Everywhere Davos looked and turned, he saw yellow flames. Though he stood and commanded the first of Lord Baratheon's warships, he was not aware of the order to fire until he saw a shower of flaming arrows fly from Lord Baratheon's warship straight at the garrison of Dragonstone. Once the initial wave of flaming arrows hit the target, they were shadowed by a dozen more.
Davos immediately manoeuvred the galley away from the volley of arrows the best he could. "Prepare to fight!" he shouted at the soldiers as the warship slowly neared the docks. He ducked as a flaming arrow flew over his head and landed a short distance away in the water.
"What about you my lord?" a soldier yelled over the noise.
"I'll remain on the ship." Davos smiled grimly. Born a child of Flea Bottom, he learnt how to fist fight very quickly; when it came to sword fighting, even a little lordling of ten could probably beat him.
The soldier frowned. "The ship can be set on fire by arrows, my lord! There's a strong chance you'll die!"
A lump formed in Davos's throat. The smuggler side of him was undaunted at the chance of sailing close to death; the father and husband in him greatly feared death. When was the last time I saw Marya and the boys? A month? Two? Possibly more than two? Davos saw his four elder sons more frequently as they were part of Lord Baratheon's service. Marya rarely left the Rainwood. "My place is at home in the Rainwood, not at court," she had said often whenever Davos invited her to court for royal celebrations. As Lady of the Rainwood, it was Marya's right to be a lady of the court. Marya simply refused.
"My lord?" Anxiety wavered in the young soldier's voice.
Davos looked at him. The soldier was pale and had a mop of dark brown hair. He looked strong though, strong and healthy. "What's your name, lad?"
"Arthor, my lord. I was named after the Sword in the Morning. I'm a squire to my uncle, Ser Jonos Musgood," he added.
"You know who I am, Arthor?"
Arthor hesitated. "The Lord of the Rainwood, my lord. And the Onion Knight."
"Aye. I was called the Onion Knight first before named Lord of the Rainwood. When I was a smuggler, I risked death every day. When I smuggled onions and a bit of salted fish to Storm's End, it was me against the Redwyne fleet. Death was a friend that day – decided I was to live." He nodded slightly as Arthor listened. "It might be the same case today."
"Are you afraid of death, my lord?"
Davos chuckled. "Who isn't lad? The Stranger will take all of us one day. It's up to you if you want to be taken a craven or a fighter."
"Lord Baratheon will want you alive my lord." Arthor drew out his sword and tightened his grip on his sword. "I'll stay with you."
Davos looked at the young man. That determined expression reminded him of Devan, chiefly when Devan was with Lady Shireen. "You remind me of one of my sons," he said gruffly. "You parents must be proud of you. Is he here?"
"My name is Arthor Storm my lord," Arthor said clearly. "My mother died of a fever when I was a babe of a few months; my father Lord Musgood – an admirer of the Sword in the Morning – died when I was eight. His lady wife had no desire to keep me around the castle so my uncle took me on as his page. I have been Ser Jonos's squire for seven years."
"You'll be knighted soon enough," Davos promised. He turned and shouted at the other sailors close by, "Ready the planks!" Two planks were slid out instantly and the eager knights and soldiers rushed towards them. Davos slowed the ship and remembering Lord Baratheon's orders, yelled, "Attack!"
Like a stampede of wild horses, the men descended on the planks, their spears and swords drawn. It wasn't long before the song of clashing steel and angry war cries and shouts reached Davos's ears. By the Seven…have I sentenced all of these men to their deaths? As a smuggler, Davos had his fair share of battling on a damp deck of a ship, but he'd never captained a ship into war. Smugglers cared not for sounding warhorns and sending others to fight battles for them; when they smell danger, they raise sail and run before the wind.
From his position on the deck, Davos watched the other war galleys near him, soldiers leaping into the water, others thundering down the planks and onto the docks. Lord Baratheon had no delight in battle, but like any loyal war general, he would not hesitate to fight alongside his men. Stay on your warship milord. Shout your orders from the deck – you're in no condition to fight on land. Thank the Gods for the maester at Haystack Hall providing bandages, linen and vials of medicines and other potions. Hopefully Lord Baratheon would take the time to take care of his wounds and pains. Knowing Lord Baratheon, he'd ignore the soreness.
"My lord! Look!" Arthor's sudden cry drew Davos's gaze away from the battle to a small rowboat quietly being rowed in the shadows away from Dragonstone. Squinting at the insignificant rowboat, Davos identified four hooded people and a fifth who was rowing – a staunch servant? Another smuggler?
Davos was torn. Should he follow the rowboat or stay and watch the battle?
