Davos I

"Father," Davos could hear the warble in the back of Mathos's voice, a mix of wonder and the early morning grogginess, "How did they?" Davos didn't need to look back to know what his eldest son was staring at, as his own eyes were affixed to the towering behemoth above their head, even through the fresh dawn fog cloaking the thing, "How did men build such a thing?" and to that Davos could only nod, as that had been the question he had asked when he had first sailed beneath the archway.

That archway was the granite legs of the Titan of Braavos. From what Davos had heard during the many times he'd found himself trading pidgin among the Raman's Harbor, the archway had been there when the first escaping slaves had found the lagoon of Braavos. Over the centuries, as wealth began to flow into the city, they had proceeded to build upon the archway, eventually erecting the titan's torso, head and arms, including the broken sword hilt that the titan thrust into the sky.

"Wasteful," Davos almost allowed himself to snort, as he turned to hear the stern voice of his liege lord cut through the awe that had come over the crew of Steffon's Call. Davos could see that Stannis Baratheon had already returned his eyes to the lagoon they were about to pass into, his eyes sharp enough to form a knife through the morning mist, "The helm alone would pay for the royal fleet to have a hundred more galleys for a century."

"Yes," Davos said.

The words seemed to snap the rest of the company from their trance. These were younger men, not the sort that Davos himself had sailed with all those years ago, when he'd had the tips of five more fingers but no title or land to his own. Matthos might have been born in Fleabottom, but he'd taken to the life of a knight's son with eye rolling speed. Polden and Petyr on the carrack's starboard side rigging were the fourth and fifth son of Lord Mertyns, though which of them was fourth and which was fifth had been a near constant argument between the twins. Nick Storm was the bastard of…well, Davos couldn't remember, it was either a Fell or a Grandison, and Nick didn't seem to want to dwell on that. Jonos Storm did dwell on that, though that was likely due to him being the only living male to have come from the last surviving Lord Cafferen.

'Rivalry with his sister at least means he does the work,' Davos considered, watching as the bastard wrapped one of the ropes around the mizzenmast, 'Though, if he keeps this up, he might make himself worth far too much as a sailor to be given Fawnton.'

And yet, as he looked over at his Lord, he couldn't hide the lift on the edges of his mouth. Despite the many sons and nephews and bastards of lords on the Call, Stannis Baratheon only had one figure running behind him at all times. A small boy with short brown hair, and the familiar cleft in his chin of his mother. The boy remained behind the tall lord, who did not need to look back from his place at the bow.

"Devan," the Lord of Storm's End continued, eyes remaining focused on the city coming into view, "You have the seal of the Lord Hand?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the boy snapped, before pulling from a leather folio on his side a piece of parchment with a large red mark of wax on it, "The seal of the Hand of the King and the other message we must show," at that, Davos's Lord gave a short nod. He then held out his left hand backward, and before it was fully outstretched, the parchment was within his grasp. The boy let go, and Stannis took it in his hand and brought it beneath his gaze once again.

'How many times has he read the damn thing,' Davos considered. He himself could not make hide nor hair of any writing, so he did not know the details of the instructions, 'Yet considering the orders, and what Stannis has told me…'

"I shall keep this from here on," Baratheon said firmly, before pulling open his cloak, and slipping the parchment inside, "Devan," the boy almost began to stand on the tips of his toes, "Ensure my sword is ready for when we disembark.'

"Yes your grace," and then Davos's fifth son sprinted down from the bow towards the door that led to Stannis's quarters. Davos could only shake his head at the speed the boy could put out as he seemed to leave a wind as he passed the other men. Once the door was closed behind said boy, Davos allowed himself to walk up to his liege, and stand beside the man.

"So this is Braavos," it was not a question.

"Yes," Davos nodded, and he watched as Stannis began to rub his fingers together. Lysa Baratheon had noticed her husband's teeth grinding habit, and attempted to relieve it by giving him a new one. Stannis, as was common when confronted with his wife, would listen to her, though now, watching the callous along Stannis's finger and thumb, he worried she may lead her husband to a similar fate to Davos himself. To distract the Lord of Storm's End, he pointed to the left, at rock jutting from the lagoon, with a half dozen stone towers jutting up from it, "That is the Arsenal," Stannis's eyes drifted over to the fortress that was coming closer and closer.

"Where they can build a ship in a day," Stannis said, repeating the legend of the Arsenal. Davos's eyes joined his Lord's, and before long they both could see the docks and the pulleys and the cranes that showed that several ships were currently under construction. Around them were many other completed ships, all with massive oars at the ready. Davos could count at least twenty war galleys sitting in dock, ready to defend the city should any attack come. Stannis then said, "It seems that the arrogance was not misplaced," before he took in a massive breath through his nostrils, and added, "Though one would think it would be enough for the Sealord to not have to stoop so low."

"Aye," Davos said, all the while rubbing his thumb along where the tips of his fingers had once been, "Aye, one would think that."
Stannis would remain silent even when Devan returned with his sword. WIth a wave of his palm, Stannis motioned that his namesake was to carry the sword beside him. Instead, his attention was on the next island just south of the Arsenal, between the fortress and the ever growing city coming into view.

This small island was not the mass of stone battlements that the Arsenal was. Rather, it was a place of fifty or so small docks, all leading into a set of long warehouses and a square, squat building in the center that Davos supposed was the custom house. He'd never been forced to come to the Chequy Port, smugglers never really had anything to declare, but he'd known this was coming. They were here on the business of the king, and the Chequy Port was where all business between Braavos and the world began.

As they approached the chequy port, two war galley's each with over fifty oars cutting through the cool water, came up on the starboard and port side. Braavosi Marines aimed up crossbows along the deck of the Call, causing their men to flinch at the sight.

