Lyanna sat at the painted table for the first time, marveling at the grandeur of the world's greatest map. Westeros was carved in painted wood, every coast and river laid bare beneath a conqueror's gaze.
Queen Rhaella stood at its head with one hand braced against the edge, her other resting low on the great curve of her belly. Ser Willem Darry stood to her right in red-and-black plate, while Dacey leaned over the table from the other side, thick fingers planted in the painted sea near Blackwater Bay.
Beyond the narrow windows, the wind was rising. It hissed along the black stone and came in damp and sharp from the northeast. Lyanna could smell the storm already, salt and pressure and something magical beneath the air.
"The village has to be emptied," she said. Lyanna pointed to the painted notch representing Dragonstone's harbor, then east beyond it where the real fishing village clung to the shore beneath the castle. "The houses there are too exposed. The winds will hit them first and hardest. If the sea rises, the whole place will drown in splinters."
Ser Darry frowned. "Smallfolk have no place in a keep."
Lyanna turned on him at once. "Then what is a keep for, if not keeping people safe?"
The old knight stiffened, and for a moment she thought he might snap back. He had a face made for disapproval, all hard lines and old obedience.
Instead it was Rhaella who answered.
"She is right," the queen said quietly. "The villagers come inside. I will not have them die under my walls for want of an open gate."
Darry inclined his head. "As you command, Your Grace."
Dacey's mouth twitched in satisfaction. "Good. With so many people, we need to avoid overcrowding. We can put the elderly and children in the lower halls and the tougher individuals will go to rooms with windows."
Lyanna nodded. It was practical. Dacey always was.
Then Dijkstra exploded through the open window in a white blur of wings and rain. He landed skidding on the painted table near Dorne, scattering droplets over the Summer Sea.
"Galleys! Galleys coming!" he croaked. "Purple grapes, purple grapes!"
Dacey's head snapped toward the windows. "Redwyne?"
Lyanna's stomach dropped.
She grabbed a Myrish lens and moved to the balcony, looking out. The sea beyond the harbor was dark and churning now, but in the distance she could see them—sails to the south, many more than there had any right to be. A forest of masts under the clouds, all moving for Dragonstone.
Darry let out a hard breath that sounded almost like relief. "Then praise the gods. Reachmen, not pirates. They've come to join forces."
"No," Lyanna said, sharper than she intended. The room turned toward her.
She did not look away from the sea. "My visions showed Tyrell roses blooming beside the stag. House Tyrell changed allegiance. If those are Redwyne sails, they are not coming for Rhaella's protection."
Darry's face darkened. "You are certain."
"As certain as I ever am of anything." Lyanna turned back toward them. "They'll want to finish what the Lannisters started in King's Landing. Or earn Robert's favor by bringing him Targaryen children."
Dacey's hand went to her mace. "They must have heard the royal fleet left."
Rhaella straightened, and stood up with regal bearing. "Then Dragonstone is under attack," she declared.
As if summoned by the movement, pain crossed the queen's face.
Rhaella's hand flew to her belly. She sucked in a breath through her teeth and bent slightly over the table.
"Your Grace?" Ser Willem stepped forward at once.
Another breath. Another tightening across her features. Then a dark wetness spread down the front of her gown and pattered quietly onto the stone beneath her.
For one stunned heartbeat no one moved.
Then Dacey said, "Well."
Rhaella closed her eyes. "My waters have broken."
Ser Willem took charge at once. "Get the queen to the maester," he barked to the guards outside. "Now."
Servants rushed in. Rhaella let them support her, though she looked displeased at needing support at all. Before she was guided from the chamber, her eyes found Lyanna's.
"The villagers," she said.
"I'll get them inside," Lyanna promised.
Rhaella nodded once and was gone, swept away toward the birthing chamber by her maids.
Darry turned at once. "The guard must be mustered. Barricades set at the harbor, archers on the walls, all boats drawn in to block the docks." He looked to Dacey. "With me."
Dacey grinned a little too eagerly. "Gladly."
Then both of them looked at Lyanna.
