Chapter 152: The Fleet Approaches

That night, Storm's End blazed with a thousand fires, its ancient stones bathed in flickering orange light. No man, woman, or child within its mighty walls found rest.

Servants scurried through the cavernous granaries, taking careful inventory of grain, salt, and freshwater, tallying how many moons the provisions might sustain them. The barracks stood empty, beds cold and untouched, while soldiers made their final preparations with grim determination. They crowded the armory, collecting swords, spears, helmets, mail, and all manner of siege equipment with practiced efficiency.

The ravenry nestled within the maester's tower was nearly bereft of birds, yet the maester himself remained hunched over his small desk, fingers nimble despite his years as he tied carefully worded messages to the legs of the few ravens that remained before sending them into the night sky.

The great hall, normally alive with the sounds of feasting and conversation, lay silent as a tomb.

Acting castellan Ser Cortnay Penrose personally climbed the towering walls, arranging defenses and spurring the men to greater urgency with terse commands and occasional oaths. The reason for this flurry of activity was simple:

The fleet was coming!

Ser Cortnay had issued the alarm throughout the fortress—the fleet from King's Landing was on the move, intent on laying waste to the coast, and Storm's End stood directly in its path.

It was news that raised eyebrows and whispers of doubt among the men.

The fleet from King's Landing had abandoned its post defending the Blackwater Rush to sail so far merely to harass the coastline? It seemed folly.

Yet upon reflection, nothing was truly impossible in times of war. Besides, the order had come from Ser Cortnay Penrose himself, and none questioned the word of such a serious and honorable knight.

And so, to safeguard both castle and their own lives, the soldiers labored without complaint.

Crossbow bolts, stones, barrels of pitch, and pots of wildfire were hauled in great numbers to the battlements. Squads of guards dispersed to every gate and passage within the castle, ensuring that the massive doors were barred tight, drawbridges raised, chains and winches tested for strength, and that the dry moat bristled with iron spikes sharp enough to impale a man through armor.

There was a sea cave beneath the cliff face on the seaward side of the castle, and this hidden approach was not forgotten by the vigilant guards. The waterway penetrated deep beneath Storm's End, but an iron portcullis had been lowered from the rock ceiling at the cave's mouth, descending straight into the cold, dark water and blocking half the passage.

Above the iron gate, the ceiling of the cave was pierced by a constellation of murder holes. Should any fool dare enter the cave uninvited, soldiers positioned above would deliver a swift lesson with crossbow bolts, stones, and boiling oil—a final lesson in most cases.

Many of the older veterans couldn't help but reminisce with a mixture of pride and grim humor. The last time Storm's End had made such thorough defensive preparations was during the siege in Robert's Rebellion.

In those dark days, the lands surrounding the castle had been occupied by Lord Mace Tyrell's host from the Reach, while the sea lay under the dominion of the Redwyne fleet from the Arbor. Stannis, trapped within these very walls, had commanded even fewer men than they had now.

And what had been the result?

Ha!

Storm's End had endured for more than a year, standing unconquered and defiant!

Had King Robert not overthrown the Mad King, and had Mace Tyrell not bent the knee to Lord Eddard Stark who had arrived with the northern host, Storm's End would have continued to resist for gods knew how many years more!

Provided, of course, there remained food and drink enough.

Just then, welcome news arrived from the granary: the castle's provisions were sufficient to sustain the current garrison of three thousand souls for nearly two years.

The cleverer soldiers began to speculate that they might face a lengthy siege by the approaching fleet.

Storm's End's reputation for impregnability was legendary throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and Lord Renly understood this better than most, placing absolute faith in his ancestral fortress.

With King's Landing stripped of its fleet, a rare opportunity presented itself.

Would His Grace choose to march north and seize the undefended capital, or would he lure the fleet to make landfall and destroy this enemy force?

After all, Storm's End could resist for two years at the very least.

Even against a great armada.

The busy soldiers occasionally cast their gaze toward the distant horizon. The sea remained shrouded in complete darkness, not a light to be seen, with only the rhythmic crashing of waves against the rocks breaking the silence.

The fleet was coming.

But when would they arrive?

