Boso (Italian Bosone) was a Roman Catholic cardinal, priest of Sant'Anastasia al Palatino (1116–1122) and bishop of Turin (1122–1126×28). He was a frequent apostolic legate, making four separate trips to Spain in this capacity. In Spain he proclaimed a crusade to re-conquer the Balearics and held several synods to establish the Gregorian reforms. In Turin, he introduced the truce of God to curb private warfare.
(Redirected from Boso (Bishop of Turin))
'A Decree of Lord Boso, Cardinal of the Holy Roman Church', in an old Visigothic script, as it appears on the only surviving copy of the acts of the council of Burgos of 1117
First mission to Spain[edit]
Boso was probably from the Piedmont region of northern Italy, which was at the time part of the Holy Roman Empire. The Piedmontese church had connections with Spain. In 1112, the abbot of San Michele della Chiusa in the Piedmont travelled to Spain to summon its bishops to the council of Benevento being held the following year. He also tried to mediate between the warring married couple, Queen Urraca of Castile–León and King Alfonso of Aragon–Pamplona.[1]
Boso is first recorded as a deacon at the court of Pope Paschal II in Benevento in early January 1113. Of his life before this we know nothing. Later that year, he went to Pisa as the papal legate responsible for overseeing the joint military expedition of the Pisans and the Catalans against the Almoravid-occupied island of Majorca. A first Pisan fleet sailed to Barcelona in 1113, but Boso went with a second fleet, which joined the earlier fleet that had wintered over in the spring of 1114. This was his first legatine visit to Spain. In Catalonia, he held a church council at Girona and proclaimed the crusade indulgence for those who would take part in the Majorcan campaign (June 1114–April 1115). His role in organizing the expedition is recounted in the Liber maiolichinus ('Book of Majorca'), a contemporary Pisan account.[1]
Return to Italy[edit]
Boso probably returned to Italy via southern France. He probably convened another church council at the abbey of Saint-Gilles. This council is known only from a letter of Pope Paschal; its acts do not survive. Boso is first recorded as the cardinal-priest of Sant'Anastasia when he attended the non-ecumenical Lateran council of March 1116. The fact that no earlier document refers to him as a cardinal may be no more than an accident of documentary survival, since his legatine work in the preceding three years suggests a very high position in the church.[1]
Second mission to Spain[edit]
Boso's second voyage to Spain as legate came in response to the election by the cathedral chapter of Barcelona of an unwilling abbot from Provence (west of Piedmont) to be their bishop. On 23 May 1116, Pope Paschal wrote to Olegarius, the abbot of Saint-Ruf, to inform him he was sending his legate Boso charged with inducing him to accept his election as bishop of Barcelona. According to the Vita sancti Ollegarii ('Life of Saint Olegarius'), a 14th-century biography of Olegarius based on a lost 12th-century work, Paschal sent Boso in response to a delegation sent by some Spanish bishops who wanted the pope to force Olegarius to accept his election and also to give the Spanish church support against the Almoravids.[1]
En route to Saint-Ruf, Boso joined Count Raymond Berengar III of Barcelona at Pisa. The count was then returning from a trip to Rome, where he had received papal protection in exchange for annual payment to the Holy See, also on 23 May. Raymond Berengar and Boso had surely met previously during the Majorcan expedition, since the count of Barcelona was the leader of the Catalans. From Pisa, the cardinal and the count travelled to Saint-Ruf, where Boso persuaded Olegarius to accept his election as bishop, and thence to Maguelonne, where Olegarius was consecrated. Boso and his charge next moved into the north of the Duchy of Aquitaine, where he assisted Bishop Eustorgius of Limoges in consecrating a church near Uzerche. In the undated record of this action, Boso asserts that he was 'travelling through [these] Aquitanian parts because of the army gathering over Spain' (causa exercitus congregandi super Hispanias per Aquitaniae partes transiens).[1]
According to the Anonymous of Sahagún, when Boso finally arrived in Spain he made a round of the Kingdom of León, passing through the cities of Burgos, Palencia, León, Santiago de Compostela and Braga, in that order. The anonymous chronicler also claims that a primary purpose of his journey was to mediate between Queen Urraca and King Alfonso, whose rocky marriage had finally been annulled in 1114. After his visit to León, Boso appears to have left Spain briefly. On 4 November 1116, Boso attended the investiture of Arberto II, provost of Oulx, as archpriest of the church of Santa Maria in Susa in the Piedmont. Boso seems to have been responsible for persuading Meinhard, the bishop of Turin, to give Arberto the promotion.[1] The chronology is unclear on the exact order of the consecration of the church at Uzerche, the tour of León and the visit to Oulx. It is possible that Boso did not arrive in Spain until December 1116, making his second and third missions one single trip.[2]
Third mission to Spain[edit]
On 18 February 1117, Boso presided over a church council at Burgos, the capital of the Kingdom of Castile. The acts of this council were only discovered in 1906. Archbishop Bernard of Toledo, Bishop Hugh of Porto, Bishop Jerome of Salamanca and Bishop Olegarius attended. Queen Urraca did not, but it was convoked in her name and the name of her son, Alfonso VII, already reigning in Galicia. Only bishops from her realms and from Catalonia attended; no bishops of Aragon or Navarre were present. Archbishop Maurice of Braga did not attend, and Boso pronounced a sentence on him in his absence. The council was primarily concerned with carrying out reforms. Canon XIV prohibited consanguineous marriage, probably at the queen's insistence, in order to further nullify her own marriage to Alfonso of Aragon. It also condemned simony and priestly concubinage. In ecclesiastical matters, the absent archbishop of Braga lost the diocese of Coimbra, which was assigned to the province of Mérida. The boundaries between the diocese of Mérida, Coimbra, Braga and Porto were also clarified in an agreement signed at Burgos on 24 February.[1] It was probably at this time that Boso wrote to Bishop Peter of Palencia to let him know that Count Pedro Ansúrez had donated to Palencia the church of Valladolid and all its possessions.[2]
From Castile, Boso moved into Catalonia, where he held his second council at Girona on 22–23 April 1117. Although the acts of this council do not survive, Boso's letter to Bishop Odo of Urgell announcing the council does. At the council he also passed judgement in a dispute between Olegarius and the abbot of Sant Cugat del Vallès, the record of which also survives. It is probable that it was while he was at this council that Boso signed the acts of the diocesan council of Girona held at Vilabertrán in November 1100. The ex post facto confirmation of local councils by ecclesiastical superiors was a distinctly Catalan tradition.[1]
Travels in France[edit]
It is unknown when Boso left Spain, but he was at Orange in December 1118, where Pope Gelasius II was staying, having been exiled from Rome since November. He probably remained with Gelasius until the latter's death at the abbey of Cluny on 29 January 1119. He did not summon the Spanish bishops to the council of Clermont, scheduled for March 1119, which one would have expected from his recent work as legate there. Instead, Cardinal Deusdedit of San Lorenzo in Damaso gave the summons. According to Orderic Vitalis, Boso was present at Cluny for the papal election of 2 February 1119 that chose Calixtus II as Gelasius' successor. (Orderic is not completely reliable, however, since he confuses Boso with the bishop of Porto.)[1]
Boso spent the first year of Calixtus' pontificate traversing France with the papal entourage. On 18 June 1119, he was with Calixtus at the abbey of Saint-Gilles. In July, he attended the council of Toulouse presided over by the pope. On 24 September, Boso and the papal party were at Tours. The pope held another council at Reims in October, whereat, Orderic records, Boso took part in a vigorous debate. Boso was still with Calixtus at Gap on 11 March 1120, but he was sent on his fourth and final mission to Spain shortly thereafter. Bishop Hugh of Porto, who was also at the papal court, accompanied him as far as the Pyrenees. Boso had entered Spain before the year was out.[1]
Fourth mission to Spain[edit]
The main source for Boso's final legation in Spain is the Historia compostellana, which even incorporates several pieces of correspondence between Boso and Diego Gelmírez, the archbishop of Santiago de Compostela and hero of the Historia. Boso was accompanied in Spain by Bishop Guy of Lescar, and together they visited the shrine of Saint James, a major pilgrimage site, in Santiago de Compostela. Boso and Guy then went to Ávila, where they attended the consecration of the first bishop of the restored diocese, Sancho (1121). After that, Boso visited the court of Queen Urraca and her son for high-level political discussions—'on the state of the holy church and the Spanish kingdom' (de statu Sanctae Ecclesiae et Hispaniae regni), in the words of the Historia. At court he announced a council of the Spanish church to be held at Sahagún in August 1121. The Historia also quotes a letter in which Boso informs Diego of an upcoming council being held at Toulouse on the Sexagesima Sunday next (in dominica sexagesimae), but nothing further is known of this council, if it took place at all.[1]
The council of Sahagún ended on 25 August and its acts, drawn up on that date, survive. Mainly they condemn simony and promote clerical celibacy. More dramatically, at Sahagún Boso pronounced an interdict on Spain to take effect from feast of Saint Martin (11 November 1121). Although Boso does not explain himself, recent events in Galicia clearly precipitated his action. Urraca's Galician henchman, Fernando Yáñez, had arrested Diego Gelmírez and, on the queen's orders, several castles belonging to the archdiocese had been seized. Although the incident was quickly patched up and Diego freed, Pope Calixtus was unaware of this when he wrote to Boso on 7 October urging him to take all measures to procure Diego's release, even up to convoking another council. The pope also expressed the wishes of the entire College of Cardinals that Boso should return to Rome. Indeed, Boso seems to have set out for Italy soon after receiving this letter.[1]
Bishop of Turin[edit]
It was probably during his return trip from his last diplomatic mission to Spain that Boso intervened with Bishop Gerald II of Angoulême on behalf of the abbey of La Sauve-Majeure. A later papal confirmation of La Sauve-Majeure's privileges is the only record of Boso's detour north in 1122. There is no record of Boso ever arriving in Rome, nor any later reference to his presence at the papal court. After 1123, the priesthood of Sant'Anastasia belonged to Teobaldo Boccapeccus.[1]
Although this sudden absence was once frequently attributed to his death, in fact Boso had merely resigned his cardinalate, as required by canon law, to assume the office of bishop of Turin. The date of his election as bishop is unknown, but he is first recorded in office on 13 December 1122. The author of the Historia compostellana was apparently aware of Boso's resignation and election, for he records that Diego had a precious cross made specifically as a gift for Boso as bishop of Turin, in gratitude for the work Boso had done on his behalf during the crisis of 1121.[1]
Less is known of Boso's years at Turin than of his legations in Spain, since his episcopate is not covered by any narrative sources. At the castle of Testona on 18 April 1122 or 1123, he made a gift to the abbey of Santa Maria in Pinerolo. He also patronised the abbey of Novalesa in 1122 or 1123, although the only copy of the charter of his gift is mistakenly dated to 1120. In another document dated to 1120 (but, again, pertaining to either 1122 or 1123), Pope Calixtus confirmed a donation made by a certain Countess Adelaide (or Adalasia) to Boso's church. Boso held a local church council to proclaim the truce of God (treuga Dei) throughout the diocese. The 'truce' was a prohibition on making war on certain days of the week. Intended to reduce violence, the 'truce' movement began in France in the eleventh century and soon spread to the Empire. The act proclaiming the truce was stored in the Biblioteca nazionale di Torino until it was lost in a fire in 1904. An edition published in 1749, which contains no date, is the only surviving reference to Boso's diocesan council.[1]
Boso signed the record of a placitum held by Olrico da Corte, the archbishop of Milan and Boso's ecclesiastical superior, in December 1125. This is the last recorded action of Boso. He died on 30 April according to the necrology of the church of San Solutore in Turin. The year of death is unknown, but it must have been no later than 1128, when his successor, Arberto, former provost of Oulx, is recorded as bishop. This Arberto, whom Boso had helped as early as 1116, was clearly a protégé of the bishop, for one of Boso's acts as bishop was to confirm the possessions of Arberto's church.[1][3]
Notes[edit]
Further reading[edit]
Retrieved from 'https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Boso_of_Sant%27Anastasia&oldid=848170277'
Greyjoy Rebellion Arc
Chapter 2
Heed the Dragon's Call
'Lannisport was our victory! The first victory of the reborn Iron Kingdom! There will be other glorious triumphs before the greenlanders are humbled at our feet!' King Balon Greyjoy, 289AAC.
'Death to the pirates! Death to the Ironborn!' One of the many rallying battle-cries during the riots on diverse systems which followed the Carnage of Lannisport, 289AAC.
'Contrary to their beliefs, no Ironborn on Fair Isle had risen from the dead after being blasted by plasma grenades. What is dead stays dead.' Ser Gerion Lannister, 289AAC.
