Help the slaves

Self-preservation was important and years of living in court had taught Jon as much, but he had also been taught to have a least some code of honour. He had generations of Stark forefathers who would demand him to act, something that he could not ignore. Cursing himself under his breath, he resolved to act.

With the blade in hand, Jon slowly crept up behind the group. They he green haired man stood behind the chained slaves, one hand casually on an axe as he urged the old men up the back to shuffle along faster. At the head of the line, the purple bearded man was whispering grotesqueries to one of the young women, a horrid smile twisted his face. The third man stood apart, hard eyes scanning the jungle ahead of them. They were all armed with bladed weapons and all stood a head taller than Jon, as such he doubted a direct confrontation would go in his favour.

His eyes turned to the trees around him. He murmured a silent prayer to the Old Gods, hoping that they could see him, even far in this strange land. With movements that were almost mechanical, Jon crept up and with a sudden strength he didn’t know he possessed, jammed the broken edge of his sword through the first man’s throat. His free hand clamped down over the man’s mouth to smother his gurgled croak, and gently eased the fresh corpse down into the foliage. The old man, shuffling along at the back turned and stared at Jon in open surprise. The Targaryen gestured for him to remain silent, taking the man’s fallen axe and handing his own broken weapon over to the man. The **** looked at it, and then at Jon for a moment, still shuffling along, and then nodded. He whispered in some foreign tongue to the **** ahead of him, who grew stiff but then nodded and passed the message up the chain.

Purple beard was still whispering his lusty threats to the young woman when Jon approached, his attention so completely focused on her that he didn’t see the Targaryen’s approach. Breathing deeply, Jon raised his axe and brought it down in a sickening crunch. The pirate let out a slight squawk, but otherwise crumbled to the ground.

Jon looked up for his third target, only to find open air. A shout from behind alerted him to the incoming danger and he ducked just in time to avoid an axe blow that passed over. He turned and raised his own axe to block the next attack, his body trembling with the **** of the blow. The attacks continued on, pushing Jon back as he did all he could to keep up with the ****.

It quickly dawned on Jon that he could not keep up with the onslaught, tired and wounded he was from his encounters at sea. He fell to a knee, his axe raised, and knew that it would be his end. The blue moustacheod man loomed over him and went in for the killing blow. There was a horrible gasp, but after a moment Jon looked up, unharmed.

The big pirate frowned in pain and surprise, and when he turned Jon’s broken sword was buried in his back. The young woman holding onto it fiercely before ripping it out and jamming it back in. There was confusion on the Pirate’s garish face, but then his mighty form collapsed into the thick undergrowth, completely still.

Jon closed his eyes, breathing heavily. He smiled wearily and got back to his feet. “Thank you,” he breathed, looking down at her chained wrists, “I’ll...I’ll try and find the key,”

He was unsure if she understood him, but still went about the business of searching the corpses. Eventually he did in fact find a circle of keys and handed them off to the slaves, who undid their shackles whilst Jon slid down against a tree, trying to orient himself as the thrill of battle left his body.

“Excuse me,” came a soft voice that stirred him from his daze. It was the young woman who saved him earlier, her voice surprisingly well spoken and without accent. She was perhaps a year or two younger than Jon, with dark skin that marked her of a Summer Islander and eyes of amber that held a strange kind of wisdom. Jon thought he very beautiful. “Why did you help us?”

Jon shrugged. “Stubbornness I suppose,” he frowned at her and her people, “where are you from?”

“Far from here,” she replied carefully, looking around at the jungle, “we were captured just a ways away and brought here for transport. This is a pirates nest.”

There was an unspoken question hidden in her last statement and Jon was quick to dispel it. “I was shipwrecked,” he admitted, “I was on my way to meet some people for...”though she seemed nice enough, Jon did not feel the need to reveal his identity to her, “I had to do some business dealings for my father, my ship got caught in a storm.”

She nodded, seemingly pleased with his explaination. “What will you do now?”

“I think I’ll try and find my way to the port,” He sighed, “and then just pray that I can find someone willing to return me to Westeros.”

There was a hesistancy on her face, but eventually she said, “I heard them talking earlier, they said the port was due east of here,” she bit down on her bottom lip, “I know you have already helped us greatly, but... we are trapped here and in need of a transport home. Otherwise they will surely find us and put us back into chains. Would you be willing to help?”

“How?” He gestured to his dirty clothes and sunburnt skin, “I don’t have any means here on this island. I couldn’t get you a ship if I tried.”

“You have been trained in combat,” she pointed out, “I can tell, you’re a...soldier. With your help we could steal a ship.”

He blinked at her. “There’s barely a dozen of you,” he pointed out, “and you’re mostly women and children. Not very much to work with.”

“Please,” she urged, leaning in close, “I would be very grateful,” she paused and spoke softer, “I would...I could be your woman if you like. If you just help the others get to safety, please.”

Jon looked at her, his mind slowly working as he considered it all.