keep's busy courtyard.
"But of course! I can receive you in my solar or in the Sept if you desire! Either way, only the Seven will overhear us!"
That stark reminder made Monford recall those old rumors that Lady Amelia Footy, of the Tumbletown's Footys, was a pious little thing. Well, that and the Faith becoming more active at the prodding of the Usurper, no doubt, explained what he witnessed. The Lord of the Tides liked it not, yet he was a man with a purpose and wouldn't see himself diverted at the last moment.
On the way to Sharp Point's solar, Monford asked a few leading questions about the presence of the faith, and Lady Amelia was more than willing to explain it all to him.
"Moons ago, my Septa received a letter from Old Town, inquiring if we would be willing to host a group of faithful to better spread the word of the Seven in these dangerous times!" Lady Amelia gushed. "I agreed, of course! As a good daughter of the Seven, I could do nothing less!" she looked at Monford with such earnest conviction it was painful.
While her next words confirmed it, Monford could already tell what had happened – the Septa in question knew of her Lady's deep faith, and the Faith saw an opportunity to act. Someone at the Starry Sept might have thought to send a few more Septas or Septons this way on that merit alone. However, what Monford saw at the harbor and overhead while passing through an otherwise calm and peaceful town told him another story.
"The men and women here are all good and true," Lady Bar Emmon babbled. "I must safeguard them and do my best to aid the Faith in protecting their souls! As I hear them whisper, they might be good dragon men, but there are no more good dragons!" At least the pious girl had the decency to sound sad when she said that.
Monford was convinced he was wasting his time by the time they reached the solar, yet he had to try. It was just that he wasn't sure how to convince someone who apparently saw Viserys rumored sorcerous ways as evil incarnate that fleeing to him, or at least Essos in general, would be for the best.
"May I presume that you've heard of the events at the Wall?" Monford inquired after he sat in the solar's presumed privacy.
"Desertion and murder most foul!" Lady Amelia shook her head and muttered a quick prayer for the dead. "Those beasts must be hunted down! I've ordered the Swordfish to sail as soon as possible and join the hunt! Are you here to lead it, my Lord?" she looked eagerly at him.
"That is a task best served by the Royal Fleet. It is in the job description," Monford deflected. "However, I am here on a related matter. King Baratheon is known for his wrath towards anything concerning dragons," Lord Velaryon pointed out.
"His wroth is legendary," Lady Amelia agreed.
"It is no secret that our Houses were Targaryen loyalists, and many of our people hold certain sympathies. After what Alister Thorne did, and with Prince Viserys having a large army at Atapor, we are all in a dangerous position."
"That is why our people must see the truth, my Lord! Is this why you are here?" Lady Bar Emmon perked up. "I will speak with Septon Marrik! I am sure we can spare a few people of the Faith to help you convince your people of the truth! We can petition the Starry Sept or even the High Septon for aid as well!"
Monford's smile froze at that. He had to re-evaluate his read of the woman's character. She wasn't merely a very pious noble Lady led astray by the Faith; she might just be a fanatic herself.
"That is something to consider at the very least," He allowed and greatly misliked how Lady Amelia's eyes lit up at that. "However, I am currently more concerned about more tangible threats. Like a furious Robert Baratheon or Tywin Lannister who might want to ensure there are no present threats left in the realm for his grandson's claim on the Iron Throne."
Lady Bar Emmon's large brown eyes stared blankly at Monford until comprehension dawned, and she shook her head in denial.
"We've done nothing but what's right! There are no more good dragons, as I've told you, my Lord! Things might be different otherwise, but neither I nor my son would ever follow a vile sorcerer, and the same is true of our people. Sharp Point is loyal. But you are right to be concerned! We must pray for deliverance and write to the High Septon and the King to make things right!"
Monford wondered if young Duram would be better in the snake pit that was King's Landing instead under the complete influence of his pious mother, or the Septons and Septas crawling all over the place. Lady Amelia writing to King's Landing might be the best possible outcome.
