( Cletus POV )
"Cletus Yronwood, why do you give a shit?"
"Parlay sir, if you will, I fear we've all been fooled." His opponent removed his helm, revealing long, silver hair. "My name is Monford Velaryon. I fear we're both looking for the same person."
...
The Exiled Seahorse
Monford was ruminating whilst the mood was sour amidst the men. Being reduced to a pirate was humiliation enough, but to a pirate hunted by someone was another layer to the blow to his pride.
At least, he thought, Driftmark and Dragonstone still stand. He'd made sure of that, having sunk anything the royals had larger than a cog in the Narrow Sea. There just remained the Dornish, Vale and Northern fleets to worry about, now. Not to mention the Redwynes went home just to get sunk by the Ironborn. One less worry…
He had the Spider to thank for that. He'd manage to buy his ransom after his capture at Storm's End. A valuable commander for Queen Shireen, sure, but to command what forces?
There remained little of King Stannis' host, a few ships and a couple thousand men. How could they stand up to the Tyrells and Lannisters? Sure, they had mastery over the seas, and efficient men to guide the Queen, but that was it.
There was the rumor of King Aegon, the deal that the Spider made with Lord Seaworth and the Queen…and then the death of the Spider and the Pentoshi merchant complicated everything.
Soon, they found themselves without anchor and without direction. The Spider had told them about King Aegon and negotiated an alliance, but never revealed his whereabouts.
Now…they were headless chickens, barely five hundred in all, raiding the Free Cities for ships and men, freeing slaves and bringing loot. What a life! If he was in his twenties, he would have found it enjoyable, but now…
All that mattered was ensuring that Driftmark would remain House Velaryon's domain…and he was tired of playing pirate and running around the Narrow Sea.
He'd left Monterys with Aurane and a part of the fleet, in order to defend their home, whilst Dragonstone was entrusted to the old Celtigar. Hopefully, they'd hold, but the news wasn't good…Dragonstone no longer gave any news and Aurane reported seeing ships bearing the Baratheon sigil docking in the harbor.
For Monford, there were two options now: go home, and try to defend Driftmark as best he could with his fleet, or try and reach Daenerys Targaryen, an option Queen Shireen categorically refused. Both were treason, and it gnawed at Monford desperately. And the rumored arrival of a Dornish fleet on the other side of the island did not arrange things.
"How many men did we lose?" Davos Seaworth, Hand of the Queen, asked the captains who came before him.
"Six in all, we fished one out of the ocean yesterday, barely recognizable," admitted one of them.
"Damn it all," Lord Seaworth sighed, "and the good news?"
"We might know who did it." One of the two men brought forth a small letter.
"Who gave this to you?" Queen Shireen asked, curious.
"A girl, not older than four-and-ten namedays," the man replied, "she said it had to be read by your grace only."
"Let's not be hasty." Ser Davos recommended, instead bringing a squire to open the letter, whilst he fetched gloves.
No poison was spread on the small parchment, which was handed to the Queen, who read it aloud.
It told that the girl was too afraid to come directly to them, and could not tell them in public. Instead, she would accept to talk to the Queen in person, at the dragonpit ruins.
"Do you think it's linked to the Dornish fleet?" Lord Bar Emmon asked.
"As far as I know, the Dornish don't even know we're here," Monford narrowed his eyes, "but I will tell you something else, your grace, this looks like a trap to me."
"I agree with Lord Velaryon," the hand acknowledged, "this is a perfect place for an ambush, and why would they specifically ask for you to come?"
"Thank you for your counsel, Lord Hand." Queen Shireen spoke, her voice filled with confidence despite her young age, "however, ambush or not, we must take this seriously."
"We cannot risk your presence there, your grace." Harien Celtigar, cousin to the current lord, intervened.
"I agree with Ser Harien," the lord Hand acquiesced, "this is too dangerous."
"But we are bleeding men," the Queen turned her eyes to the Onion Knight, "bleeding profusely, my lord. If there is a chance of knowing what happened, I'll find out…"
"You will do no such thing, your grace." Ser Davos shook his head, "but you may be right. We cannot dismiss this out of hand."
"I can take a few men with me." Monford proposed. "We can go to the ruins and find out what is happening there."
"They'll be expecting me." The Queen interjected. "I must go with you."
"We can find someone similar in stature somewhere," the Lord Hand was adamant, "we will not put you at risk, your grace."
The Queen sighed, but nodded.
"Very well, do as best you can, lord Hand."
"Lord Velaryon, take four men and see where this leads, but at the smallest sign of treason, you run without a fight, understood?" the Onion Knight looked him dead in the eyes, his gaze fixed with utmost seriousness.
