Leaving Sunspear behind, we swiftly restocked our provisions and set sail on the same day. Teacher Bracken, with a wry smile, explained that the scars left by the Dorinish wars were still too raw to risk an extended stay.
"Well, not you at least," he playfully pointed out, acknowledging my distinctive Indian/Dornish features—rich brown skin and dark hair. It made me curious about my parents in this world, wondering whether they looked the same as my previous parents. There was a high chance of that considering I look the same as my previous life.
So, we cruised through Shipbreaker Bay, and let me tell you, that name ain't just for show. It's like the Bermuda Triangle of Westeros, where ships go to vanish, but here there's proof of why.
Captain Berek was dead serious about not dropping anchor there. Apparently, if you do, your ship's gonna be in pieces real quick, thanks to the crazy currents and sneaky rocks. Shipbreaker Bay is the Stormlands' natural defense and constraint. It wrecked havoc on their naval game, leaving only Tarth standing tall as the navy powerhouse. They call it the Sapphire Isle, probably 'cause the water around it is bluer than the sky.
So, as we sailed past, we were basically giving Shipbreaker Bay the side-eye, and one of the sailors was shouting, "Nah, we're not falling for your tricks." The crew nodded like it was some unspoken wisdom. Considering I spent the entire time inside, and one of them even almost got downed, only the rope to the center mast saved him. God, if the ship was not a carrack, we would be dead in there.
The disappointment of missing the sights of Dorne and the Stormlands lingered briefly, but it dissipated the moment we entered the vast expanse of Blackwater Bay.
The crew, pros at this whole sailing gig, were gliding around like they'd done it in their sleep. Captain Berek, forever the guy with the tales, kicked off with stories about the Blackwater Rush, the beating heart of the Seven Kingdoms' navy - The Royal Fleet.
As we sailed further into the bay, King's Landing popped up on the skyline. The city was like a giant puzzle, with the Red Keep playing king of the castle. The captain started pointing out the hotspots—Great Sept of Baelor, the Dragonpit, and the hustle-bustle down below.
The vibe shifted big time, going from the wide-open sea to this buzzing hub around the capital. Sea breeze and saltiness were swapped out for a cocktail of city life—mixing up scents, sounds, and colors. Even with all the political drama and mystery tied to King's Landing, you couldn't ignore the pull of its crazy-beautiful chaos.
As the first rays of dawn painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, signaling the birth of a new day, the tranquility was shattered by a sound that echoed across the vast expanse of the sea. A roar, deep and thunderous, reverberated through the air, sending shivers down the spines of those on the ships. It wasn't just a sound; it was a force, a primal call that seemed to shake the very foundations of the world.
The sunlight, still in its infancy, struggled to hold its ground against an impending darkness. It was as if the approaching sun had second thoughts, a moment of hesitation in the face of an imminent threat. In the blink of an eye, shadows danced across the decks, and the world plunged into an eerie twilight.
Then, a symphony of wings cutting through the air reached our ears. It was a sound that carried with it a sense of power, a force of nature that left no room for doubt. In the depths of my mind, I already knew what was coming, the harbinger of both awe and dread.
"He's alive," I muttered to myself, the words barely audible over the cacophony. "But not for long."
The colossal creature, a living shadow with wings outstretched, covered the sky. Balerion the Black Dread, the conqueror of Westeros, a legend made flesh—or scales, to be precise. The sheer enormity of the dragon seemed to swallow the horizon, casting a daunting silhouette against the dimming light.
Captain Bracken, weathered and wise, stood by my side, his gaze fixed on the awe-inspiring spectacle above. "Balerion," he spoke, the name carrying both reverence and a hint of fear. "The Black Dread, the one who brought kingdoms to heel."
The dragon's presence alone cast a shadow over the ships and their crews. It was a reminder of a power that transcended the might of men, a force that could reshape the very destiny of Westeros. As Balerion soared overhead, his scales gleaming obsidian in the subdued light, a chill ran down my spine.
"Prepare yourself," Teacher sounded wary as he warned, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "For the conqueror has graced us with his presence, and where he goes, history follows."
