Game of Thrones: StormBorn

The Lord of Dragonstone glared down at the map, much as he had been doing for the last few hours, looking it over carefully for anywhere that a trap or ambush could be hiding. He was sat in his improvised war-room aboard the Fury in preparation for the assault.

The Ironborn had made a colossal tactical blunder, now trapped between Fair-Isle and the mainland by their own plundering down the coast, their longboats would be worth far less trapped against the coast where they could not maneuver.

It all seemed to easy, and much too stupid for a people who lived and died at sea. Still, he could not miss his opportunity simply because of an ill feeling, and he had already sent the Redwyne fleet around the Isle to cut off any avenue of retreat for the raiders.

At dawn, the thunder of his son's cannon would signal the start of the attack, and the greatest fleets in Westeros would crush in on the Ironborn from both sides, reducing them to so much kindling in the waves.

Presuming, of course, that this was not, in fact, a trap.

"My Lord?" Davis stepped into the chamber, his sword at his side and his eyes sharp as a hawk's.

"Yes, Davos?"

"The sun is rising, and we've spotted Redwyne flags on the other side of the Iron Fleet."

"They aren't even attempting a breakout?"

"No My Lord, some of them are still being put to water, it seems the Ironborn have only just finished their reaving."

"Mhm. Eyes on the coast today Davos, they wouldn't be this stupid unless it was meant to distract us from something." Stannis reached down, grabbing his sword and throwing his cloak around his shoulders as he marched onto the deck.

"Yes My Lord, I'll have the other captains made aware."

"Good, Once you've done that, start the attack."

He wouldn't let himself be caught unawares by some trickery, but that didn't mean he would wait for an attempted breakout either. Now was the day and the hour for victory.

At least, if he read the winds right.

The thunder of the Cannon signaled the men to set all the sails in the fleet to full, the Fury at the head of a great wedge of ships that stretched from the coast of the mainland to that of the Fair Isle, the Royal Fleet sailing proud in all its splendor, the great War Gallies positioned at the fore with their ramming heads like an arrow at the heart of the Ironborn fleet, the wind at their backs and their sails full of the biting breeze

The Redwynes would be the anvil today, and perhaps poetically, Stannis was the hammer. The thought sent a frown to his face, but it soon departed in the face of battle fervor as the cannon at the prow fired once more, it missed it's mark considerably, but still produced a great pillar of water that set the men cheering.

Stannis for his part shouted a chant the Stormlanders of his navy knew well.

"Ours is the Fury!"

His cry was echoed by hundreds of others, and the cannon fired again, splintering the mast of an enemy longship. The white sails of the vessel falling into the deep even as the scorpions and catapults of the Royal Gallies opened fire with their own deadly payloads.

There was a great tearing sound and a shock of inertia as the Fury split one of the longships in half with its great Ram, the whole vessel shuddering as splinters bombarded the forecastle.

Cries of "FURY" broke the silence that followed, and the ship continued to fight. The fleet at large crushing the ill-prepared Ironborn and shoving the mass of them back into the waiting Redwyne fleet. Archers opened fire from both sides as the Ironborn struggled fruitlessly to injure the larger vessels.

Oh, they boarded a few certainly, and when they could they certainly did their butchers work, unmatched as they were in fighting aboard ships. Still, most of them drowned or died in the torrent of missiles that shattered their morale.

It was only after the battle was over and the bloodlust calmed that Davos informed him that the ship which the Fury had rammed at the very start of the fighting had belonged to Aeron Greyjoy and that the man had been captured trying to climb his own vessel.

When the final tally was called, and damages to the fleet recorded, Stannis couldn't help but wonder how the Iron Islands had ever expected a victory in the first place. Their fleet was laden with Westerland's bullion and unfit for fighting, though unfortunately much of it now rested at the bottom of the sea. As far as he could tell there had been no trap, no cunning, and he felt his estimation of the Iron Islanders slip somewhat compared to their fearsome reputation.

As he stared out at the wreckage littered coast, he felt Davos move to his side.

"The Fleet is ready to move again my lord."

"Good, we sail for Lannisport."

"Aye My Lord."

As Davos turned to leave, Stannis stopped him for a moment, a hand on the smaller man's shoulder.

"How did the cannon fare?, it stopped firing I know."

"The men are saying it grew teeth and they couldn't fire it anymore."

"Grew teeth?"

"Blew out the front of it more likely, but the men have taken a liking to it. Gave it a name and everything."

"Oh?" Stannis asked, turning to the knight.

"They're calling it "Iron Eater"."