This chapter was edited by Gdiusx.

  The Gulf leading to White Harbor.

  Percy

  After meeting with the Manderly ships, Percy led their small fleet up the narrow gulf to where he could see the distant city of White Harbor. The White Gulf was aptly named; it was surrounded by white cliffs and white sand beaches.

  Even the waves were white!

  The Merman Knight who joined them on the ship expined that while the Bite didn't freeze in winter, the snow would make everything look white regardless. The water also had a higher-than-normal salt content, which helped keep it flowing in winter.

  Medrick Manderly was a decent sort, but Percy could tell he did not trust him. He didn't mind; he was an outsider and a sorcerer, and making a name for himself would be enough to gain their trust.

  Besides, it's pretty damn cool how they wore mermen on their sigil, though he thought they needed more blue in their outfits. Green was alright, but it wasn’t half as cool as blue.

  The merman and his trident in the banner were familiar, however.

  Their escort was joined by more ships as they sailed closer to the city, and all of them were instructed to keep their distance. Sansa did not want many people to know of his powers, and had requested the Manderly knight have some of his most trusted men stationed on the Seaswift and the Crimson Gale.

  Naturally, they were utterly freaked out when the ships didn't have any sailors and even more so when Percy had them moving with a wave of his hands. He didn't need the hand wave, but let it not be said he did not enjoy a prank… or a jest, as the Westerosi called it.

  Surprisingly, the Northmen didn't gawk too much over the sea monster; they were a pragmatic lot that easily believed and adapted to what was in front of them. They continued with no qualms after sending a fast ship ahead to notify the city lord.

  Now, they were approaching the so-called White Harbor, and Percy whistled at the sight from the porthole.

  “Impressed?”

  He turned to Sansa as she sent Myrcel away, the girl bowing before grabbing her Not-twin as they left the quarters for the deck. They were in the Captain’s quarters, and the blonde girl was helping Sansa braid her luscious red locks into a long French braid, though they called it the Northmarch braid here.

  The redheaded princess approached him by the window, and Percy inspected her dress appreciatively. She had been busy sewing it herself over the past few weeks; it was a modest yet cssy gray with blue motifs of wolves, trouts, and a single rge bird of prey over her breast that she added at the st minute.

  Beauty was out flying somewhere, and Percy thought it was wicked how Sansa’s eyes randomly glowed and she could tell what the hawk was seeing.

  “It’s definitely cleaner and smells nicer than King’s Landing.” Percy shrugged as he whistled at a colony of seals on an islet. The water doggies barked and cpped happily as he waved at them. “It’s quite smaller, though.”

  “While it is considered the smallest of the five major cities of Westeros, it's still the rgest city in the North with a popution of at least fifty thousand. That’s only in summer, for in winter, that number more than doubles.”

  “Sure, sure. That's very impressive.” Percy had no wish to insult the lovely girl. No need to tell her that the city, while about the same size as Manhattan, still had fewer people than his city block.

  Sansa gnced his way as if she could tell he was patronizing her.

  Percy coughed and changed the topic, “What should we expect from that merman lord? Do you trust him?”

  She blinked and stared at the city as they waited for the harbor to fg them for docking. There were some deys as they waited for the lord to arrive, and so they opted to wait in their quarters.

  “He is loyal.”

  “I'm sure he is, but would he listen to you? No offense, but to him, you're just a little girl who is way over her head. I’m sure he could be loyal yet keep you protected in some nice room while he does his own thing.”

  Sansa shook her head as a cold glint formed in her eyes. “I shall not be treated as a child. As a Lady of House Stark, I am owed certain liberties, and as Princess of the North, that comes with authority. Considering my home cks a solid regent with my brother Robb fighting in the South, I am confident I'll be able to sway Lord Manderly to my side.”

  “What about your other brothers?”

  “Bran is crippled, and Rickon is too young to lead.” The red-haired girl smiled sadly, “I love them both to death, but the North needs someone capable of making decisions at the helm.”

  “Even if it's a girl?”

  “My mother always said a woman can rule as well as any man. Besides, it won't matter if I have you by my side.”