The individuals on the rowboat were probably important…
It was too late to inform Lord Baratheon of the developments. Davos glanced around the deck. There were still enough soldiers to seize five people. "Pull back the planks!" Davos yelled. "Pull them back now!" The sailors obeyed, puzzlement written on their faces. Once the planks were pulled back, water dripping on their edges, Davos steered the ship away from the rest of Lord Baratheon's borrowed fleet. With the capricious wind as an ally, Davos directed the war galley closer to the small rowboat.
Under Davos's control, the ship collided into the rowboat. There was a scream from one of the rowboat's passengers. "Capture them!" Davos commanded. A few lightly-armoured soldiers dove into the water and swam towards the five people aboard the now sinking boat. The five people offered little resistance.
"Tyrells milord!" One of the men shouted at Davos as he staggered back on the war galley, pulling one of the prisoners with him. "I recognise one of 'em as Lady Margaery and another one as the Knight of Flowers!"
"Lord Seaworth," said a hooded lady weakly. She managed a small smile. "You permit me to retire somewhere quiet if I am to be your prisoner?"
Davos eyed her from her brown eyes down to her swollen stomach.
Lady Margaery Tyrell was pregnant.
By the time Davos steered the warship back to the rest of the fleet, the battle on Dragonstone's border was over. The war galleys were tied down to the docks and men were running around with buckets of water, putting out the still hungry flames. Lord Baratheon stood on the docks, barking orders and inspecting some of the burnt or bloodied bodies placed on the ground in front of him. Clustered in a huddle and surrounded by knights were a number of sellswords and knights in Tyrell colours. Prisoners. Dragonstone was in Baratheon hands again. Davos and Arthor left the warship, the captured Tyrells and their men behind them. One or two soldiers were placed in charge of each Tyrell.
"Lord Seaworth," grunted Lord Baratheon, spotting him like a hawk. "Explain your actions! I don't recall commanding you to take the ship away from the battle after arriving on the scene."
"Milord, I have prisoners," said Davos hurriedly. "Arthor Storm here noticed a boat being rowed away from Dragonstone and I thought it best to chase after it. I thought there's important people on board. The men and I've captured Ser Loras Tyrell and his sister Lady Margaery for you milord." He quickly stepped aside for Lord Baratheon to see the prisoners.
Lord Baratheon's expression did not change.
"Lady Margaery," Lord Baratheon said finally, his tone blunt. "It's a shame that you are here the wife of a Targaryen pretender. Last time we met, you were Lady Margaery Baratheon, Lady of Dragonstone and my good-sister. Was marriage to the king's brother not enough for you and your power hungry family? If you had had any children with Renly – though highly unlikely – then they'd be part of our royal family and be cousins to the future kings. Isn't that enough for you? Instead your father and grandmother decide to wed you to an Essosi pretender who may as well be the son of a tanner or mummer to our knowledge.
"If that wasn't all, my niece the Princess Lyanna is your brother's wife. Surely House Tyrell is satisfied with two Baratheon marriages!" With a disgusted look at Lady Margaery, Lord Baratheon turned away and looked at Davos. "You done our true king a favour. The king will be pleased. I place you in charge of Ser Loras and Lady Margaery Tyrell. Take them to the castle and put them both in the dungeon – separate cells."
"You cannot put us in cells!" said the Knight of the Flowers angrily, brushing a wet curl of brown hair away from his furious brown eyes. "I'm a knight and Lady Margaery is your queen and a pregnant woman! You cannot imprison a pregnant lady of noble blood in a bloody dungeon!"
Davos glanced at Lord Baratheon's face. Lord Baratheon's cold blue eyes gave a tiny twitch. He's in an unmerciful mood, Davos realised. He already hates House Tyrell and with marriages to two Baratheons, they still betray us for an Essosi man claiming to be Aegon Targaryen…all for Lady Margaery to be queen. Davos took a tentative step forward. "Milord," he said cautiously. "Send Ser Loras to the cells if you must, but Lady Margaery is with child. You can't imprison a pregnant woman in the cells. She might succumb to illness and what use will she be to you then? A healthy hostage is a useful hostage."
With a slow nod, Lord Baratheon said, "Ensure she's heavily guarded by men I know we can trust. I don't want them to be bribed."
"Aye milord." Davos dipped his head and looked at the Tyrells. Ser Loras lost a little of his stormy expression; Lady Margaery seemed relieved.
"Thank you good ser!" the Tyrell lady said breathlessly once Davos led her and Ser Loras towards Dragonstone Castle and away from the other captives. "You're a true knight! If it wasn't for you, I'd probably die of a chill, my babe with me. You have saved us both from death."
Don't be thankful yet. Lord Baratheon would not kill one for the sake of killing, but if the false dragon refused to surrender, hostages like you may be hurt or die. Chances that Lady Margaery would be executed were slim though.
Inside the castle, Lord Baratheon's men ran around, attempting to bring order and establish a new garrison as well as flush out more people loyal – or allegedly loyal – to the false dragon and the Tyrells. With Maester Gormon Tyrell quivering in fear in one of the cells, there was no maester to send the ravens; Lord Stannis said he would send the ravens himself.
