A thick fog has fallen over the Blackwater and King’s Landing, with only the three great hills rising above the mist. Yet life goes on on the docks, longshoremen carrying the disgorged contents of vessels to warehouses or to impromptou markets where merchants haggle to get the best prices to carry the items on past the city walls. Bells can be heard tolling on the water, of ships warning of their approach or their departure through the mist, while gulls cry and flock about the places where fishermen bring in their catches.
A particular ship is awaited today, by diverse persons: a great cog carrying valuable marble from the Vale, which was reported having been making its way to King’s Landing to help supply the burgeoning sept atop Visenya’s Hill. Princess Mariah has taken an interest in it, following the bed-ridden, pregnant Queen Naerys’s support of the project, and dispatched the captain of her personal guard, Ser Aidan Dayne… and so too has the wardenry of Crackclaw Point, as reports filtered down from there that some local robbers had tried their hand at piracy only to be repulsed, and a full accounting was sought by officials to determine how serious the attack was.” to Josella.
Ever the stalwart presence about both city and castle, Ser Durance Darklyn is oft a rare sight so close to the Rush—and yet, amidst the soupy haze, he rises a shadowy figure in the dark leather and linen of his company. Present in royal company but as representative of the Crackclaw’s warden in truth; silent and patient, habitually so, waiting for his place to speak, or be called upon, with eyes only for the cog, forcibly up and away from the foggy view of the water’s edge.
While the cog is not yet in sight, another ship has just pulled in to the docks, and of a very different character: a galley from the Free Cities, many-oared. It does not have the purple sails of Braavos, most often seen at port, but appears instead to hail from Tyrosh, or perhaps Myr. As it is being made fast to the docks and some gather to cry up in a mix of trader’s pidgin and Valyrian to see what goods it brings, while a customs officer prepares to board.
“A dull way to pass the while, is it not, Ser Durance?” asks Ser Aidan of the Darklyn knight, peering out towards the water. It’s said boats have gone out into the river, rowed by stout men to help throw cables to the fat-bellied cog and help bring it in, but that takes time. “Mayhaps we’ll be fortunate enough to not grow out whiskers by the time this cog arrives.”
Josella is come as part of the princess of Dragonstone’s party, for she too has always had an interest in the continuing project of the late King Baelor’s atop Naerys’s hill. “Timber shall be needed where there is stone. My lord father kindly came to the city with wood for the sept before we departed to Dorne; though the Kingswood is always an ample source. There is always the questions of brigands; however,” she offers to a fellow companion. She glances to the other ship, but does not make comment on it, at least before she can see what the fuss is about.
Broken from this distant reverie, distilled back to his present place on the docks, brought back by the growing cacophony rising up beneath purple sails and the yet foriegn lilt to his Dornish counterpart, Ser Aidan, a familiar face… whiskers or no. Blinking to better focus, or rather, refocus through the swirling mists, Durance tugs at modest length of his beard, having grown considerably since the coronation. Nodding off towards the foreign vessel and it’s crowd. “Not the dullest of places, Ser… to be sure. Though, this day has provided especially /dull/ conditions… If that ship had any other color sail than purple, like as not I’d have missed what all the noise is about.”
“No, not the dullest, ser. You’re right regarding that.” Ser Aidan has to admit. A prisoner and hostage, as he once was, knows what boredom can truly be. His attention then turns to the matter of timber, and where best to bring it from. “Aye, brigands in the kingswood ... an old story, or so I understand it. I was nearly killed by some, years ago, when Prince Cadan and I joined a royal party to chase after the Starveling. The prince saved me, he and the Iron Serpent.” But that was a decade and more ago.
As the customs officers board the ship once a gangway is brought down, a sailor—perhaps an officer, in fact, by the look of his garb—descends. To meet with some purchaser of his goods? It is unclear, though he’s quickly leaving the quay, and as he starts to pass the party of knights and ladies he slows and pauses. The man strokes at his oiled, crimson-dyed beard (a Tyroshi, for certain) and considers the company from a distance.