"Understood." Monford nodded.
"I'm coming along," said Jonas Bar Emmon, holding Monford's shoulder, "I've been here this far."
Monford approved the request, smiling slightly. Jonas was the third son, but he also was a skilled fighter. He would be a great asset if things got out of hand.
With himself and Ser Jonas, Monford also selected Ser Harien Celtigar, Ser Iryan Storm and Kayn Massey, all competent fighters, except for Kayn Massey, a squire of nine, who would impersonate Queen Shireen under a disguise.
Arrived at the ruins of the old dragonpit, Monford couldn't help but shiver. The place had an eerie atmosphere, with its dark and light stones spread around as far as the eye could see.
More importantly, there laid several hiding places large enough to fit a man or two, ideal for an ambush. Everyone thus remained on guard, ready at the slightest occasion.
Then, rounding a tall dragon statue, Monford heard a cry, and a man appeared in front of him, sword drawn!
A trap! Of course, it was!
After overcoming the initial surprise, Monford did his best to regain the upper hand, pushing his opponent back, thus regaining the initiative.
But his opponent was good, too good, even. Young, faster, but inexperienced. This is what Monford could bet on. Slowly pushing him back, suddenly, Monford opened his eyes wide through the gaps in his helm.
His opponent had thrown a rock at him! He ducked, but thus lost the initiative as a blow pushed him towards a rocky structure.
He struggled whilst the opposing knight finally spoke for the first time:
"You're the bastards who take pleasure in killing our men?"
"Bastard!" Monford spat at the insult, how dare he! "you're the monsters who have been killing ours!"
"We've killed no one here…yet," the knight growled.
"Killing unarmed men in brothels and inns, what a dishonourable way of doing things," Monford replied while struggling to break the deadlock, "it's more difficult when your opponent has a sword in hand."
"I don't know what you're talking about," the man showed a tinge of a southern accent, "You're the ones who slaughtered our men in the pleasurehouses, then sent them to us in pieces. And you lured us here with the little girl's letter so that you may kill our prince!"
Suddenly, something in Monford's mind snapped. This seemed awfully similar to what they had been experiencing. And the last line…
"Who are you?" Monford asked.
"Cletus Yronwood, why do you care?" said his opponent, panting.
"Parlay, sir, if you will!" Monford suddenly pleaded, "I fear we've all been fooled."
His opponent relaxed his grip, taking a step back, but still pointing his sword at Monford. As a sign of goodwill, Monford sheathed his, removing his helm.
"My name is Monford Velaryon, I fear we're both looking for the same person."
His opponent lowered his sword, removing his helm, revealing his long, darker hair.
"We've received exactly the same letter ser. Our men have been killed just like yours have." Monford continued.
"Stop fighting!" Ser Cletus yelled, whilst Monford did the same.
It took some time for everyone to settle down, but in the end, there was no harm done. Ser Jonas had a broken wrist; Kayn Massey was bleeding from the elbow but would live. The Dornish had been hit too, albeit less severely.
"We've been fooled," Monford repeated, "someone wanted us to kill ourselves."
"But who?" Ser Cletus asked, confused.
Suddenly, there was movement behind one of the statues, and a small figure ran away.
"Seize this person!" Monford and Ser Cletus cried at the same time.
Ser Harien and one of the Dornishmen ran forward, quickly catching up to the small figure, who had tried to dash her way through the ruins.
Unfortunately, when they returned, it was with a limp body of a young girl, the same who had given them the letter.
"She took poison before we reached her," Ser Harien said with a sigh. "Was this the girl who gave you that letter?"
One of the Dornishmen rose up, clutching his wounded hand.
"Yes, that is her."
"Well, shit, this is going to be awkward to explain to the prince." One of the Dornishmen laughed, looking around. "What are you lot doing so far from home?"
"Serving our Queen," Ser Jonas answered, earning a stern look from Monford.
"Which one?" Ser Cletus raised an eyebrow. "Ours or another?"
"Who is yours?" Monford asked.
"Queen Daenerys." The Dornishman shrugged.
"Queen Shireen," Monford replied with difficulty. "But we may be allies, in a way."
Monford gambled it. If King Aegon existed, he had Martell blood, therefore the Dornish could know of his whereabouts.
"How so?" a huge man in the Dornish party stood up, his hammer in hand.
"We're looking for King Aegon, sixth of his name."
There were looks of embarrassment amongst the Dornish now. After a few hushed words, it was the oldest man of the Dornish knights, clad in Allyrion colors, who spoke,"you might want to come with us."
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