Chapter 39: Birth of the Storm

"This fire has burned away the usurper's ambition to invade Dragonstone for the next five years."

Standing beside the boy, the old knight gently coughed before speaking. Viserys slightly turned his head to glance at the elderly man, unsure where the figure of five years came from and if there was any evidence to support it. But he knew that this fire had indeed granted Dragonstone temporary safety.

The war of the usurper was not yet over, and the fat man of House Baratheon – no, the future fat man – still did not have a secure hold on the Iron Throne. The Targaryen cause had been in decline since the death of his older brother Rhaegar, with no victories to their name and a series of defeats culminating in the loss of the Iron Throne.

Now, Viserys' fire had ignited a beacon of hope for the Targaryen family in the long night ahead, at least lifting the severely dampened morale. However, the fire had little to do with Viserys himself.

His primary goal was to use his foresight to save Dragonstone's fleet from being lost in the storm. So, he wanted the fleet to escape the storm vortex surrounding Dragonstone. But he never expected his daring suggestion, coming from a child, to be adopted through a series of unexpected events.

Ser Joffrey ultimately decided to race against the storm and launch a surprise attack on Storm's End. As a result, the Targaryen fleet emerged from the storm when Stannis least expected it, catching him off guard and trapping the entire Baratheon fleet in the harbor, which was then engulfed by the massive fire. This event was destined to become one of the most classic examples in the naval warfare history of Westeros.

However, Viserys had merely provided a suggestion, playing a minimal role. He had no involvement in the subsequent command, combat, or surprise attack. He just stood beside the old man, feeling the sea breeze and getting drenched in the rain.

Though Viserys had chosen to stand outside and witness the battle, the old knight had not sent the troublesome boy away. Instead, he brought Viserys with him, even allowing him to stand and listen during war meetings.

...

Meanwhile, on the battlements of Storm's End, Stannis gripped the cold parapet, his face tense and his body erect, broad shoulders bearing the weight of mountains. His entire body was soaked by the rain, and his heart was as cold as the rainwater.

The young heir to the Iron Throne stared at the towering flames in the distant harbor, clenching his fists. His fingers scraped thin layers of stone dust from the cold, hard parapet, and they bled from the friction, staining the white marks on the brick with blood.

But at that moment, Stannis was oblivious to the pain. He only felt his breathing growing rapid, his chest heaving, and his vision blurring. Dizziness followed.

"My lord!"

His guards cried out in alarm and quickly held onto Stannis to prevent him from fainting and falling off the wall. If Stannis had fallen from the hundred-foot-high wall of Storm's End, it would have been a fatal outcome.

The king's brother and heir to the Iron Throne falling to his death from the city wall would have been a true joke.

"Where is Maester Cressen?"

"Quick!"

"Bring the maester here quickly!"

...

The guard, holding the unconscious Stannis, shouted loudly.

Then, other soldiers hurried into the castle to fetch Maester Cressen, who served the Baratheon family.

...

Meanwhile.

Far away on Dragonstone.

The outside world seemed like a terrifying scene of the apocalypse, with heavy dark clouds pressing down on the earth and torrential rain mixing with the raging wind.

Raindrops as large as beans pelted down on the sturdy castle, and the 'dragons' of Dragonstone roared skyward as if fighting against this terrible disaster.

As the epicenter of this unprecedented storm surge in Westeros, Dragonstone towered above the tumultuous sea, with massive waves crashing against the cliffs and producing thunderous roars.

The sky was horribly gloomy, and the waves became restless and wildly destructive.

Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the unwavering dragon amidst the towering waves.

In an instant, the sky and earth were illuminated.

Crack—

And the sound of thunder followed.

Rumbling—

...

Outside, it seemed like the end of the world, but within the Drum Tower, it was heavily guarded.

"Quick!"

"Block the water here!"

Almost all the soldiers of Dragonstone were concentrated in the castle, working tirelessly to prevent flooding and disaster.

The former Red Keep master-at-arms donned his armor once more after more than half a year, supporting his sword hilt with one hand and personally guarding the main gate. However, his face looked slightly unwell.

The terrible weather aggravated his old wounds; the scar from when he was nearly impaled by a sword throbbed and itched as if ants were gnawing at it, making it almost unbearable.

As Rhaegar's appointed acting lord of Dragonstone, Ser Shad, the Dornish bastard, appeared outside the gate as well. He sat beside Ser William, his eyes somewhat unfocused.

Everyone was tense.

For today, Queen Rhaella, heavy with child, finally showed signs of labor. Midwives and handmaidens were urgently called upon, and now Her Grace was giving birth within the chamber.

Inside the room.

The storm and thunder outside undoubtedly affected the expectant mother's mood.

Silver hair scattered over the bed, Queen Rhaella's consciousness began to fade.

The woman spread her legs, trying her best to give birth to her child, but not everything in this world goes smoothly.

Giving birth is undoubtedly one of the most difficult experiences for a woman.

"Quick!"

"Stop the bleeding!"

Inside the room, the inexperienced midwife and the queen's handmaidens scrambled to help with the delivery.

But at this moment, blood flowed relentlessly from beneath the queen.

Moreover, Queen Rhaella, already an elderly mother and grandmother, could not withstand the ordeal even though Viserys had always urged her to exercise more.

In the end, she gave up resisting.

"Joanna."

Her consciousness blurred completely, and her will to resist crumbled. Her parched lips whispered the names of the past.

"Bonifer."

"Irri."

Rhaella seemed to see her entire life flash before her eyes, rapidly replaying.

"Rhaegar."

"Viserys..."

"My... my children..."

A crystal-clear tear slipped from the corner of her eye.