The Fury was the flagship of the Royal Fleet under Stannis Baratheon's command—a triple-decked war galley boasting three hundred oars.
Ballistae lined both sides of her deck, and catapults stood ready at the bow and stern, prepared to hurl barrels of burning pitch.
The oars were arranged in perfect rows along the flanks, like the ribs of some colossal beast.
Her sails shimmered with gold, emblazoned with the crowned stag of House Baratheon.
Arthur had been invited aboard this very ship, the Fury, to travel with Stannis to Starfall. Accompanying them was nearly half the strength of the Royal Fleet.
"Ser Arthur, if you please—"
On the deck of the Fury, the oarsmaster, Mallick, swept his hand across the horizon, introducing the ships of the fleet to Arthur one by one.
"Flanking us are the Lord Steffon and the Stag of the Sea, both war galleys of two hundred oars."
"Behind them are the hundred-oar galleys: the Lady Janna, the Swift Sword, the Trident, the Lady Harra, the Brightfish..."
He seemed to know every ship intimately, able to rattle off their names just by glancing at their prows and sails.
"And those ships flying black sails—the Black Betha, the Wraith, and the Lady Marya—are captained by my father and brothers."
Mallick's chest swelled with pride as he introduced his family's ships.
Noticing the prominent onion painted on the black sails, Arthur immediately understood. "Is the 'Onion Knight,' Davos Seaworth, your father?"
"Yes, my lord." Surprise showed on Mallick's sun-darkened face. The renowned 'Sword of the Morning' knew his father's name? "You know of my father?"
"Your father's story is legendary," Arthur said. "If possible, I would like to invite him to meet with me."
Davos Seaworth was a rarity: a man born in Flea Bottom who, as a smuggler, had crossed class boundaries to become a landed knight, gain his own keep, and—in another timeline—rise to become Hand of the King to Stannis.
"My father would be honored beyond words to be summoned by you!" Mallick replied excitedly.
After touring the deck and viewing the accompanying warships, Arthur instructed Penrose—who was practically vibrating with excitement at being on a warship—to wake him when they reached Dragonstone. Then, he retired to his cabin to rest.
The Fury sailed much more smoothly than the medium-sized purple-sailed ship Arthur had taken before. In his cabin, he felt only a gentle rocking and soon fell into a deep sleep.
---
Arthur wasn't sure how many hours he had slept when a knock at the door woke him. It was Stannis's squire, Bryen Farring. "Ser, Lord Stannis invites you to join him for dinner."
Unlike Renly's extravagant style and refusal to deny himself any luxury, Stannis's quarters on the Fury were austere. The only things that could be called decoration were a suit of armor bearing the Baratheon crowned stag and a heavy, iron-rimmed shield with the same sigil.
The food on the table was the same as what the oarsmen and sailors ate: blood sausage, hardtack, salt beef, hard cheese, a pot of fish stew with root vegetables, and a flagon of rum.
Besides Stannis, his brother-in-law, Ser Imry Florent, was also present.
Imry had the typical Florent features, most notably a pair of large, prominent ears. He served as the acting commander of the Royal Fleet while Stannis attended Small Council meetings in King's Landing.
"Please, sit, Ser Arthur," Stannis gestured.
Ser Imry poured the rum attentively, his ears flushing red with excitement. "Ser Arthur, congratulations on your appointment as Governor of the Dornish Marches."
The Florents had never been content with Tyrell rule over the Reach. Seeing the Redwynes—close allies of Highgarden—suffer such a massive blow delighted him greatly.
Arthur took his seat to Stannis's left and sighed. "Whether this Governorship is a blessing or a curse is hard to say. The Marcher lords are all proud and unruly. Uniting them to suppress the wildlings will be difficult beyond measure."
"Nonsense," Ser Imry said. "Ser Arthur sent Lord Paxter to the headsman's block. Dealing with wildlings will be child's play for you."
"You overestimate me, Ser," Arthur said, dipping his salt beef into the fish stew before taking a bite of blood sausage. "Paxter's death was due first to the laws of the realm, and second to the mercy and protection of the Seven. I merely sought justice."
"The protection of the Seven?" Stannis, sitting at the head of the table, spoke suddenly.
"The Seven have never protected anyone. My parents were devout followers of the Seven. I once was, too. Whenever they sailed, I would light a candle at the Smith's altar every day, praying for their safe return."
"When I was thirteen, my parents were returning to Storm's End from across the Narrow Sea. Their ship, the Windproud, smashed against the rocks in Shipbreaker Bay and sank right before my eyes!"
"They, and over a hundred oarsmen and sailors, all perished. Only a fool—a jester—survived."
Ignoring Imry's coughs and warning glances, Stannis continued, his face grim. "From the day I watched the Windproud sink, I stopped believing in gods."
"I swore an oath to the sky that I would never worship any cruel god who drowned my parents."
"In King's Landing, the High Septon prattled on endlessly about how all justice and righteousness in the world come from the Seven. But every act of 'justice' I have witnessed has been the work of men!"
What a staunch materialist warrior, Arthur thought.
Of the three Baratheon brothers, Arthur felt Stannis suited his temperament best—though he wished the food were better.
"Ser Arthur," Ser Imry interjected hastily, "my lord brother has had too much to drink. Please do not take offense..."
Arthur chewed on the softened salt beef and cut him off. "Lord Stannis speaks profound wisdom. Justice and righteousness must be upheld by men. Wielding a sword is far more effective than praying to the Seven!"
"My grandfather sought trial by combat from the Mad King. The Mad King chose fire as his champion. Did the Seven help him defeat the flames? No!"
"The Kingslayer told me: my grandfather's cloak caught fire first, then his surcoat, and soon he was nothing but metal and ash."
"This time, if not for my uncle's care, the wisdom of the Hand and King Robert, and the bravery of Starfall's soldiers in capturing so many Reach nobles... do you think the Seven would have cared about Paxter's atrocities?"
From there, Stannis and Arthur plunged into a heated discussion about the Seven. The atmosphere grew more and more animated; it was as if their wavelengths had synchronized. Both felt like they had finally met a kindred spirit.
Their conversation about the Seven became increasingly blunt, until they were practically cursing the gods as frauds.
At the end of the dinner, the tight line of Stannis's jaw softened. He raised his cup. "To the justice wrought by men!"
"Justice must be upheld by one's own hand!" Arthur drained his cup in one go.
Ser Imry, sitting on the sidelines, listened to their heretical rants with his mouth agape. He didn't know whether to agree or object. His hand raised and lowered his cup uncertainly, looking utterly out of place next to the two men at the table.