Unlike Robert, Stannis had no particular desire to chase after the Inbetweeners.
That was not to say he failed to understand why everyone else found them fascinating. Objectively speaking, they were extraordinary, something even Stannis could acknowledge. They came from beyond the Sunset Sea, wielded impossible magic and carried with them enough strange sights to keep Storm's End gossiping for years.
He simply did not care overmuch.
Stories of impossible battles did little for him. Giant warriors capable of crushing stone with their bare hands were certainly impressive, but Stannis did not see the purpose in staring at them as if they were curiosities in some mummer's show. And unlike Robert, who apparently had spent most of the morning running through the castle in pursuit of warriors willing to spar with him, Stannis had no desire whatsoever to chase foreign knights around courtyards.
That seemed exhausting.
He supposed he too would eventually be given a trainer. After all, father had made Lord Caria make such a promise and Stannis did not doubt some arrangements had already been discussed. Robert had somehow managed to acquire a giant woman in bronze armor on his own, and Stannis suspected his own turn would come eventually.
But unlike Robert, he found himself entirely content to wait patiently for the proper teacher to be selected. There was no need to rush such things.
In truth, considering the uproar caused by the Inbetweeners' arrival, Stannis would have preferred to spend the majority of their stay hidden from their sight, preferably with a book in hand.
After all, Storm's End had transformed into something strange over the last day.
Every corridor seemed crowded now, with servants hurrying trough the halls in order to fulfil strange requests from guests no one quite understood how to accommodate. Men-at-arms stood in clusters whispering stories whenever they thought no one important was listening. Stableboys repeatedly abandoned duties to catch glimpses of crystal beings or walking jars passing through the castle grounds.
Stannis disliked all of it immensely.
So it was rather fortunate that the day following the Inbetweeners' arrival, his mother informed him firmly that since no formal activities had been planned for the afternoon, he was free to spend several hours reading in the castle library.
Respectful of his mother's wisdom and not wishing to accidentally lose access to several hours of uninterrupted reading, Stannis simply nodded and obeyed, even if he suspected there was more to it than a simple generosity.
The castle library sat high within the southeastern section of Storm's End, isolated enough from the busier portions of the fortress that noise rarely reached it properly.
Stannis ascended winding staircases carved through ancient stone, passing narrow windows where glimpses of Shipbreaker Bay appeared between walls of rain and grey skies. Outside, storm clouds rolled across the horizon while waves crashed endlessly against cliffs below.
By the time he reached the heavy wooden doors leading into the library, the sounds of the bustling fortress had faded entirely.
Stannis pushed the doors open quietly, pleasant silence greeting him.
The library smelled of old parchment and candlewax, mingled with dust and the faint scent of salt carried from the storm-lashed sea beyond the walls. Tall shelves stretched upward, packed tightly with weathered tomes collected over generations of Durrandon and Baratheon rule. Candles burned steadily from iron sconces fixed to stone pillars, their warm light dancing softly across polished wooden tables and worn leather bindings.
At first, he thought the library empty.
Satisfied by that realization, he immediately began moving deeper into the chamber with the intent of continuing his reading of Riverlands Heraldic Records, a fascinating work discussing banner traditions of the more prominent Riverlands houses.
He had almost reached the appropriate shelves when he noticed her.
Still and silent, almost more statue than living being, Lady Ranni Caria sat near the far end of the chamber. The leader of the Inbetweeners sat within a large chair beside one of the windows overlooking the storm outside, an old book resting upon her lap.
For a few moments Stannis simply stared, as the sight of her was... uncomfortable.
While Father seemed to treat Lord Hadwyn Caria as the more approachable of the two rulers, the stories Stannis had heard painted Lady Ranni as the truly important one. Which was rather unfortunate.
Because while Stannis at least understood how to act around Lord Hadwyn, Robert had already demonstrated that shouting loudly and acting entirely without restraint somehow worked, he had absolutely no idea how one was supposed to behave around a supposed goddess.
She resembled a woman only in the broadest possible sense.
