GoT Shadowborn: The Rise of Ashford

The Sea Eagle Inn hummed with life as night descended upon Seagard. The scent of roasted meat mingled with salt from the nearby harbor, and raucous laughter echoed from tables crowded with merchants, sailors, and weary travelers. Lanterns swung from iron chains overhead, casting flickering golden light across the room.

Ethan sat near the stone hearth, his back to the wall. The crackling fire warmed the chill from the sea breeze that had clung to his cloak. Across from him, Kieran was nursing a tankard of thick, frothy ale, his eyes scanning the room with a wariness that never seemed to leave him.

"I don't trust this place," Kieran muttered, voice low but tense. His hand rested near the hilt of his sword.

"You don't trust anywhere," Ethan quipped, though his tone carried a thread of seriousness. "Which is why you're good at staying alive."

Kieran's mouth twitched faintly—a rare near-smile—but he said nothing more.

The inn was crowded tonight. Groups of burly dockhands laughed boisterously near the bar, while a table of merchants argued over prices, their jeweled rings catching the firelight as they gestured animatedly. Serving girls darted between the tables, balancing trays laden with steaming dishes and earthenware mugs.

Ethan took it all in, his mind already piecing together the intricacies of the place. The inn wasn't just a gathering spot for weary travelers—it was a nexus of information. Conversations mingled with the clinking of tankards and clatter of utensils, creating a tapestry of voices ripe for anyone who knew how to listen.

He had learned long ago that places like this held secrets if you paid attention.

The door to the inn creaked open, cutting through the din. A chill gust swept inside as a figure in a dark blue cloak entered, pausing just inside the threshold. The newcomer's hood obscured their face, but there was an unmistakable air of authority about them. Conversations faltered briefly as curious glances flickered toward the figure before the crowd returned to its revelry.

The figure's sharp eyes swept the room, landing squarely on Ethan. Without hesitation, the cloaked stranger strode toward their table, each step purposeful and commanding.

Kieran straightened, his grip tightening on his tankard.

"Easy," Ethan murmured, though his own senses sharpened. He shifted subtly, ready to act if needed.

The stranger stopped before their table and pulled back the hood, revealing a weathered face marked by years of experience. Brown hair streaked with silver framed a strong jaw and piercing eyes.

"You're Ethan," the man said, his voice smooth but edged with authority.

Ethan arched an eyebrow. "Depends on who's asking."

"Darian Mallister," the man introduced himself, extending a hand. "I represent House Mallister's trade interests here in Seagard. You've been stirring up talk in the market with those colorful fabrics of yours."

Ethan leaned back in his chair, intrigued but cautious. "Word travels fast."

"It always does in places like this," Darian said, taking the empty chair beside them without waiting for an invitation. He glanced briefly at Kieran, who offered nothing but a hard stare. "I'll get straight to the point. Seagard thrives on trade, but it's tightly controlled by a few powerful merchant families. They don't take kindly to outsiders disrupting their hold on the market."

Kieran's eyes narrowed. "Sounds like a threat."

"It's a warning," Darian corrected calmly. "If you keep selling without alliances, you'll find your shipments delayed, your goods 'lost,' and your customers intimidated. You won't last long without protection."

Ethan's lips curled into a faint smile. "And let me guess—you're offering that protection?"

Darian inclined his head. "House Mallister values innovation and strength. You're bold, and boldness is in short supply these days. Work with us, and we'll ensure your trade flourishes without interference."

Kieran snorted. "And what's the price for this little favor?"

"Loyalty," Darian said simply. "And information. We help you, and in return, you keep us informed about any… unusual dealings you come across. Seagard isn't just a hub for trade—it's a battleground. There are forces at work here that go beyond politics and gold."

Ethan's expression remained neutral, though unease coiled in his gut. "Forces? Care to elaborate?"

Darian's face darkened. "There've been disappearances near the docks. Sailors, merchants, even a few guards. Some say it's just smugglers getting rid of loose ends. Others speak of shadows moving where no man should be. Whispers of things that don't belong in this world."

Ethan's pulse quickened. Memories of Harlenor flickered in his mind—the unnatural shadows, the hunger that gnawed at the edges of his existence. He kept his voice steady. "Interesting. But why tell me?"

"Because you're new here," Darian said bluntly. "Fresh eyes see things the rest of us miss. And if you're smart enough to survive in Seagard, you might just be smart enough to help us figure out what's really going on."

Kieran leaned forward, his voice low and cold. "Or maybe you're just trying to rope us into something dangerous."

Darian met his gaze without flinching. "Everything in Seagard is dangerous, friend. The only question is whether you face it alone or with allies."

Silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken tension.

Ethan broke it with a calm, measured tone. "We'll think about it."

Darian nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Fair enough. Meet me at the Mallister hall tomorrow morning if you decide you're interested. But be careful tonight. Not everyone here will be as friendly as me."

He rose smoothly, pulling his hood back up. "One more thing," he added. "Watch the shadows near the harbor. Sometimes they watch back."

With that cryptic warning, he disappeared into the crowd.

Kieran exhaled sharply. "Well, that was cheerful."

Ethan's mind raced with possibilities. Darian's offer was tempting, but it came with risks. Aligning with House Mallister could provide protection and resources, but it also tied them to a family with its own agenda.

And then there were the rumors—disappearances, shadows, and whispers of things that defied reason. Ethan had seen enough of the strange and unnatural to know that such stories often held a kernel of truth.

"We need to move carefully," Ethan said finally. "No sudden moves, no unnecessary risks. We'll meet with Darian tomorrow and see where this goes."

Kieran grunted. "And tonight?"

Ethan's grin was sharp. "Tonight, we gather information. If there's something lurking near the docks, I want to know what it is."

Kieran shook his head in disbelief. "You're insane."

"Probably," Ethan admitted. "But that's what keeps us alive."

As they finished their drinks, the noise of the inn faded into the background. The storm was coming—Ethan could feel it brewing on the horizon. And when it arrived, he intended to be ready.