He held his breath as the longboat slipped into the bay under the shadow of the night's sky. It was one of fity small boats, each carrying around twenty men to Fair Isle to join the host gathering there. Just inside the safety of the headlands, the boats halted, rocking gently on the waves. The spread of clouds make fingers of pale moonlight illuminate specks of the sea and tufts of the land, but most of it was covered by night's pall. They waited, they couldn't go, not yet, they had to be sure. The knights around him fidgeted, gripping their swords tightly, their armour daubed with dirt to prevent a glint allerting unwanted eyes to their coming. Loren had left his jeweled scabbard behind at Casterly Rock, taking a plain mahogany case for his blade. He had wrapped leather loosely around the golden hilt for the same purpose. It was of the utmost importance that they not be detected, circumstance had forced him to act without the force or time he would have liked, secrecy was the factor that would tip risk into victory.
He stared ahead, looking at the coast, hearing nothing but the lapping of the waves against the wood of the boat, the creaking of wood and the rasp of nervous breath steaming the air before him. He felt Tyland begin to shake and reached out to take his wrist, squeezing reassuringly. He kept his eyes fixed on the beach ahead. Had they failed, were the ironmen becoming too observant? Had it failed all along? Was Gerold beneath the waves with the rest of his army?
A hand gripped his left shoulder and squeezed twice. Good, he relaxed just a little. Nothing else? Where was the other hand? They had to wait for all of it before they advanced. They had to be sure. His right shoulder, two squeezes. Now it was just on him. He focussed, nothing mattered except the beach. There it was. An orange light, dancing in the darkness. He blinked, then closed his eyes, shook his head and opened them. It was still there. "Pull the ropes," he said. Giving a few seconds to allow the rope to be pulled, signalling the advance to the other longboats either side, who would further pass the message on. "Row."
The oars dipped and the boats finned forwards, the oars carrying them against the receding tide into the bay and up to the beach. His heart was hammering as the bottom of the boat nudged the shallow bed of stones and shingle. Quickly, as they had been instructed, the men leapt out, one of them slipping and splashing into the surf. He quickly regained his footing and helped pull the boat up onto the beach to make way for the boats behind. When they were mostly out, Loren and two others raced back as quietly as they could to help pull up the rest of the boats. When the last wave of boats were pulling into the harbour, Loren marched over to the still flickering light of the lamp, his boots crunching unnaturally loudly on the sand. "Gerold," he smiled, embracing his friend tightly.
"Good to see you my lord. Any trouble in the crossing."
"None, you?"
"We made it, just."
"What do you mean, just?"
"We were spotted, but we killed the witness before he could report anything, and the ironmen have done nothing to suggest that they know we're here."
"The body?"
Gerold gestured out to sea, "back with his god."
Loren nodded. "Good." If they'd been seen… He looked back at the beach, the last men were pulling ashore, the boats being carried up by the soldiers. "Where do we put the boats?"
"We'll have to take them with us, this way." He made a signal with his lamp up towards the headland either side of the bay, and Loren knew the two lamps that had been signalled up there were being doused. Loren took up a boat again, many of the men grumbling as they did so as well. "This way, lord, follow closely."
Gerold led them up the beach and through the dunes. They kept to a winding path, the dunes rising either side of them. He saw shadows on the sand. "Gerold, the dunes!" He hissed.
"My men, Gerold replied, they'll keep watch, come, hurry." He nodded, following his knight. The strain of the boat on his shoulders was bearing down on him. Gerold led them to a small cluster of buildings, where a small group of peasants awaited them. Gerold shook the arm of the leader of them, a strongly built woman with hard features and soft eyes. Gerold gestured for him and he passed his part of the boat to another and approached. "Lord Loren, this is Lucia, she and her people have agreed to hide our boats.
Lucia bowed and the others followed suit. "Ser Gerold promised that you would get rid of the ironmen."
He nodded. "I will, that is my oath."
