Chapter 8: 285 Days in the Stepstones.
Day 36
"The seas are rather choppy today." I said, observing the noisy waves beneath the bows.
"True, my lord. But at least in the height of summer, it's unlikely to mean a storm." Captain Jonos said.
There were some who said these small, rapid waves were the seahorses ridden by the sea god, and their rowdiness meant a storm was coming. An old superstition, likely older than the Andals and their Seven.
It was easy to see how sailors became so superstitious. Sailing in a big blue void that was the sea for years would let a man fear the uncertain greatly.
I thought back to the days past as the sea breeze blew through my hair.
Father had agreed to follow my strategy and had summoned Laenor to the Stepstones. For all he was worried about Laenor's safety, even he couldn't look away from the truth. Laenor needed to prove his prowess if he was to inherit Driftmark, and this war gave him the perfect chance.
I still remember Laenor's first arrival here, thirteen days ago. Father and I had agreed to time his first arrival to surprise the Triarchy. We had him waiting in Estermont for a few days as we maneuvered and corralled a significant flotilla to the north and called Laenor to ambush them from one side while some of our ships attacked from another.
And what an entrance that was! Of the twenty ships we faced, sixteen were lost, thirteen of them to Seasmoke's fire. The four who managed to escape could only do so by throwing away the lives of their comrades as they made their escape.
The Triarchy definitely understood the message: that now they had two dragons to contend with.
As the enemy started fearing the possibility of dragons, we continued with our plan.
Prince Daemon and Laenor were mostly sent to fly over various skies in as obvious a way as possible. The dragons were allowed to attack enemies if they deemed it feasible—a necessity to make the bellicose Prince Daemon agreed with the plan, but their main duties remain, namely to scare away the enemy ships to our fleet's waiting arms.
As the Triarchy's ships tripped over themselves to run away from the dragons, our fleet, which had no fear of massing ourselves in a larger formation, picked them apart at our leisure. Reports of sunken enemy ships come near every day.
At the rate we were going, the only question would be which one the Triarchy would run out of first: ships or sailors?
With the proven success of my strategy, Father has given me leave to command a detachment of my own today. Twenty good Velaryon galleys. I was onboard the Sea Fury as my flagship, with Captain Jonos as my second in command. A proven commander and one well-suited for the role.
Perhaps Father was hoping to give me more experience commanding a fleet. Either that, or he simply wanted to give me a more visible role.
"Enemy ships ahead!" Shouted the watchman from above.
The watchman's shout broke my thoughts. "How many?!" I shouted back at the crow's nest.
"About ten, m'lord! At this speed and distance, we can catch them in half an hour. They seemed unprepared!"
I nodded and turned my head to the captain. "Captain Jonos, give the signal for all ships to give chase. Full mast ahead."
Captain Jonos looked hesitant, but he followed my will and barked out the order to his men. More shouts were heard in response, followed by the waving of colourful flags.
"Is this wise, my lord? Your lord father advised that you only attack if you have three times the opponent's number."
"Advised, not ordered. Twice the ships is still a good advantage." I said as I turned back.
I found Harry where I left him and kicked his legs.
"Get up. We'll have a battle soon."
I ignored him as he groaned listlessly and put on my cuirass and helmet. In battle at sea, few men wore armour for fear of drowning. I myself preferred to keep my armour simple: a buckler, helmet, and cuirass. Even then, I practiced removing them quickly a few times in case I got thrown overboard.
It was also the reason why I largely used my sword instead of the mace. With my opponents rarely armoured, a sword's range served me better than a mace's momentum.
I returned to the Helm after I armed and armoured myself with the sluggish Harry in tow. I could only hope he wouldn't be as sluggish once the enemy was upon us.
"Any change, captain?"
Captain Jonos put down his far-eye "They gave up trying to escape, my lord. Instead, they're heading for us."
