Chapter 593 - 10

—107 AC—

I stared at the letter with rage building in my gut. I knew there was something I failed to consider with this Baratheon squireship. Just go away for a few years, get stronger and develop at your own pace had been the offer, and I'd taken it like a good boy without pausing to think about what I would be missing. Now, I could see it clearly. Corlys' letter wrote about the pirates in the Stepstones attacking Velaryon ships without hesitation nor fear of reprisal, and his desire to appeal to the King for the right to retaliate— he'd done it twice already. Except that Viserys was yet to accept us back into his good graces after what I'd done at the Great Council. There was no Daemon in this case to suggest war in the Stepstones.

Of course there wasn't. I'd insulted his brother over a throne that I couldn't even win in the end, and now he was basically enemies with House Velaryon. There was no doubt that Daemon loved Viserys, and we'd be the ones to suffer for that. I scowled and tore up the parchment in my grasp before grabbing another sheet and beginning to write again. In any other castle, I would have feared my words being intercepted and read, but after years here, I still wasn't entirely sure if any of the Baratheon men actually knew how to read. It wouldn't even be that shocking if they didn't. Boremund had his Maester read anything pressing to him during dinner, and he never seemed much interested in books or anything of the sort. Of course, it could also just be a thing of desire and not capability.

Distracted again, I growled at myself. Focus, Laenor, focus. You need a plan to make this work, and against all odds, I was beginning to get the bones of one in mind.

So, I wrote Corlys with a plan. House Velaryon shipped the luxuries that King's Landing relied on. The Reach sent food, yes. So did the Riverlands. But all the things pricier and thus more important to pride, like tapestries, spices, and the lot, were shipped on Velaryon ships. Corlys had probably enjoyed telling me all about how he had canibalised my idea for the Laena Velaryon and built cargo ships that could carry dozens more than any other, even with more than a skeleton crew onboard. With that, he'd more or less muscled the Essosi out of the market. Now all he had to do was make those shipments dry out little by little. The increased prices would probably go some way in salvaging our lost revenue from the pseudo-blockade.

And when the Lords approached him to complain, all he had to do was say it was unsafe for Velaryon ships to pass the Stepstones, as the King refused to give him leave to deal with the pirates within. Let Viserys' lords be the ones to pressure him. Let his Queen find no spices for her mutton, or lace for her dresses. Eventually, he'd cave. Someone like him? I'd give it weeks.

----

I pressed the attack, transitioning from a straight slash that forced my opponent backwards, to a stab at his chest that he had to lift his shield to block. When he brought his war hammer to bear, I weaved to the side before my foot found the back of his knee and forced him to one knee in a single sharp back kick. He tried to bring the hammer around again, but a slap from the side of my sword into said arm made him think better of it. Next, my sword was at his throat, he was yielding, and I almost began jumping about the place. My first win.

I turned to Manfred, not even surprised to see him waiting with a list of the things I'd done wrong in that particular spar, but that could wait. Foremost, I needed to celebrate. I turned to Ben and found him smiling, so it was to him, I went first.

"Come back here, boy. It's not like you've done anything worth celebrating" Manfred's words took the wind out of my sails as I made my way to Ben.

"You heard your master-of-arms, my lord. Go there" Ben said. I sparred him a glare, traitor that he was, and he bore it easily, only reacting with a laugh and a shake of his head.

"You have to admit that was impressive as hell though" I said, looking between them.

"No. No, we don't. Now sword up" Manfred said with a scowl on his face.

"Yeah, fuck you" I muttered, but still shuffled back to the ring and took my stance.

"Did I hear something?"

"No Ser"

"Better have been nothing, boy" He said menacingly.

—

My last spar of the year was against my very first opponent. I'd faced all sorts of people. Some of them knights, most of them not. Either way, Ser Manfred managed to get experts with a wide variety of weapons to come and spar with me. There was probably a healthy amount of gold changing hands, but since none of it was mentioned to me, then it was not my business. The man with the morningstar had changed little since we'd last fought.

In contrast, I must have put on two stone since then and shot up a whole foot in height. The experts Manfred brought were seldom willing to follow his insane schedule, so that meant I had more free time to myself to both train my body, read, plot, and spend time with Igneel. Igneel, whose physical growth had stabilized somewhat, had instead begun to grow in other ways. He could fly for longer now, and his fire burned hotter than it used to, with even more explosive potential when he wanted to use it like that.

He plodded over towards me as this time instead of running in his direction, I let him be the one to make the first move. He swung the morningstar straight in my direction. I took a step back, noting how the rod, the chain, and the ball at the end of the chain moved in sync. He waited for me to counter with an attack of my own, but I did not, content to stand and wait for him to make the next move.

Make the next move he did, as he swung for me again and once again I took another step back. Once again, he hunkered for a return attack, but none came from my end. In our first fight, he'd used his footwork to turn my aggression against me. This time, I forced him to lead the dance, and it was clear that that was not where his strengths lay. He swung once, and then again and then on the third swing instead of stepping back for the fifth time, I stepped inside his guard, stabbing my blade straight into the links between the chain that connected the rod to the metal ball at the end.

With a push, both our weapons went flying into the air. Before he got to adapt to the new situation, my shield had buried itself straight into his face, making him stumble backwards as his helm must have been ringing from that impact. Regardless, I hit him in the head two more times with the face of the shield before he fell to his knees, and then from there it was facedown for him as he lost consciousness for a brief instant. My win.

I heard the sound of applause and turned to the side to find Ser Ben there, putting his hands together. Even Manfred had a look on his face that could vaguely be mistaken for a smile if one looked at it from the right— or wrong angle.

"Well done, boy" he said, "Congratulations, you've finally managed to stop losing to poorly trained farmers and hedge knights. Maybe I'll make a fighter out of you one day" Manfred said with a wicked look on his face.

"Yeah, yeah" I said with irritation building at how quickly my win was disregarded before I took my stance again. This time, the morningstar wielding knight was more hesitant, no longer willing to play my game and trying to force me to play his, by remaining in his stance. His cheek was swollen, and he looked dazed from the rude awakening Manfred had given him with ale to the face. I knew I could out-wait him, but I could already hear Manfred's scathing words in my ear if I tried that strategy.

The Baratheon household were not big fans of what they perceived to be cowardice. I turned away from him for a second, looking like I was examining something to the side and the second I felt his head turn out of curiosity, I dove in for the attack.

Of course, that was not enough to catch him completely by surprise. His shield rose in time, blocking my jumping slash, but the force forced his hand down slightly, and that was all I needed. I jammed my shield into his own in a shield bash. Thirteen or not, I was big and strong, and in this case, I wanted it very much. He stumbled back and then came around with his morningstar again. I danced around it, moving to the side where I jammed my blade into the back of his leg. Blunted or not, that must have hurt like a motherfucker, evidenced from the grunt of pain and him falling to one knee.

That was all I needed to get fully behind him and place my blade at his neck from behind.

"Yield?" I asked with a smile, feeling the euphoria of victory take me. He grunted before jamming his head backwards, sending pain straight to my midsection.

Did that fatherfucker crack a rib with his helmet? I wondered but got no time to think further as he hobbled to his feet and was instantly upon me. Swing after swing of his Morningstar was blocked by my shield, until it began to become clear that he would not be stopping and reassessing. His plan was to put me under so much pressure that I would inevitably mess up, and when I did, he would be in the perfect position to take advantage. No. I refused.

I dropped my sword, and could see the way his eyes narrowed at that move. He came again with renewed vigor, but this time I was supporting my Shield with both arms, making it near impossible for him to get the same kind of headway he had to have been used to. And then when he took a second too long with his next attack, probably still feeling it in his leg just like I was feeling it in my ribs, I pushed out with my shield, hitting him in the body with it and sending the both of us to the ground.

This was a strategy I'd tried with Manfred a few times, but the Baratheon master-at-arms has wasted no time in showing me just why that was a bad idea with people bigger than me. This man, hedge knight or not, was bigger than me as well. But his size did not matter in this situation because I had something he didn't— a plan.

A good one, even. We rolled along the ground for a few seconds, and that confusion was all I needed to find the dagger strapped to my side and place it at his neck. "Yield?" I asked this time with audible menace in my voice. I was irritated enough at that his first trick to run him through with the dagger if he tried something else. Not through his neck, though. Maybe his shoulder. Yeah, that would hurt like a motherfucker, and with the state of medicine in this world, possibly lose him use of the arm, but it wouldn't give me a reputation for killing people in spars.

