The Wizard of Fury Chapter 4 (Patreon)

The Arbor looked like a beautiful place. The island, just off the coast of the mainland, looked like a glittering jewel out from sea. The island was rich with verdant grasses, golden-yellow towers, and gorgeous shores.

Ever since it came into view, Harry had rested his chin against the edge of the Fury’s railings by the bow of the grand vessel. The island’s coast reminded him a bit of the sandy shores of the French beaches that Hermione told him she’d visited once, but the rest of it seemed quite different, and Harry was more than happy to let his imagination run rampant with the countless wonders that were sure to exist upon the island.

Prior to visiting here, Harry only knew two things about this island. First, it was home to the finest wines in all of Westeros, and perhaps the entire world. Arbor reds and golds were among the Dragonstone guards’ favourites, not that they had the money to buy more than a single cup of it on rare occasions. The second was that the Arbor was ruled by House Redwyne, a house his father knew all too well.

Speaking of whom, he was probably still grumbling up by the helm. The closer they got to the Arbor, the fouler Stannis’ mood seemed to turn. He wasn’t so cruel as to lash out at Harry or his men, but everyone could see the storm cloud hanging above his head. His dark eyes kept staring out across the water in search of some foul enemy that was sure to thwart them on their path to doing their duty.

Black Bertha, a massive galley captained by Ser Davos, sat just to their left flank, ever present and watchful. Despite the fact that the realm had been at peace for so many years, Stannis had insisted upon a tight, cautious formation. Countless other galleys, like Lord Steffon, Pride of Driftmark, Swordfish, and Horned Honor, all followed close behind.

It must have been an intimidating sight upon the shores of The Arbor. Perhaps Lord Redwyne too feared what sort of retribution Stannis may be bringing him after all of these years. Harry simply hoped that cooler heads would prevail.

“Be careful of leaning forward, lest you fall into the sea.”

Harry turned around to see his father staring at him. From any other man, Harry would have taken his words as a joke. From Stannis, however, Harry knew that he was deadly serious. Stannis didn’t joke, nor did he make light of the dangers of the sea.

“I was just trying to see if I could make out the vineyards from here,” Harry said. There were a few close to the shores, but most would be further inland where the climate was more forgiving.

“You’re still too young to be drinking even a cup of wine,” Stannis frowned at him.

“It’s not for me,” Harry replied. “It’s for the men. I thought that a bit of wine from the Arbor might help lift their spirits before we reach the Iron Islands.”

“And you have the coin to pay for this?” Stannis raised an eyebrow.

“Some,” Harry answered. It wasn’t entirely a lie. His father regularly gave him coin to visit the fishing villages on Dragonstone to buy whatever he wished from the foreign traders that came into port there. It was rarely much—Stannis had no need for extravagances—and Harry was never one for toys, so he tended to save his money instead. He’d been hoping to use it to purchase whatever tools and materials he might need in order to attempt to craft a wand of his own, but without a core for his wand, such efforts would surely prove to be useless. Better to start doing something worthwhile with it.

“Hmm.” Stannis turned, gazing upon the seamen working aboard his vessel with a critical eye. “I won’t have my men getting drunk and rowdy. There’ll be enough of that to go around once we meet up with Robert surely.”

The disdain in Stannis’ voice was undisguised when he spoke of his brother, the king.

“It’ll still be a few weeks before we get there though,” Harry pointed out. “And that’s if we don’t run into a Greyjoy blockade.”

“And what would you know of any Greyjoy blockades?” Stannis asked seriously.

“Enough,” Harry answered defiantly. He hated the way Stannis kept poking and prodding at every little thing he did or said. “Maester Cressen taught me about House Greyjoy and their history, and he made sure that I learnt plenty about the seas. Lord Velaryon has been instructing me on battle tactics too. He says I should learn since I may succeed you as Master of Ships to the king one day.”

“Then educate me,” Stannis said. His dark eyes fixed upon Harry’s green ones with a piercing gaze. “What will we run into once we pass Crakehall?”

Harry recalled the lessons he’d been taught easily. Though he’d been a good but somewhat lazy student back at Hogwarts, without magic and Quidditch to occupy him, Harry spent much more of free time training in the yard and studying this strange new world. Before his memories had awoken, he’d been even more diligent than he was now.

“Last we heard, the Greyjoy forces had pulled back from Lannisport after raiding it. They wouldn’t want to stretch their fleet too far since some of it went up to attack Seagard. They had to know that the Crown would respond to their attacks, so they must have taken up a defensive position to get ready for our assault. But the ironborn are notoriously aggressive and fearsome, so they must have a counterattack plan in mind once we strike them,” Harry explained.

