GOT: Molten Crown

To Gerold and the others, Viserys's idea sounded rather naive.

However, considering his age, such a bit of naivety wasn't entirely unexpected. It was a minor flaw, hardly worth mentioning.

Gerold patiently explained to Viserys:

"Your Grace, in harsh weather—rain, strong winds, or storms—the impact on naval battles is even greater.

Especially since we're the attacking side, the effect will be magnified. More importantly, the turbulence of the waves will disrupt combat effectiveness, and reduced visibility could cause disorientation."

Viserys nodded along as he listened, like an eager student soaking in knowledge.

But he quickly came up with another idea. As a former language teacher, he suddenly remembered a passage from a textbook he used to teach.

"Then what if we chain our warships together with iron links? Wouldn't that help us resist the waves better? And it would lower the risk of losing our course too!"

Everyone scratched their heads at Viserys's unusual suggestion.

It didn't seem like anyone had ever tried something like that before.

While the others frowned and pondered, a spark of interest seemed to flash in the eyes of Ser Ock, who sat in the back.

He couldn't help himself and spoke up directly.

"What do you think, Ser Ock?" Viserys asked, noticing his reaction. "How do you find my idea?"

Startled to be addressed directly by the king, Ock stammered at first.

"Y-Your Grace… I think… I think it could work!"

He found his rhythm quickly and began to speak clearly and confidently.

"Our target is stationary. Even if chaining the warships together reduces their mobility, compared to an immobile target, even limited maneuverability gives us a substantial advantage!"

Arthur looked at him with a hint of appreciation, then turned to Viserys and said:

"Your Grace, I agree with Ser Ock. Your suggestion is feasible."

'Heavens! The Dawn Sword agreed with me! He agreed with me!' Ock could barely contain his excitement.

Thanks to his renown and presence, Arthur had more admirers in the army than even Viserys himself.

"Yes, I agree as well," added Willem from the side.

Soon, everyone was convinced that this was an idea worth trying.

After all, the season of stormy weather would arrive in just a few months. If the timing worked out, it might even become a glorious achievement.

Of course, the biggest reason was that waiting idly would eventually lead to certain death.

It was better to take a chance!

Thus, Rhaella decided that over the next two or three months, Dragonstone would focus all its efforts on forging iron chains to connect their warships.

Thanks to the volcanic Dragonmont, Dragonstone had a passable iron mine.

To ensure the chains held firm during battle, at least four or five iron chains were needed between each ship.

To withstand violent storms, the masts would also have to be reinforced. Altogether, it would require over ten thousand catties of iron—a considerable undertaking.

After everyone else left, only three Kingsguard remained in the hall with Viserys and Rhaella.

Rhaella spoke quietly to them: "Viserys dreamed of a storm like no other."

….....

Shipbreaker Bay—its name alone was warning enough.

Littered with hidden reefs, even a slight error could result in a shipwreck.

Robert Baratheon's parents, Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana, perished in a shipwreck in this very bay while returning home.

There were only a few navigable channels into or out of it.

Because of this, Storm's End could never flourish in trade like Sunspear or King's Landing.

But it had a unique strength—it was a natural maritime fortress.

That was one of the reasons Robert chose this place as the location for their "shipyard."

The maester of Storm's End was named Cressen. He had watched Robert and his brothers grow up.

Since Robert spent his youth in the Vale, Cressen had spent the most time with Stannis and had the closest relationship with him.

Now over seventy, Maester Cressen's robes hung loosely on his aging frame, and liver spots the size of coins dotted his exposed skin.

But the old maester still had plenty of fire left in him.

He was also a hard man. During the siege of Storm's End, he had once proposed using enemy corpses as rations.

Yet beneath that hardened surface, his softest spot was always reserved for Stannis.

Lately, Stannis had been leading the fleet refitting effort, often leaving early and returning late.

And with the season of unpredictable weather fast approaching, Cressen couldn't help but worry for the young man who had yet to reach twenty.

As the sun dipped behind the hills, a ship with a yellow hull entered the harbor.

It was the 'Fury', a large merchant ship that had been retrofitted into a war vessel. In the original timeline, it was aboard this very ship that Stannis led the attack on Dragonstone.

Soon, the 'Fury' docked, and Stannis stepped ashore, heading straight for Maester Cressen.

"The Citadel says there may be an early storm this year," the hunched old maester said, "so I'll come sooner from now on. With the worsening weather, the fleet from Dragonstone likely won't be able to attack."

It was a reasonable warning. In the age of sails, everyone understood the dangers of naval combat in foul weather.

"Mm," Stannis murmured softly—barely audible.

Cressen knew Stannis wasn't one to express emotion. He was long used to it.

This young man had played an essential role in the rebellion.

Though Storm's End had been besieged, it served as a nail in the side of the enemy, preventing Dorne from easily aiding the Crownlands.

It also trapped nearly half of the loyalist forces there.

The two walked toward Storm's End, one after the other. Stannis even slowed his steps so that Cressen could keep up—about the most emotion he would ever show.

"Perhaps we could reduce the number of guards and have more men cutting timber?" Cressen suggested.

"We haven't wiped out the Targaryens yet. We cannot let down our guard," Stannis refused flatly.

"King's Landing has fallen for nearly half a year. The men can't stay on edge forever," Cressen gently urged.

"We can shorten the shifts, but not the headcount," Stannis finally conceded.

Cressen smiled slightly, pleased to have nudged him even this far.

Stannis's unwavering sense of duty was admirable, but expecting everyone to be just like him was his greatest flaw. Still, Cressen believed he could guide him for another decade or more.

"Oh, and I have good news," the maester said, reaching into his robes like he was offering a child a treat.

"This is the letter of surrender from House Celtigar of Claw Isle."