44. Another News

'Lets assume that person is Middlefinger,' Stannon decided to go with that. If the person who was behind Colen was him then some parts of this do make sense. Afterall keeping Stannon alive would work good for Middlefinger as it would pit him against the Lannisters causing more chaos in the Westroes, making it easy for him to control things from behind.

Also it would also explain how Middlefinger wasn't caught by him all these years. With the help of Colen, he seemed to have always stayed out of the range of search of his spies. Fortunately Stannon didn't share everything with Colen as he didn't like to put all his eggs in one basket. Afterall most of his warriors were under different Wildings and also under his teacher. Colen for most part was responsible for staying beside him, guarding him, relaying messages from the spies and raising the ravens.

Stannon who back in his room, punched the wall. Its not like Colen's betrayal didn't affect him at all. The adaptation skill minimised all the mental strain related to it, but the betrayal did truly stung him.

Stannon let out a deep breath, his fist still pressed against the cold, rough wall. His knuckles ached, but that pain was nothing compared to the storm inside him. He had always been a man who stayed calm, who thought ahead, who didn't let emotions control him. Yet nothing had prepared him for this.

Nine years. Nine years of trust, of loyalty—or so he had believed.

He stepped back and slowly moved his fingers, forcing himself to relax. He knew emotions clouded judgment. But for once, he allowed himself to feel the weight of Colen's betrayal.

Colen had been with him since the beginning. He had taught Stannon patience, deception, and strategy. He had managed spies, relayed messages, and helped shape victories. Looking back now, Stannon saw the cracks—small, subtle moments where Colen had nudged him toward certain decisions. Had all of it been to serve Middlefinger's purpose?

He exhaled sharply. If it had been anyone else, their head would already be on a spike. But this was Colen.

'I should leave his fate to the Wildings,' Stannon thought as he paced across the room.

The betrayal weighed on him heavily, but he couldn't dwell on it.

This was the way of the world.

Power was a game of shifting loyalties. Betrayal was inevitable.

A sudden knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

For a moment, he didn't move. Then, he straightened his shoulders, masking every emotion behind a calm expression.

"Speak."

"The woman in red is here to see you," Hilda's voice came from outside.

Stannon's lips pressed into a thin line. The Red Woman always had a way of appearing at critical moments.

"Let her in," Stannon ordered and went to stand beside the window.

Melisandre entered the room, her red robes flowing as she walked toward Stannon. The flickering candlelight made her shadow stretch across the walls. She moved with calm confidence, and the air around her felt warmer, as it always did when she was near.

She stopped in the middle of the room and bowed slightly. The ruby pendant on her neck glowed faintly, like a heartbeat.

"My prince," she said in a smooth, steady voice. "I had another vision, granted to me by the great R'hllor."

Stannon didn't turn to face her. He stood by the window, looking out at the dark night. The stars above were cold and distant, unaffected by the struggles of men. He let out a slow breath, keeping his emotions under control.

"Speak," he said simply.

He knew Melisandre's visions were not always clear. They were symbolic, filled with hidden meanings, and could be interpreted in different ways. More importantly, they were only possibilities, not definite outcomes. The future could always change.

Melisandre didn't hesitate.

"I saw you," she began, stepping closer. "You were fighting many enemies, just like before. But this time, your hand was cut off. All of your subordinates were dead."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

"There were hundreds of enemies," she continued. "They surrounded you from all sides. You fought bravely, cutting them down, but there were too many."

A deep silence filled the room.

Stannon finally turned to look at her, his face calm. There was no fear in his eyes, no sign that her words had shaken him.

The Weight of Betrayal (Continued – Simplified)

Stannon kept his eyes on Melisandre, thinking about what she had just said.

"Did you see where I was? Or who I was fighting?" he asked, keeping his voice calm, though his mind was already trying to figure things out.

Melisandre shook her head slowly. The red stone on her necklace glowed softly.

"Unfortunately, I couldn't see that," she admitted. "The vision was covered in dark shadows. I saw the fight, the blood, and the loss... but I couldn't see the faces of your enemies."

Stannon sighed and turned back to the window, his fingers tapping on the wooden frame as he thought.