'Our enemies are bleeding us. Each longship destroyed, each Ironborn killed, each machine parts broken are diminishing how little time we have left. We can't afford a single defeat given how unfavourable the rapport of force is against us..' Lord Rodrik Greyjoy in a private conversation with his cousin Ser Harras, 289AAC.
'Lannisport burns..how will the dragons answer this betrayal?' Lord Jon Arryn, 289AAC.
Lord Varys Tivario, 20.10.289AAC, King's Landing System
There were things which were terribly expensive in life.
A Yi-Tish jade statue of a basilisk at the last select auction of King's Landing?
Twenty-six million dragons.
A one-kilometre starship-yacht equipped with the cutting edge of Westerosi technology two hundred and ninety years after the Conquest?
The initial price came at five billion dragons and could easily climb to four times that much.
Become one of the three new Triarchs of Volantis?
Bribing the electors, the families of the Old Blood and those who mattered inside the walls of the Eldest Daughter of Valyria would be in the vicinity of eighty billion. Supposedly. The former Triarchs did not reveal their spending to the first newcomer.
Watching the King of Westeros receive a powerful slap from his wife and stay with his mouth wide open like a dimwit?
Absolutely priceless.
And there was the voice of the Queen Lioness to accompany this epic moment too. For the tenth time, Varys kicked himself mentally for not bringing a camera with him. He would have no choice but to hack the security of the palace afterwards in order to possess the replay of this scene..
'You! My husband! Where were you when the Ironborn attacked? Where were you when Lannisport burned? Where were you when the men and women of House Lannister died?'
A new slap came to end this tirade.
'Are you a man or a shadow?'
The third slap struck the royal cheek. The visage of King Rhaegar was beginning to take the colour of a tomato.
'Will you claim vengeance for the dead of Lannisport or will have I to do it myself? Act!'
At long last, the eldest Targaryen alive recovered enough of his intelligence to react. It was well-timed, because the Lannister-born woman was preparing another slap.
'Guards! Escort the Queen to the Maidenvault!'
Six soldiers in their parade uniform of black and red stopped standing like statues along the walls and surrounded the Queen. Not a weapon was drawn, but the warning provided by these muscled bodies was difficult to misinterpret. Though Varys noticed that behind the dragon-shaped helmets, three out of the six men were doing their best not to giggle.
'Will you give the same command to the Ironborn?' Mocked Cersei Targaryen. The visage of Rhaegar turned almost violet at this latest provocation.
The answer from the royal lips when it came was almost dispassionate, but every person present recognised the signs of cold fury lying underneath.
'Escort my wife to the Maidenvault. Her last pregnancy has evidently tired here more than we all believed.'
A poor lie, since it had been one month since the birth of Prince Daeron, and the Queen had completely recovered from the ordeal. Not that the reasons given for the order needed to be logical or be grounded in reality when a Targaryen sovereign was involved. Throwing a last glare to the man she was wedded to, the daughter of Tywin Lannister let the guards escort her away. The rigidity in her moves betrayed how furious she was, however.
'Summon my council, Lord Varys.' Commanded King Rhaegar before marching in the other direction, muttering all the way some nonsense about ungrateful women. The Chief of the Crown Intelligence Agency and Master of Whisperers waited twenty seconds for the sound of footsteps before exhaling a loud sigh. This was going to be one of those days.
The seclusion of the Queen did not worry him too much..for the short-term. The Maidenvault could hardly be considered a dreadful fate, really. The place was a palace within the Red Keep. Granted it was one isolated from the rest of the world, but a very extravagant one, with all the luxury and the affluence expected for a trillionaire. There were several rooms, swimming pool-sized Valyrian baths, a large library – paper and digital – studies and art rooms. It was honestly more wealth and splendour the upper classes of King's Landing saw in one year.
'But in the long-term..'
In the long-term it was an entirely different type of disaster. The relationship between the King and the Queen had never soared to sublime heights –and how could they have when the wife would see the results of a badly-mangled rape on her husband's face – but it had soured exceedingly quickly nonetheless. The three births of Prince Joffrey, Princess Shiera and Prince Daeron had been the daylights of a very tumultuous union. Unless the spymaster misjudged completely the situation, there was not going to be a fourth child. The relations between House Lannister and the throne were deteriorating at a frightening rate, and the news of the Battle of Lannisport weren't going to resolve the tensions.
If memory was accurate, it was several members of the Small Council under very detailed Royal Orders who had assured Lord Tywin Lannister the Iron Sector wouldn't dare mount an insurrection. He had been at the time the only one to protest; Balon and his brothers were up to something and if the councillors believed the rearmament was for foreign sales, Varys had lands in the caldera of Valyria's greatest volcano to sell them. The last days had proven the idiocy of those peace assurances, obviously. And now said imbeciles were looking at Varys with dark eyes. Now that the rebellion had indeed exploded in their faces, the men supposed to defend the Seven Sectors were looking at the prophet who had warned them, not at the arsonist.
Sometimes I really want to abandon this little enterprise. Everything at court is totally and utterly corrupt. Surely it would be better to let everything crash down and rebuild when the dust has cleared?
It really galled Vaelor Blackfyre that he was one of the rare men in the highest spheres with the will and the ideas to prevent the collapse of the realm. His job was to spy, report the threats and inform his King. It wasn't to run from fire to fire and stamp the burnings with meagre band of sellswords, prostitutes and lowborn scoundrels. It wasn't to keep an eye on every great Lord and Master of the Targaryen Council because they couldn't be trusted to do their duties.
It wasn't his assigned task and yet he was going to continue the charade a little longer. There was no one ready to take the throne and the need to present a unified front against the Ironborn was primordial. Westeros as a single body could easily deal with Balon Greyjoy and his bloodthirsty reavers. Five or six realms uncoordinated and quarrelling with each other would meet far more obstacles and problems.
Still, it didn't stop Varys several times per week to dream strangling the throat of King Rhaegar Targaryen.
Pushing a hidden button at the centre of a painting representing a big pear, the eunuch everybody in Maegor's Citadel knew as Varys Tivario entered an alcove and started to execute a series of digital combinations. The first activated the secret elevator he had entered instants ago. The second would inform all the Council members the King required their presence. The third were for certain of his most reliable agents in the streets of King's Landing to abandon their current objectives and come back home.
Before this day was over, there would be plenty of traitors and enemy agents to track and seek in the gigantic skyscrapers of the capital world. Balon Greyjoy may have started the hostilities, but thousands of hands were just as guilty as the Lord of Pyke. Some were on this very world. It was his men, women and children who would find them, monitor them, turn them against their previous employer and if need to be, kill them. The jurisdiction of the Order of Assassins was rarely enlarged to the sort of scum living in the slums of King's Landing after all.
Varys yawned, feeling the effects of many sleepless nights. His eyelids and his articulations were feeling heavy. Some hours of sleep with a comfortable pillow and clean sheets were a welcome dream..and likely would stay that way for the foreseeable future. His knowledge of the secret passages and the structure of the Red Keep allowed him to go to one of his rooms and take a shower, change clothes and perfume himself with a large dose of orange scent, a guilty pleasure which always managed to calm him and present a smiling face to the wastes of oxygen he was forced to call colleagues.
The next hour passed too fast, between changing to a 'perfect eunuch' look and gathering all data he could possibly require for this emergency session. When he entered the extravagantly-decorated Council Room, most of the other mummery's actors had already arrived. The Lord Commander preceded him only by fifty seconds and after him..
'All rise for King Rhaegar Targaryen!' Shouted the royal herald while the trumpets played the Fire and Blood anthem. It was a totally useless demand since all the men present were standing near their seats. But then so was the long list of titles which were recited in the seconds after.
'King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Sectors, Protector of the Realm, Sword of the Faith, High Seneschal of Westeros, Field Royal Marshal of the Crown Sector, Master of the Red Keep, Grand-Mayor of King's Landing..'
Since he was a loyal supporter of the Targaryen dynasty, the Master of Whisperers never stopped smiling while the endless prattle went on. In the privacy of his own mind, Varys joyously burnt a Targaryen flag. There was a rebellion going on, millions had died, but the King was imposing them the full protocol! And people wondered when the dragonlords had lost their sense of priorities.
' ..and Heir of the Dragons' Blood.'
If it had not been a crime of treason, the Master of Whisperers would have giggled. The dragons had long been gone and the uncountable attempts to bring them back had long ceased to be amusing when dozens ended in tragedy. Aerys and Rhaegar were not dragons but lizards trying to imitate the greatness of their predecessors.
Grave insult to the lizards, this affirmation was.
This was the reflexion which came to his head when the King stepped in from a door he officially was the only one to know the unlocking codes. Like Varys the sovereign had changed but where the Chief of the Crown Agency had preferred an elegant brown and gold robe the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms was wearing a parade armour covered with rubies and onyxes. His cheeks were less red than an hour before, though the scars on his cheeks were less faded than the ordinary.
The Master of Laws Tommen Costayne started to applaud like a good little boot-licker and the rest of the Councillors followed suit.
What a waste of money. I bet I could feed a hundred thousand smallfolk for an entire year if I sold this armour.
It was a not completely irrelevant point when the last Rebellion had literally crippled the kingdom's treasury and the promise of another loomed on the horizon.
'Please be seated, my lords.'
The twelve men who had waited the next best thing to five minutes for these words obeyed with alacrity. Garth Tyrell's seating was the most remarked as the Master of Information chose this moment to release a very sonorous and smelly flatulence. Lamentable.
'I suppose you all know why I have summoned you here today in urgency. The Ironborn have attacked Lannisport and destroyed the Deep Space Fleet based there. Balon Greyjoy has cast aside his allegiance and crowned himself Iron King.'
Rhaegar paused and his purple-eyes narrowed with a frightening intensity which was not without remembering the late Aerys the Mad.
'I want this treacherous swine dead and his decapitated head on top of a bayonet.'
There had been no powerful elevation of the voice but the tightened fists of the King of Westeros revealed how much this issue had upset his governance plans.
'Any suggestions?'
His audience looked at each other silently. The post-war years after the Rebellion had been marked by a series of internal struggles which had left plenty of animosity between the High Lords of King's Landing. Conveniently this band of highborn had used this period to 'forget' any enemy not including the former rebels. Almost a half-minute was passed like this before the Master of Ships reluctantly spoke.
'I will move the Dragonstone fleet to the Arbor and combine it with the Redwyne forces.'
The repugnance in the words of Lord Lucerys Velaryon, High Admiral, Master of Driftmark and Lord of the Galactic Tides showed how much he had wanted to avoid proposing this. It was anything but a surprise. In the last months, all the propositions Varys had made to reinforce the Shield sub-sector and the Arbor had been countered by the white-haired lord.
GeForce® GTX 1080 Ti is the fastest gaming GPU that delivers 35% faster performance than the GeForce GTX 1080. Asus d33005 graphics cards. ROG Strix GeForce® RTX 2080 OC edition 8GB GDDR6, made for driving 4K display resolution and VR. Spanning 2.7-slots, the ROG Strix GeForce® RTX 2080 keeps Turing™ chilled with a massive heatsink, Axial-tech fans, and MaxContact technology.
'How much time will it take?' The question came neither from the King nor his hand but from Master of Laws Tommen Costayne. The Reacher lord evidently had to feel a bit less confident today than he was a month ago about the defences bordering the Sunset Void resisting a large-scale invasion.
'Three weeks before they are ready to depart.'
'Three weeks?' The loud exclamation had come from Garth Tyrell. 'I thought you had a fleet exercise near the Stonedance System in three days!'
'Yes and our 'fleet exercise' wasn't supposed to use the ammunition and the supplies necessary for a real campaign.' Retorted the High Admiral. 'Furthermore only three task forces were going to play a role in it. A third of our ships are refitted in the dockyards as we speak.'
'Surely there must be a way to accelerate the deployment of our fleet.' Pleaded Lord Costayne.
'There isn't one.' Intervened Varys. Seeing the annoyed gazes of the powerful turn in his direction, the secret Blackfyre shrugged. 'I am far from an expert in spatial affairs but the overhaul, update, repairs and preparations for an extensive campaign in the Sunset Void are what they are. For that matter the Redwyne fleet isn't ready either, so even if the warships of the Crown Sector were ready to depart tomorrow, they would have to wait a few weeks before the Deep Space squadrons of the Reach joined them.'
High Admiral Lucerys Velaryon nodded in thanks to his counterpart. Not that it was necessary, Varys had just delivered the hard truth, but a favour from House Velaryon could be useful when the moment was right.
