The Storm was one of the few large, two-masted galleys in the Three Sisters capable of long voyages.
Lord Godric usually used this ship to transport crabs, fish, and goat cheese to White Harbor, trading for timber, wool, and furs.
Alternatively, the Storm would sail south to Gulltown in the Vale, exchanging salvage for grain and vegetables.
The ship spent most of its time plying the route between White Harbor and Gulltown. But today, it was set to cross the Narrow Sea, bound for Braavos.
In a cabin with a small porthole on the Storm.
"Thank you, my lord. Otherwise, those pirates would never have let us leave."
Victar had lost all the composure and confidence he had shown during his conversation with Arthur on the Wavebreaker. His face was gaunt, his expression haggard. "I know it. Even if we left hostages, they wouldn't have let us go."
Lord Godric had detained some of his crew and three of his sons as hostages.
"You look like you need a drink," Arthur said, quill in hand, sketching out his plans for Braavos. "And then a good long sleep in your bunk?"
"Don't make me go out there, my lord, I beg you." Victar practically fell to his knees, clasping his hands in supplication. His voice trembled.
"They are pirates. They have no honor... at all. They beat my sailors and crew under the guise of... 'wrestling matches' for entertainment. They said... a ship can only have one captain. They'll kill me... and throw me into the sea."
The sinking of the Wavebreaker had taken this man's courage and spirit with it.
"My lord, believe me. If things don't change, we won't reach Braavos alive." Victar swallowed hard, forcing himself to be calm.
"Pirates won't obey you just because of a lord's order."
At least he still has his brain, Arthur thought.
"Can you write?" Arthur asked, stripping off his coarse tunic.
"Ah... yes?" Victar's nerves spiked again. He looked at Arthur in confusion. "What are you... doing?"
"I need you to write down everything you know about Braavos, especially the details of that insurance contract you signed." Arthur stood up, bare-chested, and walked toward the door. He rolled his stiff shoulders as he pushed it open.
"What else can I do? I'm getting us to Braavos safely!"
Money, honor, power, oaths, faith—what makes a crew of wreck-salvaging pirate-smugglers listen?
Especially on the endless Narrow Sea?
Violence!
Although Arthur disliked resorting to it, undoubtedly, right now, it was the most direct and effective option.
Lord Godric's order had given him a stage. Now he had to perform and win over his first audience since leaving Winterfell.
At the Helm of the Storm
"The Northerner finally came out. I thought he was going to rot in his cabin forever," the first mate whispered into Zaren Borrell's ear, a flash of malice in his eyes.
"Are we really going to...?"
Zaren Borrell was Lord Godric's nephew. He habitually stroked the wheel of the Storm with his right hand, which had webbed fingers. His pale eyes swept over a Braavosi sailor on the deck below, who was being beaten black and blue by a Sisterman.
"On Sweetsister, naturally, we listen to my uncle's orders," Zaren Borrell said, his thick lips curling into a cruel smile. He fixed his gaze on Arthur, who had just appeared on deck.
"But on the sea? Only the Storm, born of the Lady of the Waves and the Lord of the Skies, decides who to listen to."
"I want to play." Arthur walked up to a makeshift table made of barrels and flicked a gold dragon onto the pile of coins others had bet. He addressed the Sisterman running the game.
"How is a winner decided in this wrestling? I see that Braavosi is already shouting that he yields."
"A match ends when a match ends. The winner is the one still standing." The Sisterman revealed a mouthful of yellow teeth, eyeing the gold dragon greedily.
"Northerner, are you betting? Or are you fighting? If you fight, you can only bet on yourself to win."
Arthur rotated his wrists and stretched his limbs, glancing at the Braavosi lad lying on the deck, unable to fight back.
"Look at how I'm dressed. What do you think? Let that poor Braavosi boy go get his wounds treated. What's the fun in beating a man who can't fight back?"
"As for betting," Arthur shook his head and smiled. "If I kept betting on myself, I'd win this whole ship. Your Lord Godric wouldn't be happy about that."
Arthur's provocative words were like cold water dropped into hot oil.
"Boooo! Woooo!"
Since most of the Braavosi had been sent below to row, the crowd was entirely Sistermen. They booed and jeered in displeasure.
