Gendry's skin was raw and marred, burning even after Sorcha let the vines fall to the ground beneath him. Soft palms cupped his cheeks the moment she reached him. Gendry stood slumped against his binds, exhaustion plaguing him to the very core. Her song had been as haunting and irresistible as Sorcha promised.

Gendry fought against his restraints with a ferocity he'd never experienced from anyone, let alone himself. He hadn't even felt the pain until her song finished, and his mind was once again his own. It washed over him like a tidal wave of throbbing agony. Sorcha caught him as he crumpled to the sand in a heap. His chest heaved as he leaned into her body. Head lolling over her elbow, he gazed up at her. Dark curls soaked the undershirt she threw on in haste, and now seawater dripped onto his wounds.

"Did it work?" It was more of a sigh than a sentence. Sorcha nodded, a smile brightening her eyes. She studied him with concern, fingers trailing over angry red bands and bloody scrapes covering his arms. Gendry hissed, his eyes widening with pain. Sorcha's face soured, guilt clouding any triumph she had.

"They sent a little boat. Should make land within the hour." She glanced nervously over her shoulder towards the rowboats that grew closer with every passing moment. Sorcha knew full well that Gendry's kindness was a miracle in the world of men, and the likeliness of these men being as wonderful and respectful as him was slim.

"We need to cover you up." His fingers lifted to fumble with the ties of his shirt. "When they arrive, stay behind me. Let me do the talking, and if any of them try to hurt you, you swim as far away from them and me as you can. Understand?" His cerulean eyes locked on hers fervently, shooting a spike of panic into her heart. Fear overpowered Gendry's pain and fatigue, and he pushed himself with help to sit facing her in the sand.

Sorcha's legs folded beneath her, and it gave her the slight boost she needed to even their height difference. Sand clung to her damp legs, the lightness standing out more against her mahogany skin than it ever would on Gendry's. With a grunt of pain, he yanked the worn black shirt over his head, revealing the extent of his injuries. It looked as if a Kraken had wrapped its tentacles about his chest and waist and sunk its teeth deep into him. Blood smeared across his chest in blotchy patches of rust. There wasn't much, but his desperation to escape had spread it around enough that it looked worse than it was.

"We need to treat your wounds." Sorcha protested, trying to push his tunic back towards him, but he ignored her and began trying to fit it over her head.

"I'm alright, don't worry." He helped her pull her arms through the sleeves and pulled it down until it covered to just below her backside. Gendry prayed to the old gods and the new that it would be enough to protect her. That he would be enough. "My injuries will help to convince them of our story."

"What story?" Stumbling up to stand, Gendry made it the four paces to where Sorcha had put his dagger and waterskin, kicking up clouds of sand as he dragged his feet. She followed close behind, wary of his shaky legs and ashen face.

"Our ship sank on the way to King's Landing." Gendry looked over his shoulder to find she was nodding, her eyes trailing out to sea. Thankfully, she didn't question him any further. If she had, he would've had to tell her that he was making their story up on the spot.

The fire was just a pile of glowing embers now, and the beach was alight with a morning sun. Sorcha stood at Gendry's shoulder, his body shielding hers protectively. Their hands were intertwined behind his back, each an anchor to the other's buzzing nerves. A boat rose and fell over the ocean swells. Upon reaching the shallows, two men swung themselves over the side and guided the vessel to shore. Their trouser legs were rolled up to the calf, the dirtied cotton still soaking at the hem. Gendry's expression remained neutral, his turmoil buried beneath a cask of steel. It was a skill he'd learned in his days at Harrenhal when the scent of fear would be your demise.

"My friend, I see that you and your lady require assistance." The tallest of the two stepped forward, eyeing the stunning woman peeking out from behind him. He was lanky, his elbows and knees knobby and awkward, but there was unmistakable muscle beneath the surface. His hair fell to his shoulders in dirty blonde waves, tousled and frizzy from the humid sea air. His skin was a warm tawny color, toasted and darkened by long days in the sun. Gendry instinctively pulled Sorcha closer. "How'd a pair like you end up here?"

"Our ship was caught up in a typhoon not five days ago. We seem to be the only survivors." Gendry explained. The shorter, bulky man, with a shiny bald head and a thick beard, nodded in recognition.

"Aye, we must've caught the tail end of it as well. A nasty bitch of a storm she was. Not surprised ya' had trouble." The man scanned the horizon as if he could sense the lingering ghost of such a storm and basked in its might. He was older than his companion by a good ten years at least, the telltale signs of age and sun damage dragging his skin and spattering it with dark freckles. "We can take ya' to the nearest port. Where ya' headed?"

"We were traveling to Kings Landing." The younger sailor leaned over as if to peek around Gendry's body to get a good look at the woman he hid.

"A pretty thing like that must be noble. We've encountered quite a few ships on their way to that cunt of a King's wedding." Gendry raised a brow at that. This man mustn't have been from Westeros. Or if he was, perhaps far north or south. Only they would have the balls to call the king a cunt.

