I might combine chapter 1 and 2 when I post elsewhere, not sure. I've thought of a few generic naming ideas but I'm curious as to what other creative ideas are out there.
Storms
The Stormlord
Herald of the Storm
A Song of Storms
Stormblessed
My long-term thoughts are to really play into the common storm motif of the Baratheon/Durrandon Storm based heritage combined with Kaladin's own. I'm still debating on if I want to give him a POV or not.
Chapter 2
“That is why we used boiling wine instead of wine on wounds. The Citadel keeps clear records.”
The young boy was frowning.
“The maesters documented the outcome and learned that boiling wine was better than not boiling the wine?”
“Exactly, my prince. That is how the Citadel learns. Through the recording of events.”
Renly was nodding. “Did they test boiled and then cooled wine? It seems to me that if hot liquids can damage skin, they can also damage the interior parts of the body.”
Cressen chuckled. “Why yes, it may cause some more damage to the tissue, but I would think the patient would prefer to suffer a bit than perish! And in truth, the suffering is not much if milk of the poppy has already been given.”
The young lad shook his head. “I don’t disagree. I’m saying that the boiling of the wine might be the important part, it probably doesn’t need to stay boiling when it cleans a wound.”
The boy is so inquisitive, but some of his thoughts are a bit queer.
“I think the Citadel would have learned that by now if it were the case, but it is good that you are thinking like that.”
“So they tried it and have documentation that you described?”
Cressen frowned. “Mayhaps, but it would not be something I am acquainted with. I can write to the Citadel if you would like, but the heat must be important.”
The boy just nodded. “Please do so.”
Renly was growing like a weed and took to his lessons better than Robert and Stannis had. He had a true love of learning. Despite the tragedy of his parents’ death, he seemed eager to learn about storms. The maester also knew that there was no fear of him being viewed as too bookish. Already he was impressing the master-at-arms. Though he seemed to have a rather odd Dornish bent when it came to his preferred weapon.
Cressen knew the boy liked to stay busy. When he did not have anything to do he trained in the yard, but if exhaustion took him, he grew listless if not engaged. Cressen had known men like that, but it was odd to see in a child. Most children grew bored without stimulation and grew more raucous – Renly was the opposite.
In the months that followed, young Renly proved not just adept at asking questions, but in putting those lessons into practice. He wished to try stitching a wound, and since it was just a simple training accident with a lowly soldier of Storm’s End, he saw no harm in allowing the boy to try. Cressen had been ready to jump in if he made an error stitching the man’s arm.
Cressen observed the precision with which he worked. His dexterous hands guided the needle and thread with confidence. The maester could only shake his head in bemusement. In truth, the stitching was as simple as it could get, but the boy was not yet ten.
“Well done, Prince Renly.”
The soldier was also taken aback by the whole experience. When Renly had assured him he would not suffer under his care and that the maester was right there, he had the look of a man who wished he could refuse.
“Thank you. It wasn’t difficult. It seems to me that the men could also learn how to do this. If there was a major battle it would be impossible for you to tend to everyone.”
Cressen knew that was true, but the idea of teaching soldiers something more complicated than putting pressure on a wound until someone could treat them was foolhardy. They would be just as likely to do more ill than good!
But like Robert and Stannis before him, Renly could be stubborn. Stannis had said he didn’t wish for Maester Cressen’s time to be wasted, so Renly offered to pass along the information as he had time.
“What of your own studies? I was charged with overseeing your rearing.”
“Teaching something helps ingrain lessons more than just learning them. Maester Cressen says that I am already advanced for my age.”
Stannis looked at the maester for confirmation.
He nodded. “Indeed. He has mastered his letters, his sums, and reasoning beyond his years. His knowledge of history and the noble houses of the realm is not particularly advanced, but it is no worse than that of most boys. He is certainly ahead of your elder brother at his age.”
Stannis gave a tight nod. “I see no harm in it. It is likely a wasted effort, but you do not stint when it comes to your lessons or your training. It will not be long before you begin squiring for me, and you will have far less idle time.”
Renly smiled. “Thank you.”
***
The Lord of the Arbor felt it was he who should have been given command. Paxter Redwyne was older, wiser, and more battle-tested on the waters than Stannis Baratheon was. The master of ships should have entrusted command to more senior leaders who knew the sea like they knew the backs of their own hands. Paxter, along with other lords, boarded the Fury to discuss strategy with the Lord of Storm’s End.
Stannis had not inherited the strength of the Demon of the Trident. A thinner man and not so tall. The grim set of his features was quite different than both Robert’s joyful feasting and his stormy anger. This was a man who did not change with the wind, but battered through regardless of what it did. It made Paxter realize with just a glance that he was dealing with a man who would not be moved.
Whatever he intends to do, I will not object. Best to begin amicably.
Next to Stannis was his squire. Renly Baratheon. The boy was ten-and-two, but already promised to soon be taller than Stannis. Broad of shoulder, he promised to be another Robert in size. The squire remained silent as Paxter, Stannis, Lord Lomas Estermont of Dragonstone, Lord Monford Velaryon, Ser Davos Seaworth, and others spoke of the battle to come.
