Aeron barely slept his first night in White Harbor.
The bed was too hard, the room too cold, and the noise from the harbor outside never ceased throughout the night—the rhythmic chants of unloading cargo continued until the small hours, and before dawn, there was the commotion of fishing boats setting sail.
Worse still, every time footsteps echoed in the hallway, he would jolt awake, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger under his pillow.
He only managed to drift into a fitful sleep just before daybreak.
When he woke, morning light was already filtering through the grimy windowpane.
Aeron sat up, rubbed his aching neck, and walked to the window.
White Harbor was waking up in the morning mist.
The docks were already bustling.
Sailors and laborers moved between the piers, cranes creaked as they hoisted cargo, and the calls of fishmongers rose and fell.
The air in the harbor was a mixture of salted fish, tar, and the lingering scent of alcohol from the night before.
Aeron watched it all, calculating his plans for the day.
He needed two things: intelligence within the city and more news about the outside world—especially Driftmark.
More importantly, he had to figure out how much House Manderly knew about the “silver-haired bastard” and how far their manhunt had progressed.
He changed into the most inconspicuous rough cloth clothes, carefully hid his silver hair under a hood, and smeared a little ash on his face.
He kept the valyrian steel dagger hidden close to his body, and divided his coin purse into two, sewing most of it into his lining and leaving only a few copper coins in his pocket.
When he went downstairs, the inn’s common room was empty, with only the innkeeper yawning behind the counter.
“Breakfast?” the innkeeper glanced at him.
“No need,” Aeron said, pushing the door open and stepping into the morning mist.
The fish market of White Harbor was on the east side of the harbor, an area of sheds constructed from wooden planks and tarpaulins.
Before he even got close, the pungent smell of fish rushed to meet him.
The sheds were filled with long wooden tables stacked with various seafood—silver-gray cod, spotted mackerel, giant conger eels, and crates of crabs and shrimp.
Fishmongers shouted prices, housewives carried baskets and haggled, and the ground was littered with fish scales, entrails, and melted ice water.
Aeron circled the edge of the fish market and was just about to leave when he suddenly heard two fishmongers chatting nearby.
“…Have you heard?
A few more ships from Driftmark have arrived near The Three Sisters.”
“Still searching?
It’s been half a month.”
“Indeed.
“Are they crazy?
What kind of bastard is worth that much…”
Aeron’s footsteps faltered for a moment, then he continued walking without looking back.
The news was spreading faster than he had imagined.
The bounty had increased, and the manhunt was still ongoing.
He needed more intelligence.
Leaving the fish market, Aeron headed toward the taverns in the dock district.
There were many types of taverns in the White Harbor dock district—noisy taverns where sailors gathered, quiet little spots for merchants to discuss business, and basements that sold only swill.
Aeron chose one of medium size, “The Sailor’s Home.”
When he pushed the door open and went in, it was the busiest time of the evening.
The common room was packed.
Sailors were huddled around long tables drinking and playing finger games, someone in the corner was playing an out-of-tune lute, and the air was thick with the smell of ale, sweat, and tobacco.
Aeron found a seat in the furthest corner and ordered the cheapest ale.
After the drink arrived, he sipped it slowly, pricking up his ears to listen to the surrounding conversations.
Most of it was boring bragging and complaining—how much they earned on this voyage, how stingy the captain was, which port had the cheapest whores.
But occasionally, some useful information would be mixed in.
“…Things aren’t peaceful over at Dragonstone either,” a red-bearded sailor at the next table said.
“Princess Rhaenyra has summoned another group of lords, hearing they are discussing something.”
“What else could it be, the matter of the throne, of course,” his companion lowered his voice.
“The old King’s health is failing, both sides are making preparations…”
“Hush!
Can you say that here?”
The voices dropped.
Aeron’s hand tightened around his ale mug.
King Viserys’s health was failing…
this was the prelude to the Dance of the Dragons.
War might be closer than he had anticipated.
A conversation at another table caught his attention.
“…House Manderly has been quite active lately,” one of them said.
“I returned from King’s Landing last month and saw their ships docked there, unloading some rather peculiar cargo.”
“What kind of cargo?”
“Weapons.
Spears, crossbows, and a few crates wrapped in tarpaulin; couldn’t tell what they were.”
“The North is preparing for war?”
“Who knows.
But House Manderly are supporters of The Greens, everyone knows that.
They’re transporting weapons to the North, who do you think they’re for?”
Aeron’s heart sank.
House Manderly was not just supporting The Greens politically, but also making substantial preparations.
If White Harbor truly became a stronghold for The Greens in the North, then this place was a complete death trap for him.
He had to find out as soon as possible how much House Manderly knew and what they intended to do.
Just then, the tavern door opened again.
Two men entered.
One was young, in his early twenties, wearing fur-trimmed leather armor with a sword at his waist.
The other was older, in his forties, with an expressionless face, but his eyes swept across the common room like a hawk’s.
The noise in the tavern dropped a notch instantly.
Aeron recognized the young man—he was the Scar-faced Guard who had questioned him at the city gate yesterday.
But today he wasn’t wearing his guard uniform, just civilian clothes.
The Scar-faced Guard stood at the door for a while, his gaze scanning the common room.
Then he walked toward the bar and said something to the innkeeper.
The innkeeper pointed toward the direction of the kitchen.
The two walked straight through the common room and headed toward the kitchen.
When passing Aeron’s table, the Scar-faced Guard’s gaze swept over and lingered on Aeron’s face for half a second.
Aeron lowered his head, pretending to drink.
Half a second later, the gaze shifted away.
The two disappeared behind the curtain leading to the kitchen.
Aeron waited for the duration of a few heartbeats, then set down his ale mug, stood up, and left the tavern.