Daenerys

Left and right, left and right...

Daenerys vomited.

Thankfully, she was by the railings, so no puke marred the pristine deck.

"Easy girl, easy." The kind man offered her his help.

The onion knight they called him—quite an odd name for one, and certainly not gallant. But Daenerys was glad, as he helped her endure the perilous journey.

He was a good man, always looking for any trouble, whether a faulty rope or a troubled sailor. He treated everyone else as equals, not bothering about their status. She wondered what happened to his fingers, the glove was too short to hold a whole hand.

Besides Ser Barristan, the rest of the crew was unremarkable. There were only three other mariners, one of whom was Ser Davos' son. Nonetheless, it was enough to manoeuvre the small cog.

Her dragons were flying by the ship, trying fruitlessly to catch fish. The absence of meat hampered their growth somewhat, but it was nothing too severe. Her gaze settled on the wavy sea.

She shuddered, remembering that night. The ocean was in an uproar, Daenerys thought her end was approaching. Then, a giant cloudy hand descended from the skies, and created an enormous wave in the opposite direction they were heading. She was sure that was the Storm God, but his reasons were still unknown. Her companions were certainly shaken at the event, but none dared to speak of it.

"Thank you, Ser Davos. This is my first long journey, I'm not used to it." Daenerys said.

The onion knight chuckled, "'Tis normal, my Lady. After a few times, it gets better, I can assure you."

"LAND IN SIGHT!"

The bosun yelled, getting the two's attention. In the foggy horizon, an island materialised.

Dragonstone.

It looked like a grim place. There was a fishing village by the shore, and the keep stood proudly on top of it. It was entirely wrought of fused black stone, which fit perfectly with the volcano on the other side of the island. Daenerys could already see plenty of dragon statues in the distance.

"The Maester say the Valyrians used arcane arts to build this fortress," Ser Davos said, "With the might of Dragonfire, they shaped the rock to mimic multiple dragons."

This is where I was born.

Home.

"The biggest tower is the Stone Drum, the central keep. Its peculiar walls are known for the booming sounds they reverberate during thunderstorms, somewhat terrifying if I must say."

She was hypnotised by the castle. Davos had to shake her to inform that the ship had reached port.

The sailors started unloading the cargo, and Daenerys disembarked with Ser Barristan and Davos. Her dragons were beside her, clinging to their mother.

Before them, a stern man stood with a small entourage, composed mainly of guards in dark armour. There was a woman too, yet Daenerys questioned herself how one could have a moustache.

"So, you are the Targaryen girl..." he muttered.

His eyes widened as the dragons cuddled near her, "...And these are your dragons. The rumours were true after all..."

This man had to be Stannis Baratheon. He was a tall figure, with balding hair and a well-kept beard. His blue eyes were hard and sharp, always searching for anything amiss.

"You may have understood who I am already." He said, "Keep in mind that I do not forgive easily as my brother. If I discover any hint of treason, I shall take your head myself. Are we clear?"

Daenerys felt a shiver down her spine, but nodded firmly nonetheless.

"Good, I see you treasure it with care." He quipped humourlessly, "This is my wife, Lady Selyse Florent. She will see you to the guests' quarters, while the servants will bring your belongings to the flagship."

"To the flagship?" Daenerys asked, confused, "Why not in my rooms?"

Lord Stannis seemed annoyed, "Because my brother, the King, has seen fit to summon the lords of the realm to Riverrun, where the recent... happenings will be discussed."

Daenerys could already understand what those were. Tales of magic.

He turned towards the onion knight, "Davos, good work. I shall see you thoroughly compensated."

Davos bowed, "It's my pleasure, my Lord. Yet I would've never made it without the help of Ser Barristan."

He eyed the knight, "Fair enough, yet expected from a person of your calibre. Ser Barristan, my deepest respects. Your exploits are restoring the honour lost for the Kingsguard."

"I did my duty and nothing more, my Lord." The old knight answered.

Lord Stannis slowly nodded. He eyed the dragons, "Do they need any... special care?"

"Just meat," Daenerys answered, "It's been long since they had some."

