Jon Connington had known Storm's End in his youth. Sometimes when the lord of the castle came back from his foster home in the vale, Jon had visited him, to bend his knee and acquaint with each other. Back then, Jon had been one of the most famed fighter in the Stormlands, and a friend of the Prince of Dragonstone. Ser Stannis Baratheon, the Castellan of Storm's End in Robert's absence had known this and knew how to respect such a position, even if he was somewhat stiff in manner. Robert was a drunk sod even in his youth however, and courtesy was a game for him. Jon had never looked forward to his visits to either of the Baratheon brothers.

Yet, his visits had helped him in his conquest of the said castle. True, his memory was foggy, yet he remembered many of the murder holes and passages. He had been the first to ride inside the gates which Ser Gilbert Farring had so foolishly opened, and the first to draw blood. The fighting had been short and bloody, yet Jon had suffered only two hundred dead. "A victory to sing of." Black Balaq had announced afterwards. And Jon could not help but smile.

Yet even this was not enough for the Dornish Princess. "Nothing will give my father more joy than to see his beloved sister's son on his rightful place on the Iron Throne. But the world believes him dead." She told them, at the start of the council.

Jon had written to Dorne before making for Storm's End. Beseeching them for help for Aegon's dead mother's sake. He knew that Doran Martell would not give much heed to a supposedly dead sellsword's words, and had hoped that his victory at Storm's End would make Dorne take them more seriously, and not just as adventurers. His plan had worked. Dorne had sent them an envoy. It just did not contain who Jon was hoping for.

Nor were they who Dorne were hoping for. "We were waiting for a dragon." The princess told them, "But yours is of the wrong gender." Dorne had sent them its heir. A great honor and a potential promise. But if Doran Martell had intended to unleash his forces that were camped in the Dornish marches for the better part of two years, he would have sent someone to lead them in battle. He might have sent his son, Prince Quentyn. Women were at best fit for parleys.

Jon had taken care not to show any disappointment however, and had instructed Aegon and Haldon on the same. "My aunt has fallen in love with the Slaver's Bay." Aegon told her. "Time to strike is now, we ourselves could not wait any longer." Jon added. "While the Seven Kingdoms are rife with rebellion and discontent. If Daenerys wishes to join us, we will be glad to welcome her."

"By the time Daenerys reaches here, you will not be alive. King's Landing has sent an army against you." Martell told them. Arianne Martell was a beautiful and curvaceous dornishwomen, prone to smiles and flattery. Yet she seemed very much her father's daughter, "Stormlanders and Reach men 8000 strong are making their way down the Kingsroad even now, under the command of your own nephew. Red Ronnet will put a siege on Storm's End, and starve you out."

Jon had not known of any army yet. He looked at Haldon, but he only shook his head. Aegon addressed the princess, "We did not know of any army. But we do not mean to be confined to a castle. Red Ronnet will see us on the battle ground. Hopefully with you."

"The alliance of Dorne is not a fruit given away lightly." She said with a smile, "We have no proof you are who you say you are."

"What proof can we give you that will convince you?" Haldon asked her. "I do not think Prince Doran will take the testimony of Varys the Spider as trustworthy. And there was no one else involved. Dorne no doubt knows the need of secrecy."

"We do." She allowed. "But you can prove it to me on the battlefield. Rhaegar's son would no doubt be an able fighter."

"In less than four weeks we have made Stormlands from Cape Wrath to Storm's End ours." Jon answered her. "If the princess would like to know our prowess, she might want to consider that we took Storm's End, One of the most formidable castles in the Seven Kingdoms, with less than two hundred casualties."

"You took Cape Wrath from sleeping peasants. And Storm's End from a dead king." Princess Arianne said almost dismissively, "True, the feat is commendable, but you are a little late. Stannis took this same castle with only a single death, after defeating Renly, who had fifty times his strength in numbers. Dorne did not declare for him then, why would we declare for you?"

Jon felt that it was time for a different tactic. "Because Stannis Baratheon was the brother of the person who killed Rhaegar, and was responsible for Elia's murder, however indirectly. We are offering you a chance at vengeance, at justice. The Lannisters and the Tyrells also killed Prince Oberyn, do you not want vengeance for your uncle."

