Chapter 51

My hands rested on the polished marble surface, warm from the early morning sun. The monument was bigger than me, standing tall above a dark stone plinth. On it, four names were carved in small, neat letters that had been filled with brass leaf so they'd catch the light:

Simon, Coren, Mikal, Lenn

The four Companions who'd died at the Weeping Tower.

Four of my father's men who'd come with us had also perished in that hellish rescue, but House Tarth had its own book of the fallen. A leather-bound tome kept in Evenfall Hall's sept, where every man who'd died in service to our house had his name recorded for posterity.

Here, only the boys I'd taken in would be remembered. Only the Companions.

And likely, this would be the only way they'd be remembered. A good half of them had no family to speak of. No one to light candles on their nameday or tell stories about who they'd been before they picked up a sword in my name.

We were in the back of the Companions' estate, in a clearing carved out of a small wooded area. The trees formed a natural amphitheater around us, oak and beech creating a canopy overhead. Birdsong filled the air, peaceful and at odds with the solemnity of the moment.

Behind me stood Jace, Jack, and Grey. I could hear their breathing, quiet and measured. I turned to face them.

Jace's half-empty sleeve swayed in the wind. The man had almost died at the Weeping Town, his arm cut off cleanly by Lenora’s pirate at the elbow. Pate had brought him and Arianne nearly dead back to the town after my sister saw we had already taken the castle, and I held the Whitehead’s maester at sword point while he worked to cauterize the wound and stop the bleeding.

Now, much like Jaime after he had his hand cut off, Jace was pretty much useless in combat. He still showed up to training in the mornings, his brother had told me, awkwardly sparring against straw dummies with his left arm, but his focus was mostly elsewhere now. A spymaster needed a good mind more than a good sword arm to be useful.

Jack stood beside him, looking solemnly at the monument. His face was unreadable, but I could see the way his jaw worked. He'd known all four of the fallen better than any of us. Had trained them, eaten with them, shared quarters. He’d taken the role of commander of my forces seriously, and that came with more burden than glory.

"It's exactly what I wanted," I said, running my fingers over the carved names one more time.

Grey nodded. "The mason does good work. We had it brought over yesterday when we heard you were coming back."

House Tarth was known for its marble. The quarries along the western face of the mountains produced some of the finest stone in the whole of Westeros. We'd been selling more and more of it recently, to the Lannisters, to King's Landing, even to the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea.

"How many new boys are there?" I asked, turning to face them.

Jack answered first. "Another twenty since the last moon. Eighty-four under me now."

They'd been recruiting fiercely since we'd returned two months ago, almost doubling our numbers. Still not enough. Not nearly enough for what was coming. But rushing would only fill our ranks with quantity when quality was the name of the game here.

"Eleven," Jace said quietly. The eyes and ears for the Companions. Smaller numbers, higher skill requirements.

"Eight now," Grey said. He ran the smallest group with all the Samwell Tarlys we’d found. Not every man was meant for fighting and warring. "But one of them, m'lord..." He smiled slightly. "Brightest mind I've ever seen. Soaks up whatever we teach him like a sponge."

"Good," I said. "I'll want to meet with him later." I looked back at the monument. "And from now on, the new boys will take their oaths of loyalty here. Before the monument of their fallen brothers. Every Companion who dies in battle shall have his name carved in this stone."

Jack's face lit up. "The boys will love it, m'lord."

I knew they would. It was partly the reason I was doing it anyway.

These things mattered. Unit cohesion. Shared history. Symbols and rituals that bound men together stronger than any contract or oath.

I'd read enough military history in my old life to know the power of it. How Roman legionnaires would throw themselves by the dozens into certain death to recover their eagle standards lost in battle. How medieval knights would fight to the last man to protect their lord's banner. How modern soldiers bonded over shared ceremonies and traditions that made them more than just individuals with weapons.

The Companions needed that. Needed something that made them feel like they belonged to something greater than themselves.