Perhaps the vocabulary he used was a bit much for a boy of ten, but everyone aboard the Fury had plenty of time to get used to his advanced speech, even his father.

Stannis scratched and his cropped black beard in pensive thought. “And where exactly would they have set up this defensive position?”

“Fair Isle,” Harry answered without hesitation, feeling a burst of pride at the fact that his father hadn’t dismissed him outright. “The narrow straits between in and the mainland are the perfect place for a counterattack. But they might be at the Crag instead. The mountains to the east would protect them from any armies coming their way, and the castle is barely maintained now that it's in disrepair. They’d be closer to the Iron Islands, so reinforcements would arrive much faster if they needed them.”

Stannis stared at Harry for a moment in silence. “You’ve been doing more than shirking your duties to run off and hide in our castle,” he said.

It was the closest thing to approval that Harry was going to receive from his father.

Harry cracked a small smile. “Maybe it’s those breaks that give me the drive to study.”

“Or they’re hindering you from reaching your true potential,” Stannis countered.

If only he knew how important they truly were. It was there that he tried to regain the magic he’d lost. Magic was the stuff of tales and legends here, something that either faded long ago or is made up of mere parlour tricks that should not be encouraged. Stannis would refuse to trust anything as nebulous and superstitious as magic.

He missed his breaks among the gargoyles and statues atop the walls of Dragonstone. Once the Iron Islands were captured, he hoped that they’d spend some time ashore somewhere that he could practise his skills in secret. Maybe there’d even be traders here with something that could help him build a new wand for himself.

“We’ll be reaching port soon at Vinetown,” Stannis informed Harry. “I expect you to be in more presentable clothing by the time we get there.”

“Are we going to meet Lord Redwyne at his castle?” Harry asked.

“No,” Stannis shook his head. “He will be coming to me.”

It took nearly half an hour to navigate through all of the fishing boats with their massive fleet before they docked at the port in Vinetown. This was the ancestral seat of House Redwyne, named after their founder, Gilbert of the Vines. Harry desperately wanted to run ashore and explore the town, but it was much too hot out to consider doing that.

The clothes brought with him from Dragonstone weren’t fit for this climate. They felt heavy and restrictive. Sweat made them cling to his skin awkwardly, and their bulk only made him sweat even more. It’d been bearable with the wind in his hair when they’d been sailing, but now that they were stopped, only a meagre wind occasionally offered any sort of relief.

Stannis called for the other lords and knights he’d brought with him to come aboard the Fury to await Lord Paxter Redwyne. One of the lord’s cousins had met them at the docks, clearly intent on escorting them to Lord Redwyne, but Stannis had insisted that he return and bring the lord down here to the docks to meet with Stannis. It’d been a tense affair, one in which neither man wanted to relent.

Eventually though, the man agreed to fetch Lord Redwyne and left promptly. The rest of them were left waiting aboard the Fury.

After nearly an hour, a small procession came riding down onto the docks. A half dozen knights rode on either side of Lord Redwyne, who came to a stop just a few feet short of the gangplank.

Harry and all of the other lords and knights stood to the side as Lord Redwyne made his way up onto the ship. Stannis stood alone on the middle of the deck, awaiting him.

“Lord Redwyne,” Stannis’ cold, gritty voice rang out in a reluctantly offered greeting.

Lord Paxter Redwyne was an aged man with faint liver spots forming beneath his eyes. His severely receded orange hair left him looking surprisingly dignified as he stepped aboard the Fury. However, Harry’s image of the man was quickly shattered as he hunched forward and revealed just how weak and thin he looked up close. Still, he had a set of fine dark-blue robes with silver and emerald-crusted ornamentation along a few seams of the fabric on his shoulders.

“Lord Stannis,” Paxter offered a kind, if crooked, smile. “The Redwyne fleet is at your command.”

“Then we shall be setting sail immediately,” Stannis said shortly, already turning away from the man to go consult his helmsman.

“If I may,” Paxter spoke up quickly, hobbling forward on what looked like a bad knee to catch up to Stannis’ brisk steps. “Could we first clarify the structure of command?”

Stannis came to a firm and sudden halt. Harry watched as his father took a deep breath, and then another, and then a third before he finally turned back around.

“You require clarification?” He asked, raising a sharp eyebrow at the man. “Were the instructions from the king not clear enough?”