"One of my cousins, a daughter of Prince Oberyn, sits on Tommen's small council. Another has joined the swords and stars under the new high septon. Dorne is working towards justice and vengeance without your help my lords. However, the Lannisters have also betrothed Princess Myrcella to my brother Trystane. Such a match is not so easily thrown away, as you would have us do." She looked at Aegon, "My father was inclined to offer you my hand in marriage in exchange for our alliances, but now we know that you mean to wait for Daenerys."

Aegon looked at Jon, uncomfortable. "If the princess wants us to find a match for her, we could, in due course of war…"

Arianne laughed, "No my lord, although I thank you for the offer, I can find my own husband. What I want is for you to prove that you can win." She looked at all three of them, "My father sent me here to counsel you, and help you in any way I can without raising suspicions in King's Landing that may endanger my cousins. But if you want Dorne to openly declare for you, you must prove that you are more than a gaggle of sellswords with a feigned boy and a once defeated lord leading them. You must prove that you can win."

Prove to her we can win. Jon thought after he saw the Princess and her shield Ser Deizel Dalt to their chambers. "We must win against your nephew, my lord." Haldon said to him gravely. Jon nodded, "Tell Black Balaq to take hundred men with him as scouts and find out as much as he can about this army."

"Shall I call a war council as well?"

"Yes, in an hour. We will meet in the Lord's Solar."

Back in his chamber, the king's hand pulled of his gloves. The name The Black Hand came to his mind. Is that what they will call me? All his fingers of his right were grey by now. When he touched them, he could only feel pressure, no touch. All the nails were black on the right hand, and two on his left. Good thing it was winter, or men would have questioned why he was always wearing gloves. Jon was trying to minimize his contact with the king, lest the sickness pass from him to the boy. But it was not always possible. Only an hour later they were side by side in the war council, debating how to answer their first real challenge. I need to win Aegon true friends before I go. He thought, and if he had to ride against his own family for that, he will do what was needed to be done.

They set out towards the coming army the next day, leaving the Dornish Princess back.

Haystack Hall was a moat and baily castle. Some said it was the oldest castle in the stomlands. Sheltered by the kingswood from the storms, the legend said that at the very first it had been made of hay and straw and tree branches. Hence came the name Haystack Hall. It was all stone now, however. Someone had burned the hay and straw castle, but no one had burned the name.

Even made of stone though, it was not a strong castle. The lord of the castle had apparently been wise enough to know that, and as Jon's army had approached, he had put his own castle to torch and moved his strength north to join the force Jon's nephew was leading.

When he reached the castle gates, he saw that his nephew and his party were already here. Leaving his men out of earshot, his nephew came forward. Ser Ronnet Connington was a big and husky man. Red beard and red hair just like Jon, though Jon was clean-shaven. "Uncle" He said in greeting, "It is good to finally see you. I have grown up listening stories about you."

Jon's face darkened. But he was taken aback by the accusation in Red Ronnet's eyes. He does not speak like a man with intent to fight. "Nephew, unless you mind your tongue, you will stop listening altogether."

Red Ronnet laughed in his face, "Still arrogant my lord? Wasn't that what cost you everything in the first place? But you are right. I should not speak to my uncle like that. Not yet at least. Our talks haven't even begun. Let us remedy that. Send your White Knight away. We have family matters to discuss, and he is not family, unless he is your bastard?"

Jon scowled and sent Duck away. Duck went reluctantly. He had been sent by the King to hear of the proceedings. The boy had been angry that he was not invited to the parley. "Does your nephew think me too young to understand such matters?" He had Jon asked angrily. But finally he had relented, when Jon had made the same argument about the family matters that his nephew had just spoken of. So now the two of them stood alone in front of the burned castle, to determine whether they were going to take up swords against each other.

Once Duck was out of earshot, Red Ronnet turned to Jon, "Making White Knights already? Only the king on the Iron Throne has White Knights. Even Renly made Rainbow Knights, and he had a much better chance to win the throne than you."

"Renly Baratheon was a traitor. What he did does not concern me. Aegon is the rightful king of Westeros, and only he has any right to have White Knights. Have you come to me to argue about history and rights? Well, you should have told me so. I would have brought my maester." Haldon was no true maester, and he was on Storm's End besides, but his nephew did not know that.

"No" He answered, "I have not come to argue about history and rights with you, I have come to discuss your chances of winning the Iron Throne. They seem pretty slim to me uncle."

"So did Robert's to me until the Battle of the Bells."

