Northwatch

On the morning of the fleet's fourth day sailing through the Indigo Straits, the outline of Omboru Island finally rose above the horizon.

A dark green ribbon stretched across the azure sea, unbroken, reaching to the limits of sight. It grew clearer as the ships approached.

Before them stood an almost impenetrable rainforest, its canopies piled into rolling hills that extended inland from the coast until a ridge blocked the view.

Leon stood at the bow, the sea breeze lifting his white-and-gold hair.

The course of the coastline, the rhythm of waves striking the reefs, the frequency with which distant flocks of birds took flight, the scent of unfamiliar plants in the air... everything told him this was a land humanity had never tamed.

"We're here." Norman Hightower stood beside him, clutching the old sea chart. "According to my ancestor's records, there are three bays suitable for landing on Omboru Island's east coast. The northernmost has fresh water, but too many reefs. The southernmost has a gently sloping beach, but it's exposed to the monsoons. The middle one-"

He pointed straight ahead. "Cliffs behind it, shallows in front, and water deep enough for large ships to approach. If we can find a suitable anchorage, this is our best choice."

Leon nodded and signaled the fleet to slow down and send small boats ahead to investigate.

An hour later, the scouts returned with their report: the bay was deep enough, and its bottom was sand and mud rather than rock, making it suitable for anchoring. A freshwater stream ran ashore, and defenses could be built along the cliffs.

"Here, then."

The ten large ships slowly entered the bay. Their sails came down one after another, and iron anchors sank to the bottom. They lowered the boats and began ferrying people and supplies ashore.

The moment Leon stepped onto the beach, he felt fine, warm sand beneath his feet.

The white sand was mixed with countless tiny fragments of coral and shells.

Behind him rose steep cliffs, their gray-white rock exposed, with vines bearing bright flowers growing in the cracks.

The humid heat made breathing difficult. The Westerosi, who had just spent two months on Jhala Island, were drenched in sweat after only a few steps. The islanders adapted faster and had already begun expertly cutting down shrubs and clearing the campsite.

Leon looked around. His gaze passed over the busy crowd, over the unfamiliar rainforest, and finally settled on the north... the direction he could not yet return to.

"Northwatch Harbor," he said softly.

Arthur stood beside him. "What?"

Leon offered no explanation, pointing at the bay before them. "This place will be called Northwatch Harbor from now on."

Arthur looked at him, a trace of complicated emotion in his dark eyes.

The sun gradually climbed overhead, and the midday heat left everyone miserable.

"Seven Hells..." Harold cursed as he carried a wooden crate. "This damned place is even hotter and wetter than Jhala Island! I feel like I'm being cooked alive!"

An islander beside him could not understand much of what he said, but laughed at the sight of his flushed face. He unfastened a waterskin from his belt and handed it to Harold, gesturing for him to drink.

Harold paused, then took the waterskin and swallowed a mouthful. A strange taste flooded his mouth, like some kind of fermented fruit juice, sour and astringent.

He nearly spat it out, but caught the islander's expectant look and forced himself to swallow.

"What is this?"

The islander gestured as he spoke. "Coconut... wine... good!"

Harold looked blankly at Leon.

Leon came over. "Fermented fruit juice. It helps with the heat. Don't drink too much, or you'll get diarrhea."

Harold grinned. "Fine. Better than dying of thirst."

The Westerosi and the islanders spoke different languages and had different customs. Now they were forced to learn to coexist.

By evening, the first tents were up, and crude, simple defenses had begun to take shape. Leon had Thea count everyone to confirm they had all made it safely ashore.

Just then, an old mercenary staggered over, his face unusually flushed. He opened his mouth to say something, only to collapse to the ground.

Leon hurried forward. Excessive body temperature, a racing pulse, dry skin-classic symptoms of heat illness.

Heatstroke...

Before long, others began showing similar symptoms.

Within an hour, more than a dozen people had collapsed, some vomiting, some burning with fever, others barely conscious.

Maester Loomis crouched beside the patients, examining them one by one, then shook his head at Leon. "Young master, this is a fever peculiar to the tropics. I have only a few remedies in my herb chest, and they aren't enough. The climate here is completely different from Westeros. I don't know which local herbs might work."

Leon was silent for a few seconds.

He closed his eyes.

The entire island began to change before his eyes, countless streams of minute information unfolding.

The properties of the surrounding plants, the tiny particles drifting through the air... he "saw" the ingredients of the few remedies in Loomis's herb chest being slowly absorbed by the patients' bodies. He "saw" the heat damaging their organs. He "saw" several plants in a nearby thicket whose leaves contained a substance that could lower body temperature.

"Over there." He opened his eyes and pointed at the thicket. "Third row, the ones with serrated leaves. Gather them, boil them in water, and have the patients drink it."

