Chapter 15: Auxiliary
Lord Baratheon had returned to King's Landing, having reached an understanding with the Sealord of Braavos, though Father's letter did not discuss the details of the arrangement. He merely instructed Lelouch to bring the Velaryon Fleet to King's Landing.
Though the anti-slave greys ruled in Braavos currently, direct military aid was unlikely. This remained the expeditions of a foreign monarchy in their eyes, and they did not have so many followers of the Seven to make intervention a politically feasible option. Economic assistance too appeared far-fetched to Lelouch. Perhaps if the theatre of war involved Norvos and Qohor or Pentos—a Free City close enough to fall into their sphere of influence, but Myr was too far south.
The Hand was no fool. He would've at least secured a promise of non-intervention if the invasion was underway, for to challenge Braavos' fleet in the narrow sea was just a long, drawn-out suicide.
Whatever the case, the ships of Driftmark had the honor of bringing the vanguard to Bloodstone. While Tywin rode with him on the Seafyre, Lord Baratheon and Prince Aerys had commandeered the Balerion from the Royal Fleet, which didn't surprise Lelouch given the Lord Hand's faction was opposed to his father's. Likely he thought to subtly curtail Lelouch's growing friendship with the crown prince.
"Lord Lelouch," Tywin said. "My uncle, Ser Jason Lannister. He leads the men of Casterly Rock and the West."
"Well met, Ser Jason," Lelouch said, dipping his head to convey respect, but not subservience. Joanna's father would be one of the principal commanders of the war. "Tywin and Joanna have nothing but praise for you."
Ser Jason was tall and handsome with an easy, roguish smile, like a knight from the songs and stories. Small wonder so many women had fallen for his charms. "I've heard much of you as well. Your victory at Seafyre was inspired."
"Your words honor me, Ser Jason," Lelouch said.
"It is not unearned. I'm surprised no one has seen fit to grant you your spurs yet. Men have earned more for far, far less," Jason said, glaring at the small, thin, and nervous Frey boy. Emmon was the exact opposite of the muscled Lannister knight.
"It is not titles that honor men, but men that honor titles," he quoted. "If I'm to become a knight, I should like to earn it properly. On the field of battle for deeds men will sing of, true and worthy."
Jason nodded. "If only more men believed as you did."
"I'm certain there will be plenty of opportunities in the coming days. We'll need to seize several islands before an assault on Essos is feasible," Lelouch said. "Highwatch and the smaller islands of Felstrong and Tor at the very least."
"Did your lord father tell you?" Tywin asked.
"No, but it seems obvious enough," Lelouch said. "Though I'd prefer to occupy a few more of the surrounding islands to secure our supply lines."
"You've a keen mind," Jason said. "It's through Highwatch as you guessed. Lord Baratheon seeks a quick resolution."
It was a risky plan, exactly the sort he'd favored in another life. If the Lord Hand succeeded, he would become preeminent in King Jaehaery's court. But if he failed… if he failed this war would get ugly. "I pray the Seven grants us swift winds and strong swords then," Lelouch said, glancing at the cotton-shaped clouds. A good sign.
"I do believe," Tywin said in a lower tone, "we'll make good use of the coming opportunities. After all, shouldn't one who marries into our ancient and noble bloodline prove themselves worthy, Uncle?"
Lelouch grinned, showing all teeth.
"What have you in mind?" Jason asked, eyes darting between the two in askance.
"A place at the very front of the van would not be amiss. It would, in fact, be a great honor to bestow on Ser Emmon," Lelouch said.
"He'll earn being one of us, or who he won't," Tywin said.
Jason fell into deep thought. "What would it matter? Lord Frey would simply have Genna wed to another of his brood. He has no lack of sons and grandsons."
"Mayhaps, but he can hardly fault a woman for grieving?" Lelouch said. "It would not be proper to wed her off so soon after her husband's death."
"She cannot grieve forever," Jason said.
