Down the river...

His captors were not gentle in their treatment of him, choosing to either shove him along as they moved from the dusty outskirts of Pentos, or outright drag him by the chains they had placed about him as their horses trotted along without a care in the world. He was well and truly covered in dirt and grime when they eventually arrived at one of the many winding rivers that lead further into the eastern continent. A large boat greeted them, crewed mostly by dusky skinned men and women who were apathetic to the sellswords and treated Jon as though he did not even exist.

The Targaryen prince got the barest of glimpses of the ship before he was dragged deep below deck and chained up in a darkened holding area with a single sack for bedding and a rusty bucket for his privy. Darkness was felt like a void, a container of its own that he found himself in, and eventually the concepts of time began to vanish. A cup of water was brought to him occasionally, with a piece of old bread, but always during darkness, and sometimes whilst he slept.

After an eternity of darkness, he was pulled from little bubble of oblivion and roughly dragged out into the brightness of day. The light was such an overwhelming and all-consuming thing that it struck Jon harder than any physical blow. He squeezed his eyes shut, felt his stomach roiling and vomited in a heap on the deck, his whole body shuddering with pain. After a moment to regain his bearings, Jon blinked, his eyes slowing readjusting to the light. He looked up at his captors and the crew that had assembled with them on the deck.

The moustacheod man looked at Jon as if he was a rat that had crawled from a chamber pot. “I’ve decided that if you’re to be with us on this trip, you’re going to be put to work,” he gestured to the mess Jon had made, “starting with cleaning that shit up.”

And thus began Jon’s role cleaning the decks every day. He would scrub every inch of the worn wood, up and down in the scorching sun until nightfall, where he would be returned to the darkness below deck. It was hard work and wore him down, but the sun did him good and with the promise of a task and the structure of a day his mind coped better with the situation.

One evening, however, things took a turn. His captors gathered him again once he had finished cleaning and went about the process of returning him to his cell when the crewman screamed out. To Jon’s horror, lumbering figures ermerged from the water and began to crawl on the deck of the ship, their skin a horrid grey and the groans from their mouths inhuman. Jon’s mind recalled his old lessons of the Stonemen that haunted along the Rhoyne, but he did not think true until now.

The crew hurried back, **** to avoid the diseased men who shambled towards them with horrid intent. The sellswords momentarily released their hold on Jon’s chains and drew their blades. It was a strange sight, seeing soldiers so utterly worried by unarmed opponents, but he knew that even a single touch from the men could spread the horrible infection. The moustacheod leader of the men dashed below deck for a moment before returning with a bow and some hastily grabbed arrows. Placing the spares between his teeth, he pulled back and released the first shaft into one of the diseased men, downing it at once before he moved on to the next. As he did so, two of the Stone Men grabbed one of the sellswords, pulling him close and smothering him with their horrid rocky hands. There was now only three men on deck including Jon, with twice as many Stone Men. The arrows were finding their targets, but Jon saw that they were quickly running out.

In desperation, he reached over and picked up a discarded oar, using it to beat the nearest Stone Man he could get. The struggle continued, but eventually they began to drive them plague carrying monsters back into the water. Once the situation was dealt with, the two remaining sellswords converged on Jon, removing the oar from his hands and marching him back into the darkness without even a hint of gratitude for his assistance.

As he sat in darkness, Jon felt his mind work. The crew had fled without remotely trying to help their Sellsword leaders, which had now been reduced. He thought perhaps, his circumstances were not so dire after all.