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The morning sun cast long shadows across Storm's End's war room, where Lord Steffon Baratheon stood examining maps of the Prince's Pass with the sort of careful attention that had kept the Stormlands secure for two decades. At fifty-one, he still cut an imposing figure—broad-shouldered and strong, though the silver threading through his black hair reminded him daily that time spared no man.
"The royal party departed King's Landing six days ago," his castellan reported, tracing the route on the map with one weathered finger. "They should reach the Boneway within a fortnight, assuming no delays. Prince's Pass would be the alternate route if they choose the western approach."
Steffon nodded, his mind already calculating logistics. The King's party traveling to Dorne—Aerys, his wife and children, appropriate escort—moving through territory that bordered his own lands. The Stormlands had always been the shield that protected the realm from Dornish incursions, and even now, with peace supposedly secured through royal marriage, old tensions simmered beneath diplomatic pleasantries.
"Increase patrols along our borders adjacent to both routes," he ordered. "I want reports of any unusual activity—bandits, Dornish movements, anything that might threaten the royal party's passage. We may not be their official escort, but Storm's End has a duty to ensure the crown's safety when they travel through our neighboring regions."
"As you say, my lord." The castellan hesitated. "And the matter of the northern match? Lord Rickard's response to your latest inquiry?"
Steffon's jaw tightened slightly. "Still no word. Three months since my last letter, and Rickard Stark maintains his polite silence. I think we must face reality—the betrothal between Robert and his daughter is not going to happen."
"Perhaps the distance makes coordination difficult—"
"The distance is an excuse, not a reason." Steffon moved to the window, looking out over his ancestral seat. "Rickard Stark is not discourteous without cause. His silence tells me he's found another match for his daughter, someone he considers more advantageous than an alliance with Storm's End."
The castellan departed, leaving Steffon alone with his maps and frustrations. The northern marriage would have been ideal—Storm's blood joined with Stark honor. But Rickard had grown distant in his correspondence, his responses becoming increasingly vague before ceasing entirely. Perhaps those northern innovations everyone whispered about had made him more ambitious. Perhaps he'd heard rumors about Robert's intensity even from the Vale, and decided his daughter deserved steadier ground.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. A young squire appeared, bearing a sealed letter. "From the Eyrie, my lord. Lord Arryn's seal."
Steffon broke the seal and read quickly. Jon Arryn's elegant script conveyed the usual reports of Robert's progress—excellent at martial skills, popular among the Vale knights, developing strong bonds with Eddard Stark. But there were careful notes about his difficulty with stillness and study, his tendency toward excess in all things.
And at the end, a personal note: Your son has greatness in him, Steffon, but it is the sort that requires careful channeling. He is a storm—powerful, fierce, impossible to ignore. But storms must be directed, or they destroy indiscriminately.
Steffon set the letter down, thinking about his eldest son fostering in the Vale. Robert was seventeen now, nearly a man grown, learning from one of the realm's most honorable lords. But even Jon Arryn's legendary patience was being tested.
Another knock came at the door. This time it was his younger son Stannis, fourteen years old and carrying reports from the morning's training.
"Father," Stannis said formally. "The men are ready for increased patrols as you ordered. I reviewed the rotation schedules and made some adjustments for efficiency."
"Thank you, son." Steffon gestured to a chair. "I heard the castellan mention the northern marriage earlier. It's not going to happen, is it?"
"No," Steffon admitted. "Lord Rickard has made his choice clear through his silence."
"Because of Robert's reputation," Stannis said bluntly.
"Possibly. Or because Rickard has found a match he considers more advantageous." Steffon studied his younger son—so different from Robert, all discipline where his brother was passion. "The reasons matter less than the result. Storm's End needs to look elsewhere for alliances."
Before either could continue, another messenger arrived—this one from their border patrols. Steffon read the report quickly, his expression sharpening.
"The royal party has confirmed their route through the Prince's Pass in ten days. Our scouts report increased activity in the mountain passes—nothing overtly threatening, but enough to warrant attention."
"We should offer additional protection," Stannis said immediately. "Storm's End has both the duty and the capability."
Steffon nodded. "Sound strategy. This would also be a good opportunity for Robert to gain command experience—leading an escort force, coordinating with royal commanders, representing Storm's End with honor."