"Lord Seaworth!" Lord Justin Massey strode up to Davos, sweat pouring down his forehead and pink cheeks. He pulled off his helm, revealing a tangled mop of white blond hair pale as flax. "Some men have reported sightings of ships coming our way," he stated. "Their flags are too small to identify of yet."
Davos frowned. "Do they come from the east or south?"
"The north actually."
The north? The closest prosperous northern port was from Gulltown. If ships were coming from the north, then…
Davos's heart jumped with a small spark of hope. "The Valemen are coming," he said without a trace of doubt. "The warships – they're from the Vale I wager. I believe they're on the way to King's Landing via the sea route. Milord Massey, is Lord Baratheon aware of this development? He hasn't set foot in the castle yet to my knowledge. He's still on the docks, assessing the hostages and the dead." With a broad smile, Lord Massey nodded. "I'll go at once," he promised.
"King Aegon has the biggest fleet!" spat Ser Loras. "The Vale hardly has a fleet! Only a couple of galleys!"
From what Davos heard, the Knight of Flowers was charming and gallant – the man in front of him was neither charming nor gallant. More short-tempered and furious in fact.
"The king is Orys Baratheon," said Davos firmly. "This Aegon is a pretender – a false Targaryen from Essos." He gestured for six guards to step forward. "Please put Ser Loras in the cells and ensure he's securely guarded. The Lady Margaery is to be placed in a guest chamber under heavy guard. No one is to speak to her – is that understood?"
The guards nodded and efficiently separated the Tyrell siblings. Three led Ser Loras towards the cells and the other three escorted Lady Margaery to a corridor of guest chambers. Satisfied with two of Lord Baratheon's most valuable captives in the care of the six staunchly loyal guards, Davos hurried out of the castle. As he strode out of the Stone Drum, he caught sight of Arthor Storm joining the dozen and a half soldiers appointed guards of the new Baratheon garrison. He'll do well, Davos contemplated, spotting Lord Baratheon walking up to him, Lord Massey at his side, his lips moving speedily in fast chatter. He's reliable and useful – just the type of man Lord Baratheon likes to have in his service. Considering the twitching scowl on Lord Baratheon's tight expression, Lord Massey's chatter did not please him in the slightest.
"Are there enough guest chambers?" Lord Baratheon asked Davos abruptly. "I heard from Lord Massey here that a fleet of Valemen are on their way and will be here very shortly, perhaps by the early morning."
"There should be enough milord," replied Davos. "If not, a few of the highborn prisoners can be moved to comfortable cells."
Lord Baratheon snorted. "The dungeons are never comfortable. Lords Massey and Hasty will look out for the Vale fleet. You and I'll handle the prisoners – not the Tyrells though," he added, his expression darkening. "I want them to languish in isolation. Once the king is restored to his rightful place, I'll advise for no mercy to House Tyrell. They have caused enough strife and chaos in Westeros." Leaving Lord Massey on watch duty, Davos accompanied Lord Baratheon to the huddle of captives. More captured men were pushed, led or dragged towards the crowd by the minute. Many of them were disgruntled sellswords or Tyrell men, their silken green cloaks now ripped, burnt or soiled with mud and blood.
Astonishingly, none of the Tyrell soldiers looked furious or rebellious. They all looked…tired.
"How many of you yielded without a fight?" inquired Lord Baratheon sharply, his dark blue eyes sweeping the mass of captives like a hawk. "Step forward now if you surrendered to my men without a fight."
Silently, about a quarter of the prisoners shuffled forward.
"You're all traitors." Lord Baratheon's voice cut through the air like a dirk. "It's your duty to fight for your liege lord and his noble House. You all swore to follow House Tyrell and to fight for House Tyrell till your deaths. Those of you who have stepped forward, have failed in your duty. You deserve to be executed." He gave a stern glare to the cowering Tyrell soldiers. "However," he went on. "Dragonstone has seen enough deaths. If you swear by the Seven and your families' honour and lives that you broke your oaths due to allegiance to the true king Orys Baratheon, the First of His Name, I will for once, be merciful."
Grinding his teeth, Lord Baratheon continued, "If you wish to fight in battle, it will be for King Orys. You will shed your Tyrell cloaks and instead wear badges of House Baratheon. If you refuse to fight for the true king, you'll be sent to take the black. If you attempt to return, you will be executed."
"How do we know you'll keep your word?" called a soldier suspiciously. "What if this is a trap of sorts, eh?"
