The ship, a sleek vessel named the Sea Raven, cut through the waves as it sailed away from King’s Landing. The smell of saltwater filled the air, and the wind tugged at the sails, propelling them ever closer to the Stepstones. Robert stood near the stern, watching the city’s walls shrink in the distance. The Red Keep was barely visible, its looming presence reduced to a shadow on the horizon.

The sea was choppy, and the ship rocked with each wave, but Robert kept his footing with ease. He had been on ships before, traveling between the Vale and the Stormlands during his youth. Though he had never liked the sea, he respected its power. He knew well enough that the ocean could be as deadly as any battlefield.

The crew of the Sea Raven moved with practiced efficiency, hoisting ropes and adjusting sails. But it wasn’t the sailors Robert was interested in. It was the other men—the recruits who, like him, were bound for the Stepstones. There were over twenty of them, rough men from different parts of Westeros, all answering the call to arms.

They were sellswords, outcasts, and adventurers, each with their own reasons for seeking out the Stepstones. Some were there for gold, others for glory, and a few, like Robert, simply because they had nowhere else to go.

Robert had always been good at reading people, and as he watched them move about the ship, he took stock of the men around him. There was a burly man with a scar running down the side of his face, sharpening his blade with slow, deliberate movements. Nearby, a wiry youth practiced throwing daggers at a wooden post, his aim deadly accurate. A trio of Northmen stood together, talking in low voices, their heavy furs out of place in the southern warmth.

The captain, Jason Tyde, moved among them, checking on his recruits. He was a no-nonsense man, a grizzled veteran of many campaigns. His voice boomed across the deck as he barked orders to his crew, making sure everything was in order for the journey ahead.

Robert knew that the men around him would soon be his comrades in arms, fighting alongside him in the Stepstones. He couldn’t afford to remain a stranger among them.

He approached the group of men standing near the ship’s rail, striking up conversation with one who looked like he’d seen his fair share of battles. The man was tall and broad, with a thick beard and a sour expression.

“Name’s Robert,” he said, extending a hand. “Robert Stronghammer, from the Vale.”

The man gave him a sideways glance, sizing him up, before shaking his hand with a firm grip. “Doran,” he said gruffly. “From the Stormlands.”

“Stormlander, eh?” Robert smiled, slipping easily into the Vale accent, a skill he had mastered after years of being fostered by Jon Arryn. “I fought alongside a few Stormlanders before. Good men, all of them.”

Doran grunted in approval. “We’ll see if you’re as good with that hammer as you claim.”

Robert tapped the warhammer slung over his back. “You’ll see soon enough. I don’t go anywhere without it.”

The other men were listening now, their curiosity piqued by the newcomer. One of the Northmen, a hulking figure with red hair and a thick accent, chimed in.

“Stronghammer, you say? What did you do to earn a name like that?”

Robert chuckled, leaning casually against the rail. “I was born in the Vale since I was a boy. Trained in arms with a knight of the Eyrie. One day, during a mountain clan raid, I broke a raider's shield clean in half with a single blow of my hammer. The guards started calling me Stronghammer, and the name stuck.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. The story was mostly true, though Robert had left out the part where he had been a lord at the time, fighting for honor and prestige. Now, he was just a nameless fighter, and that suited him just fine.

“Impressive,” said the wiry youth with the throwing daggers. “I’m Fenn. Never fought with a hammer before. Too heavy for my liking.”

Robert grinned. “It’s not for everyone. But when you need to break a line of spearmen or shatter a man’s shield, there’s nothing better.”

The men laughed, warming to Robert’s easy manner. They were sellswords, after all, used to the rough camaraderie of soldiers. Robert might have been new to their company, but his confidence and charm made it easy for them to accept him.

As the day wore on, Robert continued to mingle with the recruits, learning their stories. Some, like him, were experienced fighters, veterans of many skirmishes and battles. Others were fresh-faced, eager to prove themselves in the Stepstones. They all shared one thing in common—they were all chasing something, whether it was gold, fame, or a chance to escape their past.

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Jason Tyde made his rounds, ensuring everyone was prepared for what lay ahead. When he saw Robert talking to the men, he gave a nod of approval. It was clear that Tyde valued fighters who could work together, and Robert was doing his part to blend in.

The sea remained choppy, but the Sea Raven held its course. The further they sailed from King’s Landing, the more the reality of what awaited them began to sink in. The Stepstones were a dangerous place, filled with pirates, mercenaries, and rival factions vying for control of the narrow sea. It was a place where men died quickly and often, where the value of a life was measured in gold and blood.

As evening approached, the men gathered below deck to eat and rest. The cramped quarters were filled with the sound of clinking bowls and low murmurs of conversation. Robert sat among them, his hammer resting by his side. He ate in silence, his mind focused on the days ahead.

Despite the camaraderie, Robert knew that once they reached the Stepstones, the real test would begin. The men he had spoken to today could be dead by the end of the week. War had a way of thinning out even the toughest of fighters, and luck was often the deciding factor.

But Robert was no stranger to war. He had been raised in the ways of combat, trained by the best, and tempered by the hardships of life. He had survived worse than this, and he would survive the Stepstones.

As the ship sailed into the night, the stars overhead glittering like shards of glass, Robert lay back in his bunk, listening to the creaking of the ship as it cut through the waves. The sea was calm now, the stormy waters from earlier having given way to a gentle swell. But the calm wouldn’t last. Soon, they would reach the Stepstones, and the real storm would begin.

