Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Across the Narrow Sea
The port city of Myr reeked of salt, sweat, spice, and coin, a place that seemed to breathe through its docks. Ships from half the known world crowded the harbour while men shouted in a dozen tongues over crates, ropes, livestock, and cargo. Sailors cursed, merchants argued, gulls shrieked overhead, and the sea slapped restlessly against the hulls of waiting vessels as if eager to carry us west.
The noise never settled into silence, only shifted from one argument to another. Dockworkers barked orders, soldiers snapped back, and somewhere nearby a dispute over cargo turned into shouting that drew laughter from passing sailors. It was chaos, but it was a familiar kind of chaos, the sort that came with movement, trade, and the promise of coin.
The Dread Legion did not depart quietly. Five thousand men could not pass through a city without drawing attention, and we drew plenty. Infantry marched in disciplined ranks, archers carried bundled bows and sealed quivers, and cavalrymen struggled with horses that wanted nothing to do with ships. The animals sensed something wrong long before they ever stepped onto the gangplanks, and their resistance made the process slow and dangerous.
Vaeron moved through it all with relentless focus. He argued with shipmasters, checked supplies, counted barrels, and corrected mistakes before they could grow into problems. One moment he was negotiating water stores, the next he was inspecting grain or threatening a dockhand who had misplaced equipment. He carried responsibility like it belonged to him, and in many ways, it did.
I watched from near the harbour steps, wearing Othorion’s face and pretending the weight in my stomach was nothing more than impatience.
The contract had been accepted, the ships secured, and the men informed. Complaints existed, but they were quieter than expected. Most understood coin well enough, and the Sea Snake’s offer had been generous enough to silence louder objections. A contract from House Velaryon carried weight, and even the dullest soldier knew there was value in being seen by powerful men.
Still, unease lingered beneath the surface.
Men spoke in lower voices when they thought no one important was listening. Some questioned the purpose of crossing the sea for a war that was not theirs. Others spoke of dragons with a mixture of curiosity and dread.
The cavalry grumbled the most, frustrated by the strain on their horses. The archers worried about damp bowstrings and salt air. The infantry complained about food they had not yet eaten.
It was not rebellion. It was something quieter, something more persistent. That difference drew me, even as it unsettled them.
Vaeron found me as the last horses were being forced aboard. One of Landrey’s riders struggled with a panicked mare, barely keeping control as the animal fought against the unfamiliar footing. The tension in the air was sharp, stretched thin by noise, movement, and the looming reality of departure.
"If Landrey survives this voyage, it will be because he is too angry to die," Vaeron said.
"Is he still complaining?" I asked.
"He hasn’t stopped since sunrise."
"Good. It means he’s alive."
Vaeron’s faint smile faded as his gaze drifted toward the ships. "Some of the men are nervous."
"I know."
"They’ll follow. The contract is strong. The company trusts the banner."
The company trusts the banner, I thought, not me. "Do you trust this?" I asked.
Vaeron hesitated before answering. "I trust the opportunity. I trust the coin. I don’t trust the sea. Or the Stepstones."
"That makes two of us."
"You chose this, brother."
"I did."
"Then stand like you meant to."
I turned toward the harbour, toward the ships waiting with furled sails and crowded decks, and forced myself to stand straighter. Whatever doubts I carried could not be allowed to show. By midday, the Dread Legion began its departure from Myr.
The first days at sea were miserable but manageable. The weather held, and the waters remained calm enough for the men to adjust to life aboard ships. That adjustment came slowly and without dignity. Seasickness struck hard, and even seasoned soldiers found themselves reduced to weakness by the constant motion beneath their feet.
Men learned quickly where to sleep, where to relieve themselves, and where not to stand when sailors hauled ropes. Mistakes were punished immediately, sometimes painfully, and the shipmasters had little patience for armed men who interfered with their work.
I was given a cabin on the largest transport. It was cramped and smelled faintly of damp wood, but it offered privacy, and that mattered more than comfort. There, I could think without being watched, though thinking brought its own problems.
Vaeron entered one evening without knocking. "You should eat."
"I’m not hungry."
"You haven’t eaten since yesterday."
"I’m fine."
"You look like you’re planning your own funeral."
"I’ve attended enough of those lately."
He left food behind anyway.
The first death came on the seventh day.
Myrio slipped during a shift of the deck and struck his head. The injury was immediate and unforgiving. By the time the healer reached him, there was little to be done. He died before sunset without ever seeing the Stepstones.
