Chapter 10 — "Children of the Storm"
(Part Two — Year 288 AD)
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I. The Art of Thinking Like a God
The sea was calm, but Ronnel Storm's mind was restless. Standing on the bow of the Noctis, arms crossed and the wind stirring his dark hair, his gaze seemed to stretch to the horizon… but he wasn't looking out to sea.
He was calculating.
He had inherited from Sheldon Cooper the ability to process information with quantum precision:
Trade routes.
Ocean currents.
Fiscal rhythms.
Chances of success in every interaction.
But most valuable was his eidetic memory. Every map, every word from a merchant, every rumor heard on the docks was filed and connected in his mind.
"Three minor houses in the Reach control access to the land routes. Two are bankrupted by debt. The third has a reckless, gambling-addicted heir. That's... an open door."
I smile slightly.
"And I know how to walk through doors."
---
On deck, Lya Waters trained by throwing knives at a barrel. Beside her, Sariah practiced shooting at moving targets. Kael Dravven argued with Tymor over wind calculations and the use of wildfire, while Ser Gareth Morr polished his armor.
Ronnel stepped down from the bow, stopping in front of them.
"We need to review roles for the Reach."
Lya crossed her arms.
"I bet you're going to want me to 'win hearts' again."
"And minds, yes," Ronnel replied calmly. "Use your charm and smile to gather rumors, especially from servants and minor merchants."
He turned to Sariah.
"You'll be in charge of finding skilled archers. If we gain prestige in the tournament, you'll recruit those without masters."
Kael frowned.
"And me?"
Ronnel smiled.
"You'll be my eyes in the harbor. I need to know which ships are loading, which goods are most valuable, and who controls the route to Braavos."
Finally, he looked at Tymor.
"You'll work with me. We need new products to sell, blends no one else has. I want you to design something... impossible to counterfeit."
Tymor smiled, sooty as ever.
"Give me time and I'll give you bottled fire."
Ser Gareth watched them silently. Ronnel turned to him.
"You... you will be my sword. But I don't want you to kill anyone, not yet. Use your presence. I want everyone to see I have a lethal knight at my back."
The veteran bowed his head.
"As you command, Captain."
---
Two nights later, anchored near the coast, Ronnel trained alone in the hold. He had placed a mirror in front of him and practiced gestures, smiles, and postures.
From Patrick Jane, he had learned to read microexpressions. Now, he could recognize doubt, fear, or desire in a split-second glance.
From Harvey Specter, the art of aggressive negotiation. Every word was a weapon, every silence, a trap.
From Jason Bourne and Raizo, the techniques for being invisible: controlling the body, hiding intentions, moving unnoticed.
He was more than a warrior. He was a master actor.
"If a man believes he belongs to you, you'll make him give you everything… without him even noticing."
---
Gulltown
When they arrived at Gulltown, the crew split into groups. Ronnel and Lya walked through the markets, observing the merchants.
There, Ronnel began to test his full arsenal:
He used Ted Mosby's inadvertent charisma to get lesser nobles to like him without making them feel like he was trying.
He exploited House's cynicism to manipulate conversations, sowing doubt and conflict among competitors.
Patrick Jane's body language allowed him to detect lies and weaknesses in seconds.
Within hours, he knew which merchants were desperate, which trade routes were profitable, and which noble houses were struggling financially.
That night, in the tavern, Lya looked at him in disbelief.
"How the hell do you do that? It seems like you don't even talk to them... and they end up telling you everything."
Ronnel smiled as he took a sip of wine.
"Because I don't talk to them. I make them think they're talking to themselves."
"Then it's a good thing I'm with you and not against you, otherwise I'd be in serious trouble."
"You have no idea how right Lya is... You have no idea," he said with a slight smile as he took another sip of wine, thinking about how miserable his enemies must be.
For blissful is their ignorance.
--
Back on the Noctis, Ronnel gathered everyone together. On the map table, he drew a line connecting Gulltown, the Reach, and several port cities in the Narrow Sea.
"First, we'll gain prestige in tournaments. Then, we'll acquire trading partners. Then, we'll create an exclusive product that only we can offer... and we'll build secret distribution routes."
Kael raised an eyebrow.
"That sounds like trying to control half the maritime trade."
"No," Ronnel shook his head gently. "It sounds like wanting to control everything."
Héctor Barbossa whispered deep in his mind, "The sea belongs to no one... except those who have the audacity to take it."
Ronnel smiled.
"And I intend to take it all."
---
As they approached the Reach, rumors grew: tournaments, bets, rival houses vying for influence, merchants seeking alliances.
But Ronnel wasn't after gold.
He was after names, faces, secrets.
He was going to create a web of power, loyalties, and wealth.
And when the Noctis entered the calm waters surrounding the Reach's harbor, Ronnel Storm was no longer just Robert Baratheon's bastard.
He was the architect of his own empire.
---
288 dc.