"You can keep the boats around here," she said, gesturing to the buildings. "It's a bit tight, but we'll keep 'em hidden m'lord."
Loren nodded. "Just tell my men where to put them." Lucia and the other women, and they were all women, guided the men down a small hillock and into the buildings, some were positioned around them and covered in heavy tarpaulins. This had to be where the local fishermen kept their vessels when not at sea.
The men jostled, the boats collided, the women swore, but eventually everything was in place and everyone returned looking a little worse for wear. Lucia and her women returned and Loren pulled out a coin pouch, passing each of the women two silver coins each. "Thank you for your assistance."
Lucia didn't question the coin and bowed again. "Thank you m'lord. It's the least we could do after those iron bastards took our boats."
"They stole your boats?"
Lucia nodded, her soft eyes hardening to match her features. "Aye, all of them, and with the men at war there was no one to stop them my daughter Tomissa she… tried, they took her."
Loren reached out and placed a hand tentatively on her shoulder. "If she's alive, I'll bring her back. If she's not, I'll avenge her." He should have been here to stop this in the first place.
Lucia nodded. "Thank you, m'lord."
"My lord, we must go if we're to reach the hideouts in time."
Loren nodded. "Let's move."
Gerold led them further on from the villager's hut, towards another edge of the coast, into a gulley and down into a system of caves, where more men were waiting for them. "This is an old smuggler's cave system. It was cleared out by your father during your grandfather's time. Now it's ours we figured we'd put it to use."
Loren smiled. "Very good." The men filed into the cave system. It was a cramped fit. "Is everyone here?"
Gerold shook his head. "No, we have some men in the hills to the north with the horses and some in woods to the west, keeping an eyes on the ironmen main forces."
Loren nodded. "We should make preparations, we have to fight this battle soon, time is not on our side."
()()()
He had called Gerold and his Alysanne to him as soon as he had received the raven. He had to put the message down to stop himself from crumpling it in anger. "What is it my lord?"
"The Starks have invaded the Reach," he told her, keeping his voice low. This was a Lannister castle and he had dismissed the servants, but still, who knew who could be listening. "They have cut the roseroad and seized supplies making for the capital. Willas Tyrell requests our army move south to assist in the defence of Highgarden, while his father prepares to move west from King's Landing to re-open the road."
"Lord Tyrell," Alysanne said, her lips thinning. "Is marching against Robb Stark?"
"Apparently it is not King Robb, but his brother who leads them. Still, if he's anything like his brother, Lord Tyrell is marching into a very dangerous situation." He stared at the message intently. He had hoped for more time to dispense with the ironmen, another month, two, but it seemed they would have to move far more quickly. "We need to defeat the ironmen now. I don't trust Lord Mace to win the war for the south alone, but I can't abandon the Westerlands now I'm here.
"Shall we form a new plan, put the fleet to sea?"
Loren shook his head. "No, we carry on with our plan, but we do it quicker. How many men have we shipped across to Fair Isle?"
"Two thousand, more or less."
"Over the course of the last week," Alysanne added, "to do so quicker risks discovery."
Loren nodded. "We'll have to do the rest in the next two nights. Gerold, tonight you'll take the remaining reachmen across. I don't want them hearing of the Stark invasion and losing heart. I'll bring the rest across tomorrow night."
"The same way?"
"Yes, scouts on the beach and headland to watch for the ironmen, then we hide them on the island as we prepare to strike. And I'll need you to find me somewhere to hide the boats, I'll need every man for the battle I can't lose men because they're guarding the boats or rowing them back home."
"I'll do what I can, my lord."
"Good, make preparations." Gerold bowed and left the room.
"This is a great risk, my lord," Alysanne told him.
He nodded, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. "I know, but it's a risk I must take."
"I know."
They sat awkwardly. "Bring the children, I'll tell them tonight that I'm going away."
"Again."
"Again."
Slowly she reached out and brushed his hand with her fingers. "You're going to come back."
