After a long, exhausting and, if he was honest with himself, unexpectedly enjoyable journey, Steffon Baratheon was finally returning home.
What had begun as a dangerous task entrusted by the Crown, one meant to investigate a foreign power of uncertain nature, had turned into something else entirely. Not only he had rekindled an old friendship with Tywin Lannister, but he had also forged a new and strange friendship with Hadwyn Caria, a man who could actually be considered closer to gods than to men.
…he would have to be very careful not to say that last one in Aerys’ earshot, huh?
Still, his journey home was finally over. Gone was Highgarden and its tourney, gone was Summerhall and its haunting atmosphere. Their group had passed through the Stormlands, venturing through the familiar landscapes of his youth, and now reached Steffon’s home.
Storm’s End.
When the scouts brought word that they were nearing the castle, Steffon wasted no time. The carriage slowed, then halted, and he stepped out into the open air, drawing in a deep breath and enjoying the familiar view.
As he did not wish to enter the castle by carriage, finding it rather unglamorous, he moved towards his horse and mounted it with practiced ease, the animal shifting slightly as it accepted his weight.
As he invited the Elden Lord to accompany him, Hadwyn followed soon after. Though instead of mounting a nearby horse, he did something else entirely. The man simply whistled and the air shimmered, the steed appearing from a thin air.
It was a spectral creature, horned and otherworldly, a strange blend of horse and goat that pawed at the ground as through it had always been there, its sudden existence apparently requiring no explanation.
Steffon did not even flinch, as he had seen too much on this journey for such things to surprise him.
“…Of course,” he muttered under his breath, more amused than anything.
Hadwyn simply swung onto the creature’s back as naturally as any knight mounting a destrier, giving no more thought to the miracle.
And so, together, they rode.
The path curved gently through sparse woodland, the trees thinning as they approached the coastline. The air grew sharper, tinged with salt, the distant roar of waves beginning to rise beneath the steady rhythm of hooves.
Then, it appeared.
One moment there were only trees and sky, then the fortress rose before them, vast and immovable.
The castle stood upon its great cliff like a challenge hurled at the world.
Its outer curtain wall loomed immense—one hundred feet high, impossibly thick, its surface smooth and curved in a way that denied foothold. The stones fit together so perfectly that not even the relentless winds of the Stormlands could find purchase between them.
And those winds never ceased.
They howled against the walls, screamed across the cliffs, hurled salt and fury against the fortress as they had for centuries, but Storm’s End did not bend, enduring the endless assault with a grim grace.
On the seaward side, the cliff dropped away in a sheer plunge—one hundred and fifty feet of unforgiving descent into the churning sea below. Waves crashed endlessly against the rocks, white foam bursting upward only to fall back, defeated.
And above it all rose the tower— not a collection of keeps and spires like other castles, but just one, colossal drum tower, crowned with jagged battlements that gave it the appearance of a great, clenched fist thrust skyward in defiance of gods and storm alike.
Steffon slowed his horse slightly, allowing himself a moment to take it in.
Legends spoke of Durran Godsgrief, the first Storm King, who dared to defy the gods themselves after the sea god and the wind goddess had slain his family and earned his eternal wrath. Of how he had built six castles before this one and how each had been torn down by storm and fury. Of how he had finally built the seventh castle, Storm’s End, which was able to endure the storm and finally claim victory over the malevolent gods.
Steffon had grown up hearing those tales.
As a boy, he had believed them without question. He had learned to doubt those stories as a grown man, but after everything he had seen on this journey—the magic, the gods—he found himself reconsidering.
“Well…” Hadwyn began, glancing up at the looming shape of Storm’s End as it grew ever larger before them, “I must say, it does bring back some rather pleasant memories.”
Hadwyn rode easily at Steffon’s side, his posture loose but somehow carrying perfect balance. Beneath him, the spectral steed moved with effortless grace, its hooves barely seeming to touch the ground as it matched the pace of Steffon’s horse without the slightest strain.
Steffon had the distinct impression that, if given leave, the creature would vanish into the distance in a matter of breaths.
“I feel like I’m back in Limgrave,” he continued, a faint grin forming. There was something almost nostalgic in his tone, the man looking at the structure with a strange fondness in his eyes. “Standing at the beginning of it all, staring at my first destination and knowing it was only the first step of many.”