A battle where he was outnumbered. His people dead. A hidden enemy. It didn't make sense for such a thing to happen here, in the lands of House Boggs. He was safe here, with strong warriors who would fight to the death for him. No army nearby was big enough to send hundreds of men against him and win.

That meant only one thing.

This wasn't happening here. It was happening somewhere else.

King's Landing.

He had already decided to go there—to meet his father and fu*k up those who had messed with him. But if this vision was true, he wouldn't even reach the city. He would be attacked before he got there.

His thoughts raced. The Lannisters were powerful, but their army wasn't big enough to block every road leading to King's Landing. If an ambush was waiting for him, it would be on one of the paths they expected him to take.

"Hilda," he called.

There was a pause before her voice came from outside the door.

"Yes, Stormblade?"

"Bring me a map of Westeros. I want to see all the roads to King's Landing."

"Right away."

He heard her footsteps as she left to do as he asked.

Stannon turned back to Melisandre. "Visions are not set in stone," he said. "They show possibilities, not certainties. And possibilities can be changed."

Melisandre nodded slightly. "That is true, my prince. But the clearer a vision is, the harder it is to change."

Stannon already knew that. He wasn't going to ignore the warning, but he also wasn't going to walk into a trap like an idiot.

A few minutes later, Hilda returned with a rolled-up map. She placed it on the table and stepped back. Stannon unrolled it, his eyes moving over the roads and pathways leading to King's Landing.

There were many ways to get there.

The main roads were the easiest routes—but also the most dangerous. Lannister patrols would be waiting there.

The smaller paths were trickier. Some went through forests, others followed rivers, and some passed through villages where enemies or allies might be waiting.

Stannon tapped his finger on one of the routes.

"When I escaped Driftmark," he muttered to himself, "I didn't take the obvious path. I found another way—one they wouldn't expect. And it worked."

His mind worked fast, considering every option.

"If the Lannisters think I'm going to King's Landing, they'll place soldiers on the main roads. They might even spread some men across the smaller paths, but they can't cover them all."

He traced a winding route through the western forests—a path barely marked on the map.

"This could work," he murmured as he used his Lighting reflexes ability to sense whether there would be any danger on this path but the ability gave a positive remark, stating that Stannon could travel through this path.

Melisandre studied Stannon with her sharp red eyes, as if trying to see beyond his calm face. But Stannon gave nothing away. He had learned how to hide his thoughts, even from those with powers beyond normal men.

"You should rest, my prince," she said at last, stepping back. "The night is dark, and the flames have shown you enough for now."

Stannon gave a small nod. "If you see anything else, tell me immediately."

"I always do," she replied before turning away. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows as she walked to the door. Her red robes whispered against the stone floor, and the ruby at her throat glowed faintly. Then she was gone, leaving a strange warmth in the room.

The door shut behind her, and Stannon finally exhaled. His body was tired, but his mind refused to rest.

It had been two days since he left King's Landing. By now, Robert's Name Day celebration would already be over as it was going to be held in the today morning itself. He pictured the grand halls filled with nobles, the banners of House Baratheon hanging high, and the wine flowing freely. He could almost hear the laughter, the cheers, and Robert's booming voice declaring that the soap business was his.

Stannon let out a yawn as he thought of that. Seems like sleep was slowly taking over him and he was in no position to fight against it.

He laid down on the bed, the rough sheets scratching against his skin.

He closed his eyes, easing himself to relax. The world could wait. Just for a few hours.

Sleep took him quickly.

---

A loud, urgent knocking shattered the stillness.

*Bang. Bang. Bang.*

Stannon's eyes snapped open, instincts sharpening instantly. He reached for the dagger under his pillow, muscles tensed.

Before he could respond, the door burst open.

Hilda stormed in, her face pale, glistening with sweat. She didn't wait for permission to speak.

"Stormblade," she gasped, her voice laced with urgency. "The king is dead."

For a moment, the words didn't register.

Then—

Everything inside him went cold.

Hilda swallowed hard, her breaths coming fast. "King Robert Baratheon is dead. And they are saying you did it. You are being hunted down in every corner of Westeros."

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