Thanks Leonel, I've corrected that now.
Were all mothers from the marches so fierce? Lyonel hadn't thought he'd ever meet a woman so fearsome as his mother, but Cyrenna Estermont was as close as he ever had. She'd been a Dondarion by birth, growing up not far from his mother, and almost of an age. She wasn't even the true Lady Estermont yet. Her good-father, Lord Eldon still lived at a ripe old age, and had outlived his two wives. Lady Cyrenna was married to his son Aemon, and had given birth to three daughters of House Estermont. Both Lord Eldon and Aemon marched with his father, leaving her behind to manage Greenmont's defence. She hadn't been idle either, he'd had a glimpse into the cellars and they were stocked full of grain and barley, and across the table in her solar, that smelled of rustic smoke from the fire, were charts and graphs and written orders for supplies and weapons. Perhaps it was fitting for such a fierce woman, but she wanted to go on the attack.
"The Redwyne Fleet will have to re-supply at the Planky Town if they bring their full force," she said, jabbing her finger at the eastern coast of Dorne, where the Planky Town lay on the coast. "Dorne has no true navy to speak of, attack it and be done, break the Planky Town like Oakenfist did, then the Redwynes will have nowhere to resupply, they'll be weakened."
"It would also inspire the Dornish to attack the southern Stormlands. So far they've refrained from direct action in the war and I desire to keep it that way," Lyonel explained.
"The've declared for Joffrey," Lady Estermont folded her arms over her chest. "That's war."
"It's words, not war," Ser Davos said softly, "currently they're keeping their spears in the passes. If we don't attack them directly, they'll stay there."
"You don't know that," Lady Cyrenna said.
"But it's most likely," Lyonel said, stepping in to stop an argument between his top captain and Lady Cyrenna. "And father has marched from Storm's End, there's no army present to defend the Stormlands. I won't give them an excuse to march up an open road to attack Storm's End."
Cyrenna folded her arms. "Very well, my prince, but I would think you're being foolish if you think that the Redwyne Fleet won't attack these islands and the coast of the Stormlands."
"If I may, my lady, you have made preparations for such an attack," as they had ridden to Greenmont castle they had seen the fields. The harvest had been gathered and, even though it was autumn, they hadn't planted fresh seeds. If the Redwyne fleet landed to take Greenmont, they would find no food to sustain them during the siege. It had been much the same on other islands they had visited. Ser Triston of Tally Hill, the knight appointed to watch over Tarth until a new lord could be given the Island, had made similar preparations. "The castles on the coasts of the Stormlands are also prepared, and the Redwyne marines can't go too far in without exposing themselves. But if a dornish army strikes, they'll have all the Stormlands open to them."
"Very well, very well," Lady Cyrenna snapped. "I can tell when I'm not going to get my way, no need to belabour the point my prince."
"Of course, my apologies," he said, bowing his head. "If you wish it my lady, I can offer you additional soldiers to man the garrison."
"You came all this way to offer me soldiers? I'm flattered, but I also think that's not the real reason why you came."
"It isn't," Lyonel admitted. "I'm here to try and find the appropriate site to battle the Redwyne Fleet, and I'm sorry to say that it isn't here."
"Why not?"
"Estermont doesn't have enough harbours to shelter all of our ships or enough supplies to keep them fed and watered until the Redwynes arrive. It could be weeks until they arrive, and one storm coming up from the south could devastate us."
"Not… unreasonable," Lady Cyrenna replied. "How many soldiers could you provide?"
Lyonel thought. "Twenty knights, their squires and tenants and a hundred bowmen."
Cyrenna thought it over. "Very well, I accept."
"I'll have them sent for," Lyonel promised. "In the meantime, perhaps you would wish to send your children to Storm's End, it will be far safer."
"You think your sister will be able to look after them better than I?"
"My sister?"
"You haven't heard?" Cyrenna said, surprised. "You must forgive me my prince, I thought you would be aware. Your father has left your sister in charge of Storm's End while he goes to war."
Shireen. In command of Storm's End. Had his father really done that? "I… well I can say that my sister would certainly keep your daughters safe. Storm's End will weather any attack better than Estermont."
Cyrenna shook her head. "I don't doubt she would do her best, we all know of Princess Shireen's kind heart. But no, my daughters remain with me."
Lyonel nodded. Cyrenna was much like his mother, and he wasn't about to argue family with her. "In that case, I have only one other requirement of you," he said.