“They are still raiding and pillaging, we have made good time and I doubt they will expect your vessels to already be augmented by the royal fleet.” Stannis pointed to the map. “There. That is where we will trip them, against Fair Isle and the mainland. My ships will sail around, while you will take the Arbor Fleet in first from the south.”
Paxter rubbed at his chin. It could work, but the timing would be tricky.
“You will need to be sure not to tarry, otherwise they will be able to destroy us before you manage to arrive.”
“We will arrive in time.”
Paxter bowed his head. “As you command.”
The other lords spoke their thoughts, but their words were wind. Lomas was a second son raised beyond his station, Monford was a man pining over the lost glories of his house, and Davos was an up-jumped smuggler. Some doubted the timing of it, some argued that they should delay for some of the more laggard Lords of the Narrow Sea, but Stannis would not be moved.
But the others did not see as clearly as Paxter did.
“Nephew, be reasonable. The Ironborn cannot hope to withstand the might of all the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Balon’s faint hope that Dorne might raise their banners and declare their own independence was a foolhardy one. There is no need for haste. Give it another fortnight and we’ll have half-again as many ships.”
Some minor knights of no consequence voiced agreement with Lord Estermont.
“No, uncle. I’ve given the order. This gathering was to explain my strategy and give you leave to clarify your own role, not to question my judgement. Now, you will obey or I will have your ship seized and you in fetters until your other nephew can pass judgment.”
Paxter was faintly amused at how quickly Lomas assured Stannis that he would, of course, follow the commands of the appointed master of ships. He did notice Renly frown when his brother had spoken.
Family drama? Maybe Lomas is a favored uncle to the lad.
The Stormlands were a fractious lot, not that the lords of the Reach were not. But he would never have shamed a cousin or uncle the way Stannis just had. A soft word of chastisement could have served better rather than a harsh word of rebuke. Paxter put further thought of the matter aside. He had a battle plan to draw for his portion of the battle. Men had to be prepared for what may well be the biggest naval battle of his life.
***
“Trim the sails, sweep the oars!” Davos shouted. He had taken over for the helmsmen and moved to get their ship in between two of the Ironborn vessels. His lord’s ship, the Fury, had smashed into the Ironborn vessel and broken it in two. That had riled the Greyjoy supporting vessels and they were attempting to swarm it.
The battle was nothing like Davos had ever faced before. He was familiar with sailor fights, and had seen more than his share of death at sea, but true war like this with scores of ships on either side had to be one of the seven hells.
I will not fail the man who gave me everything!
He touched the pouch around his neck that held the remains of his fingers. It had been justice, for Stannis was not like other lords. The good did not erase the bad, but by the same token, the bad did not erase the good. He owned land now, was knighted, and his children would be raised up more properly than Davos ever had.
Davos had supported Stannis’s plan. It was bold, but the chance would dwindle the longer they waited. In the open sea the Ironborn could flee from a larger fleet; they knew the waters and their ships were often faster. If Stannis won the day, the backs of the Iron Fleet would be broken.
Damn Estermont. He failed to rally the other seafaring houses swiftly enough. We have another two dozen ships that were delayed in their crewing due to this laxness!
As the arrows and bolts flew back and forth, Davos shouted again for his men to hurry. The Fury was a mighty vessel but already several Ironborn were coming alongside and flooding the ship with men. The men of Storm’s End, many who had survived the siege from the Tyrells, were nearly as hard as Stannis himself and they gave better than they got in the exchange.
Arrows raked one of the ships that had pulled alongside the Fury and Davos drove his own vessel into its flank and ordered the hooks to be lashed. The two ships came side by side and Davos rushed forward alongside his men to save his liege.
He ducked a slash and stabbed the man through his boiled leather. Davos jerked his blade back out and saw what seemed like a tidal wave of men descend on the Fury from all sides.
“Rally to Stannis! Ours is the Fury! To Stannis!” Davos cried until he was hoarse, exhorting his men to rush through the ship they had grappled with and onto the flagship of their fleet. Davos saw one Ironborn raise his crossbow as he neared. He dove to the side as it twanged, the bolt going wide. One of his crew descended on his would-be slayer. Afterwards, they picked up the crossbow as a trophy.
Davos had no time to discipline the man as he rushed forward. As he stepped onto the Fury, fear clenched his heart. Fires had been started on nearby ships and the smoke burned black as sail and wood caught flame. He couldn’t see where Stannis was, but what he saw before him caused him to pause in wonder.
A dozen dead Ironborn lay around Stannis’s squire. In his hands was a spear and he fought like the ship’s namesake itself. Davos saw that every move was a killing thrust, a parry, or a perfect dodge as he whirled between Ironborn who sought to kill him. The haft of the spear caught a throat, then the tip stabbed into a leg, whipped back out and parried an axe aside. It wasn’t just the spear that moved, but Renly himself. The youth’s strength made his body a weapon as well. A parry turned into a step inside someone’s guard that led to a shoulder that sent them sprawling. Renly stabbed another and then returned to the rising foe with a thrust to the eye.
Davos shook himself and fought his own battle. He took a bleeding slash across the ribs and the hilt of a sword to the nose, but nothing that would kill him or keep him down. The battle could have lasted another minute, an hour, or a day, Davos could not say afterward, but when it was done, they were victorious. Stannis was alive, the Iron Fleet shattered, and a boy was knighted.