Davos Seaworth had smelled trouble on the water before, and the ships cutting through the grey water smelled like trouble long before they showed their colors.
He stood at the rail of the harbor watchtower, counting the shapes moving through the mist.
Too fast for merchants.
Too many oars for fishing boats.
He counted the low, mean lines of the hulls and felt something cold settle in his stomach — the same feeling he used to get before a smuggling run went wrong.
Years and years he had run onions and salt past blockades.
He knew the shape of a raider when he saw one, even through fog thick enough to hide a kraken.
“Seems like squids to me,” he muttered to himself, though no kraken banner flew yet.
He did not need the banner.
He had smuggled past ironborn longships long before he ever swore himself to the young lord he served now.
He didn’t feel any anxiety or trouble.
Instead he found himself thinking of that young lord, and how much trouble he would stir up once he heard the news.
Davos only sighed.
He knew trouble when it was brewing.
He had been a smuggler most of his life, and now — well, you could call him an attendant to a lord.
But if you asked him, his work hadn’t changed much.
He still sailed, though more legally now.
But Not always.
If he was honest, he did more smuggling now than he ever had before joining Alric’s service.
He shook his head.
What could he do?
The young lord he served was eccentric, to say the least.
Alric Baratheon was the son of the late Stannis Baratheon, a man of honor and duty if there ever was one.
Most in the realm expected the son to be the same — straight-backed, blunt-spoken, driven by justice above all else.
Instead, to the realm’s quiet shock, Alric had grown into something closer to his uncle, King Robert.
A man who sought his pleasures in drink, in fighting, and in women.
Davos couldn’t blame him, not really.
The boy had watched his father die when he was eight.
He’d been raised by Robert until he was twelve, and after that he had sailed for years among sailors, and then smugglers, and ex-pirates — hardly the company that bred piety or justice.
It’s not really a ideal conditions for someone to grew up.
A man absorbed what he saw, and Alric had been seeing that world since he was a child.
Sailors’ tongues and habits are not gentle, and no one could really deny the drinking habits of King Robert himself nor his inclinations for women.
Davos finally reached the door of his lord’s cabin.
Alric’s cabin sat above the old officers’ quarters — a room Stannis himself had once used, though nothing of Stannis remained in it now.
It was filled with wine bottles, discarded clothes, and weapons.
Davos knocked once, then did not wait for an answer.
He knew he’d get none, judging by the sounds coming from inside.
Men who waited too long for their lords to wake ended up losing ships.
He pushed the door open.
He saw a woman’s dress thrown over a chair.
The room stank of sweat, cheap perfume, and better wine.
“Ah— ah— ah—” Sounds of pleasure came from the bed, mixed with heavy breathing.
Davos saw Alric Baratheon sprawled beneath a naked woman riding him, one arm thrown carelessly over her hip.
He didn’t know her name.
He didn’t care to.
Davos’s face went red.
No matter how many times this happened, he never got used to it.
“My lord.” He kept his voice low but firm.
Alric grinned when he saw him, entirely unbothered.
“Oh, Davos. Still uncomfortable? I thought you’d be used to this by now.”
Davos coughed and looked at the wall instead.
Alric laughed and let it go.
“Forget it. Why do you seek me? Tell me.”
“Ships, my lord. Coming through the northern channel. Fast, low, built for raiding.”
Alric’s expression barely changed.
This wasn’t news that impressed him — he’d been sailing four years now.
“Pirates. We deal with pirates regularly, Davos. Why does this need my attention? Do the men miss me, or do they want me in on the fun? Because as you can see, I’m already having a different kind.”
Davos shook his head, awkward.
“They’re flying no colors yet. But I know these longships. They’re built on the Iron Islands. They could be Greyjoys.”
That got Alric’s attention.
“Oh,” he said, “this just got interesting.” His smile wasn’t a pretty one anymore.
It had gone cold.
The girl above him stopped moving at the shift in his voice.
Alric spanked her once, sharp.
“You carry on.”
He said it with a charming smile, and she resumed, uncertain but obedient.
“Greyjoys,” Alric said again, quieter this time.
“Move the ships faster toward them. I want to meet them. I want to really see if dead men die or not.”
Davos nodded, already expecting nothing less — he knew Alric’s hatred for the ironborn too well to argue.