"She doesn't need to," Tywin said, eyes glinting like hardened steel. "Just long enough."
Jason nodded. "I shall give you a command of your own then. Make your play, I will back you to the hilt."
"Pardon me for the interruption, my lords," Donnall said. "Cousin, there's a matter in need of your attention."
"Go, don't let us keep you. Unless you plan on swimming to another ship, we'll have plenty of time to speak," Jason said with a grin. "Mayhaps we might even share some wine tonight. Tywin tells me you've a taste for it."
Tywin smirked. "He liked it enough with Lord Arryn's younger brother."
Lelouch rolled his eyes. "He jests. I drink mine watered down, especially during campaign. Best not to dull the mind when battle could be had at any moment." He turned to Donnall. "Lead on."
Given his social rank and the rather important fact that the Seafyre was his flagship, his private cabin was situated at the galley's stern. The captain's quarter held a dressing table, shelves, cabinets, and his work desk with an assortment of letters, papers, quills, ink, and air tight bottles where the daily logs would be sealed into daily. There was also a small, sturdy bed of good cedar where Cici was currently seated cross-legged, devouring a slice of pizza.
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Donnall." Lelouch crossed his arms. "No eating on the bed."
Cici swallowed the last of her food and licked her fingers. "You can't prove anything."
"I literally just saw you," Lelouch said.
"Maybe Charles planted that memory in your head?" she said, stretching herself out over the silk covers like a cat.
"If we get rats, it's on you."
Donnall cleared his throat. "Lelouch, you were aware that she was here?"
Lelouch blinked. "Where else would she be?"
"We're headed for a war! That's no place for a woman," Donnall hissed.
Cici snorted. "Half the whores of Saintsport will be with us when we finally land at Bloodstone, not to mention the other camp followers."
"Nonetheless, it's dangerous for you," Donnall said. "If you were to catch a great lord's eye—"
Lelouch snorted.
She pouted, fluttering her lashes at him. "You don't think I'm pretty enough to catch a big, bad lord's attention?"
"I wouldn't worry about her. She knows how to keep herself hidden. Short of keeping her restrained in a metal sphere under constant watch, there's not a force in the known world that could keep her," Lelouch said. "She managed to get in here even when I'd told the guards not to let her aboard."
"You ought to know better by now," Cici said, somehow finding another slice of pizza.
"How did you—"
Cici shushed Donnall. "I'm a woman of many talents. Besides Donnall, we've already had this conversation back in King's Landing."
"I'm unconvinced," he said.
"If you get crumbs on my bed, you're sleeping on the floor tonight," Lelouch said.
She sighed dramatically, resting the back of her hand against her forehead. "Chivalry really is dead."
"The chivalric code applies to nobility, which you aren't, wench."
"I'm the mayor of the free Myrmen," she said.
"A democratic title you named yourself to undemocratically," Lelouch said.
She clapped her hands. "Right. Practically nobility then."
Lelouch smirked. "Not without a sigil."
-ZeroRequiem-
Many of the dens and lairs that pockmarked Bloodstone's shores had been abandoned by the outlaws. The smaller bands would not want to be stuck between two larger masses of angry and armed men. The pirate lords of Saintsport, however, weren't so eager to give up dominion of their haven when they'd spilled blood for it.
"My lord of Velaryon, you've treated with these men before, have you not?" the Lord Baratheon asked.
"Our interests happened to align during the Battle of Seafyre," Lelouch said, tilting his head.
Baratheon nodded. "Accompany then, if you would. Mayhaps an agreement might be reached with these outlaws before we need color this pretty sand even darker."
"I would be honored, my lord," Lelouch said.
A score of men, mostly stormlanders, joined them as they made for Saintsport from the fortified camp Lelouch had raised two moons and some days ago. Ser Redmoore had the good sense to expand their palisade and trenches to accommodate a larger host. The man was a bloodhound, but he knew his business.
