Music drifted through Storm's End's great hall, the melodies of harps, fiddles, drums and flutes blending into a lively backdrop beneath the rumble of dozens of conversations. Servants moved tirelessly between the long oak tables, balancing heavy platters laden with roasted venison, boar, and pheasant, while others refilled cups with Arbor gold, ales and exotic spirits brought from across the Narrow Sea. Bowls of fruits and pastries circulated alongside wheels of cheese, ensuring that no guest's plate remained empty for long.
The feast itself was a carefully orchestrated display.
Every seating arrangement, every toast, every introduction had been planned with precision by Cassana, the gathered houses of the Stormlands been given ample opportunity to witness, beyond any lingering doubt, the remarkable familiarity between House Baratheon and House Caria. Every shared laugh, every casual remark and every story traded between them subtly reinforced the same message, a lesson every noble present was meant to carry home.
The Lady of Storm's End had seized upon her agreement with Ranni with relentless determination. Rarely allowing the doll to stray far from her side, she guided the Lunar Princess through one conversation after another with the effortless grace of a practiced hostess. To the casual observer it looked like genuine companionship, the two noblewomen spending much of the evening seated together while Cassana ensured every lady of the Stormlands witnessed the arrangement.
Hadwyn suspected Ranni was counting the minutes until she could return to her book, but, to her credit, she fulfilled every condition of their bargain without complaint, even smiling often enough that several ladies concluded the mysterious goddess was far warmer than expected.
Steffon, on the other hand, eventually surrendered his monopoly over Hadwyn. After all, the Lord of Storm's End understood him well enough to know that attempting to keep Hadwyn exclusively to himself would achieve nothing and only worsen the Inbetweener’s mood.
As such, he eventually released Hadwyn into the feast, the Elden Lord quickly becoming the center of festivities.
Stormlords approached him one after another, each for a different reason. Some sought friendship and some sought influence, the former having more luck than the latter due to Hadwyn’s lack of interest in the politics.
Several carefully steered conversations toward the possibility of trade or alliance, achieving nothing, while other inquired futilely whether their own sons might someday receive tutelage similar to young Robert's. A surprising number simply wished to hear stories and those were the ones Hadwyn indulged the most.
Then there were the daughters, widows and wives whose husbands happened to be looking elsewhere, which were some of the more interesting distractions.
Stormlanders, however, possessed one admirable quality, one that made them superior to most of the Reachmen. Whatever their intentions were, they invariably arrived carrying a drink, the fact alone earning them several points in Hadwyn’s estimation.
The conversations themselves proved pleasant enough. Though some were certainly pushy with their little agendas, there was little malice to be found among Steffon's bannermen, merely ambition dear to his heart. And interestingly, most seemed genuinely curious about the Lands Between rather than solely interested in exploiting the connection, though the latter was often the case as well.
Still...politics remained politics and soon enough Hadwyn found himself reaching a limit.
He had eaten well, drunk generously and endured more questions than he could count, until there came a point where he desired a little quiet. As such, he eventually rose from his chair and announced he wished to get some fresh air.
Several guests instinctively half-rose from their seats, clearly considering following him, while others watched him with open curiosity, fortunately, no one proved quite bold enough to actively bother a man who could turn into a dragon at will.
Either way, Hadwyn slipped from the warmth of the hall and stepped onto one of Storm's End's stone balconies overlooking Shipbreaker Bay.
Cool night air washed over him, carrying the scent of salt and rain. The breeze tugged gently at his tunic while the ever-present roar of crashing waves replaced the music behind him. He smiled despite himself, as in that moment he was reminded of Limgrave, everything about Storm’s End bringing back memories of simple times when he only had to care about violent death, dismemberment and lack of direction.
Far below, another wave shattered against the black cliffs, white foam exploding high before disappearing once more into the restless waters. Above, clouds drifted slowly across a sky crowded with stars, occasionally revealing a bright moon that painted silver paths across the sea.
For several moments, Hadwyn simply rested both forearms upon the weathered stone railing and watched the scenery, his thoughts drifting toward one of the stories he had heard from Steffon.
He really needed to ask Ranni whether the Stormlands’ gods were tangible enough to challenge…
Behind him, the balcony doors opened with scarcely a whisper, measured footsteps following.
The newcomer halted several paces away, pretending to maintain the deferential distance. In his hands rested a polished silver tray bearing a gold goblet filled with dark crimson wine. By every outward appearance, he was an utterly unremarkable servant.
"...My lord." The servant bowed his head, his voice calm and entirely unremarkable, the sort of voice one forgot moments after hearing it. "Would you care for a drink?"
It was not the same man Hadwyn had met in Highgarden, not even remotely.
This one was older by perhaps twenty years, broad-shouldered where the previous had been lean, and nearly a head shorter. Deep lines framed a weathered face, while greying hair and tired brown eyes carried the patient weariness.
