Twin Lion Rock

Leon decided to make a trip inland.

The camp had settled down completely. The fishing crews went out to sea every day. The gathering parties took turns entering the edge of the Rainwood, bringing back enough wild vegetables and fruit to supplement their meals. The newly sown seeds had already begun sprouting, tender green shoots breaking through the soil, fresh in the sunlight.

Even the Westerosi veterans and the island exiles, who had originally disliked one another, could now sit together over fish soup, trade food, and occasionally exchange a few jokes.

Leon stood at the edge of camp, gazing at the gray-white rocky mountain in the distance. From here, it looked like a great beast crouching over the land, silently watching the coast.

Arthur came to stand beside him.

"Want to take a look?"

Leon nodded.

"How many men?"

"A small, capable party. You, me, Thea, Oswell, Harold, Kojo. And an island guide."

Arthur turned to make the arrangements without hesitation.

Half an hour later, seven people left camp.

They headed north along the edge of the Rainwood, skirted the previously marked perimeter, and entered by a route Kojo had scouted.

The goldenheart trees grew denser, the vines thicker. Sunlight filtered through layer upon layer of canopy, breaking into scattered patches of light. The humid heat made it hard to breathe.

Within an hour, everyone was soaked through. Sweat streamed down their cheeks and stung painfully as it ran into their eyes.

Harold swore and wiped his face with his sleeve.

"This damned place," he panted, "is more stifling than a whore's tits."

Kojo led the way, hacking through obstructing vines with his machete. He glanced back at Harold and grinned.

"You'll get used to it. I got heatstroke my first time in the Rainwood."

His Common Tongue was much more fluent than before. Harold grunted and said nothing more.

Thea walked just behind Leon's flank, her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.

The Rainwood was full of sounds: birdsong, insects, the distant growls of unknown beasts. Any one of them might conceal danger.

Leon kept his eyes working at low intensity. There was none of the vast dark red of the Old Men of the Red Forest. They were safe for now.

After roughly two hours, Kojo stopped. He crouched and brushed aside the fallen leaves, revealing a trail of deep paw prints. Each was larger than a human palm, pressed into the soil. The edges had dried, but they were still visibly fresh.

"Spotted leopard," he said quietly. "Passed through two days ago."

Everyone stopped and put their hands on their weapons.

Leon crouched and stared at the prints. His gaze followed their trail outward. There was nothing. It should have gone far away by now.

"Heading our way?"

Kojo shook his head and pointed east. "Went into the mountains. Not the direction we're going."

Leon stood.

"Keep moving. Watch your surroundings."

The party continued, but everyone stepped more lightly now, their eyes wider.

After another half day of walking, Kojo suddenly raised a hand for them to stop.

Ahead lay a relatively open clearing. Several enormous goldenheart trees lay on the ground, deep claw marks scoring their trunks, as though something had torn them apart with brute force.

"They did this," an island guide whispered, his voice trembling. "The Old Men of the Red Forest... sometimes they do this... as a warning."

Harold tightened his grip on his axe, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Leon looked that way... nothing. But he noticed something. Beyond the fallen trees, he could faintly make out a patch of gray-white.

He went around the fallen trees and took a few steps forward.

The view suddenly opened up.

Before him was no longer impenetrable rainforest, but an enormous rocky mountain.

Exposed gray-white rock rose steeply from the ground, its summit as flat as though sliced by a blade. Sunlight struck the mountainside and reflected with a cold gleam.

Leon stood motionless at its foot, his head tilted back.

Arthur came up beside him and followed his gaze.

"This mountain..."

"Just like Casterly Rock."

Leon's voice was very soft, as though he were speaking to himself.

Harold stared at the mountain with his mouth open, unable to speak for a long time. Kojo's eyes were round as he murmured something in the Archipelago Tongue, probably an exclamation like "gods."

Thea watched Leon standing there, his head tilted back, unmoving. She knew what her young master was thinking.

Leon was indeed thinking of Casterly Rock. Of the tower where he had been imprisoned since birth, the cold corridors, his father's perpetually expressionless face.

The south-facing window on the top floor of the western tower had been his mother's favorite spot when she was alive, with plentiful sunlight and an expansive view. He had spent countless afternoons there, staring blankly out to sea.

In those days, Tyrion had lived in a side courtyard of the eastern wing, while he had lived at the top of the western tower. An entire castle separated the brothers, each trapped in his own cage.