But that alone wouldn't keep them alive on the battlefield. In the end, training was all that mattered. True preparation. Experience. The muscle memory that came from repeating the same movements ten thousand times until they became instinct. And how do you prepare for war before you ever fight one?

"Remember that training exercise we'd talked about a few months back?" I asked.

All three nodded. Jack looked particularly excited, his eyes brightening.

"We're doing it."

Jack punched the air, actually jumping slightly. "Yes!"

I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "I'll write down exactly what I want from it so you can prepare the terrain ahead. Some of the men will have to serve as enemies, but they'll learn too. We'll head inland first, through the mountains." I paused. "Most of the land between here and the eastern coast is directly under House Tarth, so we won't need to bother the bannermen. I want this to be as close to a real campaign as we can get. Make sense?"

"Aye, m'lord," Grey said.

"We can leave in a few weeks from now," I continued. "A month if we need more time to prepare."

Grey and Jace nodded seriously, already thinking through logistics. But Jack just grinned wider.

"Oh, I have so many ideas, m'lord," he said. "So many ideas. Ambushes in the narrow passes. Night raids. Forced marches through difficult terrain. We could set up supply caches that they'd have to find. Make them forage and live off the land."

I shook my head ruefully. "Just remember they're still boys. We're training them, not killing them."

"Of course, m'lord," Jack said, though his grin suggested he was already planning something particularly devious.

As we walked back toward the main building, I cast one last look at the monument. Four names. Four boys who'd never grow old. Never marry or have children or see peace again.

But they wouldn't be forgotten. That much I could promise them.

xxx

I looked out the window of my new solar in Dawnrest, taking in the view.

The manse sat on a small hill overlooking the bay. It had belonged to House Tarth for generations, originally built as a residence for when the lords wanted to spend time in town rather than at Evenfall Hall. I'd converted the top floor into a proper working space.

Below, Dawnrest spread out like one of those colorful mockups in a museum. What had been a small port town just a few years ago was transforming before my eyes. New buildings rose along every street. The docks had been expanded twice already and were still crowded with ships—merchant vessels from King’s Landing and the Free Cities, fishing boats from up and down the island, war galleys flying the quartered sun and moon sigil of House Tarth, and, as I was starting to notice more and more, the small cog-boats from the coastal Stormlands houses that could no longer sail to the Weeping Town to sell their goods. 

Along the main thoroughfares, the inns and shops buzzed with activity at all hours. Dockside taverns overflowed with sailors and merchants. Lots of coin changing hands. The sound of hammers and saws was a constant background noise as construction continued on a dozen projects at once.

It was growth. Real, sustainable economic growth. And I was going to fuel it further.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

"Come in," I called.

My steward—a thin, efficient man named Corren who I’d pouched from my father’s household—opened the door and ushered in the first petitioners.

A short, massively wide man with shoulders like a bodybuilder stepped through. He didn't come alone. His wife accompanied him, a bit taller than him and carrying a bound book under her arms.

I raised an eyebrow at that. Not many common folk owned books, much less brought them to business meetings.

"Please, sit," I said, gesturing to the chairs across from my desk.

They settled in, the man looking nonplussed, the woman clearly nervous and alert, eyes flickering across the room.

"M'lord," the man started. "Me name’s Ned, m’lord. Big Ned, they call me, a builder by trade and a damn good one besides. Been living in Dawnrest me whole life too." He had a deep voice that matched his frame. "I'm here for the loan talk that's been going around."

I nodded. "You’ve come to the right place, then. Go on."

To my surprise, it wasn't Big Ned who continued. His wife opened the book and began speaking.

"My name is Mira, m'lord.” She fidgeted a bit. “We… we need fifty gold dragons to build a new inn on the land we purchased on the eastern edge of town some three years back."

Three years ago when it was three times as cheap, I thought, though I kept quiet as she continued speaking, growing more confident as she went on. And the more she spoke, the more I felt my eyebrows rise along with her confidence. 