Maester Loomis froze for a moment, but immediately sent people to gather them.

Leon did not stop. He "saw" roots elsewhere that could ease vomiting, and bark in another spot that could reduce fever. He pointed out each location, and Loomis noted them all down.

As the last patient was fed the herbal decoction, Leon felt warmth in his nose.

Blood dripped onto the beach, quickly soaking into the white sand.

"Young master!" Thea rushed over.

Leon waved her off and steadied himself. He wiped the blood away with his sleeve, his pale violet eyes sweeping over the patients whose conditions were gradually stabilizing.

"Keep watching them. Tell me immediately if anything changes."

Thea's lips moved, but in the end she said nothing and merely nodded.

Night fell, and bonfires were lit in the camp.

The patients who had drunk the herbal decoction showed some improvement and had all fallen into a deep sleep.

Maester Loomis sat beside them, checking on them at intervals, the parchment in his hands densely covered with observations.

The others sat around the bonfires, some chewing dry rations, others speaking quietly. The atmosphere was somewhat more relaxed than during the day, but exhaustion and tension still marked every face.

Leon stood alone by the sea, looking north.

The sea was pitch-black.

Soft footsteps came from behind him.

Thea walked up beside him without speaking and simply looked out with him.

After a long while, Leon said softly, "Thea, do you think... Tyrion would like it here?"

Thea considered it, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. "Young Master Tyrion? He'd complain that it was too hot, there were too many bugs, and the wine wasn't strong enough. Then he'd find a way to make everyone listen to his jokes, then try all the coconuts and palm wine here, and finally pass out drunk on the beach."

The corners of Leon's mouth twitched. "Yes. He'd say, 'Seven Hells, this damned place doesn't even have a decent brothel.'"

Thea could not help laughing softly.

A beast roared in the distant rainforest.

Leon's smile faded. "Start assigning rotating watches tomorrow. Sooner or later, those things in the rainforest will come."

"Yes, young master."

"And gather everyone tomorrow. I have something to say."

Thea nodded, then turned back toward camp.

Leon took one last look north and walked toward the bonfire.

The next morning, sunlight pierced the rainforest canopy, casting dappled light and shadow across the camp.

Most of those who had drunk the herbal decoction had lost their fevers. They were still weak, but at least they had survived. Maester Loomis examined them one by one, recording his findings while marveling at Leon's extraordinary eyes.

Leon stood on high ground, overlooking the entire camp.

The Westerosi veterans carried supplies and erected tents. The islander exiles cut down shrubs and cleared the water source. The local sailors repaired boats and checked fishing nets. Several craftsmen recruited in Oldtown were building simple stone hearths.

On the surface, everything was orderly, but Leon could see the undercurrents.

The veteran named Harold was arguing with a young islander.

They could not understand each other's language, but their gestures expressed their displeasure clearly enough.

Harold pointed at a felled tree. The young islander shook his head repeatedly, pointing at another patch of forest farther away, then at the sun's position.

Leon walked over just in time to hear Harold cursing in Westerosi. "Can't you fucking understand plain speech? The trees over there are better for tent beams!"

The young islander could not understand him, but an expletive like "fucking" sounded the same in any language. His face flushed, and his grip tightened around his machete.

"Stop."

Leon stepped between them and looked first at the young islander, asking with the few island words he had just learned, "What happened?"

The young man's name was Kojo. He came from Jhala Island and had been recruited while working as a sailor in Oldtown.

In the Archipelago Tongue mixed with words from the Common Tongue, he explained that he was cutting trees in the designated area as planned, because the goldenheart there was better suited for tent supports. Harold insisted he use this tree, but it was worm-eaten and would soon rot.

Leon turned to Harold.

The veteran stiffened his neck. "I scouted it yesterday. That patch of forest is close to camp, so hauling the timber takes less effort. He insists on going all that way and wasting time!"

Leon fell silent for a second. "When you scouted yesterday, did you notice that tree was worm-eaten?"

Harold froze and fell silent.

"He has experience. Islanders grow up using this wood. He knows better than you. Listen to him."

Harold's face grew redder, but in the end he said nothing and turned away.

Kojo looked at Leon, a trace of gratitude in his dark brown eyes. He said something in the Archipelago Tongue, of which Leon understood only "thank you."

But this was only one instance.

Over the course of the day, similar friction arose at least ten times. Different languages, different customs, even different mealtimes. The Westerosi were used to three meals a day, while the islanders ate whenever they were hungry.

That evening, Leon gathered everyone around the bonfire.

More than two hundred people formed a large circle around the blazing fire.

The Westerosi veterans and the islander exiles sat on opposite sides, clearly separated by an empty strip between them.

Leon stood beside the bonfire and surveyed them all.

"I know what's been happening among you. So I'm changing the rules."