“It has been many a year since the prince was here,” Josella does now voice. “Though even without a bold robber-knight to lead them, the outlaws can still prove troublesome.” Now her attention does turn to the ship, though she does not think of the oft-discussed Lord of the Tides. “I wonder if there is anything of note from the east.. my husband’s house has been trading in the southerly Free Cities for some time. I ought to keep an eye on the trade, though,” she lets a sigh loose. “It can be tiring to think of kin and kith who are across the sea.”
“Old enough, and indeed troublesome… but no more than the king’s men can handle.” The Darklyn offers back after a momentary consideration. “Before I swore my sword to Crackclaw Company, I was keen to lend it to the Warden of the Kingswood…” Another moment finds a touch of humor in tone, “And that was before the man took my sister to wife.” Durance catches sight of the passing Tyroshi then, and the sight of red gives pause once again. He clears his throat, exchanging the humor in his voice for something far more grave.
“Was only a few years back when they set the woods a flame… and I was taken not many moons after… from within the city, even.” Shifting his gaze back to the noble party, a sudden awareness leaves him bowing lightly out of reflex. “My pardons, it is a dour tale… fitting for the day, but not for all present.” In recognizing the Hightower wife, he inquires politely, in effort to change subject. “And what of the intrepid Ser Malwyn, any news, my lady?”
“Aye, what news of him? No doubt he has already had messages asking him to send word about Lord Velaryon, if he hears anything,” the Knight of the Twilight says, even as his gaze goes back to the mist enveloping the river. A bell has been ringing nearer, it is true, and perhaps at last the cog is coming into sight through the fog.
It seems something Ser Aidan says makes the Tyroshi decide to come nearer. “Do I hear the name Velaryon?” the man says to the nobles, his accent thick but understandable. “Lord Velaryon, is that who you mean? The great sailor?”
“Of my lord, I hear some news, but it is much of the same: some treaties and trade deals, here and there. But it is said often that dark wings bring dark words; so perhaps I should be glad that there is no ill news to darken my days. I did hope to join him once across the sea, but I hope he will be back soon enough, so I do not have to abandon my present position,” she informs the knights of Darklyn and Dayne both. Suddenly, it seems that people are thinking more and more of Velaryon. The lady thinks of something to add, but cannot: “If he sent news of the man’s whereabouts, it has not yet arrived in the city, I am afraid.”
“Keen to keep his own matters, I’m aware. A sharp one, and a good knight… I’m certain he’ll send word in time.” A reassuring nod accompanies his claim, but the Darklyn’s attention is quick to return to the foreign tinge to Tyroshi’s call. The Dornishman had mentioned Lord Velaryon, but why would that draw this man to their discussion. “Aye, who else? If you’ve come seeking audience, I’m afraid you won’t find him here.”
The Tyroshi sailor, acknowledged by Ser Durance, offers him a deep bow. “Thank you, lord knight,” he says in his thick accent. “I do not seek audience. I am Gorro Tarasstis, second on the merchant galley _Brazen Bird_. I have information about the Lord Velaryon. Is there some ... guard-captain I should speak with? Some magistrate?”
The sailor’s questions—and his passing remark about having information—certainly draws attention. But Ser Aidan seems dubious of it. “If you had information, you should give it to the customs officers on yonder ship.” The Dornishman’s violet eyes are critical, examining the man with his outlandish crimson-dyed beard. And yet…. “But you are here now, and Ser Durance is an officer of the crown.”
Tarasstis ducks his head at that, making himself seem apologetic. “I did not know, lord knight. But customs men.. they do not listen to one such as I, thinking it only distraction from their duties.” A pause… and then he adds, “And they will claim any reward for themselves. I know. It is so in the Free Cities.”
