The Stronghammer - CH - 68

Eddie, Holden Cross, and Aemond moved carefully through the settlement, blending in with the crowd. The village was bustling with merchants and fishermen, but there was an undercurrent of unease. Essos had left their mark on these people, and fear lingered in their expressions.

Holden, walking slightly ahead, led them through the narrow, winding paths, ensuring they didn’t attract unnecessary attention. Eddie adjusted the hood of his cloak, concealing most of his face. Aemond followed close behind, his eyes scanning the area, trying to absorb everything around him.

After several minutes of navigating through the village, they reached the outskirts, where the homes were spaced farther apart. The smell of the sea was stronger here, and the air was quieter. Finally, they arrived at a small, worn-down cottage surrounded by a low wooden fence. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, indicating someone was home.

Holden stepped forward and knocked three times in quick succession. A long pause followed. Eddie exchanged a glance with Aemond, who shifted uncomfortably. The door creaked open slightly, revealing a pair of sharp, suspicious eyes.

“Turo,” Holden greeted in a low voice.

The door opened further, revealing a wiry man with tanned skin and a scruffy beard. His gaze swept over Holden, then moved to Eddie and Aemond. His expression tightened. “And who are you?”

“Travelers,” Holden said smoothly. “Looking for safe passage.”

Turo snorted. “Safe passage? In times like these? You must be mad.” He leaned against the doorframe, eyeing them warily. “Why should I even let you in?”

Eddie stepped forward, lowering his hood slightly, just enough to let Turo see his face. “Because we need information,” Eddie said evenly. “And we’re willing to pay.”

Turo’s eyes narrowed. He studied Eddie for a long moment before letting out a short sigh. “Fine. Get in, and be quick about it.”

They stepped inside, the scent of salt, old wood, and burning fire filling their senses. The inside of the cottage was cluttered but homely—maps, trinkets, and various artifacts from the sea were scattered around. Turo motioned for them to sit at a rickety wooden table while he moved to a small cabinet and pulled out a bottle of dark liquid, pouring himself a drink.

“So,” he said, taking a sip, “who are you really, and what do you want?”

Eddie leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “We’re looking for information on the Sons of Kraken. Specifically, where they’re keeping the captives from the Baratheon ship.”

Turo’s expression darkened. He set his cup down with a heavy clunk. “You’re mad. That’s not something to meddle with. The Sons of Kraken don’t take kindly to people sniffing around their business.”

Eddie didn’t waver. “I don’t take kindly to them stealing my family.”

Turo frowned. He glanced at Holden, who nodded slightly. With a deep breath, he rubbed his face and leaned back in his chair. “There’s a hidden cove along the eastern shore,” he admitted. “A place they use to hold captives before selling them off. But it’s well-guarded, and only a few know the exact location.”

Holden crossed his arms. “You know where it is, don’t you?”

Turo sighed, shaking his head. “I know someone who might. But you’re playing a dangerous game, and if you’re caught…” He trailed off, looking at them grimly.

Eddie met his gaze, unwavering. “We’ll take the risk.”

Turo exhaled through his nose, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll take you to him. But after that, you’re on your own.”

Eddie glanced at Holden and Aemond, both of whom nodded in agreement.

The mission had just begun.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the rugged plains, Eddie, Holden Cross, and Aemond followed Turo through the winding alleys of the village. Their destination was a small, battered hut on the outskirts, where Turo’s contact—a fisherman who had managed to escape from the clutches of the Sons of Kraken—lived in quiet desperation.

The hut was little more than a shack, with wooden planks hastily patched together and a thatched roof that looked as though it could cave in at any moment. The door creaked as Turo pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit interior. A man sat hunched over a wooden table, his skin weathered by the sea and his hands calloused from years of labor. His left eye was covered by a crude cloth patch, and deep scars lined his arms and face.

“Turo,” the man grunted without looking up. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Tomas,” Turo said, stepping inside. “These men have come to end the Sons of Kraken. They want information.”

Tomas finally lifted his gaze, scrutinizing Eddie, Holden, and Aemond. His one good eye narrowed in suspicion. “End them?” he scoffed. “Many have tried. None have succeeded. Why should I believe you’ll be any different?”

Holden Cross took a step forward, his voice steady. “Because we don’t plan on trying. We plan on succeeding.”