'They would not act in such a way for the Fury,' Davos thought, yet he remained quiet all the while Stannis simply looked over the two galley's surrounding his carrack. For the next few minutes, the Call was escorted to a dock quite near the customs house, before slowly peeling off when their ship came up to the dock itself. Several of the men tossed ropes down to the dock, and quickly the ship was secured to this place.

"Let's go," Stannis declared, walking over to the side of the ship, where a gangplank had been placed for dispersal. He looked over at Matthos, who was standing as straight as steel while Stannis, Davos and Devan began their descent to the Chequy Customs house, "Keep the men aboard, we will need to be off as soon as we can so we might reach the Sealord as swiftly as possible."

"Your Grace," Mathos bowed his head. When Mathos looked back up, Davos nodded his head at his eldest, who nodded in return. He could not help but be proud of his son, who had shown seamanship and wisdom in the journey from Storm's End here. Certainly impressive considering this was his first time captaining a carrack rather than Wraith. A few more runs such as this, and there might be even higher positions to open for him.

'Will be good that he need not pay a high price to advance,' Davos stretched his left hand reflexively. He then turned to his front, to see his much younger son marching as formally as a boy not yet ten could while following their lord, 'Good for all of them to have such chances,' he allowed himself to chuckle as his feet hit the wooden pier, 'A captain and a squire. More than one would expect for a smuggler of onions.'


"Get the sails up!" Davos's shoulders shook at Stannis Baratheon's shout. The sun's rays were beating down from nearly directly above, though Davos guessed that the sun was already four or so hours into its dip towards their home back west. The sailors on board the Call were rushing about within the first sound of Stannis's voice. They had remained at their posts despite the heat, something that Davos would offer praise for, "any man that lingers before we disembark shall be locked in the hold for three days," once Stannis himself was out of earshot.

Luckily, none of the men did lollygag in the slightest, and Stannis then further gave them favor by walking past all of them, opening the way to his room, and slamming the door. Davos stared at the door for a moment, when a young, tall man with a brown pointed beard walked up.

"Ser Seaworth," Andrew Estermont whispered, "What happened in the Customs House?"

"Customs," Davos said flatly, "And all that entails," he looked over at Devan, who was looking with worry at the closed door, his lord's sword in his hands, "You did fine boy, Lord Baratheon," Davos looked for the right words, "Lord Baratheon just got a taste of why I chose a path that lead to this," he then held his hand out in front of the boy. Devan looked at it, and nodded. Davos then patted the boy on his shoulder, and said, "Wait outside the door, remember, a squire never allows his knight's weapon out of his sight."

"Yes Father," Devan gripped his fingers around the scabbard tightly. Davos motioned with his head towards the door, and Andrew Estermont nodded. Old blood he may be, yet Davos had found the younger turtle to be remarkably open to allowing Davos to handle speaking with their lord.

Davos did not need to knock, pushing his way inside, and seeing Stannis glaring at his desk. The younger man's fingers were currently digging into one of the desks that had been set aside for the Master of Ships to use upon this vessel. Davos held his head high to see over the hunched figure of his lord, and let out a sigh of relief when he did not see any blood at the tips of Stannis's fingers.

"Is there a reason you came here Davos?"

"To let you know that you did well," Davos stated. He watched as the younger man flinched, and Davos continued, "The Customs of the Chequy port is famous for the amount of time it takes for any ship to make it through," he could remember seeing the wisp of the man behind the strange counter, slowly inspecting the very sparse piece of paper, constantly reading the words over and over again, almost as though he did not actually see the very obvious seal of the Hand of the King of Westeros, "It is not only accepted but encouraged that they take a personal tariff for ships that arrive here, and yet you kept your head and your money, despite," he could still see Stannis barely keep himself from reaching over the counter and grabbing the clerk, "The ways he attempted to coerce them from you."

"I…," Stannis growled, letting go of the desk suddenly, but then slamming both his fists into the wood once more, "I do not understand," he reached up his hand, and massage his scalp, a slight red on it from the hours they'd spent waiting in line outside the customs house waiting to be allowed inside, "Does the Sealord not know of the corruption?"

"As I say, such behavior is encouraged," Davos had heard the stories while at the Ragman's Harbor by more honest men than he had been, "He taxes them. Tis not like ships can afford not to dock in Braavos, tis the only real port for two hundred miles, and the best stop on the way from the Shivering Sea to the rest of the world," he nearly felt a shiver, "And on the way back from those frozen waters too."

"...I do not care for it," Stannis's words were quiet. Davos could only nod, and then he heard Stannis continue to seeth, "I am already well done with this request, Davos, yet it shall be over a week before I may finally bring our case to the Sealord…'

For the next few moments, the two of them stayed there, Stannis brooding from the frustration and exhaustion, and Davos simply waiting for the younger man to be ready to return to his post. Finally, the ship shifted beneath their feet, and Stannis pushed himself up from the desk, turning on Davos. Stannis then took in a great breath through his nostrils, before letting out a sigh. He then reached out to Davos's shoulder, and clasped it firmly.

"Thank you," he said.

"All I can say is that at least now you understand what might drive a man to this," Davos then raised his left hand up to Stannis. For a moment, Stannis merely stared at the hand, his mind taking in the missing tips, before giving him a nod. Davos could only sigh to himself.

'Still only five times,' he thought to himself, as they both turned toward the door. A moment later, they were both back out on the deck, watching as they had left the Chequy Port behind.

Stannis motioned his head to Devan, allowing the boy to take his sword into his room. Davos and Stannis then made their way again to the bow, watching as they passed one of the towers standing on the very northwest most point of the city. Alongside it was the canal of Heroes, one of the four largest waterways in Braavos itself. Davos could remember the statues of old Sea Lords watching the waterway, offering their protection to the central lagoon of the city. Davos thought about how he would likely have to take a boat down there should they stay too long, considering how much of the business they would need to complete would be on the Eastern side of the city, away from the Ragman's Harbor on the west.

