Floating Adrift

Gulltown gathers much debris, as it were, on narrow seas. Driftwood, bodies, and everything between. The locals who worked the docks their whole lives could tell whether something floating was valuable with high accuracy.

However, the dark clump that came meandering through the water had stumped some of the old timers.

"Seaweed?" one old fisherman wondered.

"Hmph," said another with a gruff voice, "Moving too fast. A dog?"

*SPLASH!*

A hand came out of the water and hoisted up not a dog or seaweed but a person.

He had short dreadlocks covered with a red bandanna, and his loose white shirt rested well on his almond skin. His dark brown trousers and brown boots had the utility of a sailor.

Lucas Leonard.

After puffing away, splattering salt water from his lungs and nostrils, Lucas gathered himself, looking ahead with conviction. One clear look at his face, and it was evident he was no Gulltown native. A young lad from Naath or the Summer Isles, perhaps. He walked the harbour, the seawater dripping from his person, his boots making a damp squeaky noise with each step.

"Oof!"

Lucas Leonard bumped into a plump merchant with three chins and fat pudgy fingers.

"Watch where you're fucking going!" the plump merchant said, his face red with anger.

"My apologies," Lucas replied with a shit-eating grin. He brushed the merchant's shoulders and tugged at his collar as if a mother would to their child before the school ball, "there you are, as good as new!"

Lucas then quickly took his leave. Once around the corner, he took out a sizable pouch of gold and jingled it. He could hear the merchant yell after he realized his empty pockets.

"Sucker."

And so, Lucas Leonard made his way through Gulltown, already richer than he had arrived.

"Right," he said with a sigh, "Best I head to the bloody Tavern. Can't keep them waiting forever."

Lucas Leonard had been to Gulltown many times in his short life. As someone who grew up sailing the narrow sea, it was only natural. And no matter how often he'd visit, nothing had changed. The same corrupt sales clerks still dominated the markets. The same linear con-jobs. The same band of child pickpockets. . . The only thing different was their faces.

Lucas made his way to the outskirts of Gulltown, where the 'questionable' members of society gathered in droves. It was there that Lucas found a shady tavern. But it was not the hub of drunken sailors chatting inside which first caught Lucas' attention.

"Hmm?" said Lucas, looking up to see many ravens perched on the Tavern's roof, "That's strange."

Amongst the flock was the odd white raven, speckled in as if someone accidentally added some salt to the pepper pile. But what struck Lucas as odd was how their eyes would occasionally turn white as milk. Furthermore, the ravens observed him with a calculated peer. Lucas couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched.

Lucas clicked his tongue with slight anger. He hated being watched, but he wagered it wasn't him explicitly being watched, but rather, the general surrounding area.

"I need a drink. . ."

Lucas entered the Tavern and felt the fire's warmth against his damp skin almond skin.

He darted his eyes left and right, scanning the room until he found a fat lord sitting in the back corner, enjoying a mug of ale with a fierce-looking youth. Just from one look, Lucas could tell these were the guys. He didn't even have to notice the large black Shadowcat relaxing under their table.

"Good day," said Lucas. Despite his foreign appearance, his accent was surprisingly Westerosi. He sat down with Joe and Lord Manderly at their round table, "Apologies for the delay. My name is Lucas Leonard, your new captain."

Joe raised a brow, "You're the captain?" he said, glancing over to Lord Manderly, "I thought you'd be older."

Joe wagered that Lucas had to be around his age. While Joe may not be an *ageist*, he could not help but be dubious about Lucas' abilities.

"Yes. . ," said Lord Manderly as he wiped the brew-stache from his lip, "I must admit, this is not what I expected of the great Lucan Leonard."

"Lucan Leonard is dead," said Lucas with a distant expression, the tavern wench bringing him a mug of ale. He chugged it down before continuing, "I'm all you got."

Joe scoffed, "What are you, his son or some shit?"

"He can't be," said Lord Manderly, "Lucan Leonard may be known as a cunning pirate, but rumour has it that he hailed from Lannisport."

"I'm going to have to stop you right there," said Joe with a cheeky smile, "It sounds like you're being racist, my lord."

Lord Manderly raised a confused brow, "Racist?"

"Yeah, you know. . . Just because our boy Lucas here has a bit of the ol' charcoal-skin persuasion going on, he can't have been the son of this Lucan guy from Lannisport?"

