Chapter 290: The Storm
The skies suddenly darkened, and a violent storm descended upon the Dornish Sea without warning.
Moments ago, it had been a sunny afternoon, but now thick, oppressive clouds blocked out the sun, casting the world into the gloom of midnight.
In the unsettling darkness, torrential rain lashed the sea, with raindrops the size of beans drenching the decks and splashing into tiny bursts.
The howling winds whipped up massive waves, one after another. The raging Dornish Sea seemed to have flown into a fit of fury, unleashing its full wrath.
A fleet flying the blue banner adorned with purple grapes tossed helplessly in the storm. Even the Arbor Fleet, one of the three great fleets of Westeros, appeared as insignificant as ants in the face of nature's might.
Amid the violent swaying and rocking, the storm lantern in the captain's quarters of the flagship flickered unsteadily.
Under the pale yellow light, every face appeared ghostly pale, as if they were specters risen from hell.
"Damn it, how did the storm get this bad so suddenly?" the captain cursed bitterly. "In this weather, we can't get anywhere near Bloodstone Isle!"
A streak of lightning ripped across the sky, illuminating the scene in fiery flashes, followed by a deafening clap of thunder.
As the thunder gradually subsided, Lord Paxter Redwyne asked, "Did anyone see a dragon leave Bloodstone Isle?"
The men in the cabin shook their heads.
Lord Redwyne furrowed his brows.
By his calculations, the coronation ceremony on Bloodstone Isle should have ended by now.
Based on his and Lady Olenna's plan, the coronation presented two likely outcomes for Caesar:
Either he acknowledged Myrcella as queen, or he outright denied her legitimacy on the spot.
Lord Redwyne believed that Caesar, given his ambition, would most likely refuse to acknowledge her. After all, anyone with a shred of intelligence would recognize the consequences of legitimizing Myrcella.
And with Caesar's ambitions, a little prodding from Prince Doran would likely tempt him to snatch Myrcella's crown for himself.
If that happened, the snake hidden in Myrcella's hair would strike, delivering a fatal blow to Caesar.
As for the second possibility—if Caesar was foolish enough to acknowledge Myrcella as queen—she would immediately declare his killing of Joffrey as regicide.
In either case, Caesar's reputation would be ruined.
Of course, given Caesar's martial prowess, the nobles on the island would likely be unable to detain him in the latter scenario. But that was fine. Even if he escaped, he would be branded a kinslayer, lose the support of the Reach, and be reduced to a minor lord clinging to Storm's End, no longer a threat.
In Paxter Redwyne's view, Caesar had only these two fates.
And in either outcome, a dragon should have left Bloodstone Isle—
If Caesar had died, the dragon would have become wild, rampaging away. If Caesar had fled, he would have flown off on his dragon.
But neither had happened.
Could there be a third possibility?
Lord Redwyne felt a foreboding chill.
However, with the storm raging, it was impossible to send a small boat to the island to investigate. All they could do was wait, which was its own form of torment.
"Dragon!" the captain suddenly shouted. "Lord Paxter, look! It's Caesar's dragon!"
Lord Redwyne snapped back to attention and quickly turned toward Bloodstone Isle.
He saw a small white dot rise from the island and disappear into the stormy skies.
Grabbing his Myrish lens, he strained to get a better look.
But the fleet was too far from the island, and with the dense clouds and poor light, visibility was minimal.
Occasionally, a flash of lightning illuminated the scene, and he could vaguely make out what appeared to be a figure riding the white dragon.
Caesar wasn't dead.
It seemed he had acknowledged Myrcella as queen.
Lord Redwyne felt a twinge of disappointment.
Deep down, he had hoped for the other outcome.
The man who had killed his son would be better off dead.
Even if Caesar's reputation was destroyed and he was removed from the race for the Iron Throne, killing him would still be a challenge.
Storm's End was the strongest castle in Westeros, and Caesar had a dragon. If he decided to hole up in his fortress, there would be little Redwyne could do.
Perhaps the key would lie in infiltrating Storm's End, or exploiting weaknesses in Eagle's Nest or Hornhill. Lord Redwyne pondered his options.
The storm continued unabated, showing no sign of relenting.
Though accustomed to rough seas, Lord Redwyne still felt queasy. He hadn't eaten much during dinner and instead sipped some Arbor Red alone in his cabin.
Before long, a sailor burst in, unsteady on his feet from the ship's rocking, and reported: "My lord, the dragon has returned!"
"Returned?" Lord Redwyne frowned, setting down his goblet before heading out to the deck.
The rain and wind lashed against his face, each drop stinging like needles. The ship pitched wildly on the waves, but Lord Redwyne stood firm on the tilting deck, as if rooted to the spot.
Through the Myrish lens, he spotted the white dragon descending once more onto Bloodstone Isle.
What was going on?
Why had Caesar returned?
Had he flown back in a fit of rage to kill someone?
Lord Redwyne considered the possibility. If Caesar truly intended to massacre the gathered nobles, it would prove him even more foolish than expected.
Killing wouldn't win him the Seven Kingdoms. History had proven that with Maegor the Cruel.
Even with his dragon, Balerion the Black Dread, Maegor had been unable to quell rebellion after rebellion. His reign, stained in blood, had ended with his death upon the Iron Throne.
If Caesar dared to slaughter the nobles gathered at Bloodstone Isle, his fate would be even worse.
Lord Redwyne smirked coldly at the thought.
Before long, he saw the white dragon take off from Bloodstone Isle again, flying north.
This time, it seemed Caesar was truly fleeing.
If he had any sense left, Caesar would flee across the Narrow Sea. Remaining in Westeros would only lead to death.
Lord Redwyne's mood brightened. Returning to his cabin, he poured himself another glass of wine, savoring the stormy night with quiet satisfaction.
But he hadn't been sipping for long before another sailor burst in, exclaiming that the dragon had returned yet again.
Now, Lord Redwyne knew something was wrong.
Rushing back to the deck, he saw the white dragon rise from Bloodstone Isle for the third time.
"My lord, what is Caesar doing, flying back and forth?" the captain asked, baffled.
"He's transporting nobles off the island," Lord Redwyne said grimly. "He must have spotted our fleet."
"Is he planning to take them hostage?"
Lord Redwyne didn't respond.
A gnawing sense of unease overtook him. He desperately wanted to know what was happening on Bloodstone Isle.
"Carrilon!" he called out.
A burly man with a bare chest stepped forward. "You called, my lord?"
"I've heard you're the best sailor on the Arbor and a true son of the sea. Tell me, can you take a small boat to Bloodstone Isle in this storm?"
Carrilon hesitated.
He had weathered worse storms, but navigating to Bloodstone Isle in these conditions was nearly impossible. One wrong move and the rocks would doom him.
Seeing Carrilon's reluctance, Lord Redwyne sweetened the deal:
"If you can go ashore, investigate, and return with a report, I'll knight you and grant you a holding."
Carrilon's breath quickened.
Before he could respond, another sailor stepped forward. "My lord, I'll try!"
Carrilon, alarmed, quickly interjected: "I'll do it, my lord!"
"Good." Lord Redwyne nodded. "Both of you go. If either of you returns with answers, you'll both receive knighthood and land."
"Yes, my lord!"
Enticed by the reward, the two skilled sailors prepared for the dangerous journey.
Two small boats were lowered from the flagship, bobbing like fragile leaves on the surging waves.
Carrilon tied himself to the mast with a thick rope, hoisted the sail, and plunged into the darkness.
(End of Chapter)