Chapter 89

It had finally happened. Civil War was here, and only a month later than canon. Fortunately, it seemed that we would be minus at least one King, as Vizimir had reported that Bronn and his Brute Squad had managed to ensure every person on their list had made it out of King's Landing alive. Even now, Ned Stark was making his way to White Harbor aboard a ship, while his Son and Daughters had already departed a few days before he'd been smuggled out.

Now, Stannis had finally denounced Cersei's Children as bastards born of incest and was calling on all Loyal Lords to gather to him for a Grand Council on Dragonstone. I had already declared my intentions to side with Stannis and had made my preparations for war already. I called my banners and issued notice to the Militia that they should be ready for duty in as little as two days. I was as ready as I could be and boarded my flagship, the White Rat to head to Dragonstone.

The White Rat was a sized-up New Model Nau with a Goldenwood Hull and two gundecks that carried seventy-four guns, thirty-seven on each broadside, split between two gundecks. It was a gigantic ship, seven-hundred-fifty tons, and the closest thing to a proper galleon that I'd had built yet. The Figurehead was a nice touch, I hadn't commissioned it so, simply stating that it should be a white rat in armor, but for some reason, the Master of the Arsenal of Braavos had interpreted that as an instruction to have his shipwright give the rat my likeness and armor style, with a sword in its paw that looked suspiciously like my own pointing forward toward the horizon. Already the crew was calling the ship the Little Lord, something I encouraged because familiarity with a ship like that was good for morale.

Of course, this meant that my flagship would have difficulties sailing into any ports that hadn't been constructed with large ships in mind, which made it terrible for use as anything beyond a warship, which was unlike the various smaller Carracks I'd been building up until now. That was fine by me, however, as it wasn't intended to be anything other than a Warship.

Of course, my own bannermen were headed in their own ships to join me. I linked up with Saalhador Saan and his King Samarro, Ser Roger Groves and his Mighty Oak, Ser Loras Lothston and his Lost Bat, Ser Denys Irons and his Iron Resolve, Lord Mors Marshberry and his Northern Surprise, and Ser Harry Ruskyn and his Red Ledger en route to Dragonstone. While as we passed Tarth, Lord Selwyn Tarth joined us with his Sapphire Point, the rest of my Bannermen, Princes Perros and Jalhabar Xho, would be behind us by several days. Their ships, the Smiling Spear and the Red Flower Warrior respectively would take longer to reach Dragonstone simply by dint of being in the Summer Isles, while Lord Rupert Crabb and his Ser Clarence's Claw, the only Nau he'd had time to commission from the Arsenal of Braavos and his flagship, would be waiting at Dragonstone already.

Indeed, as the port of Dragonstone came into sight, I caught sight of Lord Rupert's ship standing out among the veritable forest of masts and pennants flying from the docks of Dragonport, the main port town of Dragonstone below the Dragonmount. The silver crab above an ermine chevron on a red field stood out less than the Nau itself did. Looking out over the forest of masts, I counted the various banners, trying to get a feel for who was already here. I spotted the Seahorse of Velyrion, the Stars on White of Sunglass, the leaping Swordfish of Bar Emmon, and the Red Crabs strewn on White of Celtigar, as expected, along with the Black Ship of Seaworth and the Triple Spiral of Massey. Those I expected, as they were not only hooked into the trade networks I'd set up but generally loyal to Stannis.

Interestingly, I also spotted the crossed white quills on brown of Penrose, the black book of Kellington, the Skulls and Kisses of Lonmouth, the Haystack of Errol, the Stag with bend Sinister of Bolling, the Stalk of Grain of Rye, the Unicorns of Rogers, and the Swirl of Wylde. It seemed that at least part of the Stormlands had decided to declare for Stannis this time around, at least from the outset. Between the Stormlands and Crownlands Houses already in port, Stannis should have about thirty-thousand men to call on, with me adding another fifty-thousand or so on top, plus any sellswords we cared to purchase, I'd say we had a decent enough force for Stannis to make a go of it even if the North doesn't throw in with us.

It also looked like Stannis had managed to spirit away the entire Royal Fleet somehow. Judging by what I knew of the numbers at play between all these houses, the Royal Fleet, and my own fleet, we had an overwhelming naval advantage of one-thousand-one-hundred-fifty-seven ships. With the North also likely to declare for Stannis, adding the ships of White Harbor would add an additional one-hundred-fifty ships to the total, giving us a full muster of one-thousand-three-hundred-seven ships. Even the Lannister, Redwyne, Remaining Stormlands, Crownlands, Reach and Iron Fleets combined could only muster nine-hundred-fifty ships. Even adding in the ships of the Vale, Dorne, and Riverlands would just barely give the enemy enough ships to reach slightly under numerical parity with us. We'd still have seven ships more than that.

