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
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