"Is the fleet ready?" Lyonel asked Ser Davos.
"They are, my prince. They will move as soon as the boom is down."
Lyonel nodded. The Lannisters had had this battle the way they wanted it for too long. Hit and run techniques and an assault under cover of darkness, these worked in favour of their smaller fleet. No longer. Now they would take the entire Lannister fleet head on. True enough, inside the Rush, they would not be able to bring their full numbers to bear on the enemy, they could only float twenty ships abreast, but their momentum should be sufficient to carry them up the rush, smashing into the enemy. His first two lines were made up of ten lighter vessels each. Many of his nobles on his biggest warships had petitioned to be the hard fist that broke the enemy apart. But he"d shot them down. In order to counter his attack, the Lannisters would put their largest, most powerful ships in the front rank. His swifter vessels would dart around them and attack the lighter enemy vessels in the rear, then his heavier ships, led by his own vessel in the Fury would board and seize the greatest enemy warships, pushing the Lannisters back up the Rush. When the mouth of the Rush was cleared and the enemy pushed all the way back down the throat of the enemy, then his rear vessels would send out the longboats, retrieve his father's host and land them on the northern bank, ready to take the city. If the quays were available, they could even land some of the bigger ships, but this commander knew what he was doing. It was likely that before they chain was broken they would sink some of their lesser vessels to block the Quays from them. If he had any left after the fire ship assault.
The memory of that left bile in his throat. They had come in the black of night and sent fire ships steaming towards his anchored vessels. Six ships, two commandeered ones, one of the Lyseni ships and three of his own warships, Pride, Lord Steffon and Humility had burned. Other ships were damaged as they steered away from the fire ships and collided with each other. No doubt the enemy hoped it would be more successful, it was an attack that seemed to have been planned hastily, all fire ships coming from one direction, rather than several at once, but it was yet another moment of his failure. This was his fleet, and he was losing it.
"And the men in the north?"
"Dale is getting ready to sail even now, my Prince."
He nodded. "Good, and the attack force?"
"Sea Stag, Lady Cassanna, Prayer, Eternal Sentinel and five transports are ready to attack. Lady Cassanna and Prayer will provide support with archers while the longboats from the other vessels attack." He paused. "My prince... are you sure you wish to lead the attack yourself? There is no need."
"There is, Ser Davos," he replied. He said no more to the knight. So far it seemed that everything had been going against him. He had to see if the gods had determined that he should lose this battle. The assault on the tower was certain to succeed. He had four hundred determined soldiers, complete with aid from aboard the ships. Against him was a small garrison of perhaps fifty. He couldn't lose... unless the gods themselves intervened on behalf of the defenders. Would they? Was this to be his punishment? But if he was successful, then it would show him that the gods were not punishing them. "The attack will go ahead as planned, and I will lead it."
Ser Davos knew when he shouldn't speak further and held his tongue. Lyonel slipped his bow onto his back and climbed over the edge of the ship, moving down towards the skiff that would carry him and his attack force towards the tower. "Begin!" He called and the rowers flexed their muscles and began pulling them away from the warships and into the shallow waters.
The splashing of oars was all they could hear as they moved towards the ominous tower of stone , standing tall in the water like a spear. The first huge links of the chain dipped slipped into the water to the west before becoming obscured beneath the waves.
The first arrow shot through the air and plopped into the water, bobbing on the waves like a twing beside the first skiff. The rest soon followed. Arrow after arrow shot from every window towards the oncoming attack boats. "Faster!" He ordered and the rowers sped up, those that weren't rowing held their shields high to cover their faces from incoming arrows. He notched an arrow to his bow and took several deep breaths, watching the tower intently, they had been rapidly thrown up, not castles that had been developed and upgraded over years and centuries. There were weaknesses, there had to be, something he could exploit. There! The arrow slits, they weren't slits at all, slim and thin, they were windows, and wide enough for him to exploit. He waited until he identified one where arrows were coming from. He raised his bow and loosed the arrow, notching another immediately as it slid through the air and in through the roughly hewn gap in the tower.
The rower to his right was hit by a crossbow bolt in the chest and the entire boat jerked as the oar beats were suddenly made uneven. "Take that oar!" He commanded and one of his men hauled the body overboard and took his place. Thankfully his boat was least targeted, two had already set alight on the stony ground at the base of the tower and were racing for cover under a hail of arrows and bolts.
His boat juddered to a halt against the stones and he leapt out, his men at arms following closely, the rowers scrambling over the edge after them. By now the first boatloads had crossed a small moat towards the tower, many foes lying fallen about the tower. At the base of the tower they were crowded around the door, two of them hacking at it with longaxes while the rest held their shields up against the steady enemy assault. "Forward, to the tower!" They charged forwards, none concerned about their allies, only intent on reaching the base of the tower where they could expect a little reprieve from the attacks from above. The door was starting to splinter under the hammering of axes. He notched another arrow and waited, looking up at the window above. When a crossbow stuck out, he raised his bow and loosed, the arrow flying up and punching through the loading arm of the weapon, rendering it useless.