The proposal she laid out was remarkable in its details. Everything from the cost breakdown for timber and stone, labor estimates, how much they might go over budget if something went wrong—and what specifically might go wrong and what they'd do in case of those contingencies. Expected revenue based on the booming business in other similar inns. A projected timeline for turning a profit.

"You know your numbers," I said when she finished.

She smiled slightly. "I’m a merchant's daughter, m'lord. Learned my letters and figures young. My family trades in wool and dyes out of Kellington." Her expression hardened just a bit. "They all but threw me out when I chose to marry my Ned instead of the fat old lordling’s bastard they'd picked for me."

Big Ned reached over and took her hand. The gesture was tender despite his massive paws.

"So you plan to go from builders to innkeepers?" I asked.

"No, m'lord." Mira shook her head. "Our plan is to build it and then sell it. Use the profit to buy more land and build more properties as the town grows. Big Ned knows construction. I know numbers. Together we can turn good coin if given the opportunity."

I could only smile. This was exactly what I'd hoped for when I announced the loan program.

"I'll have my steward draw up the papers," I said. "Fifty dragons at five percent annual interest, due in full within three years or in installments as you prefer."

Mira's eyes went wide. "Five percent? M'lord, erm, the moneylenders we spoke to asked for more than double."

"I'm not a moneylender," I told her. "I'm investing in Dawnrest. In its people. Five percent covers my risk and nothing more."

Big Ned looked like he might cry. "Thank you, m'lord. Thank you. We won't let you down."

"See that you don't," I said, but I smiled as I said it.

After they left, I saw more petitioners.

Two brothers who'd perfected a new technique for smoking fish that kept it fresh for months instead of weeks. They wanted to build a proper smokehouse and expand their operation beyond the small shed they currently used.

An old chandler who'd moved to Dawnrest three years past, looking to open a shop with his son. He'd been working out of their home but the demand had grown beyond what they could handle in such cramped quarters.

A weaver from King’s Landing who'd heard about Dawnrest's growth and wanted to set up a workshop. She specialized in fine fabrics and had brought samples that were genuinely impressive. I made a note to ask my mother to check the woman’s work.

A cobbler and his apprentice who wanted to expand from repair work to actually crafting new shoes. They'd identified a genuine gap in the market—most of the sailors and workers in town had to make do with poorly fitted footwear from traveling merchants.

By the end of the day, after seeing some twenty hopefuls, I expected less than half would turn out to be good investments. But this was only the first day. Before we left for the training exercise, I expected to see similar numbers almost daily.

I'd set aside almost a thousand gold dragons for this venture. Not a huge amount for a lord's son with profitable trade operations and a recently-won purse of fifteen thousand gold, but enough to make a real difference. More craftsmen opening up shop meant more trade. More merchants stopping by. More coin flowing through the local economy.

And more tax revenue for House Tarth, though I tried not to think about it in such mercenary terms. Tried. The cold reality was that gold won wars as much as soldiers. 

The next person to knock on my door wasn't another hopeful entrepreneur.

Grey came inside, bowing slightly. "M'lord."

He brought a man and a boy with him. They carried a small copper contraption between them, handling it carefully.

My eyes widened. An alembic. They'd actually built one.

They set it on a side table and I immediately moved closer to inspect it.

The coppersmith, a graying man with permanently stained hands, explained how he'd constructed it. "Followed your drawings as best I could, m'lord. The copper's good and thick here at the base. The head fits snug with a paste of rye flour and water to seal the gaps."

Grey nodded. "It's not perfect, but we've tried it already. The spirit comes out clean. Clearer than any drink I've seen before."

I ran my hands over the copper, checking the joints, the thickness of the metal, the way the head fit onto the pot. It was crude compared to what I remembered from my old world, but it was a start. A real, functional start.

The boy beside the smith was bouncing on the balls of his feet, barely containing his excitement.

Grey turned to him with a fond sigh. "Ah yes, this is the boy I told you about, m'lord. His name's Lenny. He's got a good head for this. Better than mine, to be sure."

I raised an eyebrow. The boy couldn't be older than fifteen. Small and scrawny, but with these big bright brown eyes that seemed to dance with manic energy.