And yet, those thoughts were downright pleasant in comparison to what came to their mind as they passed the small peninsula on the other side of the Canal of Heroes, and instead, directly in front of them, could see one of the causes of their trip.

Drowned Town had been the dead limb attached to the living Braavos for something like a century now. The eldest part of the city, the lagoon had reclaimed the land beneath the buildings, submerging the first level of nearly a hundred buildings. It had been a long process, there was no great disaster of waves coming up and dragging hundreds to their doom. Instead, the buildings had slowly been abandoned by their original owners. The remaining dry floords, usually those three or four stories up, were only sparingly used by the poorest citizens of the city, as even the tight and thin tenants of Silty Town were more stable and warm than the rooftops of this sinking quarter of old Braavos.

Or, at least that had been the case when Davos had last been in Braavos over a decade ago now. Someone had taken to Drowned Town. Many someones, actually. Between the stone and the masonry of the old buildings were dozens of newly built arches and bridges, alongside several towers of wood that were nearly as half as high as the stone defense tower Baarvos had build of stone. These were the lesser wooden structures, however, as there were several ramshackle docks jutting from the outer buildings of the Drowned tow, some stable as the ones at Chequy Port, but most less stable than even the dingiest pier at Ragman's.

Yet these patchy docks were all attached to ships. Not just ships, but galley's. While he could not be sure, as they slowly passed the outer edge of Drowned Town, and turned in toward Ragmans, Davos guessed he saw over a dozen ships, each with a different flag or sigil. Yet, on the tallest structure now above the ruins, a great wooden hall that seemed to stretch and twist over at least four of the drowned buildings, was a massive black flag, with a kicking Golden Deer upon it.

'As the Blackfyres were to the Targaryens,' Davos winced, not even bothering to look to his side, when he could hear the furious grinding of Stannis Baratheon's teeth. However, after a few moments, Stannis stopped, letting go of the railing he'd been gripping, and turned away from the bow and back to his men. Davos could only accede to himself that this was likely what Stannis could do. While he could spot the familiar Jade symbols of the Saans, he could not help but grumble about how Jon Arryn was expecting too much.

After all, how were they to ask for assistance from the Sealord with piracy when the man had allowed Pirates to claim safe have in his harbor.


'Why,' Davos could not help but ask himself as he saw the massive domes and towers holding in the great courtyard of the Sealord's Palace, a chill up his spine only slightly caused by the breeze of a Braavosi night, 'do I keep finding myself in these troubles.'

They had arrived at Ragman's port not an hour after leaving the Chequy Port, something that had assured everyone that they would all be allowed to leave the Call every so often. That did not mean they could all leave and waste their coin on drink, dice and whores though. Stannis had made sure that each man was assigned to one of three shifts, under Andrew Estermont, Jon Wylde and Mathos. One would be set to guard the ship, one would be set to rest in the ship, and one would be allowed to go to taverns or shops that were close by. Stannis had ordered a tight schedule of who would be doing what task where and when, and to ensure that no money was wasted on gambling or whoring. While Davos was sure the three ambitious young men would do their best to keep the boys on a leash…he would not be at all surprised when news came of some of them ended up caught with their cock or money somewhere where it shouldn't be.

'I almost envy them,' Davos thought, as he shadowed his lord as Stannis cut through the traffic at the eastern end of the square. As they did so, they were forced to swim through the schools of brightly decorated revelers. They were all in finery that Davos was quite sure cost as much to dress a single lady among the crowd as to build Steffon's Call. Silk dresses and doublets and coats, all tied in place with pure white Myrish lace shining from the light of nearby torches. Leather jerkins finely crafted to straighten the backs of men, and joined by a few leather corsets underneath the dresses of the women. There were patterns upon patterns on the clothes, some with flowers and animals, and others of humans. And over many of the lighter silk dresses were long cloaks of fur from all across the seas. One of the first ladies of Prestayn seemed to be showing off a shawl draped from the tip of her left hand to the elbow of her right, and he'd gone far enough North to know that it was made from a seal. Across from her was a lady with silver thread woven around damask clouds, diamonds forming stars along the blackness of the rest of her dress.

Some of the fabrics were things he'd helped sneak into Westeros over his time as a smuggler. Almost every woman he spied had some kind of Satin garment on them, and many more had more than one piece upon them. He winced, remembering how much money that fabric had cost even when smuggled without tariffs. It looked to Davos that even the poorest tailor in Braavos was richer than the wealthiest tailor in King's Landing.

In this school of splashy fish, it was lucky that Davos was following a shark. Stannis was well dressed, a golden wool doublet over a black cotton shirt, with black trousers and freshly made leather shoes. That mixed well with a black woolen cloak, providing him a shield against the chill of the wind. The only pattern on his shirt was a rearing black stag, with a small topaz jewel at the eye. As the lord of Storms pushed his way through the courtyard, the vivid men and women would eye him, before carefully inching out of his way. Davos was able to follow the movement of the crowd and the crown of Stannis's head, pointing forward toward the set of parlors in the first great building of the palace.

And towards the Sealord.

"...an invitation to meet with the Sealord in two hours," the right side of Stannis's mouth had twitched upward upon finishing that message from a well dressed Bravo, the seal of Ferrego Antaryon hanging broken on the message. They had been told their initial presentation to not only the Sealord, but to the other Magisters and city fathers. Yet that was to be in eight days at the shortest, and perhaps far longer if any other event took precedence.

'Yet Stannis may now speak to the Sealord in his own palace,' Davos considered. True, this was not a formal declaration of purpose, and the chances of moving the actual presentation of terms were slim, but it would allow them to make their case with what now seemed to be a sympathetic ear, or at least come to understand how the city's view stood, 'Now to actually find him.'