"Very well," he concluded, "We shall supply the Fury with dried meat too. I must go now, there are many issues I need to address."

"Ser Barristan, Davos, come with me. Wife, accompany Lady Daenerys to her quarters."

The two strode after the Lord of Dragonstone, while Lady Selyse gave Daenerys a stiff bow, "Follow me, my Lady."

As she left the harbour, Daenerys brooded, uncertain of what was to come.

Victarion

Victarion scanned the port of Asabhad. The once-busy city was empty. Many of its inhabitants fled to the Yi-Tish capital after the news of the Scourge.

How did it come to this...

Victarion had seen many horrors in his life, but nothing could compare to what he witnessed in the plagued cities.

Madness... utter madness...

There was no method to cure the infected. Their brains get consumed, and no medicine can reverse their rot.

He saw the sacrifices and mass suicides in Qarth... all to appease the Old Ones.

Victarion was a changed man now. He had seen too much.

To the Hells the Great Reaving, they had a bigger problem on their hands.

The Old Ones created the plague after being unsealed by a madman. No one knew his identity, but he was undoubtedly a person of stature in the Lengi aristocracy.

There was only one solution.

Going to Leng, killing the Hand of Chaos, and sealing the labyrinths

A task easier said than done.

The survivors created a company. From Asshai to Volantis, heroes from every corner of the world stood in unison, sharing one goal. A group that will inspire thousands of songs in the far future:

The Bold and the Brave.

Their banner was a gauntlet with its fist closed, in front of a rising sun. The first had already been made, one of Victarion's men received the honour to carry it.

There were many peculiar warriors in their ranks. Daario Nahatris, captain of the Stormcrows, led the militia of Yunkai. He was a strange man, with a blue beard and yellow moustache. They had shared war stories some days ago, but Victarion still felt the man was hiding something.

Grey Worm, commander of the Unsullied. Astapor has suffered dramatically from the Scourge, most of the Good Masters died in the outbreak. It was a matter of time before the slaves of the city rebelled, and it happened quickly. Grey Worm successfully evacuated the city and was nominated general in command of the Astapori survivors to his merit.

The eunuch warrior Strong Belwas led a small contingent of pit fighters. Escaped with Grey Worm from Astapor, he created a platoon of lightly armoured soldiers.

There were many interesting people, but Victarion still didn't know everyone. But one familiar face surprised him...

"Are we ready to embark?"

Jorah Mormont, the exile. Victarion didn't like the Northman, as he was responsible for many Ironborn deaths in Balon's rebellion.

Yet, he did not care, strangely enough. Storm God smite me, did I turn into a Greenlander?

"Aye," he grumbled, "That Asshai' woman has foreseen good winds. We must depart as soon as possible."

"You believe her?" Asked Jorah, "Not that I'm sceptic, but that seems too convenient after days of storm."

"Do not worry, Jorah Mormont," a new voice joined them, "Qaithe is to be trusted, the Asshai' know many arts lost to time."

It was Moqorro, powerful as ever. "Victarion, the Red God shall guide us in these troubling times. Trust his flames, and victory shall come to us."

"Aye..." Victarion managed to mutter.

"Well? Then what are we waiting for?" Someone said behind him. It was Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper. He apparently was stranded in Volantis after the outbreak, and never had the possibility to return home. He then joined the Bold and the Brave, seemingly eager to put an end to this situation.

The others joined the Dornish warrior, leaving Victarion alone.

His gaze lingered south, where the shadows dwelt.

Robert

"RENLY! Get your soft ass over here, now!"

Robert bellowed in the corridors. Renly was still in his quarters, delaying the departure further. That damn eunuch of Varys can kiss his arse, worse for him if he's still feeding his birds.

Robert had the blessing of meeting some of Jon's new courtiers these days. They were undoubtedly interesting people.

The two giant siblings were impressive, as they were one of the few that could rival Robert's height. He was curious about their fighting style, mayhaps he could learn something new. Yet, he expects their technique to be less refined than other fighters. They were still peasants, after all.