Her body looked crafted rather than born, pale blue skin smooth and flawless like the finest porcelain of Yi Ti beneath layers of grey cloth and soft white fur. Four slender arms rested around the book in her lap with impossible grace, every turn of a page precise and controlled in a way that felt unnatural.
A massive white hat hid most of her face, while long blue hair spilled beneath it in gentle waves, falling over her shoulders. And beside her face floated another, faint and spectral. The second visage hovered partially beside her own, translucent and pale, its blue eyes half-lidded and distant, as though another spirit existed within her body.
Outside, rain lashed against Storm's End in scattered bursts, and muted grey light filtered through the narrow windows. It washed over her pale figure and made her seem less like a person and more like some winter spirit that had wandered into the castle.
Then she looked up, the woman’s eyes meeting his, blue meeting blue.
For several long moments, neither moved.
Stannis had the distinct impression that Lady Ranni was studying him. As though she looked at him, weighed what she saw, and attempted to determine whether he would become troublesome.
Stannis returned the stare calmly.
He did not know what exactly one was supposed to do when meeting a goddess in a library, so staring back seemed a perfectly reasonable option.
Several moments passed in complete silence.
Outside, rain struck against the windows in uneven rhythms while somewhere far above thunder rolled across Shipbreaker Bay.
Lady Ranni eventually appeared to reach some conclusion. Without a word, she simply lowered her gaze back toward her book, apparently deciding he was not worth concerning herself with.
Stannis found that agreeable, so without another word, he walked deeper into the library.
His boots echoed softly against stone floors as he moved between shelves lined with histories and records gathered over centuries. He ran his fingers lightly over familiar titles until eventually finding the heavy volume he had been reading over the previous days— Riverlands Heraldic Records.
A good book. Not particularly exciting perhaps, but Stannis did not require excitement.
He carefully pulled the volume free and felt its familiar weight settle into his hands.
Satisfied, he carried it toward one of the nearby tables. Not close to Lady Ranni, but not especially far away either, simply an appropriate distance.
He sat down quietly.
Lady Ranni remained seated near the window.
Neither spoke.
And for the next two hours, silence filled the chamber.
It was good silence.
Pages turned softly, candles crackled within sconces, rain whispered against narrow windows and thunder rolled distantly beyond the castle’s walls.
Once in a while curiosity would get the better of him and Stannis would glance toward the other occupant of the room.
Lady Ranni had scarcely moved. She remained seated exactly as before, posture immaculate, her body still to the unnatural extent. One pair of hands held her book open while another rested quietly upon her lap, only sometimes raising to turn a page at languid pace.
Time passed peacefully.
At some point he realized he had almost entirely forgotten Lady Ranni's presence despite sitting in the same room as her, mostly because she required nothing from him, simply existing quietly beside him while he read.
Stannis found himself realizing that it was perhaps the most pleasant company he had ever experienced.
Eventually, however, the shifting light beyond the windows informed him that supper would soon begin. And so, reluctantly, he closed his book.
The sound echoed softly through the library, causing Lady Ranni’s gaze to lift toward him once more, their eyes meeting again.
Stannis rose quietly from his chair and returned the heavy volume to its proper shelf before making his way toward the doors.
He paused before leaving, realizing that walking out entirely without acknowledgment would be wrong.
So Stannis turned slightly and gave Lady Ranni a small nod. For a moment the woman remained perfectly still…but then, with dignity, she inclined her head in return.
Nothing more needed to be said.
As Stannis left the library and stepped back into the corridors of Storm's End, he gave the strange blue goddess of the Lands Between some thought. Then, after several moments of consideration, he reached a conclusion.
He rather liked Lady Ranni Caria.
***
Rhaelle Baratheon née Targaryen made her way through the corridors of Storm's End with measured steps, her hands folded neatly before her as she followed a familiar path.
She knew where the floors sloped ever so slightly beneath old stone worn smooth by generations of feet. She knew which windows caught the sea winds strongest and which corridors remained warm even during winter storms. She knew where servants tended to gather when gossip grew particularly juicy and where Ormund had once hidden when he wished to avoid long meetings with troublesome bannermen.
