After Victar left, Godric opened the letter and began to read.
> To Lord Godric Borrell, the future Guardian of the Bite.
The very first sentence stunned Godric, causing him to adjust his lens.
This was no small promise being dangled.
The waters of the Bite covered the entirety of the Three Sisters, stretching south to the Paps and Pebble of the Fingers, and north to the mouth of the Broken Branch in the North.
Godric calmed himself and continued reading through the lens.
> I trust that by the time you read this letter, you have kept your promise and released the Braavosi hostages.
> Please forgive my earlier caution, my Lord. After all, in Old Nan's stories, the Sistermen are rarely the heroes.
> Even you admitted that Sister's Stew contains no sisters, which, in a sense, is also a lie.
> But let us get to the point.
> Naturally, the title of Guardian of the Bite is not mine to give; that is the King's right.
> I promised to help lower the risks of your salvage operations. However, one cannot walk by the river without eventually getting wet shoes. So, I thought I would find you a ship.
> The ship of the King of the Seven Kingdoms is undoubtedly large enough. King Robert Baratheon, as you said, is brave and fearless, fighting like a true king.
> I have also learned that he is extremely generous, fighting like a king when it comes to spending coin as well.
> My Braavosi friend tells me the King owes a massive debt to the Iron Bank of Braavos.
> I'm sure you've heard the saying: 'The Iron Bank will have its due.'
> The King and his Hand are surely troubled by this.
> Perhaps, my Lord, at the right time, you could regularly offer the cargo of a few sunken ships to share their burden. Consider it your ticket to board the King's ship.
> Note well: the timing of boarding is crucial. Don't miss the ship and end up boarding the gallows instead.
> Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships—surely you know his noose better than I. He is a man married to law and justice.
> Therefore, I suggest you not only continue your salvage business but also enter the shipping industry. One in the light, one in the dark, covering for each other.
> Your nephew Zaren has a talent for this. I can teach him the timing to board the ship.
> —Your most sincere friend, Arthur Snow.
"Uncle, what does the letter say?" Zaren asked, enjoying the Sister's Stew served by a maid.
The fresh taste of crab reminded him of home—one of the only two things he missed about this place.
"He doesn't act like a Northman. He doesn't act like a Stark." The old Earl put down his lens, his pale eyes void of emotion. "There is a House in the Reach called Florent. What is their sigil?"
"A fox?" Zaren remembered the House, mostly because of their famously large ears—a hereditary trait similar to the webbing on Borrell hands. "A golden-red fox."
"Arthur Snow is like a cunning violet-eyed fox!" Godric picked up his spoon and attacked the stew before him.
"A bastard of the Reach is called Flowers," Zaren corrected.
"If he were in the Reach, he'd be a flower. Speaking of flowers, Uncle, the courtesans of Braavos are quite famous."
"Zaren, from now on, you will learn from this courtesan in Braavos," Godric ordered, waving his spoon.
"I need you to pass messages back to Sweetsister from there, and learn how to 'board the ship'."
"Board the ship? Yes, Uncle." Zaren didn't know what his uncle meant—maybe the old man was going senile—but he was eager to live in Braavos.
The Shipyard Below the Castle
Victar finally reunited with his three sons: Vickon, Vickary, and Vickett.
The four men couldn't hide their tears, embracing each other and weeping.
After the touching family reunion.
"Father, look. We fixed the Wavebreaker," his eldest son, Vickon, said, wiping his tears and pointing to a familiar purple-sailed ship nearby.
"When the tide went out and the Sistermen raised her, they found the keel wasn't badly damaged. The Earl let us repair her."
"Can I go aboard?" Victar looked at his old ship, asking Captain Koto emotionally. "Just for a moment."
"This is the gift the Earl spoke of," Captain Koto shrugged. "When you leave the island, you can take this ship with you."
Nodding his thanks to Koto, Victar boarded the galley again, memories flashing before his eyes.
Finally, he reached the familiar helm. He ran his hand over a faint indentation in the wooden wheel—a mark he had made when he steered the ship onto the reef.
Victar stayed on the island for three more days, thanking Earl Godric and eating the Sister's Stew the Earl highly recommended.
On the third day, at noon, his Wavebreaker, the Reefbreaker, and Zaren's Storm caught the current together and sailed for White Harbor.
---
White Harbor, The Fishmarket
Fat Tom was counting the inventory of lumber and peach wine in a warehouse provided by House Manderly.
Not long ago, Lord Eddard Stark had assigned him to be permanently stationed in White Harbor, responsible for the transport of goods from the Peach Garden estate to the city.
He handled the intake, storage, accounting, and sales of the lumber and wine.
Transport was easy enough. The creek from the estate flowed past Castle Cerwyn and into the White Knife. Building small boats and rafts allowed them to float the goods straight downriver to White Harbor.
Alebelly handled the cargo escort.
But intake, storage, accounting, and sales gave Fat Tom a headache.
Although he had been learning to read and write since being assigned to help Arthur manage the Garden, he was getting old, his energy was limited, and it just wouldn't stick.
