We didn't even last two days before they found us.

As Saan had told me days before, the most important thing a pirate and his ship should have on his side were large sails and a favourable wind at his back. "Strength and numbers may win you the Seven Kingdoms on land, but on the sea...my boy, if you want to survive on the sea, then you need speed and cunning. Somebody is trying to kill you, you can stay out of their reach. If somebody is trying to run from you, then you can bloody well catch them and take everything from their grasp. And nobody is faster than me. Nobody."

He was wrong about that. It was a calm day when the black sails appeared on the horizon, an alarmed crew mate running through the others to find Saan and alert him immediately. He ran onto the deck, still half naked and smelling of Wylla, and shouted in anger when he saw it. I could have sworn I almost saw a flicker of fear in his eyes; but just for a moment. He span in place, shouting instructions at the crew, who hurried to and fro trying to move the wooden vessel faster through the flat sea.

Saan himself watched for a time before silently slipping away, down the stairwell and down towards Wylla and his cabin. I found myself following, unsure how to help on the deck itself, my sea legs wobbling through a mixture of fear and sudden movement. But what I found in the cabin shocked me, even with the chaos taking place inside. Wylla, mainly hidden under the covers of the bed, was watching as Saan threw whatever he could carry into a large sack - wine, cheeses, meats, clothes - and began to prise open the window on the outside of the cabin. Outside the opening, behind Saan, I could see what he was planning; the dinghy they had found me in was tied up, oars at the sides. The bastard was leaving us.

"What are you doing?"

Saan turned, frowning. Through the opening, I could see the black sails of the enemy ship approaching quickly. Far too quickly for my liking. "Arry. I am a pirate, not a warrior. A brave man fights. A smart man lives. Which of the two would you prefer?"

"Living, obviously," I admitted. "But your crew, the men? Wylla? You can't just abandon us like that!"

I half-expected Saan to chuckle in characteristic fashion, but his eyes were deadly serious as he spoke. "The men can be replaced. The ship can be replaced, over time. The only thing that can't be replaced is my own life. These men...they may fight, they may die...but they won't be written in the history books; nobody will weep for them in fifty years. But me...I am a Saan. For over three hundred years, we have pillaged and smuggled our way into infamy. I am the Prince of the Narrow Sea. You? I like you. But you are nothing to me. The girl? She is beautiful, and a beauty to lay with, but she is nothing to me either. Do you understand?"

Without thinking, I found myself walking to stand between the man, whom I had foolishly trusted and considered my friend, and the window. He looked at me, straining under the weight of the bag, and hissed. "Get out of my way."

"She's not nothing," I declared boldy. "She is Wylla of House Manderly. I am Gendry Baratheon, bastard son of the late King Robert, King of the Andals and the First Men. Take us with you, and you will not regret it."

I stole a glance at Wylla, and she looked alarmed in spite of the circumstances. The poor girl looked terrified; I suppose she had no real knowledge of the ship nearing us, and the panic upstairs had yet to reach her fully. Saan stared at us both, as if examining our claims, before dropping the sack and laughing heartily to himself. "Her...a highborn child? And you...trying to claim the Iron Throne like that madman Stannis, heh? I should have told you, I am Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, standing on tiny little stilts in my boots and hiding behind the mask of a much more handsome soul. Arry. You must take me for some kind of fool."

"But I'm..."

Saan lashed out with his fist and struck me in the side of the head. I dropped immediately, not expecting the blow. I heard Wylla shriek, and I felt an instant pang of shame that I had gone down without a fight. He said he was not a warrior, but he sure hit like one. With my world spinning around me, I heard him pick up the sack, make his way stealthily through the window, and heard the last words Salladhor Saan would ever speak to me.

"Goodbye, my friends. Arry - tell him about your skills. He may find you useful enough to keep alive."

And with that, he was gone, and my world slowly faded to black.

oOoOoOoOo

By the time I came to, it was too late. Wylla was leaning over me, dabbing my forehead with a cloth, frowning at the blood on the wet rag. She gave a sad smile as I tried to sit up, and she put a hand on my shoulder to hold me back. "Slow down. You took quite the hit, you know."

I let out a weak groan, allowing my head to fall back down. I glanced out the window and could not see any sign of the black-sailed ship. I allowed myself to breathe easier, but only for a second. "Wylla...the ship. Did we lose them?"

I looked at her face and instantly wish that I hadn't. The frightened expression returned to her face, and she glanced out of the left corner of her eyes towards the cabin door. I followed her gaze and gasped - a man was standing there, hand close to a dagger in its sheath on his belt, his expression plain and mouth firmly closed. He was an intimidating figure - tall, broad-chested with various tattoos covering his body. His head was as bald as the days sea was calm. He wore rings of gold on each hand - enough to make Saan himself proud - yet he did not appear proud of his garments or jewels. He merely watched us, silently, shooting daggers through his dead eyes.

"What does he want?"

"I don't know," the girl trembled. "He hasn't spoken a word since he came down. He...he just stares at me. He allowed me to tend to you, but he won't let me leave the cabin."

I slowly tried to raise myself to my meet and the man tensed, his hand tightening around the hilt of his weapon. Wylla pushed me down again, her tone stronger this time. "Don't be a damn hero, Arry. Or should I say Gendry?"

She leaned in, trying to ignore our terrifying captor, and whispered in my ear. "I knew you were highborn too. But the King's bastard? Is it true?"

The girl looked so desperate, as if looking for any distraction from our perilous situation; besides, it seemed a waste to die without her knowing my true self, so I looked at her and nodded slowly. She smiled mysteriously, as if my lineage meant that we now shared some secret that those who had boarded us would never understand, even if they were about to take it all away from us. It was the smallest victory we could hope for. Just as a glimmer of hope had flickered between us, it was taken away in an instant.

"Cragorn," a stern voice shouted from the deck above. "Bring them to me."