[h3][center][b][color=00a651]House Harlaw[/color][/b][/center][/h3]

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He fancied he could see the smoke from here. Cidran Harlaw stood on one of the many balconies of the ten towers of Ten Towers Keep. The ravens and long boats from Pyke had arrived a good few days ago, and told him of the carnage. House Crakehall had sailed on Pyke, Lordsport and the Greyjoys. No one had come to ask for support. So the Greyjoy fleet had burned and sunk, giving the Drowned God a number of new oarsmen. And if the ravens from the survivors and those who escaped are anything to do on, then the Crakehalls are on Pyke in force. The numbers that the survivors and fleeing  captains had spoke of were astounding. Some said ten thousand, some said a million. Cidran honestly took all of that with a grain of salt, no man no matter how powerful sails into unfamiliar territory with his full forces.

He hrmed softly rubbing at his beard. As he did his wife looked up at him, Tillia Harlaw nee Blacktyde, such a dark haired warrior woman in her own right. She could read him like a book easily. And she could see his pondering. She put aside her work on a coat of chainmail, and leaned back in her chair, “You’re thinking about Pyke aren’t you? I read the ravens too Ran, I saw what you did.” Cidran rumbled in his throat, “I’m worried about how stupid Crakehall might be, what he’s going to do now that he’s taken Pyke and burned the Greyjoys. My loyalty is too the Iron Islands and then to the Greyjoys. No one came to request help, no call for the Greyjoy bannermen to set sail. Which means the Pyke fleet and army stood alone. Lord Greyjoy would always say he could field eight hundred long ships, and almost ten thousand men. But how many of that number were mine? Harlaw men at arms and Harlaw ships? Greyjoy stood only with their own men and ships.” Tillia nodded, “This is true. But what are you intending now then? What will we do?” Cidran boomed a laugh, “That’s my wife. Ready to back me up! Like always.” He chuckles softly, moving to her side and mashing their lips together, Tillia grabbing the tip of his beard and pulling him closer during the kiss. The kiss broke, and the pair shared a smile. A voice called to them though, “And to walk in on my parents sharing a kiss, as heated and rough as the old tales. I’m not sure if I should be disgusted or glad to know that it’s love and not lust.”

The Lord and Lady looked up from their position at the young dark haired man standing in the door to their chambers. Young Peytr Harlaw, heir of the House of Harlaw, dressed like a reaver in sailing leathers and standing armed with a spiked metal club at his hip. He grinned at his parents. Tillia licked her lips, “An equal amount of both my son.” Peytr smiled, “I heard the news, mother…father, is it true?” Cidran nodded motion for his son to enter, “True as the fact I visit the shoals every other day to pay respects to the Drowned God. Pyke burns, honestly I feel as if I can see the smoke and flames from here.” Peytr slips into the room and leans on the wall beside the fireplace, soaking up some of the heat. He nods, “So? Should I ready my ship? Get my crew together? Should we sail out there, and blockade the island? We’d be able to keep the Crakehall fleet penned in, starve them out.” Cidran chuckled, “Good idea, and doable, but we’d lose half our ships and men in doing so. I’d rather have our full strength.”

Tillia cooed, “How about we gather up the family. I’ll send a letter to my uncle on Blacktyde. You send letters to your brothers and to the other houses here on Harlaw. Start gathering forces. See what the Crakehalls do before making any moves. And when we know what they are doing, we start showing our hand. We’re Harlaws, Greyjoy may rule as the Noble House, but Harlaw has the purse. We all know that here. You’ve taught me that much Cidran.” Cidran nods, “And you’ve learned well Lady Harlaw. Learned very well.” He looks to Petyr, “In the meantime, keep your training. But remember you are the heir.  Your job is to survive.” Petyr frowned, “Don’t you dare. If fighting begins, I’m sailing my ship with my crew and forty men at arms right into the teeth of those ships to sink as many as I can.” The older Harlaw man could only chuckle, “Can’t keep a good Harlaw off the water I guess..” Petyr grinned at his father, “I may be young, but I’ve every right to go into battle that you do. If it comes to that.”

Cidran nodded, “True. I’m going to go to my study in the Gold Tower. I have some letters to write.” He looked to his wife, “Write to your uncle and brothers. They don’t owe House Harlaw anything but I’m sure they’ll be as essenced as we are.” She giggled, “Of course oh Great Lord.” Cidran snorted and made for the door, “Ahhh feck yourself woman! I wonder why I put up with you sometimes!” As the door swung closed Tillia called, “Because you love me!” Her rich salty laugh followed after him. And Cidran’s own powerful heavy laugh joined it.

A few minutes later in another part of the Ten Tower castle, Cidran sat at a big heavy drift wood desk that a ship maker had made him one day. He never did get the straight of that. The top was varnished to a near mirror state. Smooth as polished ice. Cidran unrolled a parchment, and started writing the first of four nearly identical letters. They all started the same way…

[i]Brother, 
It’s been awhile since our last fishing trip. But sadly this isn’t a simple social letter.
A matter of great import has developed. I’m sure ravens have flown in and captains have docked in your ports as well. And you’ve heard of the attack on Lordsport. Crakehall has come brother. And we need to be ready for them. I’m not asking you to go to war with me yet brother….[/i]

Cidran wrote out four nearly identical letters to his brothers. Summoned runners to take them to Grey Garden, Tower of Glimmering, Harlaw Hall and Harridan Hill. Once those letters were sent he wrote up four more letters to four more lords. Volmark, Stonetree, Kenning and Myre. If anything came from this, the entirety of Harlaw Island would be prepared. Putting his quill down. And swinging out of the big chair behind his desk, Cidran walked over to a corner of the room, where a pewter ewer sat, and a seastone basin. He poured the contents of the ewer into the basin, then picked up a silver goblet from beside it. The contents of the basin looked like water. But smelled of brine. He scooped up a goblet full, and went out onto the balcony. Below him, far below him, was nothing but the roiling, boiling waves of the sea.

Cidran raised the goblet then quaffed the entire salt sea water out of it. Gritting his teeth against the bite of the brine on his system. He twisted his mouth into a rictus of slight glee, “Your move Crakehall. What are you going to get up to next?” He turned and hollored out as he made his way down the hall, “Make me a meal! Mead, good beef and bread! A feast! I want to toast to the Drowned God and all the Greyjoys that man his oars tonight!” His booming laughter rocked Castle Ten Towers.