There was no way that any enemy force would be able to defeat us on the sea, not unless they decided to put aside their differences and all declare for the same King, something I was sure would only happen when pigs flew and the Seven Hells froze over. Even then, they'd have to be lucky to do it, as them putting aside their mutual enmity would only give them a rough numerical parity, not an advantage, to say nothing of quality.

No, the bigger issue is going to be winning battles on land. The Lannisters and remaining Crownlands Levy would be enough to contest us on the field, we wouldn't have an overwhelming advantage there, just a moderate one. I was fairly certain that with proper planning and some good strategy, that sort of force could win battles against us. We'd just have to be better than they were.

As we docked, I made my way onto shore to meet up with my bannermen. Lord Selwyn was the first to step off his ship, my Goodfather embracing me as we met before he began looking around as if to try and find Brienne.

"Is my daughter not with you?" Questioned Lord Selwyn.

"Brienne decided her time was better spent organizing our forces and making sure they were absolutely ready than sitting in a bunch of tedious strategy meetings." I responded.

"Aye, that sounds like my Daughter. It's good to hear she hasn't let the birth of Quentyn slow her down at all." Grinned Lord Selwyn.

"You don't know the half of it. When I returned from the Tourney in King's Landing, she'd been beating three Guardsmen around the training field at once. I think she missed the opportunity to do so while she was pregnant." I chuckled.

"I should have visited more. Now I fear I won't get the chance till after this is all over." Sighed Lord Selwyn.

"Then we'll just have to win this war swiftly so you can come visit." I offered.

"Indeed! Well said, Lad!" Beamed Lord Selwyn.

Next up was Ser Harry Ruskyn and Lord Mors Marshberry. Ser Harry was looking a bit less fit than I'd seen him last, though honestly, given the man was more of a quartermaster than someone who would take the field himself, it was probably the rich foods he could now afford to eat regularly. A few years of fatty food and little campaigning would do that to a man if he didn't exercise regularly. Lord Mors, on the other hand, was still as gigantic and imposing as ever.

"I'd wager the fleet gathered here could take on all the rest of the fleets of Westeros Combined. Not a bad showing of support for Stannis." Mused Ser Harry as I approached.

"Aye, if you think that counts for something. Tywin Lannister may be a cunt, but he's not a fool. He'll plan to win his war on the land." Rumbled Lord Mors.

"Mors has the right of it, Ser Harry. Tywin knows he won't beat us at sea so he'll likely not even try unless he absolutely has to. All the naval advantage in the world won't matter if we can't make victories on land stick. It will swiftly devolve into a scenario where they can't invade us, but we can't make progress against them either." I intoned.

"Some of these Lords I'm none too certain about. Ser Herbert Bolling's known to be a weak fighter, and Conal Rye is a conniving little shit whose lands are too close to Lord Renly and his arselicker Alesander Steadmon's lands for comfort. The former might break while the latter might turn cloak." Grumbled Lord Mors.

"You're worried about them but not about Guncer Sunglass? The man is a known Zealot and you follow the Old Gods." Pointed out Ser Harry.

"I can handle a Zealot. Guncer Sunglass will at least try to stab me in the front if he decides to let his faith overrule his good sense." Shrugged Lord Mors.

"If he wants to make faith an issue, he'll have to go through me first. I worship Mother Rhoyne, after all." I remarked.

"Somehow, I don't see Lord Sunglass coming out on top of that spat." Chuckled Ser Harry.

"Nor do I." Smirked Lord Mors.

"At any rate, I wouldn't worry too much about Conal Rye or Herbert Bolling. If it comes to it, we'll simply have to show them why we have the lands and territory we have. They inherited theirs, but we took ours for ourselves. If they try anything, we'll just have to remind them of that fact with a demonstration." I intoned.

With that, I moved on to Ser Loras Lothston, Ser Roger Groves, and Saalhador Saan. The three of them were sharing a bottle of hard cider that Saalhador had produced from somewhere. Like as not, it came from my own ciderworks and Saalhador had seized it from a smuggler as impounded cargo. He often did say that being a Lord and being a Pirate were alike in most ways save for legitimacy. At the very least, Ser Loras and Ser Roger were going along with it. Ser Loras, I could understand, he was only a half-decade older than I was, but Ser Roger was old enough to know better yet he still partook. It was likely the Mercenary Life that'd done it.

Of course, Ser Loras passed me the bottle as I came over and I took a swig before passing it along, so it wasn't as if I really had much room to criticize a man for drinking before a big important meeting myself.

"That's what I enjoy about you being my liege lord. You're not some stuffy arse with more propriety than sense." Grinned Saalhador Saan.