She knew what Ser Willem saw, a girl of five and ten with a youthful frame and brash habits. Not someone who ought to be responsible for lives.
Unfortunately for him, the queen trusted her. "I'll evacuate the village," she said.
Darry hesitated just long enough to show he did not like it. Then the thunder boomed close enough to rattle the painted table, and he gave a curt nod.
"Do it quickly."
They rode down together through wind that was beginning to scream.
The path from the keep to the harbor village twisted black and slick along Dragonstone's flank. Rain lashed sideways, stinging Lyanna's face. Winter hated every step and said so with pinned ears and an offended toss of her head, but the mare kept her footing better than any southern horse would have. Dacey rode beside Lyanna in a borrowed set of Targaryen plate, while Darry took the lead with a handful of men-at-arms already shouting orders to the dockworkers.
Fisherfolk were already outside, looking east at the sea and south at the sails, caught between two kinds of doom and uncertain which to fear more. Nets snapped loose in the wind. One rooftop had already lost half its thatch. Children cried. Someone was trying to drag a pig indoors as if that were still the greatest problem of the day.
Lyanna swung down from Winter before the horse had fully stopped.
"Everyone must take shelter in the keep!" she shouted to the first knot of villagers she saw. "Take only what you can carry! Leave the carts, leave the barrels, leave anything that slows you!"
A young but white-haired fisherman stared at her like she didn't belong. "And who are you to command us?"
Lyanna pointed toward the sea. "The one telling you there's an armada landing during the greatest storm of the century. None if these buildings will be upright by sundown. If you want to stay in one anyway, be my guest."
That moved him.
It turned out fear of a sack could do what fear of weather alone would not. Once the first villagers began running uphill, the others followed. Mothers snatched up children. Men grabbed sacks of food and old parents.
Lyanna went door to door even while rain poured off her in sheets. She kicked in one rickety door to drag out an old man who swore he had survived three storms and meant to survive a fourth in his own bed. She sent errand boys to the more distant homes, spreading the message. She shouted until her throat turned raw.
Taking stock of the elderly, there were too many in need of help up the slick stone path. Lyanna rounded up the village horses and skinchanged into them one at a time, starting a rescue convoy.
One crippled young women was moving too slowly, so Lyanna lifted her into Winter's saddle. With a mental nudge, the mare started taking her uphill.
All the while Mormont and Darry prepared for war at the docks.
Men overturned carts into makeshift barriers. Ropes were stretched where charging men might trip. Spears were handed out. Crossbowmen took position on roofs and quay walls.
A few of the bolder villagers, once their families were on the path to the keep, came back down with hatchets and boat hooks to help. Dacey put them to work without ceremony.
By the time the last knot of smallfolk was on the way, the first rowboats were visible in the southern chop. Burgundy sails towered beyond them, blazoned with grape clusters.
Lyanna came back to the barricade breathless, soaked, and shaking with cold and purpose. Dacey looked up from where she was dragging a barrel into place and swore under her breath.
"No," Dacey said. "You've done your part. Get to the keep."
Lyanna snatched a spear from a rack and then changed her mind, drawing her sword instead.
"You know me better than that by now."
"This isn't your fight."
Lyanna rounded on her. "If the Reachmen break through, what do you think they'll do when they find me?"
Dacey opened her mouth and then shut it again.
Ser Willem stepped closer, rain running down his beard. "You made a promise to the queen. You're needed alive to watch over the baby."
"I promised to look after her child," Lyanna shot back. "I take vows seriously."
The old knight studied her for one hard moment, then gave the smallest of nods, the kind men gave when they knew they were wrong but hated it.
"Then stay behind the first line," he said.
Lyanna said nothing. There was no point arguing more when the boats were already upon them.
The wind tore at her cloak as she took her place beside Dacey behind the barricade. It would be good to fight side by side with her again.
Ahead, the leading rowboat rose on a wave, then slammed down toward the docks with oars churning.
"Shields up!" Ser Willem Darry roared.
Lyanna obeyed, sword in hand, as the first arrows flew overhead.