Davos watched as Stannis's head turned, and he darted to his right. Davos did his best to follow the Master of Ships as he cut towards a massive crowd of revelers. It was only watching others leaving that crowd with brass cups that Davos realized that this was a serving table, and Stannis must be asking for the black parlor, the room the Sealord had said he would meet with them. Watching his head, Davos could see Stannis hunting through the mass of people, only to finally stop somewhere in the middle, and hold there for over a minute. Finally, the head dipped, though only slightly, and then sped off once more, until Stannis finally cut through the crowd, and past an archway that led into the Palace itself. In Stannis's wake Davos could see a serving girl in a plain wool dress, like all the other serving girls peppered around the festivities.

Davos had to jump to try and keep up with his lord. It was his duty to offer Stannis some kind of guard, even if neither of them were armed, and at least provide counsel for this meeting. Stannis, for all that he had grown in the years since taking Davos's finger tips, could still prove to be…stubborn.

"Your Grace!" he called, but the sounds of the revelers were too loud, and already it seemed like Stannis had managed to get over fifty feet in front of him. His attempts to keep pace were held up by the throngs of people between them, and that while the crowds would part when a man of Stannis Baratheon's size cut through, Davos was forced to weave through the pockets to try and keep up.

Yet he had almost made it. The crowds were growing sparser the closer to the actual palace they came, and finally, Davos was able to see Stannis in full. The Master of Ships' brow was creased, and he was turning, waiting to find a door. Finally, a young woman with short brown hair and a prominent nose appeared at his side. The woman pointed to a nearby black door. Stannis gave a quick nod, and the girl led Davos's lord towards the black door, and then opened it for him.

"Your Grace!" just as Stannis was inside the doorway, he stopped at Davos's call. However, before he could turn around, the door closed behind him. As his lord disappeared, Davos let out a shout of, "NO!" and rushed forward, hoping and ducking several times until he arrived at the door. He grabbed at the handle, and pulled it. However, the door did not come forward. Davos pulled again, and yet again the black door remained in place.

"Come on you bloody," Davos placed his foot on the wall right next to the door, and hitched his back, using as much force as he could to try and pry the damn thing open. It was no use though, and before long Davos could only fall back from the door.

"Best leave that," he heard a voice from only a few feet to his right chuckle, "Your Prince isn't coming out of that room anytime soon."

He looked over to where the voice came from, and saw the short haired woman who'd led Stannis to the locked room leaning against the wall. She seemed to not be of the party itself, either as reveler or attendant. That her clothes were of dull brown and black leather and wool, rather than the rainbow of silks, was enough to say she was not among the gentle ladies of the mighty families of Braavos. Yet, she was not wearing a dress, like the maids attending the ladies. Rather, she had tight black breeches along her legs, leading up to a wool tunic covered by a leather jerkin.

'Is she preparing for a fight?' Davos considered, watching the woman place her hand in the pocket of her jerkin, 'I see no blade, yet,' he looked at the girl's muscular arms, and then down at familiar cars along the sides of her open palms. The tail tell sign of rope burns was clear as the day's sun, as was the tan of her skin.

"So you are a sailor," he said. The girl didn't even bother to hide the smile upon her face.

"Yes," she said, "Though really, I wouldn't say a sailor is all I am," Davos could feel a twist of fear up his spine, and it was only increased when he saw her lift up her right arm, and a small leather handle appeared in his vision, "You best get off, and leave your little princeling to have his fun."

Davos closed his eyes for only a second, before shaking his head, and saying, "My lady," the smirk on the girl's face only grew wider, "I know not so much the customs of Braavos nobility," he walked up to her, "Yet I am sworn to my Lord, Stannis Baratheon. If he mayhaps be in danger, I must do my fullest to enter in there and provide him protection.

"Oh come now," another woman's voice cut through the babel of the party goers, "I can assure you that no harm is meant to come to your lord inside that room," As Davos turned to see this new voice, he heard a bit of a laugh in her voice, "Though, I cannot say that the same might hold for you, Knight of Onions."

Davos felt the need to grit his teeth together. True, he still had the ship with the onion as his sigil, yet it was also true that he did not wish to be defined by the one deed. Ever since he had been granted the lands on Cape Wrath, and had been allowed to build his keep there, he'd been feeling the distaste that many of the other lords had for him. They looked down on this old smuggler, and referred to him as the Onion Knight. His sons had been forced to take the mockery of their peers, with more than a few claiming that they could still not truly claim to be among the highborn. There had even been a refusal for Dale or Mallard or Matthos or Maric to learn the ways of a knight by those that Davos had requested to take them in as squires. What noble would dare seek to lift the sons of a smuggler to the level of their own, after all.

This woman was using that title with the same mockery that his Stormlord neighbors used against him. He would not stand for it, as a knight or as a servant of House Baratheon. So when he completed his turn, he fully expected to begin to shout at this second woman most fiercely.

The reprimand died in his throat. He felt his eyes widen, as standing where he turned was their quarry. Her sea blue eyes met his brown ones straight on, a slight shock as she was supposed to be of an average height for a woman. Around those eyes saw a mane of deep crimson hair, more as a rose petal than the auburn mane of his lord's good lady. Her face was handsome, with a strong jaw and a wide, japing mouth, with teeth half-seen through her pretty full lips. Looking down, she was a lithe thing, though she seemed to be one of the only ones in the whole palace to be dressed against the cold, with a long red cloak covering from the bottom of her neck to below her waist. She, as the other girl, had breeches on, yet these were white wool, holding to her slender thighs, until they met up with a long pair of black boots. As he saw the boots, he realized that she was in fact standing on a slightly raised step, at least partially explaining the strange height he had noted before. Yet what most clearly gave away her identity, and the insult she was to the Master of Ships, was the golden stag, rearing up facing right, crowns adorned on both its mighty antlers.

