Siren's Port, East Wharf.
Under the escort of soldiers, Lord Stannis Baratheon disembarked with Ser Davos Seaworth, known as the Onion Knight.
The Lord of Dragonstone walked along the wharf for a time. He did not take a horse but continued on foot into the inner districts of Siren's Port.
At last, the ever-silent Stannis halted, his sharp gaze sweeping the surroundings."Davos, tell me—what do you see?"
The man he addressed was plain of face and spare of frame, with short brown hair, brown eyes, and a thick gray beard.
Ser Davos Seaworth, once a common smuggler, now served as commander of Stannis's Narrow Sea fleet and was one of his most trusted advisers.
During Robert's Rebellion, Davos had sailed a small boat laden with onions and salt fish through the Redwyne blockade to relieve the starving garrison at Storm's End. Thanks to that food, the castle had held until relief arrived. For this service, Stannis knighted him and granted fertile lands at Cape Wrath.
But Stannis had also said: "Good deeds cannot erase bad ones, nor can evil deeds be washed away by good. Each must have its due."
Thus, as punishment for his years of smuggling, Stannis had ordered the first joint of four fingers on Davos's left hand removed. Davos carried those bones in a leather pouch around his neck, believing them lucky talismans that protected his family. From that day forward, he had taken the name Seaworth for his new house.
Ser Davos now followed his lord's gaze and bowed slightly."My lord, what I see along the way is order."
Stannis gave the smallest nod, nearly imperceptible. "Go on."
"At first, I thought only that the townsfolk were disciplined," Davos continued. "But as we walked, I realized they are obeying precise, detailed commands."
This time, Stannis inclined his head more firmly. "And what else, Davos?"
Davos hesitated, blinking. His voice carried a trace of uncertainty. "It seems… rather clean here?"
A glimmer of light flickered in Stannis's stern eyes."Davos, that is not by command. These folk keep to strict law of their own accord. That is what the realm should look like."
As he spoke, a small group hurried toward them, led by Steward Herschel.
Breathless from haste, the man straightened his doublet and bowed deeply."Most honored lord, I am Herschel, steward of Whispering City and governor of Siren's Port. I come to pay respects on behalf of House Crabb."
Stannis disliked forewarning; he demanded to see the truth with his own eyes. Herschel, who had been supervising the second phase of the harbor's expansion, had rushed here the moment he heard the Master of Ships had arrived.
Stannis's brows drew tight. "And where is your lord?"
Only recently had he heard that a new harbor named Siren's Port had risen north of Dragonstone, within the Blackwater Bay.
Two days past, sly pirates had slipped through the royal fleet's patrols, raiding within the bay and wounding two merchant vessels. Stannis had been furious.
In a blaze of wrath, he had sailed forth under pretense of inspecting the fleet, and on the spot executed several captains charged with the area's defense.
Now, returning, he remembered this "new harbor" and resolved to see it with his own eyes. For the Master of Ships, ports were the lifeblood of the fleet, and no harbor within the Blackwater could be ignored.
So the Black Betha had changed course and turned toward Siren's Port.
Herschel's heart pounded beneath Stannis's withering stare; for a moment he almost forgot to breathe.
"Our lord, Baron Gawen Crabb, has been appointed Administrator by Her Grace the Queen. At present he serves in the Red Keep."
Stannis's frown deepened. Lannisters again.
Was their lure truly so irresistible? What the lions offered, Stannis too could give—yet the worthiest men seemed already drawn into their camp.
Davos stepped nearer and lowered his voice."My lord, the nobility of the Crab Claw Peninsula have long been suppressed by the Arryns of the Vale.
This young Baron Crabb is said to be gifted in war. With only a few hundred men he defeated twenty thousand mountain clansmen, reclaiming farmlands lost for over a decade.
Even I can see he has ambition. I believe his service to the Queen is compelled—he seeks her favor as a shield against the lords of the Vale."
Stannis fixed him with his sharp gaze. "But after the war, Robert punished those same lords of the Peninsula. How is it that Arryn and his Vale lords still oppress them?"
Davos shook his head. That he did not know. Few of the great lords shared Stannis's stern sense of justice. Perhaps only the Others know what schemes they weave each day.
With a wave of his hand, Stannis dismissed Herschel and set off once more toward the wharf.
"Shadowed intrigues cannot govern a realm," he said curtly. "The Hand places the cart before the horse. Do you truly think I should continue to aid him—allying myself in politics?"
Davos weighed his words carefully. "Perhaps the Hand has reasons of necessity, my lord."
Stannis snorted. "One may hope."
As they walked, Davos's eyes fell on a group of children, no more than ten years of age, standing in neat formation under the command of a spirited old man.
The elder held a bow, demonstrating something to them. From time to time the sound of children's laughter drifted on the breeze.
Stannis's voice was low. "Could my Dragonstone be like this?"
Davos answered simply, "My lord, every place has its differences. It would be hard."
.
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