Brave men, these. Then again, what were we compared to dragons? It was no surprise that men would rather take the gamble and fight us. Even though they were outnumbered, they had the wind on their side.
"A headwind." I muttered. "Just keep moving forward. Prepare to tack. On my mark, set the jibs on all ships."
Both groups continued on their courses, inching closer and closer until I finally felt the time had come.
"Tacking! Now!"
As the jib sails unfurled in full, my fleet began to fanned in two directions and turned in tight circles as the opponent's ships sailed past where we'd been, our rams aimed at their soft flank. A few rows later, and our rams pierced through their soft bellies.
I shuddered at the impact. I could only imagine how much worse it would be for them.
"Board them!"
Caught in a pincer and outnumbered two-to-one, it took no trick to best our foes. They fought well, throwing javelins and shooting arrows as we were within range, and continued fighting with axes and swords once I and Harry and the rest of my men were onboard, but the end was simply inevitable.
Day 59
Another dragon had come from the north.
They had long dreaded this day and prepared accordingly. Orders were given, new protocols were established, and men were made ready.
Only the dragons were oddly silent.
The grey dragon barely flew within sight of their men. After its fiery first appearance in the north near two moons ago, it seemed content to fly within areas firmly controlled by the Sunsetlanders, rarely coming within view of their ships, much less attacking.
Even the red dragon, who was always in the thick of combat in the many years they were at war, rarely attacked them anymore. Now he was content with skirting the islands, attacking lone ships, and scaring onlookers. All the while, reports of smaller patrol groups and supply convoys being attacked reached them daily.
To his shame, it took him too long to notice the foes' plan. The dragons were not speartips. No, they were merely the shepherds whose duties were to herd their ships to the slaughterhouse.
Magister Hestelar of Lys was an unremarkable man in appearance. Put him in a room with thirty other men, and you'd be hard-pressed to tell him apart from the others. It was something that he prided himself on. As his rivals tore each other apart over the slightest insult, he stayed in the shadows and built his power slowly. While other men drove themselves to ruin for the pettiest reason, Hastelar climbed ever higher and managed to become one of the eleven magisters representing Lys in the Triarchy's council and the youngest of their number.
Yet as he was surrounded by the endless noise of the quarreling thirty-three men, he couldn't help but regret his youthful ambition.
"We had lost more than three score ships already! Anymore, and we might weaken ourselves to other threats!" Magister Sanatis of Myr spoke to the assembly. "Recall that we have more enemies than the Sunsetlanders. There are words that Volantis is gathering sellswords under the guise of repelling a Dothraki khalasar, what i—"
"Pox on the Volantenes!" Another man shouted. Magister Orloran of Tyrosh, whose hair and beard were dyed garish green and blue, "They can wait until we finish with the Sunsetlanders!"
"How do you propose we do that, o wise Orloran?!" Sanatis spat back; patience had already ground to nothing. "Their dragons were untouchable, and we lost eight ships for every one we sank!"
"Continue the war as it is. We know the Sunsetlanders are using their ships instead of dragons as cudgels. We build more ships and focus on Sunsetlander's ships. We can raise as many ships as we want! Our shipwrights can produce more ships than anyone in the world, and they'll run out of ships before we do! What good would their dragons do holding islands with no men and ships?"
"Your foolishness is evident for everyone's present, you lackwit. Even if we can build as many ships as we want, the captains, officers, and rowers can't be replaced quickly. Besides, you forgot yourself! Why do you think we can't keep our ships in one place? Gather many ships in a spot, and they'll count for no more than kindlings."
"You called me a fool, but what do you call to those who suggest that we surrender to the Westerosi Barbarians then?" Orloran said, his tone bitter.
The shout of "CRAVENS!" Came from the Tyroshi contingent, which led to another round of argument as the Myrmen shouted back, and Hestelar sighed.
Personally, he agreed with the Myrman. He couldn't see a way to win against dragons. It was they who allowed Valyria to conquer nearly the entirety of the known world. To fight one dragon was a challenge enough, but two?
