They had finishing putting up the curtains, Davos, Marya and their boys, and now it was the banner's turn, the banner with the sigil of newly-born House Seaworth. Davos had suggested waiting for their newly-engaged servants before they began arranging, preparing and decorating the keep for occupancy, but Marya had demurred, saying, "There are still things we could do ourselves." She yearned for some time alone with only her husband and her sons, in this new home, in this new life they were embarking on.

The need for servants was something Marya had not been convinced of, in the beginning. Would it not be an unnecessary expense? How big could it be, this new home of theirs described by Lord Stannis as 'a small keep on a modest piece of land'? Surely she could manage on her own, with the boys' help, as she had done for years in their old home. But of course 'small' was a relative term, Marya realized, when she finally set eyes on their new home. What was considered 'small' and 'modest' by a man brought up in a large castle was anything but to Marya, Davos and their four sons. The entirety of their old home could fit into the kitchen of this keep with some room left to spare. It would not be as easy for her to manage on her own here as it had been in their old home.

And then there was also the question of duty, as Davos had put it. It would be expected, expected of a landed knight granted a keep and a piece of land of his own to engage some number of servants, to provide work for people in the surrounding area. "We would be neglectful of our duty otherwise," Davos insisted, and for a moment Marya had wondered whose words her husband was echoing. She did not disagree with the notion, though the thought of servants calling her 'm'lady' gave her mixed feelings instead of the uncomplicated joy it gave her husband.

"We can each have our own room," her second son Allard declared to his brothers, excitedly. One look at the face of her youngest, Matthos, told Marya that the boy was not as enthused about this as his older brothers. They had slept four in a room, all her sons, in their old home, with Maric and Matthos in the middle guarded by their older brothers Dale and Allard on either side.

Dale stooped to ruffle Matthos' hair. "You can sleep with me, little brother. After all," he smiled, glancing at his father and mother, "we should spare some rooms for other little Seaworths to come."

Davos laughed. Marya tried to hide her smile, unsuccessfully, as her husband's glove-less hand first grazed her arm, and then stayed longer to caress it.

He had been keeping his other hand, the one with the missing fingers, tucked inside a glove constantly since his return from Storm's End, so as not to frighten or alarm little Maric and little Matthos, he said, though Marya thought it would be best for all their sons to see, to know all, to understand how this new life of theirs came to be. Those chopped fingers, the bones of which Davos kept in a pouched stitched by Marya herself, were as much a part of this new life as this keep they would be calling their new home.

"When they are older," Davos had promised. "I will show them all, tell them all." Dale and Allard already knew, of course, being old enough and bold enough to crowd their father with endless questions.

Davos whispered, voice low so their sons could not hear him, "Is our new home to your liking, Marya? I promised you a good life, when you left your father's home to wed me, when you chose me despite your father's strenuous objection. My only regret is that it has taken me this long to keep my promise."

Marya grasped her husband's gloved hand, and with tears in her eyes said, "You silly, silly man. We have had a good life all along, these many years. This is merely another step in our journey, our journey together."

It will end in tears, her father had warned. A boy from Flea Bottom, an orphan from the slums. A smuggler to boot, a law-breaker. He'll drown at sea, or get his head chopped off by some lord or other, and then where will you be, Marya?

In the eyes of a highborn lord and lady, a carpenter's daughter was hardly too high match for the likes of Davos. But to Marya's father, Davos' "presumption", as he called it, was as bad as that of the son of a carpenter dreaming to wed a princess. He had a craft and a trade, a lawful craft and trade, one that had kept all his children from ever going to bed hungry. The likes of Davos of Flea Bottom was not what he was looking for as a husband to his only daughter.

He is a knight, Father, a landed knight, that young man you insulted and thrown out of your house like he was a stray dog.

Oh but what did it matter, telling her father this, Marya thought. Her father had been dead for many years, and she had forgiven him even before that, though the sentiment was never reciprocated. And now that she was a mother, she understood better her father's fear for her future, though not his method of dealing with that fear. And this man, this man whose arms were encircling her waist, the waist now almost twice the size it had been when they first met; she had first loved him when he was a deckhand, long before he had his own ship, his own keep, his own land, and she would continue to love him even if he lost it all, the ship, the keep, the land.

The boys unrolled the banner, the banner with the black ship and onion sigil, the sigil of House Seaworth. Marya had sewn and embroidered the banner herself, following the design drawn on the parchment Davos had brought back from Storm's End. Lord Stannis' maester had drawn the sigil, Davos said, though Davos had chosen the figure of the ship and onion himself.

His eyes lit up looking at the banner. "Seaworth," he said, voice full of wonder. The fingers of his ungloved hand started tracing the onion, before it moved to the black ship. "You have made it so beautiful, Marya."

"The onion was quite a task to embroider. Perhaps if you had chosen salt fish instead," Marya teased.

Davos laughed. Salt fish was the other thing he had smuggled past the Redwyne fleet to Storm's End,to feed the starving men, women and children there. "Salt Fish Knight hardly has the ring of Onion Knight," he said.

As their sons were busy putting up the banner, Davos asked, a frown finally marring his face for the first time since they arrived at the keep, "WIll they be ashamed of it, one day? Will our sons be ashamed of the onion on our sigil, the reminder of how House Seaworth came to be? I thought to put the onion there as a sign that we are not ashamed of where we came from and we are grateful of how far we have come, but perhaps the boys will not feel the same?"

"They will feel the same," Marya reassured him, "as long as we keep reminding them never to forget."

Davos kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that reminded her of their very first kiss. "And when other little Seaworths are born to us," her husband whispered, "we will make sure that they also remember the onion."