34 Chapter 32 - The Smuggler
276 AC
Davos POV
The soft mewling of my child woke me from slumber, and I found myself alone in my bed. I gently rose and scooped up my firstborn into my arms.
"How is little Dale doing?" I asked, but he only responded with gurgles. He had just celebrated his nameday, and my heart swelled with love for him. His brown hair mirrored my own, a reflection of our bond.
"Davos," my wife Marya called from afar, prompting me to place little Dale back into his cot before joining her.
I wrapped my arms around Marya, pulling her close as I showered her with kisses, each one a testament to my love for her.
"Have I ever told you that I married the best woman in the world?" I whispered, eliciting a soft laugh from her.
"Many times," she replied with a gentle smile. "But I never tire of hearing it."
We shared another embrace before making our way to the table, where Marya had prepared a simple yet hearty meal of fresh eggs and bread. As I savored each bite, I couldn't help but marvel at the modest comfort of our home.
It was a far cry from the squalor of Fleabottom, where I was born and raised amidst crime and poverty. But through hard work and determination, I had carved out a better life for myself and my family.
Once I had finished my meal, I bid farewell to Marya and little Dale, venturing out into the bustling streets of Fleabottom. I made my way to one of the pot shops, eager to learn what had happened in the city in my absence.
"Davos," the gravelly voice of old man Norbert called out to me, drawing amused glances from nearby patrons.
"How is one of the most infamous smugglers of the Seven Kingdoms doing?" he chuckled heartily, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Keep your voice down, Norbert," I replied with a grin, glancing around to ensure we weren't attracting unwanted attention. Norbert's tavern was a haven for those seeking refuge from the harsh realities of Fleabottom.
"Come, we should get a drink," he insisted, gesturing for me to follow him to the bar.
As we meandered through the dimly lit tavern, I couldn't help but notice familiar faces scattered among the patrons.
"Oi, look who we have here," came the boisterous voice of Jason, one of my childhood friends who used to peddle wine in Norbert's establishment.
"Your teeth have become even blacker," I teased, earning a hearty laugh from Jason.
"And it seems the sea has weathered your face even more," he retorted, returning the jest as we shared a warm embrace, the scent of wine clinging to him.
"Both of you, go and sit. I have some work to attend to, and I'll join you shortly," Norbert interjected before disappearing into the shadows of the tavern.
As Jason and I settled into our seats, we indulged in reminiscing about our shared past, trading stories of youthful escapades and narrow escapes.
"So, how have the seas treated you?" Jason inquired, his curiosity piqued.
"You should know better than me, Jason. After all, you have all the news about everyone in the city," I remarked with a knowing smile, acknowledging his reputation as Fleabottom's unofficial informant.
"You're correct about that, my friend," he boasted proudly, puffing out his chest.
"I heard you bought your own little ship," he continued, his tone tinged with admiration.
"I did," I confirmed with a hint of pride, recalling the moment I named the vessel 'Marya' after my beloved wife.
"And what news do you have from the capital, Jason?" I inquired, eager to hear the latest gossip from the realm beyond Fleabottom's confines.
"You must have heard about our new Lord Commander of the Goldcloaks," he began, and I nodded in acknowledgment.
News of the king appointing his second son to lead the city watch had spread far and wide across Westeros.
"What about him?" I inquired, curious to hear Jason's take on the matter.
"I remember the rumors that he was as clever as Jaehaerys the Old King," I mused aloud, recalling the whispers that had circulated.
At my words, Jason burst into laughter, causing confusion to wash over me.
"What?" I pressed, seeking clarification.
"That rumor was nothing but a steaming pile of horse dung," he declared, his amusement evident in his tone.
"The Golden Prince has held the position of Lord Commander for the past three moons," Jason informed me, his expression darkening.
"And he has proven himself to be anything but the man we hoped for," he continued bitterly.
"Many believed that the young prince would bring about change, get rid of the corruption present within the Goldcloaks, but instead, he's been squandering his time in brothels and taverns," Jason spat out with disdain.
"He's more akin to Aegon the Unworthy," he concluded, shaking his head in disappointment.
"What does the king have to say about this?" I questioned, my brow furrowing with concern.
"You know the man, Davos," Jason replied with a cynical smirk. "He's least interested, much like his son. Drowning in wine and whores."
I sighed, understanding the implications of such apathy from the crown.
"And what about the Hand? Surely, he's not pleased with what's happening," I pressed further, seeking insight into the political turmoil brewing in the capital.
"Oh, not at all," Jason confirmed, his tone dripping with amusement. "The Lion wanted the crown prince for his daughter, not the second prince," he explained, his laughter bubbling forth.
"The best part is that our dear commander of the Goldclaoks betrothed is smitten with his older brother," he added, chuckling at the irony of it all.