Even if they managed to hold back those two, there were still more dragons to be had. Could they contend against three? Four? Neither the Targaryens nor the Velaryons had a shortage of dragons.
Better they just cut their losses and negotiate a more acceptable term. Perhaps they could split the Steptones in two, though if the Sunsetlanders insisted on taking all of them, there were few things the Triarchy could do. Still, losing all the Stepstones with a fair price in compensation was still a better alternative than losing all their navy and losing all the Stepstones anyway.
Unfortunately, his opinion was in the minority. Not even his fellow Lyseni would support him. Too many of them had been blinded by their temporary power over the Stepstones that they began believing it to be 'indispensable territory of the Triarchy'.
He had seen too many men ruined over unnecessary attachment.
"Gentlemen." Said one Tyroshi Magister who had rarely spoken until now. "I believe we're missing the forest for the trees."
The assembly was silent as the man spoke.
"The biggest problem we face are dragons." He continued, stroking his purple beard. "However, dragons are not unkillable. We know that a ballista's bolt can kill a dragon. With the advancements made within the last few centuries, we can fit many ships with ballistas with enough maneuverability to aim at their dragons. Let those dragons come near if they dare!"
Hestelar pinched his nose as the man peddled his dream weapon. It wouldn't work, but his fellow councilors would likely support such a measure anyway. False hope was such a dangerous thing.
Perhaps he should do something through a less official channel instead, lest the Triarchy's history end within his lifetime.
Day 88
As it turned out, winning the war without Laenor flying more than once had proven impossible.
At least Laenor was fine with doing his part in the war. Flying dragons in combat weren't so different from flying dragons in peace. Not to say that he didn't see any danger at all. Even with Father doing his best to send Laenor to the less risky fronts whenever possible, he still saw combat every now and then.
Men had taken to calling him Laenor the burner. No doubt partially encouraged by Father.
We also gained three more islands in the three months we were here. Racallio Ryndoon was a more dangerous opponent than the Crabfeeder, but even he was helpless before the might of two dragons.
I did my part as well, leading a contingent of my own on three different occasions and leading the attack that captured the Deathmaw island fifteen days ago. We found two hundred enemy men sheltering there, along with five ships. There was nothing to be said of the battle itself. Those who resisted were slain, and those who surrendered were captured, to be exchanged with our men or ransomed.
Some of the men praised me for my valour there, though I found it unwarranted. The enemy was outnumbered and desperate, and the battle felt less of a glorious clash and more of an unpleasant, bloody chore.
Now everywhere I go, men bowed and nodded respectfully at me. It was impressive how much reverence I command simply by being a skilled killer.
"What are you doing, Brother?"
Laenor's voice suddenly appeared from behind me. I was grateful for his interruption. I didn't like to think about blood and dead men.
"Studying our enemies' new weapons." I said.
Our enemies had changed their tactics once more. They began massing their ships in greater numbers, always with a good combination of galleys and carracks. The only reason I could see why they would do that was if they believed they could withstand dragons.
The ship I inspected was one of the many carracks we captured. Ships captured from our enemies tend to be repurposed for our own use or dismantled for parts. This one was relatively intact, though it would still require a good spitshine before we could use it.
"So that's why." I mused. "Their new ballistas can aim upward to about fifty degrees, when the older ones can at most aim at thirty. Quite ingenious."
Though they allowed the ballistas to be aimed at flying dragons, hitting them would remain troublesome. Dragons were agile creatures, and the sky was vast. A large, massed volley might do it, but that would be a tall order to do with the large number of ships at sea and the crews necessary to man each ballista.
"Will that be a problem?" Laenor asked as he observed me trying to swivel the ballista. "I don't think they can hit Seasmoke with such a clumsy weapon."
True enough. Still, it didn't do to underestimate their weapons. One moment of unluck was all it required.