"Davos Seaworth," she said, and for an instant, Davos felt his heart skip. The woman had a voice like thunder. Yet, "I have heard a great many things about you," yet she was not shouting. It was like the roaring of a storm some thirty miles of sea away, "The legend of the man who sailed through storm and arrow to smuggle food to Storm's End is a popular tale among runners at Ragman's," she smiled, "I'd been hoping I might get a chance to discuss business with you."

"Well," he said, "I suppose we came here to discuss your business."

The women, red maned and brown haired both, snorted at that. The one on the step then said, "Aye, though not with me," she reached into her coat, and Davos's eyes followed quickly. When a small gray bottle came out, Davos had to catch a sigh of relief, and only now felt a glaze of sweat that had come along the back of his neck. She uncorked the bottle, and lifted it to her lips, and threw it back.

"Quite rude to not come to us first," the brown haired girl said, and Davos looked back at her. Now that he had seen her company, he could see the features that gave away this girl's identity as well, "Would at least have thought that if your king had some trouble with our tariffs," Davos winced at the term, "He'd have come to speak with the collectors first, and not attempt to slide by us and speak with the Sealord."

"You would know nothing of the sort," Davos eyed her carefully, before saying, "Asha Greyjoy," when the girl bared her teeth in a smile rather than in rage, he felt the right to continue, "Your blood have been reaving and raping, that you'd fail to see that kings do not meet with pirates."

"Pirates!" there was a splurt of whatever the other woman had been drinking, a few droplets landing on Davos's shoe, "Pirates," her smirk was full now, "My, I'd think a smuggler turned knight would be more considerate on labels and titles."

"Enough of this," Davos looked at the door, "I do not care for any more of your japes or mischief," he began to edge towards it, "Whatever threat you are holding to my Lord, surely you do not think that even the daughter of the Sealord would get away with harming the King's brother," he hoped at least. She was legendary enough for her brazenness that she just might try som-

"Calm yourself," Lizabet Antaryon said, pulling back the bottle again, and downing another sip. Davos didn't need to know by heart to know she was drinking a warm spiced rum, twas common among those who sailed the Shivering Sea, "I," and then he saw a twitch of her eye, "Nor my father," she added, "Have any desire to see a single hair of your Princeling be taken out of place," she then snorted again, "Why, he has so little hair left already, I dare say we must be more careful with him than most."

"Then why have you locked him away," Davos considered for a moment, before saying, "I dare say your father-"

"My father is asleep back at the family estate," the Antaryon's were one of the wealthiest families in all of Braavos, and they owned a whole district of the city along the Eastern Side of the great Canal,"He has a reading with the Poetess I think," she scoffed for a moment, before adding on,"and besides, he is growing older, and while he is not a man to pass on a night of carousing," she shrugged her shoulders, "This is my night. I am paying for the food and the drink, and for other things that are moving along."

'With wealth filched from Westerosi ships,' Davos thought darkly. Last they had been at the docks of Gulltown, making port on Steffon's Call for a short resupply, he'd been able to meet with some of the guild masters of the Vale's largest port. It had not gone well at all, with several speaking of losses of nearly half their usual profits.

"Still think you could have had a bit more fun here, Drake," Davos winced when the Ironborn girl behind him used the sobriquet. While it was commonly accepted that the terror of the Narrow Sea was the only child of the Sealord, she had seemingly chosen the name Drake as her name to mock the Baratheon Dynasty.

'Dragons always haunting the stag.'

"Mayhaps I should have," Drake laughed, "Though, with how much is going to handling your princeling, I dare say any more might mean a raid on Dragonstone. See if we can't find any Dragon Eggs t-"

"What have you done with my Lord!" Davos snapped. He then stopped, the presence of a dirk only an inch away from his neck clear to him. However, just as he was about to turn to meet the iron born girl behind him with the hope of somehow resting the blade out of her hand, Drake raised her hand, and the dagger was pulled away. She eyed him, the laughter gone from her eyes, before pointing at the door with her thumb.

"Your "Lord", is enjoying the fruits of my coin," when Davos said nothing, she continued, "I asked for the Black Pearl to speak with your Prince about his goals, and offer him some…refreshment. After all of his travels, a bit of leisure might set his mind right for the discussions and debates that will be coming soon."

"The Black Pearl?"

"Yes."

"The Black Pearl," Davos said, his mind bringing up the stories he'd heard from his time in the winesacks and inns of Ragman's wharf, "The most famous courtesan in all of Braavos," he could see Drake's smile grow again, "The descendant of a Sealord and a Targaryen King. One of the most wealthy women in all the world."

"You would be surprised just how much getting her for a night with your Prince cost," Drake's eyes then stabbed hard forward, and yet Davos could see that they were not directly on him, "Such a gift is something that is hard to come by?

"Yes," the Ironborn's voice was filled with mirth, "Certainly was worth a great deal. Why, you had to spend hours pleading with Bellegere to get her to agree to come "speak" with a lordling," Davos could imagine the girl behind him rolling her eyes as she continued, "Certainly when you are paying her for this to merely be the first night of many. Why, I have never heard of someone paying for a fortnight of conversation before."

"You paid for the Black Pearl to fuck my Lord, and become his mistress while he is here for these negotiations," Davos said flatly.

"How dare you good ser," Drake said, "Why, I can most assuredly tell you that you can not refer to the skills and works of the Black Pearl as a mere fucking. She is an artist in bed, one of, no, the most skilled artisan in pillow play in the whole of the world. And should she be able to use that time to help soften the iron of the Lord of Storm's End, why, that would merely be a happy occurrence of fate. After all," she looked quite confident in herself as she declared, "Considering his brother, he should have quite open ears while his head is resting on a pillow."

"..."