I shook my head in disbelief at the tangled web of intrigue and romance that seemed to entwine the highborn of the realm.
"Go easy on the wine, Jason," I chided gently, noticing his slight wheeze after indulging in yet another sip.
"Where the hell is old man Norbert?" Jason exclaimed, his voice echoing in the tavern.
Just then, Norbert appeared, his expression grave.
"Davos, Jason, I need your help with some crates," he said, his tone unusually somber.
"Very well, old man," Jason replied, rising from his seat and gesturing for me to follow.
"Norbert, is everything alright?" I inquired, sensing an underlying tension in his demeanor.
As we stepped out of the tavern, Norbert hesitated before speaking.
"Davos," he began softly, his voice laden with regret.
"I'm sorry," he uttered, and before I could comprehend his words, I felt the cold edge of a blade against my neck. Panic surged through me as I scanned our surroundings, realizing we were surrounded by men of the City Watch.
"We finally caught you, smuggler," an officer of the City Watch declared, his voice dripping with satisfaction. I recognized the insignia of a captain adorning his armor.
"It seems our dear Lord Commander wishes to meet you," he announced with a smug grin, confirming my worst fears.
Caught in a trap of betrayal, I could only brace myself for the uncertain fate that awaited me at the hands of the Golden Prince and his enforcers.
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I found myself being whisked away in a carriage, the passing time marked only by the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the cobblestones. A rough rag was thrust over my face, obscuring my senses and leaving me disoriented.
Amidst the muffled sounds of shuffling feet, I detected a subtle shift in the air, indicating our departure from the familiar streets of Fleabottom. The journey seemed endless, the unknown destination looming ominously in my mind.
Eventually, the carriage came to a halt, and I was roughly escorted out into the open air. With my hands bound, I stumbled forward, guided by unseen hands.
The heavy doors of a chamber swung open, and I was roughly seated in a chair, my heart pounding in my chest as I awaited the revelation of my captor's intentions.
As the rag was lifted from my face, I blinked, adjusting to the sudden flood of light in the room. Gradually, my vision cleared, revealing the figure seated before me.
He was a striking young man with shoulder-length hair, a mesmerizing blend of gold and silver. His eyes, one green and the other purple, held a captivating intensity. Clad in golden armor adorned with the sigil of a golden dragon, he exuded an aura of authority despite his youthful appearance.
It dawned on me that I was in the presence of Prince Daemon Targaryen, the second son of House Targaryen.
Beside him stood another man, his features betraying his Dornish heritage. With long dark hair cascading over his shoulders and robes bearing the sigil of House Martell, he cut a formidable figure.
"I will be taking my leave, my prince," a sultry voice broke the silence, drawing my attention to the woman standing beside me.
She possessed dark skin and sandalwood-colored eyes, a testament to her Summer Islander heritage. Adorned in a gown adorned with feathers, she exuded an air of exotic elegance as she gracefully approached the prince, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"Take care, Chataya," the prince bid farewell, though his gaze remained fixed on me.
As the woman departed, leaving us alone, Prince Daemon turned his attention fully towards me.
"You are Davos," he stated, and I nodded in confirmation, feeling a weight settle upon my shoulders.
"You are a smuggler as well, are you not?" he pressed, his tone expectant.
"Answer the prince when he is addressing you," the Dornishman interjected, his voice laced with menace.
"Aye, Your Highness, I am," I admitted, my eyes fixed on the dagger he placed before me.
"You must be wondering why you were brought in front of me," Prince Daemon continued, his movements deliberate as he approached me, leaning casually against the table.
"But before I reveal the reason, I wish to hear your opinion of me," he declared, his eyes locking with mine.
"And do not worry, Oberyn won't strike," he added with a smirk, though I found little comfort in his words.
Summoning my courage, I recounted the damning rumors that swirled about him in the city—of debauchery, drunkenness, and entitlement. Yet, his expression remained unchanged, his demeanor unfazed.
"Well, Oberyn, it seems our plan worked," he remarked with a chuckle, before turning his attention back to me.
Removing my bindings with a swift motion, he placed a dagger before me, a silent gesture of trust.
"You must be wondering why a prince of the realm is concerned with a smuggler such as yourself," he continued, his voice steady.
"The answer is simple, Davos. I want you," he declared, catching me off guard.
"You may wonder what need I would have of a smuggler like you," he continued, his gaze unwavering.
"Your skills will prove invaluable once I establish my trading company," he explained.
"So, what say you, Davos? Will you work with me?" he asked, his tone earnest yet tinged with authority.
"I will work under you, my prince," I replied, though a lingering question remained.
"But... why me?" I ventured, curiosity overcoming me.
Pouring a glass of wine and handing it to me, he offered a rare glimpse into his reasoning.