"Perhaps, though I urge caution nonetheless. My suggestion is to approach them from beyond the fifty-degree range. It's also seemingly weaker than the older type, likely a way to allow them to pivot higher, so their distance is limited. You can just approach them from the top of their heads, and they'll have no answer for that."
Diving from above was a known tactic used by flying crafts in my previous life.
Laenor nodded. "I'll do that. Though I suggest you tell Prince Daemon as well, he attacked their ships much more often than I do."
"I know. I'm planning to share my findings at the next war council. He should be attending."
With the taking of Deathmaw Island, that made it the eighth island under our control. With each island we took, we deprived our enemies of rock to hide themselves. Another four, and our war would be complete.
However, taking the islands was merely the first step if we were genuine in our desires to integrate the Stepstones under the auspice of the Iron Throne. As long as the islands were largely populated by self-serving opportunists, any hope of maintaining them long-term would be all but impossible. Not with the Triarchy and Dorne breathing down our necks.
The first thing we needed was to make the Triarchy admit defeat. A proper capitulation, recorded for posterity. It would not stop them from continuing to undermine us, but there was value in making them recognize their defeat properly.
The next step would be more nebulous, though the shade of an idea was beginning to form.
The Triarchy as a polity was a young one, established merely one year before my birth. Many more men still remembered the days when the Three Daughters fought near endless wars in the disputed lands than those who were born when they were a single realm.
Perhaps it would be better for the sake of Westeros if the Triarchy were to cease to exist.
Oh, we might not disintegrate their country in this war, but if they thought they were the only ones who could undermine us, then they would be mistaken.
After all, the Triarchy as an organization was almost structured to fail. An equal organization of three could only function when all three were equal.
Day 136
"The island has been lost, Captain-General."
The stooped captain groaned at the news. "Which one is it now?"
"The Whorl, captain. The red dragon took it personally."
"Figures. Now we only have Veiled Rock and Longtusk. If you have no more news to share, then leave me to think."
Just as the first man left, another rushed to meet him, panting and with a letter in hand.
"A new missive from the Council, Captain-General."
Racallio huffed in annoyance. The Council had never sent him any good news. Oh no, it was always something stupid, suicidal, or stupidly suicidal. With a flick of his knife, he tore open the letter and read the parchment inside.
Nothing helpful, as expected. It was mostly about how the Council was concerned with the Westerosi advances and an urging for him to hold them back with the utmost haste. Of course, they also added how they might need to replace him should he prove less than competent. All written in the flowery, roundabout way preferred by those rich plump men.
Racallio guffawed at that. As if there was anyone who'd be willing to fight dragons in the whole world save for him. If any of the council members thought they could do better, then they were free to take the reins of Captain-Generalship from him. He'd like to see them try.
He said dragons, but not just that. The way they utilized their dragons was quite creative. Intimidate their men with dragons on one hand and sink the ships one-by-one with the fleet on another. By the time they noticed, they had lost too many ships, and there were precious few options left for them to play.
Now that the Triarchy had lost their absolute naval advantage, the Targaryen dragons started taking on a more active role. No longer content with merely herding ships, they were now confident enough to attack ships and islands on their own.
What else did they have left? The Triarchy still had plenty of ships in their home cities, but those were dedicated to their own defense against pirates and other powers. New ships took time to build, and good sailors took even longer.
That wasn't all. He realized that the enemy had begun making new moves.
Something that he noticed lately was that the Westerosi began intensifying their attacks on Tyrosh specifically. Oh, they still fought any ships from the Triarchy they encountered, but they seemed especially dedicated to attacking those from Tyrosh.
It wasn't even difficult to do. For all their pretensions of unification, most of the Triarchy's ships were organized along the line of their city of origin. It didn't take a lot of effort to distinguish where each ship was coming from.
Tyroshi patrols took a lot more casualties than the other members of the Triarchy. Not just that, privateers aligned with Westeros began raiding Tyroshi shippings, and only Tyroshi. They hadn't attacked Tyrosh itself, oh no, but it was just a matter of time.