“How many?” Alric asked.
“Eight that I counted. Maybe more behind them in the fog.”
“Ring the harbor bell. Get the men ready. Tell them there’s fun ahead.”
Davos nodded, though he made one last useless attempt.
“My lord, we could bypass them. We should consider—”
“Consider what, Davos? Letting them past?” Alric’s voice sharpened.
“Get the men ready, and send a woman in here to help me dress for the fight.”
Davos nodded, knowing nothing would change his lord’s mind now, and left to see to his duties.
The moment the door shut, Alric flipped the girl beneath him and finished what he’d started, quick and rough, his mind already halfway to the deck outside.
A serving woman arrived not long after, carrying his steel breastplate and leather fighting tunics over one arm.
She said nothing about the state of the room or the woman dressing hurriedly in the corner — she had done this before, and she would do it again.
She fastened the buckles at his sides with quick, practiced hands while Alric stood still, letting her work, his mind already out on the water.
When she tied the last strap and stepped back, he caught her by the waist, pulled her in, and kissed her hard enough to leave her breathless. she just remained flustered and silent, a red face could be noticed but it isn’t anything unusual, Alric is one of handsome men In the realm, Powerful, Rich and She spend some good nights with him.
Barely any girl could deny that pleasure.
He laughed and let her go, grabbing his war hammer from where it leaned against the wall, and walked out into the grey morning light.
The docks were already alive with motion.
Sailors ran rope, archers climbed to the wall, men-at-arms shouted orders and pulled on mismatched armor.
Alric felt something settle in his chest at the sight of it — not fear, never fear.
Something closer to hunger.
“My lord!” a voice called out, bright with mockery.
“Finally decided to join us pitiful men? I heard you were busy.”
Alric turned and grinned at the man jogging toward him — tall, dark-skinned, a longbow slung across his back and a quiver already strapped to his hip.
Kojja Mo, a man out of the Summer Isles who’d wandered into Alric’s crew two years back , A good find for Alric as man is an amazing archer and more than that A good drinking company.
” You know, I was doing some ‘important’ work, Kojja.”
“Important work.” Kojja snorted.
“Everyone heard the sound of those important work . We have been listening it for years now.”
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
“No,” Kojja said, “but this does.” He nodded toward the approaching ships, barely visible through the thinning fog, and pulled an arrow from his quiver.
“Ironborn, you most loved enemies.”
Alric ” Yea, I do have a great love for them.
Love cracking some skulls of the squids.”
Kojja’s teeth flashed white in a grin and he laughed out loud along with some men near them.
Alric clapped him on the shoulder and walked past him toward the rail, snatching a bow from the hands of a startled young archer standing nearby.
The boy opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it when he saw who’d taken it.
Alric nocked an arrow, testing the pull, sighting down the shaft toward the lead longship still cutting through the mist.
It is a familiar routine to him.
He waited.
Let the ship come closer.
Closer.
Then he loosed.
The arrow crossed the gap and buried itself in an ironborn sailor’s throat, dropping him mid-stride into the water below.
A ragged cheer went up from the men nearby.
“Not bad,” Kojja said, already nocking his own arrow, “for a drunk.”
“Watch and learn,” Alric said, reaching for another shaft.
The two of them loosed together, arrow after arrow, picking off deckhands and oarsmen as the ironborn ships closed the last stretch of water.
Screams started rising from the lead longship — first confusion, then fury, as the raiders saw instead of them chasing the ships, ships have been coming towards them underestimating them greatly.
The horn sounded from the ironborn ship, deep and mocking, and the answer came from Alric’s own harbor bell, still ringing behind them.
The first longship rammed alongside the harbor’s outer galley with a shudder of splintering wood, grappling hooks flying across the gap.
Alric dropped the bow, drew his war hammer, and felt the cold grin return to his face.
“Well,” he said to his men, cracking his neck to one side, “THEY WHAT IS DEAD, MAY NEVER DIE. DO WE HAVE SOMETHING SAY ABOUT IT.”
“AYE, CAPTAIN, AYE ” His men shouted clear and loud ready for the clash awaiting them.
The first ironborn reaver came screaming over the rail, axe raised high — and the world dissolved into steel, blood, and noise.