Eventually, he felt his boots land on the soft sandy seabed. Using Earthbending, he felt everything and noticed what had happened. The shackle around his ankle was connected with a small metal chain, which was then connected to a heavy metal anchor.
The men on the ship had just cut the rope and let the anchor fall, and the extra chain pulled him down. It was quite an ingenious plan to deal with someone like him.
And he would have died if not for Earthbending. In fact, Waterbending, Metalbending, or any of those would have saved him.
He didn't even need to break the shackle, as the chain would tighten as long as there was weight pulling it down. Now, without any pull, he easily loosened it and released his foot.
The next thing he knew, he was making quick strokes towards the surface.
Ugh… Need air.
On the edge, he rushed as fast as he could. He could feel his vision darkening, his lungs screaming at him. He felt his throat burn. He saw the sunlight at last, but that short distance felt endless.
But his arms and legs moved nonstop.
Splash!
"Haaaaa! Fuck!"
At last, his head came out of the water. He inhaled a deep, hasty breath and floated on his back. His chest heaved, his head throbbed with pain. He turned his head to look around and saw the great galleas, now some distance away, and getting farther each moment.
He had a choice to make. To swim after it and get his revenge or conserve energy and return? From the looks of it, the pirates were leaving and… the entire city of Maidenpool was burning. How? He wondered. He'd killed most of the pirates at the port, and the city was empty.
Did Hoster fall? To pirates?
However, what stung him worse was the fact that the pirate commander got away. His greed bit him in the backside. The Quest was to only take the ships, and he got even greedier.
The Quest! What happens now?
Grabbing all seventeen ships was now clearly impossible. The Quest was most certainly a failure. It was something that had never happened before, and truly, he didn't know what penalties Tyrant's Squire might impose on him.
"I can't do all this alone." He sighed to himself, floating in the waters. He reckoned if he had someone like Brandon on that ship, this wouldn't have happened. His mistake was trying to do all of it on his own.
"And I don't even know the pirate's name… Wait, Maidenpool's steward, he must know."
Although he knew much about the world of Ice and Fire and also many pirates, just their faces weren't enough to help him. He'd clearly not seen this one before in any media. And there could be countless pirates out there..
He made the most logical choice and started swimming back towards the port. He hoped to at least know the pirate's name so he could hunt him down later.
This defeat was a blight on his name and the future Tyrant.
####
Maidenpool Castle, dungeons,
Slap!
"Gaaaah! I… That's all… I know!"
"Seven hells, man, even greed has a limit," Hoster roared as he struck the former steward, each slap rattling teeth. "What you did was madness. Scheme after scheme, all of it foolish!"
"I swear, that's all I know, my lord!"
"He's lying."
Hoster glanced at Lord Wylis, the large man was seated on a chair, resting, face stern and furious. It had just been an hour since the end of the pirate raid. Hoster had learned what had transpired, how Lord Wylis had almost died attacking the pirate commander.
"I can see that," Hoster said, his voice tight with anger. He turned to the steward, the older man with greying hair shrinking under his stare. "Tell me, do you understand what King Robert would have done to you if Lord Wylis had perished in this mad scheme of yours?"
"I... I never knew he would come, nor you, my lord. By the gods, I swear I didn't know they meant to burn the town. I only asked Salladhor Saan to raid the castle and carry off the valuables. My part was only to help them pretend to be traders and make port, but he turned on me. He left me behind and shut me away."
"Who else?" Lord Wylis' voice rang again, thick and heavy. "You're no wise man, not wise enough to shape any of this."
Hoster turned back towards the steward again, raising his hand to hit again. "Speak before it's Lord Wylis' hand hitting."
Pa!
One more slap struck, and another tooth fell.
"I… It was just…" the steward murmured with a swollen face. "Just me—"
Creak!
Hoster shifted away on his own as he saw Lord Wylis get up with his massive arm raised, his otherwise handsome face marred with anger.
"Frey! The Freys were behind it! I... I took advice from Lord Frey's people. Not the lord himself, but one of his men came to me. He set it all in motion, every bit of it. I... during the rebellion, I told the Freys when Lord Mooton was sending the taxes to King's Landing. I helped them take it. The court was too caught up in the war to notice the taxes gone. Lord Mooton believed they had reached King's Landing."
Silence fell in the dungeon chamber.
Lord Hoster's voice shook with anger as he pressed a hand to his brow. "I knew Frey had patience, but to weave a plot this deep? Seven save us; we were all blind to it, even the Crown. And still we have nothing that links this to his house?"
The steward looked down, broken and defeated.
Hoster turned to look at Lord Wylis and noticed a frown so deep it had to leave behind a scar. He'd never seen the young lord so angry before. "Lord Wylis?"
"Lord Mooton gave his life to shield his wife and child from the pirates. His son had his arm hacked off. The man was clean of all guilt, and my blade was used to bring this sin."
Hoster frowned and quickly patted Lord Wylis's shoulder. He always knew that Wylis was a man of honor and integrity, while not as rigid as Ned, he knew the young lord was a good man at heart. And to be thrust into that vile scheme, he knew what it felt like. They were used.
"It was never your fault, Wylis. None of us saw the trick for what it was. We judged Lord Mooton without proper cause only because he stood with the Targaryens. I can see now that this is exactly what Lord Frey wanted."
"Hundreds died today, women raped, children orphaned, homes plundered, a town burned. Aye, it's not our fault, but we became an instrument of that fault. L… My wife says it's true, the South is no place for a northern man. Best never forget this, Lord Hoster. Never forget House Frey's treachery, for I won't."
Thud!
"Aaaarghk!
Hoster didn't try to stop the tall lord from grabbing the steward by the throat and lifting him high in the air. Truth be told, he wouldn't mind if he were killed. The whole chain of events had enraged him as well. While he doubted he'd be able to do anything to House Frey, he planned to write to Jon Arryn and explain everything. The old man understood the Freys enough.
But Lord Wylis didn't kill the steward.
"I won't kill you. You'll be paraded through King's Landing and beheaded there. No Black for you."
"That is enough, Wylis," Hoster said gently as he laid a hand on Lord Wylis' arm, still tight on the steward. "You look weary. Go take your ease. Jonquil's Pool remains untouched and may soothe you."
Thud!
At last, Lord Wylis let go of the steward and left the dungeons.
Hoster sighed, shaking his head. He felt guilty for dragging Lord Wylis through this as well.
"Seven hells, it must gnaw at him, coming so close to death in service of another's plotting," he muttered through clenched teeth. "The Crown must be made aware."
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