'But the Ironborn could treat the Arbor shipyards with the Lannisport treatment before they're ready.' Lord Commander Gerold Hightower's voice was slow and powerful, but the fire of his young years was missing. It was regrettable; the knight had been an excellent commander of men in space and on the ground that few could compare with. But now Gerold Hightower was old and the black in his hair and his beard had almost disappeared entirely.
Old and no longer in his King's favours; it was not a secret that Rhaegar was guarded at every minute of the day by either Ser Arthur Dayne or Oswell Whent.
'I don't think so.' Ser Alliser Thorne was as joyous as ever in his role at the top of the Secret Police. 'All the Systems from Seagard to Sunflower must have received the news the Greyjoys have rebelled. They may not have the time to reactivate their warships if the Iron Fleet attacks, but their orbital defences will not be taken by surprise like at Lannisport.'
'You realise this is all speculation, right?' Asked Ser Aron Santagar the Master of Arms. The only Dornish at the table, his nomination to this honorific place had been an attempt for Rhaegar to reconcile with Dorne. That Santagar had accepted lied more in his personal ambition than any Dornish will to miraculously forget the fate of Princess Elia Martell.
Still better be prudent. Underestimating the Princess resulted in a nuclear explosion, hundred thousand deaths and a mini-civil war in the capital. I won't underestimate a Dornish woman or a Dornish man again.
Operation Downfall had been such a clusterfuck –to use one of Lord Richard Lonmouth's delightful expression – Varys had had no choice but to amend his procedures and severely question himself. The rest of the Small Council had showed no sign of questioning their motivations, assumptions and errors. To say the painful truth, they hadn't learnt anything from this disaster.
'Everything is speculation. ' Bitterly affirmed Lantion Lannister of Casterly Rock. One of the dozens cousins of Lord Tywin, the Master of Coin had taken particularly hard the beating the Ironborn had delivered to the Lannister city. Gone were the clothes of red and gold, the golden-haired man was now in black clothes of mourning. 'We didn't predict them attacking Lannisport or Fair Isle, I don't see the Ironborn attacking evident targets in the future!'
'Please, my lord.' Said calmly Grandmaester Pycelle, caressing his long white beard with a pose which made him the wise and benevolent sage. 'Of course what happened to Lannisport was horrible but let's not give these bloodthirsty barbarians too much credit. They attacked without a declaration of war, breaking the customs and the ancestral traditions respected for millennia in the Seven Kingdoms. This more than anything was the key of the devastation they brought.'
'They have as much respect for the laws of war as the Dornish..' Grumbled Garth Tyrell with a new flatulence, gaining immediately a dark look from Santagar.
None of the men exchanging their point of views having anything intelligent to say, Varys used the opportunity to watch the three councillors who had stayed silent from the moment King Rhaegar's arrival had been announced. That the Master of Assassins was not explaining his position did not differ from the scores of previous reunions. Unless there was an assassination discussed, the 'Lord of the Seven Deaths' would not intervene. Ser Jaremy Rykker was the Lord Commander of the Goldcloaks and would not speak his mind unless invited to do by his powerful patrons that were Velaryon and Costayne. Lord Walter Whent however was the Hand of the King, in theory the second most powerful man of Westeros..but in practise the Lord of Harrenhal was looking completely overwhelmed by the situation. Sad, really. It seemed the Old Bat had achieved the feat of convincing himself the Ironborn pirates would stay in the ancient tales where they were used to frighten disobeying children.
'The defiance of the Iron Sector is unbearable.' Declared King Rhaegar, interrupting without effort the growing quarrel between the Lannister, the Velaryon and the two Reachers. 'Their destruction of Lannisport and the millions of lives they have murdered show how little the words loyalty and allegiance mean for them.'
The red and black fist struck the table, and at least three of the councillors almost jumped at the brutal move.
'We are going to call the banners.'
Oh, what a splendid idea, thought the Master of Whisperers. Heed the Dragon's Call.
In theory, it was the right thing to do..but how many lords would answer the call when a third of them would jump in joy at the idea of annihilating House Targaryen?
At the opposite side of the table, Aron Santagar tried not to panic in his seat..and was miserably failing. Understandable. The highest-ranked officer in the Dornish forces who would receive the mustering order at Sunspear was the Commander of One Million..and was held at the moment by a certain Oberyn Martell, also infamously known by the nickname Red Viper.
Probability of obtaining a positive answer ranged between zero and 'when the heavenly planets of the Summer Sector will freeze over'.
'Grandmaester, please give the orders to prepare the fastest raven drones available to Darry, Highgarden, Griffin's Roost, Sunspear, Casterly Rock, the Eyrie and Winterfell.'
As Pycelle nodded enthusiastically, agitating further his large and furnished beard, the violet eyes of the Westerosi King flashed again.
'All the Deep Space Fleets of the Narrow Void will receive order to send their warships to the Arbor. With the firepower of Houses Manderly, Grafton, Melcolm, Whitehead, Estermont, Redwyne, Hightower and of course Targaryen concentrated in a single force the Iron Fleet won't be able to stand against us!'
A few cheers and applauds came from every member of the Council. Varys feinted to do both enthusiastically, though he really doubted the promised armada would materialise. When it came to the Storm Sector, Houses Estermont and Whitehead had a lot of reasons to hate Jon Connington. For the Vale Sector, Grafton might answer but their military power had not yet fully recovered from the thrashing Robert Baratheon had given them. House Melcolm was far less supportive of the Crown, and would probably not answer. The Manderlys would never move without the assent of Lord Eddard Stark..and the approval would never come, Varys was ready to bet his year's pay on it.
'Where will our armies and our conventional fleets gather together ?' Asked Master of Coin Lantion Lannister.
'The Reach, Storm and Dornish Houses could use Oldtown.' Proposed Tommen Costayne. Varys sighed internally. The time of the Councillors not trying to take advantage of the situation in favour of their personal interests was over. The Lord of Three Towers had invested generous sums in the shipyards of his sworn liege Lord Leighton Hightower. Siphoning the money of his rivals while the realm bled was odious..but the Master of Laws likely did not see it that way.
'Oldtown is too far from the Iron Islands.' The counter-argument came from Pycelle of all people. 'The Banefort System is the better choice.' And the unaware masses thought the Master of Coin was the best agent of Casterly Rock while the Grandmaester had sold his soul long ago to Lord Tywin.
'House Banefort has not the facilities to welcome the thousands of ships and millions of men an invasion of the Iron Sector will require.' Affirmed Lord Commander Gerold Hightower with a heavy dose of disdain. 'But Seagard has them, and the System is within striking distance of the-'
'No.' If the looks Rhaegar Targaryen sent to his Kingsguard could kill, then the Hightower white knight would have been a dead man. Any House which had sided against him in the last Rebellion was suspect in the royal eyes. It wasn't important that Aerys had burnt alive Lord Jason Mallister's brother before asking for the head of every Mallister alive. And yes, the last glance thrown to Gerold Hightower promised untold retribution. The white knight appeared unaffected – undoubtedly Aerys had brandished far worse threats in his time – but if he survived the fighting to come, Gerold Hightower was going to share the fate of Ser Jaime Lannister, inspecting and visiting the different Sectors of the realm in search of agitation, discontent and betrayal. An exile in all but name because Rhaegar feared what the golden-haired young man could do politically with his sister. How ironic the Lannister siblings had not been thinking about the Game of Thrones in the first place..
'Not Seagard. Are there any other options?'
The question was not posed to anybody in particular. Which was Varys' cue to intervene and save the idiots in charge from their own incompetence.
'Casterly Rock and the Banefort Systems are the primary choices if you want the gathering to occur in the Western Sector, your Grace.' Under his genial facade, the Blackfyre spy was laughing. After what had happened with his wife, Rhaegar would be in no hurry to visit Lord Tywin's seat of power. 'For the River Sector the only choice is Seagard. The closest Reach base is the Shield sub-sector. The North has no facilities to speak of within acceptable range.'
Not that the prophecy-obsessed Targaryen would have chosen the North even if the planets under Stark's rule had had developed systems available.
'It will be the Banefort.' Decided Rhaegar.
How predictable.
'Prepare to crush the Ironborn.'
To say the River fleets and armies were ready to fight the Greyjoys at the end of the year 289AAC was a huge lie. Many of the Sector's best elements had died on one side or another during the Usurper's Rebellion. The replacement of House Tully by House Darry had created an endless series of administrative chaos.
Cousins slaying cousins and the short amount of time it took for certain Houses to capitulate before the Lannister military hammer had created or reinforced bitter feuds, the bad blood between House Bracken and House Blackwood being the most infamous example. The increase of taxes for the vanquished Rebel Houses had not really decreased the enmities. Where before two stellar systems had excellent relations and were heavily trading with each other, the new norm was frigid distrust, especially if the first party had been stabbed in the back by the second during the last conflict. Most Noble Houses had refused to comply with the new uniform regulations, transforming the meetings of River Sector soldiers into pseudo-carnivals. The classes of warship established by House Tully were virtually abandoned. The lords having the shipyards and the will to build their own classes did not wait long before doing exactly that. Before the battle of the Trident and the death of Lord Hoster Tully, the River navy and Army had been respected forces. What emerged from the crucible of the Rebellion were a dozen of factions each having different goals and methods.
Yet House Targaryen had plenty of friends in the Sector, and their capacities were still worthy of consideration despite the losses taken during the Rebellion. House Darry and House Whent, respectively having gained the Paramountcy and the position of the Hand of the King, stood like a single man with the King when the call for arms was sounded. House Mooton, House Ryger, House Frey, the two branches of House Vance, and last but not least, House Bracken, joined them for the impending invasion of the Iron Sector.
In other circumstances, the fact over one-third of the River Sector outright ignored the summons would have been source of consternation. But as the replies of the Storm Sector, the North and Dorne arrived, plenty of Royal commanders chose to see the good side of this muster. The River Navy might be divided in spirit, but it was capable to concentrate ten ships of the line and several dozen warships fit for raid warfare and battles where the capital ships weren't needed. The River Army would field over two hundred and thirty million soldiers in a couple of months. The young Heir of Riverrun, Lord Edmure Tully, would serve enthusiastically under the royal banner. It would be a propaganda coup for the Targaryen regime. Wasn't it?
On the terrain things were very different. For the average loyalist soldier, knowing a sizeable proportion of the former rebels were staying at home while their own formations were thrown at the reavers was not reassuring at all..
From the Fall of the Iron Sector, published in 298AAC by Maester Yandel.
Lord Tytos Blackwood, 25.10.289AAC, Raventree System
'Please tell me you're joking Captain. Please.'
The voice of Lord Tytos Blackwood was posed but in spite of his best efforts the supplication was audible underneath. Unfortunately, the army officer who had just delivered him the holo-message did not return an expression indicating the affair was a hilarious farce.
The rest of the audience listening, two scores of men and women gathered around the millennia-old great tree, emitted appropriate signs of regret. Not a hoax, then.
'I'm afraid my lord that Lord Jason Mallister has sent a confirmation of his own..we haven't received anything from the North or the Vale but the analysts have told us we can assume their own messages are on the way.'
'Formidable.' The Lord of the Raventree System refrained from kicking the small table and the rest of the portable furniture in his range. 'What is this idiot of Balon Greyjoy thinking? No, let me rephrase the question. Has the imbecile something in his brain allowing him to think?'
'It's obvious he isn't thinking.' Replied Vice-Admiral Martin Blackvalley, in charge of the system's orbital defences. The scowl of the naval officer was pronounced, his contempt for the Ironborn impossible to miss. 'If he had a few brain cells to rub inside his thick skull, he would know we do not tolerate stray dogs in our ranks!'
A large majority of the highborn who heard this statement winced at his bluntness, but no one opened the mouth to contest it. After all, Blackvalley wasn't in the wrong, no?
'I find myself in agreement with the Admiral.' Declared Bernard Longrivers, the Grand Keeper of the Raventree Seal, in charge of the high justice for the two inhabitable planets of the Raventree System. 'Balon Greyjoy wants us to be allies but his behaviour and his words say otherwise.' A finger was pointed at the storage device having played the insulting holo-message. 'These were not the words one speaks to an equal or a trusted vassal. These are words one use to command a disobedient servant!'
'I don't know if I would go that far..' The tone of General Hendry Blackmount was more conciliating than angry. Like his Admiral counterpart, Blackmount had come to the emergency meeting in his red shirt and black trousers which had been reinstated as the Blackwood uniform. 'The Lord Reaper has insisted a lot on our mutual enmity of House Targaryen.'