"I yield, my lord" He said, and I scoffed before pushing myself off him and onto my feet before I stretched out a hand and helped him up.

"Not completely disastrous" Ben said with a smile.

"But foolish as all hells" Manfred completed, looking down at my mud covered padding. The rain here was constant and even though we could get good footing with our nice boots, diving into the floor had probably not been the best move when considering my clothing. Well, being a Lord had its advantages at least.

—

I stared at the letter, not sure how I felt about it. Corlys' plan— my plan but with some Seasnake flavored additions, had worked. The realm was clamoring for war in the Stepstones, and Viserys was only a stroke of a pen away from authorising House Velaryon to move un to pacify the region. Pacify, not annex, he had specified. He was probably disappointed, but I wasn't. War was long, and Viserys was a weak-willed man. When we finally won the thing, he'd be hard-pressed to stop us from doing whatever we wanted with the damn thing. Besides, we could always argue that annexing the damn thing was necessary to pacify it.

That was not what had me unsure, to be honest. No, what had me unsure was the part where he said he was going to be writing House Baratheon to join in with House Velaryon on the attack. Viserys had given him free rein to seek support within the realm but had specified that he would not be ordering anyone to war in a foreign land. What worried me was that this whole thing stunk. Sure, House Baratheon helping would mean we could wrap things off even quicker than in canon. But if they did, then it stopped being a Velaryon victory and became a Westerosi one.

Was that Viserys' plan? Moreover, there was no chance that Boremund, prideful old bastard that he was, would sit aside and let us declare ourselves King of the Islands. Not in a world where he'd contributed to that conquest. He'd want his pound of flesh, and he'd arguably deserve it. But them was that enough reason to ask Corlys to step back from asking.

Because we were in it alone otherwise. No Daemon this time, or at least no Daemon yet. We had dragons, but I couldn't see him sending Rhaenys or Laena off to war, to be honest. So it would just be me, our fleets, and Igneel. We'd need the Baratheons. We had ships and men to crew them, but we didn't have the men to do the fighting. Not enough bodies to burn in that considering our small population and even smaller levies. We'd empty Driftmark and still not have enough men to match the pirates on even footing. Not even with the force multiplier that was a single Dragon. Oh fuck it, I thought, and began to pen a letter.

If I wanted to win, I had to change my goals. I wanted the Stepstones for myself. Corlys didn't. His goal was to get rid of the pirates. And if there was one person that could help with that, then we had to at least try. And maybe if the gods were merciful, he'd get bored and fuck off to the Red Keep, just like he did in canon.

I wrote the letter, and then another, before moving to the Maester's tower. One of them to the Red Keep, and the other to High Tide.

—108 AC— RHAENYS TARGARYEN

She watched her cousin as he dismounted his dragon, the cantankerous Blood wyrm, her father's dragon. Claimed to avenge her decision to clam his mother's, she knew. She and Viserys might have been able to rescue a cordial relationship from the pressures of court and the competition for the throne, but Daemon was far from that. He was vengeful and prideful like no one she had ever seen, so why was he here now? When Laenor's letter had arrived all those weeks ago, they had expected his gambit to fail, but now the Rogue Prince was at their gates, was he here to spit on Laenor's offer by declining to their faces, or was he here to accept it?

"Your son wrote me a letter, cousin" Daemon said, walking towards her and almost entirely ignoring Corlys.

"Yes, our son wrote you a letter with our leave" Corlys said, making sure to show no offense a being disregarded. Daemon was the kind of man to go out of his way to get on your nerves, so showing him that he had succeeded was one way to make sure he did it again.

"He said the Stepstones would be mine to deal with if I joined this conquest of yours"

"Pacification. The Velaryon fleet shall only be moving to pacify the islands. However, we recognise that when we do so, then there will be a vacuum on the isles. A vacuum we cannot fill, and it would only be fitting" He said.

"So you would give me a Kingdom?" Daemon asked, brow quirked.

"No. We would help you take a Kingdom. Your involvement in the pacification would be necessary." Corlys said.

"I see. And what's the other boot?"

"Like Laenor said, good trade deals, profitable terms for Velaryon ships crossing the stepsons, and less merciful terms for those who would garner our mutual ire." Corlys said.

"That's all well and good. But your Son did not do something which I see as necessary for any deal to begin."

"Which is?"

"An apology. He insulted both Viserys and I during that speech of his."

"Six years ago?" She asked, not completely shocked that he'd bring it up.

"Old wounds run deep and fester" He said, stepping back and giving them a significant look, as if to say if you want me then show how much you do so.

"We won't apologise." Corlys said.

"Laenor said what he felt he needed to, and if you would smash this deal into pieces for actions half a decade in the past and from a boy yet to see his tenth nameday at the time, then I struggle to imagine what kind of ally you would be" Corlys challenged, narrowed eyes. The Blood wyrm behind Daemon roared like it could recognise its rider had been insulted. Meleys matched it, and a second later so did Vhagar from a few steps away.

If Daemon tried something stupid, then he would find himself more than matched. It was clear he knew that as he looked from Meleys to Vhagar, looking like he'd swallowed a lemon before his face smoothed out.

"Just a test to see your resolve, Velaryon. We have a deal" He said.

A/N: Next three up on patreon( same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.Also, there's a cheeky 10% discount available for all monthly plans till the 14th.

108 AC—

"Your father has written me to beg my presence in this war of his in the Stepstones. He desires for Stormlander blood to be shed in his war against the pirates, corsairs, and sellsails that plague those cursed islands," Boremund said, looking over at me from across the dinner table. I looked up, nodded, and kept eating. Manfred had returned to being the one who sparred with me the majority of the time, and so I found myself tired as seven hells by the time dinner came around. I didn't have the energy to dance with words like the Great Lords did.

"Nothing to say, boy?" he finally asked after minutes without a reply.

"Nothing, my lord. You are a wise and fair lord, so you know best whether to help the Kingdom with its goals or not."

"The Kingdom? Pah. More like House Velaryon."

"If you insist so, my lord. I will defer to your greater wisdom on the matter." Whether he joined the war or not, we would win. Daemon's participation just about ensured it, and I knew Boremund Baratheon after years within the man's court. One thing he despised was beggars. He'd say no if he felt he was being begged just for the hell of it.

So it was probably the case that the only way to keep him interested in joining the war was to make it seem like I truly did not care whether he did or not. That would make him more confident about our chances, and thus more likely to commit his men to the bloodbath that was to follow. The truth was that no matter how Boremund liked to assume otherwise, he was just as cowardly and opportunistic as the other Great Lords. Just that he hid his tendencies behind bluster, a booming voice, and a war hammer the size of my midsection.

"The Stepstones? Those pirates will piss themselves at the first sight of a good Stormlander charge," Manfred said, taking a large swig of his ale. Bastards could rise high in war. I'd all but confirmed that Manfred was Boremund's other son. Boremund's more present son. Boremund's favoured son, in some ways even.

"A war in a foreign land for a foreign cause? Sounds like folly to me. What concern of ours is it that Velaryon cannot ship in his silks and perfumes?" Borros scoffed. He had returned most recently a few weeks ago, and even though I was to be his squire, he had seldom said more than a word or two in my direction. Boremund had to have known what he was doing when he did it. Borros resented Manfred for being the Bastard with their father's favour, and Boremund had gone ahead and placed me under Manfred's wing first thing. I wondered whether I would be the first squire in history to never even be countenanced by his knight. It made my hopes of earning a knighthood slim in the short term as well. So I did need House Baratheon involved in the war.

"I do believe my father has promised to pay the transportation, marshalling, and upkeep cost of any army that joined the pacification," I said casually.

"That would be the bare minimum, considering that this is his war we are fighting, wouldn't it?"

"A war for all of Westeros. The Stepstones pirates don't discriminate between ships flying Velaryon flags or those flying Manderly or Redwyne flags," I pointed out.

"Except that it was neither Manderly nor Redwyne who appealed to the King for leave to invade the islands, did they? No, it was Velaryon. And Velaryon wrote to me for his help. Like it or not, this war is yours," he said. I nodded my head, ceding the point even if I was far from in agreement with him. I just knew that there was no point arguing on that point. Boremund was not the type of man that took being disagreed with well, so I made sure to save it for the most important points.

