Early the next morning, the captain of the guard escorted Arthur to see his master, the Lord of Sweetsister.
Arthur followed the captain across a black basalt bridge, passing through a rusted iron portcullis. Beyond lay a deep moat filled with seawater, spanned by a drawbridge suspended by two massive iron chains.
Green seawater churned in the moat, splashing against the castle's foundation stones.
The gatehouse across the moat was larger than the outer one, its stones covered in slimy seaweed.
After crossing a muddy courtyard, Arthur ascended into the gloomy stone keep of Breakwater Castle.
Upon entering, the captain unclasped his cloak and hung it on a peg. Arthur, as instructed, hung his swords on the wall, keeping only his dagger.
The Lord sat alone in the dim great hall, enjoying a breakfast of ale, bread, and "Sister's Stew."
Twenty iron sconces lined the thick stone walls, but only four held torches, and none were lit.
"I don't like Northerners," Lord Godric Borrell of Sweetsister said first, glancing at Arthur's eyes.
"Eddard Stark does have a nephew with violet eyes. What's your name, boy?"
The Lord had broad shoulders, coarse white hair sprouting from his cheeks and chin, a red, swollen nose, and a balding head.
"Arthur Snow." Arthur scanned his surroundings warily before bowing in the center of the hall.
"I didn't expect to be here either, my Lord. I was supposed to be on a ship to King's Landing. My uncle knows of my journey."
"You haven't eaten yet." Godric waved his spoon, gesturing for Arthur to sit.
"This is Sister's Stew. Have you ever tried it, Snow?"
Arthur glanced at the soup and bread on the table and breathed a sigh of relief. Although the Lords of the Three Sisters were notorious—often called pirate lords—they still respected guest right.
Whether commoner or noble, once a guest entered a host's roof and accepted bread and salt, guest right was invoked.
During the stay, neither party could harm the other. Violators would break sacred laws and be cursed by gods old and new.
"I've heard of it." Arthur took a bite of the bread before answering.
"In Old Nan's stories, the Sistermen would capture girls—especially sisters—and throw them into the pot as the main ingredient. That's why it's called Sister's Stew."
"That's just a story. There are no sisters in Sister's Stew," Lord Godric emphasized.
"Look, there are only three kinds of crab in the soup: Red crab, Spider crab, and King crab."
"My granddaughter made this. Unless she cooks it, I refuse to eat spider crab. Eating it feels like cannibalism."
The Lord gestured to the banner hanging above the cold, dark fireplace: a white spider crab on a grey-green field.
"My Lord, what do you intend to do with us?" Arthur dipped a piece of bread into the stew and took a bite. The fresh, savory taste of the crab offered some comfort.
"Swear by your House and your gods that you will not speak of what happened last night, and I will arrange a ship to send you back to White Harbor," Lord Godric said coldly, attacking his stew.
"As for the others, they are Braavosi commoners, not nobles. You need not concern yourself with them."
Arthur was silent for a moment before replying, "My Lord, lying is not honorable. If people ask, I will tell the truth. And I certainly will not swear by my House or my gods for such a thing."
"See? That's why I hate Northerners." Lord Godric tapped his spoon against his plate threateningly.
"Then I'll just have to ensure you disappear from Sweetsister after you leave my castle. Just like the contents of this stew."
"I've heard of your methods. Lighting beacon fires at night to lure passing ships onto the reefs, then salvaging the wrecks," Arthur said calmly, even twirling the spoon in his hand as he studied Godric's red nose.
"I also heard that Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships, visited here once. He hanged quite a few men for doing exactly that."
Bang!
"You think I fear him?" Lord Godric slammed his hand on the table, his face rigid.
"He won't get word of this! And Eddard Stark won't come running to Sweetsister for a bastard cousin."
Arthur noticed the Lord's hand—there was webbing between his three middle fingers.
"You haven't met my uncle. You don't know him. The man who passes the sentence swings the sword. If I go missing, he will investigate personally," Arthur withdrew his gaze, unintimidated.
"King Robert, who is as close to him as a brother, will surely send Lord Stannis to assist. Perhaps you'll be hanged, or perhaps my uncle will take your head with Ice."