Davos did his best to compose himself, all the while reaching into himself and strangling the cackles and guffaws that were desperately trying to force themselves out into the night air. When he was finally sure that he would not burst out with a belly laugh, he spoke up once more, "Then, I suppose you wished to speak to me about business then," he looked Drake in the eyes, and was glad to see the seas of her eyes melt once more, her smile becoming broader as he added, "If my lord is in no danger, then I should take this time to consider your options."

"Very good," Drake hopped from the step she was on, and Davos had to turn his head downward to maintain the connection with her eyes. As she did so, the Ironborn girl came around him, and came directly to her side, allowing Drake to place an arm around the girl's waist, "Now, that we have your concerns out of the way, time for us to discuss business that might interest you."

"Any business you might have with me," Davos said, "Will be business with my King," he looked at Drake, who proceeded to roll her eyes back into her head.

"Would you put away these manners, Davos," she said, "God, don't act like one of those fools high on their own chivalry," she rubbed her forehead as she seemed to regain her composure, "You are not some knight, taught from birth a set of rules as solid as a fart on the wind," she pointed at him, "You are a smuggler, my friend, the very best if Salladhor was telling the truth rather than his usual japes."

Davos kept his mouth quiet, all the while staring at the woman. He'd known Salladhor Saan was in the Drowned Town, he'd seen the jade flag of the Corsair. As a smuggler, Davos had often bought goods from Salladhor for his smuggling, a partnership that had lasted some years before Davos had made his way to Storm's End fifteen years ago. Part of Davos could not help but feel warmed at the thought of the old sea dog still remembering him, and more than that, complimenting his abilities as a smuggler. Of course, if Salladhor was now running with Drake and her ilk, then he was now likely Davos's enemy. It was mildly distressing.

"So, here is my proposition," she handed her bottle over to the Ironborn girl, who pulled back on the bottle to take her own massive swig, of rum, "While the Black Pearl shall soften your Lord at night, you shall do so by day," she pulled out a leather pouch, and held it out towards Davos, "This would be your first payment. All I'd ask is that you ask your Lord to listen to the counsel of my father, and take on most of his requests. Yearly tribute, flying our flag as a secondary marker," she then smirked, "Joint enforcement on necessary tariffs for the betterment of all trade in the Narrow Sea."

"To give up our rights of trade," Davos said.

"No, merely for an agreement for better trade between all responsible parties of the Narrow Sea," Drake said, "In exchange for your assistance, alongside the ten thousand or so gold dragons to be given to you," Davos nearly choked at the number, "You'd also be given special privileges as a port of safe keeping," her smile grew broader, "So Cape Wrath would be recognized as the correct port for resupply before entering the Stepstones, instead of Myr," she smiled, "And as harbor master there, you and yours would get all the benefits of sailors spending their hard earned coin at your docks."

"...," Davos considered the amount of coin that he was being offered, before snorting, "I do think you underestimate me, Lady Antaryon," Drake herself was unaffected, yet he could see the girl next to her grit her teeth, "I would not be against more money, but what you ask is for me to accept bribery, all the while failing to defend my realm and my lord," he then focused on the Ironborn, "I made an oath to defend and follow my lord and my king, and I am no Ironborn fool, thinking that destiny has given the world to me on some platter to devour however much I may please."

"I'd watch what you say, Onion," the short haired girl again pulled out her dirk, "Smugglers are among the favorite foods of Kraken."

"I'd imagine so," Davos said, "Kraken are cowardly creatures," the girl stepped forward, "Much better to hunt lone stragglers than attempt to fight knights. Was less than ten years ago that we saw what happens when they try."

Only Drake reaching out and placing a hand on the Ironborn's shoulder caused the woman to keep from rushing at him. He only allowed a small smile on his lips, while also refusing to turn his eye to the door. He needed to hold on to their attention only for a few moments more…

"Really, Seaworth," Drake chuckled, but it was a fake thing. He could see that she had caught the wave wrong, and was attempting to keep from capsizing, "You speak quite highly of knights, yet as far as I can see, you are still a smuggler in your heart," she tipped her bottle at him, "A tradesman who cares not for the whims and fancies of men who have never lifted a finger against any hardship, who merely expect the world to match their words, rather than see what it it is. A sailor, who understands that he can only truly rule himself upon the sea," her smile grew, "a man after my own heart."

"I doubt that," Davos felt his eyes nearly roll back into his head, "I left life that life behind."

"We all make mistakes," she placed the bottle back into her coat pocket, before then pointing directly at Davos's nose, nearly jabbing him, "I can see that unfortunately, the chances of getting you to join my crew are likely impossible now that your family have been trapped in that hovel of mud and rock."

Davos felt the hair on the back of his neck raise slightly on his description of the tower that had been build for his family, but he bit down on his rage and said, "Aye, I dare say that was a foolish desire."

"Perhaps," Drake then smiled, "But surely you see that working with us would be a great boon for you and yours. Surely the eyes of a smuggler can see that."

"The eyes of a smuggler also see before me a villian that would one day grow so greedy that I'd end up with my throat slit and all my wealth paying for your newest drowned palace," the woman's face fell.

"You judge me too harshly," she moaned.

"I judge you a pirate."

"That word again," Drake waved her finger, all the while the girl next to her continued to glare at Davos, "Firstly, you as a smuggler, were merely a trader outside the law, while a pirate is merely an admiral outside the law," before Davos could counter that statement, she continued, "And I can assure you, I am always following the laws of Braavos," she smiled, "I prefer the term privatee-"

CRRRIIAASSHHHH

Davos watched as behind the two women, a glass window suddenly exploded as something smashed through it. Davos looked among the dozens of shards of glass, and saw a bronze pitcher laying among the pieces. The Ironborn and Drake turned, both remarkably calm from the sound, though the short-haired girl had her dirk at the ready once more. As they finished turning, Stannis Baratheon stuck his neck through the now open window, and looked first to his left, and then to his right. Davos could see that his lord's brow was a half dozen ridges leading from his bushy eyebrows to the crown of his head, and he seemed to add a few more when his eyes locked on Drake.

