MC'S POV
I sat on a creaky chair inside a rain-soaked tent, the air thick with the smell of wet canvas and muddy earth. A map of the Stormlands spread out across a wooden table. My eyes followed the bend of the River near Felwood, but my thoughts were far away.
Four years, I thought, I have been in this world for four years.
I was James, a high school kid dodging algebra homework, watching TikTok clips in class.
Now I'm Stannis Baratheon, commanding an army, plotting a war. Sadly, no superpowers came with this reincarnation. Worse, I ignored my friends' advice to watch Game of Thrones. My knowledge of Westeros was from Facebook posts, TikTok clips and from my friends who were fans of Game of Thrones.
It was a car crash that ended my life as James. The last thing I remember is the sound of the tires screeching, a flash of pain, then nothing.
Then I woke in Storm's End as fourteen years old Stannis Baratheon, the day of his parents' funeral, Steffon and Cassana Baratheon, lost to a shipwreck.
It is good that I knew the main events: Robert, my brother now, would win this rebellion and claim the Iron Throne. Ned Stark would die at Joffrey's hands, a bastard born of incest, sparking a war to tear the realm apart. Jon was Rhaegar and Lyanna's son. Daenerys would hatch dragons. Robb Stark would be betrayed at his wedding by Bolton and the Freys and would be killed.
And the Night King, an ice creature who can raise corpses, would invade from beyond the Wall. But those were distant events. If I don't win this battle, I might not live to see them.
In the original story, during Robert's rebellion, Stannis held Storm's End against the Tyrells, starving until he had to eat rats. I am not going to repeat it. I needed to make a name in this war, prove I'm worth keeping as Lord of Storm's End.
Establishing a strong reputation would secure the Stormlands for me when Robert inevitably dies, making it easier to forge alliances. For four years, I'd poured my old life's scraps into strengthening the Stormlands. I'm no genius, no engineer or chemist. While gunpowder or tanks would have been ideal, all I had were memories of YouTube and TikTok clips: how to make whiskey, vodka, brandy, ice cream and other things. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
Whiskey, brandy, and vodka, which I produced, have become incredibly popular across Westeros. I'm even planning to start producing tequila next. I found a plant in Dorne, which I need to create tequila.
My whiskey, "Storm's Fire," has spread like wildfire throughout the Stormlands, from the rough taverns of Rainwood to the noble halls of Tarth, bringing in serious profit. Vodka has become a popular trend in the north, consistently shipped by my trade fleet over the years. As for ice cream, winter just ended, and I am planning to introduce it next year. Brandy has struggled to gain popularity outside of the Reach, but I'm determined to find a way to make it popular.
I've started building Roman-style roads based on a clip I watched on TikTok in my previous life. So far, I've constructed just a few kilometres around Storm's End to enable quick troop movements. However, after the war, I plan to extend these roads all the way from Storm's End to King's Landing, connecting us to the capital.
I've successfully stocked ice, and as winter comes to an end, I am ready to put it to good use this summer. Using the profits I generated from this business, I formed a small army that I proudly named Stormguards. All of this has been built for this moment.
Robert?
Robert is a stranger to me. I first awoke during his parents' funeral, but he was soon gone, off to the Eyrie to see Jon Arryn and his friend, Ned Stark. In the four years since, I have seen him only once, a short visit during which he sulked about missing Ned before leaving again. He didn't return until three months ago, when the rebellion began. He crushed loyalists in three battles near Summerhall. Then, at Ashford, he was ambushed by Randyll Tarly but escaped to march for the Riverlands to join Hoster Tully.
"My lord, may we enter?" I heard from outside the tent.
"Come in," I said, straightening.
Two men stepped inside. The first was Davos Seaworth, his eyes filled with loyalty. In my past life, a friend had told me about Stannis and Davos. In the original story, Davos was Stannis's only friend and loyal right hand. So, I tracked him down to the grimy docks of King's Landing, where he was involved in smuggling goods. I offered him a job, and slowly we became friends. Now, Davos leads my fleet of twenty trade ships, carrying whiskey and vodka across the Narrow Sea, and he has become my most trusted ally.
"My lord," Davos said, voice low, "the scout has news."
The scout, a wiry guy with rain-soaked hair, spoke up.
"Lord Tyrell's army, thirty thousand strong, is a day's march away."