"I hope so."
"No, you are going to come back." She laced her fingers around his and held his hand firmly. "You have not been a perfect husband, but I never lost faith in you as a soldier. You will defeat the ironmen, because you are the best soldier I know, and because I know you wouldn't dare leave the children under your own father's care."
He gripped her hand back. "Never."
She nodded and got to her feet. "Plan whatever attack you need to, my lord, then come to me tonight." She turned and left him alone to plan whatever he could for the battle for Fair Isle.
()()()
"My lord, there is something I have to show you," Gerold said, as they approached the back of the cave, lit by lanterns hanging on the wall. Four guards stood around a trio of bearded men, swords, axes and round shields discarded to one side. He recognised the sigil they wore. Blacktyde, Drumm and Harlaw, ironmen.
"Prisoners?"
"Not exactly."
"You bastard," one of them hissed, moving on Gerold but his path was blocked by one of the guards' spears. "You told us that you would be resting last night then attacking today. You told us to raid to the north and you would attack!"
Gerold nodded. "I did tell you that, eagerly. And you kept your word and didn't lead your people here to butcher us in the night." Loren smiled. No doubt his knight had plenty of guards stationed just in case. "And now I know you are not deceiving me, I can introduce you to my lord." He turned and bowed allowing Loren to step forward.
"I am Loren Lannister, the King's Marshal, and you are?"
"Baelor Blacktyde, Lord of Blacktyde," said one of the men, not the one who had moved on Gerold.
"Harras Harlaw, heir to Harlaw," said the aggressive one.
The last of them didn't get up as he spoke. "Denys Drumm, son of Dunstan."
"And to what do I owe this particular pleasure?"
"We want to help you defeat Balon Greyjoy."
The silence could be sliced with a blade. "Why?"
Lord Blacktyde spoke. "Because Balon Greyjoy has brought us nothing but death, death in the north and death in the west. When we lose here he'll send us to die in the south and the east, I've lost enough to him, we all have."
Loren nodded slowly. Have the ironborn at last come to sense? Perhaps.
"How many men do you have on the island?"
"Five hundred of Blacktyde are on the island."
"I have twenty Harlaw men with me."
"Fifty of house Drumm."
Not insignificant, not enough. According to all his reports, there had to be around ten times that number in total.
"Most of Harlaw's ships are positioned further up the coast or at home, the same with Drumm," Harras Harlaw said.
"Who commands here?" Loren demanded.
"The Lord Captain, Victarion Greyjoy, brother of the king."
Victarion Greyjoy, the man who had burned his father's fleet at anchor at the start of the Greyjoy Rebellion. It was almost a shame. "Wait here, Gerald, with me."
He turned and led Gerald away until they were safely out of earshot. "Do you trust them?"
"They passed the first test, but still, I doubt I'd trust them as far as I could throw them."
"So we don't want to rely on them?"
"Definitely not."
"Okay, show me the map again."
Gerald showed him a map of Fair Isle printed on leather. He saw sunset bay to the west, where Victarion had harboured his fleet and had most of his men, further to the north was Faircastle, overlooking the dockland district, now overcrowded with refugees, and blockaded by further ironman longships. He looked along the paths between the two and saw they wouldn't do; but further south was a small inlet which he knew from his planning that a ship could be fitted. But he'd ruled it out as a landing area because it was too narrow to land his men quickly. It would serve.
"I need a quill and ink."
They returned to the ironmen. "I accept your offer of help." He held out a letter, written and sealed. "You are to take this letter to Victarion Greyjoy, ensure he reads it and acts on the information it provides, he will not need much proof. You found it by killing a rider heading south from Faircastle." He nodded to the guards who stepped aside and allowed the ironmen to retrieve their weapons.
"That's it?" Harlaw asked.
"It's all I need. But one other note. I would suggest that you guard your ships tomorrow, it would not do for you to be with him when he marches."
