A deadly storm raged over the sea as the Velaryon ships fought against the huge waves. The ship's wooden frame creaked under the strong winds, and dark clouds covered the entire sky. The wind too crashed heavily against the ship, making the onboard people think it would tear out the entire sails..
Inside the cabin, Stannon Baratheon stood by the big windows at the back of the ship, watching the storm outside. His heavy cloak hung over his shoulders, barely moving in the small room. The sea was wild, but he wasn't afraid, he was freaking terrified. He was only able to to hold out because of the mental adaption ability without showing a speck of fear on his face.
He had often watched the reels of sea storms on Instagram and wondered how would the people inside those ships felt during the journey. That scene of the huge ship going up and down on the high waves looked deadly enough but now that he was experiencing it himself, not a single word could come out of his mouth. He kept praying everytime the ship would climb a huge wave and only God knows for how long he had prayed to help them make it safely to the land.
Lightning lit up the sky, showing the huge waves crashing against the ship. The ship suddenly dropped into a deep wave, sending water splashing across the deck. Through the windows, Stannon could see sailors struggling to stay upright, grabbing ropes or trying to keep barrels and supplies from falling into the sea.
'Deep breaths, deep breaths,' Stannon thought to himself and decided to busy his mind in order to distract himself.
He quickly thought about the blue dragon egg because of which he had landed in such situation. He hoped that the damned dragon inside should hatch without any problems due to all the trouble he had to undergo to obtain it.
Stannon let out a slow breath, his fingers gripping the windowsill as the ship tilted again, the violent waves slamming against the hull. The storm outside was merciless, but inside his cabin, an even greater storm raged within his mind.
The Velaryon sailors—what should he do about them?
If he simply let them go, they could return to House Velaryon, and sooner or later, the Lannisters would find out where he had gone. He had no doubt that House Lannister would send their men to question the sailors, and under pressure—or worse, torture—the crew would reveal everything. That would be the end of him. The Lannisters had already been hunting him like a rabid beast, and he had barely managed to slip through their fingers.
Killing them all would be the easiest solution—clean, effective, and final. But the idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. These were simple men, sailors who had only followed orders, and more importantly, they had helped him escape. Slaughtering them in cold blood after they had unknowingly aided him felt dishonorable. He was no monster, no mindless killer. He refused to become one.
So, what was the best course of action?
He rubbed his temple, forcing himself to think rationally despite the constant rocking of the ship. There had to be another way.
A thought struck him. Instead of killing them, why not ensure their loyalty?
He turned from the window and moved toward the small wooden table in the cabin. Spreading out a map, he traced their current location with his fingers. They were far from Velaryon territory, but he needed a place to safely dock without alerting any of his enemies. If he could convince the sailors to join him—swear loyalty to him rather than House Velaryon—he could gain a skilled crew without the burden of guilt that came with killing innocent men.
The question was: would they accept?
He had no illusions that all of them would agree. Some men were too tied to their houses, their honor preventing them from betraying their lords. But desperation changed people. If he played his cards right, he could turn them into his own men.
He just needed leverage.
Gold was an option, but not the strongest. They were Velaryon sailors and he doubted a simple bribe would be enough to buy their loyalty completely. Fear, however, was always effective. The storm itself had already shaken them. If he convinced them that following him was their only chance at survival, they might just listen.
'Ahh, f*ck it,' Stannon couldn't help but think that convincing them was not as easy as it sounded even with his persuasion skill and he was not going to waste his precious points on levelling this skill unless he was sure of its effect in the first place.
Stannon's thoughts drifted to what he should do after reaching Crackclaw Point. He wanted to return to King's Landing as soon as possible to launch a counterattack. He had never once underestimated the Lannisters, even when he previously held the advantage.
In fact, he had planned to end their legacy long before the events of Game of Thrones would begin—two years from now. However, he hadn't expected them to make such a drastic move so soon, catching him off guard. To him, Tywin's actions seemed completely reckless—unless there was something more behind them.
