A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 32: – the Gathering Storm

POV: Stannis Baratheon – Storm's End

The winds howled against the battlements of Storm's End, carrying with them the scent of salt and storm. Stannis Baratheon stood atop the keep, his face cold as the stone beneath his boots, staring out over the restless sea.

His brother was dead.

He should have felt grief, but there was only a dull ache—a familiar emptiness. He had never been close with Renly; their temperaments were too different, their lives too separate. Renly had been their parents' golden son, full of charm and laughter, while Stannis had been the duty-bound, unloved shadow.

Still, Renly had been his brother. And now he was gone.

But Stannis had gained something in return—his rightful place as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. With Renly dead, there was no challenge to his authority. Now, he would call his bannermen, consolidate his power, and rebuild what was lost.

"Storm's End stands," Stannis muttered to himself. "And so do I."

He turned away from the sea, his mind already shifting to strategy. The fleet was crippled, but not destroyed. The Dragonspawn had won a battle, but not the war.

Soon, Stannis Baratheon would strike back.

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POV: Aerion Targaryen – Outside Braavos

The Dragon Company fleet sailed through the mist-shrouded waters, the Titan of Braavos looming in the distance. Their sails bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, a banner that had not been seen in these waters in decades.

As they set anchor near the Free City, Aerion surveyed the camp they had erected along the coast.

Despite the battle's toll, there was a sense of celebration among his men. The Lyseni women they had freed had grown close to his soldiers, and in the days since their arrival, many weddings had been celebrated—union between Valyrian bloodlines once severed.

In Aerion's tent, a war council was called. Around the table sat his most trusted men:

Ser Barristan Selmy, the greatest knight alive.

Ser Clement Celtigar, his one-eyed, grey-haired commander, ever clutching his axe.

Aurane Velaryon, master of the fleet.

Naeron Qoherys, his poleaxe-captain, quiet but deadly.

Lysarra Velaryon, regal despite her grief for her husband Monford.

The first matter was the casualties. They had lost 42 ships and nearly 5,000 men, but their victory had shaken the power of the Baratheons and established them as the dominant force in the Narrow Sea.

Next came the future.

"The first step is Braavos," Aerion declared. "We will open an account at the Iron Bank. We have over 50 million gold dragons—some will be stored for later use, but the rest…"

"The rest will be put to use," Aurane finished.

Aerion nodded. "We will arm our men in the best armor, all made by our personal smiths of the Mott clan."

"And ships?" Barristan asked.

"The best," Aurane grinned. "Braavos' arsenal produces the fastest and most advanced ships in the world. We will commission new Sunchasers, warships unmatched in speed and firepower."

Aerion sat back in his chair, his mind already looking ahead.

This was only the beginning.

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POV: Viserys Targaryen – Pentos

The moonlight bathed Pentos in silver, but Viserys Targaryen saw only red.

"The Dragon Company and the Baratheons butcher each other on the Narrow Sea, and I am forced to wait?" he sneered, pacing the lavish halls of Illyrio Mopatis' manse. His lilac eyes burned with frustration.

Illyrio, ever calm, sipped his golden wine. "They weaken each other, Your Grace. Soon, there will be no one left to challenge you."

Viserys scoffed, running a hand through his unkempt silver hair. "Why won't the Golden Company fight for me?"

Illyrio hesitated, then sighed. "There are… rumors that they have a new leader."

Viserys froze.

"Who?" he demanded, his voice sharp as a blade.

"We do not know yet," Illyrio admitted, swirling his wine. "But it matters not. You will have your own army soon enough."

Viserys' face twisted with rage. He turned to Daenerys, who sat quietly in the corner, her violet eyes downcast.

"You," he snarled, striding towards her. "This is all because of that Devilspawn Aerion—he thinks himself my equal!"

Daenerys flinched as he raised his hand, but Illyrio stepped in smoothly.

"There is good news, Your Grace," the merchant said. "A powerful friend has agreed to support you—Midas Drahar."

Viserys' hand hovered in the air, then slowly lowered.

"Drahar?"

"A descendant of Craghas Drahar, the Crabfeeder," Illyrio explained. "His family rules Myr, and now he has annexed Lys. If you promise to help him take Tyrosh, he will back your claim."

Viserys smiled for the first time in days. "Yes… Yes! Soon, I will have the Three Daughters under my banner."

"There is more," Illyrio continued smoothly. "I have made contact with Khal Drogo. He may wish to wed your sister."

Viserys turned to Daenerys, his gaze calculating. "You see, little sister? You will be of use to me yet."

Daenerys did not answer.

Viserys smirked, turning back to Illyrio. "Soon, I will have the Three Daughters and the might of the greatest khalasar. And when I do—"

He clenched his fists.

"Aerion will burn."

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End of Chapter