Paxter Redwyne, Earl, led his fleet in a stealthy night attack.
Splash!
The warships cut through the waves. The night was silent, and all the ships had extinguished their lights, approaching Dragonstone unseen.
The sea wind howled.
The fleet's soldiers gripped their weapons, standing on the decks with trepidation, awaiting their fate.
Because no one could guarantee they would survive the coming war.
However, Earl Redwyne's sneak attack strategy was well-conceived, but problems arose during the execution phase.
The surprise attack was still detected by Dragonstone.
A patrol longship spotted the silent Arbor fleet at sea in time, quickly sending a warning that alerted the distant lighthouse, which in turn alarmed the entire Dragonstone garrison.
Boom—
The next moment, the earth-shattering sound of war drums erupted.
The last fleet still loyal to the Targaryens charged forward under the command of Ser Geoffrey, and a standoff ensued on the sea.
The alarm bell of the Dragonstone lighthouse rang out, warning everyone on the island to be vigilant and guard against the enemy's attack.
Queen Rhaella, being pregnant and in low spirits and unable to be further agitated, was quickly moved to the castle to rest.
Steward Shad and the instructors, on the other hand, ran to the seaside, standing on the soft sand and gazing at the distance.
Viserys wanted to go too, to witness a real battlefield, but he was mercilessly refused.
As the only apparent male heir of House Targaryen, Viserys' safety represented more than just himself.
The silver-haired boy was reluctantly led into the castle by a maid, and at the special request of the instructor, two guards were also stationed outside his bedroom door to 'protect' him.
Bang——
The thick, brown wooden bedroom door slammed shut and was bolted.
Two fully armed guards stood on either side of the door, preventing Viserys from sneaking out.
Viserys was confined to the room, his freedom restricted. The boy sat on the soft bed for a long while, scratching his slightly curled silver hair.
Finally, he sighed helplessly.
"Really…"
Compared to half a year ago.
Viserys's bedroom on Dragonstone was now a bit more furnished.
There was an old, low bedside table, and a candle, burned halfway down, was casting a warm glow. On the table, there was also a book with a bookmark in it. It was a book about the continent of Essos, recounting the experiences of a traveler.
Viserys was very interested in this kind of book and would read a bit before going to sleep every night.
On the other side was a bookshelf, also filled with all sorts of books. In fact, Viserys knew the importance of knowledge even without the reminder of the old Maester.
At that time, he was just frightened by the attack, and also worried about the future, so he practiced swordsmanship with a bit of an extreme dedication, seeking self-preservation.
However, he now understood that swordsmanship was not something that could be mastered overnight.
Viserys then turned his gaze towards a brown wooden chest in the corner, hopped off the bed, and walked over to it.
Toot—
The horns outside continued to blare, and the sound of battle drums thundered, mixed with the indistinct shouts of fighting.
The silver-haired boy could feel his heart in his chest accelerating in rhythm with the rumbling sounds, and his hot blood was quickly coursing through his body.
Viserys put a hand over his chest, feeling his heart pounding faster and faster. He didn't know why he felt this way, but this feeling was giving him a fearless courage.
Even though he was only a seven-year-old child.
"Blood and Fire."
The boy didn't know why he suddenly recited the Targaryen family motto, then lifted the lid of the wooden chest in the corner, revealing the items inside.
A set of custom-made, small leather armor lay neatly arranged, along with a short sword, also custom-made for him, and already sharpened.
This sword wasn't exactly capable of cutting through iron like mud, but at least in his daily practice, Viserys could use this 'short sword' to slice off the head of a straw dummy with a single stroke.
Then Viserys put on his leather armor and fastened his short sword.
Next, the boy brought over a small stool, stepped onto it, and climbed up to the windowsill of a narrow window on the wall, peering out.
Whoosh…
The night wind blew through the boy's silver-gold hair, gently brushing against his fair forehead.
A pair of pale purple eyes, clear as water, gazed at the battlefield in the distance, where the sounds of earth-shattering combat echoed in the dark night.
"I hope everything goes well."
Then he closed his eyes and whispered a prayer.
He wasn't a troublemaking brat, so of course he wouldn't just run off out the window.
And then fall to his death.
Viserys's bedroom was in a high tower at the edge of the castle, and there were reefs below the windows. Jumping from there would be almost a guaranteed death sentence.
Besides, he wasn't planning to run away. He was just a little panicked for the first time facing war, and didn't know who to share his anxiety with.
He was just putting on his little gear to give himself some psychological comfort.
And far away.
In the darkness beyond Viserys's sight.
Above the turbulent sea, two fleets, totaling nearly a hundred ships of varying sizes, were engaged in a tense standoff.
A mournful, drawn-out horn blast echoed across the water.
Woo—
The Arbor fleet, their banners proudly displayed, had formed their battle lines. Under the cover of numerous longships, three massive, oar-powered warships, serving as flagships, charged towards the Dragonstone fleet.
In contrast, the Dragonstone fleet appeared somewhat unprepared. They had hastily left the harbor and were forced to face the Earl Paxter Redwyne's fleet before they could fully organize.
Nevertheless, their response was remarkably effective.
The sea wind howled.
Woo—
Horns blared from all directions, the sound vibrating in their eardrums and stirring the blood of everyone present.
Paxter Redwyne, Earl, the former Targaryen dynasty's admiral and also the Minister of Naval Affairs, was wearing a blue and white wool coat, with a deep purple grape emblem embroidered on a blue background on his chest.
He stood on the largest of the three oar-powered warships of the Arbor fleet, his hands gripping the railing in front of him tightly. He leaned out slightly, observing the formation of the Dragonstone fleet ahead.
This experienced naval commander was not actually imposing in appearance. Instead, he was a skinny middle-aged man who looked a little shady.
His shoulders drooped slightly, and a few sparse strands of orange-yellow hair on his head were struggling in the sea breeze.
Horns also sounded from the direction of Dragonstone in the distance, accompanied by the melodious and low sound of bells.
....
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