If he had to take a guess at their intention, it was likely to sow discord. Made sure one city suffered disproportionately compared to their peers to breed bitterness among their populace and crack the thin veneer of unity among the Triarchy.
Racallio's eyes snapped open.
"Well, look at that." He grinned. "I might've found my answer for the Council."
He didn't have any concrete proof of such a ploy from the Westerosi, of course. However, a wisp of the possibility alone, of how he noticed their odd aggression on Tyrosh, perhaps even added with a whisper of possible conquest of the city, would be enough to distract the Council in another endless debate.
It would allow him enough time to do his job in peace.
He had no illusion about his chance of winning this war, but not like it mattered for him, for it was not his war in truth. He was a free man who sailed where he wanted and fought whoever he wanted. A man who fought dragons with nothing but his ship and grit and survived. How many men could say the same?
But first, there was something to be done.
"Daria! Where are you!?" Racallio called out as he entered his cabin. Inside was a lavish cabin proper for a captain, and on the bed was a smirking golden-haired beauty clad in thin silks.
"Oh? And what need does the brave captain have for his humble woman?" She said it in a sultry voice, almost purring.
The affair of war would continue after the affair of men was fulfilled.
Day 202
The man swung his sword with a cry.
Not like it mattered to Harry. Clad in plate as he was, he simply let the sword slide off his breastplate before stabbing his foe's stomach, twisting, and ripping it.
It was a perfect gutting. Harry watched as his foe was screaming in pain as his entrails were spilling outside his body.
Harry sighed before ending the man's suffering with a poke to the neck. Gutting might be effective, but the end result was always messy.
"You're done?"
Harry nodded to his friend. "Yes. That's the last of them here, I believe."
Harry watched his friend absentmindedly wipe his bloody sword on a cloth. "Good. Then it's time to move again. We need to cleanse this island from any resistance remaining before nightfall."
"Shouldn't be too difficult. This isn't a large island." Harry said. Longtusk, as the locals called it. Named so for a rock on their eastern shore that was said to look like a tusk from a distance. It was the last island that was left untaken now, and Lord Velaryon had tasked his second son to conquer it.
It would be the second island his friend took after the Deathmaw.
His friend suggested he follow him in search of an adventure, to earn merit and glory. This was beyond anything he expected. Already, he had participated in a score of skirmishes and felled more than a dozen men since he came to the islands. Despite being knighted for less than a year, Harry had seen more combat than many knights in the realm.
He must admit that once he took the field, combat lost its luster quickly. It was less a place of song where men proven their courage and honour and more a dirty mess where men screamed and cried and begged for a quick death.
He knew what a war was, now. It was not something to be proud of. It was merely an obligation to be fulfilled. An unpleasant necessity.
Corwyn held the same opinion; he knew, though perhaps not in that exact term. They talked about it little after their first kills.
Ahead, they saw two of the scouts return.
"There are more men half a mile ahead, m'lord. Perhaps forty or fifty by our reckoning." One of the scouts said.
Corwyn scratched his chin as his eyes assessed the terrain dispassionately. "I see, so that's where the second bulk of our foes are. Once they're slain, we'll have no more strong opposition on this island."
They continued advancing to where their enemies were. Corwyn had the horsemen harass the enemies first as the foot took position. Infantry on their shield wall and archers in the back. The shield wall was looser than what he believed to be proper, by Corwyn's order, yet it surprisingly worked well against the opponents.
Corwyn began his attack, dancing in and out. Slaying one each time he came near, he ably prevented them from regrouping or escaping.
Harry wasn't sure if there was anyone more blessed by The Warrior than Corwyn. His sword arm was a growing legend among the men. He seemed to always know where their enemies were and how to fight them. He was deadly no matter whether he was on foot, ahorse, or on a ship.