But now he stood here, at the foot of a rocky mountain almost identical to Casterly Rock. Behind him were the people he had brought himself; beneath his feet was the land he had chosen himself.

"This mountain," he finally said. "I'm going to build a city here."

Harold froze for a moment. "A city? My lord, this mountain is all stone..."

"Stone is what you build cities with. Soft earth won't make walls that can stand for a hundred years."

He turned to Arthur.

"The mountain's structure is the same as Casterly Rock's. Interwoven granite and limestone, solid and easy to defend. The summit is flat, with a view of the entire east coast. There's water at its foot. The stream we just passed flows down from here."

Arthur nodded. "What about a harbor?"

"There's a natural bay on the eastern side of the mountain's foot. I noticed just now that the water is deep enough and there aren't too many reefs. We can build docks there."

Harold listened, dumbfounded.

"My lord," he asked cautiously, "when... did you see that?"

Leon did not answer. He merely gazed at the mountain, the stone face's reflected light shining in his pale violet eyes.

"Come on. Let's go around and have a look."

They spent an hour circling the foot of the mountain.

Leon had been right.

Its structure was almost exactly the same as Casterly Rock's. The eastern side was a sheer rock face. The western side was gentler, but covered in thick rainforest. A natural fissure in the southern slope could be cut into a path up the mountain. Below the northern slope ran a stream with clear water and a steady flow.

Most important was the bay to the east. Its waters were deep blue, deep enough for large ships to anchor. A natural barrier of reefs at the entrance could break the waves and made it easy to defend and difficult to attack.

"This is the place."

Leon stood beside the bay, looking out over the blue sea.

Lannisport, by Casterly Rock. He remembered standing on the docks at seven years old, watching his father's convoy disappear down the Goldroad. He remembered Tyrion standing beside him, saying he was afraid of seasickness in that affected, barely-alive tone.

Now he truly would have to rely on himself. Here in this unfamiliar land, at the foot of a rocky mountain like the one back home, he would build a city of his own.

"Arthur."

"Yes?"

"Have Norman come see me when we get back. Tell him to draw a nautical chart and measure the depth. And Maester Loomis-ask him to find everyone who knows stonemasonry."

Arthur nodded.

Leon turned to the others.

"From now on, this rocky mountain will be called Twin Lion Rock."

Harold opened his mouth but said nothing. He was only an old sellsword who had spent his whole life risking his neck for others. He had never imagined that one day he would help build a city. Kojo's eyes shone like two little flames. Behind Leon, Thea merely straightened her back a little.

The return journey was quicker. Perhaps it was because they now had a goal in mind, or because they knew the Rainwood a little better. In any case, as the sky began to darken, they could already see the camp's lights far away on the shore.

Just before they left the Rainwood, Kojo suddenly stopped. He crouched and examined the ground in the last of the daylight.

"My lord. Someone's been here."

Leon saw several shallow footprints on the ground. They were not their own; they looked more like bare footprints.

"Not our people..." Kojo said.

He did not finish, but everyone knew what he meant. There were other people on this island besides them.

Leon probed in that direction. The person had already gone far away, or was hiding somewhere beyond his perception.

"Double the watch tonight. Starting tomorrow, send men to search along the edge of the Rainwood."

By the time the scouting party returned to camp, all of Northwatch Harbor knew about the rocky mountain. The news spread as though it had wings.

"Twin Lion Rock."

Leon's voice was not loud, but everyone around him could hear. He stood in the center of camp before a freshly drawn, rough map, marked with the mountain's outline, the location of its water source, and the bay's depths.

"Starting tomorrow, everyone gets to work."

He assigned the tasks one by one:

Norman would take men to survey the bay and determine the docks' location and size.

Maester Loomis would take stock of their manpower and register everyone who knew stonemasonry, carpentry, or smithing.

Oswell would take Harold and a team up the mountain to clear a passable road.

Kojo would take several island hunters and continue searching along the Rainwood's edge for the source of those footprints.

Arthur would train the guards, selecting twenty veterans to take turns patrolling the Rainwood and ensure the survey parties' safety.

Thea would remain at Leon's side and coordinate supplies.

"Within seven days, we need a complete plan for building the city."

Before dawn had fully broken the next day, Oswell set out with his men.