  Sansa’s gaze refused to meet his eyes as she stubbornly looked at the approaching docks, though a flush crept up her pale neck.

  Percy’s mouth went dry as his brain untangled her st word.

  “…Is that a proposal?”

  “Yes….” it was barely a whisper. So quiet that even Percy’s sharp senses almost lost it in the sea breeze.

  “Sure,” the words left his mouth before his thoughts caught up. His ears reddened when he realized what he had just agreed to. Yet… yet, he would.

  Sansa, however, whipped her head and looked at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

  “Wait! Are you… jesting?”

  “What?” Percy raised his hands. “No. I… kinda thought about it before.”

  His father’s ughter echoed in his mind, full of pride…and amusement.

  “About marriage?” She raised her eyebrow.

  He bobbed his head.

  “Yeah. Uhh… if it’s you, I don’t mind,” he finished mely. Way to go, Percy; you achieved the mest wedding agreement ever.

  Sansa lunged at him, and he was suddenly very well aware of the two generous globes pressing to his chest as two dainty hands grabbed his face and a pair of red lips sealed his mouth.

  Percy was pretty sure he saw fireworks behind his eyes as thunder rumbled in the distance. His mind turned bnk, but his hands were already embracing Sansa’s willowy figure, as his mouth was trying to plunder hers for everything it was worth.

  This was his first real kiss… aside from that chaste one with Rachel that felt like a million years ago.

  It was sweet, too sweet, and he couldn’t nearly get enough of it.

  ‘Control your powers, son,’ his father whispered, and he became all the more aware of that tangible pull behind his navel as the blue sky was being choked with clouds.

  Reluctantly, Percy pried his limbs off Sansa as they both gasped for breath, though his exhaustion stemmed from his attempt to thwart the budding storm he had just created.

  “Sweet Maiden.” Her words were breathless and her face was as red as a tomato. But her eyes now looked at him with desire and… lust. “I wanted to do that for too long.”“Me too,” he admitted with a silly smile. Though, a fire now burned inside him, making its way down to his loins. Percy had to physically suppress his desire to tear off Sansa’s dress and bend her over here and now for all to see.

  “So… marriage,” Sansa muttered shyly after she took a breather. “You would wed me?”

  “Yes,” Percy admitted. His shoulders felt lighter as if a burden he never knew was there disappeared. Yet… a new one, a different weight, settled upon him.

  ‘It’s the weight of responsibility, my son,’ his father supplied. ‘The weight of your words and promises. Breaking it hurts.’

  Percy grimaced. His father definitely knew about breaking vows of all sorts, including his wedding ones.

  Sansa’s face also twisted into a grimace.

  “What of your kin? Your mother, your cousins, your friends back home? I do not think I can follow you there.”

  “I can’t go back,” he muttered weakly. “I suppose I’m staying with you if you’d have me.”

  ‘You can always bed her a few times and go exploring the world!’ His father’s enthusiastic proposal was also ignored. His mother had taught him better than that.

  “That’s so sad,” Sansa quickly hugged him. “In that case, let's talk details.”

  “Uh… the ceremony?” Percy scratched his nose dumbly.

  “No, any ceremony will be handled by me,” Sansa’s predatory smile sent butterflies through his stomach. “Marital obligations, duties, titles, and how we must present this before others.”

  Percy’s head began to hurt.

  .

  .

  .

  Half an hour ter, his mind had turned to mush and not in a pleasant way. After a painfully long talk, Percy had agreed to technically fulfill the role of Sansa’s consort to leverage her royal position. Etiquette, obligations, duties, and a bunch of things he had already forgotten.‘You chose to marry a princess, son,’ Poseidon chortled in his mind. ‘At least this ss seems to know what she’s doing, and she has ambition to spare. A good pick, as I said.’

  “So the goal is to get to Winterfell,” Percy tiredly rubbed his face. “And then, uh… take the reins of the North from your young brothers?”

  “Indeed,” Sansa bobbed her head with a wide smile. Though, he did not mind how she clung to his arm or how her chest pressed to his side. “Bran… Bran is a sweet boy but too young and a cripple. Rickon is even younger and more unruly. What would they know of running a kingdom?”