"Still called us to war though." Pointed out Ser Loras Lothston.

"It isn't as if we haven't been planning for this for some time." Shrugged Ser Roger Groves.

"True." Acknowledged Ser Loras Lothston.

"Besides, something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. The realm has lurched from one crisis to another for a while now. First Balon Greyjoy, then corruption in the court, followed by all the death, scheming, and kidnapping in the previous months. Something was bound to give eventually." I pointed out.

"Indeed, it certainly wasn't helped by the way our late King Ran things." Agreed Ser Roger Groves.

"Or didn't run things more like." Snorted Saalhador Saan.

"Thankfully, we're as prepared as we can be." I nodded.

"Now all that remains is to carry the business out. I'd say our chances are fairly high." Mused Ser Loras Lothston.

"Higher than they would have been a few years earlier, certainly." Frowned Ser Roger Groves.

"Indeed, it is almost as if we've been preparing for civil war without knowing that civil war was coming." Concurred Saalhador Saan.

"Funny, that." I deadpanned.

Then I walked away toward Ser Denys Irons who was talking with Lord Rupert Crabb. The Lord of the Whispers was wearing a red suede leather doublet studded with silvered arsenal steel that effectively functioned as a fancy brigandine. His brown hair was cut into a pair of bushy, muttonchop sideburns, though unlike Tywin Lannister Lord Rupert actually had hair on the top of his head and wasn't bald. Ser Denys looked as fit and as hungry as ever.

"So, here we are again." Smirked Ser Denys.

"You've been down this path with him before?" Queried Lord Rupert, voice tinny.

"Once or twice. We did conquer the Stepstones and three of the Kingdoms of the Summer Isles, you know." I informed.

"And you led us to victory both times. Do you have a third one in you, my Lord?" Asked Ser Denys.

"I probably have more than one in me yet, Ser Denys. Fear not." I chuckled

"Ah, well then My Lord, it seems that I've attached myself to the right person after all. My cousin Dick kept shouting to anyone who'd listen that we ought to stay out of it. Crabbs are Dragon Men, he'd said. I hadn't had the heart to point out how he was still wearing that uniform from the Rebellion where he'd cut away the Dragon Insignia to escape alive from the Trident. The Old Fool is still acting like we're hill lords of some pile of tumbled rocks, barely a step above the smallfolk we rule." Sighed Lord Rupert.

"There's some merit to that approach. Familiarity with your smallfolk lets you know about issues that need solving fast before they become a problem." Pointed out Ser Denys.

"Aye, but he's still too wedded to the past. Focused on what we were instead of what we're becoming. Do you know he's practically become a traveling bard? He moves from tavern to tavern in that dingy uniform singing songs about Ser Clarence Crabb and because he's my kin folks don't have the heart to tell him his voice is shite. I'd known he'd taken a blow to the head before getting away at the Trident, but he wasn't like this before the Rebellion. Sure he was a bastard, who spent the first decade or so living with his mother, but my Uncle claimed him once he knew he was alive and managed to beat some sense into him. He's practically reverted to how he'd been before being acknowledged." Sighed Lord Rupert.

"We can't pick our family, Lord Rupert. Hells, my uncle and cousins have actively tried to sabotage me before." I commiserated.

"Apologies, there's more important shite to be worrying about than my Cousin. I appreciate the sentiment, though my Lord." Grumbled Lord Rupert.

"Speaking of, there's rumors that Renly has raised his own claim to the throne. Do you think we're looking at a three-faction war here, my Lord?" Questioned Ser Denys.

"I think it's a strong possibility. The Tyrells have been whispering in Renly's ear for years now and everyone knows Mace Tyrell has more ambition than sense." I affirmed.

"You'd think the Queen of Thorns would keep a leash on that." Frowned Lord Rupert.

"The Queen of Thorns is just one person. She can't be everywhere." Shrugged Ser Denys.

"And now we're like to have another contender to deal with because of that." I intoned.

With the check-ins with my bannermen done, it was about time to head up the steps to Dragonstone Castle. I led the procession past the gargoyles flanking the stone steps that were carved into the very side of the Dragonmount. The castle itself was protected not only by its walls and gates but by the long stairway required to reach it from the Dragonport at the base of the Dragonmount. The Stairway was wide enough for five men to go down it abreast, but it was also flanked by various watchtowers cut into the sides of the Dragonmount overlooking the stairs which could fire on any force attempting to force its way up the stairs.

The castle itself lay on a large plateau with the actual volcano rising up above it from behind. Towers, walls, and gates of glossy, black, dragonstone rose up out of the very rock of the mountain, giving the castle and the island its name. There were gargoyles everywhere, most in a draconic theme. It was as if the ancient Targaryens had gone through a gothic phase during the creation of the outpost and decided to overdo it on the Gargoyles.