Tomas let out a bitter chuckle. “That’s what they all say. But those bastards… they’re like rats. You kill one, ten more crawl out of the shadows.”

Eddie met Tomas’s gaze, his voice calm but firm. “We’re not just here to take out a few of them. We’re going to their stronghold. We’re going to wipe them out.”

Tomas’s fingers clenched into fists. “Their stronghold…” He exhaled heavily. “I spent three years as their prisoner. Forced to fish for them. Beaten when I resisted. Left to starve when they were in bad moods. They took everything from me.” His voice cracked with suppressed rage. “If you’re truly going after them… I want in.”

Aemond, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. “Revenge is a powerful motivator. But we need more than just your anger. We need knowledge. Can you lead us there?”

Tomas nodded. “I know their waters, their movements, their habits. If you give me a blade, I’ll spill their blood myself.”

Holden exchanged a glance with Eddie, who gave a slight nod.

“Then gather your things,” Eddie said. “We leave tonight.”

Without hesitation, Tomas stood, retrieving a rusty cutlass from the corner of the room. He sheathed it at his side and grabbed a small satchel.

“I have nothing left but the need for vengeance,” he said. “And now, I have the means.”

With their new ally in tow, the company left the village behind, venturing into the vast plains, their path illuminated only by the pale moonlight. Each step brought them closer to the stronghold of the Sons of Kraken—and to the battle that awaited them.

Aemond barely slept that night. The ground beneath him was hard and uneven, the thin mat doing little to soften the discomfort of jutting stones. He had tossed and turned, trying to find a position that would let him rest, but true sleep never came. Instead, he drifted in and out, his mind restless. The scent of damp earth, the distant sounds of the waves, and the occasional whisper of the wind filled his senses.

When the first rays of morning light crept over the horizon, Aemond stirred at the sound of voices outside the tent. He turned, blinking sleep from his eyes, only to notice that Eddie was already gone.

Curious, he stepped outside and immediately caught the tail end of a conversation.

"My prince, you don't have to do that."

Aemond frowned. He hadn’t done anything. Why was the soldier speaking to him? But before he could ask, another voice answered.

"It’s alright. You go prepare the food. I will take care of the tent."

Aemond turned sharply toward the source of the voice—Eddie. The squire spoke casually as he continued taking down the tent, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Aemond narrowed his eyes. "Why did he call you a prince?"

Eddie paused, glancing at Aemond before returning to his task. "Because I am one."

Aemond's breath caught in his throat. He had spent the past few days traveling, fighting, and planning alongside Eddie, but never once had he questioned who Eddie truly was. A squire, yes. A knight’s ward, perhaps. But a prince?

"What?" Aemond demanded, stepping closer. "What do you mean you're a prince?"

Eddie gave a small chuckle as he folded the fabric of the tent. "Not all kingdoms are in Westeros, my friend."

Aemond’s mind raced. Eddie was no ordinary squire. He had noticed Eddie's intelligence, his confidence, the way others—especially Holden Cross—listened to him. But now it made sense. The way Eddie carried himself, the way he spoke, even the way the soldiers treated him with respect.

"You lied to me," Aemond accused, crossing his arms.

Eddie stood straight, meeting Aemond’s gaze without hesitation. "No, I just never told you. There’s a difference."

Aemond clenched his jaw. He didn’t like being kept in the dark. But before he could say more, Holden Cross approached.

"If you two are done chatting, we have work to do," the knight said. "We need to move before the pirates catch wind of us."

Eddie tossed Aemond a small smirk before turning to join Holden. Aemond stood there for a moment, staring after him. His traveling companion was a prince, yet he had spent the morning taking down tents like a common squire.

Aemond narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to Eddie as the weight of the soldier’s words settled in his mind. "So… which kingdom are you a prince of?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.

Eddie paused for a moment, then turned to face Aemond fully. There was no arrogance in his voice, no attempt at dramatics—just a simple truth spoken with quiet confidence.

"I am Eddard Stormrage, the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Stormrage."

Aemond’s breath hitched. He felt as if the very air around him had thickened. "Stormrage?" he echoed, his heart pounding. "You mean the Stormrage? The dragonlord kingdom?"

Eddie nodded, adjusting the straps of his pack. "Aye."

Aemond took a step back, as if he needed distance to properly absorb what he had just heard. The Stormrage dynasty was legendary, spoken of in whispers in the court.