'Yes, yes.' It would have taken a lot of effort to miss the sarcasm in the Vice-Admiral's voice. 'We all hate the Targaryens though I am deeply curious why the Greyjoys decided to ignore our help pleas and attack Seagard at the end of the last war if they loathed our dragons' overlords so much.'
Several diplomats chuckled in their beards or put hands in front of their mouth to hide their smiles.
'But whether they loath or love our beloved King Rhaegar is irrelevant.' Continued Blackvalley. 'My point is that if the Ironborn wanted allies, they might perhaps have warned us, oh I don't know, several days before they were ready to launch their attack on Lannisport!'
The acidity in each sentence could have poisoned an entire city..and the worst part was that it was well-deserved. Yes, Tytos had heard from his sources that Lord Balon Greyjoy was engaged in a large-scale military program. Such a thing was very difficult to miss indeed, and the issue it was more or less sinking the weak economy of the Iron Sector had made it even more so. But at no moment there had been an alliance proposition in the boxes. No coded transmissions had been exchanged. Not before today.
'Could our fleet be ready to conduct operations in the next fortnight, Admiral?' Asked Cleon Blackreef, Raventree's Grand Treasurer, getting an incredulous look from the Vice-Admiral. 'I won't deny you have a point, but if these scum of Ironborn have given us the opportunity we want..'
'I see your point.' Told the fourth highest officer of the Blackwood Navy, before repeating the same words in a more calm and collected manner. 'I see your point very well. To answer your question, no our fleet is not ready to begin military operations right now. Half of our warships are ready for battle, but a third of them are scheduled to enter important overhauls in the next twenty days while two squadrons won't be released from the dockyards before the end of Sonarios. We could annihilate the Bracken Navy, they have been extremely negligent in their defensive systems..but we sure as the Seven Hells haven't the ability to conduct a major military campaign against the other loyalists of the River Sector!'
Tytos felt himself nodding with the rest of the participants. This negative answer was not unexpected, he had been informed three days ago of the full status his navy. What had just been spoken was a just a five seconds sum-up of the much informative and sensitive three hours-conference. While in his heart he felt a bit of regret at the idea of missing a good fight, the hard reality of interstellar distances and long-term planning were what they were. If your admirals told you the warships weren't ready, it was better to listen – least you have a disaster in your hands like the one which had just struck the Lannisters. There was still a big question left in the air, one Tytos Blackwood proceeded to ask.
'Assuming we and our friends of the North and the Vale don't rush to the Ironborn's help, what are their chances?'
'In one word, my lord?' Blackvalley lips' curled. 'Infinitesimal.'
'Surely the situation isn't that bad!' Exclaimed Blackreef. 'I mean, the brothers of Balon Greyjoy have just crushed Lannisport..'
'And the King has still three Deep Space Fleets to throw at them.' Reminded him the Vice-Admiral. 'Houses Targaryen, Hightower and Redwyne have enough assets to lose two or three warships per longship destroyed and still emerge victorious. It doesn't matter how skilled you are when the difference in numbers is so large.'
'Should we not intervene then?' Every eye turned to look at William Baldhill, Seneschal of Raventree Hall, the Raventree System's most post populated planet. 'I hate these honourless pirates as much as the next man, but the Rebellion of an entire Sector against royal authority is not going to happen every day. If the Greyjoys are crushed, and I think we can all agree it certainly will happen if we do not side with them, Rhaegar is not going to give them lenient terms.'
'Minimally, Pyke will lose the Paramount title.' Bernard Longrivers said thoughtfully. 'Heavy reparations for the destruction they caused all over the Sunset Void and of course Lannisport will also be in order.'
'The dragons may decide to make an example of the Greyjoys.' Warned Hendry Blackmount. 'There are many rumours coming from our agents at King's Landing..several Councillors and influential lords are convinced that the soft terms of the Congress of Maidenpool encouraged Balon to mount his own Rebellion.'
This revelation made Blackreef and Baldhill snort and there weren't the only ones. The true reason that House Blackwood like House Stark and House Arryn had received 'soft' terms was because the alliance of the West, Reach and Crown had been unable to defeat them. Watching the situation impartially, the conflict had reached a point best described as a stalemate and the arrogant loyalists had wanted to end the war before the whole edifice collapsed under them. The Storm Sector and the River lords who had been defeated had been handed far worse terms. For all their supposed 'gentleness' and 'mercy' the Targaryen dynasty was frequently displaying habits which were neither one nor the other. Names like Maegor the Cruel or Aerys the Mad were synonyms of cruelty, arrogance and atrocities in the tales, and it wasn't a grievous mistake.
Aegon the Conqueror was a better King than Harren Hoare but his successors are getting madder and madder. Worse, a sizeable portion of the South is saying nothing because they find the situation normal!
Watching the immense tree over his head, Tytos Blackwood felt tiny and insignificant. The weirwood of House Blackwood had been planted after their exile of the North. Two brothers exiled by the Stark King after a particular humiliating defeat, but determined to remember their roots whatever destiny waited for them. The Blackwoods, the descendants of the eldest brother, had kept the memories alive and after the Dance of the Dragons one of their daughters had wedded the Stark. The North remembered and the exile of House Blackwood had been lifted. Since then thousands of youngsters had taken warships and gone upwards the galactic plane. The Brackens, the descendants of the youngest brother, had abandoned this idea long ago. It was them who had poisoned this weirwood tree, giving it a waif-like appearance despite a circumference of hundreds metres. It was the Brackens who had abandoned the idea of the souvenir and the promised return.
The North remembers, forever and always.
The Brackens had betrayed the cause of the Rebellion, surrendering to the first Lannister warship which reached Stone Hedge. But they had not gotten the better part of the deal, since House Blackwood had resisted and emerged intact from the anvil of war.
How it galled them. They sincerely thought the dragons were going to award them titles but they were punished like the rest.
But the long enmity between the two Houses was the symbol of a divided realm. A broken symbol, a tearful reminder of what it should have been. The Seven Sectors were more unstable than ever, else an idiot like Balon Greyjoy would never have dared launching his own insurrection. And if he had to be honest with himself, the Master of the Raventree System acknowledged his actions were going to make the next years worse, not better.
Not that our King really need my help to screw up things.
'How many ships can we safely send to war without depleting the security of Raventree?'
No doubt any Targaryen supporter who listened to this question would declare him an oath-breaker and a traitor..but none of the spectators batted an eye at the question. Relationships between the Crown and the inhabitants of the Raventree System had frozen years ago.
The two flag officers exchanged a look. Finally it was General Hendry Blackmount who answered.
'I think we can muster the 7th Field Army..eighty-five thousand men, give it or take.'
Given that the System ruled by House Blackwood had a population nearing two billion souls, a lot of people chuckled, understanding this would be an observation force and nothing more.
'Do you think you can find the escorts for them, Admiral?'
Vice-Admiral Martin Blackvalley emitted a powerful sigh which was so faked it was a miracle his nose didn't elongate from it.
'I think a battlecruiser and its escorts can be freed in time for the muster at the Banefort.' There was a small pause before the officer finished with a last critic. 'We could have sent more hulls to Seagard but I'm afraid the Banefort System has not the proper facilities to accommodate River ships.'
'How awful.'
Tytos Blackwood didn't know who made the spirited remark..and no investigation came to discover the cheeky impertinent.
Lord Richard Lonmouth, 08.11.289AAC, Fawnton System
This was a nice day to go to war.
The sun was shining but was neither too warm nor too weak. The few grey clouds which could be seen were dispersed and promised no rain for the foreseeable future. The humidity was low and the temperature was acceptable, allowing men and women to walk without suffering a sunstroke or sweating in an undignified manner.
On the balcony where he was seated, Lord Richard Lonmouth watched as hundreds of thousands soldiers in red and white paraded while drinking a glass of cider from a Fossoway plantation.
'Look! The Trident super-heavies are coming!'
It was an unnecessary observation, as the uncountable ranks of red-white Storm soldiers were ending, releasing their place at the centre of the parade to the formidable tanks.
Despite his reluctance to reveal his curiosity, Richard activated the magnifying cameras which had been placed in front of their seats. A lot of rumours abounded concerning the new monstrous tanks Jon had ordered from Star Griffin Incorporated, ranging from the truly ridiculous to the terrifying. They had never been revealed to the public, and the Lord of the Lonmouth System could almost taste the excitation coursing through the highborn and lowborn audience.
Seconds passed, and the new model of gigantic armoured vehicles came into the camera's view. Gasps and shivers were heard when the spectators of the left terraces discovered the appearance of the war machines. Richard closed his mouth when his turn came, but it was not the envy which was lacking to him.
The Tridents were..huge. That was the first reflexion which came to his mind. Then his past studies came back and the different with the old Hurricanes Mark 20 became even more pronounced. The Baratheon-produced tanks had weighted 350 tonnes and had a width of eight metres. Unless his eyes were completely out of the game, the Tridents advancing at low speed for their parade were heavier and larger. Higher too, but it was less marked than the other characteristics. Like the super-sized battle-cannon the tanks had as primary armaments.
'Impressive, isn't it? Those are 404mm guns with hunter-killer shells. Nothing can resist them on the battlefield.'
Richard turned his head and met the eyes of Lord Thurgood Cafferen. The seventeen-name days youngster was smiling so wide one could almost believe he was baring his teeth.
'Yes, yes. The new Trident X-3 is indeed..impressive.'
Actually, 'impressive' was not the word he wanted to use. This mountain of durasteel in movement looked cumbersome when one put it into a contest against the old Hurricanes. The Baratheons tanks were at all times presenting a combination of lethality and ferocity. The Trident X-3 had many secondary weapons like a plasma gun and several lasers to massacre the infantry..but it looked like a big elephant and about as hard to manoeuvre.
'I was saying the same thing to the Lord Paramount yesterday, of course.' Declared pompously the young Lord of Fawnton, the quantity of hair gel he had poured on his head shining under the spring's sun. 'With these super-heavies in our arsenal, nothing can resist us. The Leviathans of the Ironborn will be toasted and roasted.'
'Are the White Lions heavies of the Western Sector in the same league?' Asked Lord Musgood.
'No, absolutely not!' Thurgood Cafferen seemed aghast at the very idea of the Trident tanks being mere equals to something foreign to the Storm Sector. 'The White Lions are good tanks, don't fear, far better than these Mammoths piece of crap the Northern barbarians use. But they are not Tridents, one shot of its cannon is able to dig holes in durasteel and the heaviest fortifications..'
Richard abandoned the idea of following this conversation shortly after that. In his opinion, the real test of the Trident super-heavy tank would be on the battlefield, not on the parade ground. Convincing Thurgood Cafferen of this, of course, was a lost cause. The brown-haired Master of Fawnton had just come back to his home planet after having spent the last six years as a ward of the court.
Force was to recognise these years at King's Landing had not taught him wisdom, tolerance or humility. The blue-eyed young man was extremely loyal to House Targaryen..and this was about the only source of good news Richard could notice, letting him wonder what sort of things King Rhaegar's educators told the new generation.
Lord Dale Cafferen wouldn't be happy to see what his son had become.
The middle-aged Lord of Fawnton had been a Targaryen-loyalist at first during the Usurper's Rebellion, but he had committed the unforgiveable sin – in his sovereign's eyes – to lose the second spatial engagement fought in the Summerhall System against Robert Baratheon. Prisoner of the Rebels, Lord Dale had changed sides as soon as he had heard the King he was so proud to serve had condemned him to death. Richard would like to think he would have stayed loyal to the Targaryens but frankly he didn't blame the man..and in definitive it hadn't mattered. The rebel defeat at the Ashford System had seen Lord Cafferen's flagship crippled when the Lord of Fawnton tried to cover the Baratheon retreat. Randyll Tarly had boarded the Proud Fawn and decapitated Dale Cafferen himself, sending his head and the prisoners to King's Landing. Aerys had been delighted by the gift by the way, exposing the former at the top of a flag and killing the latter in his arena of nightmares.
'What a pity most our fellow lords aren't here to admire this deployment!' Exclaimed the young Cafferen. 'They might learn one thing or two about loyalty..'
Richard unconsciously felt his arms tighten in alarm. Was Thurgood mad? There were only eleven Great Lords on the balcony present, and half of them were here because Jon had more or less blackmailed them to come. Turning his head on the right, the Lonmouth Lord watched as Lord Stannis Baratheon gritted his teeth. Next to him were Lord Harwood Fell and his youngest brother Selwyn 'Silveraxe' Fell, and they weren't too pleased either.
Thurgood Cafferen alas, did not seem to grasp the ability of shutting his mouth.
'My forces are two million-strong! Two millions! Do you hear that?'
