Barron
The sun had set when Prince Barron Durrandon finally arrived at the gates of Storm's End. He had rode like the wind through the Riverlands and the northern Stormlands, having left Raventree Hall two weeks ago. The light of the crescent moon glimmered on the stones of the ancient castle, and even to the gates Barron could hear the sounds of the feast.
The guards escorted him to the inner courtyard, where he was approached by a large and imposing man with long brown hair and bushy beard, and a wide grin beneath it. He was dressed in a black-and-white doublet decorated with a pair of battling swans, which made Barron deduce that the man was Lord Domeric Swann. Together with his father Lord Aubrey Swann he had fought in the Riverlands sixteen years ago, and as Aubrey had fell in the Battle of Six Kings his son had taken up the mantle of Lord of Stonehelm at the young age of twenty and six.
"Prince Barron!" the marcher lord greeted him with an obviously drunken voice.
"I've come to give my farewells for my brother, and to see the coronation of my nephew," Barron responded to Domeric with a serious tone, and immediately his grin disappeared, replaced by an apologetic look. "Of course, I'm sorry my prince," he muttered awkwardly. "However, King Arlan has already been buried in the crypts this morning, and Ormund has been crowned the new Storm King. You're just in time for the feast though, the new king hasn't even made his speech yet!"
"First I want to give farewells for my brother," Barron replied calmly, and Domeric nodded understandingly. "I'll come with you, my prince," he said with a bow, and so they made their way into the crypts behind the sept. Domeric led them with a torch in his hand to illuminate the dark tunnels beneath the ground. They walked past the crypts of many long dead Storm Kings, such as Maldon the Seventh who suffered a humiliating defeat against King Gyles Gardener the Third several centuries ago, Cleoden the Third who spent his whole twenty-year reign waging war against the Dornish, and Arlan the Avenger who expanded the Kingdom of Storm to Blackwater Rush over a century ago. And finally, they reached Arlan the Third's grave. Statue of a mighty warrior stood atop it, which Barron knew had been sculpted shortly after the war on Riverlands. It depicted Arlan in his prime, a handsome and fierce warrior king.
Barron took in a deep breath and stepped closer to the statue, placing his right hand softly against the cold and damp stone. "Oh, brother," he uttered with a mix of grief and joy in his voice, as memories from decades ago surfaced in his mind. Barron had always been the lesser of the two brothers, but that had never diminished the amount of love and respect Arlan had showed him. Why would the gods decide to take you first?
"Arlan's death is a great loss for the whole kingdom," Domeric spoke with quiet and respectful words, and Barron gave him a wordless nod. He removed his hand from the statue and stepped back, gulping subtly as his gaze scanned the stone depiction of his brother.
"Let us hope his son will have a long and prosperous reign," Barron muttered sternly as he turned away from his brother's grave. "Well then, the feast awaits, and I'm starving."
They made their way to the great hall, where musicians were playing, wine flowed and the nobility from all over Stromlands were enjoying themselves. Prince Barron made his way to the royal table on the dais, where King Ormund the Fourth sat with the crown on his head. Next to him was his wife, now Queen, Shiera Durrandon. Then there were their children, the Crown Prince Baldric, Princess Alissa and Prince Durwald, all of them under sixteen years old. Next to them was Ormund's younger sister, Princess Marleina. On the other end of the table were seated Arlan's second wife and Shiera's younger sister, the Dowager Queen Shana Durrandon, and her daughter Princess Arya.
"Uncle Barron!" Ormund stood up to greet him as he walked up to the dais, embracing him into a brief hug. "I was wondering if you'd be able to make it."
"Nearly rode my horse to death to make the journey as fast as possible," Barron grunted in response, to which his nephew let out a hearty laughter.
"It is good to see you again, uncle," Marleina spoke, a thin smile on her face. "The pleasure is all mine, niece," Barron responded politely. Though there was no hostility between them, he had never had a particularly close relationship with his niece. As children she had been raised by the ladies of Storm's End, and in adulthood she had had her duties in Griffin's Roost.
Barron took the seat between the King and the Dowager Queen, and began to eat and drink.
"So, I assume you've heard of the troubles in Riverlands," Barron spoke up after quenching the worst of his hunger and thirst.
"The ravens have reached Storm's End, yes," Ormund responded unenthusiastically. "The Faith Militant has always been a bothersome nuisance. As the chief advisor of the Warden of Riverlands, I trust you will find a way to deal with these problems."
"Oh, I know one way that would certainly work," Barron said sharply. "March your armies to Riverlands like your father did, remind them of our power. That should bloody do it."