His nephew laughed again. "Oh, do you think you can win this battle. No doubt you thought so at Stoney Sept as well! I have more men than you do uncle. But you had more men then Robert did. So maybe you will beat me. And then when Mace Tyrell or Randyll Tarly come down on you, why, your battered force will flee back to Storm's End where you will be put under a siege. Mace Tyrell loves to put Storm's End under siege, don't you know? And you are no Stannis Baratheon, to have a Ned Stark rush to your rescue. And if I win this battle, it will be me putting you under the siege. Sure, you have my children as hostages, but they are in the hands of sellswords who will sell them to me quickly enough for a pot of gold or two once they see you losing. What were you thinking, taking Storm's End? You will be able to survive a year or two, true, but from inside you will not make any allies. You will be starved out."

There was so much conviction in Red Ronnet's speech that Jon almost couldn't breathe for a moment. Just a moment though. Wars were not that easy, and if Red Ronnet had truly believed it all true he would not have invited his uncle for a talk. "If you are so convinced, why don't you sound the attack?"

Red Ronnet Connington snorted, "Why would I sound the attack? What do I gain by defeating you? The love of the Lannisters and the Tyrells? They don't seem to have any to offer. And it seems they don't even have the money any more, they are not being able to pay Robert's debts, d'you know? Besides, there rule is a disaster waiting to happen, now that Ser Kevan is dead. You must have heard of the twin trials. The Lannister bitch and the Fat Flower squabble over the boy king even as an army invades their kingdom, what could be worse than that. And you can count on the fact that I am not the only man in the Seven Kingdoms to have realised this. Ser Jaime is also lost. Riverlanders have given hostages to King's Landing and probably won't rise for you, but I hear that Robert Arryn has died at Lord Littlefinger's hands, and the new lord has called his banners to root him out of the Eyrie. I suppose he might join you, in exchange of help in escaping Littlefinger's rule that has been imposed on them by King's Landing. We have also felled a letter to you by Euron Greyjoy offering his allegiance. He styles himself King of the Iron Isles and the North, but is willing to drop it if you consent to name him Lord Admiral. And the plan he puts forth is good. Nor am I anxious to wage war upon one of mine own blood. But you must be suspecting most of this ever since I invited you here. You just want my terms. So I will just state them to you bluntly, nephew to uncle. I want Griffin's Roost, its lands restored just as they were in your father's time."

Jon stared at him, "Griffin's Roost is mine by right of birth as well as conquest and I mean to keep it. If you want it, you will have to take it from me."

"Take it I shall" Red Ronnet said languidly, "but preferably as a gift from a loving uncle to a loyal nephew." He sighed at Jon's expressions, "What will you do with Griffin's Roost my lord. Sit in the hall dispensing the king's justice? Hunt in the kingswood? Marry some wench and plant heirs in her belly? Those heirs would do much better as the lords of Storm's End, don't you think?"

Jon blinked, "Storm's End?"

"Belongs to Baratheons, I know. Yet it was the Baratheons that overthrew the Targaeryns. Don't tell me you mean let them live. Do that and they will be the first to rise should any rebellion start in future. They might even lead them." Red Ronnet shrugged, "But may be it does not matter. All the Baratheons are dead. Robert and Renly have been dead for almost two years. And Stannis is dead too. Surely you know this by now." Jon did indeed know of that. "Tommen and Myrecella you are planning to kill, no boubt. Stannis has a grotesque of a daughter, to be sure, but Bolton will probably kill her too, or winter will. After her, by the right of birth, Storm's End will pass probably to some Estermont or some Florent, but I know how sellswords work. They will want the choicest prizes for their own after the victory, and Storm's End is one of them. So, is it your wish to see some Strickland or Peage or Byrne as the lord of Storm's End? Just imagine my lord, a Connington as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, from Kingswood to the Dornish Marches. A Griffin dancing over the walls of Storm's End and Griffin's Roost alike. Don't tell me the picture isn't tempting."

It was not tempting! It was not tempting at all! Death is creeping up my arm. I have at most a year or two to live, and this man is talking of heirs. Ever since he had been exiled, Jon Connington had not even thought of heirs. "I do not want Storm's End. Instead, I will name you my heir, heir to Griffin's Roost."

Red Ronnet scowled, "And what of your children?"

I will not live long enough to father children. "I already have a son, and him I am going to place on the Iron Throne. If you accept this, then tell me what you offer me in return."

His nephew gave him a long look, but did not answer the question with a question, "This army behind me" he said, gesturing, "Is what I offer you. This, and half the lords of the Stormlands."