"Robert isn't here," Stannis pointed out.
"I know. I'll write to Jon Arryn, request Robert's temporary return for this assignment." Steffon began drafting the letter in his mind. "Two hundred men should suffice—enough to be useful without appearing to question the King's own escort."
"And if Lord Arryn refuses? If he thinks Robert isn't ready?"
"Then I'll lead the escort myself." Steffon met his younger son's gaze. "But Robert needs opportunities to prove himself capable of more than just martial prowess. Someone has to believe he can become the lord Storm's End needs."
Stannis was quiet, his young face showing the skepticism that would define him in later years. "I hope you're right, Father."
Three days later, Steffon sat composing a careful letter to Jon Arryn, striking the right balance between requesting Robert's return and acknowledging Jon's judgment about his readiness.
My dear friend, he wrote, the royal party's journey to Dorne presents an opportunity for Storm's End to demonstrate both loyalty and capability. I would request Robert's temporary return to lead an escort force through our neighboring territories—valuable experience in command while serving the crown.
I understand if you judge him not yet ready. In that case, I shall lead the escort myself and Robert can remain under your excellent guidance. But if you believe this opportunity would serve his growth, I would be grateful for his presence.
He sealed the letter and sent it north with his fastest rider.
A week later, Jon Arryn's response arrived. Steffon broke the seal with careful attention.
My dear Steffon, Jon had written, your request regarding the royal escort is well-timed and sound strategy. However, I must counsel caution regarding Robert's readiness for such an assignment.
While his martial prowess is exceptional and his courage beyond question, Robert remains impulsive and struggles with the discipline required for diplomatic coordination. The journey TO Dorne involves careful navigation of protocol with the royal party—something that requires restraint and measured judgment.
I propose a compromise: You lead the escort for the journey to Dorne, demonstrating Storm's End's capability and loyalty. During that time, I will prepare Robert thoroughly for command responsibility. When the royal party returns from Dorne—a journey that will primarily require military vigilance rather than diplomatic finesse—Robert can lead the return escort. This gives him valuable command experience in a context better suited to his strengths, while ensuring the initial leg proceeds without complications.
I will send him to you after the royal party reaches Sunspear, along with young Eddard Stark whose steadying influence may prove beneficial. This approach serves both the crown's safety and your son's development.
Steffon set down the letter, considering Jon's wisdom. The compromise was sound—he would handle the diplomatic complexities of the journey to Dorne, while Robert would gain command experience on the return where military readiness mattered more than courtly protocol.
"Stannis," he called, and his younger son appeared almost immediately. "I'll be leading the escort to Dorne myself. Robert will lead the return journey after the royal party completes their visit to Sunspear."
Stannis's expression showed approval. "That's wise. The journey to Dorne requires coordination with the royal party, diplomatic awareness. The return journey is more straightforward—watch for threats, maintain security. Better suited to Robert's strengths."
"Exactly Jon Arryn's reasoning," Steffon agreed. "I'll need you to manage Storm's End in my absence. Can you handle that responsibility?"
"Of course," Stannis said without hesitation.
"Two weeks to escort them to Sunspear, perhaps a few days there if protocol requires, then I'll return while Robert takes over for the journey back. A month total." Steffon moved to his maps, already planning the route. "Robert should arrive shortly after I return, which gives me time to brief him properly."
"I'll prepare detailed reports on the journey," Stannis said. "Everything he'll need to know—threats observed, the royal party's preferences, coordination protocols. When you return, we'll have everything ready."
"Good." Steffon gripped his son's shoulder. "Storm's End will be in capable hands."
After Stannis left, Steffon returned to his maps and began detailed planning. Two hundred men, carefully selected. Supplies for the journey. Routes, contingencies, protocols.
This was what Storm's End did—protected the realm, served the crown, maintained vigilance even in times of supposed peace. And soon, Robert would have his chance to prove he could do the same.
The journey to Dorne would be his responsibility. The return would be Robert's test.
Outside, Storm's End's ancient walls stood strong against the sea, weathering every challenge as they had for thousands of years. Perhaps Robert would prove the same—chaotic and intense, but ultimately strong enough to endure and lead.
A father had to believe that.