m_findlow

Title: Borne in on a storm
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 32 - Storms at fandomweekly
Summary: Davvos has some concerns about the Queen's arrival at White Harbour.

Davvos chewed his lip as he watched the ships clamoring for space at the docks. White Harbour had always been a glorious, large port, capable to bringing in a hundred ships a day from the furthest reaches of Essos, from King's Landing, Dorne and Oldtown. Today however, even it felt far too small to accommodate the thousands that came from Dragonstone.

The breeze brought with it the salty tang which was as familiar and comforting to Davvos as anything. Everywhere he could hear the creak of ship's hulls, the thumping of heavy booted feet dropping cargo on the docks, and the sharp cry of gulls that hovered in the skies overhead. For the first time in a long time he felt truly at home. He knew every nook and cranny of this old port town like the back of his hand. He could have navigated the streets blindfolded, and had done so on many a drunken night celebrating their latest haul.

How many times had he sailed in and out of here, carrying all manner of goods? He was known around White Harbour as a trader, but it was his prowess as a smuggler that had earned him a decent living. He knew all the right people whose hands needed to be graced with a few extra coppers to look the other way as his ship was unloading its cargo. He'd brought in all manner of things were either banned or heavily taxed -fine silks, rare spices, the dried roots and flowers of plants from the farthest parts of the known world, that a skilled maester might fashion into restorative potions, or even poisons. He'd done it for years and never once been caught. Not until that fateful day someone had double crossed him at Storm's End and he'd been made to face justice for his crimes.

He wished now that he still had the pouch around his neck that contained the knuckles from the ends of his fingers that Stannis Baratheon had cut from him as punishment. They had always brought him a strange sense of comfort which he sorely needed now. He'd never felt uneasy about bringing items into White Harbour before, no matter how illicit they were, nor the severity of the punishments he might receive if he and his crew were caught. Every journey here had been one for celebrating, especially on those torrid nights when the stormy seas threatened to capsize their vessel and send both them and their valuable cargo overboard. Davvos didn't fear the ocean. Only the roads that lead north and ever closer to the wicked things waiting for them beyond the Wall now scared him, as did the strange tension that hung in the air.

It was one thing to bring Dothraki and Unsullied to Dragonstone where they alone inhabited the windswept cliffs, but now they were in full view of the common folk. Most Westerosi had barely laid eyes on the black skinned men from the Summer Isles, or the red eyes of a priestess of Asshai. Even those in White Harbour that were accustomed to the sailors of Bravvos had never seen the likes of such wild men on horses and fearsome eunuch soldiers with their breastplates, shields and spears.

'It is quite a sight to see, isn't it?' Tyrion said, coming to stand at his side. 'For the first time in living history, Dothraki have braved the Narrow Sea to step foot on the mainland of Westeros. '

'Doesn't it worry you?' Davvos asked.

'Doesn't what worry me?'

Davvos nodded down at a group of Dothraki sweeping down the narrow, cluttered streets on horseback. 'For five years the Seven Kingdoms have seen nothing but war and unrest. How d'you think they'll feel watching an army roll into port?'

'I should think one would be a fool to challenge an army,' Tyrion replied.

'There's a storm brewing down there, mark my words. It's only a matter of time before someone starts killing.'

'The Dothraki and Unsullied are loyal to our Queen. They will not raise a hand against anyone unless commanded.'

Davvos shook his head. 'It's still a long way to Winterfell. I imagine a few people might take issue at dragons and armies marching north. Even this far from King's Landing the people still remember the last Targaryen ruler. I know I still do.'

'Danaerys is not her father,' Tyrion assured him.

'I know that, and you know that, but do they know that?' he said, pointing down at the cluster of buildings that made up the city.

'We don't have time to win over the hearts and minds of everyone we share the road with. That is not our purpose for now.'

'Aye, but whilst we're traveling north, word travels south and west. The people here have never seen the likes of these men, let alone a dragon. What tales do you suppose they'll take with them? That this new Queen come to save them brings with her an army of warriors and savages on horses?'

'The Unsullied will not cause any trouble to the people of white Harbour, I assure you,' Tyrion said. 'As for the Dothraki, well, we can only hope that they too will keep the peace. Danaerys' claim to the throne will be best supported by the fact that her armies march peacefully north, with the express purpose of joining the northern houses to fight against the dead. They are not here to incite fear into innocent people.'

Before Davvos could reply, a huge shadow cast itself over the city, and a cry went up from the people. One of the dragons soared over the city, throwing the relative threat of Dothraki into sharp relief. A second shadow joined the first and now the city fell into a deathly silence, bracing themselves for being engulfed in a storm of fire and destruction. The two dragons wove around one another and then disappeared back out to sea.

'Did you tell them that?' Davvos asked.