Chapter 227: Broken Negotiations

As one of the most formidable castles in Westeros, Storm's End stands proudly at the heart of the Stormlands along the western shores of the Narrow Sea. Legend claims that its walls, as thick as eighty feet at their strongest point, were built with layers of stone and sand tightly packed together, making the fortress nearly impenetrable. Its outer walls are smooth, curving outward in a manner so seamless that not even the slightest breeze can penetrate. From afar, Storm's End appears like a massive stone fist thrusting into the sky, defying any force that dares to assail it.

They say this fortress was built by Brandon Stark, known as "the Builder," the same man who raised the Wall and the Hightower. Since its construction, Storm's End has never fallen to any invading force.

The last Storm King, "Arrogant" Argilac Durrandon, foolishly abandoned the safety of Storm's End during Aegon's Conquest, choosing to fight the Targaryens and their dragons in open battle, where he met a swift and disastrous end. In the aftermath of his conquest, Aegon Targaryen granted Storm's End to his half-brother, Orys Baratheon, and thus the fortress has remained the seat of House Baratheon ever since.

After the Rebellion, Robert Baratheon took the Iron Throne and granted Storm's End to his youngest brother, Renly Baratheon, who later perished in Sunspear. The empty title was subsequently granted to King Tommen's acknowledged bastard cousin—Edric Baratheon.

"Edric Storm!" Stannis Baratheon corrected his aide irritably. "What right does the false king on the Iron Throne have to legitimize a bastard?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the messenger replied, unfazed by the correction. "Edric Storm has agreed to meet with you at noon on the cliffs east of Storm's End, allowing both sides up to ten attendants."

"That's acceptable."

Once the messenger had gone, Stannis turned to his followers. "Have any of the Stormlands' lords responded to my call?"

Silence.

Stannis ground his teeth.

After a long pause, Davos Seaworth spoke up. "Your Grace, it's not that the Stormlands' lords refuse to support you. Their armies are trapped in Dorne. If we can persuade Prince Doran to release them, they'll surely join our cause."

"No need to make excuses for them," Stannis replied sharply. "Only twenty thousand of the Stormlands' troops are in Dorne. They're lying if they claim they have no men left to spare. They simply won't fight for me. Now, with a bastard in Storm's End appointed by the Iron Throne, they think they have a convenient excuse."

"There's also the threat from the Reach," Davos added. "Even if the Stormlands' lords have some troops left, they'd keep them at their castles to defend against the Reach."

"Ah, yes—the Reach." Stannis's gaze darkened as he turned to his father-in-law. "Alester, didn't you guarantee that the Reach would support me? So, what exactly do they mean by this 'support'?"

Alester Florent, Lord of Brightwater Keep, shifted uncomfortably.

Just two days prior, they had received news that Lord Mace Tyrell had ordered the Reach's armies to march on Storm's End. Though the Tyrells claimed they were only helping Stannis unseat an illegitimate lord, it was clear to any with eyes that they aimed to seize control of the Stormlands.

Lord Alester, after learning of the infamous incident at Highgarden's hunt, had initially believed that the Tyrells would fully support his son-in-law, Stannis, in claiming the Iron Throne. Elated, he had led his forces to Dragonstone in the hopes of securing a prominent position. Yet the Tyrells' subsequent half-hearted support and their march into the Stormlands had left him utterly confounded.

It had finally dawned on him that his grandson—now engaged to the Rose of Highgarden—might have more ambitious designs than expected.

But at this point, House Florent had no path of retreat. Alester's daughter had married Stannis, and he had committed himself to the cause. Stannis had even named him Hand of the King, an honor he could neither refuse nor abandon.

"Your Grace," Lord Alester said, choosing his words carefully, "if we can convince this bastard to give up his claim, House Tyrell will lose its excuse to invade the Stormlands."

"And you think the boy will just surrender Storm's End?"

"Only if you can assure him he'll be safe. I believe Edric Storm will see reason."

"We'll see."

At this, Davos interjected tentatively. "Your Grace, perhaps if you promised to legitimize him in return for his loyalty and grant him some lands, he might feel less inclined to resist."

"Absolutely not!" Stannis spat. "A bastard cannot inherit Storm's End."