Everyone of importance had heard him on the balcony reserved to the Lords. However no matter where Richard Lonmouth looked, there were no gleeful or fascinated expressions. Lord Corwin Musgood and Lord Orys Herston, the two fiercest partisans of Jon, were discussing the logistical difficulties their much-reduced muster would have to rally the Banefort System.
Stannis Baratheon in his dark clothes was completely ignoring them as usual. More than ever, Richard wondered if Rhaegar and Jon were not taking enormous risks with the Baratheon Lord. Storm's End had paid significant fiscal penalties for its role in the Rebellion and its fleet had been disarmed – the proclaimed reason why they had mustered a single ship of the line and four heavy cruisers – but there were still whispers of rebellion under the surface. The second brother of the Usurper had married Ryella Royce, ignoring the 'advice' of King's Landing to marry a Celtigar or a Florent girl. Richard was aware Stannis' presence at Fawnton for the grand muster was for the protection of his young brother Renly, hostage of the Tyrells at Highgarden.
The rest of the warriors who had agreed to come were no prize. The Fells were watching in a placid silence auguring nothing good. Lord Alesander Staedmon was busy emptying a barrel of wine, and was humming a drinking song as the small Tempest scout-tanks moved to replace the Trebuchet artillery pieces and the Trident super-heavies were loaded on the heavy shuttles transporting them to high orbit. Arstan Selmy, Lord of Harvest Hall, was even younger than his Cafferen counterpart and had his eyes utterly fixed on the massive bosom of the girl serving him the drinks. The best thing he could say about the grand-nephew of the legendary Kingsguard Ser Barristan Selmy was that the brown-blonde fourteen-name days boy had his priorities in order. Lord Eldon Estermont was sleeping in his seat, two of his household guards protecting him. His Deep Space warships were the only hulls not waiting in this very system, not that the absence of ten light and scout cruisers was a sight to be missed. Lady Shiera Errol was embroidering a hat or another piece of cloth while discussing with the ladies of entourage. With the exception of Lord Stannis Baratheon, the Lady of Haystack Hall had not conversed with anyone since the parade had started. The woman had been unbearable since two years ago the Lord Paramount had forbidden women to serve in the Sector military forces; there was a minor exception for highborn women but in practise the Storm armies and other military organisations had become male-only.
This muster is a catastrophe. We should have moved to the Banefort immediately, the other Sectors and the lords who have stayed at home must laugh at us.
In definitive, maybe it wasn't such a good day to go to war.
Or maybe organise this parade in the Reach? We're only a jump away from it and it could have pressured more lords to come pledge their loyalty..
After all the tanks had paraded and attracted much cheers a new wave of infantry marched in front of the thousands of spectators. The men of House Musgood this time, not that there was a big difference with House Cafferen since there were all in the new red and white uniform and had only the emblem above their hearts to distinguish themselves. It was another reform which had been fought tooth and nail when the bannersmen had caught wind of it. To the point there had been several sabotages in the factories producing red paint and the product had to be imported at heavy cost from a minor Dornish company.
'Lord Jon is high in the King's confidence, you know. I'm ready to bet he will have one of the primary commands when we invade the Iron Sector.'
Thurgood Cafferen's confidence was not very grounded in the real galaxy. How could King Rhaegar give anyone from the Storm Sector a major command? House Musgood had come with one million soldiers. House Cafferen had mustered two millions. Richard himself had brought two more millions. House Herston, half a million. Lord Paramount Jon Connington was the main contributor with four and a half million soldiers of his first recruitment wave. Not exactly astonishing, since Griffin's Roost was a system in full expansion, siphoning economically and demographically its neighbours. But all in all, these were only ten million men..a number House Tyrell had already mustered in a fortnight if the latest edition from Galactic Targaryen News could be believed. The other six lords watching the army formations walk in their full glory had recruited less than one million.
And the Tyrells have ten ships of the line ready while our entire Sector's fleet has six. Talk about a difference in quantity.
'Still, there are so many warriors going to the frontlines.' The Fawnton Lord for a moment looked about to cry. 'There may be not enough glory for everyone in this war!'
'Land in an assault shuttle of the first waves.' Declared Stannis Baratheon in a detached voice which did not hide the fact he probably considered rats to be of higher standing than Thurgood Cafferen. 'You might gain the glory you seek before an Ironborn explains to you the reality of war.'
This was horrifyingly cold, even for a man of Stannis' Baratheon temper. For a second, he wanted to call the son of Lord Steffon and made him apologise..but then the blue eyes met his and he realised how deeply the Lord of Storm's End meant these words. How joyously Stannis Baratheon would send them to their executions if he had nothing to fear in retaliation.
'Excuse me.' Richard grumbled in his growing beard before abandoning the contemplation of the levies to his fellow lords - or the non contemplation in several cases – standing up and marching to the room beside the balcony where hundreds of courtesans were emptying the buffet of all the available drinks and food with an assurance proving this was a lifetime for them. The balcony next to it had been reserved to planetary lords and higher; this room with uncountable paintings and a dark wood covering the walls was under no such restriction. The competition was so fierce to take the best places –next to the Lord Paramount or the buffet and not necessarily in that order of importance – that his arrival was completely unremarkable.
At the heart of this mob was the Connington family, attracting the envious and the flatterers. Well, part of the Connington family: the youngest members, Raymont and Beryl, were obviously too young to assist to this high-level scene of political bickering. That left Lord Jon Connington, his wife Jeyne Connington born Beesbury and their five-name days old Rhaegar to satisfy the mob. For a few minutes, Richard tried to navigate anonymously between the groups, listening to the latest gossips. Lord Swann had gone in an orgy seclusion to avoid the muster of the Storm Sector. The Summerhall System was going to be restored and its ownership would go to Viserys Targaryen. Lord Hasty had made twenty of his men eunuchs after he caught them in a whorehouse. Scores of rumours impossible to verify, but they were funny in the ears.
Slowly but surely, the Lonmouth Lord closed the distance between him and his Lord Paramount..only to be stopped by the density of the human bodies when he was five metres away from Jon. Richard tried to attract the attention of his liege but once he achieved it received the silent message 'not now'.
Disappointment flooded his heart. But looking around him, he saw none of the men surrounding the Lord of Griffin's Roost were coming from anywhere but his home system and the Crown Sector. He would find no friends here.
Oh, fine. I'd better go back to my seat and empty a barrel of wine like Lord Staedmon.
One thought came to his head and Richard Lonmouth find himself unable to hunt it down.
Why didn't I stay home like the others?
Lady Ynys Yronwood, 09.11.289AAC, Water Gardens System
'With all due respect my liege, your plan is full of holes and should be scrapped immediately.'
The glare which was sent back to her didn't faze the Yronwood Heiress in the slightest. At twenty-two name days, Ynys had faced dozens of very intimidating men and women, some of them specially hired by her dear father to toughen her against the perils of this chaotic part of the galaxy.
The sick man sitting in his enormous armchairs with six or seven pillows could order her death, but nothing in his temperament or his gestures was dangerous. It was the Norvoshi guards standing against the walls who were the real danger, not him.
And if she was sweating under her enticing white dress, it was because the temperature under this archway was simply too hot, even for a Dornish woman. The hot season on the gigantic aquatic resort named the Water Gardens was hellishly humid and warm. To make the prospect of a nice shower more tantalising, far in the distance the exclamations of joy from children splashing in the water were heard. This part of the park was reserved to highborn and lowborn children allies or at least friendly with House Martell.
Ynys herself had never been invited to play in these vast swimming pools, spas, endless toboggans, relaxing geysers and the scores of other attractions, a decision she had taken very badly when her mother had announced it to her over a decade ago. There were still the public sections, but they were not the same thing.
'I have lengthily thought about all the aspects of this operation, I assure you.'
That Ynys could very well believe. The part about 'thinking about it long and hard' at least. Doran Martell was many things, but hasty and prone to rush in had never been associated with him as long as everyone could remember.
No, the problem in this sentence was the 'I'..it was the prerogative of Doran Martell as Prince of Dorne to confide himself only in the persons he trusted, but given the imbecilities contained in the partial version of the plan she had been given, it was entirely likely no one but the Prince had worked on it.
'Then please explain me my Prince how forty thousand men and women can make a difference in this new rebellion?'
Strongly implied in this question was the fact the Reach and the Western Sector had already mobilised millions of soldiers. Of course, the bards and the rest of the news services were singing the praises of these 'courageous volunteers'. If one in ten had gone to the recruiting office, Ynys was ready to eat the wooden chair she was sitting on.
Galaxy Reavers Hack
'Between our intelligence assets, our assassins and our sniper units, we can decapitate the Ironborn command structure once the invasion force will reach Pyke.'
For fifteen or twenty seconds, Ynys tried hard to interpret the meaning of Doran's words. The Dornish Prince couldn't suggest what he just told her. Every soldier who had studied a modicum a conflict where the Ironborn were present – the Conquest and the Dance of the Dragons being the prime examples – knew their discipline and their command structure were extremely lax. By the tenets of their testosterone-fuelled culture, every captain of a warship was a king in his own right. They were sworn to Balon Greyjoy, yes. There were one or two positions like the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet and the Lords of the few planets they governed the reavers were forced to pay respect, yes. But it was neither a rigid structure like the highborn-dominated one of the Reach nor the fluid Dornish one. Once the horns of carnage were sounded, you could kill as much Ironborn as you wanted, they would fight until the majority of them were dead.
Overwhelming firepower was the key to deal with Ironborn, not carefully-timed strikes. Only a complete neophyte like Doran Martell could pretend otherwise. For a second, Ynys wished someone other than Doran Martell occupied the supreme post..before remembering who the other candidate was.
If the Red Viper was in command, we would have already launched our attacks into the Reach and Storm Sectors. How can one brother be such a hot-blooded murderer and the other so weak and indecisive?
Now that she thought about it, Princess Elia had been a fine warrior in her days and had not shirked from her duties when the time to serve Dorne came. Not to mention the killing count she had piled up at King's Landing before her end.
Elia was a true daughter of Dorne. Is Doran an illegitimate child to be so meek?
The eldest daughter of Anders Yronwood decided to change her angle of persuasion, since it was evident the man watching the kingly-sized swimming pools and toboggans in the distance was not going to hear her tactical arguments. Doran Martell wanted her to do a task with the minimum of soldiers and the maximum of efficiency, not understanding that sometimes one could not go with the other.
'Assuming you're right, wouldn't it be better to send someone higher in your favour to speak in secret with potential discontents?'
It was no great secret the relations between the two most powerful Dornish Houses were extremely frosty. Some might think Prince Oberyn Martell had paid his blood debt by a years-long exile, but Ynys did not. The man had killed her grandfather, and if there was an opportunity one day to slit his throat she would not let the occasion pass.
'Sending someone in the favour of House Martell would attract too much attention.' Replied her liege lord, taking a humid sponge next to him and delicately placing it on his neck to freshen his tired head. This was not the first time since the beginning of their conversation Dorne's ruler was close to the fainting point. Which was strange, because the Lord of Sunspear was still relatively young, being somewhere in his early forties. 'And there are other plans in the making.'
What these plans were and what would be the incidence in her own mission, Ynys could safely say she didn't know and probably never would. She didn't have the smallest idea what the Prince of Dorne was trying to accomplish. At least the programs of rearmament, the research projects and the secret bases ordered by Prince Oberyn made sense! But outwardly, the eldest brother of Princess Elia was doing..nothing. 'One foot forwards, two more behind' were sniggering the critics as soon as no one of the Martell family was in the vicinity.
It perhaps wouldn't have been so bad if this culture of secrets and indecisiveness was limited to the foreign policy – no matter the legal status of Dorne, these days the Princedom was more a sovereign nation than a vassal of the Iron Throne – but this negligence was touching every facet of his rule. The military was in the hands of his brother, while it should have been in Doran's by tradition and right. The duties of seneschal, law master, treasurer and many others had been delegated to cousins or close relatives.
What was Doran Martell doing while the realm burnt and bled? He dithered and he planned. A fitting eulogy for his funerals, no doubt.
With a little luck, some of these machinations may prove fruitful before they were all dead and buried in the sands of time.
'The North, the Vale and whatever River and Storm lords will be present will want assurances of our commitment.' After all, no matter the horrifying turn taken by the events at King's Landing, the Dornish had fought for this dynasty of inbred madmen called the Targaryens during the Usurper's Rebellion. 'The Lannisters stabbed them in the back after the Battle of the Trident and half of the River Sector abandoned them. They will want guarantees.'
They will want a marriage, she didn't say out loud.
'You will have my full backing to sign all the contracts you want.' The Prince's eyes looked at the pink marble covering the entire floor of his palace. 'There are only paper and can be discarded if our allies refuse to align with our objectives.'
