The large ship sailed smoothly on the sea, the sun high in the ocean, warm and comforting. A gentle sea breeze billowed the white sails, and silver gulls chased after the ship, their white wings adding a unique splash of color to the clear blue sky.
The clear weather lifted Caesar's spirits considerably, now that he had escaped.
To realize his ambitions, Caesar's gaze turned to the unclaimed lands of the Narrow Sea—the Stepstone Islands. These were a series of islands located between Westeros and Essos, stretching from eastern Dorne to the disputed territory. Though unclaimed in name only, the Stepstone Islands were actually a haven for pirates. The Tyrosh, one of the Free City-States, was also located within the Stepstone Islands, and wars frequently broke out over their sovereignty. For Caesar, this was an ideal foothold.
The Dreadnought drew closer to land, and Caesar stood on the deck, surveying the shore.
At the harbor stood the Tower of Bloodshed, bustling with people. Dockworkers unloaded barrels of wine from Tyrosian merchant ships, fishermen hawked their catch, and children ran and played. A monk named Rahlo, clad in a scarlet robe, led two horses slowly along the shore. Above him, a prostitute leaned out of an inn window, beckoning to passing sailors.
Several Tyrosian merchants had already gathered on the dock, waiting for the ship to enter. As soon as the Dauntless was moored, they called out. "We're from Oldtown!" the captain shouted down. "We've brought apples, oranges, wine from Green Pavilion Island, feather cloaks from the Summer Isles, a piece of Mil's Lace, mirrors for the ladies, and a pair of Oldtown-made wooden harps—the real deal!" The deck creaked and slammed onto the dock.
The moment the deck hit the ground, the tarpaulins covering the cargo were ripped off, and countless soldiers, their uniforms emblazoned with red and black dragon insignia, rushed ashore!
"Take this place!" With this command, the entire city was engulfed in war. Steel swords flashed, and people fled, wept, begged, and died all around them, the air thick with dust and flames.
"Fus-Ro-Dah!" A deafening roar echoed through the heavens, the unyielding power like the roar of an ancient dragon shattering the city gates of the rulers and breaking the morale of the enemy.
...
Not long after, Caesars became the master of the Stone Steps Islands. In fact, few soldiers followed Caesars to sea, but his earth-shattering roar and the unyielding power of a dragon intimidated people. Pirates who openly resisted on the various islands were all executed, those who submitted were incorporated, and most chose to submit. A dragon-worshipping sect quietly spread across the Stone Steps Islands.
Caesars proclaimed himself "Lord of the Stone Steps Islands—Lord of the Stone Dragons" and became the "Great Lord" of Tyroth.
This tale spread throughout Westeros, Essos, and Thorthros.
...
"This rain is fucking cold!" Caesars grumbled as he traveled north along the King's Road. His secret trip to the North was due to reports that his friend Tyrion Lannister was returning south from the Wall. Caesars greatly admired Tyrion's talent and wanted to invite him to join his Stone Steps kingdom.
As dusk fell and the drizzle continued, he reluctantly decided to rest at the nearby Crossroads Inn, figuring Tyrion wouldn't be traveling at night, and perhaps he'd even run into his hedonistic friend.
The inn was located at a fork in the road north of the confluence of the three rivers; they arrived close to nightfall. The landlady, a plump woman named Martha Hyde, constantly chewed on a tobacco pipe. "Only the upstairs rooms are left," she said, still chewing. "The room is under the clock tower, so you won't miss your meal, though some might find it noisy. Unfortunately, we're almost full. If you don't want it, please get going."
He accepted, of course. The room was in a low, dusty attic, accessible only by climbing a narrow, old staircase. "Leave your shoes here," Martha told him after taking his money. "The waiter will clean them later. I don't want to see you trudging up the stairs in the mud. Watch the clock, or there won't be any left." She said expressionlessly.
When the dinner bells finally rang, they were deafening. Caesars, now dry, sat by the window, watching the raindrops slide down the pane. The glass was blurry, covered in droplets; a rainy night was about to fall. He could barely make out the muddy ford where the two roads met.
His wandering gaze stopped at the fork in the road. If he went east from there, he could reach Raven's Nest through King's Landing. The bells stopped, Caesars snapped out of his reverie, and went downstairs.
The hall was long and well-ventilated, with a row of large wooden barrels standing on one side and a fireplace on the other. Waiters bustled about with roasting forks, while Martha poured beer from a barrel, her mouth still churning on tobacco.
The benches were packed, villagers and farmers sitting side-by-side with travelers of all kinds. A dyer with one hand black and the other purple sat with a fisherman covered in fish grime; a muscular blacksmith huddled next to a thin, old monk; a rugged-looking wandering knight and a quiet businessman exchanged news from their travels like old friends.
Many of the diners carried swords, and Caesars became wary; there had been far too many assassination attempts in recent months. There were mercenary assassins sent by merchants from Tyrosh, dissatisfied with their rule; there were Lannisters from Cersei's household; and all sorts of strange and unusual enemies. He recognized the three men sitting by the fire wearing the insignia of House Brecken's red steeds, and a large group of men in blue steel ring armor and silver-grey cloaks, their shoulders embroidered with the twin towers of House Frey.
Caesars found an empty seat on a bench near the kitchen. A handsome young man sat at the dining table, strumming a wooden harp. Seeing Caesars sit down, the young man glanced at the sword at his waist and said, "May the Seven Gods bless you, my friend! My name is Marian," the singer said, plucking a string. "Would you like a tune?"
Caesars remained silent, ordering ale, roasted sausages, and a stew of sisters from the waiter. In the damp, chilly weather, a warm stew was the best choice.
Just as Marian was about to speak, a man and a woman approached from the opposite direction: a woman with auburn hair and a short, stout middle-aged man with a large white beard.
"May the Seven Gods bless you, my friend," he said as they sat down. An empty glass was placed before him.
"You too," the woman replied. The short, stout man ordered bread, meat, and beer in a "now or never" tone. The singer looked at them boldly, promoting his songs with an air of familiarity, but the two men clearly had no interest.
Caesars glanced at the woman; she wore a hood, revealing clear, deep blue eyes in the shadows, her fingers long and well-covered, her figure indiscernible.
The sound of a door opening came from the far end of the room.