She raised her eyebrows. "When the Redwyne Fleet passes, I need you to send word to Dragonstone, I need to know the time they pass how many there are and what the makeup of their fleet is. How many galleys, how many cogs, how many dromonds, how large, how small, are they warships, are they loaded transports? Anything you can tell me, the better." He'd given the same instructions to Ser Triston on Tarth.
"Very well, Prince Lyonel, I'll send you what I can see."
"Thank you, my lady," he got to his feet and bowed his head in respect. "I'll be on my way, and I'll have the men sent as promised."
"Will you be staying the night, Prince Lyonel?"
He glanced out the window. It was still light, he could make it back to the ships by evening. "No my lady, I'll return to my ships, I'll need to sail at first light."
"Then I'll wish you speed and fortune," she said, bowing to him. "And you as well, Ser Davos."
Ser Davos bowed. "Gods be with you, my lady."
She snorted. "We'll need them I feel."
They rode along the dirt track between the harvested fields, blankets of dirt running in waves away from them. Would there be another harvest before winter? He hoped so, if not, many would die. Many. He couldn't put a number to it.
"How is your wife, Ser Davos?" He asked. After they'd reached Tarth, he'd allowed Davos to depart from them temporarily, to visit his wife and youngest sons at their keep on Cape Wrath. He'd rejoined the squadron just before they'd pulled into Estermont.
"She's… well, wishes I was home. The boys as well. Allard has been to see her from Storm's End, and I tried to convince her to go there as well, it will be safer, but she decided to stay, with Stannis and Steffon."
"She won't go to Storm's End? He asked.
Davos shook his head. "She doesn't like the company of high lords. They don't hold back their views of us when she's alone."
Lyonel shook his head sadly. He wanted to say that Shireen wouldn't permit it, but his sister, whatever her kindness, was not all seeing, and one of the fine arts of nobility was how to veil a threat or jab. He'd met Davos' wife, she was a kind woman who didn't need that vileness in her life.
They made it to the convoy, hive galleys, small and fast scouting vessels, if they encountered enemies, they would turn and flee, not stand and fight. "Where do we turn now, Prince Lyonel?" Davos said. "Push on further south, to the Stepstones?"
Lyonel shook his head. "No, I'm not going to risk battle further south than here, Estermont was my last chance, we'll return north, find an appropriate site to face the Redwyne Fleet." He wasn't going to risk gathering his fleet in the Stepstones. They would also be affected by the autumn storms that came up from the south, and he might have to contend with pirates as well, especially if he wanted to bring in supplies to maintain a base there. No, it was too risky.
"Are we going to stop by Storm's End first?" Davos asked.
He thought of Shireen, her beautiful smiling face, her soft singing tunes. No, he had his own task to accomplish. He would have time for Shireen when all this was done. "No, we go north at dawn, we need to find a place to do battle with the Redwynes."
They ventured into Shipbreaker Bay, scouting along the coast of Cape Wrath, to see if there was any shelter for his ships, but there weren't. Maybe there was room for a few dozen, but not his entire fleet. No, he wasn't going to wait here. He looked inland, at Storm's End, standing tall and strong, a safe bastion. He turned away. "Take us back out," he commanded.
Over the next days they plied the coast of the Stormlands and southern crownlands. Occasionally they would find a bay, disembark and scout out the local terrain, to see if they could keep some squadrons safe there, with room on land for supply caches. They would find nothing and then return to sea to look for another place to await their foes. He didn't want to risk a battle in the Straits of Tarth. Such a battle would be a pushing match, lines of ships pushing together, each one sunk replaced by the ranks behind. He didn't want to fight such a battle, he might win, or he might lose his entire fleet, or both.
But there was nothing, no cove, inlets or small bays that they could hide squadrons in. Not until they reached Massey's Hook.
Ser Davos knew of the coves there from his past life, it had been their first destination from Dragonstone, scouting out the coves to see how many ships they could keep. He guessed about forty, perhaps a little more. But without a more definitive plan of battle, even these coves would be useless. Still, they turned for them.
The sun was bleeding orange as they dropped anchor and set the longboats to shore. Captain Torne was waiting for them when they landed. The youth had been born on Massey's Hook, and was the son of a hunter from a village there, and so was the natural choice of his three captains for this mission. "Prince Lyonel," he bowed, the three archers behind him mimicking the motion, "it's good to see you again."
"You as well, Captain Torne," Lyonel smiled, clasping his archer on the shoulder. "How have things progressed since you landed?"
"We're almost done, do you want to see?"