Now he was in a bind: he couldn't do it well himself, but he didn't trust anyone else to do it.
Looking at the scribbles on his paper, Fat Tom felt a wave of helplessness.
"Are these warehouses sufficient?" Wynafryd Manderly walked into the warehouse, dressed in a practical hunting tunic, and asked softly.
"Do you need more space?"
"It is enough, my lady. Thank you for your and Lord Wyman's generosity." Fat Tom wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"This is the last batch for a while. Now we just wait for the Braavosi captain Arthur mentioned in his letter to arrive for the handover."
"Are you recording the inventory?" Wynafryd noticed the chicken-scratch in Fat Tom's hand and asked, puzzled.
"Can you not read and write?"
"I cannot." Fat Tom scratched his head in embarrassment, answering honestly. "And I don't trust others to do it."
"You could leave the verification to me," Wynafryd said, touching the silver seven-pointed star pendant at her neck.
"House Manderly's customs officials can count and record, and I will verify it. Of course, if you don't trust me, pretend I never spoke."
"How could I not trust you, my lady? I just feared troubling you," Fat Tom shook his head vigorously. "You are of such high station."
"As my grandfather says, the debt House Manderly owes House Stark can never be repaid," Wynafryd smiled.
"It is no trouble. To serve Lord Eddard Stark is an honor for House Manderly, and for me."
"Er... well..." Just as Fat Tom was thinking of how to reply, a White Harbor guard ran in.
"My lady, three ships just arrived at the harbor. The captain gave me this." The guard bowed and presented a silver-inlaid dagger bearing the direwolf sigil.
"He says he answers to Arthur Snow of Winterfell."
"Robb gave Arthur a dagger like this before he left." Fat Tom took the dagger, confirmed it carefully, and said to Wynafryd, "This is indeed his."
"Where is the captain?" Wynafryd asked. "Why didn't you bring him here?"
"My lady, one of the ships is crewed by Sistermen. By regulation, we must board and inspect them," the guard replied.
"When they come to White Harbor, it is usually for smuggling or other unsavory purposes."
"Arthur mentioned in his letter that he was a guest on the Three Sisters," Fat Tom explained, holding the dagger. "It seems they got along quite well."
He didn't mention that in his letter to me, Wynafryd thought, her mind working. She ordered:
"Let the purple-sailed ship dock. Confirm if their captain is named Victar, a Braavosi."
The guard acknowledged the order and left.
"You know this captain?"
"Arthur Snow and I are friends. He wrote to me," Wynafryd replied.
"Most letters sent to you likely come through White Harbor first, then are forwarded to Winterfell by our Maester."
"Arthur really makes friends everywhere," Fat Tom said, missing the old days. "He always loved talking to all kinds of people, even when he was small."
Wynafryd took the dagger from Fat Tom, examining it, then suddenly asked, "In your eyes, what kind of person is he?"
"Arthur? You know, my lady, I can't read or write." Fat Tom raised an eyebrow involuntarily.
"I might not describe him well. Maybe it's better if I don't."
"It doesn't matter. Just say what you think," Wynafryd said calmly.
"I'm just curious."
"Um... Arthur, that boy, he's been clever since he was little." Fat Tom cleared his throat, his face lighting up as he began to pile on the praise for Arthur.
"He's tall and handsome.
"Kind to others, emotionally stable.
"Respects his parents, cares for the elderly.
"No bad habits.
"More importantly, he likes raising small animals. Very loving.
"Lady Wynafryd, if I may ask, how old are you this year?"
---
"I'm ten years old! I know what I'm doing!"
Outside Wynafryd's room in New Castle, her sister Wylla was threatening the patrolling guard. "Let me in, or I'll tell Grandfather you hit me."
"I will report your entry truthfully to Lady Wynafryd," the guard stepped aside helplessly. "It is my duty, even if I am punished for it."
Wylla stuck her tongue out at the guard and barged into her sister's room.
Although she had sneaked in many times before, Wylla instinctively shrank her neck. Her sister always punished her by making her do embroidery, which she hated.
She was looking for a letter. The letter Arthur sent to her sister. Wynafryd wouldn't let her see it, nor tell her what it said, and curiosity was clawing at her heart like a cat.
After a thorough search, Wylla found the letter in a separate drawer of the vanity.
Finding the letter, Wylla grinned like a cat that got the cream.
But after reading the contents, she cried out in disappointment.
> To Lady Wynafryd Manderly:
> I am writing this from Braavos. The Braavosi captain, Victar, who was originally taking me to King's Landing, has by chance come under my employ.
> On the way to Braavos, I learned he has thirty years of experience sailing the Narrow Sea without a single mishap.
> He is diligent and has no history of smuggling. I believe he is trustworthy.
> Victar will travel between Braavos and White Harbor from now on, selling peach wine and lumber from Winterfell. If you are interested, you can join in.
> I feel that keeping ships docked in the harbor unused makes them like driftwood—valueless and slowly rotting.
> When touring White Harbor with you, I saw many pieces of driftwood flying the Merman banner.
> —The Bastard.