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The training yard of the Eyrie rang with the clash of steel as Robert Baratheon drove his opponent backward with the sort of overwhelming force that made spectators wince. At seventeen, he stood nearly six and a half feet tall, his broad shoulders and powerful build marking him as a warrior born. His practice sword connected with his opponent's shield with enough force to crack the wood, and the young Vale knight—a man five years his senior—stumbled and fell.
"Again!" Robert roared, his grin fierce and triumphant. "Come on, Ser Denys, surely you're not done already!"
From the gallery, Jon Arryn watched with the mixture of pride and concern that had become familiar over the two years Robert had fostered at the Eyrie. Beside him, Eddard Stark observed his foster brother with the sort of quiet attention that missed nothing.
"He fights like a god," Ned said softly.
"He fights like a storm," Jon corrected gently. "Powerful, overwhelming, impossible to resist. But storms don't discriminate, Ned. They destroy friend and foe alike if not properly directed."
Below, Robert had pulled Ser Denys to his feet and was clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make the knight stagger. "You nearly had me there! That counter-thrust was brilliant—I just happened to be faster. Another round?"
Ser Denys, looking relieved to have survived the first round, shook his head. "Perhaps after I've recovered, my lord. Your... enthusiasm is exhausting."
Robert laughed—a sound that seemed to fill the entire courtyard—and turned to scan the gallery. "Ned! Come down here and show these Vale knights how the North fights!"
Ned descended to the yard with the careful steps of someone who'd learned to move deliberately. At fifteen, he was still growing into his frame, but his swordwork had improved dramatically under Jon Arryn's tutelage. More importantly, he'd developed the sort of thoughtful approach to combat that emphasized technique over raw power.
"I'm not sure I'm a fair match for you, Robert," Ned said as he selected a practice sword.
"Nonsense! You're the only one here who doesn't look terrified before we even begin." Robert took his stance, that fierce grin never leaving his face. "Besides, you need the practice. Can't have you going soft up here in these mountains."
They circled each other, and the watching knights fell silent. This was a familiar sight—the Baratheon storm and the Stark wolf, testing themselves against each other as they had dozens of times before. But today there was something different in the air, a tension that had nothing to do with their sparring.
Robert struck first, a powerful overhead blow that Ned deflected rather than blocked, using Robert's momentum against him. They exchanged a flurry of strikes, Robert pressing hard with overwhelming force while Ned gave ground strategically, looking for openings.
"You're holding back," Robert accused, breathing hard but grinning. "Fight me properly, Ned!"
"I'm fighting smart," Ned replied, parrying another heavy blow. "There's a difference."
"Smart is just another word for cautious." Robert pressed harder, forcing Ned into purely defensive maneuvers. "Sometimes you need to just—" He lunged forward with a strike that would have been devastating if it had connected, but Ned wasn't there anymore, having rolled to the side and come up behind Robert's guard.
Ned's practice sword touched Robert's ribs gently. "—think before you act?"
The yard erupted in applause and laughter. Robert spun, his face flushed but his grin undimmed. "You sneaky northern bastard! That was brilliant!" He pulled Ned into a rough embrace that nearly lifted him off his feet. "See? This is why we spar—you make me think, I make you brave. We balance each other."
As the applause faded, Robert clapped Ned on the shoulder one more time. "I need to clean up and return my sword. Meet you for supper?"
"Of course," Ned replied, watching as Robert strode off toward the armory, still grinning at his own defeat.
From the gallery, Jon Arryn nodded approvingly. "Perhaps there's hope for him yet," he murmured to himself.
A servant approached, bearing a sealed letter. "For Lord Robert, my lord. From Storm's End."
Jon Arryn took the letter, breaking the seal to check the mark. "Speak of timing. Eddard, would you fetch Robert? He's likely in the armory still. This concerns him."
"Of course, my lord," Ned said, already turning to descend from the gallery.
---
Ten minutes later, Robert burst into Jon Arryn's solar, still sweaty from training, with Ned following more sedately behind. Robert's energy filled the room immediately—he was the sort of person who couldn't enter a space quietly, who demanded attention simply by existing.
"Lord Jon! Ned said you had a letter from my father?" Robert's grin was infectious. "Is he finally calling me home? I've been stuck in these mountains for months—"
"You've been here two years, Robert, as agreed when your fostering began," Jon Arryn said dryly, handing over the letter. "And you're not 'stuck.' You're learning what you'll need to know to eventually govern Storm's End."
Robert broke the seal and read quickly, his expression shifting from eager to confused to excited. "He wants me to come home! To lead an escort for the royal party returning from Dorne!" He looked up, his blue eyes bright. "This is perfect! Finally, some real action instead of just practice yard drilling."
"Read the rest," Jon Arryn suggested.
Robert's brow furrowed as he continued reading. "He's leading the journey TO Dorne himself? And I only get the return trip?" His tone carried disappointment. "Why not let me handle both?"
"Because the journey to Dorne requires diplomatic coordination with the royal party, careful protocol, measured responses to situations that may arise." Jon Arryn's voice was patient but firm. "Skills you're still developing, Robert. The return journey is more straightforward—military vigilance, security, protection. Those play to your strengths."