"Nothing so exciting, just visiting my wife's family. They were expecting us to arrive yesterday. Must be going mad with worry by now."

"Must be." The young man seemed to mull over his words like a taste of fine wine, unsure if it was bitter or sweet. His eyes trailed over their mismatched clothes, Gendry's bare chest and Sorcha's exposed legs. He raised his brows in amusement. "Names Wynn, this is Wilkerson." The men nodded and dipped into a shallow bow to Sorcha.

"Gendry." He offered, looking over his shoulder and getting a face full of dark curls. "This is my wife, Sorcha." Wynn eyed her with a smirk.

"Did your wife misplace her knickers and corset somewhere on the island? Or does she like to feel the wind on her pussy?" Wilkerson snickered, and Wynn looked around in jest, searching for a pile of fabric on the beach.

"Ladies' dresses are heavy, would've dragged her down like an anchor. It was either her or the dress, so naturally, I chose her." Gendry grit his teeth, the bite to his tone unmistakable. Glaring at each in turn, he dared them to say another word. Sorcha tightened her grip on his forearm, successfully reigning in his anger enough that it wouldn't boil over on their saviors.

"Relax, mate. We're only pulling your leg." Wynn reached forward to clap a hand on Gendry's shoulder. He flinched imperceptibly as a spike of pain spiderwebbed across his sunburnt skin. "You and the lady are welcome to come aboard. We'll get ya' cleaned up and on your way in no time."

"Thank you." Sorcha gave them a tentative smile, and Wynn grinned, showing off his yellowing teeth. He was missing one on the upper left side, and the rest had spread out to accommodate.

"Ah, the pretty bird speaks. And what a lovely voice it is." He spread his arms in a grand gesture towards the boat. Gendry interlaced his fingers with Sorcha's and squeezed. He could feel the heavy thump of her heart against his back, as fast as a frightened rabbit. "'Tis our pleasure. Not every day we get to entertain a fine lady such as yourself." Wynn shot her a playful wink, and Gendry had to bite back a snarl. He wanted nothing more than to turn in the other direction, but that was not an option. Instead, Gendry placed a guiding hand on Sorcha's back and stepped towards the boat. Overwhelmingly aware of how the men's eyes raked across her bare legs, he tried his best to block her.

Sorcha teetered on one foot as she stepped into the beached dinghy, steadied by Gendry's hand in hers. When she stood, bare feet on rough wood, she studied its inner workings. Curved wood slats cradled her weight. Three rows of benches ran perpendicular to the bow, and two sets of massive oars were set into metal rings. Sorcha settled down onto the middle seat, tucking Gendry's shirttails around her so she would be completely covered as he'd instructed. Gendry stayed back, waiting for the others to join him in shoving the boat from shore.

Sorcha gripped the edge of her seat as the three men pushed the helm into the water. Her back was to the ocean, and she twisted to see where the vessel parted the waves. The dinghy rocked violently as the men jumped into the boat, splashing water into the wood bottom. Gendry sat beside her, placing a comforting hand on her back as Wynn and Wilkerson took the oars in hand and began rowing in a circular motion, pushing forward, then dragging back towards their chest. Massive muscles rippled with effort beneath sunkissed skin. Their shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, and a spattering of scars trailed up the exposed skin. Sorcha swallowed her rising panic, knuckles bone white against the seat, and her face had turned ashen with fear.

"Not fond of the water, are we?" Wilkerson tilted his head in question.

"It's not the water I'm afraid of." She answered truthfully, biting her lip as she felt the rolling waves tilt and rock the boat. Her stomach flipped.

"Suppose after what you've been through, boats are the last place you'd wish to return to." Wilkerson frowned understanding in his way, her aversion to the vessel. It was a good assumption if what they had told them was true. Sorcha couldn't put her finger on why the experience was so anxiety-provoking. It wasn't as if she were at risk of drowning if it tipped. But the instability, the lack of control, made her hands shake.

"You've got nothin' to worry bout on our watch. Some of the best sailors this side of Essos, we are." Wynn announced in a cheery voice. She tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace.

"What sort of ship is this, anyway?" Gendry's eyes trailed over the massive ship they were approaching, its scale becoming more apparent the closer they got.

"Merchant." Wynn didn't elaborate, and Gendry hummed in false interest. The water sloshed against their oars, cutting the silence effortlessly. There was a cool breeze across the water that day, carrying the scent of sea brine and damp wood. It was a good day for sailing. He knew that much from listening to the mariner's exchange stories at the pub in Flea Bottom. The day was only beginning, and the sun still beat down upon them in waves of sweltering heat. Gendry knew that his bare chest would be as red as a tomato by the end of it.

Captain Hornigold Watched through the lens of his spyglass as the rowboat approached. It was a man and woman they had retrieved, both half-clothed and looking worse for wear. His twisted dark hair fell to just beneath his shoulder blades, tied up so as not to hinder his mobility. It swayed in the breeze, fluttering around him and catching his periphery.