What is Tywin planning? Stannon wondered. Tywin must have known that if he managed to escape this encirclement, it would spell doom for House Lannister. No other family in Westeros would support them in opposing King Robert Baratheon.
Besides, Robert was nothing like the man he was in the show. He was actively involved in ruling the kingdom. On top of that, Stannon himself was the rightful heir to the throne, skilled in politics, swordsmanship, and even business—though the latter had yet to be revealed. The Lannisters had no ethical or logical reason to rally support against the current King or Prince.
While many noble houses in Westeros were ambitious, they weren't foolish enough to follow someone without good reason.
That was why Stannon felt uneasy—he couldn't figure out what the Lannisters were truly after.
Suddenly Stannon jolted a little and gritted his teeth as the ship tilted dangerously, nearly making him lose his balance. He grabbed the table to steady himself, his fingers gripping the wood tightly.
Time felt endless in the middle of the chaos. The crew struggled to keep the ship from sinking, their shouts barely heard over the roaring storm. All the thoughts about the Lannisters motives were thrown out of his mind, as looked out of the window.
The sky was dark even though it was still daytime. Thick clouds blocked out the sun, making it feel like evening. Flashes of lightning lit up the sky, giving Stannon glimpses of the deck outside. The sailors were exhausted, their movements slower, but they kept working. They held onto ropes with all their strength, adjusted the damaged sails, and did everything they could to keep the ship from capsizing.
After what felt like forever, the storm finally began to weaken. The waves were still rough but no longer as deadly. The wind, though strong, was no longer ripping through the sails. The heavy rain had slowed to a steady drizzle.
As the sky slowly started to clear, the crew let out sighs of relief. They had survived. But the ship was damaged—ropes and barrels were scattered across the deck, and part of the sail was torn. Still, it was afloat, and that was what mattered.
"We made it," Stannon muttered, though he knew the danger wasn't over yet.
The sea was calmer now, but the ship had drifted off course. The sailors, though exhausted, wasted no time checking the damage and fixing what they could. Stannon stepped out of his cabin, breathing in the salty air.
The captain with a weathered face and tired eyes, walked up to him and spoke,"The storm's behind us, but it slowed us down. We'll need to change our course a little."
Stannon nodded, looking toward the horizon. The storm had pushed them off track, but they weren't lost. "How long until we reach Crackclaw Point?" he asked.
The sailor thought for a moment before replying. "Not far now. If the wind stays steady, we'll be there before nightfall."
Stannon felt a wave of relief. They wouldn't be stuck at sea much longer. He looked at the crew, still hard at work despite their exhaustion. These men had proven themselves, and he was now even more certain about what he had to do next.
If he could get them to follow him, he would have a strong and capable crew on his side or atleast he would detain them until he reach the King's Landing safely. If they refused… he would have to find another way to deal with them.
For now, his focus was on reaching land. The storm was over, but his real fight was just beginning.
---
Meanwhile,
In a quiet, dark room of a house in the House Boggs' territory, a woman sat in front of a fire, watching the flames closely. The dim light flickered across her face as she focused, searching for answers.
The fire twisted and shifted, forming a vision. She saw a shadowy figure of Stannon Baratheon in the midst of battle, fighting alongside others. His clothes were smeared with blood, his sword cutting through enemies as chaos raged around him. Suddenly, an arrow whipped toward him, forcing him to twist at the last moment to barely dodge it while still fighting.
Before he could recover, one of his subordinates suddenly lunged at him, his sword aimed straight at Stannon's chest. The attack was too fast, too precise—it seemed impossible to dodge. Even if Stannon tried to evade it, his enemies would take the opportunity to strike him down with their swords. Just as the blade was about to pierce him, the flames flickered violently, and the vision abruptly ended.
She sat still for a moment, holding the arms of her chair tightly. A deep frown appeared on her face, and worry filled her heart. The fire never showed meaningless visions. If what she saw was true, Stannon Baratheon was in danger—maybe even about to die. And if she wanted to stop it, she didn't have much time.
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