"You're saying I can't handle diplomacy," Robert said, his jaw tightening with that Baratheon stubbornness.
"I'm saying you struggle with restraint and measured responses. You fight with your whole heart, which is admirable. But sometimes situations require careful words rather than passionate action." Jon Arryn moved to pour wine, handing cups to both young men. "Your father is being wise, Robert. He's giving you command responsibility in a context where your natural abilities will serve you well, rather than throwing you into situations where your... intensity... might create complications."
Robert drank deeply, still looking somewhat insulted. "I'm not a child who needs protecting."
"No, you're a young man who needs experience," Jon Arryn corrected. "This is that experience. Take it as the opportunity it is rather than focusing on what you're not being given."
Ned, who'd been quiet throughout, finally spoke. "It's an honor, Robert. Your father trusts you to protect the King's family on their return journey. That's not nothing."
Robert's expression softened slightly at his friend's words. "I suppose. And it'll be good to see Storm's End again. Good to see Father and Stannis." He paused, then grinned. "And good to get away from these damned mountains for a while. No offense, Lord Jon."
"None taken. Though I note you'll be returning afterward to complete your fostering." Jon Arryn's tone suggested this was not negotiable. "One assignment doesn't constitute your full education in lordship."
"How long until I leave?" Robert asked.
"A fortnight. That gives us time to prepare you properly—maps, coordination protocols, everything you'll need to succeed at this assignment." Jon Arryn fixed Robert with a serious look. "And Robert? This is important. You'll be representing not just Storm's End but also the Vale, as my ward. How you conduct yourself reflects on both houses. Do you understand?"
"I understand," Robert said, and for once his tone carried genuine gravity rather than casual confidence.
"Good. Now go bathe. You smell like the training yard."
---
After Robert left, Ned remained in the solar at Jon's gesture.
"You heard everything?" Jon asked.
"Yes, my lord." Ned settled back into his chair. "He's not wrong to feel frustrated. He is capable of more than we sometimes give him credit for."
"True. But capability and readiness are different things." Jon studied his younger ward. "You balance him well, Ned. Your caution tempers his recklessness. Your thoughtfulness complements his passion. That's valuable—for him, and potentially for the realm."
"I'm his friend, not his keeper," Ned said quietly.
"The best friends are often both." Jon picked up another letter from his desk—one that had arrived that morning from Winterfell. "Your father writes of interesting developments in the North. Economic growth, improved trade relations, developments that have the entire realm taking notice."
Ned's expression became carefully neutral. "My father mentions such things in his letters to me as well, though with less detail than I'd like."
"Does he mention this Arthur Snow? The man at the center of much speculation?"
"Some. He's Lord Stark's retainer, apparently quite skilled. But Father is... cautious about committing details to ravens." Ned met Jon's gaze directly. "Why do you ask, my lord?"
"Because Robert will ask, if he hasn't already. And because understanding what's happening in the North may be important for the realm's stability." Jon's voice was mild, but Ned heard the serious undertone. "A single man drawing so much attention from the Citadel to King's Landing—these are not small developments, Ned."
"I understand, my lord. But I truly don't know much beyond rumors and fragmentary reports. My father keeps such matters close, as he should with sensitive information."
"Of course." Jon set the letter aside. "Just... be aware that Robert's interest in northern matters may intensify. He's competitive by nature, and the rumors about Arthur Snow will only feed that tendency."
---
That evening, Ned found Robert in his chambers, sprawled in a chair with a cup of wine, staring at his father's letter.
"Thinking about the assignment?" Ned asked, settling into another chair.
"Thinking about everything." Robert gestured with his cup. "My father wants me to prove I can be responsible. Lord Jon thinks I'm too impulsive for diplomacy. And apparently, the entire realm knows I drink too much and visit brothels too often."
"Do you visit brothels too often?" Ned asked mildly.
"Probably." Robert grinned without shame. "But I'm seventeen, Ned. When else am I supposed to enjoy myself? Once I'm married to some noble girl for political advantage, I'll have to be more discreet."
"You could try being more discreet now," Ned suggested. "Build a better reputation before marriage rather than trying to repair it after."
"You sound like Lord Jon. Or like your father—all northern honor and restraint." Robert drank again. "Not everyone can be like you, Ned. Some of us have more... appetite."
"Having appetite isn't the problem. Letting it control you is." Ned leaned forward slightly. "The return escort is your chance, Robert. Lead it well—protect the royal family, demonstrate sound judgment, show that you can command with discipline rather than just aggression. Prove your father's faith in you was warranted."
Robert was quiet for a moment, swirling the wine in his cup. "You make it sound simple."
"It is simple. Not easy, but simple." Ned's voice was steady. "You're Robert Baratheon, heir to Storm's End, one of the finest warriors I've ever seen fight. You don't need to prove yourself in taverns and brothels. You need to prove yourself where it matters—in command, in judgment, in leadership."
"And what about your father's retainer?" Robert asked, his tone shifting to something more challenging. "This Arthur Snow everyone talks about. The man who supposedly defeated Jaime Lannister without even moving—just held his sword with one hand behind his back and only moved the blade itself. Have you heard those stories?"