[Expert from the book of Baal, Magic and it's impact on world- 5 A.c]
And so, we stood on the decks, witnesses to the living legend that darkened the sky. The conqueror of Westeros, Balerion the Black Dread, a force of nature that left no doubt in the hearts of those who beheld him—this is the age of dragons. Though known only to me and other mystical prophets, nightmares or anything else in the world, an age that is about to end.
I contemplated the future amidst the smell of piss passed by my two friends and most of the young sailors.
Here I was drifting along the streets of King's Landing, the capital of an entire continent. It fucking smells of shit or urine. Though, it is the norm of any cities of the current time. Nowhere near as described by the time of GOT.
But the sheer population roaming around reminded me of the bustling streets of the modern age. I soon walked among the streets of steel, looking at every showcase here and there but soon saw the only other order of Scholars in the world - The Alchemist order, recruiting children or learned men found on the streets of King's Landing.
So, there I was, soaking up the vibe in King's Landing, pondering the crazy idea of trying to drag someone along as my follower. I quickly realized how ridiculous that sounded and shook my head, letting go of that absurd plan.
Instead, my mind wandered to the impending doom of Balerion, the Black Dread, and the whole Dance of Dragons drama that was about to unfold in a couple of years. I couldn't think long before being interrupted a feature becoming common since leaving the Citadel. I guess I need to put effort in not to be a introvert again.
Walder and Smallfoot, my partners in crime, dragged me back to the inn for the night – INN DRAKE, to be precise. Nestled near the Street of Steel and Silk Street, this joint was budget-friendly with top-notch grub. The owner was a genius, giving the place a name that buttered up the royal house without directly calling out dragons and offending their high and mighty feelings.
Inside the inn, the scene was buzzing with life. People chatted away, tankards clinked, and the owner, a jolly guy with a twinkle in his eye, hustled around, making sure everyone was happy. It was like a temporary escape from the serious stuff hanging over our heads.
I grabbed a seat in a corner, checking out the mix of folks around. Merchants, soldiers, regular citizens – you name it, they were all there. The innkeeper, clearly a pro at handling this diverse crowd, was doing his thing with a knack for making everyone feel at home.
The night unfolded with stories and laughter, the cozy setting providing a break from the heavy thoughts occupying my mind. Candlelight flickered, casting warm shadows on the wooden beams, creating a chill spot away from the political chaos outside.
The innkeeper, with a knowing smile, swung by my table. "Having a good time, my little friend?" he asked, already familiar with the art of dealing with guests from all walks of life.
I nodded, appreciating the cool vibe at INN DRAKE. "Your place is a hidden gem in the chaos of King's Landing," I said, raising my tankard in a silent toast to his success.
He chuckled, a sound that spoke volumes about the years of running this joint. "We aim to give folks a break from the crazy" he shared, pride in his eyes.
As the night rolled on, the inn turned into a hub of chat and jokes. Showing that life went on even in the face of political drama.
Talks about Prince Daemon and his soon-to-be marriage to the "Bronze Bitch" buzzed around. That catchy nickname was already making the rounds even before the wedding.
The inn's crowd, a mix of nosiness and curiosity, speculated on what this union meant for the city's power play.
In the corner, a minstrel played a lute, adding a sweet melody to the lively atmosphere. The tunes captured the ups and downs of life in King's Landing.
As the night went on, the party at INN DRAKE kept going strong. The diverse bunch of patrons, each with their own stories and dreams, found a common ground within those walls. It was a spot where the heaviness of court politics and the looming historical events took a backseat to the simple joys of good food and good company.
In that moment, surrounded by the energetic vibe of INN DRAKE, I couldn't help but admire the resilience of Kings Landing's people. Despite the dragons and the political chaos, life carried on.
As the night wound down, and the last notes of the minstrel's lute faded away, I got up from my seat with a thanks and a whistle for relaxation. Good music is good music.
Back in our shared room with Walder and Smallfoot, along with the younger apprentices from the ship, I decided to spice things up a bit. Bored out of our minds, we dove into some board games that I had whipped up – classics like Tic Tac Toe, Snake and Ladder, and the pièce de résistance in the making, a masterpiece of Monopoly in the works.