Steffon glanced sideways at him, one brow lifting slightly.
“Am I to understand,” he said, his tone vaguely curious. “That a similar fortress exists in your lands?”
It was not challenge, not truly. Nothing Hadwyn said could diminish Storm’s End in his eyes. But the man’s homeland was something else entirely—a place of contradictions, of gods and madness and impossible wars. If there was a castle like this there, Steffon wanted to hear of it.
Hadwyn’s grin widened immediately.
“Eerily so, actually.” he said, letting out a short laugh. “It’s called Stormveil Castle. And would you believe it? It was once ruled by a Storm King. I find it rather entertaining, as I believe you once told me that Baratheon kings were called Storm Kings as well?”
Steffon huffed faintly at that, though there was no real offense in it.
“It was more a title of Durrandon kings than a Baratheon title.” he corrected, reins shifting slightly in his hand as his horse adjusted beneath him. “Though Lyonel Baratheon did try to revive it, briefly.”
His gaze lingered on Hadwyn for a moment longer, then narrowed just slightly.
“…And this Stormveil of yours,” he continued, voice turning more pointed, “is this another one of your tales that ends with ‘and then I arrived and left it a desolated ruin’?”
There was a beat, then Hadwyn laughed unabashedly.
“Am I becoming that predictable, Steffon?” he said, clearly amused. He leaned back slightly in the saddle, as though considering his answer. “But surprisingly, no. Not this time.”
Then he paused, however, as if reconsidering his answer.
“…Well, I did help Lord Godfrey the Storm King, I suppose. And later I removed the infestation that had taken up residence there, a Demigod runt called Godrick.” Hadwyn said thoughtfully. “But after that, I helped a local noble find a worthy ruler for the region. Now Stormveil is ruled by Nepheli Loux—she is a good and strong woman, not to mention a distant descendant of Lord Godfrey himself.”
Steffon studied him for a moment.
“…Well,” The noble said at last, looking forward again as Storm’s End loomed ever closer, its massive walls now dominating the horizon, “at least there is that.”
He did not press further. There was a time and place for stories like that—the place probably being his feasting hall and time being when he was sufficiently drunk on wine.
The wind was stronger now, pulling at his cloak as the path rose toward the great gate. The sound of the sea grew louder, crashing endlessly against the cliffs below, the world testing the fortress again and again.
The gates of Storm’s End stood open by the time they approached, just as Steffon had expected.
After all, a rider had been sent ahead earlier, a Baratheon messenger carrying word of their lord’s return. No castle in the Stormlands would dare keep its gates closed to him—but Storm’s End least of all.
The moment he passed beneath the shadow of the gate, the familiar weight of the place settled around him—he was home once more.
The courtyard beyond was already alive, as a full reception had been gathered at the news of their lord returning, with foreign guests of great importance at that. There were Baratheon soldiers in yellow and black already awaiting his arrival, servants were lined neatly along the sides, with minor retainers and household knights standing in loose formation.
They filled the space with a low murmur that stilled the moment Steffon and his company entered, only for the staring and even louder murmurs to begin once their eyes landed on Hadwyn and the Inbetweeners that followed him.
There was unease, curiosity and a flicker of fear to be seen in those present, but Steffon ignored it all, as his gaze had already found what truly mattered.
At the head of the gathered crowd stood three figures.
Cassana Baratheon nee Estermont stood tall and composed, exactly as he remembered her. Her dark hair was drawn back neatly, not a strand out of place despite the wind that never truly left Storm’s End. Her green eyes were sharp and observant, already measuring the Inbetweeners that began to fill the courtyard. There was caution in her gaze as it flicked toward Hadwyn and the others, but there was no fear to be found in the woman. She wore Baratheon colors proudly, the deep yellow of her dress catching what little light filtered through the overcast sky.
At her side stood their sons.
Robert Baratheon—already broad for his age of eleven, carried himself with a careless energy. His eyes were wide as he watched the arrival, fixed entirely on the strange procession behind his father, awe written plainly across his face. He looked as though he wanted to run forward and either ask the Inbetweeners questions or challenge them to the fight, something that would have worried Steffon if he didn’t know what kind of people the Inbetweeners really were.
But since he was already familiar with the Inbetweener culture, he had a distinct feeling that Robert would endear himself to the Inbetweeners before the day was over.