My hand gripped the map, Felwood's pass glaring back like a challenge. Thirty thousand against my three thousand. The Tyrells were coming.
I'm not the Stannis who sat and starved, I thought, I'll make my name, or I'll break trying.
I glanced at the scout, his rain-soaked hair clinging to his face, eyes heavy from the ride.
"Go," I said. "Eat, rest, and ready yourself for battle."
He nodded sharply and slipped out, boots squishing in the mud. I turned to Davos, his face steady, eyes bright with Loyalty.
"Gather my captains," I said.
Davos bowed his head and stepped out of the tent into the rain, leaving me with the map and my thoughts.
Captains, I thought, a spark of pride cutting through the tension. Each led five hundred men, and my army, the StormGuards, was no ordinary Westerosi force, no rabble of Robert's bannermen.
Everything I built was mine, not Robert's. The trade fleet, the whiskey stills, the vodka vats, everything came from my efforts, free from his claim.
After Robert's departure, I could have taken gold from the vaults of Storm's End. Robert was off chasing whores in the Eyrie with Ned Stark, and I was ruling the Stormlands. But I didn't do that. Instead, I asked him for a loan, promising to repay it, and he agreed with a careless shrug. That coin sparked the creation of "Storm's Fire," my whiskey, and the vodka that won the hearts of the North. As the profits grew, I expanded my business. I paid Robert back every coin so that he would have no claim over what I had made.
This is mine, I thought, and mine alone.
When Robert returned a month ago, having just defeated the loyalists at Gulltown, he summoned his banners and demanded everything: men, grain, and gold. I gave everything that belonged to Storm's End, but I withheld my soldiers and food. He wanted those as well.
"They're mine!" he roared, face flushed, claiming they were his as Lord of Storm's End, me, just a second son didn't have any claim on them. I didn't flinch.
"They're mine, Robert," I said, voice like iron. "Paid with my coin, trained by my orders."
Maester Cressen backed me, his archives showing every stag spent on their armor, horses, and training. Robert raged, insisting he needed them more, but when he saw I wouldn't bend, he threw up his hands and stormed off.
My army stays with me, I thought.
The tent flap rustled, and Davos returned, six captains filing in behind him. Their cloaks dripped rain, but their eyes burned with determination.
I studied the captains, second, third and bastard sons of Stormlands lords, men like Ser Rolland Storm and young Bryce Caron. No heirs here, just hungry blades eager to prove their worth. They were my steel, as much mine as the three thousand men they led: five hundred archers, five hundred infantry, two thousand heavy cavalry, clad in steel, lances gleaming, horses bred for war, trained, armed, and loyal to me alone, forged by my will and my coin.
Stormguards were split into six groups of five hundred.
"Sit," I said, voice steady. They took their places around the table, Davos at my side. The map lay between us.
"The Tyrells are a day away," I began. "Thirty thousand, led by Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly. We'll break them here."
I tapped the river, where it narrowed near Felwood.
"We've dammed the river upstream. When Mace and Tarly lead their vanguard over, we destroy the dam." I traced a line where the water would surge. "The flood will sweep the bridge and their middle ranks away, drown their horses and men."
The captains leaned in, eyes sharp.
"Catapults are hidden in the hills," I continued, pointing to ridges overlooking the pass.
"Five hundred archers are positioned with the troops. When the dam bursts, they will unleash stones and arrows on the Tyrells' main force, creating chaos. The flood will divide their army, some will be trapped on our side, while others will be stranded across the river."
I paused, letting it sink in.
"Then our cavalry strikes." I nodded to Ser Rolland, whose five hundred riders were my hammer.
"Two thousand horse, four groups, will charge their broken lines from two sides, two groups from the mountains and the other two from the forest. Hit hard, hit fast. The infantry, five hundred strong, will follow, cleaning up what's left. Archers and catapults will keep firing at the tyrels left on the other side of the river, killing as many as possible."
Bryce Caron shifted, his voice eager. "And their captives, my lord?"
"Take them alive," I said, voice cold. "Especially lords. Mace Tyrell, Randyll Tarly, a every lord or heir, you can seize. Prisoners are worth more than corpses. They'll bend the Reach to us and their ransoms will fill our coffers." The captains nodded, their faces set.
"Prepare your men," I said, rising. "We move at dawn." The captains stood, saluting in Roman style, and filed out, Davos lingering a moment, his nod a silent vow. I turned back to the map. I'm gonna win.