"I'm not betting anymore. Whoever can beat me in wrestling takes this gold dragon." Arthur looked around and raised his voice. "By your rules, who's first?"
"Me! I'll beat the shit out of him!"
"Let me fight the Northerner."
"Who's gonna stop me?"
As soon as Arthur finished speaking, several shouts rang out from the crowd. They were eager to try, clearly not taking the fresh-faced Arthur seriously. Some of the hotheads almost started fighting each other for the spot.
Finally, Captain Zaren Borrell stepped in to suppress the chaos. He announced that according to tradition, 'Cauliflower Ear'—the Sisterman who had been beating the Braavosi—had the right of first refusal. He would be Arthur's opponent.
Old Yellowtooth took the bets. Almost everyone bet on Cauliflower Ear. Only a few Braavosi were forced to bet on Arthur, putting up IOUs against their wages.
Aside from curse words and insults, the Sistermen expressed their opinion of the match with copper stars and silver stags.
"Northern boy, hope you don't end up like that dead Braavosi dog, lying on the deck not moving."
The Sisterman called Cauliflower Ear wasn't tall, but he was incredibly stocky, with thick limbs. He shouted as he warmed up.
"Just because you're giving me a gold dragon doesn't mean I'll go easy on you."
"You only get the dragon if you win." What Arthur noticed were the man's ears—cauliflower-shaped, just like his nickname.
Arthur knew ears like that weren't born; they were forged through long periods of grappling and brawling—injury, healing, injury, healing.
This made Arthur take him a bit more seriously. He lowered his center of gravity further. Wrestling on a ship was different from land; the waves could throw you off balance in an instant.
Cauliflower Ear attacked first. He didn't go for a standard grapple but swung a rough, calloused palm straight at Arthur's face.
If that slap connected, regardless of the damage, the insult alone would be devastating.
Highly focused, Arthur ducked and sidestepped the blow, immediately closing the distance to wrap his arms around Cauliflower Ear's waist.
No fancy moves. Feeling his own back gripped in return, Arthur lowered his stance and entered the lock-up phase.
At this point, Arthur hadn't activated [The Berserker]. He wanted to use this Sisterman to test his current base strength and core stability.
The two wrestled in a deadlock for about half a minute.
"Hmph."
Cauliflower Ear's face turned red from exertion. He tried to use the ship's rolling motion to throw Arthur, but no matter how hard he pushed, Arthur absorbed and neutralized the force.
It felt to Cauliflower Ear as if he were wrestling a sentinel tree with deep, stubborn roots.
After gauging the strength difference, Arthur had his answer. He didn't just need to win; he needed to win beautifully!
Just as Cauliflower Ear exerted himself again, caught in the moment between old strength fading and new strength rising...
"Break!"
[The Berserker]: Grants significantly enhanced attributes and doubles physical strength when fighting without upper body armor. The day after using this skill, the user can only draw one card.
With a thunderous shout, Arthur's arms seemed to swell. The muscles of his bare torso went rigid, hard as carved rock.
Under the terrified gazes of the onlookers, Arthur lifted Cauliflower Ear into the air as easily as if he were a sack of grain, holding him high above his head.
Ignoring Cauliflower Ear's struggles in mid-air, Arthur spun him around once, then slammed him down with tremendous force toward the mast, not far from where Zaren Borrell stood.
THUD—
Body met mast with a dull, sickening sound. Cauliflower Ear crumpled to the deck, his face twisted in agony, unable to rise.
Arthur ignored the incredulous stares. Rolling his shoulders, he walked straight up to Cauliflower Ear, who was curled up at the base of the mast, clutching his ribs and moaning.
"Do you yield?"
Arthur extended a hand toward him.
"I... I yield." Cauliflower Ear hurriedly covered his head, curling into a ball and gritting his teeth against the pain.
However, the blow he expected never came.
"I don't strike a man who's down and yielded."
Wincing in pain, Cauliflower Ear looked at the hand extended in front of him, a flash of confusion in his eyes.
Finally, he gritted his teeth and stood up on his own.
"You're a tough one," Arthur said, surprised. "Do you want to go again?"
"I already... already yielded..." Cauliflower Ear clutched his abdomen and shook his head frantically, looking pained.
"I think you broke a rib. I need a healer."