Storm's End had been her home for decades even if lately it felt just slightly less hers.
The servants moved differently around her now, the rhythms of the castle no longer bent around her presence. Not because she had been cast aside, Cassana had always treated her with respect and Steffon remained as devoted a son as she could ever ask for, but time had continued moving forward as it always did.
Once, she had been Lady of Storm's End, now she was Lord Steffon's mother. And though she knew that was natural, knew such things were expected...There remained a faint sting in it all.
Eventually she reached her destination.
Steffon's solar sat near the upper portions of the fortress overlooking Shipbreaker Bay, the heavy oaken doors guarded by two men in Baratheon colors. She recognized their faces, as they were both old enough to have served her and Ormund while her late husband had ruled over Storm’s End.
Upon noticing her approach, both guards immediately straightened, awkward expressions crossing their faces.
"...Lady Rhaelle," one of them greeted after a moment.
Rhaelle recognized both men immediately. They had once served under Ormund, now serving under Steffon. Good men both, loyal and dependable.
"Damon. Rickard." Rhaelle replied evenly. "I'm here to speak with my son."
The two men exchanged quick glances.
"...Lord Steffon gave orders that he was not to be disturbed." Damon explained awkwardly.
Silence followed as Rhaelle merely looked at them, then she raised her eyebrow. Several moments passed before Rickard finally cleared his throat.
"...I shall inform Lord Steffon of your arrival, my lady." he managed after a moment, avoiding her eyes entirely. Then he disappeared through the doors almost immediately.
As Rhaelle watched him go, she sighed inwardly. Once, she would not even have needed to raise an eyebrow.
The thought came unbidden and irritated her far more than it should have.
Rhaelle frowned slightly, as she was being unreasonable. Storm's End belonged to Steffon now and Cassana was its lady, as was proper. It seemed that her mood had soured somewhere along the way, enough that she had begun drifting into old memories and unwelcome introspection.
Perhaps it had been that encounter earlier.
Earlier that day she had crossed paths with one of the Inbetweeners—a woman who had apparently been some sort of dragon. An actual dragon, if Steffon’s words were to be believed.
Once, hearing such a thing would have filled her with wonder and excitement. She was Targaryen by birth, after all, and dragons had been woven into every part of her family's history. They had lived in songs and stories, in banners raised above castles, in tales whispered to her by her father whenever she and her siblings managed to make him tell one that was not about Ser Duncan. Dragons had been House Targaryen’s legacy, proof that the blood in their veins carried something greater than ordinary men.
But life had a cruel way of stripping beauty from things.
Lyonel's rebellion had taken some of that childish wonder from her, showing her that despite her youth she was somehow the only dragon south of the Wall to know her duty. Summerhall had taken what remained, showing that the path of the Dragon seemed to end in fire. At some point, dragons had ceased being creatures of awe and become a source of apprehension.
And truthfully, she had already begun losing track of what exactly these Inbetweeners even were.
Regardless, the dragon woman had looked at her with open displeasure throughout the entirety of their short interaction…no, displeasure was putting it mildly. The creature had stared at her as though Rhaelle had personally insulted her by existing.
Rhaelle didn’t know why, for she had spoken perhaps three words to the woman, but it was deeply irritating.
It was not because she desperately wished to earn personal friendship with the Inbetweeners, as that responsibility belonged to Steffon now, but there remained something distinctly unpleasant in being silently judged for unknown crimes…especially by a dragon of all things.
Then again...there was something unpleasant about the entire affair with the Inbetweeners and the way the other Baratheons interacted with them.
Steffon had somehow returned from what should have been a diplomatic mission carrying stories, friendships, and enough familiarity with their ruler to openly make absurd jokes at castle gates.
Gods only knew what had happened there.
Rhaelle had long since accepted that Baratheon men possessed a unique talent for befriending people they absolutely should not, but this felt excessive even by their standards.
As she was stewing in her thoughts, the doors opened once more and Rickard reappeared.