Aemond felt his throat go dry as the full weight of Eddie’s words sank in. "Stormrage..." he muttered under his breath, his mind racing to recall everything he had ever heard about that name.

"So, you’re telling me," Aemond finally said, his voice slow and deliberate, "that you're the son of King Robert Stronghammer? The same Robert Stronghammer who stole a Targaryen dragon and built his own kingdom in Essos?"

Eddie gave a small, knowing smirk. "The very same."

Aemond exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief. The story of Stormrage was well-known in the right circles, though the Targaryens had made every effort to erase it from history. Robert Stronghammer had been a knight—a famous one—who had fought in countless battles before vanishing into legend. But before his disappearance, he had committed one of the greatest betrayals against House Targaryen: stealing a dragon.

Not just any dragon—a wild one, a beast untamed by Valyrian blood. No one knew exactly how he had done it, only that he and the dragon had vanished across the Narrow Sea.

Most had assumed he died.

But he hadn’t. He had built a kingdom. A kingdom that thrived.

Stormrage had grown into something formidable, a land of prosperity and strength, ruled by a line of dragonlords not of Valyrian descent, but of Westerosi blood. And yet, the Targaryens had never sought to reclaim the dragon. Maybe it was out of caution, maybe pride, but they had chosen to forget Stormrage rather than acknowledge its existence.

And now, standing before him, was the heir to that stolen dynasty.

Aemond let out a short, incredulous laugh. "No wonder you're so set on saving Cassandra Baratheon."

Eddie nodded, his face turning serious. "She’s family. King Robert Stronghammer—my father—is Boris Baratheon’s bastard brother. That makes Cassandra my cousin."

Aemond ran a hand through his silver hair, exhaling through his nose. "I suppose that means the Baratheons know about Stormrage, then."

"They do," Eddie confirmed. "But they don’t speak of it openly. My father and Boris have always had an understanding. We may not share the same name, but blood ties are stronger than words."

Aemond crossed his arms, staring at Eddie as if seeing him for the first time. "So, all this time, I’ve been traveling with a hidden prince. And not just any prince—a Stormrage."

Eddie chuckled, adjusting the strap of his pack. "You never asked."

As they walked along the shoreline, Aemond couldn’t help but steal glances at Eddie. There was something about him—something different from any noble or royal Aemond had ever known.

"Call me Eddie," he had said, brushing off the formalities with a casual grin. Aemond had hesitated at first. Calling a prince, a crown prince no less, by a simple name felt unnatural. But Eddie spoke with such ease, as if his title didn’t matter.

And that was the most baffling part of all—it really didn’t seem to matter to him.

Aemond had spent his entire life learning what it meant to be a Targaryen prince. Honor, duty, and most of all—pride. A king was a ruler, above all others. A prince was his heir, the embodiment of power and bloodline. And yet, here was Eddie, who should have been the most prideful of them all, carrying his own weight like he was no different from his men.

He helped set up camp when they stopped for the night. He carried supplies without a word of complaint. He even helped cook, sitting beside his men as they ate together around the fire.

Aemond watched it all in silence. He had never seen a royal act this way. Even his own father, Viserys, kind as he was, still carried the quiet weight of his status wherever he went. There was always a barrier between a king and his subjects.

But Eddie? There was no barrier at all.

Aemond found himself walking closer to Eddie as they continued. After a long pause, he finally spoke.

"Why do you act this way?"

Eddie turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "What way?"

"Like... like you're not a prince." Aemond frowned, trying to find the right words. "You don’t act like royalty. You don’t expect others to serve you. You work alongside your men like you’re one of them. It doesn’t make sense."

Eddie chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Where I come from, a ruler is only as strong as the people who follow him. If I demand their loyalty without earning it, then I don’t deserve to be king."

Aemond blinked. "But... you’re their prince. They should follow you because of that."

"No." Eddie shook his head. "A title doesn’t make someone a leader. Actions do."

Aemond stared at him, his mind struggling to reconcile what he had just heard. He had never thought about it that way before. His whole life, he had been taught that people followed a king because he was king. Because of his bloodline. Because of his name.

But Eddie didn’t believe in that. He believed in earning loyalty, not demanding it.

For the first time in his life, Aemond wondered if maybe, just maybe, he had been taught wrong.

And as they continued their journey, he decided one thing for certain.

He wanted to learn more.