"Now that that is settled, we will expect proper compensation from the bounty of the Stepstones." I nearly scoffed but buried it with a cough. Was this man actually an idiot? What bounty of the Stepstones? The isles were barren, storm-washed stones with naught on them but pirates and idiots.

"I think we can arrange a suitable percentage for your people's involvement," I said with a smile. Even 100% of 0 was still 0. I knew that he knew that the Stepstones were barren and worthless except for their position, but someone like him could not understand the importance of controlling a vital shipping lane like the Stepstones, so he was probably thinking there was some treasure there that Corlys was willing to bleed men for and wanted his share of it. With that context, it was not hard to see why he would have thought so, to be honest. Westerosi Lords waged war for one of three reasons—pride, land, and power. He couldn't imagine a war waged to make trade, of all things, easier, especially when you considered just how little trading House Baratheon did.

"Good, now we're speaking the same language. You will head out with Borros and five thousand of my personal levies to Tarth, where your father's ships will be waiting to ferry you over to the Stepstones for the fighting about to begin. Now, do not forget that you are still my son's squire. Your father's war or not, you will be representing House Baratheon there, and not House Velaryon, at least until my son deems you worthy of a Knighthood," he said next before digging into his mutton with relish, not even paying me any further attention. I nodded and turned back to my own food.

Neither Manfred nor Borros had paid us much attention once it was clear where the conversation was going. They didn't care much about the terms under which House Baratheon fought in the Stepstones, only about whether they did or not.

—

Marching in an army was harder than it seemed. Both harder and more annoying, to be honest. One thing was the rain. The rains were constant here. Wake up, it's raining. Lunchtime, it's raining. Time to sleep, it's raining. It was the most prevalent issue, but one of the easiest to get used to. Manfred had made me spend whole days training in the rain, so it was not the main factor that annoyed me. No, that was the mud. Marching in the mud was a slog— I spent my time making sure I didn't slip and got my footing right. The whole thing was a workout on its own, and then there were the obligations.

Manfred was off doing whatever, and so I'd found myself assigned to his original knight—Borros, who rode at the head of the caravan. Borros, who made me wash and polish his armour day in and day out. Borros, who wore a long cloak in the mud and expected me to wash it at the end of every day and somehow have it ready to go for the next one. Borros, who insisted they spar at dawn in the morning and then spent half an hour kicking me about the place until he got bored and then fucked off to begin his daily pastime—drinking.

There was literally only one silver lining to this whole thing—Igneel. Borros was scared of the dragon, and he did a poor job of hiding it. Sure, when I dismounted and became mortal, he could heap indignities upon me without pause: "Wash my cloak, Laenor. Shine my boots, Laenor. I have vomited in my helmet, Laenor, come clean it." Over and over again. But when I was next to my first and oldest friend, Borros became as mute as the wind. All he could do was whisper and grumble.

So that meant I slept next to Igneel every night. It also came with the advantage of not having to sleep in the mud. The first night of that had been far from enjoyable. Now that Igneel's fire had grown hotter and he could spew much more of it, it was child's play for him to turn the ground he slept on into clay, and it was on that clay, propped up against his wing, that I slept on a daily basis.

Now was one of the few times during this mess of a march that I was doing neither of those two things—marching through the mud or resting on Igneel's back. Instead, I was left with the ignoble duty of setting up camp—read: having the levies set up camp while I watched them do it, fully aware that Borros would inevitably find something about the camp to complain about and then clap me over the ear. Last time, the tents were facing the wrong direction in his masterful opinion. An opinion that was fully shit because they were tents, and we were in the fucking middle of the Stormlands. No one was going to ambush us, and even if they did, it wouldn't matter because I had a comprehensive rotation of scouts. The night before that, he had grilled me on the scouts, and then the night before that one, he had decided that the latrines I'd had the levies dig were too shallow.

Some of his criticisms were valid—somehow the latrines had filled up with shit before the night had even been halfway through, and I'd had to have people digging new ones in the rain, under a cloudy sky with the only source of light being the campfire that Igneel was kind and helpful enough to keep lit with his flames.

This time, I made sure the latrines were dug enough that the tallest man in the camp could not see out of them, and then half again as deep. Four different latrines. The latrines were for the men-at-arms and levies. Knights, Lords, and little sprogs of Lords like me got the privilege of using chamber pots and then having them tossed into the latrines when we were done. It was a shitty job for whichever servant drew the short straw. Ha. Shitty job. Hadn't even intended that one. It just happened. Latrines, and then campfire, and then tents after the campfire had been lit. I'd learned my lesson from the very first night when some of the tents caught fire from being too close to the campfire.

Now, I was getting good enough at directing it that I was even beginning to get fancy, having all the tents pitched up into neat little rows to make walking between them less tedious and to reduce some of the natural inefficiencies that came with a camp this size—like getting information from one point to another. In about two hours, the camp was set up, and Borros passed me with a sniff. He said nothing. Nothing at all.

"Oy. What's this prissy nonsense with the tents?" he asked suddenly after he'd gone steps beyond me.

"Organisation, Ser Borros. It helps the camp followers know where to go and makes things more efficient," I said, and even though there was some distance between us, I could barely react in time to lean with the punch that sent me to the floor. I was up in a second. Staying on the floor was an invitation for Borros to start kicking. I'd learned that lesson the second time.

"Also makes it easy for any cunt with a knife and a dream to go about killing everyone important. None of this fancy shit next time, you hear me?" he asked.

"Yes, Ser Borros," I said, voice monotone as most of my attention was spent holding Igneel off from burning the man to ash. Grandnephew or not, I doubted Boremund would be very forgiving if I killed his son over a punch.

"Good. Now let's go to bed. Lord Tarth will be expecting us first thing tomorrow," he said and began to march off to his own tent. At the same time, I retreated in the opposite direction and began to make my way to Igneel. Thankfully, Borros was yet to mention enforcing the tradition of Knights and their Squires sleeping in the same tent. Part of me was certain that at least a good portion of that tradition had been sexual in nature. I mean, in canon, Loras had squired under Renly, and that wasn't the only thing he ended up doing under the Baratheon Lord. Thankfully, this one was not keen to follow in his descendant's footsteps—could I even say that? Since Renly didn't exist yet, it was more like Borros wasn't setting an example for Renly to follow. Whatever it was, my knight wasn't trying to fuck me, and wasn't that just a weird sentence to think?

I trudged over to Igneel's chosen roost for the night and delighted in the warm air that surrounded him. He infused the air with warmth with each breath of his and banished the chill of the Stormlands night with his very presence.

"Yes, yes. I know. You want to burn him. But as I've told you a million times, that would be the kind of drastic reaction that gets us a bad rep," I said with a smile as I walked over to him and began to rub his scales. He grunted against my side and I leaned against him, allowing his tail to push me towards his side where I began taking off my soaked clothes. I still had to wash Borros's cloak, but that was easy enough. After the first few nights, it had begun to resist attempts to return it to its gleaming gold and was now a vaguely sick-looking shade of brown. He was yet to complain—probably not sure there was any chance I could have done better. Even a professional washerwoman would have had issues doing it. At least that was what I bribed all the camp followers to tell him when he asked.

I fetched some rainwater in a bucket then dumped Borros's cloak in it. Next, I took some of the soap—or the sludge that passed for soap in this world—and added it to the bucket and the cloak. Then I left it there and went back to Igneel to prepare for bed. If Borros could fuck with me at will, then I could fuck with him just as surely. I just had to be careful about how I did it. Most of the Kingdoms served the Seven, and the relationship between a Knight and his Squire was sacred. Literally every book—even the book of the Stranger—had something to say about the relationship. When I woke up, I'd wring it out and take it to him. Smelling of soap, but not much cleaner.

--

If there was one thing Borros did better than Manfred, it was training, funny enough. He was a better fighter than the man literally given the title of Master-at-Arms, and that meant that whether he intended it or not, I was getting better faster than I ever had. In our first spar, he'd knocked me on my arse in less than a minute. Now it took him closer to five to overpower or outmanoeuvre me enough to get the victory, and while I hadn't yet gotten to the level where I could do much more than ward off an inevitable defeat, that was only a matter of time.