Davos stepped forward. He pulled off his left glove and showed the prisoners his joint-less fingers. "You know me as the Onion Knight," he said loudly. "I was a smuggler for most of my life. You know what I did during King Robert's War. For what I did, Lord Baratheon knighted me. As I was a smuggler, for my past crimes, Lord Baratheon ordered the removal of the first joints of each finger of my hand. I agreed – on the condition Lord Baratheon removed the joints himself, and that he did. Lord Baratheon is a man of his word. He never shirked from duty and will always keep his promises and oaths." Did I go too far? Lord Baratheon was not a lover of flattery, no matter how truthful the praise. "You are very fortunate Lord Baratheon is merciful today," Davos finished. "Very…fortunate."
It did not take long to convince the men to swear new oaths of allegiance, this time to Lord Baratheon who stood in place for the absent King Orys. By the time Lords Massey and Hasty announced the arrival of the Vale fleet, Lord Baratheon had gained a mass of soldiers to fight for King Orys's cause. From all the captives, only the most defiant of Essosi sellswords refused to swear fealty. Naming them as foreign invaders, Lord Baratheon sentenced them to death.
Satisfied with the fate of the prisoners, Lord Baratheon gave Davos the tiniest of smiles. "It was good of you to talk to them," he said quietly.
"Only doing my duty milord," responded Davos.
Lord Baratheon unexpectedly frowned, his eyes fixed on the army of Valemen advancing towards them. "Why is my son here?"
Davos whipped his head around.
Flanked on either side by a Royce knight and a Corbray was Lord Baratheon's heir, Steffon. Donning plain armour and a helm adorned with a black plume, the Baratheon heir held a golden shield emblazoned with a black stag with one hand and a gleaming sword with the other.
Behind Steffon Baratheon marched Allard and Matthos, the Seaworth sigil of a black ship with a white onion on its sails beaming proudly on their grey surcoats. Unease crawled through Davos's stomach like a worm. Allard and Matthos were not trained to be fighters; sailors and crewmen aye, but not soldiers. They should be on warships, not on land with swords in their hands.
"Lord Baratheon," said the Royce knight, taking off his helm. He had slate grey eyes and dark brown hair. Etched on his shiny helm and steel armour were little bronze runes. "Good to see you again. To my knowledge, Dragonstone was under Targaryen control hence our hurry here."
"Ser Andar Royce," Lord Baratheon acknowledged. "Good of you to come. Your journey was uneventful I hope?"
Ser Andar nodded. "Gathering ships and soldiers took a little time, but we are here on the orders of King Orys."
"Where's Lord Royce, Ser Andar?" Lord Baratheon squinted at the Valemen. "I cannot see Lord Redfort either." It was indeed odd that two of the most powerful Vale lords were absent. A pity, as both lords were formidable soldiers and clever tacticians. Davos stared at the Valemen again. There were plenty of men wearing the sigils of Houses Royce and Redfort, but the Lord of Runestone and Lord of the Redfort were not at their side.
The Royce knight tilted his head in astonishment. "You do not know, my lord? My lord father is fighting with the king."
Lord Baratheon frowned. "Forgive me Ser Andar, but after I was smuggled out of King's Landing to the Stormlands, I received word that Dragonstone was taken by sellswords and men loyal to the Tyrells and the false dragon. Once there were enough men, I sent Ser Stanwell Errol and a host of men to harass Reachmen and capture close castles and Ser Narbert and Lord Fell to recapture the kingswood." The Valemen nodded and murmured softly to each other.
"If Ser Narbert and Lord Fell are successful, then King's Landing is surrounded by the true king's forces," stated Ser Andar thoughtfully. "We should send a raven to the king as soon as possible. Should we strengthen the defences? The Usurper might send a wave of sellswords at us."
"That will not happen."
"Oh?"
"Lord Seaworth captured Ser Loras Tyrell and his sister Lady Margaery in the battle." Davos felt over a dozen pairs of eyes turn and stare at him. "The Usurper is in no position to recapture Dragonstone."
"The Seven have blessed us," breathed Ser Andar. He looked at Davos. "You're the Onion Knight. Your sons have told us you can guide us to a naval victory – it'd seemed you guided Lord Baratheon to one already. Tell me, Lord Seaworth if you were a commander, what will you do to lead us to victory at King's Landing?"
"I can't-" began Davos uncomfortably.
"Speak your mind, Lord Seaworth," interjected Lord Baratheon. "You're a man of truth. Tell us your plan. I know you've already thought of one. If it's sound and the other lords here agree, we will use it."
With the other lords and knights nodding, Davos took a deep breath. He had in truth, concocted the seeds of a scheme. It must work. If it fails and King's Landing is lost, I will never be trusted again; neither will House Seaworth.
So Dragonstone is back in Baratheon hands! I reckon it's not that much of a surprise that Margaery is pregnant - she is part of families that are very fertile. Fejstroll, I'm actually really enjoying writing this story at the moment - really reminds me of the early days when I wrote the first 100ish chapters :)
The next chapter is ready to go - if I have time, I'll upload it in the middle of the week :D
