Lyonel sighted the bolt, staring down the length of the crossbow, and squeezed the firing lever. The bolt shot through the air and punched deep into the linden board target. Quickly he rested the tip of the large crossbow on the ground and took hold of the lever of the cranquine and began twisting it. The bowstring pulled back as he worked the device, the metal of the contraption ratcheting along as it pulled back until, at last, he reached the final point of the draw. He slid another bolt into the holder, raised the crossbow and fired again.

"Just over a minute count, prince."

He nodded, lowering the bow, regaining his breath. It didn't strain his arms and shoulders like a longbow did, but working the crossbows and re-loading them was still hard work. "Only two bolts, slower than the others," he replied, holding it back out to Hektorios.

"Slower indeed, Prince Lyonel," the barrel chested craftsman said, taking the bow back and handing it to one of his assistants. "But, if you would observe." He led Lyonel over to the linden board. "You see these two bolts," he indicated the most recent bolts that Lyonal had shot. "They have penetrated deeper into the wood than any of these others."

Lyonel looked at the other bolts. The belt-and-claw crossbow had let him release seven bolts in a minute, and the one with the goat's foot lever allowed him to shoot four in a minute. "So a trade off then, more power, but fewer bolts."

"Indeed." Hektorios conceded. "The mercenary companies of Myr used this last one," he said, indicating the one with the cranequin. "There tended to be two crossbows for a team of three soldiers. One would fire, another would load the other crossbow, and the third would keep them protected with the pavise."

Lyonel nodded, it made sense, it would allow a faster rate of fire, particularly in the last seconds before the battle lines met. But even then, his own archers' instinct was screaming at him that it was too slow. A skilled archer could fire twice as many arrows as the fastest crossbow, and nearly twice as far as well. "If I were to commission you to make crossbows for my army, what prices would we be looking at?"

Hektorios unfolded his arms, a smile lighting his face for a moment at the prospect of profit. "Well my prince, the first thing we would need is a workshop to make them. Unless you have one on this island, we would need to build one specified to our needs."

"We have plenty of bowyers here," his father had made sure of that. "Could we not use one of those?"

"No, Prince Lyonel. Making a crossbow requires more specialist equipment, they are built, not made. We work with more resources and in many different stages."

"Fine. After that?"

"I brought enough supplies with me to make only a small number of crossbows, no more than five hundred of the belt and claw, two hundred goats foot and one hundred with the cranquine, after that we would need to factor in the purchasing of more materials and-"

"How much," Lyonel interrupted.

"For the workshop and initial purchase? If you wanted them all. I wouldn't be able to start for less than fifty thousand."

He balked. "Fifty thousand what? Dragons?"

"No, Myrish silver, of course."

SIlver was less than gold, but still, fifty thousand silver coins was a lot. They'd have to work out the exchange rates, there was no mint on Dragonstone to melt down silver stags and recast them to work out the cost.

"If I might make a suggestion?" They turned to look at Amalia, who sat on a table further back and had been watching them with rapt attention. "Would it be possible, artisan, to build the workshop on credit, if the prince was to promise prime workspaces in King's Landing once his family has taken the city."

Hektorios' eyes lit up. "Yes, that would certainly be most welcome, a workshop in the capital. Do your capital's watch use crossbows as well. I'd be happy to provide them."

"At the moment they don't, but perhaps that's something we can do," Lyonel said. "Thank you for the demonstration Hektorios, I will bring news to my mother so we can start making a deal with you, and finding you somewhere on Dragonstone for your workshop."

"It was my pleasure, Prince Lyonel, Mistress Amalia." Hektorios bowed as Lyonel left, the practice butts, Amalia falling in beside him.

"So, my prince," she said, looping her arm through his, "are you impressed with Hektorios' work?"

"I am," he said, trying to shift a little away from her, but she pulled herself tighter against him. "Your family was wise to give him your patronage."

"We recognise sound investments, it's how our family rose so high in Myr."

"But you left Myr."

She nodded. "We also recognise bad investments," she said.

"And what are we?"

She smiled and leant up, breathing in his ear. "A very wise investment." Her breath made him shiver. "It's why we accept your leather coins."

"My whats?"

"I'm sorry, it's a term from Myr, a trading term."

"A term for what."

She smiled teasingly. "Why paying someone with leather coins of course."

"And what does that mean."

She giggled, a sound that should be punishable. "It's a story my father told me, it's nothing."

"I'd like to hear it." He didn't really, but he wanted to hear her voice.

"If you wish, come, I'll tell you back in the castle gardens." She took his hand and started guiding him. Rennic, Ardahan and Shahrbana falling in behind. Amalia's two guards were the same two warriors who had fought their way through much of the garrison on the day Lyonel had first met the Traghars. Though whether they were protecting her from him or from simple thieves, he didn't know.