“I am sure of it, as well;” and then Josella’s attention turns to the man with news. “I expect the customs officers wish to stop the spread of rumors, though you do seem to be a trustworthy man.” She considers the man, seemingly concluding that whether his words are true or false, it is better for him to speak, and nods lightly. “If you have seen Lord Alyn with your own eyes,” she begins, testing whether the story is first-hand or not: “it shall be a relief to all men of the realm.”
Roryn makes his way down the path and finds his place in the crowd of confusion resting on the docks. Garbed in a cloak of dark ash, he finds a place among the familiar faces of Durance, Aidan, and Josella. He looks towards his acquaintances and the Tyroshi with a puzzled look. “Word of the Okenfist? I would certainly hope to hear of his safe whereabouts. I have certainly wondered about Lord Alyn ever since his departure and the celebration his Grace threw to commemorate it.” He gives a hopeful look.
A slow incline of his chin bristles at the honey brown lengths of the Darklyn’s beard as he measures the thankful man and his red whiskers once more, silent in his judgement of one who peddles gossip. He marks the Dayne’s hesitation, but knows the Dornish to be the suspicious sort. He hears out the lady and her assertion for alleviation and marks the arrival of the iron islander, before wondering aloud, “I had not known the Lord to be so fervently sought after… but aye, Ser Aidan has the right of it, though… what word is this, and how is it you came by such costly wind?” Lowering his gaze, having taken this foreign sight in full, a sterner tone attempts to present the terms.
“Tell it true and I will determine the worth.”
“My lord of Saltcliffe,” says Ser Aidan, offering a nod to Roryn. “So this man claims.” He seems unconvinced, but he listens as Ser Durance questions the stranger.
“Ships have sailed in search of him, asking word,” Gorro Tarasstis says. “All over the narrow sea, we know of this missing famed sailor, Lord Oakenfist. The _Brazen Bird_, my ship, has lately sailed through the Stepstones. There, at Grey Gallows, we put in for water and learned of a corsair from the Basilisk Isles who has found haven there. This woman has claimed Velaryon chased her ship, and nearly caught her when a tempest from the south blew them apart. This was some three moons ago.” Well, it’s a story… but he does add some detail, after seeing the doubt in the eyes of those lsitening. “She described his ship to the local headmen, that its prow was carved with a laughing dragon, and a seahorse flew beneath a dragon on its masts.”
Roryn says, “chased her ship? What do you suppose he would be after her for? If it is true he was simply blown off course by this tempest then there is still hope for him indeed.” Roryn immediately inquires. “I recall being blown off course for a time or two on some voyages of my own. No harm never came to us though, just a few days added to our time at sea, that’s all.” He gazes out upon the various ships along the sides of the docks, as he shuffles about in thought. “I have never set a sail along the waters across the Narrow Sea, however. I’m afraid I’ve seldom gotten past Dorne. There could be different conditions to affect his voyages in those waters…”
“That ship is known along many seas, a mast and prow to haunt many a mind who take to those waters.” Durance claims as Roryn concludes, but remain among those less than convinced, gaze narrowing briefly before shifting to gauge the reaction of the others present, all likely more astute than himself in judging such truths.
“That is The Brazen Bird, just there?” The Darklyn’s squints through the fog, gesturing toward the purple sails in confirmation. “A fitting name… And what would you say this information is worth… Master Gorro Tar… assist?”
“The Basilisks are far east and south,” Josella frowns somewhat, “filled with all manner of terrible things, if the tales are true. Not just piracy, but also foul pests and plagues.” She stops herself for a moment: “It is a while ago, to be sure. And Lord Velaryon has braved waters just as dangerous, if not more, in his youth.” Keeping her poise, she declares: “I do hope his lordship is well, nonetheless.”
Ser Aidan’s dubiousness remains, but when Roryn questions why Velaryon might chase a ship, he notes, “The Iron Throne has undertaken efforts to keep the Stepstones clear of pirates, ever since the Seven Kingdoms and Dorne joined forces to wrest control of them from Pentos. Lord Velaryon led the fleet in that effort.” He looks at the Tyrosi speculatively before he adds, “It would fit Oakenfist, from what I know of him. It would be a point of pride. And if she returned to her base while he did not, and yet not in Volantis either…”
But Durance’s point about the well-known flagship that Velaryon commanded is well-taken, and Aidan grows quiet. Tarasstis bows his head to the knight and says, “It is not for me to say what value would be put on it, only that it has value. Ask others on my ship, if it pleases you, lord knight. They will confirm what I say.”