"I suspect," Baratheon began, "that you expect a place in the war tent."
A trap, Lelouch concluded at once. If this were a simple offer, he wouldn't need to use so many words to dance around it. If I say yes, I will seem to him an arrogant boy drunk on his one victory. If I say no, he has his reason to shut me out.
"I dare not presume such an honor," Lelouch said, "but it would seem most beneficial to our cause if I were privy to these discussions given my family's contributions to this endeavor. Of course, I would be humbled to be among such fine lords and to learn the ways of war from them." He did, after all, command the fourth largest fleet and his father's post as Master of Ships meant he could theoretically contest Baratheon's direct command of the Royal Fleet, not that it would succeed. Putting those together would give him naval parity with Quellon Greyjoy's two hundred galleys and longships.
He grunted. "You speak pretty words."
"Only when the occasion demands it."
"You will be invited to the discussions, but not to discuss," he said. "We gave you a parade and the promise of a castle for your victory here. Bask in it, and keep your peace."
Could he push for greater say? Lelouch doubted it. Driftmark did not have the numbers, nor was his line so closely tied to the Targaryens like in the days of old. Lord Baratheon could claim closer ties through his wife even. That he was offered this much was a compromise and, by nature, meant neither side was truly and completely happy. "I understand, my lord."
Baratheon nodded.
Lelouch recognized a few of the faces that met them outside of Saintsport.
"You're back," Captain Lysandro said.
"With a bigger army now," Redmaw said.
"Not my army," Lelouch replied. "I am with Lord Baratheon, the Hand of the King. He comes with a great host of Westerosi."
Baratheon frowned. "I didn't know you were fluent in low Valyrian."
"I dabble. It's proven itself useful many times," Lelouch said. "I can translate for you."
"If you would."
A one-eyed man with a thick beard crossed his arms and sneered. "Are we to be pushed off our land by you sunsetlanders then?"
"That depends," Baratheon said, "on whether we can reach an understanding."
"What have you in mind?" the one eyed man asked.
"Any Westerosi or Braavosi ship is to be exempt from your raids," Baratheon said, "alongside any foreign ship headed for our ports. In exchange, you will be allowed to operate from Bloodstone or any of the other islands under occupation."
Practically speaking, that left the pirates with only the Three Daughters to steal from, or venture towards Volantis and beyond. In any other war, provoking Volantis and the New Ghiscari would be overreach, but this had become beyond a war for Targaryen legitimacy. It was also a religious crusade against the tenets their cities had been founded on. Their involvement, whether in coin or comrades, was only a matter of time. Regardless, a plausibly deniable form of privateering that would be vehemently denied in the future was invaluable.
Lord Hand was craftier than Lelouch gave him credit for.
The pirate lords shared some words. "Is that it?" Lysandro asked. "No… fees? We will remain free?"
"Yes," Baratheon said.
"We will bring your words to the other captains," Redmaw said.
"See that you do," Baratheon said, turning around.
Lelouch stood his ground. "A moment of your time, if you can spare it, friend Lysandro."
The pirate grinned. "For you? Of course! Business as lucrative as the last, I hope?"
"More," Lelouch said.
"This is what I like to hear!"
Baratheon furrowed his brows. "Are you staying here?"
"Lysandro and I have much to discuss," Lelouch said.
"Suit yourself. Do not be late to the war council tonight."
"I wouldn't dream of it, my lord." Lelouch faced the bearded Lyseni again. "How many ships have you now?"
"Four galleases now answer to me," Lysandro said, puffing out his chest. Ships seized from rivals of his, or those purged when Lelouch was last here. "They are swift ships, manned by good crews."
"I happen to have come across valuable information for a man such as yourself. A magister who has been… down on his luck shall we say. He still holds significant wealth, but his ships are poorly manned and without much in the way of resistance."
The Lyseni's eyes lit up. "Oh? And you know where these ships of his are?"
