Davos

His ship had been plagued by foul weather the entire voyage to the North. Davos had spent nearly his entire life on the Narrow Sea, and rarely had he ever seen it so violent. They were just passing the Fingers when the lookout called out that there was a damaged and dismasted ship off their starboard bow. Racing up the shrouds, as spry as any topmen, Davos scrambled to the top of the mast and clapped his best Myrish spyglass to his eye and pointed it in the direction the lookout pointed. As he looked, the ship swam into view. It was wallowing heavily in the seas and listing hard to port with seawater pouring from the scuppers after every roll. He was surprised that it had lasted this long. Sliding down a stay, Davos began bellowing orders to his crew. While his mission for his King was urgent, the law of the sea would always come first. No Captain on the Narrow Sea in his right mind would leave another vessel in distress like that. Doing so would be a sin against the Mother Above.

As his ship eased closer to the stricken vessel, a wave of dread washed over Davos. It was the ship that he had put Edric on just days ago. Gods, what had he done? He had tried to give the lad a good life by sending him away from Dragonstone, but it seems all he may have done was postpone the boy's meeting with the Stranger. Looking to the heavens, Davos begged the Mother to show mercy and to spare the boy's life.

Staring through the glass, Davos could see no movement on the slowly sinking ship beyond a few scraps of canvas blowing in the wind and some torn lines hanging down into the water. Instinctively he reached for the bag holding his knucklebones around his neck. But his hand closed only on empty air. Damn it. He'd forgotten that he had lost his bones in the Blackwater.

As he put the dismasted ship under his lee, Davos called away his boat and swiftly boarded it along with a handful of men. They were going over to the wreck to search for survivors. Gods, he prayed that Edric was still alive and well. He would never forgive himself if the lad had drowned in the sea.

Upon reaching the barely floating hulk, Davos looked at the battered hull with some trepidation. The planks were badly sprung and the entire ship seemed to groan every time its great bulk shifted in the seas. Gods, if he stood on the bench in the boat he could see straight onto the listing deck. It should have been some feet above his head. Right, best be on with this then.

Pointing to two men that he knew could be trusted and would be about their business quickly he said, "Right. Alyn, Garse you two come with me. Watch yourselves carefully on her, she's liable to go under at any minute. No stopping to loot or drink. Not unless you want it to be your last act before meeting the Stranger. Look for anyone alive, then get your arses back on this boat before she sinks on us."

With that, Davos timed the waves and leapt onto the pitching deck of the derelict Mad Prendos and scrambled along the steeply pitched deck towards the cabins at the stern. Behind him, Alyn and Garse nodded at each other and split up to search the fo'c'sle and the hold respectively. Calling out in a strong voice, Davos said, "Ahoy! Is there anyone aboard? Captain Drako? Ser Andrew? Edric? Answer me!"

Only silence answered his call. What had happened to everyone? Had the crew been swept overboard by a rouge wave? Could Ser Andrew and Edric have drowned down below when the ship started to flood? As he finally made it to the stern and the the cabins below the quarter deck, Davos wrenched one of the doors open and clawed his way into the cabin. In one corner of the cabin, he saw one of the Kinghts that had accompanied Ser Andrew. The man had been crushed under a deck beam that looked like it had collapsed into the cabin when the mizzen mast was torn out of the ship. The man's chest had been crushed by the heavy oak beam. Looking up, most of the quarter deck was gone. The ship must have been hit from astern by a large wave.

Staggering to the next cabin, this door was blocked by debris piled behind it. He could open it an inch, but no more. He could try to kick it down, but the deck had pitched even more to port in the time he had been onboard and he could not keep his balance long enough to deliver a strong enough kick. Closing his eyes, he offered a prayer that this hadn't been Edric's cabin and moved to the last one.

The door had been completely torn from it's frame on this one and as Davos peered inside, he let out a sigh of relief. For there, tied to was left of the mizzen mast to keep themselves from being swept away were Ser Andrew and Edric. Scrambling towards them, Davos knew he only had minutes to cut them free before the ship would take her final plunge beneath the waves. Shouting for Alyn and Garse, Davos reached the two men and checked to see if they were still breathing.

Gods be good, they were. It was shallow and both of them looked like they hadn't had a drink in days, but they were alive. Pulling his knife from his belt he sliced through the ropes binding Edric in place and began dragging him towards the hatch at the front of the cabin. By that time, Alyn was there and he passed Edric to him and told him to get the boy to the boat before going back for Ser Andrew. Struggling back to the Stormlander, the ship gave another lurch as the ropes holding back the cargo down below finally let go and let the cargo fall free to crash against the hull.