Still, today was clearly not that day, as I weaved to the side to avoid a kick that threatened to send me wheezing to the floor. My counter-stab at his leg was blocked with a shield and a sneer. His mace came around again, and I ducked underneath it, not bothering to even try blocking with my shield. In fact, the shield was only still in my grip because the last time I'd tried fighting without it, Borros had gone red with rage, talking about how I must have a death wish of some sort. Ser Ben explained that it was the kind of bad habit that got you killed.

Even if dodging was better than blocking when it came to Borros, it was still better to block an attack than get my chest caved in. That was beside the point as Borros came charging in once again. This time, I spun in a half-circle to avoid him and went for his back before a backhand came from nowhere and tossed me off my feet. I rolled with the attack and found myself stumbling to backpedal away from a mace that would have put me in a world of hurt for a day or two.

The next thrust with his mace was met with me hitting the weapon to the side with my shield. A parry, not a block, as I'd come to learn, was one of the only ways to keep myself safe in the face of the Baratheon Knight's attention—redirecting the force rather than absorbing it. I moved then, blade aimed for his neck, the gap in his armour there meaning this one would hurt. He moved backwards, and my blade kissed nothing but the air. I landed a second later and quickly found myself staring up at the sky. The bastard had swept my feet out from underneath me.

"Almost acceptable," he said, before offering me a hand up. He pulled me up and I found myself staring at one of his rare smiles. Borros had enjoyed that fight, at least.

"Ser Baratheon, ships spotted," one of the camp runners came over to us, saying.

Borros looked over at me, looking at me from head to toe. "Go change and make yourself presentable. Lord Tarth is not the type to forgive a slight—real or imagined." It went without saying that looking like I'd just rolled with a few pigs would not be received well by the Lord of the Sapphire Isles.

A/N: Here we go with the next chappy! Just some transitions as we move from introductions to the Stepstones. Next four up on patreon (same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.

"Is Tarth the most beautiful island in the Seven Kingdoms?" I found myself wondering as we stared at the island as it revealed itself through the early morning mists. Lord Tarth had not come in person with his ships, but had sent his son and heir, Quentin Tarth, to lead the barges that had been assigned to moving our Stormland force from the mainland over to the island. From there, it would be up to my father to ferry us the rest of the way, and he and his ships were scheduled to arrive any day now.

Back to the island, though. It had a wild look, like it was untouched by man for most of its surface. Sure, there was Evenfall Hall rising above its tallest hills, and several fishing villages that looked to dot the coastline, but beyond that, much of the island seemed to be covered in lush green hilltops and virgin land. And then there were the seas that surrounded it. I knew from my lessons that Tarth suffered storms as terrible as the rest of the Stormlands every so often, but that was difficult to reconcile with what my eyes could see now. Blue seas as far as the eye could see that seemed almost still with how little they moved. Their waters reflected the sky perfectly, giving the entire area a blue glow that was difficult to find unappealing.

"Captivating, isn't it?" I found Borros asking by my side.

"It's something else," I replied. Something otherworldly, I thought but did not say.

"Yes, that is exactly what I thought once I saw it. Now, get your jaw off the floor before the men start laughing at you," he said, giving me a clap along my back that would have made me stumble mere days earlier. I'd gotten used to his sudden touches at this point, and while they were far from acceptable in my opinion, they had become tolerable at the very least.

"Yes, Ser Borros," I said. And then there was something on his face again.

"Is something the matter, Ser Borros?" I asked next.

"No. Nothing. Get going," he said, and that was it. He turned away to talk to some knight or the other about some thing or the other, and I was left to watch the approaching island on my own. As he left, I turned my thoughts to him. To be honest, a lot of the time it felt like there were two versions of Borros. There was Borros who was sarcastic but kind, and the one that was cruel. It just seemed like the version of him I met more often these days was the cruel one.

I still remembered the first days after he returned from hunting Dornish raiders in the marshlands—he hadn't been able to find a single one and got outsmarted at every turn. His father, Boremund, had not even organized an official reception, but still he had shown up to the yard early that morning and helped me out with a few things before Manfred's next chosen opponent for me showed up and I had to leave him. The next day he hadn't shown up, but he'd been nice enough the few times I ran into him in the hallways, and then he had switched up on me like it was a coin being flipped or whatever.

"Are you ready, my lord?" Ser Ben asked, leaving his position at the back of my shoulder to step to my side, ever the watchful shadow.

"To meet Lord Tarth? No offense to him, but I ride a dragon. The question should be if he's ready to meet me," I said so quietly that only the two of us could hear, and he released a quick laugh that died out quickly.

"No. I didn't mean that. Lord Tarth is only a step on the way. From there it's to the Stepstones. To war." He said.

"They're pirates. It's not going to be much of a war," I said, repeating the words I'd heard the Baratheon men-at-arms say to themselves while on a journey to dig themselves into their cups as deep as they could get.

"You're not stupid enough to think that. They might be pirates, but they can kill a man just as surely as a knight could, and trust me when I say they'll shit themselves when they die just like all men do. Are you ready to do that? To look a man in his eyes and know that either you will end his life or he will end yours. To know that a woman somewhere will starve and die without that man to bring food home. To know that a child will grow up without a father because of your actions. Many children, many women. That is the reality of war, young Lord. They will cry, they will beg, they will rage, and you must kill them all the same. It will be unfair. You have been raised since you could walk to be a killer of men. These men turned to piracy for nothing else could sustain them. And you will kill them for it. Not for survival, not for your peace of mind because they do little to yours, but because you want them dead and that is it." He said, giving me a grave look.

"Have you been at war before, Ser Ben? Is the realm not at peace?" I asked, watching him turn to me before he released a harsh laugh that echoed and drew attention towards us.

"The realm is never at peace, young Lord." When he spoke, his laughter died. There was something heavy, both behind his voice and his eyes.

"What do you mean? The realm has not known true war since Maegor slit his wrists against the blades of the Iron Throne. The debacle with the Dornish shouldn't count as you weren't involved in that," I said, and it was true. This was the largest uninterrupted period of peace in Targaryen rule so far. They had brought peace, and thus prosperity to Westeros.

"And yet, nary a year ago, your knight rode at the head of a column a hundred strong to put down bandits in the Eastern Stormlands. You think Cracklaw Point has any fewer? I assure you we have more. Why do you think your Lord Father patrols his island with such vigor and thoroughness? Not because he enjoys spending the gold on men-at-arms, but because there is no shortage of men willing to kill for their own aims. To kill for bread, or for meat, or for a groat. Is there peace where men and women get slaughtered in their homes by the dozens? Where merchants need pay for protection to ply the roads? No. There can never be peace in the realm. Just smaller wars. Wars between dozens of men and not thousands. That is the best we could hope for," he said, resolute. I looked at him again, and it was clear that he truly did believe what he was saying, and that made it all the more worrying.

"It's not much of a society if you've got people falling into banditry out of desperation so often." His laughter this time was less harsh, more thoroughly amused.

"And what would you do? That is the nature of the smallfolk. Some of them will till the land for their daily bread, and some of them would kill another man to snatch his from his belly before his body cools. That is their nature, and it is why the Seven have given us, the nobility, the right to rule over them. We are a higher breed of man who aspire to more than bread and war year after year. We rule them because left to their own devices, they would see themselves destroyed by their own nature," he said. I gave him a doubtful look but did not say anything further.

This was neither the time nor the place to be expressing my disagreement with the prevalent theology. Especially since I was so little informed about the finer points of it. I attended the Sept as every good young Lord ought, and paid enough attention to my Septons to avoid being called out for it, but the truth was religion had just never interested me much. If there were gods, then they probably had better things to worry about than what we were doing down here. Besides, if any gods were real, it would probably be a set from my old life, and not the fictional creation of George Martin's deviant mind.

We arrived at Tarth in no time, and then were promptly informed that Corlys' ships had been sighted and it was only a few hours until he would arrive by their calculations. Of course, I knew it would be faster. Especially if they'd started using any of the newer designs I'd "dreamt up." Indeed, I was right and in an hour and change, my father arrived at the head of a fleet. His ship was a smooth thing that was carved at an angle. A caravel—Westeros' first caravel, I was certain. He was the kind of man that would either sail at the helm of the first or the best. Behind him were dozens of ships, stretching out as far as I could see into the horizon.