Roryn says, “Aye, my lady. I have heard as much about the Basilisk isles as well. They would seem to be a wretched place to set course for. I would hope neither you nor I ever have the misfortune of sailing in their direction.” Roryn mentions to Josella. He looks back to Aidan, and then to Durance as he stands in thought. “Lord Alyn was an honorable man, as well as a prideful one. I suppose it should come as no surprise that he would venture so boldly to strike against pirates just as his Grace sent him to do.” He nods to Aidan. “Ser Durance, while I am no master of deciphering the truths or intentions of men, I can say the story Master Tarasstis has provided us bears a degree of weight.” He pauses to look back at Tyroshi. “As someone who has spent much time at sea, I can say his tale would seem to be a possibility. It would be believable that Lord Alyn may face some struggle when sailing in waters of such a turbulent reputation, and his personal nature would lead him into the endeavor as described to us.”
Taking in the thoughts of those around him, the Crackclaw officer’s consideration is brief, considering all that can be speculated. Both the Hightower wife and Dornishman make valid points on the nature of Oakenfist, a man who’s renown is near inescapable. At the suggestion of the Saltcliffe heir, he nods curtly, perhaps not entirely in agreement with his assumption… but seeming to hold some honor in the agreement with the Tyroshi in the first place.
“I can see his docking fee covered for the nonce… and, he has tapped the necessary outlets here.” The Darklyn gestures lightly to the Princess’ entourage. “So long as The Brazen Bird is in no hurry to make sail…. he may find this… wind… is worth a bit more.”
“It may be so. And yet, the lord has braced many threats in his day, and the record that we now have is second-hand. That is not to give less weight to the master’s account, however; and some word of Lord Alyn is better than no word of him. I do think it credible, my lord,” Josella tells Roryn. “After all, did Lord Alyn not speak of going to Volantis? I think that at least is a region still beset by corsairs, even if the Stepstones are safer: or perhaps the safety in the Stepstones has led to the Basilisk Isles growing bolder.”
The Tyroshi bows again and tells Ser Durance, “The _Brazen Bird_ will stay several days, I know, lord knight. We are to rest and await goods to carry on to the north. I will be near the ship, and need only be asked for if more is needed.” He seems satisfied with that, thinking he is done, when Ser Aidan stops him. “Master Gorro, you did not name this corsair woman. We should know this, too, if his grace the king or his small council wishes to dispatch ships to deal with her.”
Tarasstis replies, “She is Anshrut Noh. A wicked woman, all say. Some call her the Headwoman, for the heads she decorates her ship with.”
Through the fog, a pair of boats can be seen making their way to the shore, thick cables curving behind them to the shadowy shape of a great cog lumbering into view. That draws attention of some, who were here only to await this marble-bearing merchant ship.
Roryn nods and considers all of the different opinions at hand. “Most certainly. In the end, I don’t think any of us can be certain about any knowledge on the Okenfist, but in time. I do hope Ser Durance will find some more news that will prove to be fruitful. This report is certainly something to be considered with more interrogations.” He pauses to gaze about at the incoming ships..
Acknowledging the man’s bow without matching it, the Darklyn knight is more keen to nod when Ser Aidan inquires where he had not thought to… and when a name is offered he give the Dornishman and uncertain look; one that states it unfamiliar and also one that wonders if they’d ever hear it again. “The Headwoman, I cannot fault you for withholding such a name… she sounds far from a reliable source.” To Roryn then, another nod. “If there is any more to be learned… or any of it holds merit, mayhaps. In the mean time, I can send word to Duskendale, see how much can be gleaned off a different dockside.”