"Lord Steffon will see you now, my lady," he said sheepishly.
Rhaelle entered her son's solar without ceremony.
The room itself looked much as she remembered it from years before, though Steffon had long since made it his own. Maps and letters covered much of the large oaken table near the center of the chamber. A half-finished cup of wine sat abandoned near one corner beside two overturned goblets..
Most importantly, however, Steffon himself looked dreadful.
Her son sat slumped in a large chair near the hearth with one elbow resting on the armrest and one hand pressed firmly against his forehead. His dark hair was disheveled, his shoulders slightly hunched, and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes.
He looked less like Lord of Storm's End and more like a man who had barely survived battle.
As their eyes met, Steffon groaned weakly, his response a pained sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl.
It was not a new sight, as Steffon, a proper Baratheon that he was, enjoyed celebration, inheriting much of their fondness for feasts, drink, and good company.
Still, this looked somewhat worse than usual.
Most likely, he had spent the previous evening with Lord Hadwyn trading stories and trying, foolishly, to keep pace with a man Steffon himself had described as possessing the power of a dragon.
Something about the image unexpectedly brought a memory of Lyonel’s rebellion to mind, but comparing both situation would be a huge stretch even if both Lyonel and Steffon challenged rulers they could not defeat.
Rhaelle walked further into the room and stopped before him, studying him with a palpable disappointment only mothers were capable of.
"...You look terrible." She declared after a moment, providing her son with her honest conclusion about his current state.
Steffon lowered his hand enough to glare at her weakly.
“Then I must be masking my pain quite well.” He replied sourly. "Because I feel worse."
Instead of commenting further, Rhaelle merely walked toward the windows. Heavy curtains covered them still, shielding the room from the morning light. Reaching forward, she grasped the thick fabric and pulled it apart in one smooth motion.
Sunlight immediately flooded into the chamber.
"Seven Hells!" Steffon exclaimed in horror, recoiling like a wounded animal as he threw an arm over his eyes.
Rhaelle remained entirely unsympathetic. Ignoring Steffon's quiet sounds of suffering, she crossed the room and seated herself opposite him, fixing him with a pointed stare.
"What exactly are you doing, Steffon?" she asked, her tone serious.
He blinked beneath his arm.
"...What?" he asked weakly, his expression shifting from pain into confusion.
"What," she repeated patiently, "are you doing? What is the reason for this odd closeness with the Inbetweeners? The King sent you to assess them and ensure they would not undermine the Crown's authority or threaten the realm. Instead, you return having befriended their leader and speaking of him as though he were a companion from your youth."
Truthfully, she did not know Aerys particularly well.
After Lyonel's rebellion and her marriage into House Baratheon, she had cared little for the affairs of House Targaryen beyond what duty demanded. Aside from her mother and uncle Aemon, distance had suited her well. She had never cared to know Jaehaerys's children, as she was simply too bitter about him and Shaera to even try. She pitied Aerys and Rhaella more than anything else, the two of them forced into the incestuous marriage because of her brother’s madness.
Still, distance did not prevent rumors from traveling and Aerys had developed a reputation of being a proud and jealous man, something his relationship with Tywin Lannister more than confirmed.
If he could grow uneasy toward the man he had once called friend simply because said friend proved himself too competent...then what would he think upon seeing another such friend become so familiar with impossible rulers from beyond the Sunset Sea?
And somehow, despite his miserable state only moments before, Steffon smiled in response. Not his usual broad grin, but something smaller, almost self-deprecating.
"Oh, Aerys will be angry." He admitted freely, sounding almost amused by the inevitability of it. "Very angry, I'd wager. He'll curse me, demand explanations, ask whether I've gone mad and decided to sell my loyalty to foreigners."
A weak chuckle escaped him before he winced and pressed a hand against his temple.
"...Gods, don't make me laugh."
Rhaelle simply stared at him.
Steffon sighed.
"But contrary to what you might think." he continued, lowering his hand and giving her a pointed look of his own. "I am doing my job."
