A/N: Here's book four. This will probably be the last installment in this story, and should be a lot faster-paced than book 3. That's not to say that it will all end in this book, but after this, there's a real shift in tone and themes and so that will probably be uploaded as a sequel story. Thanks to all for their patience and for staying with me this long, I hope I continue to earn your reading time.
He was ready for this. He knew it all in his mind. He could call forth every number as he needed them, he could detail each stage of the plan. Now it just has to pass the final test. Would the Queen approve?
He glanced over the documents laid out on his desk and took a breath. She would approve, he knew it.
Arms slid around his torso, holding him tightly as warmth pressed against his back. "Don't fret so, darling," Amalia whispered, leaning up so her luscious tones slipped into his ear. "It's not a good look on you."
Lyonel stroked her arm softly. "I know, you've said before."
"And I was right before," she said. With surprising strength she brought her hands to his hips and spun him around. "I'm also right now," she said, reaching up and tracing the creases in his face. "Look at you, you're lining that beautiful face." She pouted. "Don't go and ruin it, I like having such a lovely sight to look at."
He knew she was flattering him. His face was too sharp, too angular to be truly attractive. But she sounded so genuine he could almost believe it. "Not as beautiful as you," he said, cupping her cheek.
She turned into his hand, kissing his palm. "I know," she said, kissing his wrist, his forearm. "But I don't want to sleep with me. I know everything about myself, that would be so dull. But you, I think there's a lot more I can coax out of that shell."
He smiled. A month of coupling and she was still showing him all new angles of the art. "I look forward to seeing what you can find."
"Do you?" she asked, smiling and leaning up. Her lips brushed over his, soft as a feather. "Well then, you'd better hurry up and go to your queen mother, so you can come back to me and I can see what there is to find." She kissed him again, hard. When she moved to pull away he held her fast, losing himself in the feel of her. She smiled against him, running her fingers through his hair. "Now now," she said. "I doubt your mother would be very impressed if you were late because you were kissing me."
He chuckled against her mouth, stealing one last kiss before stepping away. "How do I look?"
She looked him up and down, a finger teasing her lips. "Far too overdressed for my liking, but for a meeting with the Queen, very good."
"You little," he made to reach for her but she darted back.
"Ah ah ah," she said, pointing at the door. "Queen. Now."
Lyonel didn't pause outside the chamber of the painted table, only knocking smartly and entering as soon as he was admitted.
His mother stood at the far end of the room, looking out over the seas beyond, her fingers linked in front of her. She turned when he entered and smiled at him. She wasn't wearing her crown, but his mother didn't need a crown to look every inch the queen. "Mother," he bowed to her. This was a time for formalities, not familial ties.
"Lyonel," she replied, drifting towards him. "You're ready?"
He nodded, walking around the opposite side of the table to her until they paused at just the same moment. "I am," he said.
She leant forward, splaying her hands on the table, fingers resting either side of Crackclaw Point, like ten spears, ready to strike. "So tell me."
Lyonel nodded and explained his plan for the attack on Crackclaw Point.
His mother was not a passive listener. She stopped him mid sentence, questioning every detail of his plan, every castle he planned to take and those he planned not to, how many men were going in the first wave, why was he not bringing all his archers at once. She spoke as their enemies, demanding to know how he would react if the enemy marched on Crackclaw Point, what if they had an army there to contest his landing? What if they came within days, or weeks, or if it was left months before there was a reaction.
Lyonel had his answers ready, some were detailed, others were simple statements of fact. He could explain his choice of targets, but how his enemies reacted, he would have to see what happened on the ground. He saw how she restrained a smile at that.
Every detail was discussed. He countered every one of his mother's questions as well as he was able. "And when father's ready, I'll be ready to join him at King's Landing," he finished, drawing a finger from Crackclaw Point south along the coast to King's Landing. He looked his mother in the eye, not daring to blink.
His mother held his gaze, those eagle eyes piercing. Then she placed her hand over his and squeezed gently. "Mothe-" she reached out with her other hand, cupped his cheek, pulled him in and kissed his brow.
"I'm so proud of you," she whispered, pulling back. "You've planned well," she said, slipping back into being the queen. "In your father's name, I will sanction your invasion of Crackclaw Point. Head to the rookery and inform the maesters that they are to send out the ravens. Call our lords back to Dragonstone and tell your archers that you'll soon be sailing for war."