Even Cortnay Penrose could not say with certainty.

Perhaps during daylight, perhaps in the dead of night. In short, accounting for the necessary voyage, the enemy ships could appear at any moment.

The second letter from Rain House had confirmed as much.

The letter had stated:

Rain House stood unharmed.

Though the King's Landing fleet had approached in silence, the means they employed thereafter were unworthy of such a perfect opportunity for surprise.

The fleet had first created strange lights and alarming noises, seemingly attempting to terrify the castle's defenders into submission.

This tactic had indeed caused some initial unease, but the earl's loyalty to King Renly had overwhelmed his fear. He had firmly rejected the enemy's demand for surrender and ordered his men to prepare the castle's defenses.

The first raven had been dispatched during this time.

Afterward, having failed to secure a bloodless victory, the fleet had tried hurling stones and loosing arrows from the sea, but their assault proved feebler than an infant's blow.

Rain House had withstood the attack without so much as a scratch.

The enemy troops aboard the ships had then attempted a landing, launching assaults against the three landward gates.

Fortunately, a thousand soldiers who had been gathering to march north as reinforcements were already within the castle walls, and the armory was well-stocked. They had repelled four enemy attacks in succession.

Following this defeat, the fleet had abandoned its assault on Rain House and retreated to open water.

The last sight reported from Rain House was of the fleet dividing into three squadrons—one sailing south, another west, and the third, flying the brightest banners, entering the channel that led directly to Storm's End. The false king Joffrey was believed to be aboard this last contingent.

To summarize plainly:

Rain House remained secure, the fleet was dispersing to attack multiple targets, and one squadron was bound for Storm's End.

Cortnay Penrose knew not whether to feel relieved or troubled by these tidings.

The favorable aspect was that the so-called strange lights and sounds had proven largely ineffective, and the strength of the King's Landing fleet appeared not to have increased dramatically. They had failed to capture even Rain House.

Furthermore, the false king had foolishly divided his forces, diminishing the effectiveness of a fleet already ill-suited to siege warfare.

It seemed Joffrey had either failed to bring wise and forthright counselors with him, or if he had, they lacked the ability to make the willful king heed their advice.

Recalling Prince Joffrey as he remembered him, Cortnay Penrose had no difficulty believing the extent of the boy's recklessness. Besides Queen Cersei and Lord Tywin, who could hope to persuade Joffrey of anything?

Nevertheless.

This did not mean that the territories targeted by the King's Landing fleet would remain peaceful and unscathed.

Nor did it suggest that Storm's End could afford to relax its vigilance.

Even if the fleet carried fewer soldiers than initially feared, they still outnumbered the thousand men of the garrison. If carelessness or underestimation allowed Storm's End—which had never fallen—to be breached by this enemy...

Cortnay Penrose believed firmly that he would find no peace, even in death.

With this thought foremost in his mind, he arranged Storm's End's defenses with meticulous care, preparing as if to face an army of one hundred thousand led by Lord Tywin Lannister himself.

The castle must be capable of withstanding such a formidable foe.

For if it could, then surely no misfortune or miscalculation could lead to Storm's End's fall?

By now, the defenses along the walls and throughout the fortress had been completed. Most soldiers had returned to the barracks to snatch what rest they could before the coming storm. The men on patrol remained alert, their steps purposeful, and the watchtower beacons burned bright.

Surveying all that had been accomplished, Cortnay Penrose felt a surge of confidence that drove away his weariness.

He stood in silence upon the battlements, staring into the darkness beyond. Though he could see nothing with his eyes, in his mind he perceived swords and shadows, blood and fire, and the approaching warships with their deadly cargo.

Finally, as the first pale light of dawn crept across the eastern sky, long, indistinct shadows rippled across the gray surface of the sea. They grew in number with each passing moment, becoming wider and more distinct.

One ship's silhouette after another emerged from the gloom.

The sentry in the watchtower rang the bronze bell and sounded his horn, rousing those who had managed to find sleep. The clamor of bell and horn formed a discordant song of war, and the air suddenly grew thick with tension, punctuated by the occasional shout between companions. Everyone understood at once.

The fleet had arrived.

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