Once we were past the gates, however, we were led to the Stone Drum by a pair of Matchlock-wielding Guardsmen. Stannis would be holding his council at the top, in the Chamber of the Painted Table. Mind you, the formal council wouldn't begin for a few days to give everyone time to gather, but this was a good enough time to network.

As we were let into the Chamber of the Painted Table at the top of the Stone Drum, I spotted many people I knew mixed in with people I didn't know. Old, Whip-Thin, Ardrian Celtigar I knew, the same for bearded, gruff Ser Davos Seaworth, and short, stocky, Ser Axell Florent. I'd met Pious, Moonstone-wearing Lord Guncer Sunglass and Platinum Blonde, Regal-Looking, Lord Monford Velyrion at the Hand's Tourney. Stannis sat grinding his teeth at the bickering of Lords, so nothing had changed there.

There were other, newer faces. A plump boy of fourteen in velvet and seal fur who had to be Lord Duram Bar Emmon. There was a twenty-something, red-bearded, wiry man whose Ivory Cloak Pin was worked in the shape of the Crossed Quills of House Penrose had to be Ser Robin Penrose, the second son of Lord Aeson Penrose, who was ill and dying right now. Nearby a scrawny man with a black goatee stood with a goblet of win in hand and the wheat sheath of Rye emblazoned on the leather baldric he kept his sword in, marking him out as Ser Conal Rye. Across from Ser Conal Rye stood a pudgy man in his early twenties with his doublet of slashed blue and orange marking him out as Ser Herbert Bolling. A Walrus Mustached Older Man in black and ice blue who had to be Lord Hollis Kellington stood talking with another Older Man who was completely bald and whose cloak pin was worked in the shape of a single spiral, marking him out as Lord Caspar Wylde.

Faces on faces I was meeting for the first time, each only identifiable by their general description and details worked into their clothing. Masseys, Rogers, Errols, Lonmouths, and more were all seated or standing around the Painted Table, the single carved piece of Oak that Aegon the Conquerer had painted to look like the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. At the end of the hall, on a raised seat that overlooked everything, sat Stannis looking out over the assembled with a grimace. I took all this in within an instant, as the conversation stopped and everyone turned to watch our procession walk in. Well, I suppose if they wanted a show, I might as well give them one.

Striding forward, I marched up to just within the bounds of propriety of Stannis' raised seat overlooking the lords gathered around the Painted Table, and then I took a knee. My Bannermen, thank all the Gods, went with it, also taking a knee. I looked up at Stannis and saw he was mildly annoyed at the spectacle but also intrigued at where I was going with this.

"The Southern Seas answers the call of the True King." I intoned.

"So you have, Lord Seawynd. You may rise." Responded Stannis.

As I did so, I gave Stannis a brief nod. The Ghost of a smile briefly appeared across his face, replacing his usual grimace for just a moment. Then it was gone and I was turning toward the assembled lords, my bannermen in tow doing the same. If anyone had any doubts about Stannis, I was sure my stunt had just quashed them.

At least for the time being, anyway. Stannis at least seemed to understand what I was doing. After all, the first battle to be won in any war was the Social Battle on the Home Front. With that in mind, I plunged in to get to work winning that battle for Stannis, as his own temperament wasn't the most suited to doing that himself. There would need to be a lot of deals cut today before I would be allowed to retire and by the end of it, I was determined that Stannis would have the loyalty of every lord present without reservation. It was going to be a long night of shaking hands and kissing arse.

I had chosen the King to follow and I'd be damned if I put forth any less than my best effort to see him succeed, after all. . .

XXXX

AN: All right, so here we get a bit of a preliminary chapter. An introduction or reintroduction to bannermen and various lords, a bit of an update on numbers, and a bit of a view of Dragonstone. As you guys can see, Stannis is in a much better place than he was in canon. He could conceivably take on the entire rest of Westeros' Fleets all at once and win handily, while he has eighty-thousand or so troops he can call on from the lords currently declared for him.

Of course, the vagaries of politics are a messy thing, and Stannis isn't the best at being cordial in general. He's prickly and a stickler for exactness. Fortunately, Ricasso has got his back on that front. His little stunt of an entrance was all about. After all, if someone like him is pledging allegiance to Stannis so publically without reservation, maybe there's something buried underneath that prickly exterior of Stannis' worth fighting for. With that chink in the armor of their cynicism, Ricasso goes on the charm offensive to help out Stannis further.

At any rate, the next chapter will be the next part of Stannis' Council.

Stay tuned. . .