Crashing into the stump of the mizzen mast, Davos let out a curse as he bashed his arm into the splintered oak. Grunting as he forced himself to ignore his bruised arm, Davos reached Ser Andrew and cut him free from the ropes. The man let out a groan as he was manhandled towards the hatch. Dragging the Knight onto the deck, Davos saw Garse limp from the cargo hold. His right foot was dragging along behind him at an odd angle. Gods, he must have been caught by the falling cargo. Even injured, Garse still started to head towards him to help. Davos waved him off and shouted at him, "Get to the boat! She's going down!"

Giving up on hobbling across the slopped deck, Davos let himself and Ser Andrew slide down the canted planks till they reached the edge of the deck, only to find it already awash. He breathed a sight of relief at seeing Garse clambering into the boat. Now if only he could reach it. Luckily for him, his men knew their business and they were already rowing the boat toward him and Ser Andrew. Heaving Ser Andrew over the remains of the railing, Davos passed the unconscious man to the waiting hands of his sailors. Scrambling into the boat behind them, he exhorted his men, "Pull lads! Pull like you'd pull an Ironborn off your mother! Get us clear before she rolls over on top of us!"

His lads grinned as he urged them to put their backs into it. The boat fairly leapt across the waves as his men pulled for all they were worth to get clear of the Mad Prendos before she rolled over on top of them. With a final groan from the ship and the sound everything movable within her hull crashing into her bulkheads, the Mad Prendos finally rolled over before raising her bow toward the sky and sliding below the waves. The sea boiled and foamed over her watery grave as the air burst from the shattered hull. In minutes, there would nothing left to mark the place.

"Alright lads, you can ease up now. Lets just get back to the Oledo in one piece and we'll be on our way."

Leaving one hand on the tiller, Davos reached down and placed his free hand on Edric's shoulder and squeezed. Muttering under his breath, he told the unconscious boy, "Rest easy lad. I'm sorry I put you through this. But I promise you, I'll make it right for you. You just pull through."

With the resilience of youth, Edric woke just a day later. His lips were cracked and his voice was hoarse and little more than a whisper in volume. He told a tale that was harrowing enough to make even the most stouthearted sailor piss himself with terror. They had been only two days out of Dragonstone when a storm arose. The wind had howled and the waves had thundered as they crashed against his ship. The captain hadn't seemed to be overly worried about it. At least at first. But as the storm grew in intensity and showed no sign of breaking, the captain had started to grow concerned. Two days after the storm fell upon them, two days in which no sign of the sun had been seen and in which only the lucky ones were able to swallow a few mouthfuls of water and hard tack without immediately vomiting it back up, Edric had heard the captain shout the words no sea faring man ever wants to hear: rouge wave.

Edric hadn't quite understood the peril they were in until he was deafened by the roar of the rogue wave thundering against their frail wooden hull. In an instant, the masts had been torn away, leaving nothing but ragged stumps behind them. The entire upperworks of the Lysene galley had been shattered and everyone on deck had been swept away in an instant. The sea had roared into his cabin and it was only Ser Andrew's quick thinking and almost god like strength that had saved him from being swept into the sea.

Things had only gotten worse after that. A few men were still alive on the shattered hulk, but none of the officers had made it, leaving the crew leaderless. Ser Andrew had tried to lead the men, to get them to jury rig something so that they could at least keep the ship pointing into the waves and hopefully ride out the storm. But the sailors had broken into the ship's spirit room and got drunk on the rum and wine kept there. As the men got drunker and drunker, they lost all reason. Some swore that they saw mermaids gathering around their ship and dove into the heaving seas to get a mermaid's kiss, never to be seen again. Others grew violent over perceived insults and drew knives on each other with sadly predictable results. More than a few of the men met their ends this way. The last of them passed out deep in the bowels of the ship.

Ser Andrew had barricaded them in his cabin and equipped himself with his armor and a poleaxe in case any of the drunken men tried to rob them. But they never came. A few had drowned as the water rose in the hold. Those men had gotten so drunk, they never awoke even as the water lapped at their faces. The others had tried to build a raft to escape the ruined galley, but the storm took them as the ship rolled heavily in the waves. That had left only Ser Andrew and himself on the ship. The storm had ripped the door from its frame a few days prior and that was when Ser Andrew had bound them to the remains of the mizzen. Edric didn't know exactly how long ago that had been. But judging by their cracked lips and how parched their throats were, it must have been three days or more.