Willem Butler was a fine knight. Like his father, he was loyal to the bone. His lance was excellent, and fought well with sword and axe. He followed Jon as if he were his shadow, always alert for threats against his liege lord.

"Others take you, Robert! Give me five damned minutes!" Renly bellowed back. Gods, is he wearing makeup?

"Remember to pack your skirts!"

Robert laughed soundly. Gods, he was happy today. Finally, they would leave this bloody city for some time. He couldn't bear the stench any longer.

Robert walked down the corridor, Ser Jaymar in tow. "How's going with Gendry, lad?" He asked.

The usual sour face of the Swayne boy sweetened somewhat, "Well, your Grace. He's still awkward with his surroundings, but it's going decently enough, I suppose."

Robert smiled. Yet, although he thinks a private conversation with his son is in order, he has many doubts still. Was this how a father should feel for his son?

The two found the Rainbow Knight, leaving the sept obviously. He still wore that unnatural armour. Robert inwardly chuckled, imagining the man sleeping with it.

"Seven be praised, your Grace. I've already packed my belongings, when do we leave for Riverrun?"

"Soon enough, I hope," Robert muttered, "If Renly decides to stop caressing that fat arse of his."

Ser Ronard's cheeks reddened. Gods, is he embarrassed for a bloody joke?

"I-I understand..." he stammered, "I will be halfway in the procession. May the Father watch over you, your Grace."

The Rainbow Knight bowed, and continued on his way. The Swayne boy looked back, his eyes full of admiration. He may be the Rainbow Knight, but it appears he was somewhat sheltered. Never met a knight going crimson at the mention of an arse before.

Robert shrugged, "Come on lad, Jon is waiting for us!"

Ser Jaymar was startled by the command, "Y-Yes, your Grace!"

The courtyard was brimming with people. The king's entourage has always been extensive, but with the realm's lords summoned, it was even more extraordinary. Robert could spot banners of multiple crown lander houses, from Blounts to Darrys.

Yet, an unexpected one was among the bunch. Two golden trumpets crossed on a blue field, beneath a gold chief with three black stags. It was house Wensington, a cadet branch of the Durrandons.

'Sound the Charge' were their words, and the head of the Wensingtons embodied their motto. Damion was a gruff man who left his forties behind, always clad in his plate armour and with a two-handed mace on his shoulder. Strapped in his belt, he carried the Horn of Bravery, a relic of times immemorial. The legends say that the first Wensington blew the horn in the Battle of the Rivers, during Arlan III's conquest of the Riverlands, leading the charge against the Teagues. Its sound was peculiar and somewhat complicated to describe.

Robert approached their banners. As he saw him, his distant cousin bowed, "Your Grace, I am yours to command."

Robert put his hand on Damion's shoulder, "Damion, it is good to see you. Drop the honorifics, I've already had my share of sycophants today."

He knew Damion was a formal man, but it was funny seeing him surprised. "Yes, Robert. House Wensington has always been the first in line against house Baratheon's enemies, and we will till our line ends, even in peacetime."

Robert grinned, he admired the man's loyalty. "Damion, you are a reassuring figure in this pit of vipers. I would like to honour you with a place in the small council, once one is free."

His cousin's eyes widened, "Your Gr- Robert, this is... a great gift to my house."

Robert raised a hand, "I am a kind man, Damion. There's no need to feel in debt. I need loyal men... honourable men, by my side."

The gruff man nodded firmly, "Aye, I can understand. Mayhaps it's time for young Benjicot to learn to be a lord."

"I am sure he will be a fine lord of Durran's Point," Robert smiled, "He always had a way with numbers. It's uncommon to have such a talent, and one I don't envy. You know what I think of counting coppers."

That tore a small chuckle from the man, which was more comparable to a grunt.

Robert's grin faded as he saw the whore queen and the Kingslayer entering one of the wagons in chains. His fists clenched, to the point his hands nearly bled.

Why?

Because I could.

The Kingslayer bore a haunted look, as if he had seen a ghost. The whore was proud as ever instead, despite being covered in shit.

It was my revenge.

