The Great Flood Era

Mouth of the Wendwater.

Inside the cabin of the Royal Fleet's flagship, the Fury, the air was stifling and the atmosphere oppressive.

The only sounds were the creaks and groans of the hull beneath the pounding waves, along with Stannis Baratheon's teeth-grinding rasp.

Davos Seaworth stood before the long table, his face unusually grim. The leather pouch hanging around his neck lightly tapped against his chest with the ship's swaying.

"Go on."

With his back to him, Stannis Baratheon stared at the map of Westeros hanging on the cabin wall, his voice stiff with suppressed fury.

Davos Seaworth drew a deep breath. "Since the Stormlands armies departed on campaign and Dorne's Poor Fellows seized the opportunity to march north—"

"Other than Storm's End, which still holds out, the castles of the other houses... have mostly lost contact."

"The Evenstar says he has only four thousand men left, barely enough to hold a single region."

"But without any force left to suppress them, the Stormlands are crawling with bandits and rebel troops. The situation is worsening by the day."

Davos Seaworth unfolded the parchment in his trembling hands. Its scrawled writing recorded an even more terrifying report.

"The situation may be even worse, my lord."

"Terrible news... Suleiman has evacuated King's Landing."

"The refugees have poured into the Stormlands like locusts..."

"The messenger's report... the numbers... the numbers... are somewhere between one hundred thousand and two hundred thousand..."

Stannis Baratheon spun around. His deep-blue eyes were bloodshot, his sockets sunken like two black holes.

"One hundred to two hundred thousand people?!"

Davos Seaworth lowered his head, avoiding that searing gaze. "Yes..."

"And they are all the old, the weak, women, and children."

"They are barely clothed, like a black flood. Wherever they pass, not a blade of grass remains."

"The villages