"Where and when they'll be," Lelouch said. Rasporos' ex-servants had loose lips.
"This is indeed of great interest to me, especially if they are as heavily laden as you imply. What are your terms?"
-ZeroRequiem-
Bloodstone's underdeveloped infrastructure worked against them, and by nightfall, men and material were still being disembarked. That hadn't stopped Lord Baratheon from furnishing his war tent with high-backed oaken seats, golden plates, fine tapestries, and an embroidered velvet map with elaborately crafted figurines laid out on the table.
They were at war, but Seven forbid the great lords of the realm were slightly inconvenienced.
Prince Aerys sat at the head of the table as Sers Redfort and Meadows flanked him on either side, some five paces away in their pristine white cloaks. A band of gold with seven iron spikes fit neatly on Aerys' crown, a smaller clone of the crown King Jaehaerys wore—the crown of Maekar the First. It was simple as royal ornaments went, but with a vicious quality to it.
Yet, Lelouch couldn't help but think the image Aerys, or rather his handlers were trying to project was undercut by the very men that sat beside him. Baratheon sat to his right, and Gerold Hightower to his left. Both men towered over Aerys' slimmer build. Aerys might be the symbolic representation of Targaryen might, but it was stormlander steel and the Lord Commander's reputation that gave it a real edge.
"Tomorrow," Baratheon said, voice like the crack of thunder, "we take the fight to the rebels."
"Not all of our men have landed," Lord Jon Arryn said.
"We do not need all of our men. What we need is speed," Baratheon said, tapping his fingers against the islands east of Bloodstone and Serpentholm. "I've received word that Highwatch, Felstrong, and Tor are lightly held. It presents us an opportunity to take them quickly, before Blackfyre can send more men and dig in. If they are allowed to dig in on these islands, it will drag this campaign on for months longer."
Quellon Greyjoy swirled his wine thoughtfully, took a deep draft, and sipped it. "What of the other islands? Blackfyre will use these to stage offensives against us and our supply lines."
"Given time, perhaps," Baratheon said. "I do not intend to let this war progress to that point."
Lelouch bit his tongue. A lightning war to punch straight into Essos and land a decapitation strike against Maelys Blackfyre. Against any other free company it would've worked, but the Golden Company was like no other. In an open confrontation where they weren't horribly outnumbered, they would smash any Westerosi force they faced.
Yet, there was some merit to the plan. Establishing a beachhead this early would allow the greater weight of their numbers to tell in time. They might even send for more men to come across the narrow sea provided they could hold enough land to forage from. Relying on supply lines across the sea was a risky proposition at best, and the Stepstones were not yet sufficiently developed to feed such large hosts.
"Lightly armored sellsails can't hope to hold the beaches from proper knights," Jason Lannister said, nodding to Lord Darklyn. "The westerlanders, stormlanders, and crownlanders have all landed in good order."
"Twenty-five thousand men, thirty-five hundred of which will be mounted," Darklyn said, stroking his chin contemplatively. It was a little over four-tenths of their host. "Aye, it can be done. The only threat I see is if we're beset at sea."
"That won't be an issue. Any fools who wish to challenge the Iron Fleet in the open seas may try their luck," Greyjoy said.
There was little will to challenge the first phase of Baratheon's plan. What came after was far more contentious. With Old Mother still roaming free, there was a need to garrison the islands if only to ensure they would not get cut off by even the lightest of raid, but none of the great lords wished to be left behind in such an ignoble role. There was little glory in it. In the end, it was agreed that each of the regions save the Iron Islands would provide three hundred men to act as garrison.
That allowed them twenty-four hundred men to hold four islands if all went according to Baratheon's plan. Combined with Greyjoy's ships to forewarn of any large concentrations, six hundred men could repel any middling assault on prepared ground.
"When we succeed," Baratheon continued, "we will press our advantage by landing on Essos directly."