"Your Grace...?"

Robert was snapped from his train of thoughts by a suspicious Jon Arryn, "Lord Wensington, it's been years since we've seen. I thank you for your presence, but could I have a word with his Grace in private?"

The dutiful lord nodded, bowing before leaving. That left the two alone, foster father with foster son.

"Robert, I can sense when you're brooding," Jon said, "What goes through your mind?"

"Will I ever find true love again, Jon?" He muttered, "Will I remain just a womaniser, a man who only finds lust in a bedding?"

Jon looked at him with his light-blue eyes, "I understand how you feel. I know you loved Lyanna with all your heart, but a tragedy severed the link that kept you together. It happened two times with me: my first two wives died, one in childbed and the other of a winter chill. I was forced to marry poor Lysa, who probably resents me for ruining his prospects."

"Not many have the luxury to marry for love, Robert. Jeyne Royce had a special place in my heart, but the Stranger took her too soon. My cousin Rowena and I were friends, but the Kingdom's politics forced me to marry her. Not that it helped, as she died childlessly."

"You are a good man, Robert. Just because you lost your first love doesn't mean you can't find another one. Mayhaps you will be luckier than me. There are many kind ladies in the realm, you will find one to at least consider as a friend."

"I... suppose you're right." Robert finally said. Yet, some doubts lingered inside him. Most ladies would prefer to play the Game of Thrones instead of bonding with him, how could he prevent it from happening? What woman in this godsforsaken continent doesn't give two shits about the damn game?

"Do not worry, Robert. You have the liberty of choosing this time and plenty of possibilities." Jon said, patting his shoulder.

Robert slowly nodded. Jon was truthfully a great man, a rarity in Westeros. If only there were others like him...

"Now, drop that foul mood, Robert. The procession is ready to move, the common folk need to see your jolly side in these hard times."

Robert raised his gaze, seeing Renly approaching his horse. He broke off his broody demeanour, a jesting grin taking over.

He knew what to say.

"Now, is your lingerie packed neatly?" Robert mused, "Have you drenched your arse in ointments too? I hope you did, last time you rode without-"

"Gods shut up already," Renly said venomously, "And then I'm the one who quips without end..."

Robert laughed at his little brother's expense, "I am happy today, finally leaving this shithole of a city. Let me have my fun, Others take you."

Renly was preparing to retort, but was interrupted by a troubled Petyr Baelish.

"My Lord, your Grace. I bring you disturbing news."

It was unusual to see the man like this, Robert was unsettled. "What news? Spit it!"

"There was... a great treason, in the ranks of the Iron Bank. Many have been arrested and executed by the Citizen's Commune of Braavos, the bank is in a crisis never seen before."

"And what does all of this have to do with us?" Robert asked.

Baelish appeared uncomfortable, "Well, it appears a faction of the Bank has imposed unfair interests and tariffs on many clients. The Crown Treasury was one of them."

Robert stared at him dumbfounded, "They stole our money?"

Baelish shifted a bit, "Yes, to put it simply. The Sealord has already confiscated most of the Iron Bank's funds, and is planning to compensate the victims."

That eased Robert somewhat, "And the culprits? Who were they?"

The Master of Coin shrugged, "Not much has been revealed by the authorities. But I think the bank shall become propriety of the Commune, as the private management has revealed to be at least half rotten."

Robert nodded. These were interesting developments. Hopefully, the compensation will cover the Crown's debt. With the Lannisters' half eliminated due to their treason and the Iron Bank's repaid, the Seven Kingdoms shall be finally free of this great shackle.

"Thank you, Lord Baelish. You are dismissed."

The Lord of Midlor Point bowed, and took his leave. It seemed that the treason Jon spoke of was of an external origin; he would need to be informed at once.

"What's your opinion, Renly?" He asked his brother.

He just shrugged, "It seems exceedingly... convenient, but positive. Now let me dwell in peace, brother. There are some Stormlords that wish to speak with me."

Robert just waved in dismissal, thinking of what he had said before to Lord Wensington.

Mayhaps it's time I count some coppers...