"It would be you," he grumbled, before raising his leg over the window sill, and pulling his body out of the room, "Treating me like some common rake," he set his feet upon the wooden deck, and then looked over at Davos, "Ser Davos, I believe that we should leave this place," as he said this, a woman with skin like polished maple stuck her head out from the hole in the window, and looked at Drake, her mouth twisted in multiple directions, "It is clear to me that there will be no lawful discussions this evening."

"Yes, your Grace."

Just before they could make their way back toward the plaza, the Ironborn girl was out in front of them, her dagger at the ready. She said nothing, yet her position was just enough to cause Stannis Baratheon to pause his return, and look down at the woman. Before he could demand the girl dismiss herself from them, however, Drake spoke up again.

"Lord Baratheon," she said, causing Stannis's shoulder to shoot upward, "I had hoped you might enjoy yourself this evening," Davos could see a slight sheen of sweat on the top of Stannis's head, and a bit of redness along his lord's cheeks, "The Black Pearl is one of the loveliest vessels in all of Braavos, and I'd hoped that as Master of Ships, you might enjoy a night cruise."

"Hold your tongue," Stannis hissed. His ice blue eyes were focused on the party and their exit, though Davos could see the Fury in them while he kept himself from turning and responding, "I do not know why you thought throwing a Courtesan at me would be enough to have me abandon my duties to my king-"

"Oh, I just thought that you might want something your brother has not had," the mirth that had danced at the back of Drake's voice was gone. Now every word was poisoned with disdain and anger, "He is known for his proclivities," Stannis began to grind his teeth, "and as the poor baby brother, I thought you might appreciate the chance to sample a delicacy he has no-"

"Shut your mouth," Stannis nearly rushed forward, though he stopped himself. His dark blue eyes locked with the sea blue of the woman across from him, "You stupid dog of the sea," Drake raised her hand over her mouth while opening it far too wide to be from actual shock, "I will not stand to be insulted with a whore."

"Might be the only way you'd get a woman to touch your cock," the iron born girl barked. Stannis turned his attention to her, and somehow his face grew even redder. Stannis forehead was covered in raised veins, and he again it seemed as he was barely keeping his fury contained. Davos watched as Drake smirked, and then sauntered forward, putting herself directly before Stannis's eyes, and now between Davos's lord and their escape.

"Oh, I see you've finally met Asha then," the pirate lord smirked, "you were supposed to meet her back on Pike about ten years ago now, if I remember correctly," Davos could see his Lord ball his hand into tight fists, "That's the second time a princess slipped out right before your fleet arrived, wasn't it?"

Stannis said nothing. Davos could only watch as Drake leaned in closer, and despite Stannis being nearly two heads taller, she towered next to him. Stannis was doing everything in his power to not fulfill his desire to reach out and wring the woman's neck, and Davos honestly thought he would as she reached into her coat, and retrieved a strange circle of stone and salt, before slowly reaching up, and then letting it fall upon Stannis's head.

"Why, one of the treasures you so desperately sought," Drake laughed, as Stannis was frozen in rage.

Davos could remember the day they'd arrived at Pyke. Stannis, at the bow of Fury, with the Royal Fleet and the Redwyne Fleet ready to end Balon Greyjoy's rebellion. They found and captured Balon Greyjoy, as well as his only surviving son Theon. That alone should have been a triumph for the Lord of Storms. One that would secure himself in the eye of all of Westeros as a worthy member of the royal family.

It had all been ash though, when it had been revealed that while the Royal Fleet had been surrounding the Greyjoy's home, another ship with a golden stag on black sails had snuck through…

"That's enough of that," Drake then lifted the crown from Stannis's head, placed it on her own, and turned toward Asha, "I must ask, does this look good on me?"

"Makes you look like you have a fat head," Asha replied.

"Pity," Drake turned back to Stannis, "I had hoped that it might fit better," she pulled it off, "Well, it always the least of the three jewels I stole," she turned and smirked to the Ironborn, "My favorite is Asha of course," the short haired girl stuck her nose up for a moment, "though, I must say that the Seastone Chair brings together my Drowned Palace rather well, don't you think?"

"As salty and eroded as that shanty house deserves," Asha laughed, "sets the whole room together I'd say. All you need is a few thousand barrels of sea water, and we'd be merling," Drake laughed too, the two's jest seeming to tickle them both quite a bit more than it should. Stannis was starting to come out of his freeze, and, in a moment of will, stepped backward away from the two. Drake's eye twitched, though she kept her view on Asha.

"Must dig at your guts," she said, and Stannis stopped, "That I stole it all away from you," her eyes were sharp, and they seemed to cut right through Stannis, "That to all of Westeros, you are known as the Late Lord Baratheon," Davos only just reached up to grab Stannis by the shoulder. That had been a sobriquet that had been whispered around Kings Landing for months after the end of the Greyjoy rebellion. Stannis had expected that it originated from the Queen, though it was spread mostly by the King himself, who spent nearly a year raging at "His Stupid Late Cunt of a Brother". That Stannis had failed to come to his aid so often, and had only not turned Robert over to the Mad King from cowardice. That he secretly enjoyed humiliating Robert.

Jon Arryn had managed to end the open use once Robert had…had time to cool his heels, though whatever warm feeling might have existed between the two was dead and buried. Or drowned, considering everything that had made up Stannis's life, Davos supposed. Davos honestly suspected that Stannis had been chosen to come here for this dialogue with the Sealord exactly due to this history.

Whether due to Jon Arryn wishing Stannis to redeem himself, or Robert's desire to see his younger brother humiliated, Davos could not say. He hoped it was the former.

"I will not stand here," Stannis finally managed to piece together once more, "The insults and trifles of a pirate."