Finally, with a crack, the door sundered apart. "For King Stannis!" He roared.
"King Stannis!" His men replied and forced their way into the tower.
The spiralling staircase was hard to fight up, but his men had come prepared. The path up was barely wide enough for two people to pass, so the two men at the front had been given tower shields, blocking any attack from coming down at them, while the men behind held spears in two hands to range beyond the shield and land a killing blow where possible. Slowly but steadily they forced their way up the tower. Every time they came to a side room four or five men from behind the spearmen would break off and clear it of Lannister opposition. By the time they had reached the top, the last two dozen Lannister soldiers had lain down their arms and surrendered.
"My Prince," Ser Ondrew bowed to him at the top of the tower, where the winch for the great chain was operated from.
"How many men did we lose?"
"A hundred dead, another hundred wounded, most can be patched up to join the main battle, some need more treatment though."
He nodded. "See that they get it, they fought well today."
"My Prince," he bowed again. "On your word we can ruin the winch, keep the chain down until repaired. And what do we do with the prisoners?"
He glanced at the window, the few survivors from the Lannister soldiers who had actually fought like lions were being held fast. "Ensure they are treated well, I want none of them being thrown overboard when we get back to the fleet, understand?"
He nodded. "Of course, my prince."
"Good, then I should get back to the ships, the battle won't win itself, and the Lannisters will have noticed this commotion, we need to give them as little time to prepare as possible."
He left Ser Ondrew to deal with business at the tower and boarded the first ship back to his flagship. On the way there he closed his eyes and gave a silent prayer, thanking the gods for the victory. He was doing something right, he knew it, the gods were on their side, if not why let them in to attack the Lannisters in the first place. No, the gods were with them.
When he swung over the gunwales he was met by Marric. "Victory my lord?"
He nodded. "If the gods remain with us, only the first of the day. Are the ships ready?"
"They are," Marric said.
"Then there's no time to waste, send out the signal, I want the fleet moving before the Lannisters have too much time to prepare."
As Marric moved to give the order, he made his way to the back of the ship, past bundles of arrows and racks of scorpion bolts. When he got there he let a smile grace his features as he looked over his fleet. A forest of masts and sails stretched out far beyond what he could see, warships with hardened crews standing to attention on the decks, their flags fluttering in the air and the marines on board ready to do battle in the waters of the rush. Beyond them he could just make out the tell tale signs of wide bottomed transport ships, many crowded with the first wave of soldiers to land on the north bank of the river with more ready to turn south and collect his father's army. They would unfold like a paper rose made for a lover, and they would release the scent of victory into the air, and they would all breathe deeply by the end of the day.
The drums beat out across the waves as the ships advanced, the transports from behind were lagging a little, the weight or armoured spearmen and knights who would be the first to disembark and engage the enemy. The lordlings and their retinues would be a solid toehold on the northern bank to cover the crossing by the main force of his father's host, and also was an easy way to keep those with no experience of warfare on the waves from command of his ships - few lords could resist the lure of first blood. Lyonel knew that his place was at the prow of the ship, not the rear, so he tore his eyes away from his fleet and moved to direct the attack.
Beyond the Rush he saw it all. His enemy's fleet, the bees that had stung him so repeatedly were gathering and readying themselves to meet him in the rush, the black Baratheon Stag that the Lannisters had usurped flew from their masts. He glanced up at his own sails. His father's new sigil, the red heart was everywhere, but the small black stag imprisoned on the flames was barely visible from the very ship it flew from, let alone the wall. Robert was beloved, flying his banner might bring them loyalists, this new banner would only serve to turn men against them. But no matter, once they were victorious, people would remember who the true Baratheons were.
"Keep pushing, double speed on the oars, we need to drive their fleet as far upstream as possible, clear the Rush!" He ordered. Marric relayed them to the oars and they rose and fell harder and faster.
On the south bank his father's army was in a flurry of action. Thousands of men were forming into ranks and columns beneath hundreds of streaming banners while others dragged rafts down to the shore to load up the second wave of soldiers to support those coming from the fleet. He could almost see the agitation from the wait for the battle. They had seen their fellows shipped off north of the city to prepare to attack it while they were left behind. Now they had to watch as the fleet too the first bite out of the enemy. "Ready arms!" He ordered as they slid into the rush. The scorpions were swivelled to the front of the ship and the catapults cranked low and loaded with heavy stones. "Launch!"
With a great thrum scorpion bolts and boulders were hurled towards the enemy fleet as the battle on the Rush began.