Some of them were the same make as the Laena Velaryon, refitted and rejigged from pleasure ships into troop carriers, I knew. The others were the more traditional warships made for naval battles. Strong bows for ramming, scorpions aboard for shooting other ships and rupturing their own hulls—that had been a choice here. Bring better scorpion technology into this world ran the risk of those scorpions being used against our dragons at some point, but that was a concern for the future as my attention returned to the man at the flagship. I used Lord Tarth's far eye to look at him, only to notice he was using one of his own to scout the coast.

I watched him as he stared at the coast. I noted how his eyes spanned the coast like he was searching for something before they found me and they stopped. We met even from this distance, and I knew that smile that grew over his face was only for me.

Still, he disembarked his ship, did all the rites, and we did not speak until near half an hour after we first saw each other.

"My son," he said, grabbing hold of both my shoulders.

"Father," I said with a breath. And shockingly, I found myself feeling the urge to shed tears. What in the puberty was this?

"You've grown so much. I knew the Baratheons would make you strong, but I never anticipated they would turn my son into a giant," he said, and it was only then that I noticed the angle of his hands as they reached for my shoulder. They were slanted upwards. It was very slight. Barely enough to be noticeable, but I was taller than Corlys now. Somehow, that made me want to cry even more. Fuck.

"I'm so proud of you," he said before his hands clenched and he pulled me into his embrace.

"I've missed you, father," I said, and then I could not stop myself from sniffling into his shoulder. Fucking Puberty. I tried to pull back to get myself back in order, but Corlys maintained his hold on me, not even letting go. It was only then that I noticed his body was shaking as well. He was crying too?

The war planning took place in Lord Tarth's solar. At least the first session of it. I stood at Borros' back even as much as I wished to sit next to Corlys instead. But that was the nature of squireship. Some would argue that Borros had more authority over me than Corlys did right now, and they would be partly right. It wasn't unusual for knights to do things like arrange marriages for their squires, something that was usually the sole duty and power of parents.

"From here, we split into two bands," Corlys said, beginning to lay out his plan. He took two carved ships and placed them against the map he'd brought with him from his flagship. Few houses bothered to have detailed maps that covered more than their holdings, so it was no surprise that the Tarths did not have one, and it was no surprise that Corlys had thought of this fact in his own plan-making and organizing.

One of the model ships, he slid straight to one of the marked islands on the Stepstones. The other ship, he moved at a slower pace towards Bloodstone.

"Bloodstone is the most important of the islands of the Stepstones. Grey Gallows, for all its notoriety, still comes second to Bloodstone when it comes to size, importance, and prominence. That is why Bloodstone will be the first step in this invasion. In truth, the second, but I'll get to that," he said, lifting his head to nod at both Lord Tarth and Borros, before he continued.

"The Stormland's forces will be needed in taking Bloodstone. The pirates don't stand a chance of contesting your landing and your sweep of the entire island, so that is where you will go. You will go as the second fleet, made of our special troop carrier class ships as well as a few of our newer model carracks in the unlikely event you face naval engagement."

"Why is that unlikely?" Tarth cut in. Corlys nodded like he did not mind the interruption.

"Because you will be the second fleet. The first fleet, made of our new caravel models and several carracks, as well as my son's special invention, the Dragon Carriers, will make a naval base here, and from here will begin to patrol and strangle the pirates across the islands. As our ships are faster, we should have established naval superiority in time for your ships to arrive and proceed unmolested to Bloodstone."

"I assume you shall have charge of this naval battle team," Borros said, rather than asked. Before he asked his next question.

"And who will have the command of this second group to take Bloodstone?"

"Daemon Targaryen," Corlys said, looking like he was trying to hide a smirk. The Baratheons could protest being under Corlys' command, but not Daemon's. For one, he was a Prince of the Blood. For the other, even now he was a well-known cantankerous arsehole.

At that name, no one said anything further, and they began planning the specifics of the attacks themselves. The troop carriers were already here, while the carracks that would form part of the offensive against the pirates at sea were already on their way to the Stepstones. Corlys would join them on a fleet made of caravels to catch them thanks to their superior speed and make both the landing and the first assault together.

"So that's the plan, gentlemen," Corlys said at the end once he had laid down the proper troop divisions.

"And resources? Once we take Bloodstone and begin to expand into the other islands, it is a possibility that we end up staying long enough to exhaust our present supplies," Lord Tarth asked, looking down at the map with narrowed eyes like he could see that exact thing happening.

"Lord Hightower was kind enough to negotiate an agreement with Lords Redwyne and Tyrell. Redwyne troops will transport food and supplies to us at the Stepstones once we secure a corridor for them to do so," Corlys said, and I nodded with some shock on my face. Why the hell would the Hightowers help us? I wondered. Wouldn't it be for their own good if we lost to the Pirates and exhausted both our resources and men in a failed pacification?

"If that will be all then?" Borros asked, ending the meeting after a few more questions had been asked.

"Yes. Lord Tarth, if you would not mind, I need to discuss some things with Ser Baratheon and my son," Corlys said, and Tarth nodded, leaving us the room and ushering everyone else out.

"What do you want from me?" Borros asked, doing a good job of selling that he was every bit the senseless brute people took him for. Of course, I doubted that most of it was even a facade.

"Your squire."

"Pardon me?"

"We need a dragon to guarantee that we can clear the seas of the pirates quickly enough to ensure that we can secure safe passage for the troops to Bloodstone."

"And what does that have to do with me? A knight is not so easily separated from his squire." He asked.

"Laenor already has some familiarity with naval combat with his dragon. Daemon has refused the role, and I am sure we can agree that war is no place for women so both my wife and my daughter are out of the picture. Laenor is the only choice," Corlys said.

"You would separate a knight from his squire?"

"Never, my lord. I would seek for both you and Laenor to join us."

"Pah, and then I don't get to crack any skulls on solid ground? Where's the glory in that?" He asked then. It was a standoff between both men before I walked forward.

"Father, you said the bulk of the naval fighting will be to contain the pirates on the islands, yes?"

"Yes."

"So we should be done by the time the Stormlanders arrive for their storming of Bloodstone. So why not do both? Ser Borros, you get to compete in both stages of the battle. Is there any role with more glory than that one?" I asked, offering the easy compromise to both men. Corlys looked skeptical and so did Borros, but both men still nodded regardless, accord struck.

A/N:And so we get Corlys making the plan (or at least relaying it) that will shape the war to come. Next five chapters up on patreon( same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.

I was born to be on the seas, I thought, as I felt the wind through my hair as Father's flagship cut through the waves like a knife through butter.

"We're going to hit eight knots, and we're barely even close to top speed," one of the crew said to Father, and I could see a smile split his face. Corlys Velaryon was a serious, serious man, but there was one place where he was relaxed all the time: in the open sea with the wind in his hair and a ship beneath his feet. I looked to my side and had to turn around to search for Igneel's own ship in the distance. The Dragon Carrier Igneel was currently placed on was different from the one we'd used for that trip to Bloodstone all those years ago. For one, it was much larger. The updated measurements I'd sent back home had been taken to heart, and I was pleased to see that Corlys had added some extra room for growth as well.

Igneel was no longer growing day after day, but there was no guarantee about how long this war was going to last.

"How long until we hit the rest of the fleet?" I asked.

"Orders were for them to drop anchor a few clicks from the target. They should be visible in about thirty-two hours at present heading and speed." Instead of Corlys answering, it was the man by his side who spoke after consulting some charts and maps.

"Alright then. So we just wait and enjoy the journey, huh?" I asked.

"Oy. Break's over," I heard Borros' voice from behind me and sighed before picking up the blunted sword I'd been training with and turned back to my knight to continue our training. Anybody else would have called it a day after throwing up for the third time, but trust a Baratheon man to be stubborn as all hell and keep going after any sane person would have stopped.

I took my stance, feet easily finding balance even with the ship swaying, moving, and bobbing underneath. Borros was steadier than he'd been mere days ago, but he was still far from being as solid as I was. I jumped into the attack first, forcing his shield in the way of my sword. He took a step back and swept his mace right for my head. Of course, that was too little and much too late. My head was already elsewhere, and my sword was making its way for his outstretched wrist.

He parried with his mace and took a step back. I dove forward, and he blocked with his shield this time, but that slash had been a feint for me to twist and ram into his shield with my own. He grunted and took a step backward, but as he did so, the ship swayed in the other direction, and in a second, he was down to one knee as he struggled to keep his footing. My blade was at his neck another second later.