Beside him, smaller but no lesser, stood Stannis Baratheon.
Where Robert leaned forward and stared openly, Stannis held back and watched the Inbetweeners carefully like his mother was. His expression was tighter and more guarded—as much as nine years old boy’s expression could be guarded, at least.
By the time they reached the heart of the courtyard, Steffon was already dismounting. His boots struck stone with a solid weight as he handed the reins off without looking.
Behind him, Hadwyn followed suit—sliding from his spectral mount only for the creature to fade shortly after, dissolving into nothingness as casually as it had appeared.
There were gasps to be heard at the sight, the first display of magic in their lives simply to shocking to stay quiet for most of the people present, but Steffon did not care for that, already moving forward
“I have returned victoriously!” he declared, spreading his arms wide, his voice carrying easily across the courtyard with the overwhelming confidence. Hearing his voice, most of the people peeled their eyes off Hadwyn, instinctively focusing on their liege. “The threat of the mysterious invaders from beyond the Sunset Sea is no more! The Inbetweeners proved no match for the mighty stag and now, bested by my friendship, they are simply friends to be welcomed in our halls!”
A stunned silence followed.
Faces shifted—confusion, disbelief and alarm bloomed as countless gazes snapped instinctively toward Hadwyn and his entourage, people wary of how those obviously magical people would reply to such a potentially insulting statement. Even Cassana’s composure faltered just slightly, the woman sending Steffon an alarmed look.
Behind him, however, Hadwyn let out a sharp snort of amusement, his clear amusement and acceptance of Steffon’s words breaking the tension that began to build up before it could reach a critical point.
Steffon allowed himself the faintest smile.
Most men would not dare say such a thing, especially not with beings like these standing within arm’s reach, but Steffon knew Hadwyn and knew that he would not be offended by a jest like this.
And more importantly, he knew opportunity when he saw it.
Considering the sheer might of the Inbetweeners, there was literally no reason not to capitalize on his good relationship with their leader. It was simply for the Baratheon’s benefit to shamelessly flaunt his friendship with Hadwyn to everyone present, if only to ease the fear his subjects might feel once Hadwyn inevitably displayed his terrifying power in front of the Stormlanders.
And while it might require Steffon to explain himself to Aerys, the King’s own son was already trying to bond with the Inbetweeners, while Steffon himself was sent to ensure the foreign visitors wouldn’t harm the Crown’s authority, something he was doing by befriending Hadwyn.
Also, as a great lord, there wasn’t much opportunity for him to act silly these days, so it was nice to have some excuse.
“…Well, it is good news indeed, husband. I am glad to see you back.” Cassana spoke slowly, her tone measured as she greeted Steffon, but he knew her well enough to feel a warmth hidden beneath the composure. Her gaze flicked, just for a moment, toward Hadwyn, as the Elden Lord seemed to find her attitude somewhat amusing. “Storm’s End had grown colder in your absence, but I trust it will find its spirit again now that you have returned.”
Steffon inclined his head slightly, suspecting Cassana was actually speaking about various issues and formalities that he had been avoiding by leaving for King’s Landing to act as Aerys’ advisor, but he was not foolish enough to comment on that.
“Indeed,” he replied simply, ignoring his wife’s narrowed eyes. His gaze shifted then, settling on the two boys standing beside her. “And I see both my sons are both here, greeting their returning father as is proper?”
Stannis had never left Storm’s End, continuing his education there, but Robert had been in Vale when Steffon left for the Highgarden, fostered under Jon Arryn’s care. Perhaps it was coincidence that he returned home just in time for him to meet the Inbetweeners, perhaps Cassana, having read Steffon’s letters, ensured Robert was home one way or another.
Regardless, it was very fortunate.
“Greetings, father,” Stannis said, his voice firm. He stood straight—too straight, perhaps—his expression composed in that way children adopted when they tried very hard to be seen as more mature than they were.
It was rather charming, if Steffon was to be honest.
Then, before he could answer, Robert moved.
“Of course I am here, father!” Robert burst out, stepping forward with all the restless energy his brother lacked. His voice carried easily, bright and unrestrained, his attention already darting past Steffon toward the figures behind him, the boy’s eyes shining. “How could I not be here when word of impossibly powerful warriors from foreign lands has reached even the Vale, the tales of the Highgarden tourney impossible to believe?”