"And you must have made other nobles with similar misfortunes swear oaths before, yet Lord Stannis still came with the royal fleet. It seems treachery isn't limited to bastard blood."
Seeing Lord Godric stand up, his expression growing more ferocious, Arthur forced himself to remain calm.
"Even if you bluff your way through this time, will you stop salvaging wrecks? The sword will find your neck eventually, my Lord!"
"Lord Eddard has been here. I have met him. Winter is Coming... if you disappear, he truly might return."
Lord Godric slumped back into his chair like a deflated bladder. Arthur keenly noted that his term for the "hated Northerner" had shifted to "Lord Eddard."
"During the Usurper's War... you probably weren't even born then."
"My Lord?" Arthur looked at Godric suspiciously. "Uncle never mentioned it to me."
"It wasn't a glorious moment for the noble and honorable Lord Eddard, so of course he wouldn't speak of it," Godric said, taking a swig of ale and launching into the story.
"The Mad King sent word to the Eyrie demanding Stark's head. Jon Arryn refused and sent him back to the North to call his banners.
"Gulltown remained loyal to the King, so to get home, Stark had to cross the Mountains of the Moon to the Fingers.
"He found a fisherman to ferry him across the Bite. Unfortunately, they hit a storm. The fisherman drowned, but his daughter managed to get Stark to the Three Sisters before the boat sank.
"They say Stark left her with a bag of silver and a belly full of bastard. She named the boy Jon Snow, after old Arryn."
Lord Godric picked up his spoon and attacked his stew again.
"When I met Lord Eddard, my father sat in this very chair. Our Maester urged us to take his head and send it to the Mad King as a token of loyalty.
"It would have meant a rich reward. The Mad King was always generous to those who pleased him."
"But by then we knew Jon Arryn had taken Gulltown, and Robert was the first over the walls, slaying Marq Grafton with his own hand.
"'This Baratheon is fearless,' I told my father. 'He fights like a king.'
"The Maester cackled at me, saying Prince Rhaegar would crush him effortlessly. That was when Lord Eddard spoke up:
"'In this world, only winter is certain. We may indeed fail, but... what if we win?'
"My father decided to send him on his way. 'If you fail,' he told Lord Eddard, 'you were never here.'"
"You were never here," Lord Godric repeated his father's words.
"You should be as wise as your uncle, Lord Eddard. Pretend you were never here."
"But my name isn't Stark. It's Snow." Arthur didn't take the easy way out Godric offered. Danger was accompanied by opportunity.
He stared intently at Lord Godric.
"Everyone says bastard blood is filled with desire. I want more than my uncle. Since your lighthouse brought me here, I am destined not to leave empty-handed."
It turns out people really do laugh when they are utterly speechless.
"What do you want?" Lord Godric laughed in exasperation, dropping his spoon.
"Maybe I really should find a hole to bury you in. When Lord Eddard comes to chop off my head, I'll dig you up and give you back to him."
"A ship fully crewed, capable of reaching Braavos. The men on board will answer to me," Arthur said, his expression unchanged.
"And I want the Braavosi oarsmen, sailors, and captain. You can keep their cargo."
"You want to go to Braavos? And take those Braavosi back?" Lord Godric raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"Why should I agree to that? Those Braavosi might pay me a ransom, or at worst serve as labor or fertilizer."
"I can provide you with accurate information on merchant ships passing through the Bite," Arthur threw down his bargaining chip.
"As I said before, as long as you continue your salvage operations, you run a high risk of being hanged. Agree to my terms, and I will not only provide you with intelligence to bring in more wrecks, but I can also help lower the risk of you getting caught and hanged."
"How?" Godric remained skeptical. "How can I trust you? Don't give me that honor nonsense. You aren't a Stark. What honor does a bastard have?"
"How I do it is my concern," Arthur replied. "You'll have a ship full of men watching me. I'm just one person."
Seeing Godric still hesitating, Arthur stood tall in the center of the hall, bowed slightly, and said:
"In this world, only winter is certain. I may indeed fail, but... what if I succeed?"
Lord Godric Borrell stared at Arthur for a long time.
Finally, he roared:
"If you fail, I sure as hell can't pretend you were never here!"