Fifteen men, each carrying a machete, a rope, and a bag of dry provisions. They hacked their way along the route the scouting party had explored the day before.

Clearing a path was harder than they had imagined. The vines looked soft, but cutting them revealed how tough they were. Goldenheart branches were as hard as iron bars; a single chop left their wrists numb. Then there were the thorny bushes, which could slash an arm open at the slightest carelessness.

Harold led the way, swinging his axe, his head drenched in sweat. Both arms ached as though filled with lead.

"Fuck," he panted. "Should've learned smithing from a blacksmith back then."

A young veteran behind him could not help laughing. "Didn't you say you wanted to blaze a trail for his lordship?"

Harold looked back and glared at him, then laughed himself.

When they rested at noon, they found a relatively level spot and sat down to gnaw on their dry provisions. Sunlight filtered through the canopy and fell on them, scorching hot.

One veteran suddenly asked, "Harold, do you think that mountain can really be turned into a city?"

Harold chewed his dry flatbread and thought.

"Should be possible. If his lordship says it can, it can."

The veteran blinked. "You trust him that much?"

Harold did not answer at once. He looked at the gray-white rocky mountain in the distance and fell silent for a while.

"You know my son died at the Trident. Fighting for Robert. The lad was only seventeen."

Silence fell around them. Oswell turned his head too.

"I hated it. Hated myself, hated war, hated all this fucking shit. Later, when I boarded the ship with his lordship, I didn't even know what I was after. Living didn't mean much anyway. If I died, I died."

He paused.

"But his lordship is different. He's not the sort to send you off to die. He makes you work, but he works too. He makes you risk your life, but he risks his too. That day with the fever, his own nose was bleeding and he could barely stand, but he was still directing the herb gathering."

He turned to look at the veterans.

"Tell me, is a man like that worth following?"

No one spoke. But there was something different in their eyes.

The corners of Oswell's mouth lifted. He stood and brushed the dirt from his backside.

"Let's go. We need to push another mile before dark."

Meanwhile, Norman was rowing around the bay in a small boat with several sailors.

He held a long pole with a lead weight tied to its end. At each location, he lowered the weight until it touched bottom, then pulled it up and checked the markings on the rope.

"Twelve fathoms deep-an imperial fathom is 1.83 meters-sand and mud bottom," he told a young sailor beside him. "Write it down."

The young man fumbled his notebook open and recorded the numbers with a charcoal pencil.

The boat continued onward.

"Fifteen fathoms deep, rocky bottom... no, sand and mud mixed with rocks. This spot will do for anchoring."

Another entry.

The sun beat down until their scalps tingled, and the glare off the sea made their eyes ache. But Norman did not find it tiring at all. His eyes shone and a smile rested on his lips, as though he were doing his favorite thing in the world.

"If my ancestor were still alive," he muttered to himself, "he'd surely praise me."

The survey continued until evening. By the time the boat reached shore, Norman's parchment was densely covered in numbers. He jumped out and headed straight for Leon's tent.

"My lord!" He spread the chart before Leon. "We've got the bay mapped out."

Leon looked down at the chart. Norman had drawn a simple outline, marking the depths, the distribution of reefs, and possible shipping channels.

"The best place for the docks is here." Norman pointed to the eastern side of the bay. "Deep enough, few reefs, and the foot of the mountain is right behind it. Later, stone can be brought straight down from the mountain. We'll need a breakwater to block the wind and waves from the south. There's enough stone on the mountain for that."

Leon studied the spot and nodded.

"How long?"

Norman considered. "Three days just for the surveying. Actual construction... depends on how many men and ships we have. Six months? A year? Hard to say."

Leon did not rush him. He knew building docks was no easy task.

"Draw up a detailed plan first. How many men, how much material, how long-write it all down clearly."

Norman nodded, rolled up the chart, and left.

On the evening of the third day after the scouting party returned, Kojo finally found the owners of the footprints.

He had spent two days searching along the Rainwood's edge with several island hunters. The footprints appeared and vanished, sometimes disappearing beside streams, sometimes showing up beside game trails. Kojo followed them until, on the third afternoon, he finally spotted several moving figures in the distance.

He told the others to wait where they were and crept forward alone.

Through the dense bushes, he saw them.

Four people. Dark-skinned and short, wearing crude clothing woven from leaves and animal hides. They were crouching beside a fallen tree, scraping its bark with small knives, as though extracting something.