()()()
He knelt down before his children, pulling Lelia into a tight hug. "Be good now Lelia, don't give your mother a hard time will you."
She nodded, proud and strong. "I won't father."
"And help her when she needs it, this is a difficult time for us."
"I will."
"You promise?"
"Do you promise to return?" Gods that was a fire in her eyes.
He smiled and nodded. "I do."
She smiled back, leaning in to kiss his cheek demurely. "Then I promise."
"That's my girl."
Next was Myrielle, who was trying to hold back her tears. "Myrielle," he reached out and cupped her cheek, "I'm sorry to leave again, but I'll be back as soon as I can."
She nodded, breathing deeply, her eyes shining. "Father… when you come back… can I have another story?" He glanced up at Aly. Myrielle had been asking for stories of his life, beginning to end, his childhood and the east. At first he'd tried to keep it exciting, missing the boring bits, but she stopped him, made him go back and tell her every detail he could remember, colours especially, she closed her eyes and made him tell her the colours, sometimes changing them with her own words, only letting him carry on when she was satisfied. They'd only recently even gotten to his life during Robert's Rebellion. Aly hadn't been happy about the topics and tried to stop the stories. But now, she nodded.
"Of course we can," he said, smiling. "You remember where we were at?"
"You'd just crossed the mountain with grandfather, heading for King's Landing."
"Yes, yes I had," he said. "I'll tell you the rest when I come back."
"As long as you do come back."
"I promise I'll come back. As long as you promise to be good while I'm gone."
She nodded fiercely. "I promise."
He gave her a hug, holding her close to him and letting her quietly release her sobs into his shoulder. When she stopped he let her go.
"Joanna," he looked her in the eye and she looked straight back. Her shoulders were set perfectly, her hands clasped in front of her stomach and her dress set perfectly, a small gold chain fell around her neck. "My sweet girl," he leant in and kissed her brow. "I'm sorry I have to go. But since I've made a promise to your sisters, what would you like when I return."
"I am your daughter, father, it is my duty to wait for you, I don't ask for anything." So formal, so perfectly noble, but there was desire there, she was still a girl who wanted something, and he knew what it was.
"How about this," he said, leaning in and whispering in her ear. "Provided you are a good girl to your mother, when this war is over, I will bring you to court with me, and you can see the very heart of these kingdoms." Her eyes lit up as he stepped back. "So behave, my child."
"Yes father."
He moved to the last of his children. Tion stood strong and proud, his doublet fastened to his throat, a lion rampant on his chest. "Tion my boy," he knelt down again. "You've made incredible progress in just these last few days and weeks. If you keep this up and by the time you're my age you'll be unbeatable." Tion beamed. "So, keep up your lessons, all of them, not just your swordplay, and be ready to show me when you get back, okay?"
Tion nodded. "And I'll need you to look after your mother and sisters while I'm gone as well. Can you do that?"
"I can father."
He reached out and ruffled Tion's hair softly. "Good boy."
He got to his feet and looked Aly in the eye. "My lady, I'm sorry to leave you with the children again, but I must go."
She smiled, rubbing Lelia and Joanna's arms. "There's nothing to apologise for, they are my children, I love them. Just promise us that you'll return safe."
He leant in and kissed her cheek. "I promise."
"You won't be long, will you?"
"No my lady, I won't." They had discussed it all the night before. He had to dispense with the ironmen quickly, which meant a sharp, bloody victory, he had to get them out of their ships and destroy them while he could, that was the only way he could neutralise the threat of the iron fleet without ships of his own. "I'll be back soon."
()()()
"My lord, they're coming."
He glanced up. Sure enough a small square of men were marching south down the road towards the wood they were hiding in. "Now we just need to see if the ironmen took the bait."
His men were hidden. Two were in the woods flanking the road the men were coming down, one was in the hills to the north and another in a ravine to the east. Circling them like protective hounds were groups of riders, keeping a watch for the anticipated ironman strike that was most likely to come from the west. "Get ready." He heard the infantry scramble to their feet and get ready to march from the wood when the order came. "Hold."