Ynys Yronwood, member of the Blood Royal of Yronwood, had a major urge to scream at the man seated on his small mountain of pillows. This was exactly the attitude explaining why her father had had so much difficulty when she was old enough to marry and the Yronwood emissaries searched for her a husband. Dignitaries had been sent to their neighbours, in search of a cadet or a third son who would be willing to set his aside his birth name and take the place who had remained empty in her bed.
The marriage quest, to say the truth crudely, had been a disaster. Between the stories – though it should be more honest to call them horror tales – the gossipers had spread on the Red Viper, the large differences between the Dornish culture and the blame which had placed on them for the destruction of the missed coup on 283AAC, the young men who had been proposed were all unsatisfying. Ynys was going to marry the Allyrion Heir, because none of the non-Dornish candidates had found grace to their House's eyes. Not that she was displeased by the choice of Ryon for potential husband..it was just she was going to get pregnant rapidly if she wanted to assure the future of their two lines.
Not that she was going to marry him immediately since her Prince had apparently decided for reasons of his own to send her in the middle of the biggest bloodbath since the Usurper's Rebellion.
'My Prince, if an agreement between a child of Winterfell and a scion of Sunspear is negotiated, I want to know if you intend to respect it.' Ynys' voice was polite but firm. Dorne couldn't afford adding more lords on their list of enemies. The continued presence of Princess Rhaenys Targaryen on this very planet made sure the Crown and all the loyalist factions watched them with unabated hostility..of course it was mutual but Rhaegar and his lackeys had far more military might available than them.
'I won't sign any agreement if there is any chance we will be break at the first opportunity.'
The Northerners and the Starks in general were widely insulted across the Southern Sectors as barbarians, cannibals, savages and illiterate, but that was missing a lot of points concerning them. The men under the direwolf banner had a low cunning in them and people who crossed them tended to regret it at the moment they didn't expect. Reinforcements arrived entire days after a battle while they were a couple of jumps away. Missiles 'inexplicably' lost their targeting solutions and self-destructed in proximity of an ally's flag bridge. A division of Umber ships misunderstood their orders and charged in the melee, ignoring the calls of distress from escape pods.
The Targaryens and their bootlickers of King's Landing feasted at the fact the infamous Pact of Ice and Fire had never been respected. They laughed at the humiliation the Masters of Winterfell had been handed in the Usurper's Rebellion.
They were morons.
When the iron fist of the North dropped, the Northerners were going to pay back three centuries of humiliations and wronged deals to the fallen dragonlords. Ynys had no wish to be on the black list of the direwolves when they plunged Westeros in a blood tide. Dorne's distance from the Northern Sector may be enough to protect her House from their wrath. But it also may not be sufficient.
The Heiress was almost waiting for the next answer to be 'my plans have taken it into account' or another platitude but the eyes of the Prince were lost watching the blue sky.
Err..is he sleeping?
At first thought Ynys believed the Prince of Dorne was wilfully ignoring her but some things didn't stick. His beleaguered appearance, the sudden decision to hold this meeting in the Water Gardens while he had been absent from the Sunspear System for several months..there were unmistakable signs which didn't lie.
How ill is he?
The Water Gardens weren't only the largest and most frequented aquatic park of Westeros, they had also cutting-edge medical specialists with maesters experts in healing and Dornish perpetuating ancestral rites for the mind and the body. The Prince of Dorne would be a priority client in all circumstances. And yet he didn't seem to be in very good health.
Opening his eyes all a sudden, the brother of the Red Viper opened his mouth and resumed the conversation like if nothing had happened.
'Is your squadron ready?'
'Yes, my Prince. One ship of the line, two heavy cruisers and twelve escort carriers.'
A very small fleet, even by Dorne standards. And they were not the best House Yronwood had to offer; the cruisers had been about to be decommissioned when the news from Lannisport arrived, the starfighters inside the carriers were Nightingales, not the new Vipers R-2 who had entered service one year ago. The ship of the line was the sole unit refitted and having its place in the battle-line. Normal, since she was going to use as her flagship.
The small number of warships and associated support was the only reason why she, a lowly Commander of Fifty Thousand, was in command and not her father or one of her House's most experienced sworn officers.
'Then you can begin your deployment. Kindly remind your soldiers that I would be very satisfied if Ser Arthur Dayne died in the cauldron of battle.'
'Yes, my Prince.' The transmission would be made, but it would be a cold day in the Seven Hells when she tried her luck against the Sword of the Morning. Arthur Dayne had played the kidnapper role and his role in the death of Princess Elia Martell and Lady Ashara Dayne – how could they be so fucking stupid we would believe an accidental fall of a building by the way? – had made him a target for all Dornish men and women. But he was a warrior with few equals, the last rampart before the King and as such extremely difficult to reach. 'By your command.'
Not even an excuse for interrupting my marriage preparations with Ryon. Why am I not surprised?
Feeling some pay-back was in order, Lady Ynys bowed largely to her liege, giving him a splendid view of what was under her robe's cleavage. The white robe she wore was not in the levels of indecency the Salt ladies took for granted, but it complimented nicely her body. With her blonde hairs and her blue eyes, the heiress of House Yronwood had not had any difficulties in her search for paramours. When she did this, old and man alike had lust burning in their eyes and their manhood suddenly becoming bigger under their undergarments.
It had not effect at all on Doran Martell. Disappointed but expecting such a result, Ynys Yronwood left the pink marble palace and Doran Martell plans behind her. The wheel of time turned for every living being, and staying there would bring no answers.
Perhaps the Red Viper could have given them, but the Prince-assassin had been imprisoned a second time a fortnight ago after announcing his decision to take his vibro-spear and go to King's Landing claim Rhaegar's skull. The Red Viper had been drunk, but over thirty guards had been necessary to arrest him. As much as she hated personally Prince Oberyn, the sellsword-assassin-prince was a man of passions and wanted to avenge the death of his sister.
Doran Martell had never shown any sign in public he was passionate. His wife had left him but there had been no grand quarrel or rupture. Vengeful thoughts for Princess Elia, assuming he had any, had stayed at the state of projects and non-executed plans.
'Hopefully the other war commanders won't be that boring..'
Lord Wyman Manderly, 10.11.289AAC, White Harbor System
Wyman readjusted his heavy-furred cloak. To his greatest regret, his reflexion in the mirror did not look like it had changed that much. He was still..big-boned.
'Maybe I should begin a diet.' Said the Head of House Manderly, thinking out loud. 'I have become so large I don't enter anymore in my enlarged battle-armour.'
A loud voice in his head began to shout it would force him to abandon the cream puffs, chocolate éclairs and Braavosi rhubarb pies. His entire mind screamed in horror and abandoned the diet idea on the spot.
'It isn't like I am a young man anymore, charging in the melee with the first lines.' Affirmed Wyman, putting his Admiral beret on his head. A long gaze at his reflexion assured him everything was in place. His custom-sized grey uniform was hiding well his double belly, the mermaid emblem above his heart was shining in emeralds and the various decorations under it were impeccable. A uniform simple and yet affirming to everybody meeting him they had a wealthy and powerful lord facing them. 'But I will find a way to get back in my armour. I swear it.'
And on this oath the Lord of White Harbor left his quarters aboard the battlecruiser Selkie. Walking at a slow and purposeful space, Wyman took care to salute every sailor and non-commissioned officers on his way to the elevator taking him to the warship's conference room. It was in his opinion an excellent manner to know how the morale was going among the crew and prevent any incident. Sadly, it was a minor thing that too many lords and senior officers forgot when they grew older. The Northern Admiral on the other hand found it helped him keep contact with reality. How could you say you fought for a brighter future if you didn't even know the motivation of the men a level above or below you?
'Admiral Lord Manderly arriving!' Barked Rear-Admiral Wendel Manderly and the two scores of senior officers stood to attention around the holo-projector showing the present situation of the Westeros Quadrant.
'Gentlemen.' Began Wyman in a voice which would not have been out of place for a mummer's show. 'I have to profess myself..disappointed.'
Posing his left hand above his heart, the Lord of White Harbor continued in a pained expression.
'Ten days ago, I assured our Lord Paramount none of our Deep Space warships would be ready to depart in the void before the 15th of Daomios.' He paused an instant to gulp the content of a glass filled with red wine posed at his attention nearby. 'Under the circumstances, I found the order acceptable.'
Wyman took a false-angry expression and raised an eyebrow at his subordinates.
'Can someone explain to me why we are five days early?'
'We have still twenty hours of refit for our light cruisers, my lord.' Reminded him Commodore Edgar Whitefort, who commanded the 2nd Squadron of Heavy Cruisers.
'Oh, I stand corrected Commodore.' A small smile came to the edge of his lips. 'Allow me to reformulate my question. Can someone explain to me why we are four days early? If we don't respect our schedule, certain people are going to believe we are eager to fight for our dumbass King!'
A shiver crossed the room. After the last Rebellion, no Northerner worth respecting wanted to have something like that associated to his name.
'We are doing our best, Father.' His cadet son took several
'What about declaring a series of public holidays?' Proposed Commodore Hazel Derford, the division commander of the battlecruisers Illustrious and Void Warrior.
'As entertaining as it is to party every night of the week, I don't think anybody is going to be particularly fooled when the spies we survey will bring back the word to the High Idiots at King's Landing.'
'Fine.' Huffed Wyman. It seemed they would have to employ a different kind of hammer to achieve their goals. 'Provoke a fake accident on one of our battlecruisers' void generator harmonisers. Its replacement should take at least four days, no?'
'On average, our shipyards take six days to replace one, yes.'
'Any questions?'
'Which ship do we use for this little deception?' The tone of voice employed by Edgar Whitefort was bantering, but it was evident the man who commanded eight heavy cruisers was not exactly cheering at the idea of damaging for fun a perfectly serviceable warship.
'The Knight or the Shield.' Told Wendel. 'Those are our two oldest and non-refitted battlecruisers since the Selkie was overhauled last year.'
'Then it is agreed.' Said Wyman. 'And this time let's make sure our engineers and workers know they are not to rush these reparations. Now let's focus on the Rebellion proper. Captain Seaworth?'
'My lord.'
Unlike the majority of the persons sitting around the holo-projector in the conference room, the visage of the Captain of the List who just stood up was not showing any sign of Northern ethnicity. It was understandable, because the brown-haired Crownlander didn't have any First Men's blood in his veins. Born in the dirtiest and most polluted slums of the capital system, Davos had been a resourceful smuggler until the previous conflict seven years ago. With his ship the Black Betha, the man had evaded and ridiculed the Royal patrols pursuing him, transporting stocks of illegal weapons, drugs and antiquities to aristocrats and merchants unwilling to stay in the legality.
However, the war had brought new challenges and new dangers. Where the Targaryen corrupt officials had been content to ignore shady activities, military officers were far more ruthless and dedicated to enforce the security of the state. After a succession of incredible adventures, Davos had found himself at the head of a little smuggler armada, paid by the rebel's treasury to resupply the besieged fortress system of Storm's End. The Black Betha had done an excellent job, frustrating the Redwynes to no end for months..but ultimately the outcome had not been a happy one. Storm's End had surrendered, and with this loss the Storm Sector had capitulated to Mace Tyrell.
Lord Stannis Baratheon out of their way, the Redwyne fleet had 'rewarded' Davos with the status of void enemy number one. Tracked by hundreds of ships, the smuggler had found first refuge in the Vale before moving northwards the galactic plane when the Arryn bannersmen showed heavy reluctance to associate with a lowborn outlaw. The Vale's loss, Wyman Manderly's gain like he always said. When the crippled Black Betha had broken through its void translation in the outer reaches of the White Harbor System, his castellan had generously offered safe haven to Davos and his family. And at the Council of Maidenpool, Wyman had obtained a pardon for Davos. The smuggler who had courageously prolonged Storm's End resistance was recognised as a Northern auxiliary and knighted for his deeds as Ser Davos Seaworth, becoming the head of the forty-eighth knightly family serving him directly.
Now that Balon Greyjoy had decided to rebel and the North was ordered to muster, Wyman Manderly had given him the Selkie, the very battlecruiser he was currently flying his colours on. Davos was extremely competent and did not shy from telling the truth, two qualities widely appreciated in the Northern fleet. Who knew, maybe Wyman would be forced to promote him to Commodore once the Ironborn were given their last lesson.
The fact the Targaryens and the Redwynes utterly detested it was a huge bonus.
'The events of Lannisport have for the moment reduced the efforts of the Western Navy to mere bystanders in the war.'