"Rumors grow in the telling," Ned replied carefully. "Not all of them true."
"But some of them are, aren't they?" Robert's eyes gleamed with competitive fire. "That's what bothers everyone. Not that the stories exist, but that at least some of them might be real."
"If you're asking whether Arthur Snow is as skilled as the rumors suggest, I honestly don't know. I was too young to evaluate such things when I left Winterfell. If you're asking whether my father trusts him and values his service, then yes—that much is clear from Father's letters."
"And your sister?" Robert asked, his voice taking on a different quality—something softer, almost vulnerable beneath his usual bravado. "Lyanna. The betrothal that was supposed to happen—is that truly dead?"
Ned's discomfort was visible now. "Robert, I don't know. Father hasn't discussed such matters with me. I'm his second son, fostered away from home. He doesn't consult me about marriage alliances."
"But you must know something. Have you heard anything about her and this Arthur Snow? Are they...?" Robert trailed off, the question hanging unfinished but obvious.
"I don't know," Ned said firmly, meeting Robert's gaze directly. "And even if I did, Robert, such matters are for my father to decide and announce. Not for me to speculate about with anyone, even my closest friend."
Robert's face flushed, and for a moment Ned thought his friend might explode with frustration. But instead, Robert took a long drink of wine and forced a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You're right, of course. Honor and duty and all that northern frost. I just..." He set down his cup and ran a hand through his black hair. "Your father's silence feels like an answer in itself, Ned. If the betrothal was still being considered, there would be correspondence, negotiations, plans being made. Instead, there's nothing. Which tells me he's found something he considers better than an alliance with Storm's End."
"Or he's being cautious about committing to anything during uncertain times," Ned suggested. "The realm is changing, Robert. My father is careful about navigating those changes."
"Everything's changing," Robert agreed, his frustration evident. "The North develops... something that nobody understands. The Citadel grows nervous about things they can't control. Even my own father thinks I need to be managed and guided like some untrained warhorse." He looked at Ned with something approaching desperation. "When do I get to prove I'm more than just raw strength? When do people start seeing me as capable of leadership, not just combat?"
"When you prove it through actions rather than demanding recognition based on potential," Ned said quietly. "This assignment is that chance. Don't waste it focusing on what you're not being given. Focus on succeeding at what you have."
"And if this Arthur Snow is everything the rumors claim? If I'm being measured against someone who supposedly defeated a Kingsguard knight without even moving his body?" Robert's voice carried an edge of something dark—jealousy, perhaps, or fear of inadequacy.
"Then you prove you're valuable in your own right, not as a copy of someone else." Ned's voice was firm. "You don't need to be Arthur Snow. You need to be the best version of yourself."
Robert was quiet for a long time, staring into his wine cup as if it might hold answers to questions he couldn't quite articulate. Finally, he looked up with something approaching his usual grin, though it carried more weight than his typical bravado.
"You're right, as usual. You're annoyingly right about most things, you know that?" He raised his cup in a mock toast. "To proving ourselves, then. You as the honorable son Winterfell deserves, me as the leader Storm's End needs. May we both be worthy of the faith placed in us."
"To worthiness," Ned agreed, raising his own cup.
But as they drank, Ned couldn't shake the feeling that forces were moving beyond their control, that the careful plans and hopes of young men might mean very little when confronted with the larger currents reshaping the realm. Robert wanted to prove himself, wanted recognition and respect and perhaps the northern girl who represented everything he thought he deserved.
What he would do when those desires met reality—that was what worried Ned most of all.
---
Later that night, after Robert had finally stumbled off to bed three cups past sober, Ned stood at his window looking north toward home. Somewhere beyond the mountains and forests, his father dealt with developments that had the entire realm nervous. His sister lived her life with a spirit that had always terrified and inspired Ned in equal measure. And Arthur Snow—the man at the center of so much speculation and fear—continued his work, apparently unconcerned with the storms gathering around him.
I should write to Father, Ned thought. Tell him about Robert's interest, his jealousy, his frustration. Warn him that Storm's End feels slighted by the silence around the betrothal.
But what good would that do? Lord Rickard surely understood the implications of his choices. And Ned was just a second son, fostered away, learning to be a ward before learning to be a lord. His insights and concerns carried no weight in such matters.
Still, the unease persisted. Robert was his friend, perhaps the closest friend he would ever have. But he was also a storm—powerful, fierce, and potentially destructive when his passions weren't channeled properly. The right guidance could make him great. The wrong circumstances could make him dangerous.
And in the North, forces were developing that might prove either the making or the breaking of Robert Baratheon's dreams of glory.
Ned could only hope that when the time came, the right people would be in the right places to prevent the worst outcomes. But hope, he was learning, was a fragile thing—easily broken by the harsh realities of power, ambition, and the unforgiving nature of the game great houses played with lives and futures.
Outside his window, the Eyrie's walls stood strong against the mountain winds, just as they had for thousands of years. But even the strongest walls eventually faced storms they couldn't weather.
Ned could only pray that when that storm came, his friend would have learned enough to be the leader he dreamed of being, rather than the disaster Jon Arryn feared he might become.