"What I see before me is a man who has overcome adversity, rising from the depths of Fleabottom to achieve success," he began.
"I wish to see you succeed, Davos. Not only for your skills but for your unwavering loyalty and dedication to your family," he explained, his words resonating within me.
"If I am to cleanse the rot in this city, I will need your help," he concluded, his gaze unwavering.
"Very well, my prince," I acquiesced, bowing before him in gratitude.
"I will ensure you never regret this decision," Prince Daemon promised, a genuine smile gracing his lips.
"Thank you, my prince," I murmured, feeling a sense of duty and purpose wash over me.
"Davos, when in private, call me Daemon," he instructed, and I nodded, still trying to comprehend the whirlwind of events that had transpired in a single day.
In the blink of an eye, I had transitioned from a mere smuggler to one of the prince's trusted men, ready to embark on a new chapter in my life.
----------------
It had been a week since I entered into the service of Prince Daemon.
When I had shared the news of the offer with Marya, she could hardly believe it. We had shifted to the manor owned by Prince Daemon, and it was nothing short of magnificent.
Initially, I had expected to be assigned some duty, perhaps related to my previous skills as a smuggler. However, Prince Daemon had other plans. He expressed a desire to sharpen not only my skills with a sword but also my mind. To that end, he arranged for one of the acolytes under his employ to teach me letters, recognizing that my education had been lacking. Simultaneously, I embarked on a journey to hone my swordsmanship, an art in which I was merely average at best.
As I progressed through my tasks, Prince Daemon made it a point to include me in his travels throughout the city. These excursions offered me a unique opportunity to observe and learn about the enigmatic figure that was Prince Daemon Targaryen.
Each day brought new revelations and challenges, and I found myself increasingly grateful for the opportunity bestowed upon me by the prince.
The rumors spread about Prince Daemon were utter rubbish.
Contrary to popular belief, he didn't spend his time drowning in drink or indulging in the pleasures of the flesh, as crudely put by most. In fact, I rarely saw him consume any wine or ale for that matter.
As for the topic of his purported visits to brothels, the truth was far more intriguing. Prince Daemon had invested his funds to purchase one, with plans to transform it into one of the finest establishments in the city. Only nobles and individuals of high rank would be granted entry, providing him with valuable insights into the city's inner workings. To maintain discretion, he appointed a Summer Islander as the head of the brothel, ensuring that his clandestine operations remained concealed.
I had also encountered one of the prince's friends: Stannis Baratheon, the second son of Lord Baratheon.
Stannis was of the same age as the prince, but their similarities ended there. While Prince Daemon exuded charisma, Stannis was known for his blunt demeanor. The sense of duty instilled in the young stag was as unyielding as the Wall itself, and my presence in the prince's retinue did not sit well with him.
"He should be punished for his crimes," Stannis had insisted during one of our encounters, his voice firm with conviction. However, Prince Daemon had vehemently disagreed.
"He is serving his punishment, Stannis," the prince had replied calmly, his tone unwavering.
"By working for me," he added with a mischievous grin, revealing his belief in redemption and second chances.
Each passing day, my gratitude toward Prince Daemon deepened.
Currently, I found myself in the prince's solar, where he diligently perused reports from the Goldcloaks.
"Davos, how are the preparations for the feast going?" he inquired, his voice carrying an air of anticipation.
The prince had graciously decided to host a feast for all the officers of the Goldcloaks in his manor tonight, marking the last day of the year.
"The preparations are proceeding smoothly, my prince," I replied, offering him a reassuring nod.
"How is our stock of Dornish red?" he asked, a hint of eagerness creeping into his voice.
"We have enough for all the officers tonight, my prince," I replied, a sense of satisfaction washing over me as a smile graced his lips.
"Very well, Davos," he acknowledged, his attention momentarily diverted as Prince Oberyn Martell entered the solar.
Observing the weariness etched upon Prince Oberyn's features, I couldn't help but feel a pang of curiosity. It was evident that he hadn't slept in quite some time.
"Davos, you may leave," Prince Daemon dismissed me, his voice gentle but firm.
As I exited the solar, I couldn't shake the feeling of intrigue lingering in the air. Prince Oberyn's changed appearance and the weariness evident in his countenance piqued my curiosity.
"Are the preparations finished, Oberyn?" I overheard Prince Daemon inquire as I closed the door behind me.
Curiosity gnawed at me as I made my way through the corridors of the manor. What could be the cause of Prince Oberyn's troubled state? And how might it impact the festivities planned for tonight's feast?
------
As night descended, Marya helped me don my attire for the evening's festivities.
I wore a simple brown and green mantle, paired with a brown overcoat adorned with a brooch bearing the likeness of a golden dragon—a gift from Prince Daemon himself.