The Reach Harbor
The Noctis glided smoothly across the water, its sails catching the cool morning breeze. Ronnel Storm stood at the bow, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The city of the Reach rose before them, protected by high cliffs that descended to a crowded harbor.
The smells of fresh fish, sea salt, and exotic spices mingled with the bustle of newly arrived merchants, sailors, and nobles. Bells rang out, announcing the official opening of the grand tournament, and seagulls circled the masts, screeching like impromptu heralds.
Behind Ronnel, Lya Waters leaned her elbow on the railing and whistled admiringly.
"By the Seven... This is much bigger than I expected."
Ronnel didn't take his gaze off the city.
"And more complicated than it looks. Gold isn't just won in jousting here... but in what goes on behind the jousting."
Kael Dravven, the boatswain, frowned.
"Are you starting your games again?"
Ronnel smirked.
"Kael... tournaments are distractions. While everyone is staring at spears and laurel wreaths, the real players are buying land, roads, and men."
Sariah, Lys's sniper, chimed in as she adjusted her crossbow.
"And what will we play, Captain?"
Ronnel turned his head slightly, his smile raising the tension on deck.
"We'll play ghosts in the shadows."
---
The first day of the tourney featured no fighting. It was a parade of minor houses, powerful merchants, and nobles from across half the kingdom seeking alliances.
The main courtyard of the Reach was decorated with banners:
The Colfields with their golden sun.
The Sundryns with their three silver towers.
The Harlonds, newly arrived from the Reach Lands, with their imposing blue sea dragon.
Ronnel walked among them with a calm gait, observing more than speaking. He wore neither armor nor silk; he wore a dark linen tunic and a short cloak. He looked like just another young bastard nobleman… and that suited him.
Patrick Jane whispered in his mind, "Look at the tense shoulders, the shifty gaze, the sweaty hands… that merchant is afraid of losing everything. He'll be easy to push."
He approached the spice stall of a Myrian merchant, who seemed nervous to see him.
"Young lord, would you like to try Yi Ti pepper or Volantis saffron?"
Ronnel took a pinch of saffron, rubbed it between his fingers, and replied without looking at him:
"You're having trouble with the local customs. If you don't resolve them, you'll lose half your cargo tomorrow."
The merchant blinked, puzzled.
"H-how do you know that?"
Ronnel smiled gently, resting a hand on the counter.
"Because I saw the collector arguing with your partner at the dock. I can resolve it. But not for free."
The man swallowed.
"What do you want?"
"Information." Ronnel lowered his voice. "Everything you know about the wildfire shipments that have passed through the Reach in the last six months."
The merchant hesitated for a moment, but Ronnel's smile left no room for rejection.
---
That night, gathered with his crew in a discreet inn, Ronnel spread a makeshift map on the table with faces, names, and debts.
"In this tournament, there are three types of players," he said, pointing with a knife. "
1. Those who seek glory: knights and champions. They are useful... but expendable."
2. Those seeking power: minor houses, merchants, smugglers. They're our main prey.
3. Those who think they're not gambling: the naive ones who think they're just here to have fun. Those... are the most dangerous.
Lya rested her chin on her hand.
"Let me guess... have you already chosen who to bet on?"
Ronnel looked up and smiled.
"Of course."
---
The jousting began on the second day. The smell of hay, sweat, and iron filled the air. Thousands of people thronged the stands, shouting the names of their favorites.
Ronnel entered the arena for the first time, carrying a light spear and a simple shield. His armor bore no emblem; no one knew who he was.
The announcer shouted, "In this round, Ser Arthen Hollis of House Hollis versus... the mysterious knight of Noctis!"
The audience laughed. Ronnel didn't.
As the horses charged, Yoriichi activated Sun Breathing. Everything slowed down. He could see the tremble in Arthen's hand, the exact spot where his spear would touch the shield, the precise moment to twist his wrist.
A movement.
An impact.
Ser Arthen flew through the air.
Absolute silence.
Ronnel calmly lowered his lance, dismounted, and offered his hand to his fallen opponent. He gestured, causing the stands to erupt in cheers.
Rumors began to spread: "Who is that young man?"
"He can't be a mere bastard..."
"He moves like a demon in a human body."
---
After his victory, Ronnel was invited to the pavilions of several minor houses. There, he deployed Harvey Specter and Patrick Jane in perfect harmony:
He negotiated alliances with vague but compelling promises.
He detected lies with microexpressions.
He made nobles and merchants believe that the idea of forming an alliance was theirs.
In parallel, Kael and Sariah followed Ronnel's instructions, gathering rumors and contacting captains in Braavos and Lys.
---
While manipulating bets and buying favors, Ronnel discovered something disturbing:
A secret shipment of wildfire was being guarded by Lysmen.
There were clandestine bets controlled by Braavosi smugglers.
Several knights were competing not for glory… but for private war contracts.
Ronnel was irritating. The chaos was a straight.
"If I play my cards right... this tournament will be my first true empire."