He didn't need to, a simple explanation would be sufficient, but he wanted to see his men, and have them see him. So he nodded and Captain Torne gestured for Lyonel, his guards and his captains to follow them up the beach and into the woods above.
Torne had been given command of a thousand of his archers, a strong company, with orders to set up camps on Massey's Hook. The main camp itself was set atop a hill surrounded by fields of wildflowers and clumps of shrubbery. It was a strong palisade with lines of tents inside and with a watch tower on each corner. There were a dozen archery butts at edge, all currently in use. He frowned, looking around. He had given Torne a thousand archers, but there couldn't be more than half that number here. He didn't doubt there was an explanation coming. "Summon the camp to arms," Torne commanded. One of his archers jogged off. Soon the ringing of a bell rang through the timbers and canvass. Immediately, the archers sprang into action. Those at the butts abandoned their targets and hurried to the assembly ground at the front. Men dropped bowls to the ground, wiping food away with their sleeves, others emerged, half awake, from their tents, snatching up their bows and hurrying to gather at the front of the camp. Soon, they were all there, bows held at their sides, looking straight ahead.
Lyonel nodded, pleased with the performance. "Your prince stands before you!" Torne yelled. As one, the men dropped to one knee and bowed their heads. Torne turned to Lyonel. "Your archers, my prince."
"Thank you, Captain Torne. Rise, all of you." The men got to their feet, standing to attention again. "Very impressive, all of you, you've done excellent work since I left you here, I was right to trust you with this task. Carry on, and keep up the excellent work."
The men smiled and returned to what they'd been doing, energised and inspired. He turned back to Torne, his chest was puffed out in pride. "So, Captain, where are the rest of them?"
Torne grinned, brimming with confidence. "We've set up a sequence of outposts, fifteen of them going from the coves to the south to the beaches in the north. We can get a message across the hook in a day with relay runners. We've also set up two lookout posts. One overlooking the boom tower of the capital, keeping an eye on the fleet still docked there. There's another near the very tip of the hook that allows us to look into Shipbreaker bay and south into the narrow sea. We're building a signal fire there in case we need it." Very good, all done as he'd ordered. He'd considered using Sharp Point, the castle of House Bar-Emmon sitting right at the tip of the Hook, but he didn't want to risk them sending word to the capital and alerting the enemy to the presence of his forces.
"Any indication you've been noticed?"
"Not by the enemy," Torne said. "We've sent scouts all the way up to the Blackwater Rush, apart from hunters, we haven't met anyone."
"Would the hunters have reported to the capital?"
Torne shook his head. "No, they've only met a few of us at a time, and they think we're also hunters. They don't know."
"Very good." If they were discovered it would make things going forward much harder. "I haven't been able to find a better battle site, so if things are proceeding well here, I believe we've found it."
Torne's face split into a grin. "We'll be ready, my prince, don't fear."
Lyonel nodded. "We'll eat with you tonight, then we return to the ships."
"The men will be honoured, I'll let them know."
"I'll speak to my captains," he clasped Torne's shoulder before turning to Davos and his captains.
They were waiting for him. "So, we're to battle here after all?" When they landed here originally, they'd scouted it out, prepared. He'd wanted to fight further south, away from Dragonstone, at a site better suited for battle. But there was nowhere else.
"Yes," Lyonel said, taking a deep breath. "We'll battle the enemy in the gullet. Ser Davos, you will lead the squadron based in the coves to the south. Pick the ships it will be easiest to hide. I'll command the fleet to the north, awaiting the enemy in the bay. When we're engaged, the runners will come for you to sail out and swing around to catch the Redwynes in the rear."
Ser Davos nodded, touching the knuckles around his neck. "As you wish, my prince. Do we assemble the fleet now?"
"No, not yet," Lyonel said. "We return to Dragonstone for now, tell the crews to get ready. We sail once we hear from Lady Estermont that the Redwynes have passed Estermont. I don't want to gather the fleet in the harbour before the fleet reaches Planky Town. Scouts from the capital could send a raven south and inform Lord Redwyne of our positions. He's an experienced sailor, and fought at my father's side at Fair Isle. I want every advantage we can get before facing him and his large warfleet."
"I think that's wise, my prince," Ser Davos said with a smile of relief. "Do we return at once?"
He shook his head. "I said we'd eat with the men this evening. We'll sail tomorrow." Part of him didn't want to eat, wanted to go back to Dragonstone. To see his mother, his home, lady Amalia. To pray and sleep in his own bed before returning to the seas, to see if the gods had returned to their side.