"Yield?" I asked, doing my best to enjoy every second of this. Of course, that was just when he suddenly moved, and I had to move my blade to avoid shortening him by a head as he began to retch onto the deck.

"Tell him he's cleaning that up himself," Corlys shouted from his position at the wheel, and I sighed. Of course, that meant that as his squire, I was going to end up having to do the cleaning. The smile on my father's face told me that he had a pretty good idea about that. Ugh.

"Contact!" one deck hand shouted, hand on one of the far-eyes.

"Where?" Corlys asked, picking up his own far-eye and beginning to scout.

Several others on the command deck began to pick up the scouting devices and look into the distance.

"East, Seventeen clicks."

"North: twenty clicks."

"South: fourteen clicks."

"West: twenty-five clicks," a final voice said.

"Fuck," I said.

"We're surrounded. What sails are they flying?" Corlys said the words on my mind.

"Black sails, Captain. No distinguishing marks," one said.

"What do we do, Captain?" another asked.

"Get a rowboat for my son to get to his dragon. Laenor, I want you in the air. Burn anything that even thinks of trying to attack us."

"But what are you going to do?" I asked, feeling the panic of the crew begin to seep in to me. If we were surrounded, then what had happened to the fleet we were supposed to be meeting? They couldn't have been far from here. He said something, but I struggled to hear him over the sound of my heart beating. Was I having a panic attack?

A harsh slap. I looked back at my father, shocked that he had hit me.

"You are Laenor Velaryon, son of Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen. There is no fear within you." He said, and I nodded, not still following fully.

"Now listen to me. We've been betrayed. Someone has given our plan away. That means that you should forget everything you know about our plans. We are going to turn this trap around, and then we figure out our plan after that," he said. I nodded, this time I felt more stable. Like the ground was not swaying beneath my feet.

He turned away from me then. "Signal the rest of the fleet. Full speed ahead. We face the North-bound enemies first and force the other three to come together and approach us from behind. Laenor, when you determine that they are too committed to withdraw, unleash the wrath of House Velaryon upon them," he said and then squeezed my shoulder twice. I nodded, following the men that ushered me to the rowboat even as I felt the ship begin to accelerate beneath my feet.

Off to the side, I caught a glimpse of Borros holding a bucket like a lifetime before I was placed in the boat and it began to be lowered down to the sea.

Being in a rowboat in the midst of ships moving at their full speed was an experience that I was far from certain that I wanted to repeat. For one, we already had two close calls where ships unable to see us had almost ploughed straight through us. It was only the quick thinking, and even quicker rowing, of the two men with me that saved me from dying in probably the most ignoble way a Dragonlord had ever fallen.

"What are your names?" I asked the two men as they rowed with all their power, sending us hurtling through the sea.

"Milord?" The one to the left asked.

"What are your names?" I repeated the question with a smile.

"Our names, milord?"

"It's My Lord, first of all. And secondly, yes. Your names."

"The name's Willem mil—My Lord, and this one's named Callum."

"Willem and Callum, then."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And you know where we are going?" I asked.

"Yes, my Lord," he replied again.

"Strange. I've never seen two men so eager to see a Dragon," I said with a smile.

"We used to see the great dragon Igneel all the time, my Lord."

"I see. You're from Hull, then," I said, noticing their vaguely Valyrian look. Please Corlys, no. Please no.

"Yes, milord."

"Alright then. Keep us straight," I said to them, while giving them assessing looks. There was no guarantee they were Corlys' bastards. In fact, it was pretty unlikely all things considered that they were his. For one, they would hardly be the only people with Valyrian looks in all of Driftmark. In fact, the Valyrian coloring was more common than the Westerosi one. It wasn't as prevalent as it was on Dragonstone, but far from special. There was also the fact that they were older than I was. Easily in their early twenties. That would mean he'd have had to have had them even before marrying Rhaenys.

It would take a man of spectacular balls and audacity to father bastards while seeking the hand of a Targaryen Princess. Especially considering where Rhaenys had been in the line of succession at that point. No, this was all pointless to think about. Especially because I could see Igneel's carrier ship now. Through my bond with him, I could feel his enthusiasm for what was about to happen. It would be our first time flying into battle together, and just as I could hardly wait, so could he.

Callum hailed the skeleton crew of Igneel's carrier ship with a horn, and we had a man with silver hair look over the deck and spot us. He turned to say something to another as the smallfolk men rowed us till we were next to the ship. A rope was dropped down to us. I tested it and found it sturdy, taking a deep breath before I began to climb. Thank the heavens for my commitment to exercise. It was still challenging, making the climb with my barely pubescent muscles and with very little to hold on to for support other than the rough rope. As I felt the rope sting my hand, I made a decision to start wearing gloves more often. Just because I ran hot and didn't need them for their protection against the cold didn't mean they wouldn't be useful for other things—the rope burn I was feeling being a perfect example.

When I reached the deck, two of the crew men reached down to help me up. I accepted their aid with a grateful smile before turning to Igneel, who was watching with what had to be amusement in those reptilian eyes.

"Not a word out of you," I said to him before I walked closer and began to tighten the saddle to ride. He growled but said nothing else as I felt the heat of his breath lick at my face.

"Better not set me on fire, you lump," I said, smacking his nose and getting a tongue to my face for the audacity.

"Ughhhh. Your breath stinks." I took a step back. He growled again.

"Yeah, you're right. Let's focus. This will be our first time fighting together, maybe I'm nervous." He gave me a look that I took to mean 'Maybe?'

"Fine, I'm definitely nervous. These people were clearly expecting us so I won't be surprised if they have scorpions or whatever." Another growl.

"Yeah, you're right. There's nothing they could do to stop us," I agreed before I swung myself onto the saddle.

"Brace yourselves," I told the crew of Igneel's carrier, and they moved to do so.

"Soves Igneel!" We shot out of the ship like a missile into the air, accelerating rapidly until we were just below the clouds, and then his wings spread, catching the draft and keeping us flying above at a stable point.

"Lower," I said, when I realized I could barely make out the ships. We lowered ourselves and watched as the Velaryon fleet of Caravels sailed straight at the pirates—for what else could they be—as if they were going to ram into them. We outnumbered those in front of us by a fair margin, so it was understandable that they began to panic and scurry like the rats they were. Of course, their fears were mistaken, as instead of ramming into them, all the Velaryon ships turned hard to starboard in unison—a move that would have capsized lesser ships.

Having prepared themselves for a ramming, the pirates were unable to react in time as dozens of scorpion bolts shot from the Velaryon ships, hitting them and damaging their ships heavily. I smiled, seeing that we had this end handled before I turned Igneel about. It was my turn now.

I watched as Corlys' plan had come together almost perfectly. The three chasing fleets had re-enforced to group together, becoming one larger fleet that chased the much smaller Velaryon fleet but found themselves unable to catch up to us with our superior speed. Igneel and I shot higher and higher into the air until we were completely covered by the clouds themselves. From this high, I couldn't see more than tiny dots to represent the ships themselves. By contrast, Igneel could see them perfectly—dragons had evolved to hunt prey from high in the air so their eyesight was phenomenal.

He positioned himself perfectly before we dove straight down. I closed my eyes, taking a breath as I felt the wind rush past me and push against my body. This was it. This was what it meant to be a Dragonlord. Supremacy over the skies themselves. We passed the clouds and kept going, accelerating even further the lower we got. I heard echoes of the pirates' screams as they finally caught sight of us, but it was both too little and too late.

Just when Igneel seemed like he would crash into the ship at the very edge of the fleet, his wings spread, slowing us down, nearly bringing us to a complete and abrupt halt. "Dracarys!" I shouted, feeling the euphoria of the power take a hold of me. Igneel had been waiting for those words, and unleashed his fire straight at the ship in front of us. It was gone, almost instantly, catching fire. We sharply banked left, going further towards the rest of the Pirate fleet and setting the ships on fire as we flew.

"Loose!" I heard some of the pirates scream, and arrows screamed through the air right at us. Igneel, knowing what to do in this situation, entered a perfect barrel roll with his wings right in front of him. The hard scales on his wings deflected the arrows and placed us just in position to incinerate near a fourth of the fleet with one pass. "Up Igneel!" I ordered as I saw them begin to wheel scorpions around in our direction.