  Did he just agree to help his betrothed usurp her brothers?

  ‘No, Sansa is not trying to suppnt her kingly brother. Only, she’s confident to consolidate the North with your backing - young children are easily led astray by advisors or deceived by foes.’

  That lessened the uncomfortable tangle in his gut.

  “So, we’re now officially betrothed,” Percy coughed awkwardly. “Didn’t you say earlier that parents negotiate such stuff?”

  ‘I give you my blessing, Percy! I’m sure Sally would love Sansa if she could see her.’ Poseidon’s words were almost reassuring. But the nervousness returned like a wrecking ball; he was not ready to be a father or a husband. He was barely sixteen!

  “Indeed, but I’ve decided to elope with this dashing hero who saved me,” Sansa smiled coyly. “And then bring him back home.”

  Percy ran a hand through his messy hair.

  “What about the wedding, then?”

  “In White Harbor. Lord Manderly won’t be able to stop us, I’d say.”

  ‘The fangs of her! Oh, my boy, the feisty ones are the best in bed-’

  ‘Enough, Dad!’ Percy had to fight the heat rising to his cheeks again.

  Well, the marriage was in the bag.

  He didn’t mind spending the rest of his life with Sansa. She was hot, fun to be around, and with a heart of gold if sometimes ruthless.

  Now, he only had to fight her wars, or well, her elder brother’s wars. Percy had agreed to wed into House Stark, which meant their children would keep Sansa’s family name while he kept his. He wasn’t particurly fond of his Jackson surname, which stemmed from a grandfather he had never seen.

  Besides, he could still carry his mother’s family name and did not mind if his children followed in his footsteps. House Stark was the stuff of legends if even a quarter of what Sansa had told him was true.

  ‘It’s the blood that matters,’ his father had said.

  It was an ambitious move, for usually only ruling dies had consorts. Yet Sansa had no nds to her name, and neither did Percy. He wasn’t worried about wealth with his abilities, so they would never remain homeless. Once the war ended, he’d take her on the Silver Lady, and they would travel the world together before settling on some nice sunny isnd.

  Let her brother deal with all that nonsense that comes with ruling.

  Yet it was now official. He had… given up on going home. A small part of him clung to hope, but if his powerful and wise divine father could not see a way back, how could silly Percy do it?

  Perhaps everyone back home would be better off without him. Everyone did call him a troublemaker. At least there were no monsters here to be attracted to his scent like hellhounds to a piece of steak. Not having to be on guard constantly was a blessing and a relief he would never get tired of.

  If only he could at least see his mother one st time… to tell her that he loved her and hear her telling him the same. His Dad might have joked about it, but Percy was certain that Sally Jackson would have loved Sansa, and he wished she could be there at the wedding.

  In the end, his only regret was that he couldn’t say goodbye to his mother. Sally was the best mother, and she deserved to know that he was fine instead of worrying…

  A small part of Percy’s mind that sounded suspiciously like Annabeth asked if he was thinking with his dick.

  Percy wasn’t the smartest guy, but surely his father would have told him if that was the case, right?

  His gaze once again settled on Sansa. Her eyes were bright blue, her waist was lithe, her chest more than big, and her hips shapely in a way that made his mouth water. And she would be his very soon. Yeah… being married didn’t sound so bad, even with all the extra baggage.

  A knock on the door ruined the moment as the old Manderly knight announced himself.

  “Princess, My Lord.” Medrick nodded politely to him, and Percy felt strange to be addressed with such politeness; only horses and fish called him lord. “We are preparing to dock. Would you be joining us on the deck?”

  “Brilliant,” Sansa let go of him as he grabbed Ice, strapped it on his back, and tied the shield to the sheath before allowing the girl to hook her arms with his.

  Myrcel and Rosamund joined them on the deck, although they attempted to hide behind Sansa.

  The red-haired maiden leaned on his shoulders and murmured, “Lord Manderly is on the docks. He's that very fat blonde man.”

  “The one who looks like a meal away from a heart attack?”

