Game of Thrones: The Witcher System

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Once the initial sense of unfamiliarity faded, boredom set in from the unchanging seascape, and dizziness crept up from the constant rocking of the waves. Both sensations descended upon Clay at the same time.

Though he had already experienced seasickness on the voyage back to Westeros, the discomfort still clung to him now, relentless and unwelcome.

The once spacious cabin now felt stiflingly small, its wooden walls seeming to close in on him, threatening to suffocate. Suppressing the nausea rising in his throat, Clay pushed open the heavy cabin door and stepped outside, hoping that the howling sea breeze would help clear his head.

The moment he emerged, the sharp evening chill of the Bite's waters bit into his skin, making him involuntarily shiver. A sharp-eyed guard stationed nearby took notice and quickly draped a thick cloak over his shoulders.

Clay nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze sweeping over the tranquil deck before he asked, "Where is Captain Stonn?"

The guard, clad in light clothing yet seemingly unaffected by the cold due to his constant movements, pointed toward the wooden platform at the ship's stern.

"Captain Stonn is up there, my lord. Do you need me to escort you?"

The guard asked out of concern, noticing how unsteady Clay appeared.

Waving a hand dismissively, Clay refused the offer. Though he still felt unwell, the mutations his body had undergone as a Witcher ensured that his discomfort would never surpass a certain limit—one he could still endure.

Stepping onto the wooden stairs, he climbed the wooden stairs leading up to the stern platform, where he soon spotted both the captain and the leader of the guards.

The last traces of the crimson sunset were fading beneath the western horizon of the Bite, leaving only the rhythmic crash of waves against the hull, their sound layered like the whisper of an endless tide.

At the sound of his approach, Captain Stonn and the guard captain turned their heads. It was clear they had been deep in discussion moments before, but upon seeing Clay, the guard captain immediately stepped forward to greet him.

"My lord, what brings you up here?"

Seasickness was already an issue, and his body was naturally more susceptible to illness. If he caught cold from prolonged exposure to the sea wind, it would be troublesome—especially on a ship where medicine was scarce. The guard captain couldn't help but worry.

However, his concerns were entirely unnecessary. The Witcher's body, altered through mutations, was resistant to most diseases—there was no way he would fall ill simply from the sea wind.

"It's nothing," Clay replied, brushing off the concern. "The cabin was too stuffy. I needed some fresh air."

He wasn't in the mood for unnecessary pleasantries and swiftly changed the subject.

"What were the two of you discussing just now? May I listen in?"

Though his words carried a tone of politeness, Clay was, without question, the highest authority aboard this ship. No one here had the right to refuse him.

"Of course, my lord," Captain Stonn replied, a rugged smile forming on his lips before sharing their conversation.

"We were talking about this very ship beneath our feet. My lord, are you familiar with White Harbor's fleet?"

At this, Clay had no choice but to admit his ignorance. Since his return to Westeros, he had been occupied with various matters, leaving him little time to familiarize himself with his house's affairs.

He had a vague notion that White Harbor possessed a fleet, but he had no clear idea of its exact size or composition.

Seeing the young lord shake his head, Captain Stonn patiently provided an explanation.

"My lord, our White Harbor fleet was built entirely under the command of Lord Manderly. Currently, we have ten large sailing ships, twelve longships, and two oared galleys."

"How does our fleet rank compared to the rest of Westeros?" Clay inquired.

"That's difficult to say," Stonn admitted, stroking his chin in thought. "But at the very least, Lord Stannis' royal fleet could crush ours with ease—they have three times as many warships as we do. And House Lannister and House Tyrell both command fleets of similar size to ours."

Clay nodded. This matched his expectations. However, a sudden thought made him pause—he quickly realized that Captain Stonn had left out one key player.

"What about the Iron Islands?"

To his surprise, Stonn simply shrugged, spreading his hands with a look of helplessness.

"Them? Even if you combined all the fleets I just mentioned, their total strength would be roughly equal to that of the Ironborn. Those sea devils know nothing else but shipbuilding. Give them enough time, and they could easily produce two hundred more warships."

Clay knew that the Iron Fleet was considered the most formidable navy in Westeros, but he had not expected the disparity to be this vast. In naval warfare, barring any external factors, sheer numbers at this stage of technology usually determined the victor.

"Moreover, our sailors aren't nearly as skilled as the Ironborn," Stonn added, a trace of admiration in his voice. "That's just the way it is. Their lands have little farmland to sustain them, so they spend months at a time eating and sleeping aboard their ships. For them, it's more than just a livelihood—it's their way of life."

There was no argument against that. It was the same reason Westerosi knights could never rival the Dothraki in horsemanship—it wasn't a fair comparison.

The ambitious vision Clay had just begun to harbor—of dominating the Narrow Sea—was immediately doused. Still, he was unwilling to let go of the thought entirely, so he pressed further.

"If the Iron Fleet is so powerful, how did King Robert manage to put down Balon Greyjoy's rebellion?"

"Hah! That's another story altogether," Captain Stonn chuckled. "You've heard of Lord Stannis, the commander of the royal fleet, haven't you? The Battle of Fair Isle—where the Iron Fleet was nearly wiped out—was his doing."

"There's a saying: If Lord Stannis hadn't destroyed the Iron Fleet, King Robert's army would've been left stranded on the shores, unable to do a thing. Forget breaching Pyke's walls—he wouldn't even have made landfall."

Clearly animated by the topic, Captain Stonn eagerly recounted the battle's events to Clay.

In simple terms, Lord Stannis had used a decoy to lure the Iron Fleet into the narrow waters between Fair Isle and the mainland. Once they had entered, using the terrain to his advantage, the royal fleet sealed off both ends of the passage, trapping the Ironborn in a deadly encirclement.

After a brutal battle, only a handful of Ironborn ships managed to break through and escape. The rest were sent to the ocean floor by Stannis' relentless assault.

With the Iron Fleet decimated, the Baratheon royal family seized absolute control over Westeros' seas. From that point forward, Robert could wage war however he pleased—he could also land his forces anywhere on the Iron Islands, at any time.

It was likely that even Captain Stonn himself hadn't realized just how crucial naval supremacy had been in determining the course of history.

Take the North, for instance. The marshlands of the Neck were indeed an impenetrable natural defense—but only against conventional land warfare.

For a navy, such terrain was meaningless. If the marshes of the Neck were impassable, they could simply sail around them.

How did Theon Greyjoy take Winterfell? He didn't march his forces up through the Neck—he landed on the North's poorly defended western coastline and struck when the city was at its weakest.

If even an inland city like Winterfell could be vulnerable, what about White Harbor, a port city sitting directly on the sea?

Should war ever break out, House Manderly would have no choice but to station a sizable garrison in the city. Without naval superiority, failing to do so would be tantamount to handing White Harbor to the enemy. After all, a significant portion of the Manderly family's strength stemmed from the vast wealth the city generated.

Clay's thoughts turned inward. It seemed clear that, in the future, he would have to advise his grandfather to invest heavily in strengthening the fleet.

Sigh… He really was quite the spendthrift.

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[Chapter End's]

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