By every measure, he was a stranger, yet Hadwyn recognized him immediately.
Not because of the face or voice, the disguise quite excellent all things considered with nothing particular amiss, but because the man’s skill was just high enough to be noticed on sight.
The posture, the breathing, the complete absence of wasted motion, the man carried himself with the readiness of someone who could become lethal within a heartbeat. Most telling of all, however, he showed not the slightest hint of apprehension or fear in Hadwyn’s presence, something remarkable compared to most Westerosi who found themselves tensing while standing before someone vastly stronger than themselves.
To ordinary people, the assassin blended effortlessly into the crowd, yet to an Inbetweener, whose senses had been sharpened through centuries of constant combat...well, he practically glowed.
In short, Hadwyn suspected the disguised assassin might genuinely be one of the most conspicuous individuals in all of Westeros, simply because he possessed just enough skill that the Inbetweeners' instincts refused to dismiss him as completely harmless.
Truthfully, Hadwyn had been aware of his presence ever since Highgarden, when his meeting with Steffon and Tywin had included his wine developing a poisonous aftertaste. Since then, every so often, he would catch the same disciplined presence lingering somewhere nearby, observing and learning his habits, always beneath another borrowed face.
Naturally, Ansbach had offered to eliminate the problem, but Hadwyn declined the suggestion, partially because he was curious to see where the game would lead and partially because he admired the man's dedication to his craft.
The servant stepped forward and extended the silver tray, a golden goblet filled with crimson wine resting upon it.
"I would." Hadwyn declared, accepting it with an easy smile. "Thank you."
For the briefest instant, something almost resembling surprise flickered across the servant's weathered face, but it vanished almost immediately. Inclining his head, he resumed his flawless composure.
Hadwyn raised the goblet and took a generous swallow. The wine itself proved excellent, pleasantly sweet, and chilled just enough to be refreshing. Steffon had clearly selected one of the finer casks from his cellars for the evening.
For perhaps two heartbeats nothing happened, but then came the familiar sensation.
A faint wave of nausea rolled lazily through his stomach and warmth blossomed within his chest before condensing into a sharp, almost pleasant burning beneath his ribs. His limbs grew strangely heavy, his fingers tingling ever so slightly as though they had briefly fallen asleep and for the briefest instant his heartbeat seemed to stumble.
Then his constitution did what it always did. The nausea faded, the heaviness stopped and the burning ceased, whatever painstakingly crafted concoction had entered his body was dismantled before it could truly begin its work, reduced to nothing before it could accomplish its purpose..
The entire process lasted scarcely longer than a single breath and by the time Hadwyn lowered the goblet, only the lingering taste of wine remained.
Silence settled over the balcony.
For a time, neither man spoke. Beyond the stone railing, Shipbreaker Bay continued its endless assault upon Storm's End, waves shattering themselves against the cliffs while, behind them, the music and laughter from the feast drifted through the open doors.
The servant remained precisely where he stood. His hands rested neatly before him, his posture outwardly relaxed, neither panic nor disappointment upon his weathered face. There was little point in maintaining the charade any longer, the attempt recognized the moment Hadwyn drank from the goblet and felt the poison, so running now would accomplish nothing and attacking would accomplish even less, unless he possessed something considerably more impressive hidden beneath his borrowed form.
Instead, he simply waited patiently for his reaction.
Hadwyn suspected the assassin had spent enough time observing him to understand that he was not a man prone to reacting violently to something as inconsequential as an assassination attempt. And if Hadwyn intended to overlook the failed attempt rather than retaliate, lingering a few moments longer might yield something valuable.
Hadwyn appreciated that attitude. After all, improvement required feedback.
He rotated the goblet slowly, watching the crimson wine catch the moonlight before raising it for another, smaller sip. Then, after assessing the effect once more, he nodded thoughtfully.
"It's certainly better than the last one, I will give you that." Hadwyn provided his evaluation, giving the man a faint smile. "I actually felt it this time, if only for a moment.”
The servant's expression remained unchanged, his form perfectly still.
"...I am pleased to hear it, my lord." His tone was measured, though Hadwyn caught the faintest trace of dry amusement beneath the practiced composure.
"What did you use this time?" Hadwyn asked with genuine curiosity.
He had spent centuries learning the countless ways different peoples attempted to kill one another. And since every land developed its own peculiar traditions, he was interested in what was the usual method of assassination in Westeros.
Since there was no reason to deny anything at this point, after a brief pause the disguised assassin answered with the scholarly calm.
"...The Strangler." He said slowly. "Combined with basilisk venom and Tears of Lys."
Hadwyn nodded slowly. He had absolutely no idea what any of those poisons actually were, as the names meant nothing to him, but he appreciated the escalation nonetheless.
Resting one elbow upon the stone railing, Hadwyn turned fully toward him.
"So?" He smiled comfortably. "Walk me through it. What was the thinking behind this particular choice?"
The assassin answered immediately.