“Forgive me, my lord, but they were not,” Paxter replied. Although his words were polite, Harry picked up on a decidedly rigid edge to them. Either Paxter was displeased at the way Stannis was speaking to him or whatever the king had instructed him to do was not to his liking; maybe it was both.

“Then do tell me, Lord Redwyne, exactly what it is that I may clarify for you,” Stannis said, making his words sound like an order.

“I have thirteen war galleys, twenty-nine cogs, and two dromonds to join your Royal Fleet,” Paxter explained. “This is just under half of the size of your current fleet, and we have another seven war galleys and sixteen cogs from the Hightowers in Oldtown set to meet us at Blackcrown. The king’s instructions did not make it clear as to what level of integration our fleet should have with yours. Am I to remain the commander of mine own fleet, or is one of your own men being appointed commander over us?”

It was a pointless question, and everyone knew it. Of course Paxter would remain in charge of his own fleet and that of the Hightowers from Oldtown. As a powerful lord of Westeros, Lord Paxter had that right. It was then quite curious that he sought to clarify the question in front of everyone.

Harry quickly looked between everyone, gauging their reactions. Some of the lords and knights around Stannis seemed just as confused as Harry, but others were looking at Paxter with derision or amusement. But it was Lord Paxter’s expression that puzzled Harry the most. The man had a perfect mask of innocence on his face.

And then Harry saw a glimmer in the man’s eyes. Something malevolent lurked there, and Harry realised that the man was challenging Stannis. He was trying to undermine Stannis’ will in front of his men by forcing him into admitting Paxter’s own power here.

Harry had known that demanding Paxter come aboard the Fury had been rude. His father had greeted both Lord Selwyn Tarth and Prince Doran Martell’s servants aboard the docks they’d berthed at, but he’d demanded Lord Paxter meet him aboard his own vessel so that he could dictate his orders to the man who’d once nearly starved Stannis to death.

This was the great game of politics. The subtle use of wordplay and utilising orders and rules to your own advantage. Stannis had tried to assert his dominance over Paxter as Master of Ships and Head of the Royal Navy, and Paxter had turned it around and reasserted his independence as a great lord of Westeros.

Stannis’ jaw clenched tightly as he stared down Paxter, who seemed to be standing up just a little bit straighter now, staring back at Stannis with as much intensity as Harry had ever seen a man stare down his father.

Harry could taste the salt in the air, feel the ripple of the sea winds running through his air, sense the bloodlust in each man as they waited for the other to make a wrong move that could justify a lethal response. It reminded him of the Little Hangleton graveyard.

After nearly twenty seconds of silence, Stannis broke first.

“You are retaining command over your own fleet,” Stannis spat out, clearly bitter over having to allow Paxter that much. “But the Hightower ships will be mine; they will be used to supplement the forces under the commands of Ser Davos Seaworth, Ser Imry Florent, and Lord Monford Velaryon.”

“Velaryon, Florent, and… Seaworth.” Paxter’s gaze fixed onto the lowborn man instantly. Davos did not shy away nor puff out his chest as some others would. He remained standing exactly as he was, neither staring down the high lord nor looking away.

“Is there a problem, my lord?” Stannis asked, his voice steel. He set his jaw in a challenging way.

Paxter’s eyes lingered on Davos for another moment. “No, my lord.”

“Then I suggest that you ready your men and your ships,” Stannis said in a tone that harboured no notion that this was truly a suggestion. “We will set sail within the hour and make haste to Blackcrown.”

Paxter offered a stiff nod before turning on his heels and hobbling back down the gangplank to his steed. He climbed aboard and dashed off with his knights in tow.

Stannis looked around at all of his men with a serious gaze, begging any of them to challenge him over the humiliation he’d suffered at Paxter’s hands. Though it’d been minor, no more than some mild politicking, Stannis didn’t take it as such. Harry could clearly see that, to him, it was an insult that was added to all that’d been done to him at Storm’s End all those years ago.

“Get back to your ships,” Stannis barked at his lords and knights. “I’ll have us ready to set sail before Paxter is.”

He stormed off then, heading for his cabin.

Harry chose to leave him, knowing that his father would need time to chew over this incident.

Forty minutes later, the Royal Fleet set sail from Vinetown, leaving the island of The Arbor behind. Lord Paxter’s fleet followed behind at a respectful distance as they headed towards Blackcrown to absorb the Hightower fleet.

And then it was off to war.