---
The night before the second day of the tournament, the Reach was sleepless. The taverns were filled with euphoric merchants, drunken knights, and giggling prostitutes. But at the Noctis, the atmosphere was very different.
Ronnel Storm stood in front of a map spread out on the central table, surrounded by Lya Waters, Kael Dravven, Sariah, Ser Gareth Morr, and Tymor.
On the parchment, small tokens represented minor houses, smugglers, merchants, and key participants.
Ronnel spoke calmly, but his voice carried a weight that was impossible to ignore.
"Tomorrow we won't just win battles." He placed a red chip on the Colfield banner. "Tomorrow I'll buy influence."
Kael raised an eyebrow.
"Buying? I thought you were going to fight, not negotiate."
Ronnel smiled.
"I'll do both. Winning battles is easy... the hard part is when everyone thinks they can't win without me."
Lya stared at him.
"That sounds like manipulation."
"It is," she answered bluntly. "And if I do it right, no one will notice... until it's too late."
---
On the second day, Ronnel entered the arena again. But this time, his opponent was no lesser knight.
"Ser Damon Hollard, 'The Crimson Lance'!" shouted the herald.
Murmurs filled the stands. Ser Damon was a veteran of three tourneys, feared for his precision with the lance and his brutality in combat.
Lya, sitting next to Sariah, murmured worriedly, "That man has unhorsed five champions in a row."
Sariah smiled calmly, adjusting the crossbow on her knees.
"Then you'll see him fall for the first time."
As the horses charged, Ronnel closed her eyes and activated the Transparent World. Everything slowed. She could see the flow of the wind, Damon's heartbeat, the exact point where her spear would make contact with the wood.
"Breathe. Calculate. Break."
He twisted his wrist slightly. His spear sliced through the air at an impossible angle, striking with surgical precision.
Crack.
Damon's shield split in two.
The impact was brutal: Damon flew from his horse and fell backward, unconscious.
Silence in the arena.
Then, deafening cheers.
In the stands, several nobles began to look at each other with interest. Others, with suspicion. And in a private pavilion, a hooded man whispered:
"That bastard... he can't be human."
---
After the second victory, Ronnel was invited to the Harlond tent, one of the most influential houses in the Reach. There, amidst goblets of wine and fake laughter, Lord Harlond greeted him with a calculated smile.
"They say you are the bastard son of Robert Baratheon," the nobleman said, holding the goblet delicately. "If that's true… you should be at Storm's End, not playing knight."
Ronnel took a sip of wine before answering.
"If that were true, my lord, perhaps he's just… learning to play."
Lord Harlond appraised him with sharp eyes.
"You know that tournaments are a hunting ground for alliances, right?"
Ronnel smiled.
"That's why I'm here." He placed the cup on the table, leaning toward him. "The Colfields are in debt, the Sundryns have no heir, and your family... wants to expand their trade routes into Braavos."
The lord blinked, surprised.
"How do you know that?"
Ronnel leaned back in his chair, amused.
"Because I listen... while others talk."
---
That night, Ronnel secretly met with two figures he had observed for days:
1. Kaen Veyra, an exiled swordsman from Braavos, renowned for his unique fighting style.
2. Mira Sand, a half-breed from Lys and Dorne, an expert in poisons and manipulation.
In a secluded tavern, he made them a simple offer:
"I'm building something big. I want navigators, swords, and minds unafraid to get their hands dirty."
Kaen smiled, caressing the hilt of his sword.
"As long as there's gold and glory, I'm your man."
Mira leaned forward, toying with a vial of green liquid.
"And as long as there are secrets to exploit, so am I."
---
The third day dawned with disturbing rumors: Ser Thelmar Sundryn, heir to his house, had been found dead.
The rumors multiplied:
A secret duel.
A contract killing.
Revenge for old debts.
Ronnel watched the chaos from afar and smiled. Disorder always opened up opportunities.
"If the board shakes, the pieces fall into the hands of the fastest player."
That same morning, Harvey Specter and Patrick Jane worked together in his mind:
He convinced Lord Sundryn to support his business plans.
He sold false information to the Colfields, pitting them against the Harlonds.
He made sure everyone believed he wasn't involved... while reaping the rewards.
---
On the final day of the tournament, Ronnel bet against himself in several rounds, using intermediaries so no one could track his movements. The Braavosi smugglers took the bait.
He won the final.
He won the gold.
And he quietly gained influence over four minor houses and three shipping lanes.
As the Noctis sailed from the Reach, Ronnel leaned on the railing, staring out to sea.
Lya came up to his side.
"You made it, didn't you?"
Ronnel smiled.
"This isn't even the beginning."
Kael, from the lower deck, called out,
"Captain, where do we go now?"
Ronnel looked up at the horizon.
"To Essos. To seek power, secrets, and gold."
The Noctis sailed into the evening light, and the name Ronnel Storm began to spread like a whisper among merchants, nobles, and smugglers.
They still didn't know if he was an ally or a threat.
But they all knew one thing:
he was impossible to ignore.
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