GoT Shadowborn: The Rise of Ashford

The scent of salt lingered in the cold morning air as Seagard stretched awake under a pale sky streaked with hints of dawn. Waves gently lapped against the stone dockyard, blending harmoniously with the bustling murmurs of fishermen readying their nets and traders unloading goods from distant shores. The faint clinking of chains and rigging filled the atmosphere with the rhythm of commerce and life.

Ethan stood near the harbor, the wind brushing past his face, carrying with it both opportunity and a subtle warning. He watched as men unloaded crates filled with wares—dried fish, barrels of salted meat, exotic spices sealed tightly against the damp air. His sharp eyes, honed by years of business instincts in his past life, scanned the movement of goods, noting which merchants commanded the respect of dock workers and which operated on the fringes of legitimacy.

Beside him, Kieran leaned casually against a post, his gaze sharp and watchful. His presence had grown more shadowed since the harrowing events of Harlenor, but there was an edge of resolve in him now, forged by the fires of survival.

"What do you see?" Kieran asked quietly, his voice cutting through the harbor noise.

Ethan's lips curved into a faint smile. "Patterns," he said cryptically. "The flow of goods, the alliances between traders, which stalls are getting priority unloading. It tells you who holds power here."

Kieran snorted softly. "You sound like a man planning to take over the docks."

"Not today," Ethan replied. "But it's always good to know who the players are."

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden commotion further down the dock. A group of armed men, dressed in leather tunics emblazoned with the sigil of House Mallister—a silver eagle in flight—was escorting a merchant whose face was pale with fury.

"That's Marlen," Kieran noted, nodding toward the wiry man being led toward the town square.

Ethan frowned. Marlen was the same merchant who had agreed to back his fabric dye venture. The partnership was still in its infancy, but Marlen's influence in Seagard's market made him a valuable ally. If something had gone wrong, it could jeopardize Ethan's plans.

"Come on," Ethan said, already moving toward the scene.

They followed at a discreet distance as Marlen was hauled before a stern-faced official standing on a raised wooden platform near the market's center. A crowd had begun to gather, whispers spreading like wildfire through the onlookers.

"What's this about?" Kieran asked a fishmonger nearby.

"Caught smuggling contraband," the man whispered. "That's what they're saying, at least. But Marlen's no fool—been trading here for years without trouble. Smells like someone set him up."

Ethan's jaw tightened. The merchant world was cutthroat, but outright sabotage was a dangerous escalation. Whoever had orchestrated this was likely trying to eliminate competition—and if Marlen went down, Ethan's venture could crumble before it even began.

The official, a stout man with a ruddy complexion and the hardened demeanor of someone used to commanding obedience, raised a hand for silence.

"Marlen of Seagard," he proclaimed, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd, "you stand accused of trafficking goods prohibited by the edicts of House Mallister. How do you plead?"

Marlen's eyes blazed with defiance. "I've done nothing wrong," he spat. "This is a fabrication—a blatant attack on my business!"

The crowd murmured, some nodding in agreement, others skeptical.

Ethan's mind raced. This wasn't just a random incident; it was a calculated move by someone with influence. And if Marlen was removed from the equation, the power vacuum would be filled by those less favorable to outside traders—like Ethan.

"We can't let this stand," Ethan said quietly to Kieran.

"What are you thinking?" Kieran asked, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword.

"Talking our way out of it first," Ethan said. "Violence is a last resort."

Kieran smirked faintly. "You're no fun."

As the official prepared to pronounce judgment, Ethan stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension.

"Wait," he called, drawing the attention of both the crowd and the officials.

The official's eyes narrowed. "Who are you to interrupt these proceedings?"

Ethan squared his shoulders, projecting an air of authority. "My name is Ethan, a business partner of Marlen's. I have reason to believe these accusations are based on false evidence."

The official sneered. "And what evidence do you have to support this claim?"

Ethan's mind raced. He needed to buy time and sow doubt. "Consider Marlen's reputation," he said smoothly. "A merchant who's thrived under House Mallister's protection for years without incident. Does it make sense that he would suddenly risk everything by smuggling contraband? Or is it more likely that a rival, threatened by his success, has orchestrated this farce?"

The crowd stirred, whispers of agreement rippling through the onlookers.

The official's expression darkened, but Ethan could see the doubt taking root. "You make bold claims, stranger. But without proof—"

"Then let me propose this," Ethan interjected. "Delay judgment until a proper investigation can be conducted. If Marlen is guilty, I'll personally ensure restitution is made. But if he's innocent, House Mallister will have exposed a conspiracy that threatens the integrity of its trade."

The official hesitated, clearly weighing the political implications. Public outrage was already simmering, and a hasty judgment could backfire.

"Very well," he said reluctantly. "Marlen will remain under house arrest until the investigation is complete. But mark my words—if this is a waste of time, you'll share his punishment."

Ethan inclined his head. "Fair enough."

As the crowd dispersed, Marlen shot Ethan a look of both gratitude and disbelief. "You just saved my neck," he said gruffly.

"For now," Ethan said. "But we're not out of the woods yet. Whoever set you up isn't going to stop here."

Marlen nodded grimly. "I owe you, Ethan. Whatever you need—just say the word."

"I'll hold you to that," Ethan promised.

As they walked away from the market square, Kieran shook his head in amazement. "You're either the smartest man I've ever met or the biggest fool."

"Probably both," Ethan said with a grin. "But if we play this right, Seagard will be ours."

The winds of change were stirring, and Ethan knew that this was only the beginning. The game had shifted, and he was ready to play.