6 Months before the death of Jon Arryn
Dagar
Dagar Redsteel inhaled the beautiful smell of salt and moisture that was the open sea. He had always thought the smell of the sea to be the purest smell in the world, and one of the most beautiful things to behold. There were only three things better than captaining a ship on the open sea, four that were more beautiful: the surprise on a merchant captain's face, when his men lowered the stag banner of House Baratheon and raised his standard, the bloody axe; a bare and beautiful woman in his bed; the gore that spilled over his hands when he killed a man; and the weight of golden coins sliding through his fingertips.
Unfortunately, this excursion had contained precious few of the things Dagar loved. He had been duped into this ill-fated expedition under Sigfryd Harlaw, the great-grandson of the more famous Sigfryd Harlaw, called Silverhair. The man had convinced Dagar there was a mountain of treasure on the land across the Sunset Sea, easily taken by any man brave enough to sail across.
So they had set off with enough provisions to last for seven fortnights. But when they had reached the half-way point of their provisions, Harlaw had continued, instead of turning his ship around and sailing back to the islands. A week later, Dagar killed him and two others before tuning the ship around. That had been last week.
Dagar could still see the bloodstains on the deck and remembered his work fondly. He savored the memory of Sigfryd cowering under his axe, his flesh giving way beneath Dagar's blade. Dagar dreamed of the way Sigfryd had screamed when the axe entered his belly. He ran his tongue over his lips and tasted satisfaction with his work.
Dagar still was not unconvinced that there was land and gold and women across the sea for the taking. For all he knew, they might have spotted land the next day. But Dagar was not interested in betting his life on the chance gold, no matter how likely it seemed.
Dagar was pulled from his pleasant memories by the approach of his second, Dagmar Redsteel. The similarities between their names fascinated Dagar, even more so because the two were of no relation. But Dagmar had been born with the name Redsteel, Dagar had earned it with his bloody exploits.
"Still no mutinous rumblings" Dagmar said. "A week removed from the change of power, no hint of rebellion at this point means you're in the clear, assuming you don't blow it."
Dagar nodded. He had not thought there would be any mutiny from the sailors. He had paid the iron price for his command.
"Have you planned for your return, m'lord" Dagmar asked him. "The Harlaw's won't take kindly to this, even if the lad was fool who got what was coming to him."
"Don't call me m'lord, Dagmar. I got where I am by the strength in my arms and the blade of my axe, not by the accident of birth. As for when we get back, I think I'll be organizing an expedition. Somewhere the longships of the Ironborn have never gone before."
A light shone in Dagmar's eyes. He liked to be the first to do a thing, which partially explained his taste in women.
"Where will we go?"
"Don't worry about that yet. First we have to get home without starving to death or dying of dehydration."
There were only three ways of dying worse than starvation, four that Dagmar feared. He did not want to be flayed, burned, crucified, or die of old age. A man should die quickly, with an axe in his hand, fighting for glory. He should not be tortured, nor should he be made to fight a foe he can't kill.
"Shouldn't be too difficult to make the provisions last" Dagar heard Dagmar say, and his mind was drawn back as he suppressed a shudder. Dagar didn't even lack to think about those unfortunate ways to die.
"When we are down to ten days of rations left, we'll cut to half rations" Dagmar continued, oblivious to Dagar's lack of interest.
"Dagmar" Dagar interrupted, taken by sudden fancy. Nothing made Dagar think about life than thoughts of his own inevitable demise. "What is it you want more than anything else? If I were the Drowned God, and were offering you anything in the whole world, what you ask me for?"
Dagmar stopped to think about the question, though he didn't look to be pondering the question too deeply.
"I woman with silver hair, I think. If you were the Drowned God and offered me any one thing, I think I would ask for a woman with silver hair."
"Interesting" Dagar responded. "Do you have a particular woman in mind? I've never seen a woman with silver hair."
"I haven't either. But wouldn't it be great to have a woman with silver hair?"
"Depends on what the rest of her looks like" Dagar said.
Both men laughed.
"What about you?" Dagmar asked when he regained his breath. "If I were the Drowned God and were offering you whatever your heart desired, what would you ask for?"
"I would ask for one thousand dragons a day, every day, for the rest of my life."
"Not very original" Dagmar observed.
"With all that gold, I could have whatever I wanted. I could buy anything I wanted. I could be a king, for what king could resist the gold I could offer. I would buy the best food, the best wine, the best women, perhaps even one with silver hair. But I would also ask that my gift pass itself on to the man who kills me, so I would have no shortage of fights. After all, life would be quite boring without someone to kill every now and again."
"If I had a mug, I would propose a toast" Dagmar said. "To more gold than the Lannisters and a woman with silver hair."
"To a woman with silver hair and more gold than the Lannisters."