  The lord in question looked winded as if he had sprinted all the way here. There were two young women with him, nearly a hundred armored soldiers led by another girl, and a sizeable crowd of townsfolk who looked on with interest.

  “That's the one, but be nice!” Sansa nudged him as he grinned. “The Northmen mislike outsiders. If I am to introduce you as my betrothed, I will need you to make a strong first impression while keeping your powers as secret as possible.”

  “A strong impression, you say?” Percy grinned as he willed their three ships towards the empty pier and inspected the docks. “I have just the thing in mind.”

  A*H*M

  Earlier,

  New Castle.

  Wyman

  “You are certain of this?”

  “Without a doubt, my lord. My cousin was a sailor on the Boldwind and managed to escape the Imp’s mad scheme for the defense of King's Landing.”

  Wyman Manderly stroked his beard as he processed what the merchant’s son had told him.

  Mathos Redstone of Gulltown had been a reliable source of information since Wyman saved him from a misunderstanding with the port authorities some twenty-five years ago. Since then, the merchant's family and his associates have fed him important information consistently in return for trading rights and other perks.

  Especially during wartime, knowledge of the realm was worth gold.

  The newly independent Kingdom of the North and the Trident had lost many trade routes with the now hostile kingdoms. Yet that only served to make their existing connections stronger, and the Vale being the closest kingdom and also neutral made that even better. The te and mented Lord Eddard Stark’s time in the kingdom had endeared many of the Vale lords to the Northmen.

  Against all odds, White Harbor had gained a significant boost in trade and popution; refugees and those seeking their fortune away from the other kingdoms found White Harbor to be a haven.

  Anders was the third son of Mathos and the captain of his own ship, and this was his second voyage to White Harbor before continuing North to Karhold then east to Bravos and all the way to Ibb. He carried shipments of beeswax and honey from the south of Vale, precious stones and blocks of marble from northern Vale… as well as news from the south.

  The Redstones had lofty positions in the Gulltown merchant's guild, yet they were not nobles but hailing from a natural lineage of House Shett.

  Nevertheless, the guilds had their own methods of communication and resources to rival nobles. Their extensive use of carrier pigeons allowed Mathos to send word of the happenings in the south to his son, who was in Coldwater at the time.

  Naturally, Wyman wanted a piece of that delicious pie. Using the debt owed, he had Mathos’ daughter marry his captain of the guards, Rodwell Long, and also pyed mediator for White Harbor’s merchant's guild to form connections with the Vale merchants.

  Rodwell’s hesitance to marry a lowly merchant’s daughter melted when the buxom ss gifted him three strong boys and two comely girls.

  The generous dowry also helped.

  So far, this arrangement had been a massive boon to him, yet this particur bit of information, while interesting, was not valuable enough for Wyman to reward him.

  Tales and Ravens had been sent to the North with the bounty on Sansa Stark’s head; he suspected the Imp’s hand in the insidious plot, for he had heard plenty of terrible rumors about him.

  Setting the Northmen against the Starks with an insanely high reward on their princess’ head, like she was some common brigand - the tales of sorcery might cause fear in the South, but the North were Stark Men first and foremost.

  Yet that was not his only concern. Wyman had received ravens from the Lannisters with promises to release his heir, Wylis, in return for their loyalty. It burned him to be forced to choose between his son and his liege, yet the choice was simple.

  Wylis himself would sooner fall on his sword rather than dishonor their house with treachery.

  Anders merely confirmed what he already knew and provided further details he had missed, such as the confirmation of the sorcerer in Sansa Stark’s employ, his features and powers, and their destination.

  Here, White Harbor.

  Wyman was naturally ecstatic for the safety of the Princess, yet the ss was expected to arrive in at least ten more days.

  The northern winds of the small summer allowed swift progress for any ship sailing south, yet the opposite was true for those sailing north. Nevertheless, he awaited Sansa’s arrival and looked forward to meeting the sorcerer Perseus and judging his character.

  For now, he needed to finish with the d quickly so he could greet his unannounced yet not unwelcome visitor.

  “What else have you found out?”

  The young captain looked hesitant before pulling out a scroll from his pocket.

  “My father was not sure if you would find this interesting, but you did ask for anything that might be connected to the North.”

