"Who is that your grace?" Ser Davos Seaworth leaned over and whispered to Jon, indicating the thin dark skinned man wrapped from head to toe in cloth. Only his eyes and the bridge of his nose were visible. He was obviously a foreigner to the north with unfriendly, clever, black eyes, which appeared to hold important secrets only certain men should know. His presence among those traveling to the sea did not sit well with Seaworth.
Jon looked over his shoulder, only briefly glancing at the stranger who caught the onion knight's attention. The grip on his sword belt tightening was the only sign that he saw the man. His stoic face went unchanged, "Make room for him in the cart."
Again, Seaworth looked skeptically at the shadowy stranger and then back at Jon, but he did not argue. "Yes sir."
Jon moved on and Seaworth was left to inform the stranger that he would be riding in the cart. He narrowed his eyes at the man. "May I ask your name? And who you are to the king?"
"Nymor Sand." The voice was gruff and dripping with a thick accent of long a's and soft d's. The stranger's eyes cut away indicating that he did not plan to expand his answer any further.
"So you're Dornish then, sir?" The onion knight continued to press on curiously. He attempted to sound friendly but the stranger's demeanor did not change a bit. Not that it mattered, Seaworth was not trying to make friends. He had little trust for the men who surrounded his king. Not after he already watched him die once at their hands.
The stranger just stared ahead still not answering.
"The king says you are supposed to ride in the cart." Seaworth finally gave in and left the instructions, pointing to the cart.
The man nodded silently and then stalked off to find a small space to squeeze into at the back.
"Are you certain about this, Jon?" Sansa Stark with fiery red hair splayed over her bulky fur coat appeared from within the crowd of working men bustling in and out of the dark cold hall. She fell in step with her brother as he walked to his large black horse. Her determined green eyes were more searing in this moment than her hair. "I still have an unsettling feeling that you are walking into a trap, brother. I do not understand why you would abandon your men to travel into such obvious danger."
"And in other words, you still don't trust my instincts as your king." Jon replied dryly.
"No." Sansa replied. "I do not trust the loyalties of those who you seek as allies. Our grandfather traveled south to death. Our father traveled south to death. Our brother traveled south to his death..."
"There are things worse than death, Sansa." Jon tightened his saddle and then mounted his horse. "And they all lie to the north. We need the dragon glass."
"Watch your back... and your head, brother." Sansa sighed out her last warning angrily, looking away.
"Don't worry. I have more than one set of eyes now, little sister. I will not... cannot die. Not yet at least." Jon replied vaguely, urging his horse on.
The king's party rode south towards Dragonstone. A three day ride through the freezing winter towards the coast to board a ship headed south to the rugged cliffs of the ancient Targaryen island.
The first night that the party stopped amongst the icy northern woods, Seaworth looked uneasily around the campsite feeling as though something or someone was unaccounted for. He moved off towards Jon who was sitting by the fire and whispered, "Where is that foreigner? I haven't seen a sign of him since we stopped for the night."
His head down against the cold night, Jon took a sip of the warm ale in his cup and gave Davos a sidelong look. "Don't worry. He's around. Just make sure to keep the fire burning."