"The Strangler was intended to seize the muscles of your throat until the death would follow through suffocation." As he spoke, his voice remained calm and matter-of-fact. He continued without pause. "The basilisk venom should have produced steadily worsening paralysis before eventually stopping your heart."
Hadwyn gave an approving nod.
"And the Tears of Lys?" He asked.
"It was intended to destroy your stomach and bowels." The assassin revealed.
His eyes returned to Hadwyn, studying him.
"The first two clearly failed, as they should have taken effect almost immediately." He admitted. There was no frustration in his voice, only observation. After he said it, his gaze briefly drifted toward Hadwyn’s abdomen. "The Tears of Lys requires considerably longer to take effect, sometimes even days."
Hadwyn couldn't help but laugh as he caught the tiny flicker of expectation that Hadwyn could still perish, even if it was very unlikely.
"I'll let you know if it works." He said with a smile.
"I would appreciate that." The assassin nodded thoughtfully, the reply coming without a hint of irony.
For several quiet moments neither man spoke, simply listening together to the restless sea. Below the balcony, Shipbreaker Bay hurled itself endlessly against the black cliffs, while behind them the feast continued unabated, music drifting lazily.
Eventually, Hadwyn broke the silence.
"You know..." He said, rotating the poisoned goblet idly between his fingers and watching it catch the moonlight. "When we reach King's Landing, I'd be happy to introduce you to Tricia. Provided are interested, of course.”
"...Tricia?" The assassin blinked, genuine confusion briefly crossing the assassin's face as the name clearly meant nothing to him.
"Right." Hadwyn chuckled, leaning comfortably against the stone railing. "Of course you wouldn't know who that is. Tricia is the head perfumer of the Wisdom of the Moon."
The title clearly meant little to the disguised assassin, so Hadwyn elaborated.
"Most of her work concerns medicines and devising increasingly creative methods of setting people on fire, both things she is remarkably good at…” Hadwyn said, his grin widening as he looked back toward the sea. "But healing and poisoning aren't that different, with most perfumers becoming very familiar with toxins and poisons by necessity. And unlike you, Tricia has spent centuries developing potions meant to affect people considerably sturdier than the people of Westeros.”
His gaze settled once again upon the disguised assassin, his head gesturing lightly to the goblet.
"I suspect she'd enjoy speaking with someone who clearly appreciates the more...specialized aspects of her profession." Hadwyn finished.
For the first time that evening, genuine surprise broke through the carefully maintained disguise, his perfect mask cracking slightly. The assassin simply stared, unsure how to respond.
"...Thank you." The words came almost cautiously. The man searched briefly for the proper expression before continuing. "That would be...greatly appreciated."
Hadwyn waved the gratitude away with an easy chuckle.
"Don't thank me." Hadwyn declared lightly, taking another sip of the wine. "Believe it or not, I'm doing it for myself."
The disguised assassin tilted his head slightly.
"...How so?"
Hadwyn fell silent for a moment.
"There is something genuinely tragic about assassination attempts that cannot even inconvenience the intended victim." Hadwyn shrugged, speaking lightly as he revealed the sad truth. A that moment, an odd sense of exhaustion appeared on his face, one mixed with quiet longing. "And from the target's perspective...a life entirely free of the possibility of death becomes rather boring after a while."
He rested one elbow upon the stone railing as he once again looked at the killer, his previous weariness vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
"If you improve enough to actually make me worry someday..." Hadwyn’s smile widened. "...then everybody wins, as far as I am concerned."
Silence settled over the balcony once more.
The assassin remained perfectly still and Hadwyn could almost see the man’s thoughts rearranging themselves, the assassin attempting to fit this conversation into everything he understood about his profession.
Eventually, something shifted in the assassin’s gaze, a newly found respect noticable in his eyes.
"...I see." The words came quietly. Then the assassin inclined his head more deeply than he had at any point that evening. "Then I shall endeavour not to disappoint you."
"I look forward to it." Hadwyn replied with a small smile. “Oh, and one piece of advice. The disguises themselves are excellent and there were several occasions during my journey to Storm’s End where I genuinely lost track of you, but it’s clear from your presence that you are too skilled. Next time just...don't move like the best assassin I've met in this land."
The assassin stood silently for several moments before inclining his head once more.
"I shall correct that failing." The assassin nodded, then glanced toward the hall behind him. “I shall excuse myself for now. If I remain here longer, someone may begin asking unfortunate questions."
Then, with practiced ease, the assassin became merely another servant once more. By the time he disappeared back into the feast, not a single Westerosi guest spared him so much as a glance.
Hadwyn watched him vanish into the crowd, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"...Nice fellow."
Turning back toward Shipbreaker Bay, Hadwyn rested both forearms upon the stone railing once more. He raised the goblet one last time and took another leisurely sip, smiling faintly as the warmth spread through his chest.
The wine had a pleasantly spicy finish.