"Take care, Davos," Marya whispered softly, her concern evident in her eyes.
"Is everything well?" I asked, gently caressing her cheek.
"I don't know, Davos. I just have a feeling that something bad might happen," she confessed, her voice trembling slightly.
Hearing her unease, I leaned in and placed a tender kiss on her forehead.
"As long as I am here, nothing will happen to you or Dale," I reassured her, my voice steady with conviction.
With one final embrace, I left Marya's side and made my way to the hall, determined to fulfill my duties with honor and return to her side unscathed.
As I entered the hall of the manor, it was abuzz with the presence of city watch officers.
Gazing upon their faces, I couldn't suppress the wave of disgust that washed over me. I knew the deeds that most of them had committed—murders, bribes, and rapists among them.
Despite their vile actions, they had adorned themselves in their finest attire, a facade of respectability that sickened me to my core.
At the head of the table sat Prince Daemon, resplendent in his regal attire, his mace resting at his side. Though his smile appeared cheerful, a keen observer could discern the underlying currents of loathing and disgust in his eyes as he surveyed the assembled officers.
Nearly a hundred of them filled the hall, their presence a stark reminder of the corruption that festered within the city watch.
With a commanding presence, Prince Daemon called for the attention of his subordinates, and a hush fell over the room as all eyes turned to the prince, awaiting his words with bated breath.
"Men of the city watch," Prince Daemon's voice boomed, commanding the attention of every officer in the hall. "I was appointed as your Lord Commander scarcely three moons ago."
"I never thought that I would be granted this opportunity," he continued, his tone somber yet resolute. Servants began filling the officers' glasses with Dornish red as the prince spoke.
"And yet, here I stand before you all as your leader," he declared. "So let us raise a toast to the betterment of the city watch."
With a cheer, the officers drank heartily.
"In the past three moons, I have traversed the city, gathering information about the rot that has infected the very foundation built by my forefathers," Prince Daemon announced, his voice filled with disdain.
"And do you know what I found?" he thundered, his eyes flashing with fury. "Filth. Absolute filth."
"The men who are supposed to protect the city are the ones who are ruining it," he accused, his words cutting through the air like a chilling wind.
"Look at the man beside you," he commanded, prompting the officers to exchange uneasy glances. "All of you are the worst stains ever to disgrace the Goldcloaks."
"You are nothing but murderers and rapists," he spat, his voice dripping with contempt.
The officers grew agitated, their unease palpable as Prince Daemon's words sank in.
"I knew that in order to cleanse the festering rot, I would have to get my hands dirty," he admitted, his tone chillingly calm.
"And I did," he confessed, a sinister grin creeping across his face.
"Tonight is the night that the city will witness the consequences of abusing your powers," he declared, his eyes gleaming with malice.
As panic rippled through the ranks of the officers, Prince Daemon's revelation became clear. Some began coughing up blood, while others clutched their throats in agony.
"The wine you all drank was poisoned," he revealed, his grin widening as chaos erupted around him.
"You will all die a miserable death, and your heads will serve as a warning to those who dare defy me," he proclaimed, his words punctuated by the officers' desperate cries.
"I considered sending you all to the Wall, but then I realized that the Wall does not need vile scum like you," he concluded, his voice cold and unforgiving.
"So do me a favor and perish like the miserable pigs you all are," he sneered, his gaze sweeping over the writhing figures before him with chilling satisfaction.
"Kill the fucking bastard!" Janos Slynt, the commander of the Iron Gate, spat out through a mouthful of blood, his words barely coherent amidst the crimson tide flowing from his wounds.
"As I said, I too must get my hands dirty," Prince Daemon replied coolly, his eyes ablaze with a ruthless determination.
With a merciless swing of his mace, he descended upon the hapless officers of the city watch, their futile attempts to defend themselves met with brutal force. The air filled with the sickening sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing as the prince unleashed his fury upon them.
As the doors of the hall burst open, I watched in horror as men loyal to the prince of the city watch stormed in, their weapons drawn and their allegiance clear. They fell upon their fellow officers with savage brutality, adding to the chaos and carnage that enveloped the room.
I stood frozen in place, unable to tear my gaze away from the bloodbath unfolding before me. The once pristine hall was now a tableau of violence and death, its walls splattered with the lifeblood of the fallen.
With the rising sun casting an eerie glow upon the scene, the last of the officers drew their final breaths, their lifeless bodies littering the floor like discarded puppets.
Turning my gaze towards Prince Daemon, I recoiled at the sight of his mace, now drenched in the blood of those he had massacred. In that moment, a shiver of fear coursed through me as I beheld the true extent of his ruthlessness.
"This is just the beginning," he murmured softly, his voice carrying a chilling promise.