Kojo did not alert them. He quietly withdrew, then ran all the way back to camp.

"My lord!" he panted. "People. Four of them. In the Rainwood."

Leon's eyes narrowed slightly.

"What did they look like?"

Kojo described them.

"The local Mist-Hidden Tribe?"

Kojo froze for a moment. "What?"

"Jalabhar told me about them."

Leon stood and said to Arthur, "Bring a few men and come with me tomorrow."

Arthur looked at him. "Are we going to make contact?"

"We'll take a look. They've lived and multiplied on this island for a hundred years. If we're going to build a city here, we'll have to deal with them sooner or later."

The next day, Leon took Arthur, Thea, Oswell, Kojo, and two archipelago guides along the route Kojo had discovered, heading deep into the Rainwood.

After about two hours of walking, Kojo signaled for them to stop.

"Just ahead. That's where I saw them yesterday."

Leon probed in that direction. He "saw" several faint clusters of light, much like those of ordinary people, gathered together as though doing something.

"Let's go."

They pushed aside the bushes and stepped out.

The three people were working on a fallen tree. At the sound, they jerked their heads up, tightening their grips on their stone knives.

The two sides faced off.

Leon stood where he was without moving. His gaze swept over the three, who showed fear and wariness.

"Don't move," he said softly to those behind him.

Leon slowly raised his right hand, palm facing outward.

This was the gesture people in Westeros used to show they meant no harm. He did not know whether the islanders understood it, but it was better than doing nothing.

The older man stared at his hand for a long time. Then he turned and said something to the other two. One of the young men turned and ran, vanishing into the dense forest. The remaining one stayed where he was, watching Leon.

Time trickled past. Sunlight spilled through gaps in the canopy, falling on everyone.

After roughly the time it took an incense stick to burn, footsteps came from the dense forest.

More people emerged, twenty-odd of them. Leon lost count. They poured out from every direction, forming a semicircle that hemmed Leon and his party in.

At their head was an old woman.

She was shorter than everyone else, her back hunched and the wrinkles on her face as deep as tree bark. But her eyes were bright, their whites and dark centers distinct, like two bottomless wells.

She wore a robe woven from feathers and animal hides, with a string of animal teeth and colored stones around her neck. She leaned on a wooden staff, its head carved into a strange shape that resembled both a human face and a beast's.

She walked up to Leon and stopped.

Those eyes studied him from head to toe, then back up again. At last, her gaze settled on his eyes.

Pale purple eyes.

The old woman's pupils contracted slightly. She extended her withered fingers, pointing shakily at his eyes, and uttered a word.

"Mua-ka."

Beside him, Kojo drew a sharp breath.

Leon turned his head to look at him.

Kojo lowered his voice and said shakily, "My lord... she's calling you... a child of the gods."

Leon was silent for a second.

He looked at the old woman, his pale purple eyes meeting her aged, dark brown ones.

"I am not... a god," he said slowly in the Archipelago Tongue, using the few words he had learned from Kojo. "I am human. I come from far away."

The old woman stared at him for a long time.

Then she smiled.

The smile spread across her wrinkled face like a withered flower suddenly blooming.

She turned and said something to the people gathered around them. One after another, they lowered their stone spears and wooden bows, the wariness in their eyes fading into another light, one that bordered on reverence.

The old woman turned back to Leon. She held out a hand and made a gesture.

Follow.

Leon glanced at Arthur. Arthur gave a slight nod.

"Let's go."

They followed the old woman deep into the Rainwood. Behind them, the people of the Mist-Hidden Tribe trailed after them like a band of silent shadows.

That day, Leon did not return to camp.

Loomis stood by the sea, waiting from afternoon until dusk, and from dusk until dark. Rhaenys leaned against his chest, already asleep.

It was well past midnight when Oswell returned.

Loomis sprang to his feet and stared at him.

"Where's the young master?"

Oswell's face was expressionless. He simply gazed into the depths of the Rainwood.

"In the Mist-Hidden Tribe's village. He'll be back in a couple of days."

Loomis's heart sank.

"Is he safe?"

"He's safe. That old woman... is treating his lordship like a god."

Loomis froze.

In the distance, the low roars of the Old Men of the Red Forest rose from the Rainwood again. But this time, they sounded less like a threat and more like some ancient, distant call.