Ormund glanced at his uncle tiredly and let out a sigh. "It's a long march to Riverlands," he said calmly. "We cannot afford to assemble the whole might of Stormlands every time some lunatic of the Faith Militant decides to kill a few peasants. My father trusted the Blackwoods to protect the Riverlands in his name, and as I recall your role was to make sure they do just that."
Before Barron could answer to Ormund, the Dowager Queen next to him spoke up. "So, you would abandon my brother, your brother-in-law, in his time of need?" she asked sternly, a sharp glare in her green eyes. "I doubt Arlan would've done that."
"I do not wish to insult you, Queen Shana, but I believe I knew my father better than you did," Ormund responded, a cold and sarcastic smile on his face.
"And do you have nothing to say to this, sister?" Shana challenged Queen Shiera, who reacted with a frustrated sigh. "Do you have no trust in our brother, Shana?" she asked in response. "He's not a boy anymore, I'm certain that he's fully capable of doing his duty."
"Excuse me, my king, my queens, but Lord Brydan's capabilities are not the issue here," Barron sternly inserted himself back into the conversation. "And it is not just about some crazed Warrior's Sons causing havoc either – we're talking about a full-blown rebellion, or at least it could become one if we don't act quickly to squash it. They have even crowned themselves a king, a man who calls himself Lucifer Justman. Do you understand that, my king? A man on the territory that your father conquered, that you now rule, calls himself a king. It is high treason and demands an answer."
Tense silence on the royal table followed Barron's words, until Ormund spoke up again. "Fine then, I will grant you some men from our closest bannermen to deal with the issue," he said begrudgingly. "However, the full might of the Stormlands I cannot give you, uncle, for I have other plans for that might."
"Other plans?" Barron asked with a frown, and King Ormund simply nodded to him. Then he grabbed his goblet and stood up, quickly gathering the attention of the whole great hall.
"Speech, speech!" some chanted cheerfully on the lower tables, and Ormund nodded to them with a smile.
"Aye, I do indeed have a few words for you, my dear lords and ladies," he spoke with his smooth and charismatic voice. "I've mourned for my father since the day that he died, and I doubt there will ever come a day that I won't look back to when he was still here with us. However, time has come for the Stromlands to turn its gaze towards future again." Ormund paused for a moment, letting his eyes soar over the nobles who had all quieted down to hear his speech. "I'm grateful for the legacy my father has left me, but I am also determined to build upon it. Arlan marched to Riverlands not to conquer but to help a friend, but in the end the circumstances forced him to annex the region. It was the greatest conquest any Strom King has ever made, but it was never my father's dream. His true dream was to subdue the Dornish regions of the Red Mountains under our rule, and I will be the one to see his dream come reality."
Ormund paused again, letting the surprised audience whisper amongst each other for a moment before continuing. "I know what some of you are thinking right now. Yes, Arlan's attempt to conquer Dorne six years ago failed, after his army suffered a crushing defeat on the Boneway. We underestimated Princess Nymeria and her Principality back then, but we will not make the same mistake again. Instead of simply marching on the Red Mountains, we shall also send a strong fleet of ships to the Greenblood, forcing the Dornish to fight on two fronts. Together, my lords, we shall crush the Dornish. Ours is the fury!"
The nobles in the hall reacted to the King's speech with roaring cheers and applauds, some even starting to chant his name. With a satisfied smile Ormund sat down, and Barron shot his nephew with a cold glare.
"Spare me from your complaints, uncle," Ormund said dryly, the people in the hall still cheering for him. "This war is my destiny, just as conquering Riverlands was Arlan's."
"I will not deny it from you, Your Grace," Barron responded calmly. Of course he disapproved this reckless decision, especially now that Riverlands was at the verge of another war, but he knew already that his nephew's mind would not be changed. If I wish to have any troops with me when I return to Riverlands, I better not anger him.
"I expected you to be more… stubborn," Ormund said with a pleasantly surprised tone.
"I know better than to deny the Storm King his desire for conquest," Barron replied with a sigh. "Just know that the situation has grown extremely precarious, and the day may come when the only options you have are to either march north or give up your dominion over Riverlands."
"I have no doubt in my mind that you will pacify the situation before it gets to that, uncle. Truly, you deserve praise for how exceptionally you have governed Riverlands for these past sixteen years," Ormund spoke with honeyed words. It was empty flattery, but Barron played along. "Thank you, Your Grace," he said calmly. "I do believe I am indeed capable of governing Riverlands. However, to ensure that our hold on the land endures whatever troubles lay ahead, a show of force will be necessary. And for that, I will need troops."