He took a roll of parchment from inside his clothes, which he had written on that afternoon with a charcoal pencil.

"Starting tomorrow, you'll be reorganized. Groups of two. You'll eat together, live together, and work together. One Westerosi, one islander."

The crowd immediately stirred.

"Why?!" Harold was the first to stand. "My lord, I don't understand them, and they don't understand me. How are we supposed to work together?"

Leon looked at him. "Learn."

Harold opened his mouth, but no words came.

Another Westerosi veteran stood as well. "My lord, I'm not looking down on them, but we fight differently, build houses differently, and even sleep at different times. Force us together, and there'll be fights."

"Then fight. Afterward, either learn to get along or get off this island."

His voice remained calm, but there was something in that calm that made people afraid to argue.

An islander stood and asked in halting Common Tongue, "If... we do not... agree?"

Leon looked at him. "Then you can get out too."

Dead silence fell around the bonfire.

Arthur stood at the edge of the crowd without a word. Dawn was wrapped in cloth across his back; the sword did not need to be revealed to intimidate.

Thea stood slightly behind Leon, her hand on her sword hilt, her gaze sweeping over everyone like a hawk's.

Leon waited a few seconds before continuing. "Anyone who causes another conflict will be expelled. There will be no second chances."

He rolled up the parchment and tucked it inside his clothes. "Those who want freedom and equality, go to sleep. We start reorganizing tomorrow."

The crowd gradually dispersed.

Harold remained where he was, looking at Leon as though he wanted to say something, but ultimately said nothing.

Kojo paused as he passed him. In the Common Tongue he had just learned, he said, "Tomorrow... together?"

Harold froze, then snorted and turned away.

The bonfire gradually died, and silence returned to the camp.

Once again, Leon sat alone on a rock by the sea, looking north. Thea kept watch nearby.

He remembered sitting beside Tyrion on the windowsill of the maester's tower when he was four.

It had been an evening in 277 AC, by Aegon's calendar. They had only recently been allowed into the tower's library and absorbed every scrap of knowledge they could find like sponges each day. They had spent the whole afternoon reading the Compendium of Mineral Vein Distribution in the Westerlands until their eyes blurred.

Afterward, they had sat on the windowsill until well past midnight. Neither spoke. They simply sat side by side, looking at the stars.

Later, Tyrion had said something Leon had always remembered.

"I think we're like two pebbles tossed out of a mine. Everyone thinks we'll roll down the slope and shatter, but we're going to make some noise against these flagstones."

A beast's roar came from the distant rainforest, a low sound carrying a warning.

Leon's thoughts broke off. Instinctively, he glanced in that direction, but detected no indication of danger.

He turned and walked back to camp.

As he passed a tent, he heard a halting conversation inside. Westerosi and the Archipelago Tongue mingled, stumbling, but both sides were trying to make themselves understood.

The corners of his mouth twitched.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded behind him.

"Young master!" Thea kept her voice very low, but it was clearly tense. "There's movement at the outer sentry posts. Something is approaching from the rainforest."

Leon immediately gripped the shortsword at his waist.

By the time he arrived, Arthur was already standing at the edge of camp, facing the rainforest. He had drawn Dawn from its cloth covering, and its pale blade gleamed coldly in the moonlight.

Leon walked up beside him.

At the rainforest's edge, behind the thick shrubs, several faint clusters of light were moving. They were not human colors. They were a nearly primal dark red Leon had never seen before.

"What are they?"

Arthur did not answer. He merely tightened his grip on his sword and stared motionlessly into the darkness.

A low growl came from the darkness, exactly like the one they had just heard. Then the shrubs shook violently, and an enormous black shape burst out!

The creature was much taller than a man and more powerfully built than a bear, its body covered in long, reddish-brown hair. It walked upright on its hind legs, its forearms thick enough to snap tree trunks with ease.

In the moonlight, its face was almost human, yet utterly inhuman... deep-set eyes, exposed fangs.

"One of the Old Men of the Red Forest," Arthur said quietly.

The huge beast charged a few steps toward camp, then suddenly stopped. Tilting its head, it watched the people in the firelight, a threatening rumble rising from its throat.

Leon stood motionless.

His gaze met the beast's eyes.

It was not purely a beast. Those eyes held something Leon had never imagined seeing in an animal... intelligence, wariness, and... curiosity.

The standoff lasted more than ten seconds.

Then the huge beast turned and slowly walked back into the rainforest, disappearing into the darkness.

The camp was deathly silent.

Only after those heavy footsteps had faded completely did a veteran slump to the ground, gasping for breath.

"Seven Hells..." Harold's voice trembled. "What was that thing..."

Leon gazed at the dark Rainwood, his heart still racing.

"Step up the watch. Work in pairs, take shifts, and keep the torches burning."

He turned and walked back to his tent.

After daybreak, there would be more to do.