"Well, put it this way," replied Lord Manderly, "you wouldn't think he was my son either."

That's when Joe smiled and leaned back, getting a good look at Lord Manderly and Lucas, "I don't know about that, my Lord. Slim down a little, maybe soak a bit in the southern sun, and you two could pass for father and son."

Lucas scoffed with a smile, "What the fuck are you two talking about?"

Lord Manderly laughed, "Forgive us. We've managed to drink quite a bit of ale during our wait."

Joe brought the conversation back to business, "Alright, look. I don't care if you're the captain. You could be five years old for all I care. So long as you got the skills to pay the bills and a shi—"

"About that," said Lucas Leonard, "My father always told me that a captain goes down with his ship. . ."

"And?" asked Joe.

Lucas pretended to look around, "I don't see Lucan Leonard here."

"So. . ?"

"So that means there is no ship," concluded Lord Manderly.

Lucas Leonard nodded, "Precisely."

Joe's head began to spin.

His original plan had looked something like this:

Leave Winterfell, travel with Tyrion until they reach the Eyrie. Part ways, meet with Lord Manderly in Gulltown. Begin his story ________

Everything was arranged. Lord Manderly used his clout to find a suitable captain who was skilled and crazy enough to get wrapped in Joe's antics. He thought he had found the perfect candidate in Lucan Leonard, famed pirate of the narrow sea. Everything was hunky dory.

Yet alas, it was not meant to be.

"Let me get this straight. . ," said Joe, massaging his brow, "You have no ship, no crew. Only you."

Lucas nodded, "You got it."

An awkward silence followed as Joe and Lucas gawked queerly at each other as if Joe was waiting for Lucas to say, 'Just kidding!'. But the words never came, and Lord Manderly grew anxious as the silence grew awkwarder.

Lord Manderly also felt embarrassed. Joe gave him this task with so much trust and love that the idea of failing him stabbed his conscience. "Forgive me, Joe, I—"

But just as Lord Manderly was about to apologize, Joe burst into laughter, wiping an amused tear from his eye, "So we start from square one, eh? I wouldn't have it any other way."

Lord Manderly squinted his confused eyes, "You're not disappointed?"

"Sure I am, but it doesn't matter," said Joe, reaching for the flagon of ale with a smile, "So Lucas, what's your story? Think you could run a ship?"

Lucas shook his head, "My father may have been the famed Lucan Leonard, but it was I who kept things in order."

"Kept things in order, did you? Wow, how about that," teased Joe, "Alright, I'm interested now. From the top."

Lucas raised a brow, "From the top?"

"From the start of the story."

That's when Lucas Leonard told a remarkable tale.

"My father was from Lannisport. The Leonard family were involved in the Westerlandi navy in one way or the other for generations, or so I'm told. No lordships, titles, or anything, but the Leonard name made waves across The Sunset Sea."

Joe giggled, a tad drunk, "I liked what you did with that pun."

". . . This continued until my father, Lucan Leonard, decided to make his fortune elsewhere. At just sixteen years, he left Lannisport with a ship and crew of his own, never to return."

"Okay, a self-made badass, I dig it so far. Where do you come into this Caucasian?"

"Caucasian?" asked Lord Manderly at the foreign vocabulary.

"Shit, I meant equation," corrected Joe, "Don't mind me, I'm going to shut up now."

". . . If you're wondering if Lucan is my real father," said Lucas, "Then no, he isn't. He found me 17 years ago. Was leaving the Summer Isles when he saw something float in the ocean. That something turned out to be a small box which granted no shade to the abandoned baby, floating adrift."

"That's terrible," said Lord Manderly, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be," Lucas replied sharply, "I care not for my cunt parents, where ever they are. Anyway, Lucan scooped me up and raised me ever since."

Joe thought back to all the times he'd spent watching random documentaries after a long day's work at the food truck, "I once heard some shit that the ocean is the womb where all life began. If Lucan was your father, the sea was surely your mother."

"That's exactly how I like to think about it," said Lucas, surprised by Joe's understanding.

Lord Manderly managed to conduct himself with the prestige of a great house, but being in Joe's company loosened his parameters, "So what happened to your father?" he asked with instant regret.

Lucas furrowed his brow, and dark storms seemed to rage in his hazel eyes. Ravens flew from rooftops, and Void rose from his slumber.