The scorpion bolts screamed past us as they managed to fire, only one of them coming so close that I had to lean to the side to make Igneel bank to avoid it. Good. We flipped, going a complete 360 and began shooting downwards again. These people had no knowledge of how to contest Dragons in the air. No real knowledge, rather. They knew how to use the scorpions but not well enough. Blanket fire was useless when you wasted all your payload in one shot and had to reload immediately after. It was while they were scrambling to do just that that we came upon them.

"Dracarys!" I screamed, feeling Igneel's rage course through my body like it was my own. In one blast, two ships were gone, and we banked left, setting a line of them ablaze. Just as we returned for the next sweep, they managed to finish their reloading from the way the scorpions were being wheeled in our direction again. "Soves, Igneel!" I whispered, feeling fear course through my veins for the first time in this life. They'd baited us in. There was no way they finished reloading those things that quickly. We were caught with our pants down because I didn't take a second to think they might be smarter than they seemed.

While I felt fear, Igneel felt nothing but rage. His fire burned even hotter, and instead of banking away like I would have wanted and surely would have ordered if I had my wits about me, we turned into the attack. The first two scorpion bolts kissed at our wings, but the hard scales on our forearms deflected them away before they could gain purchase on our soft membrane. I did not even truly notice when Igneel and I became one. I had no idea who had even initiated that connection this time. Did I reach out to Igneel out of fear, or did Igneel get fed up with my fear and reach out to me with his rage?

Either way, I saw through his eyes as we dodged out of the way of every scorpion bolt sent our way while we bathed and showered the pirates' ships with Igneel's blazing blue flames. They had baited us in with this stupid formation. They had botched the first scorpion salvo with the goal of forcing us back in and even closer so they could get a better shot at Igneel. They weren't just stupid pirates with scorpions. They had come here to kill a Dragon and nothing else. The thought made my rage overflow, and our flames burnt even hotter as we swept the whole fleet from left to right.

The last ship with a scorpion to its name only managed to fire one bolt that a single gust of wind from our wings sent flying off course. Immediately afterwards, we had bathed it with flames, reducing it to kindling, and that was the fate that the entire pirate fleet we faced suffered. It was rare for naval battles to pass without survivors from both sides, as ships could only move so fast, and captains off to the side could tell when things weren't working and make their way away from the battle. In fact, that was the case now. The only differentiating factor was that Igneel and I were faster than any ship out there. They tried to begin waving white flags once they saw that we would not abandon our pursuit. Both Igneel and I chuckled to each other at the audacity before we set them alight with a single sweeping breath. All three fleeing ships were gone in a matter of seconds, and we swept around, heading back to the wreckage of the fleet to make sure there were no survivors.

These men would never get to report to whoever had given them this mission just how close they had come to killing a dragon today. Instead, their ashes would be a warning to all who dared try.

A/N: We get some dragon rage from Laenor here to round things off. Next five chapters up on patreon( same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.

Uncaring for who might be watching or what they might say, Corlys swept me into his arms the second I landed, holding my head between his right arm and his chest like it was an egg he was scared he would crack while seeming to be doing his best to shatter my ribs at the same time. I did my best to return the hug.

"Well done. That was very well done. Haven't seen flying like that since your mother," he said, and that was high praise. Rhaenys was pretty much universally accepted as the best flier of her generation. She was better in the air than even Daemon was. It showed in canon where she fought both Vhagar and that beast Sunfyre at the same time and managed to wound the latter so severely that he was pretty much out for the count in the war. Two against one with the two being battle-eager adult dragons, and she'd managed to take one with her—no small feat.

"Thank you, Father," I whispered into his chest before he let me go. I turned to the men that had ferried me here, Callum and Willam, and gave them nods to thank them for their service before I followed Corlys as he walked forwards, towards something on the deck.

"Laenor, meet the one they call Lungpiercer," he said, gesturing towards the pirate that was clad in irons and forced to his knees on the deck. Borros was standing next to him looking smug as all hells. Probably his capture, then. I would have to ask someone how he'd managed that when it seemed that no actual combat would be taking place from what I had seen.

"Well met, Lungpiercer," I said, walking towards the man. Instead of a civilized reply, he spat in my direction. His spit was shockingly well-aimed, splattering against my cheek before I could even think about dodging. I forced myself to remain still, not to react like I wanted. I left the spit there even as much as I wanted to scream and wipe it up before jumping into the shower for the next year. But these were sailors around me. I'd lose their respect and just be seen as another soft Lordling if I did so I left the spit there, instead walking forward and smashing my boot right into his face.

"Nice one," I heard Borros say with a chuckle as the pirate's head snapped back.

He tried to force himself to his feet and attack me, but then Borros was there, wrestling him down and adding a few kicks to his lungs for good measure. "May I question him, Lord Baratheon?" Corlys asked, coming to stand next to us.

"Nah. If anyone's going to get the truth out of this bastard, it'll be me. I captured him after all." Corlys nodded like that was a fully logical argument and that prisoners were not in fact his by right as the Captain of the Fleet. He stepped back and left Borros to wrestle the struggling man, who against the massive Baratheon might as well have been a mewling kitten, to the brig.

"Follow him and make sure we get something useful out of the pirate before he gets bored and kills him," Corlys said in a whisper to make it clear I was the only one supposed to hear my orders.

"Squireee!" I heard Borros' voice from the distance, and Corlys nodded for me to proceed.

Lungpiercer shrieked like a cat being strangled as Borros landed another punch against the man's face, sending some teeth loose. He hadn't even asked the man a single question. He was just beating him bloody. Corlys would probably have wanted me to step in here to prevent him from killing the prisoner, but I had come to learn Borros' nature more than anyone else. It was just a matter of time. He punched him a few more times in the midsection, and the man struggled, moving against the chair I'd tied him to, but he could do nothing but take the hits as they came. And come they did.

Just like I had predicted, it had taken the great Borros Baratheon only a few minutes to get bored of hitting someone who couldn't hit him back. The Baratheon man was a sadistic bastard on the best day, but he was far from cruel. Or at least far from being needlessly so. So he stepped back and went to his cabin.

"Permission to ask him a few questions, Ser?" I asked only when he was close to the door. He turned to me with a savage smile on his face.

"Want to get your own licks in, eh? Yeah, enjoy yourself then turn him over to your father and tell him I'm feeling generous," he said. I nodded. He probably thought I just wanted to torture the bastard for torture's sake, just like he did. It would have been cute that he was letting me if the subject-matter was not the torture of a man.

"So, Lungpiercer, eh? What's your actual name?" I asked.

"Kiss my arse!" he said.

"Interesting. You speak the common tongue surprisingly well for Essosi scum. Almost like you visited the Seven Kingdoms a lot?" I asked, watching his expression.

"Oh no. Not visited, then. Grew up in." He flushed and struggled against his ropes.

"And that accent I heard there. Could swear it sounded almost… Dornish," I tried, and just like expected, I got my answer on his face.

"Are you a witch?"

"Sadly not. Let's just say I know a few things no one else does, and I'm very good at putting two and two together. So let's see what's going to happen now. I have like a hundred different means of torture dancing around this head of mine. Things involving rats, insects, maybe even snakes like you Dornish are obsessed with. But all of them are messy and to be honest, I probably don't have the stomach for them. So we'll try something a bit more tame. Please don't disappoint," I said, moving to tie him down further.

I'd heard things about waterboarding all through my first life. If that one guy on Reddit was to be believed, then it was the be-all, end-all of CIA torture, and if it was good for the CIA, then it was more than good enough for me, so I went ahead with it. First of all, I propped his chair back against a table so I didn't have to force him to keep his head tilted backward. Next came the rag. It was a nasty, dirty thing I found on the floor of the brig. Considering Lungpiercer's occupation, I doubted he would have many complaints. Pirates weren't exactly known for leading the most sanitary lifestyles.

Then I left the room for a few seconds to order a deckhand to fetch a jug of seawater. All through, Lungpiercer remained stubbornly quiet. That would change as soon as the water arrived, however.

"Before I begin, I will ask you two questions: one, what is your name? And the second, who sent you here?"

"Go to hell, sisterfucking scum!"