Even the strategy they followed was said to be his, if the men were to be believed. If that were true, then he didn't even need to step a foot on the battlefield to be dangerous.
Harry slashed an unarmoured man's throat before he came face-to-face with someone garbed in mail and cuirass. It took some back and forth, but Harry managed to toss him to the ground and kill him with a knife slipped under his helmet.
As Harry rose, he noted none of their enemies were still standing. The few who were still breathing were on their knees, weapons thrown at their feet.
Corwyn eyed their surrendering foes before giving his order. "Just eight. Secure our prisoners. Once that is done, we need to scour the island clean from any pockets of resistance."
A clean-up. Harry thought. They did something similar back in Deathmaw. Though, with the size of the island, it wouldn't take as long to secure it.
Harry walked over to where Corwyn was staring at something in the distant north. "So that's it, then? We took the last island, so the war is over? We're victorious."
Corwyn smiled glumly. "You sound uncertain."
"Because I'm not." Harry said it with a shrug. "It didn't feel like a victory somehow."
"Because it's not a victory. Not yet." Corwyn answered. His eyes returned to the north. "Do you know what we need to claim victory, Harry?"
Harry shook his head.
"The Triarchy must admit it by their own will."
Day 248
Hestelar stood among his peers. The council of the great and some of the good among the Three Daughters.
"To wage further war is pointless." Hestelar began in a firm voice. "Too much manpower and coins were already lost. Therefore, I submit the motion to end the war of the Stepstones to this Council."
The rooms erupted in a cacophony of voices as thirty-three men spoke at once. Some called him craven and suggested he was a traitor who ought to be thrown to prison. Thankfully, a significant number of councilors agreed with his views and spoke in support of him. Some had even done so without prior prodding by Hestelar. A welcome change.
He knew this would've happened many moons ago. He knew they would lose the war, how they would insist on continuing it anyway out of misplaced pride, and how it could drive them all to ruin.
He had no right to speak as if it were not his responsibility. By knowing and not speaking, he too bore the burden of fault. That was why he chose to speak now.
"To continue the war is a folly." Hestelar spoke once more. "The Sunsetlanders had taken all of the Stepstones. Their dragons and fleet remain strong. To fight them now would simply destroy ourselves. Entreat with them to negotiate, and mayhaps we can still gain something from the whole affair."
Orloran stood and pointed his finger at Hestelar. "Now you're suggesting we consort with the enemy. What would our fallen say if they could see such a betrayal!?"
The dead can't talk, you fool. It is the living whom you should be concerned about.
"To be able to talk to your enemy is not a sign of betrayal, Councillor Orloran. It is a sign of civilization. To continue fighting where there's no hope of victory will see ourselves destroyed! We need to face the facts. We don't hold a single island in the Stepstones any longer, and there is no way to contest any of them. All our admirals agreed with this. No one, not even Captain-General Racallio can do that. What value is there in continuing the war? With no island left to take, the Westerosi had taken to raiding our tributaries and shippings. The tribulations of war are widening for the populace. How many more fallens do we need before we see reason?"
Hestelar looked at Orloran. "You should know this better than anyone. It was Tyrosh who's affected the most."
Orloran gritted his teeth but did not gainsay him. It was known that the Westerosi attacked Tyrosh most of all. Tyrosh would be disadvantaged the most for every day the war continued, and the reason why Tyroshi magisters should stop the war immediately was the same reason why they couldn't.
Yet Hestelar knew there were many among the Tyroshi who were reasonable. They could be persuaded eventually. The problem was instead Myr and Lys.
Many of them had an inkling of what the Westerosi were planning. Some might believe Racallio's nonsense about the conquest of Tyrosh, but it was too far-fetched and too much of an escalation.
No, it was a means to sow discord. Not by angering Tyroshi citizens against the comparatively less blooded Myr and Lys, as some believed, but by forcibly altering the balance of power among the Three Daughters. Weakening Tyrosh until they lost their prominence among the Triarchy, and further saw Myr and Lys fight each other for supremacy.