Along the waterfront, all manner of temporary houses had been built to accommodate the new arrivals. Quick to see the opportunity, fishermen and farmers from further inland now set up stalls nearby, hoping to sell their wares to the newcomers. In turn, the newcomers, seeking to show themselves as gracious guests, were happy to trade their wares from the Free Cities. Knights and lords from the army also came to purchase wares from the myrmen. He saw noble ladies looking at rack after rack of myrish lace dresses. Normally they would have to send for such dresses from across the Narrow Sea or find specific merchants in the capital, but now they only had to make a short trip to Dragonstone to find what they were looking for. Others picked out sleek dirks with jeweled hilts, or exotic lenses that made far away objects appear close. And not all of these merchants came from the Traghar followers. More merchants and rich men of Myr, discovering the opportunity the market provided, had sailed to join them, bringing wealth and goods with them to escape the war that was threatening their home city. His mother wrangled what she could, coin to pay for the war and signed agreements to levy the merchant ships for combat if needed. And the Stormlands provided the market, the lords sworn to his house sent wives and brothers to make purchases at the new markets. His mother was already talking of authorising a permanent market to be built to make trading easier. Had such an amount of wealth come to Dragonstone before? Not likely, Lyonel thought, not since the Targaryens brought their Dragons from Valyria.

But there were tensions as well. A week ago a myrman trader was found dead outside his dwelling, having been dealt a heavy blow to the head. The next day two smallfolk who had been arguing with that trader earlier that week had their throats cut. Lyonel had been forced to send in fifty of his archers to break up two gathering crowds. Now he had men constantly deployed to keep order in the market, including at every entrance to disarm any who came to shop there. Now he was facing demands on both sides to lift the ban on weaponry. Westerosi nobles and knights claimed he had no right to deprive them of their weapons, and myrmen merchants claimed that their goods were at risk and so they should be allowed to protect them. He shook his head at the thought, if he had to allow them their weapons, he would have to deploy more soldiers to keep order and he needed his men training.

When they were alone in the castle gardens, Amalia's protectors and Rennic left to attend to other duties. Amalia sat down on a bench beneath a tall oak tree. "So," she said, folding her arms in her lap and flashing him a brilliant smile. "Do you still want to hear about leather coins?"

"Of course," he lied. Who would want to hear a story about leather coins?

"Okay then, I'll tell you. If you agree to answer a question of mine, honestly and truthfully."

He narrowed his eyes. "What question?"

"Ah ah ah," she said, wagging her finger playfully. "There's no fun in knowing that, you want my story, you agree to answer my question."

"But what if you ask about something I can't tell you?"

She giggled again. "Prince Lyonel, this is just for fun, I'm not going to ask for your war plans. I promise."

"Okay then, I'll answer your question."

She clapped her hands together. "Excellent. So, the leather coins." She settled back. "It was in the years following the Triarchy, when Myr, Tyrosh and Lys had fallen back into independent city states. Magister Lucien Traghar had been one of the city's representatives to the Triarchy government, which was held in Lys that year. However, with the Triarchy collapsing, Lucien's enemies in Myr had circled and seized or bought away much of what he held. This would have broken almost all families into obscurity, but not Lucien. He had been sent to the Triarchy because he was known for his integrity and good faith. And so he started making deals and agreements. With what little money he had left, he commissioned a leather tanner to make him thousands of leather coins."

"He used the last of his silver to buy leather?" He asked, confused.

She leant forward and pressed her finger to his lips. "Hush my dear, you'll see."

She continued. "Lucien used those coins to buy what he needed. He bought mercenaries, out of work now the Triarchy government had fallen, to reclaim his manse. He paid for the best jurists to argue for the return of his property to him. He used them to buy food to keep his family alive. Such was his reputation of honesty and good faith, that his coins were accepted where no one else would have been. Within a year, he had recovered, through steel sword and leather coins, all of his property. Because, true to his word, when he had recovered his property, he bought out his leather coins with the silver that had been returned to him."

"He bought leather, with silver?"

She looked at him piteously and he felt his anger rise. Why was that such a stupid question, leather was not worth as much as silver, yet this earlier Traghar had done it. What was the moral of this story? "The leather coin was a promise," she said. "And because people knew he would keep his promise, and believed he was capable of regaining his wealth, they accepted it. But had he not had a reputation for integrity, no one would've accepted the leather coins, he would have nothing, and I would not be here with such a handsome young prince."

Ignoring the last comment as much as it made him blush, he remembered that when she first mentioned leather coins. "So why are we giving you leather coins?"

She stood up and cupped his cheek, her palm soft and warm. "My prince, you have promised us much. Land, the right to buy property in King's Landing, safety from the invaders of our home. But all you hold as yours is a few islands, a fleet and an army of archers."

"We have an army on land as well," he reminded her.

"You do. And you have the will to fight no matter the cost, and your enemy faces two foes. And your father has a reputation for honesty, to a fault even."

"You know of my father?"

