Lordsport lay to the northeast of Pyke, near a pine-covered cliff, under the control of House Botley.
To the east stood Iron Holt, held by House Wynch, separated only by a dense pine forest.
To the south, past the forest and up along the island's slopes, rose Pyke itself, the seat of House Greyjoy.
The distance between them could be covered in half a day on horseback.
Because of this, Lordsport had always served as the gateway to Pyke. For generations, the Botleys had been the most trusted captains of House Greyjoy.
If Galon wanted to set foot on Pyke, then Lordsport had to fall under his control.
Night had descended.
More than twenty longships glided across the dark sea like silent ghosts, cutting through the still waters outside Lordsport without a sound.
Just as Galon had said at the Stony Shore, the harbor now lay completely exposed before them, unaware, undefended, vulnerable.
The port showed no sign of alarm.
Only a few scattered lights flickered in the darkness, while most of the harbor lay asleep.
Galon stood at the prow, droplets of seawater clinging to his leather armor, his officers gathered behind him.
"Looks like you were right," Asha said, lowering the bronze spyglass after a long look.
Asha exhaled softly. "They didn't expect us at all. Their defenses are practically nonexistent."
She paused, then added, "But if we attack directly, there will be bloodshed."
"The Botleys are loyal to House Greyjoy. Maybe... I can persuade them."
Before Galon could respond, a young figure pushed forward.
It was Tristifer Botley, one of Asha's loyal n rescued from the dungeons of Winterfell.
"Galon, Asha, let go!"
His voice was urgent.
"My father, Sawane Botley, was one of King Balon's most loyal supporters. He would never bend the knee to a kinslayer like Euron."
"If I go, he'll open the harbor gates for us."
Asha nodded, a trace of agreent in her eyes.
"Captain Sawane is indeed one of my father's most trusted n. It's worth trying."
"If we can take Lordsport without bloodshed, it will greatly strengthen our position."
Galon said nothing at first.
His gaze lingered on Tristifer's hopeful face before shifting toward the dim lights on the harbor towers.
Information about House Botley surfaced in his mind.
In the canon, Sawane Botley had been fiercely loyal to Balon.
So loyal, in fact, that he openly opposed Euron and was drowned for it. His brother, Germund, had then taken control of Lordsport.
Given Euron's nature, the outco here would likely be the sa.
Galon lowered his gaze, thinking for a mont.
Still, it might be useful to send him.
If Sawane was alive, they could gather intelligence on Pyke. If he was dead, it would shatter Asha's hopes of winning over the Botleys.
Galon finally spoke.
"We can try."
He paused, then fixed Tristifer with a steady look.
"But rember this. If the man you et is not your father, you are not to reveal anything."
"Say that Asha was released by Winterfell and is currently with n from Ten Towers."
He considered briefly, then added, "We'll soak your boat in oil. If anything goes wrong, it will serve as a signal."
Tristifer hesitated for a mont, then nodded firmly.
"I understand."
A small boat was quickly lowered.
Tristifer and two loyal companions climbed aboard and rowed toward the dimly lit docks.
Ti stretched in silence.
Every second felt longer than the last.
Asha gripped her axe tightly, while Galon stood like a statue, his eyes tracking the boat's movent through the darkness.
About twenty minutes later, the small boat reached shore.
Tristifer and his n stepped onto the dock, imdiately encountering a patrol from House Botley.
"Tristifer?!"
The leading soldier raised his torch, recognizing him at once.
"Captain Lykon?"
Tristifer recognized him as well, relief flashing across his face.
"Where's my father? I have urgent news for him!"
Lykon's expression turned complicated. A trace of pity flickered in his eyes.
He gave a quiet order, and one of his n slipped away into the darkness, heading toward the Botley stronghold.
Tristifer's heart sank.
He already knew.
Sure enough, Lykon raised his hand, and the soldiers moved to surround him.
"Tristifer, weren't you captured in the North with Lady Asha?" Lykon asked.
"How are you back so suddenly?"
Tristifer frowned but did not answer. Instead, he relied on his status and snapped, "What are you doing? Step aside. I need to see my father!"
A man behind Lykon sneered.
"Your father's already gone to the Drowned God. If you want to see him, jump into the sea."
Laughter broke out among the Ironborn.
Tristifer's expression twisted with shock and anger.
"My father is dead? Euron killed him? Then who rules Lordsport now?"
Lykon stepped closer, torch in hand.
"Why so many questions? When Lord Germund arrives, you'll have your answers."
He narrowed his eyes.
"Tell ... has Lady Asha returned as well?"
The Ironborn behind him reacted in different ways.
So looked hopeful. So uneasy. Others showed outright hostility.
Tristifer instinctively stepped back.
"My uncle..."
His gaze flicked briefly to the torch, then to the small boat behind him.
"Of course Asha has returned!"
He had already abandoned any thought of persuasion. Now there was only one goal: warn Asha.
He stepped closer to Lykon as he spoke.
"Lady Asha has returned with n from Ten Towers. She is the rightful heir of the Iron Islands!"
"Not that kinslayer Euron!"
"If you know what's good for you, co with and welco her. Otherwise..."
A cold gleam flashed in his eyes.
Suddenly, he lunged at Lykon, grabbing for the torch.
"Stop him!"
Lykon shouted, struggling as his n rushed forward.
Steel flashed.
In an instant, Tristifer's two companions were cut down.
He himself was dragged back, but before he was fully restrained, he wrenched the torch free and hurled it toward the boat.
The oil-soaked vessel ignited instantly.
A roaring fireball erupted, flas devouring the boat in seconds.
The blaze tore through the darkness like a signal flare, lighting up the entire harbor.
Lykon and his n froze in shock.
Out at sea, Galon, watching through his spyglass, saw the flas rise.
The last trace of hesitation vanished from his eyes. In its place ca cold, absolute resolve.
He did not even turn around.
His right hand rose.
His voice was calm, but it cut through the night like breaking ice.
"Sparta. Vanguard. Land and crush them."
"The rest of you—attack."
There were no war cries.
No drums.
Only the sudden, heavy rhythm of oars striking the water and the roar of ships cutting through the waves.
More than twenty longships surged forward like awakened sea beasts.
Sails billowed. Oars churned.
They beca arrows loosed without hesitation, racing toward the fire-lit harbor.
The night raid on Lordsport had begun.
__________
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