They chose a northeasterly course, heading straight for Braavos, the most powerful of the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea, and the one most likely to offer some form of "neutral" sanctuary.
Less than two days after their departure, a massive combined fleet of the Iron Throne appeared in the waters off Dragonstone. It included warships flying the Arbor's red grape banner, along with a small number of ruggedly built ships from White Harbor in the North.
The commander of the Arbor fleet, Earl Redwyne, gazed from afar at the sea, still unsettled after the storm, and at Dragonstone's empty harbor and its castle, whose defenses had clearly been strengthened despite its sparse garrison. He promptly ordered his men to "scout cautiously and blockade the surrounding waters." He wholeheartedly agreed with the advice of his sister, Olenna, the Queen of Thorns, back in Highgarden: show loyalty, but shed no more blood for House Baratheon than necessary. If the Targaryens on the island had already fled, so much the better.
The White Harbor fleet from the North made even less of an effort. Its commander was Ser Wyllis Manderly, the eldest son of the Eel, and he did not even allow his warships to approach too closely. He had come on Duke Eddard Stark's orders, but his purpose was more to observe and make his allegiance clear than to take any real part in the assault. House Stark already had misgivings about slaughtering women, children, and the elderly, so he was happy to take it easy.
The two fleets patrolled the nearby waters for several days, then sent a token party ashore. They discovered that only a few hundred old, infirm, and wounded soldiers remained on Dragonstone, and none resisted their landing. The earlier show of strength had merely been an act to buy time. The main force then landed and began taking control of Dragonstone, before reporting "with regret" to King's Landing that the Targaryen remnants had escaped during the storm, their destination was unknown, and Dragonstone had been retaken.
When the news reached King's Landing, Robert Baratheon flew into a rage upon the Iron Throne, his roars nearly lifting the roof off the hall. "Useless! Every last one of you! You couldn't stop the storm, but you couldn't even catch a few rotten ships?" He wanted nothing more than to lead the fleet himself and hunt the Targaryen remnants to the ends of the earth.
But the Small Council restrained his impulse. The newly appointed Hand of the King, Duke Jon Arryn, delivered a rebuttal that brooked no argument. "Your Grace, the Seven Kingdoms have only just emerged from war and desperately need time to recover and regroup. The nobles of the Reach have only recently submitted, and we must do our utmost to reassure them. House Martell of Dorne is still demanding that the 'murderers' be handed over for Princess Elia's death, and they will not yield. Moreover, the treasury is empty, and the Iron Bank's envoys are still waiting outside the Red Keep for an audience. Above all, Your Grace's wedding is imminent. The alliance with the Westerlands is vital, and we cannot afford to jeopardize it."
At the mention of marriage, Robert's expression darkened further, but he finally sank back onto the throne and took a great gulp of wine. He hated these compromises, yet had no choice but to accept them.
To punish Stannis, who had lost ships and men in the storm and returned in disgrace, and to place wealthy Storm's End in the hands of someone he trusted, Robert made a decision that set the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms whispering among themselves, though none opposed it: he elevated his young but much-loved youngest brother, Renly Baratheon, to Duke of Storm's End, while "granting" Stannis remote Dragonstone. It was an isolated island that had just been stripped bare, with nothing left but a black stone castle. Dragonstone's title was also reduced to duke, rather than the former title of "prince," which had signified a direct member of the royal line.
When Stannis received the decree bearing the Crowned Stag seal, not a muscle moved in his face. Only his tightly pressed lips grew paler, and the chill in his eyes deepened. His gaze lingered for a long time on the words "Duke of Dragonstone." He believed Robert was reminding him to know his place.
Three weeks of sailing across the Narrow Sea gradually swept away the lingering sense of storm and death. When the world-famous statue of the Titan of Braavos emerged from the sea mist, Viserys knew they had entered Braavosi waters.
The statue's feet rested upon two rocky fortresses, its lower body covered in dark seaweed and barnacles, as though it had grown from the seabed. As the fleet passed through the channel between its legs, everyone felt a suffocating weight bearing down on them. The Titan's hollow stone eyes gazed down from above, and its raised stone sword seemed poised to fall at any moment.
At the entrance to the channel, three slender Braavosi naval vessels blocked their way. Their hulls were painted deep blue and silver, and a Statue of Liberty stood at each prow.
"State your identity, your purpose, and the cargo aboard your ships!" an officer shouted from the bow.
Ser Willem Darry was clearly experienced in such matters. He stepped forward and answered, "We are a fleet of House Targaryen, come from Dragonstone to seek sanctuary and trade in Braavos. We carry passengers, personal possessions, and goods for trade."
The officer first murmured a few words to the men beside him, then scrutinized those aboard who were plainly dressed as warriors. Finally, he waved a hand and replied, "Braavos is open to all who obey its laws. Follow the pilot boat and berth at docks seven through twelve in the western section of Purple Harbor. Armed personnel may not enter the city without permission. That is an inviolable law of Braavos."
Passing through the Titan's gate, they saw the harbor of Braavos spread out before them.
The harbor's bustle far surpassed even King's Landing's, for merchant ships from every corner of the world came here to trade. Hundreds of vessels, large and small, crowded the waterways. The air mingled the fish market's stench with the scent of spices drifting from merchant ships and other odors beyond description.
The docks seethed with voices. Sailors, merchants, porters, prostitutes, thieves... people of every sort mingled together. Viserys saw a dark-skinned merchant from the Summer Isles selling feathered cloaks, while beside him a man from Pentos hawked daggers that would "never rust." Farther away, a squad of guards who looked like Unsullied escorted several heavy chests, their steps perfectly synchronized and their faces expressionless.
They disembarked at the assigned berths. As their feet touched the solid docks, many of the soldiers visibly relaxed. Three weeks of pitching and rolling had finally come to an end. Viserys knew, however, that the trials ahead had only just begun.
Before long, a squad of guards in gray-green uniforms arrived at the docks. Leading them was a lean Braavosi official who introduced himself as the "Assistant Harbor Master."
"Prince Viserys," he said, bowing slightly with impeccable courtesy, "His Majesty the Sealord has learned of your arrival and invites you to visit the Sealord's Palace as his guest. You may bring a small number of attendants."
Viserys therefore took Ser Arthur, Ser Alliser, and a group of trusted followers with him, following the official to visit the ruler of this city. He left Ser Jon behind to protect the women aboard the ships and instructed Ser Willem to find a tract of land outside the city large enough to house them all. They would be staying here and putting down roots.
After walking with the official for a short while, Viserys caught sight of the Sealord's Palace. It was not a palace at all, but an enormous flat-bottomed ship, permanently moored in the circular waterway before the Moon Singer Temple. Its hull was made of deep-purple cedar, carved with patterns of waves and mysterious creatures.
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