  It was a raven’s scroll and had a short message on it.

  To the Sweetest Sister. Wolfhunt before Bite. Secure her in DF. Snow will cover.

  His blood grew cold as he read the brief message. The words made little sense without understanding the codes but it was not the words that worried him - it's the handwriting.

  Wyman Manderly had always read and written his correspondence and kept all raven scrolls for safekeeping. Many lords preferred to have their maesters and scribes write and receive their messages, yet he found that foolish.

  Especially since his own Maester Theomore was born Theomore Lannister of Lannisport. Maesters were supposed to serve the seat they were sworn to, but Wyman knew blood ran thicker than words. Yet it was better to keep the devil you knew close. He was aware of Theomore and continued feeding him information he would think vital, but were merely smoke.

  Something told him that he should recognize that thin handwriting, but he couldn't recall for the life of him.

  “How did you come upon this scroll?”

  “A few weeks ago, a merchant associate came upon a sickly raven on his way back from the Rivernds.” Anders rubbed his chin as he read a note, presumably from his father. “The raven was one of those rger northern breeds, and the man swore he saw a group of Northmen patrolling nearby. He was on his ship, you see, and they couldn't do anything when they saw him sailing past.”

  “And what sigil did they wear?”

  “He cimed they wore no sigil, but they looked, begging your pardon for what I will say milord, but they looked like savages. According to him, milord.”

  Wyman stifled a smirk as the young captain shifted uneasily. “No harm done, my good man. Now, where did he find the scroll again?”

  “Near Darry. The Northmen were besieging it at the time, though we don’t know of the outcome. He believes the raven must have gotten lost in that ash cloud from Dragonstone.”

  Darry was under Lannister control, but the Northern army was close. Wyman was unaware they were ordered to take the castle; the st bit of information he received was Tywin Lannister marching south, Edmure Tully marching west and Roose supposedly sieging Harrenhal. Perhaps, different orders were given?

  For a moment, Wyman worried that Tywin Lannister might have agents in the North, but that was ludicrous. Besides, the handwriting differed from what he knew of the Old Lion’s and his brother's as he kept their correspondence safe in his sor.

  Northmen who looked like savages… that wasn't much of a clue for the Southrons saw everyone above the Neck as barbarians. Nevertheless, it was enough to suspect foul py from a Northern lord, and Wyman’s bias screamed it was the Leech Lord.

  Considering his woes with the Bolton Bastard, the Lord of New Castle worried that there was a conspiracy afoot. He shook his head inwardly; there was caution, and then there was paranoia. Ramsay Snow would get his due for what he did to his dear cousin Donel, but Wyman would not go chasing after red herrings.

  He stared at the scroll in his meaty hand and stroked his beard again. The handwriting was definitely familiar, and he decided to compare it with other scrolls ter.

  Recalling the man’s words, It was possible that whoever sent the raven would realize that it was intercepted and would send another message. The main issue, however, was they had no idea where the message was going if he could perhaps find a way to decipher the code.

  “Who else knows of this?”

  “The merchant, my father who purchased it from him, and anyone else he told.”

  The Lord of White Harbor calmly pocketed the scroll and decided he would need to think on the matter ter.

  “You have done well bringing this to me. We will discuss more ter, but for now, you can use my warehouse for your shipment, and to load your supply of seasoned timber.” He handed the d an already prepared document. “Give this to my cousin, Marlon. He will know what to do.”

  Anders nodded gratefully and was led outside the side chamber by a guard. Wyman turned to another door where Rodwell Long, his captain of the guards, waited.

  “My Lord, the court is waiting.”

  “Let us go then, Ser.”

  Rodwell opened the door for him, and they found themselves in the Merman’s Court. The hall was full of his people, and his granddaughters had just led his guest to the hall's center.

  Wyman walked purposely to his cushioned throne but did not sit. He smiled at his guest with open arms.

  “Lord Jojen Reed, I am honored. It is a pleasure to meet you again so soon.”

  “The pleasure and honor is mine, my lord. White Harbor is as beautiful as my father told me.”

