[quote=Art by Rustam Hasanov] [img]https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/006/541/350/4k/rustam-hasanov-rh-king-s-landing-overview-color-2.jpg?1499371462[/img] [/quote] [h2]The Crownlands[/h2] [h3]King's Landing[/h3] “I still believe I should be commanding this effort, my Lord Hand.” The words stirred the small party from their view across the port as the royal fleet was sitting at dock, a rare enough thing at any occasion for it to be gathered so, least of all in preparation for an aggressive landing. The scope of it was vast, and even somewhat removed by distance, the noise was almost enough to drown out the words. It was a good enough thing they did not, for it would not do to miss the words of a King, even one that could be considered a friend by some of the present company. Few songs would be written about the stature of King Jaehaerys II, and none of them kind, but those who judged things purely on how tall or broad a man stood had little enough sense, at least to Tywin’s mind. The young Lannister knew well the perils of an uninspiring liege in physical stature, but unlike his Lord father, there was a passion and fire behind the purple eyes of the Targaryen which belied his weaker physical nature. “None who know you, your grace, question your dedication.” The rumble of Ormund Baratheon cleared the distant din of the shipworks with ease, a manner that was both affable and authoritative, even when addressing the King. “But our foes are pirates and rogues, to send our King himself would be to legitimise them in the eyes of friends and foes alike.” It was true enough, although a political answer. All those present could see the contrast between King and Hand, something that no amount of Targaryen intensity could equal. The Hand was a warrior born, the King might not survive the crossing should he take ill as he had often before. “Perhaps you are right, still, I do not treasure this feeling, of sending my brave lords and sers to die in my place, on foreign soil.” The King’s gaze swept away from the Hand to the full group, the lords and knights who commanded positions of prestige among the invading force. Three of House Lannister were present, Tywin and his brother, one a newly made knight, the other a young and promsing squire, as well as their uncle. Ser Jason Lannister was an able warrior, unlike his own brother, and Tywin at last felt some pride in a living family connection as the Lions of Casterly Rock bowed to their King. “My father fought often in the Westerlands, Sers, much to his struggle, but he spoke well of you Ser Jason, and I am told your Knighting was a worthy achievement, Ser Tywin.” The King’s words were measured, but there was a hint of a smile to them. “My Son is keen to renew your acquaintance.” “I am sure his keenness leans more towards the battles to come, your grace, but I am pleased to hear.” Tywin kept his head dipped as the King’s words seemed to focus most on him, before eventually dipping out of the brow to speak. “My Cousin speaks only dear things of the Princess.” “Do make sure to speak with them before you depart, Ser Tywin, or I will not hear the end of it, you are certainly missed at court.” A slight, rare, laugh left the King’s lips, echoed in a greater rumble from the Lord Baratheon. Tywin didn’t quite share their outburst of mirth, but he was pleased enough to smile, dipping his head one further time before stepping backwards to allow the greater lords to continue their discussions. “It seems strange to see those ships as allies.” Kevan had moved to watch the ships again as Tywin stepped towards him, his own eyes now drifting across the rows and rows of Ironborn ships currently at dock. “I doubt such ships have docked in this port in any number before, strange times indeed.” Tywin mused quietly, although without shame, should the Ironbron have drawn closer. “Mayhaps that is why Lord Ormund suggests the King remain home, in case this is some Greyjoy plot to cast the royal house into the Sea.” Kevan spoken with some degree of good humour, but it was not entirely a joke. “Perhaps, but they’re unlikely to manage that with the whole host, we outnumber them, even if it is their ships.” Still, Tywin’s hand remained close to his swordbelt. It was indeed unusual for such a wide array of Ironborn ships to be at dock in a mainlander city without their deeds being nefarious. “Our father could have sent more of our own fleet.” Kevan posed the idea, his hands leaning forwards on the stone demi-wall before them, as the first of the vessels began casting out, intended to range ahead of the main fleet as scout ships. The suggestion brought a snort of contempt from Tywin, but clearly not from disagreement. “No doubt some trader suggested that it would cost his burghers too much in having to pay for their own protection for the course of the war, then that was the end of that.” Tywin sighed, before clapping a hand to the shoulder of his younger brother. “Enough thoughts of home for now, let us find whatever Ironbron has the good fortune of carrying the Lions of the West to battle, eh?” [hr] [quote=Art by Juan Carlos Barquet (FF Games)][img]https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/thumb/c/c4/The_stepstones_by_jcbarquet.jpg/525px-The_stepstones_by_jcbarquet.jpg[/img] [/quote] [h2]The Step Stones[/h2] The journey had not been a hard one, the Royal fleet, mostly Greyjoy vessels joined with portions of the Crownlander houses who maintained fleets of their own, before rendezvousing with a smaller fleet from Dorne, mostly vessels from the Free Cities hired to carry the Spears of Dorne to battle. By the standards of a Westerosi armada it had ended up being fully representative of the varied nation the Targaryen’s ruled, a sight rare throughout the centuries long rule of the dynasty. The majority of the fleet had moved to land forces on Sunstone, the second largest of the Stepstones where some of the last holdouts against the rule of the Band of Nine remained, pirate lords tied closely to the Dornish mainland willing to allow the Westerosi to land without contest. Then, the tip of the spear, comprising of the greater Crownlander warships and the largest of Ironborn longships had pressed on. The tiny island of Dwarfstone sat in the straight between Sunstone and Bloodstone, a dominating pirate fortress had sat atop it for many an age, the ownership and state of the fortifications varying as commonly as the tides. If the forces of the King did not move to take the castle before long, it would allow the Band of Nine to strike south at the landing points on Sunstone with impunity. Thus the first bloody fighting of the war had to be forced early. The young men of greater blood among the first attack force had taken at least passably well to the trials of sea travel, and so their acquaintances had formed, or reformed in some cases, with ease over the weeks of travel. Now Tywin stood near the prow of the Longship, Drowned Man’s Fury, alongside two men of close enough age, if highly distinct nature. “None of us will die this day, good friends, I have seen it.” Aerys Targaryen spoke with the easy good humour of a young man who was simultaneously in jest, but also entirely convinced of what they spoke. He was the most slender of the three figures, but not by much, a far cry from his spindly father, he was instead lean and wellbuilt, clad in armour that was fine but not ostentatious, to not draw too much attention to who he may be in such a brutal plan of attack. “We are fortunate then, that a Targaryen dreamer has never been wrong, that you are all so well known for your level heads.” Steffon Baratheon’s voice was already nearing the deep depth of his lord father, but had some way to go. Powerfully built, he could be mistaken for a much older man, the fuzz of adolescent facial hair already burgeoning into a bear many older men would be envious of. His tone was exceedingly familiar for one addressing the crown prince, but the words brought a laugh from the Prince, and a grin form Tywin the moment before his face disappeared beneath the helm he was strapping on. “Lets worry less about dreams and more about their ballista.” Tywin’s metallic voice echoed from his helm, pausing to grip arms with both young men. “Fight well.” “May you both, I am sure the Lord Hand will keep me boringly safe.” Aerys replied, although without any harshness to either. “Death to the Usurpers.” “Death to the Usurpers.” Both men echoed back to their Prince. It was time enough, as the first ships of the Westerosi fleet slipped into the bay before the fortress of Dwarfstone, and suddenly the air was full with the thrum of battle.