Rhaelle raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?" she asked, silently telling him to continue.
Steffon shifted slightly in his chair and looked at her directly now, some of the lingering humor fading from his face.
"You see, mother..." he began quietly. "I genuinely like Hadwyn. Even if Aerys had never ordered me to travel south and meet these people, I'd still want to befriend him." His lips curled faintly. "He is simply too much of a Baratheon for me to do anything else."
Rhaelle narrowed her eyes slightly. She was not entirely certain whether she should find that reassuring or deeply alarming.
"But..." Steffon continued, his expression growing more serious, "the more I learn about him and his people, the more convinced I become that I am doing this for Aerys too."
Rhaelle frowned.
"You might have already suspected that, but the Inbetweeners don't care about our laws." Steffon spoke matter-of-factly. "Of course, they'll respect them whenever they are reasonable enough. They'll follow custom and basic level, playing along with expectations.”
He shook his head.
"But in the end, none of it truly means anything to them." His eyes drifted toward the window. "They would never bow to anyone without enough strength to demand it and they would never truly accept that the King of the Seven Kingdoms holds any authority over them, not when Hadwyn and Ranni are around."
Rhaelle watched him, his words deeply unsettling to her. Not because they were particularly arrogant from the Inbetweeners’ side, but because Steffon spoke of them with complete certainty.
As though he had accepted it as one accepted rain or winter.
"They are not people we could ever afford to have as enemies, as that would spell the end of the Seven Kingdoms with absolute certainty.” Steffon spoke, smirking upon seeing Rhaelle’s body tense. “Don’t worry, mother. Regardless of anything else, I doubt they would ever invade us or anything of that sort.”
He leaned back in his chair.
"Not because they're that benevolent, though goodness probably plays some part in it." He mused. "The true reason is that there's simply nothing here worth conquering for them."
Rhaelle blinked, staring at her son.
Westeros...Not worth conquering?
The thought felt absurd.
She knew these Inbetweeners possessed strange powers and impossible knowledge. But Westeros was still rich in land, gold and people. Even Valyria, as powerful as it was in its prime, required a conquest of the neighbouring lands in order to acquire slaves necessary to run the country built upon them.
Kingdoms had fought and bled for far less than what Westeros offered.
"...Just as I wouldn't gather the banners of Storm's End to conquer some tiny rock in the Stepstones," he said quietly. "they won't bother conquering Westeros."
Then his expression hardened slightly.
"But disrespect them enough..." He looked back toward her. "...and who knows?"
Rhaelle found she suddenly disliked imagining that possibility.
"So yes," Steffon continued quietly, "as the Crown's representative, I intend to smooth over whatever misunderstandings might appear between Aerys and Hadwyn once we reach King’s Landing, something my friendship with Hadwyn will help with. I'll make certain Aerys and Hadwyn can at least tolerate one another...If only to ensure Westeros still exists when the Inbetweeners eventually leave."
Rhaelle stared at him, mulling over his words carefully.
She wasn't entirely satisfied, not completely. If anything, Steffon's explanation had somehow managed to leave her even more uneasy than before, because the picture he had described was simply to haunting for her to be comfortable with.
But...She understood now.
Steffon was not acting entirely thoughtlessly. He was not drinking and laughing because he had forgotten his duty…though she had no doubt he was quite happy to have such a great excuse to let loose and his task was only a partial reason for his latest excesses.
And in the end, that had to be enough.
"Very well." After a long moment Rhaelle sighed. "I shall leave such matters to you."
Relief crossed Steffon’s face immediately, but then it vanished as Rhaelle narrowed her eyes.
"Though perhaps next time," she added coolly. "you should refrain from drinking enough wine to suffer like this. You are still a Lord Paramount, so it’s quite unbecoming for you to reach such a state."
For a moment she had hoped Steffon would see sense, but then he laughed.
The fool.
"I can't promise that." He declared freely, wide smile on his face. "We're hunting boar with Hadwyn this afternoon."
Rhaelle slowly closed her eyes.
Of course they were.
Gods...her son was still very much a child.