"M'lord Tarth," Lenny started, then caught himself. "I mean, ser." He bowed low, nearly knocking into the alembic. "The drawings you made, they're brilliant. And I was thinking, if we make the copper pipe even longer and coil it, like a serpent, the vapors would cool better."

He gestured rapidly, his hands moving in excited spirals.

"And if it cools better, we lose less. And if we lose less, it grows stronger. And if we draw it twice—" He caught himself, glancing at Grey. "—as was written, it should improve further still."

The smith sighed but nodded. "A coil can be done. Hard work, that. Bending copper so it don't crumple. But not beyond me."

My heartbeat picked up. The boy had figured out the basic principle of a coil condenser on his own. Just from looking at my crude drawings and thinking about how to improve them.

"That's it," I breathed. Or close enough.

A lot of it was probably so inefficient we’d never make truly good spirits for years still. The shape of the head, the length and thickness of the pipe, the tightness of the seals, the steadiness of the fire, knowing when to cut away the first and last portions of a distillation run.

I'd had to guess at all of it based on half-remembered documentaries and more than one brewery tour that explained the distillation process in detail. Still, most of my guesses were probably wrong.

But it was a start. And this boy had already identified one of the key improvements.

"Good work," I told the smith. "Start on the coiled pipe for the head. Hire more apprentices if you must. I want it ready within the month."

The smith bowed and backed toward the door, clearly eager to get started.

I turned to Lenny. "Do you like this kind of work? Figuring out how things work? How to make them better?"

The boy nodded so aggressively I worried he'd hurt his neck. "Yes, m'lord! I mean, yes ser! I love it. It's like... like everything fits together if you just think about it right. Like a puzzle that wants to be solved."

I glanced at Grey, who just shrugged.

"From now on," I said, making a decision, "you can work on your education and this project only. You don't need to spend time in the yard with the rest of the Companions."

Lenny's eyes filled with tears. Actual tears. "Really? I can just... just work on this?" At my nod,  the boy exploded. “I'll start right now!" Lenny grabbed the smith's arm. "Come on, we need to talk about the measurements for the coil. And the thickness of the copper. And—"

They practically ran out of the room, the boy's excited chatter fading down the corridor.

"He's certainly something," I said to Grey.

"Aye, m'lord. Smarter than ten men put together."

"Oldtown would only stifle him," I said, thinking out loud. "The Citadel has its place, but they don’t take kindly to inventors and new experiments. They’ll try to fit him into their mold. Make him memorize their texts instead of letting him think for himself."

Grey nodded. "I thought the same, m'lord."

Rubbing at my chin, I considered how to go about this.

"I leave for Essos some four months from now. You'll leave as well, to the Citadel, and you'll take the other promising boys with you. But Lenny stays. I'll have Rowen teach him personally if needs must." I met Grey's eyes. "In a few years' time, he'll have built something those bent old men in robes have never managed in a thousand years."

Grey saluted. "It shall be done, m'lord."

I watched him leave, a plan forming in my mind. The maesters were useful. Knowledge needed to be preserved, studied, passed down. But it also needed to grow. To evolve. And that required people who could think outside the rigid structures the maesters had built.

People like Lenny. And people like Lenny, with the right help, could make people like me very rich.

xxx

Later, close to dusk and after three more meetings about loans, my day still wasn't done.

Jace knocked on my door. "Ready, my lord?" He peeked inside.

I stood up from my chair and stretched, feeling my back crack. I'd been sitting too long.

"Aye," I said. "Let's go meet this smuggler you brought me."

Jace smiled slightly, a rare expression for him these days. "I think you'll find him useful, m'lord. Very useful indeed."

We headed down the stairs and out into the Dawnrest evening, where apparently my newest recruit was waiting.

xxx

Davos of Fleabottom

"Calm down, Davos."

"Should we go back?" he asked, his voice coming out higher than he'd intended. "We should just go back. Aye, let's go back. We can take the skiff and be back in King's Landing in a few days."