A click with the remote and all the confirmed raids of the Western Systems having suffered an attack took a black colour. As there were dozens, the representation in three dimensions was giving an image of weak red lights about to be swallowed by a huge black tide. It was a bit false, the Greyjoys and their bannersmen weren't going to breach Casterly Rock or any of their fortress-systems any time soon, but it was not exactly an exhilarating picture.
'As long as the Royal fleets do not secure Fair Isle and this part of the Sunset Void, every Sector on this side of the galactic plane is vulnerable. Half of the Northern fleets are being deployed as we speak on our western galactic plane to deter the Ironborn from raiding and reaving.'
Smirks and guffaws echoed in the assembly. The part about the vulnerability of many Sectors was true..somewhat. But the recent messages from Balon Greyjoy, the self-proclaimed 'Iron King', to every notable leader of the previous Rebellion were a clear sign he didn't intend to attack the Northern Sector in the short-term future. Not that an Ironborn could be trusted to hold his word, Wyman was confident this was the main argument his diplomats would present to their Southerner counterparts.
'Three forces are organised as we speak, officially reactivated as 31st, 53rd and 106th Task Force.'
Three light green points appeared on the holographic representation. One was on top of White Harbor, the second at Moat Cailin and the third was taking the location of the Dreadfort System.
'The 53rd Task Force, under Vice-Admiral Roose Bolton, has been chosen to reinforce the Seagard System with the few capital ships we have to spare. This System must be protected at all costs.'
Left unsaid in the sentence was that the real opponent the Northern staff and its allies expected to fight in the foreseeable future was not House Greyjoy. These reinforcements were as much to defend Seagard as they were to convince the allies they kept in the River Sector no one was planning to abandon them.
The green point on top of Moat Cailin was highlighted.
'The 31st Task Force, under General Jorah Mormont, will join the muster at the Banefort.'
A force which was frankly the weakest of the three the Northern Sector sending outside its frontiers. Roose Bolton had a ship of the line and two armoured cruisers, Wyman would have the Deep Space hulls and hundreds of thousand Marines in his transports, and Jorah Mormont would have..a show of force to tell the pompous arses serving the dragonspawn the North's obligations were respected. In real terms, it meant a couple of obsolete cruisers, some scout cruisers and thirty or forty thousand men.
It was the riskiest assignment of the lot as they would be surrounded by Targaryen-loyalist forces and unable to escape if things spiralled out of control. Not exactly a young General's dreamt first operation.
'The 106th Force is the Deep Space Battlecruiser Squadron we have here and its screening elements. We plan to join the muster at the Arbor..eventually.'
Chuckles mounted from the throats of the men and women wearing the grey uniform and Wyman after laughing with them retook the centre of the stage.
'Thank you, Captain.' A few seconds were passed waiting the snickers and other mocking exclamations to die out.
'It should come to no surprise to all of you the alliance offer from the Ironborn has been totally and completely rejected by Lord Stark.'
'Praise the Old Gods.' Whispered someone.
'Quite.' Agreed Wyman. 'Balon Greyjoy insulted Northern honour when he proposed such terms! In his own words, this whole Rebellion is just a vainglorious attempt of conquering a crown for himself!'
The Admiral felt himself losing a bit his temper and loosened his large fists, taking large inspirations and evacuating his wrath.
'We can't trust this band of pirates and scourges of the void. The Iron King may want an alliance to help him brought our rapist King to his knees, but we all know he will betray us the moment he feels he doesn't need us anymore. And we can't afford to be weakened anywhere given the current rapport of force.'
Nods of approvals came to support this view. Not that it had exactly been kept a secret from the officers and the spacemen aboard the Task Force.
'Therefore our travel to the battlefields of the Iron Sector is going to be far longer than we had anticipated. We will use between ten and twenty per-cent of our maximum military acceleration for the entire travel. No Northern spaceship must pass less than five light-minutes from a cosmic storm, a comet or an asteroid cluster.'
'The Crown is going to ask a lot of questions when we arrive at war's end.' Cautioned Hazel Derfort.
'Let them ask!'
'Hear! Hear!'
'We will answer the order to muster..but first the Ironborn and the Targaryens must bleed.' The visages of the men and women gathered in the conference suddenly had nothing friendly or amusing. To say the truth, there were many similarities with the predatory expression of a gigantic predatory animal about to pounce on a prey. 'Oh, yes. Let them bleed.'
Lord Rodrik Harlaw, 11.11.289AAC, Pyke System
'My lord?'
'GAH!'
Rodrik jumped on his feet..at least this was his intention before the stability of his legs abandoned him and the world began to turn strangely around him. A terrible pain exploded in his right foot..or was it the left one? And then a good part of his body met the ground face to face.
By the Void God, it hurt.
'GGAAAAHHH!'
The panicked voice of his butler rang like a demonic song into his fragile ears.
'My lord! Are you okay?'
Inexplicably the pain cleared his head a bit. His chest ached in pain and his body felt like something had violated it from the outside and the inside but he could use his mouth again. And the Master of Harlaw was in no mood for pleasantries.
'Does it look like I'm okay? Bloody cur! Seed of greenlander's vermin! Mollusc crawling for the pigs of Pyke!'
He rolled on his back and his eyes regained enough acuity to see the ceiling. Moving his dolorous head to the left, the middle-aged reaver saw the office he was honouring of his presence had been completely thrashed. A few degrees on the right didn't ameliorate the picture. A piece of wood which may or may not have been a desk in past history had been cut in several neat parts..the instrument responsible for this particular destruction may or may not have been a large vibro-scythe hammered half-way into the wall next to the door.
There were bottles of alcohol littered everywhere and a third of them looked like they were powerful liquors. A damaged one near his feet explained his presence on the ground. A powerful odour of vomit permeated the air. The brown-black colours which had figured prominently into the decoration were now replaced by holes, spots of diverse substances, burn marks and weapon rounds.
'Is it a nightmare?' Asked the Lord of Harlaw, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to assess the scale of the mini-apocalypse he had created.
Note to self: stay far away from the bottle for the next decade.
'No, my lord.' Replied the servant who had been under his order for the last eight years. There was something in his voice which suggested the man wanted to be anywhere but here.
'Of course it is not.' Grumbled Rodrik. 'If it was, there would be rum.'
A large lot of bottles marked with the grey slogan of the Pyke distilleries passed over his head, making him agitate his arms in despair.
'I think you have drunk quite enough, my lord.'
His butler was right, but Rodrik was damned if he was going to admit it. Reader or not, disgraced by his fellow captains or not, he stayed an Ironborn and stubbornness was in their blood.
'Says who? I am still the Lord of bloody Harlaw, am I not?'
'With all due respect my lord, Alton has a point.' Told an entirely different voice. 'You have emptied enough bottles for the rest of the year.'
![]()
'The Void God will crush your balls!' Grumbled the Master of Harlaw.
Huffing and swearing like the worst greenlander alcoholic ever –since everyone knew Ironborn never got drunk, they just rested and went back to their night of debaucheries – Lord Rodrik Harlaw used the half-destroyed chair a few centimetres on the right to stand. The ground pitched and gyrated, but this time there was no collapse, though he had to hold on something the time his equilibrium came back.
Once these concerns of stability were no longer a critical factor, his head turned to see the two persons he had not invited in his ruined private quarters aboard the Void Song and yet were there all the same. The first figure was Alton Morvor, Rodrik's own butler, looking mortified at the image his liege lord undoubtedly presented to this part of the galaxy. The second was more massive and dignified in a midnight-blue cloth the Ironborn sometimes agreed to recognise as their formal uniform. The name of the man was Ser Harras Harlaw, a relatively close cousin of Rodrik. One of the few highborn in the Iron Sector birthed from the union of an Ironborn and a Westerner. He was carrying the Valyrian sword Nightfall with him, an object which was more valuable than what little fortune his father had not manage to dilapidate in the last decade.
And for about a hundred-plus hours, Harras Harlaw was officially the Heir of Ten Towers.
'Harras?' The Ironborn Lord paused to curse internally his weakened voice. 'What are you doing here? I thought you had to assist to the War Council in my stead!'
Highly irregular, but since the lone Harlaw longship had broken out of the bloodbath at Fair Isle to announce him the death of his eldest son Quellon, Rodrik did not feel he could be in the same room with Balon Greyjoy and not thrusting his scythe into his heart. The death of his youngest Ravos at Lannisport had been hard. Losing his other son just after..
'My lord..' The austere young man evidently didn't know how to announce the news. Rodrik prepared himself for the incoming storm. He had a feeling he was not going to like it. 'The council is over. It has been for several hours.'
Damn all the Gods and Demons of all civilisations. Did I was dead drunk for so long?
Watching his two subordinates, the answer was sadly 'yes'.
'Fine.' The day –or was it the night? – had badly begun. No incitation to wait for another string of disasters. 'Tell me the new follies our majestic 'King' had imagined inside his idiotic head. I can't wait to know how we are going to erase the Fair Isle's stalemate and conquer Westeros.'
As the servant and the highborn exchanged glances of unease, he felt forced to growl and add a few more words.
'Well? I'm waiting!'
'My lord, we haven't been discussing the Fair Isle situation.'
'WHAT?'
For sure the people who were in the next corridors had heard this exclamation but the Lord of Harlaw couldn't bring himself to care.
'What is this imbecile thinking? We have lost five million men in this disaster and over twenty-four more are fighting for their very lives as we speak!'
'I know my lord. But it's the reality.'
A wave of lassitude began to weigh on Rodrik's shoulders. Shouting at his cousin would solve nothing. The son of Grangon Harlaw and Lady Cyrella Serrett was not responsible for the general lack of brain spread thorough the Ironborn culture. Shooting the messenger was all fine and good for the relief, but in the end it only delayed the bad news, it didn't cancel their existence.
Balon, Victarion and the rest of the Squadron Commanders had never been very shy to communicate their anger at the fact the Westerners held thick and firm against the Ironborn assault. It looked like that with the losses mounting and the orbital superiority growing even more contested the King had decided to ignore the problem until it had enough teeth to bite back.
'Since Fair Isle wasn't discussed, I suppose you can tell me what kind of salad Balon decided to regale you with?'
'Ah, it was a briefing on Operation Dalton.'
Rodrik frowned and tried to find memories inside his foggy mind of a military operation using this code-name. He didn't find it.
'Named as such for Dalton Greyjoy the Red Kraken?' A nod of confirmation came to support this shot in the dark. Not that there was that many 'Daltons Greyjoys' having massacred their way on an uncountable numbers of planets. 'And what does it consist in?'
'A double attack on the Reach Deep Space assets and fortress systems.' Rodrik's lassitude increased by several levels and he nonchalantly threw an empty bottle of 'Dire Vodka' against the wall, joining the debris of several glass objects.
'Of course.' There was nothing to say really against such stupidity. The Ironborn longships and armies were already progressively overwhelmed by the numbers each tide of Lannister reinforcements sent into the inferno. The raids became costly failures as the planetary defences waited for them and resisted with storms of lasers and missiles. The surprise effect the Ironborn had enjoyed for the first days of their rebellion was gone. Only a brainless man would try to open a second front when the first was already turning into a catastrophe. 'Any specific details?'
'The first assault will fall on the Shield Sub-Sector. Four of the great longships, one hundred and sixty longships and eighty big transports have been sent yesterday. I do not know if they intend to assault one by one the four planets or strike at the same time.'
'This is Balon's master plan and he is advised by Victarion, Lord Urrathon Blacktyde and the Void God only knows who else. The attack will be simultaneous on the four planets.'
After all when those three were concerned, the most unreasonable battle-plan was going to be chosen.
'As you say, my lord. The commanders of this operation are your nephews Rodrik and Maron, Lord Waldon Wynch and Lord Meldred Merlyn.'
I just lost my sons and now I will have Alannys to console too. Not that her two eldest have become anything but embarrassments.
If the absence of common sense was to be made a crime on the Iron Sector, half of the population would be in chains the next morning and the two problems that were Maron and Rodrik Greyjoy would be public enemy number four and five.
We must leave the grand contest to Balon, Victarion and Urrathon..
'Where do they intent to attack after that?'
'The Arbor, my lord. They intend to use the Iron Fleet and the majority of the longships we have in our arsenal.'
'Of course.' Sighed Rodrik. After all if the first choice was a target that Highgarden had had the time to reinforce and fortify with uncountable missile platforms and ship-killer weapons, why not attack the System where every Deep Space Fleet of Westeros was converging?
Rodrik had warned them. He should have not wasted his time and his saliva apparently.
'Is Balon aware that the number of warships around the Redwyne planets is going to be..substantial?'