For all they could see, not many were truly interested in stopping it. Too blinded by their own apathy toward Tyrosh and desire to see their city rise in prominence above others.
The Westerosi knew well how strong the unity among the Three Daughters was.
"If we talk terms with them." Orloran said in a tone of calm fury. "That will not make them our friends. We'll bid our time and raise even stronger."
Hestelar slowly nodded. "No one suggested otherwise, Councillor."
Even if an accord was reached, the peace written there would be no more binding than the paper it was written on. A hidden war of daggers and poison, obscured under polite smiles and perfumed robes as the Westerosi would seek to turn the Daughters against each other, and the Triarchy would shake the Westerosi stranglehold of the Stepstones.
Orloran sighed in defeat. For all his belligerence, he knew well where they stood.
"Then in accordance with the Triarchy's founding law, this motion shall be turned over to the vote of the Council." He spoke at last.
Day 260
"Three ships were sighted in the north."
I rose from where I sat sharpening my sword, and followed the direction the men were going. It didn't take a long time before I could see the ships.
The three ships all carried the banners of the three daughters, along with a white flag each. The universal symbol of truce.
"So I guess it's about time." I muttered.
I heard merchant princes tend to mislike risks and would fold at first signs of trouble. Obviously, whoever said that had never fought the Triarchy before. If this war were going a month longer, I would contemplate blockading Tyrosh itself.
As the ships neared, I saw Velaryon captains order the men to be armed and form along the harbour. A mere formality, as it was. The merchants would not dare play such a ploy as a false truce.
I turned and went back to my tent to armour myself properly. I did promise to always be careful. Better to not take any chance.
By the time I returned to the makeshift harbour, I saw that many other notables on the island were already present. Prince Daemon and Father were chiefs among them. I spied Caraxes curling nearby as well, close enough to be visible by anyone who set foot in the harbour.
"Corwyn." I heard Father's booming voice. "Come forth."
I made my way to the front, where Father and Daemon were. With Laenor off patrolling the sky above the Witch's Cove in the south, it fell to me to represent Corlys' children.
Prince Daemon smirked at me. "No need to be so alarmed, Ser Corwyn. Even if these merchants are proven to be treacherous, we can dispatch all of them with ease."
So he said, though I noted he wore his cuirass as well. "If you say so, my prince."
It was not them that I was wary of.
We watched as the ships made their way to Bloodstone Harbor and the envoys disembarked. Guards in Essosi armour and livery, armed with crossbows and bardiches.
One of the men moved forward and shouted, "Presenting the emissary of the Council of the Triarchy, the Honorable Larazero Foronnis!"
The man who seemed to be their leader had the look of Valyrian in him—fine silver hair and purple eyes. I suspected he was a Lyseni. He approached our group at a slow, deliberate pace before stopping ten paces away. His poise was calm and almost haughty.
"Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lord Corlys Velaryon, I presume?" He said in only slightly accented common. His eyes were firmly locked on Father and Daemon.
"In the flesh." Father answered. Apparently, it was he who would lead this talk. "Your ships flew the flags of the Triarchy and the banner of truce and therefore allowed safe conduct. Speak your purpose here."
He bowed in the flamboyant way typical of the Free Cities. "The Council had bid me here to offer an invitation to both parties to convene about the status of the Stepstones and the dispute between both of our realms."
Prince Daemon's smirk returned. "A dispute? Aye, perhaps it's about time for us to discuss it properly. Are you one of the thirty-three, then? What proof do you have that you have the right to speak with the Council's voice or that any term you offer will hold weight?"
The envoy stood upright. "I am not a member of the Council. However, I have a sealed letter bearing the sigil of the Council with me clarifying my right to communicate the message to you. The letter will also only clarify my role as a mere emissary. The actual talks shall be done in fourteen days, and we will have a truce until then."