"PIRATE!" Drake spat, "Pirate," she pointed at the two of them, the crown slightly to the side of her head, "You keep saying it, and keep thinking it proves something. As though you knights and barons and lords are somehow better than us because you ride horses instead of ships," she pointed directly into Stannis's face, "I have just as much Royal Blood as you," Stannis's teeth clenched together once more.

"You steal from ships pass-"
"And you don't steal yourself," Drake shrugged, "Sure, you call them tithes or taxes or tribute or tariff, yet you take just as much from those around you as I do," she then smiled, "See, that's the thing about pirates," she blinked, before her smile broadened once again, "Privateers," she was standing on the tips of her toes now, now her eyes only a few inches away from Stannis's, "We're just knights of the sea."

"Knights of the sea?"

"Chivalry, honor," Drake said, inching closer as she did so, "Lies and fancies. All that matters is that you listen to your lord's command," she then smiled, "And what is a privateer, but a knight of the sea, following the command of the Sealord to take what is rightfully his," she smiled, "I can give you his decree of private raiding on the morrow, if you wish to see what laws I follow."

"I do not need to be reminded," Stannis spat through shut teeth, "Of your Father's short sighted foolishness," he growled, "That he dare risk the peace of the sea so his only daughter can go gallivanting across the sea with a gaggle of rapist, murders and theive-"

"You have no way to look down on me, not with your brother what he did to take that Iron Throne," she then stopped, and then stepped on the tips of her toes, so her eyes were directly in line with Stannis, "Well, now you have no way to look down on me," Davos heard a loud snort from Asha Greyjoy, "But you see, that's the thing," she brought the index finger and thumb of her right hand together right in front of Stannis's eyes, "It's how you look at Privateers," her lips were only a few inches away from Stannis now, and the discomfort was now mixing with the fury in Davos's Lord to almost set the man off, "That is what makes them bad or good," she shrugged at that, before nearly leaning in closer so that her lips were only a few inches away from Stannis's, "I see us," there was a laugh, "All of us, as members of a noble broth-"

CRACK

And then, where Drake's face had been, Davos saw his fist. It took him a second to realize that in the heat of the moment, he had managed to reach out and punch the pirate in the cheek. The woman, already half off balance from her stance, had been sent sprawling to the side, the Drowned Crown clatter along the wood of the dock it fell down on. As the woman laid there, eyes blinking as a hand was brought up to her face, Davos reached back, and grabbed Stannis by the cloak.

"Your Grace, we must leave," he pulled. For a second, Stannis's eyes were as large as dinner saucers. However, after he blinked a few times, he stopped, looked over at Drake, and then up at where Asha Greyjoy, who seemed to be the most stunned of anyone, "We have to go."

"Yes Davos," Stannis said, and within a moment, the two had turned, and they were heading toward the crowd of the plaza. Davos could see, luckily, that none of the revelers seemed to notice the exchange, as the sounds of their carousing and the distance between the palace and the festivities was enough to keep this all private. As they did so, however, a shout went out.

"YOU CUNTS!"

Davos looked back to see that Asha Greyjoy was beginning to stalk towards them, not only with her dagger but also with an axe that she seemed to have pulled out from nowhere. Just after her first step, however, a hand reached out, and grabbed at her shirt. Drake had returned to her feet, and was looking Asha straight in the eye. As the pirate shook her head, causing the Ironborn to grit her teeth much as Stannis had not only a bit before, Davos could see the beginning of a welt on that cheek.

"Ser Davos, we must move quickly," and Davos did not need to be told a second time, and it was only a moment more before they were back in the crowd. They did not stop, however, pushing through the throngs until they were soon out of the courtyard, and moderately safe at the Moon Pool. There, they both stopped for a moment, looking back to see if any guards were following them. With no one in sight, Davos reached into the water with his free hand, and gulped down some of the cool drink.

"I thought I'd never drink again," he said aloud. The constant rushing into and out of the Palace had parched his throat. Stannis would reach into the fountain beside Davos, and take a long drink as well. Finally, after a few moments, he turned to the Davos, and said.

"It was wrong of you to strike the Daughter of the Sealord," Davos almost felt like yelling, but he could hear the resignation in his Lord's voice, and also, knew what was coming next, "Thank you for taking that task yourself. If it was publicly known that I had struck her, then I am sure she would have used it against me in the Palace of Truth."

"It was rather obvious that she wished to provoke you to act in anger, once her whore gambit fell through," Davos admitted. Stannis allowed himself to stand straight up, and Davos added, "I hope that being knocked to the ground by an old smuggler instead of the King's Brother should be humiliating enough to keep her mouth shut."

Stannis nodded, and then he looked up. There were times like this, when Stannis had only just been able to keep his fury from exploding to the world, that he would become sullen in a way. He would often excuse himself from whatever he was doing, and just stare in a direction to think about his rage. Stannis Baratheon was not his brother, he'd proved that well enough tonight, and yet the temptations of the tempest were great in the Stormlord. Davos was one of few who could get Stannis to control himself, to come back to his senses and lock the Fury back beneath his iron will.

"What shall we do if she does complain of your strike?" Stannis asked. Davos thought on it for a minute.

"Mayhaps I shall stay on Steffon's Call then, if pressed."

"And if they want more?"

Davos continued to think, and then allowed himself a smile. He then gave Stannis a look, "Why, you were so enraged with my impropriety," he held up his left hand, "That you removed the tips of the offending hand."

Stannis stared blankly at Davos. The younger man's eyes locked on the left hand, then flowed to the bag hanging from Davos's neck, and then up to Davos's face. Then, slowly, the Baratheon's shoulders began to shake, his chest jumping up and down, while he tried his best to hold his mouth closed. It was a futile effort, however, as before long, a grin cracked through Stannis's stone face, and he could no longer hold it all in.

"Hahahahaha!"

And for the sixth time in Davos's life, he saw Stannis Baratheon laugh.