Lord Runceford Redwyne pointed to an Essosi peninsula jutting out like a reaching hand of a beggar towards Westeros. "Landing here would be safest. It's far enough from Tyrosh that we ought to be able to land the whole of our strength unopposed."
Rickard Stark studied the spot critically, before shaking his head. "The Golden Company could bottle us up easily if we do that. If they do that, we'll run out of forage quick." From there, it would be child's play to harass their shipping and starve them out.
"We've the numbers to overwhelm them if they try that," said Romas Redwyne, the heir of the Arbor.
"I'm afraid I must agree with Lord Stark," Arryn said. "A fight like that will cost us much for little gain."
Jason Lannister suggested they land where the sea was narrowest between Felstrong and the mainland. A city, small by Essosi standards, stood there and it's harbor would greatly accelerate their unloading.
"Easy enough to take," the westerlander said.
"Nyr Tyso has more men than Lannisport has souls," Leyton Hightower said. "Even the least of the cities here have walls to match King's Landing."
Baratheon grunted. "They might lack the spine for a proper battle, but even cowards grow bold atop thick walls."
"They're coin counters and thieves and slaves with spears," Ronnel Arryn snapped. "They'll shatter before true men, walls or no."
"True men die all the same to arrowheads and spears," Brynden Tully said.
Nevermind the sellswords Blackfyre would have sent to stiffen the resistance, Lelouch thought. That they hadn't done so to the islands was surprising, but that only meant they'd spent their efforts on Essos proper. It was unfeasible that a port city so close to the Tyroshi hinterlands did not receive military attention.
The third option was Darklyn's idea. If they could not land to the north or south, than straight down the center would do. The unmarked plains were fertile farmland undoubtedly run by some merchant. Food wouldn't be such a problem, nor ought they expect immediate armed resistance from the slaves that tended to the land.
"It would bolster the spirits of our men too if we were to break some collars early. Remind them that they're called to war for gods and king alike," Leyton said.
Baratheon looked uneasy at the suggestion. "If it comes to it," he said. "They might very well flee at the sight of us."
Aerys sat a little straighter as the finer points of the campaign were left to the wayside in favor of discussing who ought to be in the van. Each man clamored to draw first blood against the Golden Company. Strange how eager men are to meet death, Lelouch thought.
The council dispersed with the matter unsettled. Baratheon wisely made it clear that the conduct of the armies in the coming days would hold great sway in the deliberations.
-ZeroRequiem-
The Lord Hand was a hard taskmaster. Ships, Redwyne and Royal, headed for their targets before the midday sun. The Iron Fleet, which made up half of Greyjoy's strength, guarded their flanks and ensured no disruptions occurred. The rest of the ironborn longships splintered into uneven groups, going every which way on patrol though Lelouch had heard no orders in that regard. Still, the initiative their lords and captains showed was commendable.
If only they weren't reaving scum but a step above pirates.
In contrast, his own fleet had strict orders to stay put in case they were attacked or a need for reinforcements arose. Lelouch was under no delusions that he was being intentionally kept out of the war for now. One victory did not turn a lordling into a trusted commander.
War was not a glamorous affair. The realities of distance dictated it would be some days before any news could arrive, so over the next few days he busied himself in the hundred and a half things that needed doing.
The septons who'd followed them in Sacred Struggle requested a sept be built that they might cater to the immortal souls of their flock. Order had to be imposed on the sprawling chaos that was their ever-growing camp. Men dug ditches and sharpened stakes and drilled.
"I understand why you've your men doing it," Zoutos said with noticeable discomfort beneath the shade of a cedar tree, "but why need my men learn how to handle spear and shield?" Some thirty yards away, the Myrmen attempted to march in sync while Donnall bellowed orders at them.
"Quantity has a quality all its own. You'll never know when an extra six hundred bodies comes in handy," Lelouch said.
"It just isn't done," Zoutos insisted. To give slaves in all but name the means of seizing their freedom was a dangerous proposition for the magisters.