  Young Jojen looked far healthier since Wyman st saw him at the harvest feast. He stood straight and confidently. His green eyes were bright, and he had a serene smile. The skin on his face cked the sickly pallor that pgued him.

  Wyman frowned inwardly, for he was told Jojen had arrived with his sister and more men. Yet here he stood, the heir of Greywater Watch, completely alone.

  “And I shall always welcome a son of Hownd Reed in my halls. Wyl.”

  His granddaughter understood and quickly grabbed a tray of bread and salt from a table and offered it to the young man. Jojen smiled gratefully as he tore a piece of bread in half and sprinkled salt on it before eating it.

  “Guest right is invoked.” Wyman’s smile widened as he descended the steps to stand before the young Crannogman. “Now, tell me, are you here as heir to Greywater Watch? Or a representative of Winterfell? Does it have to do with the considerable retinue you have brought?”

  “I come by the order of the Stark of Winterfell.” Jojen’s serene smile did not waver as his voice echoed in the hall, “Our newly independent kingdom is under threat from within and without. Already, the Ironborn have taken Moat Cailin and are reaving their way to Barrowton.”

  The mention of the reavers filled his hall with worried cmor. The Squids had taken them unawares with the treachery of Theon Greyjoy, yet none truly feared an attack from them. White Harbor was situated on the eastern shore of the White Knife, while the western shore was hilly and heavily fortified by many of his vassals’ castles.

  “The reavers can be thrown back to the sea in time.” Jojen continued, “Barrowton is strong and can beat back an army of pirates away from their ships.”

  Not entirely true, for Wyman doubted the Lady of Barrowhall would have the grit to withstand a siege. Not to mention the town’s wooden walls and even the castle was made from wood. The st time he was there a few years ago, it did not look well-maintained.

  “That is all well and good, but what about the problems within?” The young Reed was leading to it, so a little nudge would help now that he lit a fire in the crowd’s belly.

  “Ramsay Snow had wreaked enough havoc in our nds. Lord Brandon had hoped Lord Bolton would reign in his wayward bastard’s mischief, yet to no avail. He sends a hundred of his finest men to help in subduing the bandits. Justice for the Hornwoods shall be meted, and King Robb's peace shall be restored.”

  The procmation was met with a cheer, but Wyman remained reserved. A hundred men were not much when he could call upon ten times that number within two days and march on to weed out the bastard from whatever hole he hid in.

  Yet, the fact that they were Stark men sent by the Stark of Winterfell changed the game.

  Instead of this being a brigand problem, as Roose Bolton had insisted in their correspondence, the Starks were now involved. If used right, Wyman could march on the Dreadfort if need be, and the North would fully support him.

  “And who shall lead the fight against the Bolton Bastard?”

  He gnced at his granddaughter, Wyl, as the crowd calmed at her question. Who indeed? To command men from Winterfell was impossible unless it was a Stark or a noble highly trusted by them. Even the infantry in the Rivernds were not commanded by Bolton but rather stationed in Riverrun after Edmure Tully emptied his garrison to head West.

  Rodrik Cassel would be the obvious choice as the casteln of Winterfell, yet he was conspicuously absent.

  “I was only commanded to lead the men here, then I shall continue to the Neck. I am needed by my father’s side, but fret not,” The Reed heir hurried as knights and nobles began muttering over who would have the honor of commanding the host. “I have prayed to the gods, and they have answered. I believe a Stark shall arrive to take command.”

  Wyman blinked. The hall was as quiet as a lichyard as his granddaughters and courtiers looked at the d like he lost his wits.

  Suddenly, the metal clinking of hurried armored boots echoed from the open double doors.

  A guard captain dashed into the hall, nearly out of breath. He recognized the d as Rodwell's eldest, a normally level-headed d if a bit slow on the uptake.

  “Matrid! What is it, boy?”

  The d straightened at his father's bark, “Ships sighted flying the Direwolf banner. Ser Medrick sends word, my lord. Sansa Stark has returned.”

  Wyman did not remember much of what happened ter except for Jojen Reed looking particurly smug. He also did not remember ever running so fast in his life… at least for the short distance to get on the closest wheelhouse with his granddaughters.