"Prepare the ladder." He muttered, and his first mate echoed the order with a shout. Hornigold studied them closely, drinking in every detail with trained calculation. It was his business to assess others, whether it be a ship or his crew. How much cargo a ship held by its bearing in the water, or whether his men were uneasy beneath his leadership. Calculations meant the difference between success and failure, and more often than not, life and death.

Two sailors heaved the roll of rope and wooden rungs over the side, and a series of bangs followed, ending with a splash in the water. The first to clamber over the rail was Wilkerson. He leaned back over to shout words of encouragement to the woman, who seemed to be having some trouble climbing the ladder. He ended up having to lift her half-up past the last few rungs and deposit her gently on the deck.

The shirtless man and Wynn followed, and then the ladder was being retrieved, the dingy lifted back into its hold. Hornigold stood off to the side with an eyebrow cocked with interest. His eyes followed their every movement, the way the man reached out to assure his lady was alright, and her returned smile. A couple, then. The woman tugged at the edge of the oversized shirt she wore, glancing warily at the crowd of greedy-eyed men who had gathered.

"I see you found our castaways," Hornigold spoke, his gravelly voice loud enough for them to know just who was in charge, not that there was any doubt. Gendry knew the moment both his feet hit the deck. The Captain watched them with eyes the same deep green of the sea and undoubtedly as unpredictable. A jagged scar ran along his cheekbone, and even the most trained of healers couldn't prevent a wound like that from leaving a mark. There was a small circle around him, while everywhere else, men were practically on top of each other to catch a glimpse of the goddess of a woman plucked from the sea. It was unclear whether this courtesy was born of respect or fear. Wynn stepped forward as Gendry tried again to block the view of Sorcha, who seemed less aware of the hungry eyes and more of the fact that she was standing on an actual human ship.

"Yes, Cap'n. Lucky we found 'em. Doubt anyone would sail past these parts if they could help it." Wilkerson supplied. Gendry met Hornigold's gaze evenly, despite the urge to crumble beneath his scrutiny.

"Gendry Waters. My wife, Sorcha." She seemed to pull herself from her reverie at the sound of her name and mustered a small smile for the Captain. Hornigold ducked his head in greeting, his next words directed solely at Sorcha. Gendry prayed she would have the good sense to keep her words short and vague.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, miss." Hornigold grinned, a devilish, buccaneering sort of grin that made Gendry shift his weight uneasily between feet. "I can promise that no harm will come to you by my hand or any of my crew. We are men of honor, after all." The Captain looked over his crew with a prompting raise of his brows. A chorus of hums and nods erupted, though it was a bit hesitant. "If any of you so much as lays a finger on our guest, you will find out just how lethal my sword can be."

"Thank you." Gendry's shoulders relaxed, though only slightly as he glanced over at Sorcha, who was returning a smile one of the sailors sent her in her familiar heart-melting way. "Truly, we don't know what would've happened if you didn't come along."

"It is fortunate, indeed. Our ship was pulled off course by a Siren. First I've heard in all my time at sea." A flicker of something like worry danced across the castaway's faces, and Hornigold caught it as easily as he might a fish. Gendry reined in his emotions as quick as they surged, and he prayed that his feigned disbelief was as believable as he thought it was.

"A Merling? But they're only myths." He added a light scoff at the end, and when he looked around, he saw the looks the sailors exchanged with each other. Gendry knew precisely what they felt underneath Sorcha's spell.

"To those who live their lives on land, it may seem that way, I suppose." Hornigold crossed his arms and tilted his head in thought. Sorcha trailed her hand down Gendry's arm to intertwine their fingers. The Captain didn't dwell in conversation. They would have the entire voyage to get better acquainted. "Randall, would you have someone dig up some clothes for them, please? And have Ricky make up my quarters. I won't have her sleeping with the likes of these filthy bastards. I'll take a hammock with the crew for the duration of their stay." Randall gawked openly at the order, something Gendry was sure didn't happen often.

"But sir, are you sure?" Randall looked between his Captain and the woman clinging to her husband's hand like it was a lifeline.

"I'm always sure, Randall. Hurry along." Hornigold grunted, sending a sharp glare at the sailor, who scurried off without a second thought.

"I'd like to stay with her if it's alright." Gendry piped up, catching their attention again. He gulped down his nerves and pulled back his shoulders. Hornigold looked him over, a slight twist to his lips as if he found Gendry as amusing as a kitten. "She'll be more comfortable if she's not alone." Safer, too, Gendry thought.

"Of course," Hornigold again gestured for a sailor to come to his side. "I will have an extra hammock brought in for you." Then the man opened his arms as if to present a grand gift. "Welcome aboard The Aurora."

NOTE

I feel like this chapter kinda marks the point where it starts getting much more game of thrones-y. I felt like since they were completely isolated, things would be much softer and calmer because they are both soft characters. Buuuuttt now the real world is gonna hit my sweet babies like a bus. Outside forces are really a bitch. Prepare yourselves.