"This war will be hard fought despite the empty boasts you've heard from lords and lordlings," Lelouch said in a low voice. "If the worst should ever befall us, and this camp is sacked? Your dozen guards will be a laughable defense."
Zoutos hid his hands in the opposite sleeves of his silk attire. "And six hundred hastily trained men will be any better?"
Lelouch shrugged. "It'll take longer to cut them all down at least. Your odds of survival will be much higher in any case." So long as the slaves didn't take matters into their own hands and cut him down themselves. "Would you rather I humor the septons and have them build the sept?"
"I suppose there's not much else to be done while they're here," Zoutos said, glancing at what was little more than a squat, seven-sided cottage with straw thatching for a roof. "My granddaughter asked me to pass along a message."
"What word from King's Landing?"
"Those men you have her watching have been asking for lead plates."
Lelouch's brow furrowed. "Lead plates?"
He couldn't claim to be an expert in the higher mysteries, but he strongly doubted lead was necessary for wildfire, or any potions in that regard. It's toxicity when ingested was no secret. "Transmutation perhaps?" he muttered to himself, before shaking his head. What did it matter so long as they didn't make more of the cursed substance? "Pass on my thanks to Omorfia. Do you know what she wants from me?"
Zoutos eyed him from head to toe before answering, "I have an inkling, but she has not voiced her thoughts to me."
News from Westeros and the front alike were slow in coming. Without ravens trained to fly to Bloodstone, they could send messages to King's Landing in a matter of days and, if the storms were persistent, only hear back after a fortnight had passed. Four days after Lord Baratheon had set out, a galleas flying a cluster of grapes finally arrived with news from the Hand.
"My lords, we've won a great victory. All three islands have been seized without trouble, and even as we speak, a foothold into Essos is being established," Aerys summarized for the assembled lords. "Ships are returning for more men and supplies. Lord Lelouch, your ships have been asked to depart posthaste, bearing myself and men from the Reach."
"Why transport our army piecemeal like this?" Lord Yronwood asked. "We've enough ships, don't we?"
"The Iron Fleet under Lord Greyjoy is stationed off the coast of Highwatch to keep the Tyroshi honest," Lord Arryn said. "The pirates Blackfyre has allied with refuse to give battle as well, and menace us from the south unceasingly. The ironborn captains report several minor skirmishes at sea with them, but it doesn't account for the bulk of their ships."
Before Lelouch had handed Lysandro another Myrish trade route yesterday, the pirate captain mentioned Lys was not yet under siege by the Old Mother. It begged the question: just where was she and what was she up to?
As the war council concluded, Aerys signalled for him to stay behind. "I must confess," Aerys said, "I will be glad to be off this miserable rock at last. All this marching and training and waiting… the war has been nothing like the knights speak of."
"War is a dull affair interrupted by brief, violent flashes of terror," Lelouch said.
"I'd prefer terror to this mind-numbing boredom. I feel I might shrivel up and die if I need wait any longer for something, anything, to happen." Aerys said.
"I don't believe Lord Baratheon intends to put you in an excitable position."
Aerys scowled. "No, I'll be surrounded by thousands of knights and nothing to swing my sword at. How am I to earn my spurs or prove my valor like this?"
"He has other priorities," Lelouch said.
"Don't start on that. At least Tywin and Steffon will be with me. I swear, I was left with all the lordlings raised to kiss my arse. I haven't had a decent challenge since I got here because you're always missing!"
Lelouch grinned. "I'm afraid my hand remains injured."
"Ugh. You'll keep using that as an excuse, won't you?"
"Do you take pride in besting a cripple?"
Aerys made a face. "I'm the better sword by far, injury or no."
"As you say, Your Grace," Lelouch said.
He crossed his arms. "You know, you and Tywin always address me that way when you're being sarcastic."
Lelouch grinned even wider. "We are but your loyal servants."
Aerys groaned.