He stole another look at the Inbetweeners—longer this time. There was no fear in him, only excitement.
Steffon snorted softly.
“True enough, I suppose!” he conceded, amusement threading through his tone, as he ruffled his son’s hair.
Robert beamed at that. Stannis, who was standing beside him, frowned at the action, though the frown subsided once Steffon ruffled his hair too, the boy trying his hardest to stay composed under the assault.
Steffon let the moment settle, then turned slightly, extending a hand toward the man who had followed him.
“But there will be time enough to speak between us.” he said, his voice shifting, as he gestured towards Hadwyn. “For now, I would like to introduce you all to Hadwyn Caria, the Elden Lord and one of the leaders of the Inbetweeners.”
There was a ripple through the gathered crowd.
“A pleasure,” Hadwyn said easily, inclining his head in a shallow nod. “Steffon spoke of you often during our travels. I find myself rather curious to see how much of it was truth.”
At that, Steffon actually had to mentally review his memories to see if he ever said anything unflattering about his wife in Hadwyn’s presence. He…really hoped not.
Still, regardless of his inward worries, Steffon gestured toward his wife.
“This is Cassana, my lady wife.”
Cassana stepped forward, her posture flawless as she dipped into a proper courtesy.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Caria,” she said, her voice smooth—every inch the lady of Storm’s End—her eyes hard as she studied the Elden Lord, seemingly trying to assess how to interact with the foreign man.
Then Steffon turned, pride settling naturally into his voice.
“And these are my sons—Robert and Stannis.”
Robert straightened instinctively, chest puffing just slightly, while Stannis stood rigid.
“They are both shaping into fine warriors already,” Steffon continued, almost idly. “So feel free to offer magical weapons and tutelage to both of them.”
Another silence followed, one even more stunned than the previous one.
After all, how else could people react when something this blatantly inappropriate had just been said in full view of half a castle. Several of the gathered retainers visibly stiffened, one of the knights coughed into his gauntlet and Cassana’s composure cracked completely, her eyes snapping toward Steffon in open disbelief.
Stannis turned his head slowly, staring at his father as though reassessing something fundamental.
Robert…Robert looked delighted.
Hadwyn himself blinked once, then drew back slightly, placing a hand against his chest in exaggerated offense.
“Steffon,” he said, mock-wounded. “I thought we were friends.”
“There are kinship and camaraderie between us, certainly.” Steffon replied without missing a beat. “But I am also a noble, so deceit and greed are in my nature. Please, do not take it personally.”
The courtyard stared incomprehensibly, unable to properly react to such a statement.
If shock could be given form, it would have looked like this.
Steffon, for his part, found it all rather refreshing. After all, there was something liberating in such an open absurdity. And the best part was that this performance had a purpose.
House Baratheon did not shrink before these foreign powers—it stood beside them, close enough to jest in such a brazen manner in front of everyone to see. And if that earned his sons something of value, then all the better.
Fortunately, Hadwyn understood exactly what game was being played and he played along…or he didn’t understand a thing and simply did not care in the slightest.
“Well said!” he laughed, the sound loud and genuine, breaking the tension with ease. “My own wife is a noble, you know—and she is far more deceitful and greedier than you could ever hope to be!”
Then Hadwyn turned, attention shifting fully to the boys.
“So,” he said lightly. “What do you want? I’d just pick something for you myself, but you’re old enough to have preferences when it comes to murder.”
Robert didn’t hesitate for a single heartbeat.
“I want a warhammer!” he burst out, practically vibrating with excitement, his grin wide enough to split his face.
Of course you do, Steffon thought with amusement.
Hadwyn nodded immediately.
“A respectable choice of weapon.” he agreed, nodding wisely. “I’ll find you a good one—and someone to teach you how to use it properly.”
Robert looked like he might explode from joy.
Hadwyn’s gaze shifted to Stannis.
“And you—”
“Wait—but that’s not—why?!”
The voice cut across the courtyard, sharp and strained.
Every head turned, only to see Prince Rhaegar Targaryen standing at the gate, disbelief written plainly across his face, the boy looking offended, confused and betrayed in equal measure.
…Ah, the prince. Steffon knew he was forgetting about something.
***
I will probably need to give Rhaegar some W in the future chapters, as now I feel like I’m bullying him.