He handed the letter to Father, who proceeded to read it. Prince Daemon's focus remained on the envoy. There was a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
"If we agree to talk, that is. I don't recall ever accepting the offer."
Prince Daemon just wanted to make the envoy sweat. I realized. Even he began to tire of this war, but he'd make sure to make it difficult for the Triarchy.
The envoy kept silent as he waited until Father finished reading the letter.
"Your letter confirmed your identity and responsibility." Father said. "For the talk itself, you spoke of the time but not the location. Where will this talk be done?"
"The Council suggested Myr as the location. We will be more than honoured to welcome—"
Father immediately shot down the idea. "Out of the question. Any talk must be done in a neutral place."
"And what place will that be?" The envoy asked.
Father paused for a few seconds before answering. "Longtusk." He said finally. "It's under our control, but close to the Essosi shore. Good enough for our purpose."
The envoy thought it over. "Acceptable. Each side shall send three representatives, with each representative allowed twenty guards. Sixty-three entourage in total for each side."
Daemon clicked his tongue. "Too many. A dozen for each man is plenty enough. Unless you have any cause to fear us?"
The man winced ever so slightly, though he recovered swiftly. Daemon took a wee bit too much pleasure in torturing messengers. The envoy took his time to consider the options.
"Agreed. A dozen guards for each representative. Thirty-nine entourage for each side."
Daemon grinned and spread his hands. "Then we have an accord. We don't have much luxury on this island, but you will be treated as a guest of honour. Our hospitality is yours for the duration of your stay."
With the time and place of the talks agreed, Daemon called for wine and food to be given to the envoys. I didn't realize it at first, but despite being granted safe conduct, none were given proper bread and salt until now. No wonder they were wary.
I remained by my father's side even after the excitement died down.
"Does Prince Daemon always act like that in negotiations?"
Father shook his head in exasperation. "Sometimes. He loves his games. However, there's a purpose for some of it."
Intimidation. A reminder of whose dragon it was who had burned numerous ships of theirs.
Father glanced at me with a calculated look. He saw what he wanted to see, for he patted me in the back afterward.
"So you do understand." He said as he was moving back to his tent. I trailed behind him. "Do you wish for a place at the negotiation table? It can prove to be a valuable experience for any son of mine."
I thought it over and shook my head. "No. I think it'll be better if Laenor and I remain here."
Day 282
The herald walked forward to the open square, a thick roll of parchment tucked in his armpit. As he took his place, he unrolled the parchment and spoke out loud. His loud voice rumbled through the camp.
"On this day, the twentieth day in the second moon of the year 114 after the conquest, the Council of Triarchy had reached an accord with Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lord Corlys Velaryon. The Triarchy had recognized the rightful rule of the Iron Throne over the Stepstones and ceded the region to the Iron Throne!"
Men cheered loudly at that, raising their helmets and cups and swords.
I clapped half-heartedly. I already heard most of it during the discussion last night.
The term was good enough. The most important clause was to allow the Triarchy's ships the right of passage in exchange for recognizing Westerosi control over the islands, along with a dozen comparatively minor terms. I thought they'd at least secure a term for a non-discriminatory toll for their ships, or at least demand some reparation. However, Father claimed they had not demanded such a thing.
It was easy to see what they planned. There were times when the Stepstones fell under the control of a single power, but it invariably failed, and the islands returned to lawless land soon afterward. No doubt the Triarchy was merely biding their time to lick their wound so they could pounce the moment we showed weakness.
The only thing left to do now would be how to hold the islands. That might be harder than conquering it, in a way.
Author Notes: Trying to pace the war was the biggest problem. for some reason, ASOIAF fics have a habit of stalling on the Stepstones so I try to make sure I finish in one chapter.
I'm not an expert about medieval naval battles. If any of you happen to be one, feel free to tell me if there's anything I can improve.
I also changed the rating to M because some gore. I don't think it's bad enough to warrant the tag, but better safe than sorry.
As always, reviews are always welcome!