"Myr had diplomats in King Robert's court, and diplomats see and hear things. We know he will repay his debts."

"How do you know I'm like my father?" He hadn't been at King's Landing, she wouldn't know that.

"I don't, but we have nowhere else to go, and," she smiled coyly at him, "leather coins always require a little faith."

"Faith is always important," he said, remembering back to when he had lost his.

"Now, my question," she said. Lyonel took a breath and nodded, what could this one want to know now. "Have you ever kissed a woman before?" That was what she wanted to know? Well that's an easy one. He opened his mouth to answer but she pressed a finger to his lips. "And I mean a proper kiss, not one from family or a formal greeting of some kind, I mean a kiss."

"I… no, I haven't." He blushed, heavens she was going to make his face burn off.

He expected her to laugh or look at him with pity, but Amalia's beautiful smile lit her face again, white teeth flashing. "Excellent," she purred. "So I'm going to be your first."

Oh gods no, not now. He stepped away hurriedly and she followed him. "You're not going to kiss me," he said.

She looked sad as she followed him slowly. "No I'm not," she said. "You're going to kiss me. If you're not ready now… a minor disappointment, but when you're ready, you're going to kiss me, and I'm going to show you how wonderful it can be." She reached over and patted his cheek. "When you're ready." Then she turned and glided away, her hips swaying hypnotically.

He sat down and breathed heavily. Why was she like that? Why did he keep going back to her? And sitting here wasn't helping, all he could think of was her rear. He got up and hurried away, he needed to find something to do, anything. Surely his mother would have some task for him, and he had to tell her about Hektorios anyway.

He found her at the painted table, resting her head in her hands. "Mother." She looked up in alarm then smiled, her eyes heavy with tiredness.

"Lyonel," she held out her arms to him, beckoning him in. "Close the door and come here." When he reached her she pulled him into a gentle hug. He rubbed her back softly, feeling the stress in it. "You know I love you, don't you?"

"Of course I do," he said, pulling away and looking her up and down. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. "I am, I am, it just struck my mind that I haven't said that in a while. Sit," she indicated the chair next to her. "How are things down in the market, has there been more trouble?"

"No, not so far," he replied. He should move on from this topic. Hektorios and anything else could wait. "All's well so far. Is there any more news from Shireen?"

She pressed her lips together. "No, not yet." Shireen had sent a raven that she had arrived at Storm's End, her journey long and hard across the Stormlands after being shipwrecked. The thought of that… He thought he'd lost her for several days, when the news had arrived that she was alive and well, he had wept for joy then. She had said she was having trouble rousing father, that it might take some time.

"I see," he said. "Are you sleeping well mother? You look tired"

"Yes yes, I'm fine, my old eyes just need a rest sometimes."

"I'm not hiding in my room anymore mother. It's okay if you need me to take the slack."

"Lyonel," she patted his arm, "you have to focus on the battles, on the war, on training and equipping your men. I will manage Dragonstone and the foreign exiles."

"It's not just Dragonstone that needs you mother. I also need you, so does father and Shireen as well, we all need you. You can't help us if you wear yourself to death."

She squeezed his arm. "Lyonel, we are fighting for our lives and our rights. I fully intend to see your father on the throne and you in position to follow him. If it means I have to give everything I have, I will. You are my everything Lyonel, you and Shireen are what I live for."

He pulled her into a hug again, trying to put all his feelings into the hug. She knew, he could feel it. "Will you at least dine with me tonight, just the two of us."

She smiled at him and kissed his cheek. "I'd love to, I'll let the cooks know."

"I'll do it," he said, "you stay here, rest your eyes."

She smiled, sitting back in her chair. "I'll do that. See you tonight?"

"See you tonight."

"Just the two of us?" She called to him as he made for the door. "You're not going to invite Lady Amalia too?"

He froze. "No, why would I?"

"I notice you've gotten closer to her."

"She's an intriguing woman."

"Yes, she is intriguing and intrigued by you."

"Me?" She was intrigued by him? Really?

His mother nodded. "Yes, she's been asking about you, a lot more than ordinary."

She had! "Nothing is happening mother."

"I'm not angry," she held up her hands. "You would be far from the first prince to have a mistress, Lyonel. Just be careful, won't you."

"Nothing happened or will happen, that would be improper."

She held up her hands. "Okay, okay." Before he could go his mother asked him one last question. "Lyonel, when are you going to go with Ser Davos to inspect the southern approaches?"

"Soon, as soon as I'm sure things are settled in the market."

That was another irksome problem caused by this potential conflict. He had been due to sail with Ser Davos. The Redwyne Fleet hadn't come yet, but he had to find a place where he could fight them when they did. He had to scout the coastlines and seas, to determine the best place to deploy his own fleet. The battle would be upon them in the coming weeks and months. The war had been holding its breath, but the Stark invasion of the Reach had kicked it back into gear, and the next battles would be bloody and decisive. They had to be ready.