'The estimations presented at the War Council were a bit too low compared to what we know.' Shrugged the wielder of Nightfall. 'I think it was after this point that the Crow's Eye stormed out of the council room.'
That did not sound like the cadet son of Lord Quellon Greyjoy he remembered. The care the Prince of Crows had for his fellow reavers was so close to the void it might not exist at all.
'He told them if they wanted to suicide themselves, they could do it without him.'
The Captain of the Sea Song wanted to kick his head against the ruined desk. When you had a strategist oscillating between brilliance and insanity like Euron did, this meant the strategy went beyond the little thing known as reality.
'Oh, err..you have been ordered to hold the Lannister forces at bay for the time it will take for our glorious King to defeat the Tyrells, the Redwynes, the Hightowers, the Targaryens and all the Houses following them.'
By the words employed, Harras had enough sense in his head to know how likely Balon Greyjoy was going to win against such a formidable opposition.
'What did he leave us with?'
'Not much.' Said unhappily his bannersman. 'The ships you sent back to Harlaw a fortnight ago. The Void Song and its squadron, maybe the Silence if Euron feels like obeying your orders.'
Rodrik could not help but laugh at that one. Euron Greyjoy listening to him? Robert Baratheon was far more likely to resurrect and declare his undying love for the Targaryen dynasty than such an outrageous thing!
'I am going to make myself presentable.' Ordered the Ironborn commander once his moment of hilarity was over. 'Wait for me on the bridge. And Harras?'
'Yes my lord?'
Deciding he might as well recognise his loss and move past it, Rodrik Harlaw threw to his cousin the little emblem with grey towers he had kept in his pocket after cleaning it from the blood of Quellon.
'You are now the Knight of Grey Garden. Congratulations.'
The sincere smile which came on the youngster's face convinced him he had made the good choice. Not that he would have had many alternatives if it wasn't the case, mind you. Hotho and Boremund were not exactly famous for their wits. Perhaps young Asha and Theon would be more intelligent than their eldest siblings..but House Greyjoy had to survive the hurricane of destruction coming their way first. Recognising Harras as his Heir would go a long way to put back some stability in the Harlaw line of succession. Plus it would reassure some of his most hesitant bannersmen.
This was what he tried to convince himself anyway as he made disappear his wine-stained clothes with the rest of the dirty laundry, got rid of the astounding number of bottles in the mechanic compactors and helped his butler remove the ravaged furniture.
One hour, a shower and a change of appearance later, he had retaken a decent appearance as he entered the bridge of the Void Song. Among the acclamations announcing his presence to the three scores of men in spacesuits working, the Lord of Harlaw watched on the grand tactical display hundreds of dots putting the maximum of distance with Pyke and then disappearing into the void.
'Pillage then burn.' Whispered the Captain of the Void Song to himself. 'Bloody Pirates..'
'Your orders my lord?'
'Muster all the transports and warships our King left us. We must save the army we have at Fair Isle at all costs.'
The reavers on his bridge solemnly nodded and gave their approvals. The endless stream of casualties and the death of his two sons among tens of thousands others had convinced a fair majority of his Harlaw crewmen that this Rebellion was not going to be the walk-over they had been promised.
Those who had seen the light before the most recent disaster had been kept in reserve at Harlaw..those who had not were going to the Reach Sector. Rodrik felt he would not see them back again..not unless the very luck of the Void God was with them.
The black-matter engines of his longship saw their power output roar seconds after seconds. Green lights flicked on across the dozens screens of tactical, communication, astrogation and engineering. Despite the difficult times ahead, despite the imbecility of his liege – who was also unfortunately his brother-in-law - , despite the death of his family, Rodrik Harlaw began to feel alive again.
Placing the large hat of his father on his head, a large book hidden above his heart and his vibro-scythe on his back, the Lord of the Harlaw System took the antique wooden helm and started to sing a familiar tune every children of the Iron Sector knew.
Seconds later, hundreds of his men followed him. This was their hymn and no one would stop from singing it to thousands of Systems until the end of times.
'Yo ho, yo ho, a reaver's life for me..
We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and we loot!
Drink up, me 'hearties, yo ho!'
Lord Osbert Serry, 5.12.289AAC, Southshield System
'My lord, our sensors have just detected a fleet making a void translation into our system six minutes ago.'
The announcement should have made Lord Osbert very unhappy, but instead the Master of Southshield felt only relief. At long last, he had found a good excuse to not assist the marriage of his neighbour Lord Moribald Chester with the ugly harpy known as Selyse Florent.
'Where?'
'Three light-hours away from us, on the ecliptic.'
The man had a half-amazed look on his face and his lord understood it; it was an arrogant approach which had nothing subtle in it.
'Very good, Captain.' He affirmed formally.
'Launch the evacuation of our orbital sessions and remind our officers it must be done in the most ostensible manner possible.' The smile on his lip widened. 'You can activate all our platforms and warn Lord Paxter. I will join you shortly.'
The officer saluted in his pale green uniform before cutting the connection.
'So the fox comes to reconnoitre the henhouse..'
'History always happens twice because no one was listening the first time.' Lord Rodrik Harlaw, 300AAC.
'When you try to shatter a shield, try not to be shattered in the process.' Lady Ynys Yronwood, 290AAC.
'I wonder if they will learn the good lessons of this rebellion.' Lord Wyman Manderly, 290AAC.
'Operation Dalton is worthy to be recognised as one of the worst plans ever conceived in human military history.' Lord Tytos Blackwood, 298AAC.
The War for Iokath and Patch 5.2 have been delayed for 1 week. New release date is 18th April. More info: SWTOR 5.2 The War for Iokath DELAYED. The following patch notes are not final and may be changed in the coming days. If that happens, I’ll update the post immediately.
CONTENTS
Video Overview
[arve url=”https://youtu.be/WoNKrmPORFc?list=PL4Ov43efFNUZ37Bo5gjvT8WIaabm9JV6n” /]
Highlights
General
Classes +Combat
Flashpoints + Operations + UprisingsGeneral
Flashpoints
Operations
Uprisings
Galactic Starfighter
Items + Economy
Missions + NPCs
Warzones
► Source: swtor.com
Did you find this post entertaining and useful? Let me know what’s your opinion. Leave a Comment& Share the article.
Stay in touch! Follow Vulkk on Facebook, Twitter & Google+. Sign up for the VULKK.com’s Weekly Newsletter.
Shop Related Products or visit my own Amazon Corner :)
Posted byFirst Speaker3 years ago
Archived
Alright, So first I'm going to do some core mechanics, then run through my Current Build right now. Here is my not so complete guide on space combat in Stellaris.
BASIC MECHANICS OF SHIP TO SHIP COMBAT
alright, now I know there is the temptation to let the computer complete the ship designs for you as they normally seem fairly good. THIS IS WRONG, THE COMPUTER IS AN IDIOT. Basically the computer is going to calculate what will give you the most bang, then it'll put that on a ship. While that might seem like a great idea in a game where hard counters are all over the place it's dumb. just dumb.
Rule 1) Design the ships yourself.
Now that we have that out of the way lets talk about counters
WHAT COUNTERS WHAT
Every weapon and armor type in Stellaris has a direct hard counter.
so that should make it abundantly clear why you shouldn't just go with the computers brilliant plan of 3 red lasers corvettes as the backbone of your navy. So just take a few of everything and stick them on the biggest baddest ship you can afford right?
WRONG
you see ship classes are more than just a stepping stone to more boom. Each class of ships has a level of evasiveness, as well as strengths against certain sizes of weapons. The most basic tenant to take away from this is that the smaller you are the harder you are to hit. So If you were wondering why you're 500 level navy of destroyers is getting wrecked by a 500 level navy of corvettes you now know why. See it breaks down like this (I think)
Bombers and Fighters are very hard to hit, basically have to be shot at by small weapons
Corvettes are most easily hit by small weapons
Destroyers are most easily hit by medium and small weapons
Cruisers and Battleships are most easily hit by literally everything.
with this in mind it should be important to make your fleet as balanced as possible to assure you'll never be frustrated as your battle ships try and fail to shoot down a single bomber squadron. A good Fleet composition I've found is 1-4-7-12(ish) that is to say for each battleship you should have 4 cruisers 7 destroyers and 12 Corvettes (at least). So now that we know that hard counters exist and that we shouldn't make navies consisting solely of battleships, how should we go about creating the perfect ship.
Well, here's the thing, any ship made to deal with all comers is going to be hilariously bad at dealing with any of them. What I've found is that a generic ship using the most up to date version of you're best weapons saddled with a couple of specialized buddies are the best way to go about assuring you're ready for all comers.
IMO, the best way to do this is to make about half of each class specialized, it doesn't need to be exact, or equally split (if you're running into a lot of one type) but here is and example:
for every 3 regular laser boats I have
1 - torpedo boat
1 - dedicated point defense ship
1 - shield destroying ship (kinetic weapons ship)
This means that anyone who comes at me is going to be fighting at a disadvantage as a good chunk of my fleet will be dedicated to dealing with them. Of special importance are kinetic weapon and point defense ships. Nearly all civs will use deflectors more than armor, so having a quick way to burn through those shields can make all the difference, and missiles, if not properly countered can be among the most dangerous weapons in the game. With that I can now move on to an example fleet, namely the fleet I am currently using in my most recent stellaris game.
The TL/DR is that a few of a wide variety of specialized ships that's backbone is composed of generic heavy hitters seems to work the best. (just like a real navy)
Anyway without Further ado, The Croma Directorate Grand Fleet
I'll move from most numerous type to least numerous.
CORVETTES
I have 81 corvettes in my Navy right now, with several different designs, all to counter specific threats. I'll run through each in detail. first:
11 Torpedo Boat class strike corvettes - These boats are amazing as the torpedoes ignore shields and slam directly into the ship, will tear apart any fleet that doesn't have dedicated point defense. Build: 3 Small torpedo tubes, 3 generators, 2 shields. Very basic, pretty deadly.
13 Predator Class Auto-Gun corvettes- these ships are my dedicated anti-shield ships, they tear through the shields of other corvettes and even destroyers with very little difficulty. These bad boys are 3 Auto-cannons, 3 generator 2 shield.
16 Protector Class point defense screens - as you can probably guess these are my anti-torpedo boats, I've probably only lost a few ships to torpedoes this game, these are mostly the reason why. 3 small point defense cannons 3 generator 2 shield
41 Raven Class Strike Corvettes- The Backbone of my navy, just a basic gunboat for dealing damage 1 medium laser 1 small point defense (I am surrounded by missile wielding civs making this necessary) 2 shields and 3 generators run this bad boy
These ships make up the majority of my fleet, but are hardly the biggest hitters next up
DESTROYERS
I Have 36 destroyers in my navy at them moment Split into 3 classes
13 - Thasher Class Assault Ships - Doubling as both my point defense and kinetic weapon platforms my Thasher class ship is 2 small point defense turrets supplemented by 3 auto cannons - 4 shields and 2 generators
15 - Dax Class Assualt Ships - The mainstay of my destroyer force, consists of a large and medium laser, 4 shields and 2 generators
8 - Torpedo Crawler Assault Boats - My torpedo ship 2 medium torpedo launcher 3 small torpedo launchers 3 shields 1 armor 2 generators.
Next up:
CRUISERS
Now this is where it's gonna get a bit weird because hangers come into play. I'll do my best to explain my rational. I have 6 cruisers currently
2 - Support Carrier Class Carriers - these cruisers are pulling double duty as kinetic weapons and fighter storage. each has a complement of fighters on board which is the best counter to:
1 - Support Carrier (B) Class Carriers - my Bomber Carriers. VERY good at taking out capital ships without point defense or fighter compliments. Basically this cruisers functions as my point defense and torpedo boat.
3 - Grizzly Class Cruisers - These bad boys are the the heaviest hitters yet, a significant step up from there destroyer cousins. They carry a complement of 1 large autocannon 3 medium lasers and 1 medium torpedo launcher. 5 shields and 3 generators.
Last but not least is:
THE BATTLESHIPS
Now I only have 4 in this game at the moment but I generally put them into only 2 categories
2 - Command Class Battle Barge - 6 of the largest lasers you can find please, Simple and deadly to other battleships. Finally:
2 - Fleet Carrier Class Carriers - 2 Carriers stuffed to the gills with fighters and bombers - everything else is point defense of kinetic weapons.
All and All this fleet comes in at around 15K military power.
Well I hope this has at least colored a few of you informed. Please feel free to add your own input. I am by no means sure that this is 100% correct. It's just what has worked the best for me thus far. I'll do my best to answer questions as they pop up.
585 comments
Comments are closed.
|
Details
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |