Gendry stared out the thick paned windows of the captain's cabin, one leg tucked beneath him and the other dangling over the edge of the cushioned window seat. For the first time in weeks, he felt clean, fresh, even. The stench of dungeons, dirt, and sweat that had lingered on his skin and clothes was washed away by the bucket of soapy water the captain had ordered brought in for them. His clothes were modest, breathable, with a buttoned overcoat that would serve him well when the cool breeze off the water became too chilly for only a tunic.

Brilliant blue eyes scanned every inch of the captain's quarters. A massive wood-carved desk sat front and center, its back to the window seat he currently occupied. The drawers were locked tight, and all that remained was a quill and ink. Hornigold was a very well-read man, far more than any sailor Gendry had met. Most had no knowledge of the written language, save for the accountants, of course. Thick spined books filled shelves built into the right wall, letters and numerals printed on the outer edge made very little sense to a boy from Flea Bottom. Gendry learned a few words here and there from Mott, just enough to get by but not enough to make sense of a book.

Reading was never something he gave much thought, he had little need for it in his life before, and it wasn't until now that he resented that fact. Gendry didn't trust their saviors. Not in the slightest. Perhaps it was the wandering eyes and hungry smirks that followed Sorcha wherever she walked, or the cloud of suspicion and glint of greed within Hornigold's emerald eyes. He felt he owed it to himself to approach every new acquaintance with a healthy amount of cynicism. The last time he'd been too quick to trust, he'd ended up sold to a Red Priestess like cattle.

"Gendry," Sorcha called from behind the changing screen. Her voice strained, a bit muffled.

"How are you faring?"

"I wish I knew." She sighed, almost whining. Gendry shook his head with a light chuckle, the amused smile lingering as he made his way over to her. "How is anyone meant to dress themselves?" He had the forethought to let her know he was coming.

"It is much easier for a man, I'm told. I can't-" Gendry stopped short as he rounded the screen. What he saw coaxed a fit of rumbling laughter from his chest. Sorcha was barely visible beneath a tangle of laces and fabrics. Her arms stuck straight up in the air, her head somehow poking through an armhole. She'd somehow gotten herself into a bind that would rival any of the sailor's knots.

"Don't laugh." She pouted, and it really was a pout. Gendry bit his lip in a futile attempt to hide his amusement.

"I'm not." Laughter leaked through his words. She glared at him, her eyes the only part of her he could see.

"You are!" Her protest only made him laugh harder. But after a moment, he sobered enough to step forwards.

"I'm sorry. Let me get you out." A toothy grin still curved his lips as he reached out to tug the knotted fabric away from her.

"Why can't I just wear what everyone else has on? It seems much more practical." She wiggled against the fabric as Gendry shimmied and pulled it down.

"Unfortunately, functionality is not a priority in women's clothing." He spoke absentmindedly, finally managing to get her arms and head through the correct opening. The billowing fabric and lace settled down around her, and now her nakedness was covered completely. The underdress was simple enough, white, with three-quarter length lace tipped sleeves and a low neckline. Five layers of white fabric made up the full skirt, topped with a floral deep pink overskirt that covered all but a front strip of white.

Gendry stared at the stiff corset, printed with the same floral pattern and fit with sleeves that flared into ruffled ends. Little white bows adorned the wrists. He grimaced, both at the gaudy design and the series of thick laces and button loops trailing down the front.

"Alright, I don't have much experience with dresses, but I think it goes this way?" He guided her arms through the sleeves and pulled the corset closed in front. Gendry's face scrunched in deliberation as he assessed the positioning dress. "Yes, I do believe I've got it." Biting his lip, he began to lace the front as he would a pair of boots. He dearly hoped he had it right. Else the entire crew would think Sorcha couldn't do up her own corset.

She tucked her chin to her chest, watching him work with fascination. When he tightened the laces, he did it only to the point where it hugged her body, not to constrict her so she couldn't breathe. The noble ladies he'd see in passing seemed to like it so tight that their waist looked like the stem of an hourglass. He always found it quite disturbing, but apparently, it was the latest fashion in high society.

When the laces were done and tied, he began buttoning the front. The fabric held together by copper buttons was a much darker shade of pink, and he found that it was reflected in the ruffled sleeves. The buttons concealed the laces he'd just done up. It was probably for the best, considering they looked as if an infant had done them up. Gendry stepped back to assess his work, and when he deemed it worthy, he gestured for her to see for herself.

"Humans will never cease to baffle me." Sorcha turned about before a floor-length mirror, both admiring and gawking at the contraption she was now encased in. The skirt fell to her ankles, leaving her bare feet exposed. The bodice was a strange fit, loose about the middle and close to bursting at the bosom. Luckily the stays kept the dress from creasing and bagging where the fit wasn't quite right.

"I'll have to agree with you there." He huffed in faint amusement. The only thing about her that didn't quite fit was the untamed hair. Had she been given the proper tools to maintain her natural curls, she'd be lovelier in that dress than any lady he'd seen.

"You look lovely." He smiled. Once they reached Kings Landing, he'd see to it that she got a proper dress and whatever she needed for her hair. Though, he had no idea how.

"I would hope so, for all it took to get into it." She scoffed, placing her hands on her hips, which now flared out into a plump skirt.

"When we return to the others, you're going to have to act as if this isn't the first dress you've ever worn."

"Yes, I know. I must pretend to be a proper lady." Sorcha rolled her eyes, though she knew he was right.

"Well, you certainly look like one, so you're already halfway there."

Sorcha much preferred the fresh sea breeze and open-air the deck provided. The belly of ships seemed far more comfortable when she'd explored it with Dyvon. She hated the feeling of being trapped with no access to the water. She was a caged lobster beneath the deck. But Sorcha took solace in the little curiosities that filled The Captain's quarters. Wherever her eyes wandered, there was something new. Even when she thought she'd seen it all, she would notice something different, like the swirling grain of the wooden desk or the spattering of ink across discarded parchment. If Sorcha had her way, she'd spend the entirety of her time exploring every nook and cranny of the cabin. Her chest heaved a sigh, and Gendry quirked his brow.

"We'll be back." He must've read her mind or known what that particular expression of longing meant. He held out an arm to her, and just as they practiced, she took it. It was a good way for him to steady her as she walked so as not to draw suspicion with her stumbling about like a fish out of water. They could only write it off as land legs for so long.

It took a bit of work to ascend the ladder to the main deck, but as soon as they surfaced, Randall was waving them over to his side. Sailors openly balked at Sorcha as she crossed the deck on her temporary husband's arm. The looks Gendry gleaned were sharp with envy. He found a small swell of pride at having a wife so lovely as to deserve it. Randall grinned, looking Sorcha up and down appraisingly. It wasn't a hungry, depraved gaze but more along the lines of a sailor revering a fine vessel.

"Was bringing it back for my wife, but I think she'd agree that you need it more."

"Thank you, Randall." Sorcha ran her hands along with the fabric of the bodice, feeling the boning of the stays beneath. "It's lovely."

"She's a little shorter and bigger 'round the middle, but one night drinking rum with these boys, and you'll fill it out just fine." He shot her a joking wink, and she giggled. She was growing more relaxed, knowing that at least some men were friendly. Randall clapped his hands together and looked to Gendry. "Now, since you'll be stayin' with us for a stretch, the captain will be expecting you to pull your weight. You sailed before, lad?"

"Never." He shook his head with a sheepish grimace.

"Well, you're good and strong, so that's somethin'. We'll find a use for you. Our carpenter might have some work to be done. Still repairing damages from that storm." Randall looked around the deck as if searching for someone. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brows when he didn't locate them. "Must be below deck. Come along, lad. I'll get you set up with a post." With a wave, Randall beckoned Gendry to follow him. He didn't wait for confirmation before heading off in the direction of the lower decks. Gendry glanced over at Sorcha.

"I'll be back in a moment." He whispered and gave her a questioning look. She offered a smile. She would be alright. At least, she hoped she would. The moment he disappeared, Sorcha felt unbearably exposed and inexplicably awkward. Gendry taught her how to walk, talk, act like a human lady. Under the scrutiny of so many humans, it all vanished. How was she meant to hold her hands? On her hips, clasped together before her, or just hanging limply at her side? And should she be smiling? Or was that strange? No one else seemed to be. They were going about their days as usual. She wished there was another woman aboard The Aurora, so she could simply mimic whatever the human was doing.

Sorcha was thankfully spared from any further panic by a sailor stopping beside her to gather up a pile of netting. Instinctively, she hurried to help him, grasping the stray edges and lifting the parts he couldn't handle himself. The sailor, a boy no older than sixteen, looked at her with wide eyes. He seemed startled as if she'd sneaked upon him. She knew that wasn't the case.

"Here," Sorcha bent down to pick up the last of it. "Let me help you." The boy shook his head and hurriedly gathered the netting from her arms and piled it atop his.

"No, miss. I've got it." He glanced away so as not to meet her eyes and scurried off without another word. Sorcha watched him go with a frown pulling at her face. She wasn't by any means familiar with human customs, but even she could tell that his behavior was strange. Her bare feet padded across the rough wood of the deck and carried her towards the next closest grouping of men. It wasn't uncommon for the sailors to be barefoot, most were, and she was grateful she wouldn't need to learn about both shoes and walking at once.

Over the next two days Sorcha found that no matter what she did, none of the sailors would let her help them. Not to lift a fallen post or swab the deck, even untangling a knotted length of rope. The men seemed to be terrified of her for a reason she did not know. The only person who dared speak to her was Wynn, who she learned was the ship's quartermaster. The position below First Mate, which belonged to Randall.

Wynn had the respect of every crew member, as it was him they dealt with most often. He would pass down the orders from Hornigold and see that everything was running like a well-oiled machine day to day. Wynn managed to convince the cook to let her chop vegetables for that night's dinner, but that only lasted half an hour. After about the third time she almost sliced her fingers off, he, too, banished her to wander the upper deck.

Gendry was faring much better. He'd proven quite useful repairing a few leaks below deck and lift away any heavy debris. In the end, he found he quite enjoyed the camaraderie of the crew. The occasional jest they would exchange and the way they seamlessly picked up on what the others needed. It reminded him a bit of the Brotherhood Without Banners, and could only hope that his partnership with the crew of The Aurora wouldn't end in the same way.

Sorcha had resigned to settling herself upon a large crate on the upper deck, not far from the massive wheel, and the balcony overlooking the bustling sailors working to both repair damages and set them back on course. Her pink skirts bunched around her as she scooted and shuffled, trying to find a comfortable position. Legs were long and cumbersome, and Sorcha couldn't understand how anyone could sit comfortably without them bent at awkward angles. Sorcha settled on one hip, her legs laying out much like her tail might've if she wanted to sun herself.

Her eyes lingered on the rolling waters below, hissing and frothing as the ship cut through it like a knife. Propping an elbow on the rail, she rested her chin in her palm and frowned. It was strange to glide across the waves, unaware of what lay below. The sea felt much more daunting and all-encompassing. To see the surface stretch on for leagues after leagues and still never lay eyes on a spot of land. Her thick mane of curls whipped about in the wind, and she scrunched her nose as it tickled her face. She'd never had the desire to tie her hair up, to restrict it, other than to adorn it with the occasional empty shell or piece of coral, but now she wanted nothing more.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about reading women, but I do believe you're upset about something." Sorcha whipped her head to the side, eyes widening a fraction. Hornigold stood an arm's length down the rail, forearms resting across the top. He stared at the sea with a fondness only a captain would have. Though he didn't appear to be studying her, she knew he analyzed her expression in his periphery. The rough scar across his right eye was illuminated by sunlight off the starboard bow. She wondered how he'd acquired such a mark.

"These men seem to think I'm liable to break if I do so much as lift a finger!"

"Ah, yes." Hornigold shook his head, lips curling in amusement. "It's been a long while since we've had a woman aboard. They've forgotten they are more than a pretty portrait or a thing to fuck. You're quite a peculiar one in comparison."

"Where are the women? Do you not allow them aboard?" Head cocking to the side, her brows furrowed.

"I have no qualms about letting them aboard. I've met my fair share of seafaring maidens, and they are just as fearsome as any man. Yara Greyjoy nearly had my head for sailing too near her waters. But women who have been taught or had the agency to learn our ways are few and far between." Hornigold smirked in amusement, almost fondly at the memory of Yara Greyjoy wielding her sword against him. He rather enjoyed the game of cat and mouse they played. The sea was a chessboard to them, and whilst the stakes were as deadly as any other, the thrill of a chase was what he lived for. In another life, He and the Greyjoy heir may have been friends.

"I don't see why they should be." Hornigold turned to face her, leaning one arm on the rail. She looked incensed by the thought, and he quite agreed with her.

"Life at sea is not one often chosen. Many of my crew had no other option but to join. Some have families that they provide for. Others were to be hung for nothing more than taking a loaf of bread from a feast to feed their starving children. Randall's wife, the one whose dress you wear, was a scullery maid, now she runs the kitchens of a well-respected tavern. This life is one of desperation, of rebellion, and freedom from every wealthy lord, king, or leader, who wishes to use those beneath them as pawns in a game of thrones."

"It doesn't sound all too bad to me." Sorcha mused, looking about the deck. Gendry was deep in conversation with the carpenter and didn't notice hew eyes lingering on his form.

"It has its charms. And while a life of comfort and stability is ever tempting, the sea is where I belong." Taking a deep drag of his pipe, he held it out to her. She eyed it with interest and took the smoking object from him. Placing the stem between her lips, she took a deep inhale, just as she'd seen him do. Her lungs instantly rejected it, and Sorcha began to hack away over the ship's side. Hornigold let out a hearty laugh, his chest and shoulders shaking, as he patted the poor woman on the back. Wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve, she looked at him with red watery eyes.

"It's an acquired taste." He chuckled again at the way she scrunched her nose and grimaced. Sorcha couldn't imagine ever wanting to acquire a taste for something so rancid. She let the sea air soothe her burning lungs, and for a while, neither said a word.

"Would you teach me?" Sorcha looked over at him, a sudden spark lighting up her face.

"What?" He raised a single brow in question.

"I'd like to learn about your ship, these men, how you travel and see the world. I can't bear to sit upon these crates for the entire voyage." She gestured to the place she'd perched herself with a frown. "I'd like to be of service in some way. I'm a quick learner. I won't be a burden." He seemed to mull it over, scanning her expression. She seemed capable, and at the very least, willing to learn.

"Alright," Hornigold couldn't suppress the smile curling his lips. "I don't see why you can't learn as we go. Just as long as you don't step on my men's toes and keep them from doing their duties." Sorcha's face morphed into one of shock and indignance.

"I would never! That sounds painful." A bark of laughter left his lips at the very literal way she'd taken his words. Hornigold found that he quite liked this strange maiden, and he would enjoy her company for the duration.

"You certainly are a strange one, Miss." he shook his head, eyes going back to scan the horizon. Sorcha's cheeks warmed. She thought she'd been playing her part well, but not well enough. It would take some practice. Twiddling with the ruffled flaring from her sleeve, Sorcha went over the conversation in her head, trying to pinpoint what exactly she'd done wrong.

Every few moments, Gendry would glance up at where Sorcha spoke with Captain Hornigold. He wanted nothing more than to run up those stairs and shove him away from her. The way Hornigold's lips curled in a smirk-like grin as she said something novel made a shiver of apprehension creep up Gendry's spine. The ship's carpenter, Burton, was going on about how to repair a loose floorboard, his Braavosi accent so thick that Gendry could only understand about half of it. If he'd been paying close attention, as he should've been, maybe he could've caught it. But he bit his lip, checking over his shoulder to make sure Sorcha hadn't accidentally let slip that she was a Merling.

"Sails!" Gendry squinted up at the crow's nest, but even with shielded eyes, he couldn't quite see past the glare of sunlight. "Abeam to Port!"

Beside Hornigold, Sorcha watched as he extended his spyglass. He crossed the deck to the port side and looked out across the water. Sure enough, a white sail ship approached, scarcely more than a speck on the horizon.

"Looks like you're in for a treat." Hornigold looked over his shoulder at the woman struggling to dismount from the crate. "First thing you need to learn is that The Aurora is not a merchant ship. You're aboard the finest Pirate ship The Narrow Sea has ever seen. And we're about to close in on a prize." Sorcha's gaze locked on Gendry, and panic mirrored in his vibrant blue eyes. Their journey south was shaping up to be more dangerous than he thought.