He smiled. "Yes mother." It had been some time since the battle of the bay, time that Lyonel had needed in order to build up his supplies of food and fodder for the upcoming invasion, as well as replace the tens of thousands of arrows that had been lost in the battle. Ships needed repairing, ser Davos had been in charge of scouting the point and the enemy forces around the capital and a hundred other preparations had to be made. But Dragonstone could not support such a large army as he was planning to lead for so long. So he had spread his men around the narrow sea islands, Tarth and even the Stormlands. They would need to be called back and briefed on the plan before the invasion began. More time, in which much could happen, but it couldn't be helped. Before he turned to go and send the ravens, he paused. "Has there been any further word from Storm's End? When can we expect Shireen?"
His mother sighed. "It would seem your sister is being rather obstinate," she replied, "she's still there."
"Obstinate?" Lyonel asked. "Shireen?"
"I know I know," her mother chuckled. "But it's what it seems to me. Here." Myrielle fished a letter out of her sleeve and passed it over.
Lyonel smoothed it out. "Oh my," he breathed. Shireen usually made the point to make her handwriting as neat as possible, the text flowing with courtesies and politeness. But this letter simply opened with the word 'mother', was as curt as Lyonel had ever seen, in a roughly scrawled hand and wasn't signed at all. The impression in the wax was pushed very deep, every inch of it clear. Shireen wanted to make a point it seems.
"Oh my indeed," his mother said, taking the letter back. "She won't be leaving Storm's End until her replacement arrives. Short of going there myself, I don't think there's any persuading her. It looks like it will be a little while longer before we see your sister again."
"Well, I suppose I should get on with my planning then."
His mother nodded. "Do. Keep me informed won't you?"
He bowed, "of course, mother."
After he had sent out the ravens across the islands and the Stormlands, Lyonel headed inland.
He found his archers marching in five large square across the plains on the east side of the island. He sat away on a hill, watching as their captains bellowed out orders to them. Rennic had been taking lessons from the master at arms of how to corral men into action, and had taken them to heart, he kept his square moving tightly. Every archer carried not only their bow, thirty six arrows and a side weapon, either a short sword, falchion, axe or hammer, but several of them also carried a four foot wooden stake strapped to their back, sharpened into a point, about the same number of them had spears. Along with that they all carried a water skin and a small pouch of salted meats for travel rations. His men had bulked up since being recruited, and were able to carry their burdens easily, when the weight of a stake got too much to bear, another would take it for the next leg of the march.
The other companies were not doing so well, the other three archer companies were under the command of his captains, Torne and Albrech, and the newly appointed man, Teobald, who had sniped an enemy watchman out of the crow's nest of a Redwyne galley in the battle of the bay. They were performing passably, hopefully they would improve in time. His fifth company was smaller than the others, three hundred men rather than five hundred, and this one was not an archer company, but a crossbowman force. They worked in teams of three, one of the team was out in front and would man the pavise, a large shield that each team possessed rather than a stake, a second would work the reloading and the third would fire the weapon. There were fewer of them, but these myrish crossbows packed a far greater punch than his longbows, and if they were brought to close combat, their teamwork made up for their lower numbers. It was also the case that two of every three teams were myrish. Plenty of the myrish nobles had brought households and staffs with them that they could no longer maintain away from their estates, especially since they were unable to fully set up businesses on Dragonstone itself for lack of facilities and markets. So when Amalia had suggested he ask for volunteers from the myrish, they had provided for him. Several of them were former members of the myrish army and were experienced soldiers. It was probably his most effective company in battle, still fighting after his archers had tired for the day. Their leader, a Myrish nobleman called Silos, was an adequate commander at best, but he could tell in a heartbeat how many more bolts, foodstuffs and nails he needed at any given point.
A trumpet sounding caught him by surprise, and he turned to the other end of the field where a line of knights were emerging out of a valley, sunlight glinting red on raised swords and lance points.
At once the archers were moving into action. It was a clumsy mess of it all. Rennic's battalion and the crossbowmen made the right move, bunching up together, spearmen and stake bearers moving out to the four sides of the square and protruding their weapons, the archers behind raising the bows, but not notching arrows. They had just enough time to hammer a few of the stakes in before the knights were upon them, but the spears were out and deadly. The crossbowmen stood behind a barricaded wall of pavises, weapons raised. Lyonel knew they weren't shooting for real, he didn't want to harm his knights or their valuable warhorses. The knights circled but could find no opening in the squares.
But the others misjudged the response. They spread out and formed three lines, spears lowered and stakes pointing to the front. He could see from here that some of the men in the units had rightly moved to form a square, but clearly Albrech, Torne and Teobald had given orders to form a line, and they obeyed. The knights circled around the stakes and, if this had been a real battle, would have cut his archers down handily, instead they simply surrounded them.
It would have been the right move, if they'd had more infantry in support to cover the flanks. But they didn't, and now they were dead. Lyonel shook his head and spurred his horse down. That would have to be corrected, they were going to war soon and they had to be ready.