At the funeral, the company gathered in uneasy silence. Death at sea felt different, stripped of the familiarity of land and ritual. The body was wrapped, weighted, and prepared for the water.
Vaeron leaned toward me. "You should say something."
I stepped forward, forcing my voice to carry. "Myrio marched beneath our banner for three years. He fought with us, ate with us, and bled with us. He deserved better than this."
The men listened without interruption. "We remember him. We pay what is owed. He was one of ours."
The plank tilted, and the body vanished into the sea.
By the second week, sickness spread through the ships. What began as discomfort turned into something worse. Fever took hold, and men weakened quickly in the cramped, damp conditions. The healers worked constantly, but there was little they could do beyond separating the sick and hoping it would slow the spread.
Vaeron moved through the decks, issuing orders with steady urgency. Bedding was burned where possible, water stores were checked, and the sick were isolated as best they could be. Dick recorded names with quiet efficiency, while Emeric muttered about damp air and ruined equipment.
Landrey’s concern remained fixed on his horses, though even he could not ignore the growing number of sick men. Tension rose between officers, sharp but controlled, never quite breaking into open conflict.
Nine men died over ten days. Each time, I stood present. Each time, the words came easier. That frightened me more than the deaths themselves.
At night, the ship creaked and groaned around me while whispers drifted through the darkness. Men spoke of fear, of regret, of the cost they had not fully understood when they signed their contracts. The sea pressed in on all sides, and there was no escape from it.
On the twenty-third day, the storm came.
It arrived without mercy, turning the sea into a violent force that battered ships and men alike. Wind struck hard enough to make the masts groan, and waves crashed over the decks with relentless force. The world became noise and motion, a chaos that swallowed order and replaced it with survival.
Men shouted over the storm, their voices barely carrying through the wind. Orders were given, repeated, and sometimes ignored in the confusion. Sailors fought to control the ships while soldiers struggled to stay on their feet.
I gripped a rope, shouting commands I could barely hear myself. Around me, men slipped, fell, and fought to hold on. Somewhere in the chaos, three men were swept overboard. One vanished immediately. Another surfaced briefly before disappearing beneath the waves. The third caught a line, but it snapped under the strain.
The sea took him.
By morning, the storm had passed, leaving the company shaken and quieter than before. Six men were dead, and others were injured. One horse had broken its neck in panic, and another had to be put down.
Landrey knelt beside the fallen animal, his voice low and strained. I turned away. Men prayed in hushed tones, their confidence worn thin by the storm. The sea had reminded them of its power, and the lesson lingered.
Sickness claimed four more in the days that followed. Twenty men were dead before we ever reached the war.
I sat in my cabin, staring at the list of names until the ink blurred.
Vaeron entered quietly. "You’ve been staring at that too long."
"They’re dead because of this contract."
"They’re dead because the sea is cruel."
"I chose the sea."
"You chose opportunity. Men die in every contract."
"That doesn’t make it easier."
"It’s not supposed to."
I hesitated before asking the question that had been building in my mind. "What happens if I stop caring?"
Vaeron did not hesitate. "Then I remind you."
When the Stepstones finally appeared on the horizon, the company had changed. The earlier confidence had been stripped away, replaced by something harder and quieter. The men who lined the rails did not look like adventurers chasing coin. They looked like soldiers approaching war.
The islands rose jagged and harsh from the sea, their cliffs sharp against the sky. Velaryon ships filled the waters ahead, moving with purpose around the scattered land. Smoke drifted from somewhere beyond the nearest ridge, a sign that the war was already alive and waiting.
Then a shadow passed overhead.
At first, it was only a shift in light, something subtle enough to be mistaken for a cloud. Then the men began to look up, their attention drawn by something instinctive and undeniable.
Seasmoke descended from the sky.
Pale grey and vast, the dragon moved with impossible grace, his wings cutting through the air as if the sky itself belonged to him. Sunlight flashed along his scales as he circled above the Velaryon camp, a living force that dwarfed everything beneath him.
For a moment, the world fell silent. Even the Dread Legion, hardened by years of war, stood in awe. I forgot the voyage, the sickness, the storm, and the dead beneath the sea. I forgot the weight of command and the fear that had followed me across the water.
Then Seasmoke roared.
The sound tore across the sky, deep and powerful, and it settled into my bones like something ancient and undeniable.
We had arrived at war. And I had seen my first dragon.
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