Marya sighed, but he could hardly pay attention to her. Could hardly think of anything else. As he paced around the room, the idea started to take shape in his head like a ship emerging from fog.

He'd docked his skiff on an older, smaller berth south of Dawnrest at the behest of the man without an arm. Too much traffic in the town's main port, he'd said when they first arrived, his empty sleeve swaying as he gestured toward the quieter docks.

They'd spent their first night on the island of Tarth at a fine inn in the town's center. Finer than any place Davos had ever slept. Clean sheets, no bugs, a hearth that actually worked. Until the same man came the next morning to escort them to the house they were now in: a quaint place on the outskirts of the town, surrounded by large, well-appointed houses Davos suspected belonged to well-to-do merchants and craftsmen. Men who'd earned their coin through honest trade and smart business. Not smugglers from Fleabottom who'd spent half their lives running from harbor guards.

Their house was large too. Larger than it needed to be for two people. Three rooms—a main living space with a hearth and table, a bedroom with an actual feather bed, and a small storage room. There was even a chicken coop out back and a small garden plot.

It was too good for a man like him. How had he ever thought this was a good idea? Gods, he was a fool. But he could still fix this.

They'd have to make the trek to the smaller docks slowly with Marya as big as she was, but they'd be there before midnight, no doubt. And though the waters in Shipbreaker Bay were a tricky thing, treacherous currents and hidden rocks that had claimed more ships than Davos cared to count, few knew how to navigate them better than he did. Even at night. Especially at night, when the customs men were asleep and the patrols were lazy.

With good wind, they'd be back at King's Landing in a few days. Alton would let him use one of the Kraken's Shackle's rooms until he sorted out another tenement for them. Yes, it could work. It could. It had to.

Then Marya was beside him, her hand warm on his arm.

He stopped pacing. Turned to her, swallowing dryly.

"You're sweating," she said.

Davos nodded tightly. His throat felt like it was closing on him, like someone had their hands around his neck and was slowly squeezing.

How could he not be nervous?

He looked down at her stomach, bigger by the day. His hand moved there almost as if on instinct. It was shaking, he noticed. His whole arm trembling like he'd been hauling rope for hours.

He looked back up at her eyes, the color of ripe chestnuts, warm and alive and looking at him like he was worth something. Like he mattered.

Gods, but she looked beautiful. So full of life. The late afternoon sun coming through the window lit her hair like copper, turned her skin golden.

Why had he risked it all coming to Tarth? Especially now, with her so far along. They'd had a good life in King's Landing. Not a great life, mind you, but stable, as far as smugglers went.

He could keep a roof over her head, even if the roof often leaked and they had to set out pots when it rained. Even if the couple in the tenement next door held screaming matches every other night and they could hardly get any good sleep. Even if the stairs were rotting and the privy was shared with six other families and the whole building smelled like piss and old fish.

It was something. It was theirs.

And he'd given it up for this. For a promise from a lord he'd never met. For a dream that seemed too good to be true.

Because it probably was.

"Breathe, love," Marya said. She put both hands on his chest now, right over his heart. "Breathe. The lord'll be here soon. He'll go out thinking you're a nervous wreck if this is how he first sees you."

Then she slapped him in the chest. Hard enough to sting. He blinked at her. She was pointing a finger in his face, her expression fierce. 

"We're here for a reason. You and I know you’re the best sailor this side of the Narrow Sea. He wouldn't have invited us if you weren't." Her voice softened just slightly. "Be brave, Davos. For me and for little Dale."

Davos stopped cold. He looked down at her, eyes going wide. "What?” he mumbled. “How? How do you know it's a boy?"

She shrugged, suddenly coy. A smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "A mother knows."

Davos was silent for a moment, his mind racing. "And the name?"

"You don't like it?"

"I..." His voice caught. "I love it. Dale. Dale," he repeated it, testing the sound. "Dale."

