Lyonel stepped aside to let one of his sailors, drunk on wine and victory, stagger passed, a woman Lyonel hoped was his wife on his arm, giggling. The celebrations had lasted long into the evening when they returned to Dragonstone. The sailors and marines joining the archers and merchants and townsfolk of the coastal villages, his mother sent down food and drink for them all. One night of freedom for them. But not Lyonel. He couldn't.

"Are you sure you want us to stay here?" Rennic asked?

"I am," Lyonel said, smiling at his captain as he made his way up the beach, away from the archers' camp. "You should stay, your men acquitted themselves well, and you should be with them. Besides, this is my home, I'll be safe here."

Rennic didn't look convinced, but conceded. "Alright then, my prince. Will we see you later?"

"I doubt it," Lyonel said. "I suspect my mother will want me for a while, I'll sleep in the castle, but I'll see you again tomorrow."

"We don't get one day off?"

Lyonel held back a smirk. "The war's not over, captain. There's a lot still to do."

"And we'll be right at your side, prince Lyonel," Rennic bowed when they reached the carved stone steps that led up to the castle.

As he ascended, the sounds from the camp fell away into silence. He slowed his pace, relishing it. Days and weeks at sea did not allow for silence. But he had somewhere to be. The guard on the door let him in without a word. The castle was quiet, the staff having returned home for the evening. Against the orange sky, the black carved dragons and gargoyles hung back, hiding in the darkness, casting harmless shadows on the stone courtyard.

Ignoring them, he made his way to his mother's chambers.

"We lost thirteen ships in the battle, but we more than made up for it with what we took. Sixty-five ships taken, and from what I can work out from my captains, at least ninety-one sunk."

His mother nodded, looking down at the various papers strewn across her desk. "That's well over half the Redwyne Fleet," she surmised, picking out one of the sheets. "If your father's numbers from his time as Master of Ships are correct."

"Might they not be?"

Myrielle put the paper down and rubbed her eyes. "Possibly. Lord Redwyne might have under reported his numbers, but I doubt he has substantially more, or else he would have brought them with him." She got up and looked out the window. "I think we can be satisfied that any major threat to our home has been eliminated now," she said. "How many of the captured ships do you think you can bring into our own fleet?"

"We'll need new crews for them," Lyonel said. "Most of Lord Redwyne's sailors have families back on the Arbor, they won't sail with us, even offers of silver don't persuade them." They'd have to go home eventually, and Lord Redwyne would never forgive that, they'd face retribution. Unless his father stripped Lord Redwyne of the Arbor, but he couldn't authorise that himself.

"Do we have enough men left to crew them?" His mother asked. "You've recruited most of the able bodied men into your archer regiments."

"And with the war at sea won, at least for now, I don't want to divert men into the fleet from the army," Lyonel said.

"So then," she turned to him eyebrow raised. "What are you planning to do?"

Lyonel stiffened, another test. "We can't keep them here, we don't have the supplies to house and feed the prisoners. I was going to suggest giving them four ships and allowing them to sail home."

"Four ships?"

"Yes. I've identified the four least valuable ships we took. They should be able to hold all of the prisoners and take them back to the Arbor."

"Is that wise?"

"It's that or they starve in captivity. Better that they leave, knowing how thoroughly we defeated them, spreading that knowledge. Besides, only four ships won't be able to resist us. I'll send a squadron to escort them as far south as Dorne and the Stepstones, they can make it the rest of the way themselves."

Myrielle smiled, "very well then. I consent to that plan. The other ships?"

"We'll crew as many as we can, the rest can be used as reserves or broken up if we need."

"It seems like you've thought of everything," his mother said. She stepped up to him and stroked his cheek softly. Her eyes softened, glistening with tears. She bent his head down and kissed his brow softly before pulling him into a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you, Lyonel," she whispered. "I couldn't ask for a finer son."

"I owe it to you, to Shireen," he replied. "You forced me out of my hole." He almost cringed at what he had become after the Blackwater. Such a weak, pathetic man. But now, in the bay where he had suffered his first defeat, he had achieved the greatest naval victory since the Battle of Fair Isle. The gods must have forgiven him, or else this would have been another defeat on his record. "And to father, too, he taught me everything I know about war."

His mother squeezed him tightly. "You've more than made up for those days, they're behind you now. Just make sure they never come back."

"Never," he promised.

They stepped apart reluctantly. "What are your plans now?"

He'd given it some thought. While his crew celebrated the victory, Lyonel had thought on what must come next. The war wasn't won with their victory on the seas, they still had a lot of work to do if his father was to take his rightful place as the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. But they were no longer on the defensive. "If you agree, I'll call back my soldiers from Massey's Hook, we no longer need them there. Instead, I plan to invade Crackclaw Point."

"Why Crackclaw Point?" His mother didn't disapprove, she just wanted to hear his explanation.

"From Crackclaw Point I can establish a firm foothold from which to march on King's Landing from the north. And Crackclaw Point hasn't yet been touched by the war, we'll be able to live off the land there. Our victory at sea has saved our islands, from invasion, and allows us to keep blockading the capital, but I don't want to try and force the Rush again. We can do it, but it's a risk we need not take."

"And if they respond to your invasion in force?"

"If it's too strong, I'll retreat on the ships, if not, I'll meet it in battle. Between the forces we saved and our new recruits, with all the training we've put them through. I believe that I can win against a force of equal size to my own."

His mother smiled at him. "Well, it sounds like you've got everything planned out," she said. "When do you go?"

"Not immediately. We need to replenish our arrow stores, as well as prepare initial supplies for the invasion. But I don't want to wait too long and give them them chance to prepare."