"You rest easy now Edric," Davos told the exhausted boy. "You're safe now. Once you've recovered, I'll give you a proper apology. And I owe Ser Andrew a debt I can never repay. You rest, recover your strength. You'll need it where we're going, its quite cold there."

Ser Andrew awoke two days after Edric. When he did, he largely corroborated young Edric's tale. Except to add that the lad himself had saved them when some of the drunk sailors had tried to rush their cabin and rob them. Edric had swept up his warhammer and turned into a whirling dervish, cracking skulls and driving the drunken fools back. He truly was his father's son. The lad had been somewhat ashamed that he had slaughtered men that were out of their minds with drink and didn't know what they were doing. That would explain why he hadn't mentioned it to him when he told his tale. Edric was still young and didn't yet realize that men driven mad with drink were among the most dangerous men in the whole world. He would learn in time.

Over the next week, both men were nursed back to health with plenty of weak ale, thin soup and rest. By the time the Oledo made it to White Harbor, both Edric and Ser Andrew were standing beside him on the quarter deck as he steered his ship into the North's largest city. White Harbor was just as beautiful as he remembered it. The white cliffs and the soaring towers of the New Castle always took his breath away. He had always enjoyed coming to the North. Even the air seemed fresher here. In King's Landing, you could smell the shit from ten miles away, but not here. As his eyes drifted around the harbor they settled on the hulking form of the Wolf's Den. Once it had been a major castle and the seat of House Manderly. But that was before the Manderlys had built the New Castle, now it served as a prison. Looking at it, he felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something about that slowly crumbling edifice that made his blood run cold.

As he brought the Oledo to anchor in the harbor, the harbor guard boat was already making its way towards them. Aboard it, he could see men in Manderly colors armed with the tridents preferred by House Manderly. Unlike the other times he had been to White Harbor when he was skulking about smuggling something or other into the city, this time he was going about his business openly and flying his personal sigil from his ship's masthead. He'd even taken the time to dress in respectable clothing as befitting his position as Hand of the King to Stannis Baratheon. He'd even strapped his sword on.

As the Manderly guard boat bumped against the hull and the guards on board clambered up to the deck, an old man missing an eye and a leg slowly and carefully made his way up the side. Stumping up to him, the old man said, "Be welcome to White Harbor ser. My name is Ser Bartimus, I'm the castellan and chief gaoler of the Wolf's Den. May I inquire as to your name and purpose in White Harbor?"

"My name is Ser Davos Seaworth, Lord of the Rainwood and Hand of the King to Stannis Baratheon. I've been tasked to deliver a message to Jon Stark, the King in the North. The King is willing to offer his hand in friendship to the North and provide his army to fight the war that is coming. On the condition that the King in the North bends the knee and swears fealty to him."

"Thank you, Ser Davos. If you will accompany me to the New Castle, I will bring you before Lord Manderly."

As Ser Bartimus turned away, he caught sight of Edric from his one good eye and sucked his breath in. Pointing at Edric he said, "You there! Who is your father boy?"

"He's no one," Davos quickly answered. "Just the ship's boy."

For a man with only leg and one eye, Ser Bartimus could still send chills down your back when he glared at you. Davos felt them now. Dropping a hand to his sword, Bartimus told him, "I wasn't asking you, Ser. I fought at the Trident. I know what King Robert looked like as a young man. Did you really think I couldn't recognize one of his get?"

Turning back to Edric he asked again, "Well boy? Who are you? Tell me true and no lies."

Drawing himself up straight, Edric said, "My name is Edric Storm. The natural born son of His Grace, King Robert Baratheon and Lady Delena Florent."

"I thought so. And you ser? Who are you?"

This last was asked of Ser Andrew who had moved in front of Edric protectively.

"I am Ser Andrew Estermont. I'm the boy's cousin and guardian. And if you have designs on causing harm to the lad know this, you'll have to fight your way through me first. And I do not die easily, Ser."

A small smile quirked at the corners of Ser Bartimus's mouth. "Relax, all of you. I'll not harm the boy. Lord Stark and King Robert were as close as brothers. No one in the North will harm a hair on his head. All three of you, come with me. Lord Manderly will be wanting a word with you."