  Even sending a rider to the harbor to dey the docking as long as possible so he could muster a proper welcome did not feel enough. By the time they arrived at the dock, Wyman wanted to curse the young Reed d. The Stark men were all lined up like an honor guard, with Meera Reed commanding them.

  That answered the question of why she was not with her brother.

  The empty pier had space for two ships to dock, one on each side, where a rge crane took the space in the middle to unload any rge cargo. A peculiarly rge bird was roosted on top of the crane and Wyman thought it stared signalled him from the crowd and set its predatory gaze on him. He shook his head, and his eyes settled on the moored ships; A carrack and a galley were docking simultaneously, and Wyman stared at the Silver Lady where the Princess gazed dispassionately at the crowd as she held the arm of a dark-haired man.

  Once the ship was approached, ropes were thrown to the dockhands, and both were secured. There was a gasp from further back in the crowd, but Wyman did not turn in favor of approaching Sansa Stark as she was helped down the gangway with whom he assumed was Perseus.

  By the gods, old and new! He had not seen the ss in years, and she had grown to be the spitting image of her mother, if taller and more beautiful.

  More movement from the deck had him find his cousin, Medrick, gently leading two identical blonde girls, and Wyman’s eyes widened. This had to be Myrcel Baratheon and her handmaiden.

  Sansa stopped before Wyman, her arm conspicuously still holding the sorcerer's arm. Wyman’s brows nearly flew to his hairline when he recognized Ice’s hilt under a shield on the young man's back. He had a suspicion of the meaning of such a gesture.

  “Princess Sansa, White Harbor is yours.”

  The red-haired young woman did not say anything as her gaze roamed over the crowd, her eyes falling on the contingent of Winterfell men.

  They instantly spped their right fists to their armored chest.

  “We are yours to command, Princess Sansa!”

  Apart from a blink so quick he could have imagined it, Sansa Stark showed no shock or surprise and nodded imperiously.

  “Thank you, Lord Manderly.” Her face softened to a beautiful smile that moved even his old heart. “May I introduce my betrothed, Perseus Jackson.”

  Wyman couldn’t help but inspect the young man more closely, ignoring the murmurs threatening to drown the docks.

  Lord-too-fat-to-ride-a-horse, many called him. Wyman knew and took it with a smile, pretending it was not an insult. It was regretfully true, and he leveraged that reputation to make others underestimate him even further. Yet Wyman had fought in many tourneys in his youth, then three wars, and he knew the make of warriors.

  And Perseus Jackson reminded him of the likes of Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy. The way the young man carried himself screamed confidence, yet his eyes were darting around, looking for any danger. Even now, Wyman couldn’t see any openings in his stance, as if Perseus was expecting to fight at a moment’s notice.

  Yet Perseus had an easy grin of the sort that would either put you at ease or provoke you into a fight.

  “Perseus, you say?” Wyman coughed. “Would you happen to be the accimed sorcerer?”

  “I suppose what I do can be counted as sorcery.” The young man shrugged before walking towards the Seaswift - he had a peculiar dialect that Wyman could not determine where it was from. “Where I'm from, it is common courtesy for a guest to bring gifts to his host. Let it not be said that Percy Jackson was not raised well by his mother.”

  Suddenly, the dark-haired warrior jumped onboard the galley, and Wyman gawked; it was no short distance, nearly a dozen feet from the pier to the railing. Yet, the feat was done with ughable ease.

  Grunting could be heard, and something rge scraping on wood.

  Worried murmurs and gasps sounded behind him from the crowd as a massive dark shape was thrown from the ship and nded in a heap on the dock. Perseus jumped after it before withdrawing a strange-looking dagger. It suddenly stretched, and within a few heartbeats, what Wyman now recognized as a massive sea monster was dispyed for all to see while Perseus stood over its head with a wicked trident.

  “I found this beauty in the waters just outside White Harbor. Who knows how many ships it would have sunk if I had not brought it down?” Perseus’ grin widened even further, “I heard you were a connoisseur of delicacies from the deep. I gift this treat to you and the city of White Harbor.”

  Bub3loka