". . . They ambushed us in the Bay of Crabs, Bluebeard and his brood. There had to be a dozen ships in his fleet that day. . ." The words seemed to clog his throat, "It was all my fault."

"B-b-b. . B-b-b. ." Lord Manderly struggled to speak, his eyes wide as saucers, "You can't possibly mean Bluebeard!"

Joe's imagination skyrocketed, "Bluebeard?"

"Bluebeard's as mean as they come," explained Lord Manderly, "A Tyroshi pirate. They say he's responsible for half the city's slave trade. From beyond the Wall to the Basilisk Isles, there's not a shore ignorant to his cruelty."

"Damn," said Joe, "So what's this big shot doing in the Bay of Crabs?"

Lucas took a deep breath, "My father and Bluebeard have quarrelled for over a decade. As a child, I saw Bluebeard's cargo of Summer slaves. . . I begged my father to help them. . . Bluebeard had it in for us ever since. Word of our recent course must have somehow got to him. All he had to do was wait."

Lucas took off his red bandanna and clutched it tightly, "My father was a proud man. He said a captain always goes down with his ship, and he stuck by those words. Those *were* his last words, in truth. The last thing he said to me before giving me his bandanna and throwing me overboard."

A silence followed as the three men searched and gazed deep into their cups.

"Welp," said Joe, raising a toast, "Sounds like your father was a great man. Here's to him."

Lord Manderly concurred, "Here, here."

"I will avenge his memory," said Lucas, "I started this shit with Bluebeard. It was my mistake for not ending it."

"You really think you can do it?" asked Joe, "This guy sounds like the real deal."

"I know I can."

"That's what I'm talking about!"

Joe chugged down the last of his ale like it was the last beverage he'd ever have. His legs jittered with energy, and Void's tail wagged. Lucas didn't know why, but the hairs stood at the back of his neck.

"What's say you, Lucas?" said Joe with a gleam in his amber eyes, "Captain my ship, and I promise you a great adventure. I'll even help you with your revenge. Deal?"

He stood, offering his hand in friendship. Lucas inspected the hand with a queer expression.

This Joe was barely older than him. Sure, he had a Shadowcat following him around and connections with lords, but did that warrant Joe's forwardness? Whatever the case, Lucas believed in his words.

"Deal," he said, shaking Joe's hand.

"Good," said Joe with a smile, "Now get down!"

Out of nowhere, Joe flipped the table, their cups flying everywhere. Luckily he did, as three cross bolts damn near pierced through the wood.

". . ?" Lucas got off the floor, and when he did, he saw Joe wielding a blade of bloody ice, spinning and twirling and slashing at foes. The close quarters seemed to have little effect on Joe's weapon of choice, as it mattered not how much space he had, the blade cut effortlessly like a hot knife against butter. Debris, bodies and all.

Madness ensued as a dozen men poured into the Tavern with hooks, blades, and knives. Void ruthlessly tackled and gnawed into the throats of his victims. Lord Manderly kept his head down.

Suddenly remembering how he shook Joe's hand, Lucas sprung into action, helping his ally like it was second nature. He smashed jars on the back of an attacker's head. Then, taking his knife, Lucas engaged people in combat.

The whole bloodbath only lasted a couple of minutes. Only Joe, Lucas, Lord Manderly and Void remained standing at the end. The Tavern keeps hid behind the counter, and whatever patrons couldn't get out remained on the ground, fearing to get involved.

"What in seven hells?" Lord Manderly managed to say.

"Assassins," said Joe, towering over a man slowly bleeding to death, "Speak, who sent you?"

The man spat blood, "Fuck. . . You. . ."

Joe rested the tip of Icebeaker over the tip of the man's private parts, "Come on, dude. Don't make me a torturer."

Joe didn't have to be. The assassin passed away before Joe could say anything else.

"Fuck."

"What was that all about?" asked Lucas, with three dead victims at his feet.

"Fuck knows. Maybe they wanted me, or maybe they wanted the cargo I'm carrying."

"The Queen, no doubt," said Lord Manderly.

"That's my guess. That's the thanks I get for sparing her lover's life and keeping their dirty little secret. Fantastic."

'The Queen. . .' Thought Lucas before he noticed Joe's left eye had turned milk white.

"Looks like that's the last of them," said Joe as his eye returned to normal.

The realization zapped Lucas like lightning, "You're—"

"The White Raven?" finished Joe as if it amused him,

"Yeah, I get that a lot."