"You have troops. House Blackwood and their vassals are under your command," Ormund responded with a sly smirk. "However, in case that isn't enough, our vassals at Blackwater Bay are also at your disposal. They served us well against the Teagues, did they not? If there is to be another conflict on Riverlands they will surely serve us well again."
So, I get the scraps, Barron thought with some frustration, but gave the King a polite nod nonetheless. It was true, the houses of Blackwater Bay could form quite a formidable army together. However, those houses were famously quarrelsome amongst each other, and weren't exactly known for their loyalty.
The rest of the evening was free of talks of war, and with the help of the wine Barron even managed to relax and enjoy himself after the exhausting journey behind him. Shana and Shiera were especially curious to hear about the goings-on of Raventree Hall, and the more wine Barron drank the crasser his stories became. By the end of the night he was telling about the time Olyvar Chambers was tricked to drink horse piss, breaking into laughter after every other word.
The next morning Prince Barron woke up with an agonizing headache. It took him a moment to recall where he was, before he recognized the room around him. It was the very same chamber he had lived in during his youth in Strom's End, located on the higher floors of the massive keep.
Gritting his teeth, Barron raised from his bed. For a moment he felt the urge to throw up, but managed to compose himself at the last moment. "Fucking hell," he muttered as he made his way out of his chambers. It was a cloudy and slightly windy day outside, but Barron decided to make his way atop the walls nonetheless. From there he admired the billowing Shipbreaker Bay, and listened as the waves smashed against the rocks beneath him.
Barron was no maester, but it was clear to see that autumn was near. Yet another reason why Ormund should reconsider his plans. Storm Kings had regularly waged war with the Dornish for centuries, and even Arlan hadn't been able to subdue them. Perhaps Ormund could be the one to do it, but Barron had his doubts.
"Prince Barron," a female voice spoke behind him, and he turned to see Shana Durrandon approaching him. Technically speaking she was his sister-in-law, but being twenty-five years younger she might as well have been his daughter. "Queen Shana," Barron responded with a respectful nod.
"Not much of a queen anymore," she responded with a small sigh. "Anyway, how are you feeling?"
"I've had worse hangovers," Barron answered with a tiny smirk. "And you?"
"I'm… fine, I suppose," Shana answered calmly. "It's weird, Arlan has been dead for weeks, but seeing his crown on Ormund's head was what made me truly realize that he is gone."
"You may not be the Queen any longer, but I guarantee that you and your daughter will be treated with utmost respect here," Barron assured.
"I know," Shana replied nonchalantly. "Still, I feel that I've lost my purpose here. What am I supposed to do with the rest of my life? Smile and watch idly as my sister and her husband rule?"
"Perhaps you should concentrate on Arya," Barron suggested calmly. "I'm sure that's what Arlan would've wanted."
A sad little smile formed on Shana's face, and she gazed into the sea with longing eyes. "I talked about this with him many times during the weeks before he passed," she said quietly. "The thought of leaving Arya behind without a father hurt him more than anything, he was always so protective of her. And despite all the pain he refused to accept that he didn't have much time left in this world. He thought he could pull through with sheer will."
"Aye, that sounds like Arlan," Barron replied wistfully, and a moment of silence followed.
"Barron, there is a request I have for you," Shana finally spoke up again, and Barron gave her a questioning look. "When you go back to Riverlands, please allow me and Arya to come with you," she pleaded.
"Why?" Barron asked with a raised eyebrow. Shana gulped subtly, and considered her words for a few seconds before speaking up. "Like I said, there is no purpose for me here anymore, and I want to see Raventree Hall again. And my brother, I want to see what kind of man Brydan has grown to be."
"And are you sure this is something Arya wants?" Barron asked with narrowed eyes, and Shana nodded. "If she remains here, she'll never be able to move on from the pain of losing Arlan," she said with a sigh. "She grew up here, but I believe it would be for her own good to live somewhere else, at least for some time."
"You're a free woman, as is your daughter," Barron stated calmly. "However, I must warn you. Riverlands is not exactly safe right now, and I might well be marching to a war as I return there. Of course, I will do everything in my power to keep both of you safe regardless, but wars are unpredictable."
"I am the daughter of Lord Roderick, and Arya is the daughter of King Arlan. We are not easily frightened," Shana said confidently, and Barron gave her a soft smile. "Well, I can certainly see my brother's influence in you," he said with a benevolent tone. "So be it, we shall travel together."