"My lord, the hills!"
Men were emerging from the hills, racing down towards the men on the road. "It seems we were wrong, the ironmen are coming from the north. Order ser Lyall's force to move out to the west, he is to use the stream as cover, now."
Seeing the comotion, the men on the road, surrounding a stout wheelhouse, were halting and turning to meet the men from the hills. Just as ordered, the men on the hills folded into the men surrounding the wagon and turned. He had expected the attack to come from the west, but he was prepared to adjust his plan to accommodate this development. "Now for the wagon."
Sure enough, the wagon peeled off the road, the defenders with it, heading south east into the fields to make their stand.
Then they came. Spilling out from the hills and running down it like trails of blood from a slit artery, the ironmen force charged down the hills, swarming down to take up position on the plane. It would seem the ironman traitors had done their work, the bait had been snatched, now it was just time to seal the victory.
The ironman host did not simply charge, they weren't so crude as that, they formed a shield wall opposite the men guarding the wagons, who did the same. It was not a comparison, less than a fourth of the ironman shield wall would be engaged if the two of them met man for man.
But they wouldn't.
He waited, waited for the ironman host to be deep enough in for his plan to work. "Sound the trumpets."
A dozen trumpeteers raised their instruments to their lips and blew at once. The wide open plain that the ironmen had charged into allowed the sound to carry far and wide.
Three formations of infantry emerged. He and his men formed a heavy block to the south, Ser Lyall's force to the west, emerged from the stream and Ser Gareth Clifton, a native of Fair Isle, led the men Loren had given him out of the ravine, and suddenly the ironman force was caught between four paws of infantry. Then the cavalry returned, five groups of lancers, less than a hundred each, took up their place between the infantry formations, the claws to the paws.
The enemy were surrounded, trapped, they turned around, some forming other shield walls to oppose the four now surrounding them, others trying to break and run.
"Orders, my lord?" Gerold asked him.
"Close the noose."
"Mercy?"
"None."
It was a slaughter.
He left a thousand men to ensure that the bodies were all slain and marched hard with the rest. They were tired from the bloody work, but he had to keep a promise. They marched hard and made it to the ironmen fleet camp, where only a skeleton of guards remained. He noticed that they bore the colours of Blacktyde and by the time he reached them, the three traitors he had spoken with before were waiting in front of the camp. "Is it done?"
He nodded.
"Victarion is dead?"
"Did he march with them?" They nodded. "Then he is dead. And now you will surrender all prisoners in this camp, every man woman and child, and I will permit you to leave."
They were all brought out, ragged, worn, beaten and bloody, all the prisoners were released. He insisted that his men search the camp themselves. They hadn't wanted it. His men drew their swords and were permitted entry. The last few prisoners, women intended to be salt wives, were freed. "Now take your ships and leave. Go back to the Iron Islands. Balon's lapdog is dead, do what you will with the man himself."
They left with less than one in five of the docked ships.
"Bring me all the women prisoners." He commanded.
His men had been feeding and clothing the prisoners, letting them rest, but at his command, they brought the women over to him.
"Is there anyone here called Tomissa?" He asked in a loud voice that carried to all the women. "Tomissa daughter of Lucia, please step forward." No one moved. "I mean you no harm. But I promised your mother I would bring you home, please, step forward." Still no one moved. Please be here. "Tomissa, I promise you, I do not intend to harm you."
She wasn't here, and there could only be one reason. She had been a fighter, her mother had said.
"I see. Please, go and get some food and shelter, you're safe now."
Gerold approached him. "My lord."
"I'm going to need a horse," he told his knight, "can you see to things here?"
"I can my lord but where are you going, Faircastle?"
He shook his head. "Lord Farman can wait. I need to inform a mother that I couldn't save her daughter."