He decided it was the best sound in the world. Perfect. Simple and strong and real. Feeling something settle in his chest, something warm and heavy, a good kind of heavy, Davos took a deep breath, and the panic receded like a tide. He couldn't be weak now. Couldn't let them down. His love. His family.

Then a knock came at the door. 

Beside him, Marya almost jumped, her hand flying to her mouth. She looked to him now, and this time he could clearly see how nervous she truly was herself. The way her eyes went wide, the way she touched her stomach protectively.

And she'd still been doing her best to calm him. To make him brave.

He walked up and gave her a kiss. Quick but firm, pouring everything he felt into it.

"I love you," he whispered.

Then he went to the door. Davos opened it and found himself staring.

The man without an arm stood there, dressed in the same clothes as all the times he’d seen him. Beside him, looming like one of the giant statues in front of the Great Sept of Baelor, was one of the tallest men Davos had ever seen.

And, Davos noticed with a start, almost not a man at all. The giant before him couldn't be older than eighteen, maybe seventeen, with blond hair disheveled but cut shorter than most lords he'd ever seen, falling just past his ears, and bright blue eyes that seemed to take everything in at once. His face was still losing the softness of youth, becoming sharper and more defined.

He was dressed simply too. No fancy doublet or heavy jewelry. Just good wool and leather, practical riding clothes, even if the quality was unmistakable. And the sword at his hip, that was real. Well-used from the look of the scabbard.

Behind them, two horses stood tied to a post in front of the house. Fine animals, well-bred.

"You must be Davos," the giant said. His voice was deeper than Davos expected, confident. "I am Ser Galladon Tarth, son to Lord Selwyn Tarth. May we come in?"

Davos realized he'd opened the door and just stared like an idiot. Heat flooded his face.

"M'lord Tarth," he said, bowing as low as his back would allow. "My apologies. Please, do come in."

The giant, Ser Galladon, nodded and stepped inside. He had to duck slightly to clear the doorframe. The man without an arm followed behind him, closing the door with his remaining hand.

"Ah, and you must be the lovely Marya," Ser Galladon said, his whole demeanor brightening as he looked at her. His eyes went immediately to her belly. "And look at you! How far along are you now?"

Marya managed a curtsy, which couldn't have been easy with her balance. "Seven months, m'lord."

Ser Galladon's eyes widened. "Truly? Then you must come up to Evenfall Hall soon. I'll have Maester Rowen see to you." He looked back at Davos. "This is your first child, right, Davos?"

Davos had been stuck by the door, frozen. But now he rushed to stand beside Marya, putting a protective hand on her shoulder.

"Ah, yes, m'lord. Our first."

"I see." Ser Galladon smiled. It seemed genuine, reaching his eyes. "Then you'll speak with my mother as well, Marya. She's had three children and is heavy with her fourth. You can ask her any questions and she'll set your mind at ease." He gestured broadly. "We'll find you the best midwives on the island. And the maester will be at your disposal as well. Whatever you need."

Davos found himself without words. He looked to Marya and she was also speechless, her mouth hanging slightly open.

"I, m'lord," Davos tried. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. 

He didn't know what to think. It was too much. Too generous. What did this lord want from him that he'd offer so much?

Ser Galladon waved his attempt away. "I invited you here, did I not? I'd be a poor host if I didn't take care of you." He tilted his head slightly, studying Davos with those sharp blue eyes. "And do not fret. I'm often suspicious of things that seem too good to be true as well. I brought you here for my own selfish reasons, Davos. I'll make plenty of use of your skills in the years to come. I only figured I could start showing my appreciation for them in advance."

The honesty of it struck Davos like a fist to the gut, and he could not say he didn’t like it, a straightforward transaction: you have skills I need, I'll take care of you in return.

"I... I see," Davos managed. "Still, you have my thanks, Lord Tarth."

"Yes, m'lord," Marya added, finding her voice. "Thank you so much."

Ser Galladon pointed to the table in the middle of the room. "Shall we sit?"

Marya had them seated and served with mugs of stout ale in but a few minutes. Then she excused herself, saying she'd be outside taking care of the chickens.

