Mermaid's Port, Eastern Docks
Under the watchful guard of his men-at-arms, Lord Stannis Baratheon disembarked from the Black Betha with Ser Davos Seaworth—the man known across the realm as the Onion Knight.
Without mounting a horse, Stannis walked the length of the docks on foot and made his way into the heart of the port's inner ward.
At last, he halted. The wind tugged at his cloak as his eyes—sharp as flint—swept across the street and stalls.
"Davos," he said in his low, unyielding voice, "tell me. What do you see?"
Ser Davos Seaworth was a plain, wiry man, with short brown hair, dark hazel eyes, and a thick grey beard framing his jaw. Once a smuggler, now a knight and commander of the Narrow Sea fleet, he served not only as a captain, but as Stannis's most trusted counsellor.
During Robert's Rebellion, Davos had broken through the Redwyne blockade in a tiny boat filled with onions and salted fish, bringing salvation to the starving defenders of Storm's End. That act had saved the castle.
For it, Stannis had knighted him and granted lands at Cape Wrath.
But justice demanded balance.
"Good deeds do not wash away the bad, nor bad the good," Stannis had said. "Each must be answered for."
As punishment for his years of smuggling, Davos had four joints removed from the fingers of his left hand—all but the thumb. He carried those bones in a leather pouch around his neck, a lucky charm he believed kept his family safe.
From that day forward, he had chosen the name Seaworth for his new house.
Now, he looked about as his lord did, then bowed his head respectfully. "My lord, I see order."
Stannis gave the faintest nod—barely perceptible. "Go on."
"At first, I only noticed how disciplined the townsfolk seemed," Davos said. "But walking beside you, I feel it clearer—they're not just well-mannered. They're following commands. Precise ones."
Stannis nodded again, this time more noticeably. "And?"
Davos hesitated, blinking. "It's… cleaner than most places?"
A gleam lit Stannis's cold eyes. "This is not fear, Davos. Not tyranny. What you see is law—strict and impartial—obeyed without selfishness. This is how a kingdom ought to be."
As he spoke, a small group hurried toward them, led by a man short of breath.
"I am Herschel," the man said, after composing himself. He bowed deeply. "Castellan of Whispering Hall and governor of Mermaid's Port. I bring greetings from House Clayb."
Stannis Baratheon never cared for forewarning in his inspections. His eyes sought the truth—unvarnished and raw.
Herschel, who had been overseeing the second phase of construction at Mermaid's Port, had rushed to the harbor upon hearing word of Stannis's sudden arrival.
Stannis's brow darkened. "Where is your liege lord?"
Only recently had he heard whispers of a new harbor, north of the straits beyond Dragonstone. Just two days prior, a band of pirates had slipped past the royal fleet's watch and struck within Blackwater Bay, damaging two merchant ships.
Fury had followed.
Under the guise of inspecting the fleet, Stannis had left Dragonstone—and on that voyage, had executed several royal captains responsible for the breach.
Now, on his return, the Master of Ships had turned his attention to this new port. Harbors and fleets were bound by blood and bone. Every Master of Ships kept close account of the realm's ports—especially those guarding the mouth of Blackwater Bay.
As it happened, the Black Betha had not been far. At Stannis's command, her course had shifted toward Mermaid's Port.
The weight of Stannis's gaze made Herschel's heart pound. For a breath, he forgot how to speak.
"Lord Clayb—Baron Green Clayb—has been appointed a chamberlain by Her Grace the Queen," he stammered. "He is presently in the Red Keep."
Stannis's frown deepened.
Another Lannister.
What was it about them? What did the Lannisters offer that drew so many men of worth to their gilded banners? Whatever it was—they could not give more than he could. So why did they always choose the lion?
Davos stepped closer, speaking low. "My lord, for more than a decade, the nobles of Crackclaw Point have suffered under pressure from Lord Jon Arryn and the lords of the Vale."
"I've heard this Green Clayb is a gifted young commander. With only a few hundred men, he crushed a host of twenty thousand mountain clansmen and reclaimed lands lost for years."
"It's plain even to me he's a man of great ambition. I suspect he sought the queen's favor not out of loyalty—but to gain strength enough to defy the Vale."
Stannis's eyes narrowed. "Robert already punished the Crackclaw lords after the war. If Jon Arryn and the Vale lords continued their oppression… what justice is that?"
Davos shook his head. That, he did not know. Not all great lords shared Stannis's grim sense of fairness. Perhaps only the Others knew what schemes they whispered in the dark.
Davos was, without question, Lord Stannis's truest man.
Stannis waved Herschel away and turned toward the docks.
"You cannot rule a kingdom through shadows and whispers," he said. "Jon Arryn has his priorities backward. And you—do you still believe I should assist him? Forge a political alliance through compromise?"
Davos paused to choose his words. "Perhaps the Lord Hand has burdens we do not see."
Stannis let out a hard snort. "One can hope."
As they walked, Davos spotted a group of children—no older than ten—assembled in a neat little square. An elderly man with bright eyes stood before them, bow in hand, speaking with animation. Laughter rang out through the sea breeze.
Then Stannis spoke again, quieter than before.
"Why can Dragonstone not be like this?"
Davos's answer was honest and simple.
"My lord… every place is different. It would not be easy."
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