Return My Fleet!

"Your Grace, although Stannis should be held responsible for this, I hope you'll consider lessening his punishment," said Jon Arryn, Duke of the Vale and Hand of the King, as well as Robert's foster father.

Viserys's actions had been nothing short of bizarre.

According to the information they had received, if the Dragonstone fleet had still been docked on the island that day, they could have sent troops to wipe out the last of the Targaryens.

But the Targaryens had been unexpectedly lucky.

They had, by sheer coincidence, sailed out that very day to launch a surprise attack on Storm's End.

And what was even more baffling—they had successfully made it to Shipbreaker Bay.

Ask any sailor or captain in the world, no one would dare set sail in such terrible weather.

Yet Viserys did. Not only did his fleet emerge unscathed, but he had also achieved his strategic goal.

There was no denying it now—there had to be someone truly capable on Dragonstone.

However, Robert would hear none of it. He ignored his foster father's words. The moment Stannis entered, Robert shot up, knocking over his chair with the force of his movement.

"Stannis! Give me back my fleet!"

Stannis stood there, silent, his face grim as steel, unmoved by Robert's fury.

This mess was, in the end, his responsibility.

No matter the reasons, it was he who had lost the fleet.

"Then punish me," Stannis said stiffly, his tone neither humble nor defiant.

"What's the point? Are you worth a fleet? Are you?!"

Robert bellowed, pounding the table so hard it echoed through the hall.

Rage burned in Stannis's chest, but he kept it contained.

Everyone in the room could sense it—the two were like stags ready to lock antlers at any moment.

"Your Grace, we need to plan our next move," Jon Arryn interjected, stepping between them, hoping to quell what looked to be an impending clash between the brothers.

Robert, his anger momentarily spent, slumped back into the chair his attendant had just lifted.

"How much gold is left in the treasury?" he asked, sounding calmer.

"A little over a million gold dragons," came the reply.

At that, Robert's eyes widened.

"Just over a million?! Didn't we have five million when we took King's Landing?"

The old Hand of the King couldn't help but feel a flicker of resentment.

You spendthrift! The moment you took the city, you started throwing rewards around like a drunk sailor.

Just those rewards alone had cost hundreds of thousands.

Then, you had the Red Keep fully refurbished—that was another few hundred thousand.

And overhauling the navy? That alone devoured over a million.

All told, more than three million gold dragons had vanished.

Jon Arryn now understood one thing very clearly: the taxes collected from the Seven Kingdoms would never be enough to keep up with Robert's spending.

And now, if they wanted to purchase more merchant ships for conversion, the royal treasury was stretched dangerously thin.

Arryn wanted to scold his foster son, but could only offer mild reassurance.

"Your Grace, the realm is in ruins. Everything needs rebuilding. Give it a couple of years, and the situation will stabilize."

"And what do we do now? Just sit here while those dragon-spawn scum block the Blackwater Bay?"

Arryn had no good answer. If they wanted to reassemble a fleet quickly, they would have no choice but to borrow from the Westerlands—Robert's in-laws.

…...

The wealth of the Westerlands was common knowledge across the Seven Kingdoms.

In his past life, Viserys often heard the phrase "they must own a mine" to describe someone rich.

Well, House Lannister practically lived in one.

Casterly Rock was carved into the side of a mountain towering six hundred feet high.

Inside that mountain lay vast, glittering veins of gold.

Perched along the Sunset Sea, Casterly Rock glowed golden every evening when the sun set, as though the castle had been gilded in light.

The golden rays spilled through Tywin's window, casting his face in a noble glow.

"Dreamwalkers? Hmph. Targaryens and their flair for the dramatic," he scoffed.

Tywin didn't believe in dreamwalkers.

In fact, he held all things magical—sorcery, prophecy, and mysticism—in contempt.

He was a staunch skeptic through and through.

But even he couldn't deny the truth—Viserys had decisively earned his victory at Storm's End.

"Still," said Kevan, seated beside him, "the Dragonstone fleet set sail just before the storm hit. Isn't that… too much of a coincidence?"

"Coincidence? Was the iron chain they used to link their fleet a coincidence too?"

Several months ago, the maesters of the Citadel had already issued a storm warning for the Narrow Sea. It's likely the Targaryens had long planned to chain their ships and strike during the storm.

After all, if they had only focused on defense, they would've lost eventually.

What intrigued Tywin the most now was this—who had given the command on Dragonstone?

Who could it be?

The brothers sat deep in thought, stroking their chins. Tywin out of habit; Kevan, imitating him.

But even after racking their brains, they had no answer.

There weren't many people on Dragonstone. And although Tywin had no spies there, by simple process of elimination, one could guess who was involved.

Still, Tywin eventually gave up, unable to pinpoint the strategist.

"Loan Robert one million gold dragons. In return, have him exempt the Westerlands from taxation for twenty years."

Of course, twenty years of taxes from the Westerlands far exceeded that sum.

But if Robert was desperate for funds, he'd have no choice but to agree.

….....

Far away from the sudden chaos erupting across Westeros, Viserys had taken this brief moment of calm to begin training and educating the children of the Crackclaw Point.

In less than a month, those children had undergone a stunning transformation.

First came the uniforms—black, unified and neat.

Emblazoned on their chests was the three-headed dragon sigil of House Targaryen.

Viserys divided them into twelve groups and prepared basic learning materials.

He also promised to issue a test within a month.

The top twenty students would accompany him to the Free Cities.

To them, the lands of Essos existed only in myth and rumor.

Under Viserys's instruction, these children—most of whom had never received proper education—embarked on a challenging path of learning.

He had feared that his youth might prevent the children from respecting him.

But Viserys had underestimated the power of feudal discipline.

Before they even arrived on Dragonstone, their elders had sternly warned them—some even threatening that disobeying the king meant death.

And before his reincarnation, Viserys had nearly two decades of experience as a teacher.

Managing the children came naturally.

Not a single one dared defy him.

Using meat and candy as incentives, Viserys encouraged their studies. The children were filled with gratitude and determination.

They secretly vowed to protect their king at all costs.

As the day of the promised test approached, a new arrival cast a shadow over Dragonstone.

A group of red-robed fire mages had landed.

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