On the same day the man without an arm brought them to the house, a group of boys arrived with a basket. Enough food and drink to last a moon’s turn, bread and cheese and salted meat, vegetables and ale and even wine. And a half dozen egg-laying chickens that Marya had immediately fallen in love with and decided would never see the inside of a cooking pot.

Davos watched her go, then turned back to find Ser Galladon studying him.

"Before we start on what I'll be expecting of you from now on," the young lord said, "I want to ask you a few questions." He leaned forward slightly. "And I'll want honest answers, Davos. That's something I'll always expect of you. Honesty and loyalty. Give me that, and I'll see you rewarded and your family taken care of."

Davos looked across the table at the young man before him. A knight of the realm. The future lord of this island. And he couldn't see any deception in those bright blue eyes. No hidden cruelty. No false promises.

He wanted to believe him. Gods, how he wanted to believe that Ser Galladon Tarth was a just lord who Davos could serve. That his service would be acknowledged and rewarded. That he could build a life here for Marya and Dale.

Was it too much to hope for?

Davos wet his lips, nervous. "Aye, that I can do, m'lord. And I'll answer any question you have truthfully too. As truthfully as any man can."

Ser Galladon nodded. "Then tell me, what do you think of Dawnrest?"

Davos was surprised by the question. He'd expected to be asked about his sailing experience, his knowledge of the coast, maybe his criminal history.

The lordling continued, "I understand you're a man who's been all over the coasts of the Narrow Sea, so you might be able to give me a better answer than most. And I also want an outsider's opinion on this. As someone who'd never been to Dawnrest before."

His stomach dropped. He opened his mouth to answer, closed it. Looked across the table at those eager, honest eyes.

The knight had just asked him to always be honest.

"I..." He couldn't do it. Couldn't start this with a lie. "It's not the first time I've been to your town, m'lord."

Ser Galladon tilted his head. "How so?"

Davos let out a breath. His hands were shaking again under the table. "I've... worked this port before, I mean. As... as a smuggler." The words came out in a rush. "Many years ago, that is. Got some Myrish silk from a sellsail friend and brought it back to King's Landing to sell. Cheaper that way, without the king’s tax on Essosi ships berthing in the city." His voice shook as he finished.

There. He'd said it. Confessed to a crime right to the lord's face.

Any moment now, Ser Galladon would call for guards. Have him thrown in a cell. Maybe take Marya too, or worse, throw her out to fend for herself while heavy with child.

"Huh." Ser Galladon sat back. "I suppose I should've expected that, given who you are." He waved a hand dismissively. "Well then. I pardon you for your crimes committed on my lands, Davos, so long as you serve me faithfully and commit no others here on Tarth." He took a drink of his ale. "There. Now, my question."

Davos's jaw dropped. That was it? A pardon, just like that?

Ser Galladon was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. To remember what the question had been.

Right. What did he think of Dawnrest.

Once again, Davos told the truth. The words came easier now, flowing like water finding its course. He started by telling Ser Galladon how surprised he'd been by how much the town had grown. When he'd been here before—seven, maybe eight years ago—it had been a sleepy port. Rundown docks, a handful of warehouses, a couple of taverns that doubled as brothels. Not seedy exactly, just quiet and uninteresting. A great place for smugglers, in truth.

Now? Now it was bustling. New construction everywhere. Ships crowding the expanded harbor. Honest merchants doing honest trade.

Davos even found himself admitting that, for the past few days, he'd been going into town. Asking questions. Listening to gossip in the taverns. Gauging the mood of the townsfolk and how their lords treated them.

There were the normal grumbles, of course. There always were. Someone's taxes too high, someone else's neighbor too loud. The usual complaints of people living close together.

But the people here seemed to love House Tarth. Love them with the kind of passion he'd seen in very few lands. They spoke of the charitable Lady Addison Tarth and her beautiful daughters. Said Lord Selwyn and Ser Galladon had brought so much prosperity to the island the people didn't even know what to do with it. Some of the older folk's grumbles were only that it was too much, too fast. That they could hardly keep up with all the changes.