"That sounds sensible," his mother said, cupping his cheek softly. "In the meantime though, I think you can go now. I know young men don't want to include their mother in their post victory celebrations. Particularly not when there is a very beautiful woman they'd rather be spending their time with." Her eyebrow raised, coyly. "It's getting late, you should hurry if you want to catch Lady Amalia before she turns in. Although she may well be waiting for you."

"Why would she be waiting for him?" He hoped she was, but then she hadn't come down to meet the ships when they disembarked. Her father told him that she was overwhelmed with work.

Myrielle sighed. "Because she's a beautiful woman who knows the effect she has on you," she said. "Not that I'm surprised, if only I'd had a body like hers at her age."

"Mother!"

"Just be careful, Lyonel, be sure she doesn't take too much from you?"

"What would she take from me?"

"Lyonel, you're a prince, everyone wants something from you. You just need to make sure you are willing to give it."

"Even Amalia?"

"Everyone," his mother confirmed. "And be on your guard around her. Curiously I trust her, which I never expected to when I first saw you gawping at her."

He flushed red. "I didn't gawp."

"You gawped," she said firmly. "I know it, and she knows it. And a woman that clever is very well aware that a beautiful woman can get a young man to do a lot of things, particularly if he's not used to the attention. Which, let's be honest Lyonel, you aren't."

He clenched his jaw tightly. "I'm not going to just ignore her, or stop seeing her?"

His mother smiled knowingly. "I wouldn't ask you to, I want you to be happy and I think she brings you that happiness. So go on, go to her rooms," she took her seat back at her desk. "I have a little more work I have to do."

He nodded. "Goodnight mother."

"I think yours will be better," his mother told him with a smirk. "I'll instruct the servants not to raise the pair of you before noon. Have fun."

Outside the room Lyonel scoffed, his face still burning at his mother's urging. "Have fun," he muttered. After a few seconds he turned on his heel and hurried to Amalia's chambers.

There was no hesitation this time, as soon as he got to the door he knocked on it smartly.

She opened it seconds later, smiling at the sight of him, her ambers skin and dark hair framed by a light from the fire. "I wondered if you would come tonight," she said, smiling broadly. "So, do you want to tell me that you've come home, or do you want to come in."

Lyonel took a breath. "I want you," he said, stepping into the room and pulling her in for a kiss. She seemed taken aback for a moment before wrapping herself around him and probing his lips with her tongue. With one hand she shoved the door closed.

After they parted Amalia looked up at him, eyebrow raised. "Clearly you do," she sounded impressed. "So, you want me? How do you want me?"

Lyonel looked her up and down, feasting on her curves that were visible beneath her clothes. "I want what's under those," he said.

His heart hammered against his chest as she silently unlaced the dress and let it pool on the floor.

Now he was gawping. Beneath her dress, Amalia was wearing, well, not so much under clothes as strategically placed strips of silk. It hid just enough to be tantalising while revealing the swells and curves that made him harden in moments. "You were waiting for me."

"Well you did say you would come back," she pointed out, tracing her fingers down the curve of her breast. "I'll admit, I'm pleasantly surprised you came today, I thought I might have to wait until tomorrow."

He moved on her. Amalia struck an alluring pose, following him with her eyes as he circled her. "How could I stay away, the memories you gave me may have been enough on a boat, but now I'm back, I need you."

"Need?" She asked, her voice purring.

"Yes?" he said. "Battle stirs a man, the danger th-"

"Darling," she cut in, turning to him with a finger raised. "I told you I had things to teach you, one of them is this: I am perfectly happy to talk with you about battles, personally I find them fascinating, but they are not appropriate when trying to talk to a woman in the bedroom."

"They aren't?" He asked, before he could stop himself.

She sighed. "What it is about men that makes you think that talk of blood and slaughter is going to get a woman in the mood? If I were to tell you about the last time I had my woman's bleeding, would that put you in the mood?" He swallowed. No it wouldn't.

Not waiting for his reply she sauntered over, her hips swaying. "Here, this will put you in the mood," she took his hand and placed it on her hip. "Touch me, gently."

He ran his fingers over her form, tracing every curve, savouring every bit of flesh. She slid herself against him from behind, pushing her behind into his hips "Kiss me." He leant down and kissed the soft curve of her neck. She turned gracefully in his arms and kissed him full on the mouth, working her body against his in all sorts of wonderful ways. All too quickly she pulled away. "Take those off and join me in bed," she said. But as she turned he grabbed her wrist holding her fast.

She looked at his hand, then up at him, eyebrow raised. "You undress me," he told her.

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "As you wish," she said.

She worked her hands over him and in seconds had cast his shirt aside. As she had before, she leant up and pressed a gentle kiss to his greyscale scars, while her hands continued their work. Soon he was before her, naked as the day he was born. "Impressive," she told him, looking him up and down. "Most impressive."

He pulled her into him, kissing her fiercely, their tongues dueling before he slipped it into her mouth, exploring her. He ran his hands over her body, stroking her hips, one hand teasing her breast, making her moan in delight. Her own hands traced his muscled flesh, one of them coming between his legs to tease his hardness with firm strokes.

Somehow the two of them made it to her bed where she stepped back. "I want you," he hissed, stepping forward, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"How much do you want me?" She asked him.

"So much," he said. He needed her, now.

"Well then," she said, circling him until his back was to the bed. "You have me." She gave him a hard shove and he fell back onto the covers.

He looked up to see the strands of silk falling to the floor as she pounced, settling herself on top of him. "All of me," she promised.