The Sea Raven sailed steadily southward, cutting through the waves as it neared the Stepstones. Robert stood on the deck, watching the horizon as the sun began to rise, casting an orange glow over the calm sea. The smell of saltwater filled the air, and the distant screech of gulls echoed around the ship. Though his mind was on the battle ahead, his thoughts wandered to the history of the land he was soon to set foot upon.

The Stepstones had not always been the lawless battleground they were today. They were a series of rocky islands that stretched between Westeros and Essos, forming a crucial link between the two continents. Control over the Stepstones meant control over the trade routes in the narrow sea. For centuries, different factions and powers had fought for dominion over these islands, each seeking to dominate the lucrative shipping lanes.

But it was not until the Triarchy of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh came together that the Stepstones truly became a point of contention for Westeros. The Triarchy, a powerful alliance of three Free Cities, had united their forces with a common goal: to seize control of the Stepstones and make them their own. They saw the islands as a strategic foothold from which they could control trade, demand heavy taxes, and expand their influence.

It had started with good intentions—or so it seemed to the Free Cities. The Triarchy’s alliance had brought a measure of order to the Stepstones, driving out the pirates and corsairs that had long plagued the narrow sea. For a time, the merchants of Westeros welcomed this new order, believing it would make the waters safer for trade.

But it wasn’t long before the Triarchy’s true intentions became clear.

With the pirates gone, the Triarchy began to impose their own taxes on any ships passing through the Stepstones. Westerosi merchants were forced to pay exorbitant tolls just to sail the waters they had once traveled freely. Any ship that refused to pay was seized, its cargo stolen, and its crew either killed or taken as slaves.

The situation quickly escalated. Westerosi merchants complained to their lords, who in turn petitioned the Iron Throne for aid. But King Viserys I, who sat on the throne at the time, was unwilling to get involved. The Stepstones were far from King’s Landing, and the king believed that any conflict there would only drain the crown’s coffers and resources. He refused to send aid, leaving the merchants and lords of Westeros to fend for themselves.

One man, however, refused to accept this state of affairs.

Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and master of the powerful Velaryon fleet, had always been a man of ambition. Known as the Sea Snake, Corlys had spent much of his life sailing the known world, amassing wealth and power from his voyages. He was not the sort of man to sit idly by while the Triarchy threatened his family’s wealth and the safety of Westerosi shipping.

Corlys petitioned the Iron Throne for aid, but like the other lords, he was met with silence. King Viserys, comfortable in his palace, saw no reason to intervene. But Corlys Velaryon was not a man to be deterred by the crown’s inaction.

It was then that Prince Daemon Targaryen, Viserys’ younger brother, entered the scene. Daemon was a man of restless energy and fierce ambition, and he had long chafed under the restrictions of the Iron Throne. Known for his ruthlessness and love of battle, Daemon saw in the Stepstones an opportunity to carve out his own kingdom, free from the influence of his elder brother.

Together, Corlys and Daemon formed an alliance. With the vast wealth of House Velaryon and Daemon’s military prowess, they embarked on a campaign to wrest control of the Stepstones from the Triarchy. It was a bold and dangerous plan, but one that both men were determined to see through.

The war in the Stepstones was brutal. The islands were little more than barren rocks, but their strategic importance made them fiercely contested. Daemon, mounted on his dragon Caraxes, led the charge, burning Triarchy ships and seizing island after island. Corlys commanded the Velaryon fleet, blockading the waters and cutting off the Triarchy’s supply lines.

The fighting dragged on for years, with both sides suffering heavy losses. The Triarchy was well-funded and had no shortage of men to throw into the conflict. But Corlys and Daemon were relentless. Slowly, they began to turn the tide, capturing more of the Stepstones and driving the Triarchy back.

It was during this time that Daemon declared himself King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea, crowning himself on one of the rocky islands he had conquered. Though his claim was little more than a title, it marked the beginning of a new phase in the war. Daemon’s ambition knew no bounds, and with the Stepstones under his control, he dreamed of greater conquests.

But the Stepstones were not easily tamed. Even after Daemon’s victories, the islands remained a hotbed of conflict. The Triarchy continued to launch raids, and new factions rose to challenge Daemon’s rule. The islands themselves were harsh and unforgiving, and many of the men who fought there found themselves stranded on hostile shores with little hope of return.

As Robert stood on the deck of the Sea Raven, he thought about the history of the islands they were approaching. The Stepstones were a graveyard for men who sought fortune and glory, a place where blood flowed as freely as the sea itself. He had heard the stories of the fighting, of the men who had gone to the Stepstones and never returned.

But Robert was not afraid. He had been raised a lord, trained in the arts of war since he could hold a sword. And though he was now a man with no name and no title, he still had the skills and strength that had made him a feared warrior. The Stepstones might be a dangerous place, but Robert knew that he had survived worse.

As the ship continued its journey south, Robert could see the other men on board preparing for the battles ahead. They were recruits, mercenaries, and adventurers, all drawn to the Stepstones by the promise of gold or glory. But as they neared the islands, Robert could sense the tension growing. The Stepstones were no ordinary battlefield. Here, death could come at any moment, whether from the blade of an enemy or the bite of the sea.

Robert looked toward the horizon, where the jagged peaks of the Stepstones were just beginning to appear. Soon, they would land, and the real test would begin. The history of the Stepstones was one of blood and conquest, and Robert was about to become a part of it.

But unlike the countless men who had come before him, Robert was determined to survive. He had no crown to claim, no throne to fight for, but he had his hammer, his skill, and his will to live.

And in the Stepstones, that was all a man needed.