"I don't even fuck my sister. You know that, right? Lovely girl, but I promise you we haven't done any fucking at all," I said in response before I walked forward and tipped the jug over, cleanly, calmly.

Everything I'd seen or read on social media had done a grand and combined total of fuck-all to prepare me for the sounds he made. It only took a few seconds for him to begin to gasp for air, to struggle to breathe, to scream, to do anything. In a matter of seconds, he was practically begging me to stop.

I removed the rag. "Now, what is your name?" I asked.

"Quentin Sand," he said without hesitation.

"Now that wasn't so hard, Quentin, who sent you here?" I asked next. Was it Dorne? I needed to know that. Because if Dorne were moving this early in things, then there was a possibility that things were going to go much differently.

He went mute at the second question, almost like he had finally remembered just who held his loyalties. Interesting. I put the rag over his face despite his protests and struggles, and began to pour. This time, it was less than ten seconds before he began to plead that he would talk. I continued for another ten seconds regardless, driving home the point that I did not like to be disobeyed.

When I was done, the pirate looked more like a wet rat than a man.

"Who sent you here?"

"Tyrosh," he said.

"Why did they send you here?"

"I don't know. I'm just a pirate. I just go places, do what I'm told, and get paid."

"That doesn't sound like much of a pirate to me. Sounds like a sellsail to me, and a sellsail captain like you would not have committed your ships and men to a cause you did not fully understand. So answer my questions now before I lose my patience," I said, putting the rag over his face. I didn't even need to start pouring again before he began saying he'd speak.

—

"His name is Quentin Sand. He claims to be a Blackmont Bastard, and that he was hired by Tyrosh with the plan to kill a Dragon here," I said as I marched into the meeting room adjoined to Corlys' quarters aboard his flagship, the Queen Rhaenys. His eyes sharpened as he looked up from the sea charts he and his men had been pouring over.

"To kill a Dragon? Specifically that? Not to ambush our fleet as a whole, but to kill a dragon?" he asked.

"Yes, Father. According to him, their orders had been to let you pass if you presented no challenge and allowed them to go about their business. All their scorpions had been aimed towards the sky rather than straight ahead as would have made sense for a fleet that came to do naval battle. I think their plan had been to bog you down with numbers to force me or whatever dragonrider you had with you to take to the skies where they would have blocked the sun with the rain of a thousand bolts," I said, saying the last sentence with air quotes and my best impression of Quentin Sand's accent.

"I see," he said, and I could see the rage that lurked beneath the Seahorse right there and then.

"Leave us," he said, and his coterie of navigators, strategists, and advisers fled the room like there was fire on their arses.

"They knew you would be here."

"If not me, then another dragonrider."

"Your mother?"

"She would have burned them even faster than I did," I said, even as I felt the knot of worry tighten in my gut. She might have ended up tagging along for this thing. Igneel and I had gotten lucky. The only reason we were alive and those pirates weren't was because we had been luckier than they were. I did not feel comfortable with the thought that it could have been Mother in a similar situation.

"That she would have. But if they expected you here, then they surely knew I would be here," he said, and that was a fact that I had already come to terms with once I had spoken to Quentin Sand.

"Bet that there's nothing but driftwood left of our advance fleet?" I asked.

"A fool's bet," he said with a sigh.

"They knew we were here, and we never even heard a whisper of Tyrosh gathering so many sellsails and pirates to their banner," he said.

"We expected that they would challenge our rule of the Stepstones."

"Rule, yes. We expected that they would become a problem once we established ourselves on the Islands, but it's clear now that they do not mean to see us make landfall even."

"So what do we do?" I asked, and he stared out the porthole for a few seconds before his smile sharpened.

"There is no chance that Tyrosh is working against us on their own. Where they go, so do the other bastard daughters. They also would not have dared to make a move against a Westerosi effort without substantial support."

"Support… or assurance," I said, fielding the thought that had been nagging my head since Quentin had made his confession. Tyrosh had known exactly where we would be. They had known we would have a dragon. That meant they had a spy. Of course, the spy could be someone on my father's council, but I was confident that he was too competent for something so blatant. And nearly all these men had grown up on Driftmark, beneath the banner and under the watchful eye of House Velaryon. They would not betray us. Especially for not something as crude as gold which was the best the Triarchy could offer, being honest.

So that brought the other possibility. The crown. Otto could have done it, I realized. He probably still saw House Velaryon as a threat to Viserys' rule. Especially now that Viserys had taken his daughter to wife and knocked her up.

"Hightower?," Corlys said the name first with a look on his face.

"I think sol."

"But would he do something so treasonous?"

"Only the King can work against the realm, as you taught me," I said, referencing one of his earlier lessons. It had been a lesson about how the greatest threat to a fiefdom was almost always its Lord rather than neighbors or foreign powers.

"I agree. But even so, for Hightower to move against us like this. He must know there would be consequences."

"Only if he fails, and we somehow manage to prove it. I doubt the King is going to move against his hand on our word alone. Even if we had a good standing with the crown, that would have been a tall task. Besides, should the Master of Whispers not have received some notice that this was happening? There was no way he did not notice the Triarchy of all people building up forces and hiring pirates in these numbers. And if he did, then why did he not inform us?" I asked the logical question even as I was still internally reeling. The truth was that I had expected Otto Hightower to come on side especially since there was no guarantee that we were going to support Rhaenyra's claim against Aegon's.

But then that had been shortsighted. What if he had just seen a chance to get us off the table as a threat entirely instead of having to worry about negotiating with us to back Aegon when the time came. The arrogant bastard probably even still thought he could get Viserys to change his mind before the fool croaked.

"Call your Uncle Vaemond in for me."

"Father?" My question need not be vocalized.

"If we cannot trust the crown to report to us what they learn, then we must make attempts to have spies of our own. This war will be more complicated than either of us anticipated, Laenor. Prepare yourself." I nodded, and then left the room to do as I'd been bid.

Just as expected, there was naught but driftwood where our advance fleet was supposed to be. Without a doubt, those ships had been captured almost to the vessel, and now our men, loyal Velaryon men, were either beneath this very sea or on their way to be sold into slavery at this very moment. Pirates did not keep prisoners, and the hunger the Triarchy had for the flesh trade was well known. That was why the expressions of the crew as we passed the fleet's remains were far from despairing as should have been the case—instead, they were wrathful.

That was good. Anger was bad most of the time, but in this situation, with ready outlets for the anger within reach and nothing stopping them from exercising that rage, the anger was good. Besides, while the masses were angry, within Corlys there was only a deadly calm. A calm that spoke of a vengeance more thorough than most would have expected. The old plan was gone. We didn't have the ships to thoroughly blockade and restrict the pirates like we had planned. And instead of pirates, we were being faced with sellsails, and soon we would have to fight men who bore the Triarchy's banner and flew its flag. We needed to strike at the Triarchy itself, and that was what Father intended. We just had to be smart about it.

So when we sailed past the island we were supposed to make landfall at and begin our resupplying, a good portion of the crew were surprised, but not enough to begin to question Father. Not when he was like this. Day and night he came out of his cabin and simply stared into the distance. In those moments I wondered what he carried in his mind. What burden he bore that was so great that he could not share it.

Whatever comfort I could have provided for the lost men was denied him by my duties as a squire. Borros Baratheon had finally found his sea legs, and his sea stomach, and now kept me busy for near every waking moment either sparring or doing his laundry under his watchful eye, or just doing some form of erranding for him. He was bored, and I seemed to be his primary form of entertainment—when he wasn't drinking himself into a stupor, that is.

That was part of why I felt anticipation building as day after day passed without us making landfall and we sailed past all the islands of the Stepstones. The day we sailed past Bloodstone in the distance had been the most noteworthy. For some reason, most of the crew thought we would be stopping there instead, but they were shocked when they received the order to go on. A shock that doubled when the order to stop finally came. We were in the open sea. There was nothing but barren islands for miles around, but the experienced sailors were already recognizing just what we had wondered next to.

"Tomorrow, we bleed Tyrosh," Corlys said at the beginning of the first true strategy meeting since we'd set sail. Captains under him—Vaemond and the likes—had come from their own ships to attend to him. Borros sat at the opposite end of the table and watched the whole thing with sharp eyes, aching for a fight.

"The Seasnake!" Vaemond hailed, and we all joined in.

A/N: Did ya see that coming? Next five chapters up on patreon( same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.