Being stuck on the ship left us with little to do, so might as well monetize my board game genius, right? Well, it wasn't exactly a skill that required a Ph.D., but hey, it was something. I figured I could make a few coins as pocket money for our next shore leave. Counterfeit Monopoly would be the talk of the town by the end of the month.
As we settled in for a new round, I moved Walder's sword onto his lap to make place.
In our room on the ship, things took an interesting turn one day. We were in the middle of our usual banter and laughter when Geric, one of the sailor apprentices, dropped a bombshell of a request. He looked at Walder with this curious glint in his eyes and said, "Hey, Walder, can you teach me swords?"
Now, you've got to understand, this was a bit out of left field. In a society where people value smarts and skills like they're gold, this was like saying you want to be a blacksmith in a room full of maesters.
The room, which was buzzing with noise just a moment ago, went dead silent. I guess everyone was trying to process what Geric just asked.
I am proud to say that due to my influence that crushed any of the lingering Freyness. (Yes, it is a slang widely in use.)
Walder, being his usual chill self, just grinned and said, "Sure."
So, as the days rolled on, Geric became a bit of a gossip topic with his newfound sword training. The crew caught wind of it, and suddenly, everyone wanted to get in on the action. It was like this unspoken barrier between us and the rest of the crew just melted away.
Our evenings turned into this cool mix of storytelling and sword swinging. Picture Walder, swinging his sword like he was born with it, while Smallfoot and I took turns spinning tales of epic battles and legendary warriors. The room buzzed with the sound of clashing swords and our voices weaving these narratives, creating this awesome vibe that brought everyone together.
What started as Geric's off-the-cuff request turned into this shipwide trend. Even the older sailors, who were a bit skeptical at first, got hooked on the idea of passing down their swordplay wisdom to the younger folks. So, we moved the whole sword training thing to the ship's deck, because, you know, gotta get used to swinging swords at sea.
Walder, unintentionally becoming the sword sensei, handled it like a pro. His systematic training made him stand out, earning nods of approval from the seasoned sailors. As the older crew members got the hang of it, you could see these lightbulb moments happening.
But, in the middle of all this bonding and skill-sharing, I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. Watching Walder effortlessly rock the whole swordplay thing made me wish I had that kind of physical finesse.
His skills weren't some magical gift; the guy just put in the hard work and dedication. Meanwhile, I struggled with anything that required more than a keyboard and mouse. *Cough* Quill and paper.
Amidst these thoughts, a wild hope appeared—I kinda yearned for the ability to warg. You know, the whole mind-melding thing with an animal, transforming and all that. The journals I'd read made it sound like this amazing connection, bridging the gap between my lack of physical prowess and the tangible world.
As swordplay became the ship's new pastime, I couldn't help but hope for the future.
Summary: Leaving Sunspear behind, we swiftly restocked our provisions and set sail on the same day, navigating through Shipbreaker Bay, a perilous stretch known for its treacherous currents and hidden rocks. Captain Berek, with a smirk, acknowledged my distinct Indian/Dornish features, raising questions about my parents in this world. As we sailed past the hazards of Shipbreaker Bay, the disappointment of missing the sights of Dorne and the Stormlands lingered briefly, replaced by the vast expanse of Blackwater Bay. The crew, seasoned in sailing, gracefully glided through the waters, approaching the chaotic beauty of King's Landing.
The city unfolded with its iconic landmarks, but the tranquil scene was shattered by a thunderous roar—the legendary Balerion the Black Dread, a harbinger of awe and dread. As we stood witness to this living legend, the anticipation of the impending Dance of Dragons loomed, marking the end of an age. Drifting through the streets of King's Landing, I marveled at the bustling chaos, eventually finding refuge at INN DRAKE. The night unfolded with lively chatter, tales, and laughter, offering a temporary escape from political turmoil.
Back in our shared room, the monotony of ship life gave way to board games and an unexpected request from Geric for sword training. Walder's casual acceptance marked the beginning of a shipwide trend, breaking barriers and fostering camaraderie.
Jealous of Walder's physical prowess, I yearned for a different connection—a warg's bond with an animal, a hope for the future amidst the impending Dance of Dragons.