When he noticed Ser Galladon didn't stop him, only nodded along as he recounted it all, Davos went on.

He told him what he'd noticed at the port when he went down to check on the ships coming in. How the customs men worked. Where their blind spots were. How he thought smugglers could get past the officials if they were clever enough.

He pointed out the coves he knew north of town where smuggling likely happened, the sheltered spots where a small boat could beach without being seen from the main harbor.

Ser Galladon smiled at that. He looked beside him to the man without an arm, who'd been standing quietly by his lord the whole time.

"See, I told you he was good."

The man nodded. "The rumors I heard of him in King's Landing did not do him justice."

Flushing, Davos felt heat creeping up his neck. It was strange hearing about himself in such a way, to think that he had been the topic of conversation to lords and their hired swords.

"Thank you for your honesty about the town, Davos," Ser Galladon said. "It's good to hear it from someone who can bring an outside perspective." He leaned forward again. "When it comes to the smuggling, well, you may say we've taken a different approach to it in the past few years. You see, instead of trying to stamp it out—which you likely know better than me how impossible that is—my friend here has taken control over much of it." Ser Galladon gestured to the man without an arm. "The spotsmen to direct the ships? Our informant. The landers and tubsman to unload and handle the goods? They pay us a fee. The best spots to stash them? We charge for it. This way, House Tarth always takes a cut of its own, whether business is conducted down at the docks or at a moonlit cove."

Davos found himself gaping at the knight. "That..." He started, stopped, tried again. "I don't think I've ever heard of a lord doing that, if you pardon me, m'lord." He shook his head in wonder. "But it's brilliant."

Ser Galladon smiled again. "Glad to hear we have your stamp of approval." He set down his mug. "Now, about what your duties will be. You are a good sailor, Davos, but you're used to sailing small boats and skiffs, I imagine?"

Davos nodded.

"Well, I'm going to need you to go bigger." Ser Galladon's expression turned serious. "I have a force of men of my own, infantry only so far, but I need this force to be mobile. You, Davos, will be the first captain of my fleet."

Davos's eyes widened. Captain. Him, a captain.

"I need someone who knows good landing spots all over the coasts of Westeros," Ser Galladon continued. "I need someone who can sail a ship full of men in the dark of night. Past scouts and blockades or whatever else might come at us." He held Davos's gaze. "Do you get my meaning?"

Still unbelieving, he managed a shallow nod. His mind was reeling. A captain. Ser Galladon had said captain. Him, Davos of Fleabottom, who'd spent his whole life running from the law.

How many times could a man find himself speechless in one night?

"Do not worry overly much," Ser Galladon said, his tone gentler now. "For now, I only need you to start training your skills with bigger ships. A small carrack to start, I think, before we move to any sort of galley. One of my father's captains will come down to get you tomorrow, and you'll shadow him until he deems you're ready." He paused. "He's only going up and down our coast between Kellington and Gower every other day, so you can be here for Marya as needed too."

Davos rose, the chair scraping loudly behind him. He went to one knee without thinking.

"Thank you, my lord. Truly. I..." His voice cracked. "I don't know what to say."

Ser Galladon rose as well. "Best thing to say when you don't know what to say is nothing at all."

The knight laughed, and then Davos was being pulled up from his knees by two strong arms. Ser Galladon was even taller up close, had to look down to meet his eyes.

"If you're as good as I think you are, you won't be shadowing him for long, Davos. My father and I need to go to the mainland a fortnight from now to see about some land. And I expect to be taken there by the best smuggler Westeros has ever seen. Understand?"

Davos didn't know what to say again. So, following his new lord's advice, he kept his mouth shut and gave him a firm nod. 

He would not let Ser Galladon down. Would not disappoint the man who'd given him this chance. Who'd seen something in him worth investing in. 

For Marya. For Dale. For the life they could build here. He'd be the best damned captain Ser Galladon Tarth had ever seen.

xxx

AN: A bit of a kingdom-building chapter.