Davos sighed and said no more. He knew all too well his lord's disdain for Edric Storm. Born on Stannis's wedding night, Edric was the child of Robert Baratheon and Delena Florent, conceived on Stannis's own marriage bed. Rumor had it that Stannis's inability to produce a male heir was punishment for Robert's sacrilege. How could he ever forgive such an affront?

The afternoon arrived, and Stannis, bearing his gold crown, rode to the appointed cliffside meeting spot.

Soon, a party approached from Storm's End. At their head was a handsome young man dressed in a green velvet coat, with a silk mantle adorned with pine cones.

As they drew near, Stannis scrutinized his nephew, noting the boy bore the dark hair of House Baratheon and the prominent ears of House Florent. Strongly built yet still youthful, Edric's face held an unmistakable innocence.

"Edric," Stannis greeted curtly, making a point to avoid calling him lord or bastard, though he refrained from openly disrespecting him.

"Uncle," Edric replied, his greeting just as terse.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the silence thick and uncomfortable.

Finally, Lord Alester Florent cleared his throat, forcing a smile. "Edric, won't you at least greet your grand-uncle?"

As the child of Robert Baratheon and Delena Florent, Edric indeed had blood ties to Alester Florent. Yet Edric merely cast an indifferent glance at Alester, replying flatly, "So you are Lord Alester? This must be the first time we've met—I hardly recognized you."

Indeed, Alester Florent had little reason to acknowledge a niece's bastard, even if that bastard was Robert Baratheon's son. Robert had fathered so many bastards, after all. Edric had been little more than a whisper to him before this.

"Edric," Alester said, struggling to keep his tone even, "King Stannis has come here in good faith, willing to forgive past offenses. All you need do is surrender Storm's End, and he'll consider the matter closed."

Edric gave a derisive laugh. "And then what? I go back to being a despised bastard?"

Alester glanced at Stannis before replying, "His Grace would grant you the name Baratheon and some lands of your own."

"Some lands? Do you mean Storm's End?"

"Don't even think about it," Stannis snapped.

Edric shrugged. "Uncle, you're as miserly as ever. It's no wonder no one wants to fight for you."

This remark struck a nerve. Stannis's face darkened as he ground his teeth, hissing through clenched teeth, "Do you even realize how close you are to death? The Reach's armies are marching toward Storm's End as we speak. Who else but me could save you from them?"

"I have Storm's End," Edric replied coolly. "I don't need saving. During Robert's Rebellion, the Reach besieged this castle for a year without success. Surely, you remember how sturdy its walls are."

"And this time, I've stockpiled enough provisions for three years. I'll wait and see if the Reach has the patience for that."

Stannis clenched his teeth so hard that Davos feared they might crack. But he knew his lord well enough to recognize that Stannis's anger stemmed from frustration, knowing he could not break this stubborn young lord by force.

Desperate, Stannis turned to Ser Cortnay Penrose, one of Edric's senior knights. "Ser Cortnay, will you continue following this bastard?"

Ser Cortnay gestured at the banner behind Stannis and replied, "Lord Stannis, is that a new sigil you bear?"

Indeed, the banner his standard-bearer held was unusual. It featured a red heart encircled by orange flames, with the crowned stag insignia of House Baratheon embedded within the heart.

"This is the blazing heart, the sigil of the Lord of Light," the Red Priest Thoros explained.

"The Lord of Light, my ass," Cortnay spat. "Stannis, you switch faiths as casually as I change boots, yet you dare accuse me of mischief?"

"Enough!" Stannis roared, drawing his sword in one swift motion.

Under the gray sky, the blade seemed to shimmer with an eerie glow, flickering red, then orange, and then white-hot. The air around it shimmered from the heat, and the gathered horses neighed in alarm.

Stannis pointed the blazing sword at Edric, his voice low and deadly. "This is your final warning, Edric Storm, I don't want to taint the Lightbringer with the blood of my relatives, but if you insist on doing so, I will kill you even if I have to bear the curse of kinslaying!"

Edric sneered:

"Uncle, do you know why the Stormlords were willing to die for my father and fight for Uncle Renly, but were unwilling to send a single soldier to support you? It's because of your harshness and ingratitude! If you can't change this, you will never be able to sit on the Iron Throne."

After saying this, the bastard lord turned his horse around and headed towards Storm's End.

Stannis was left holding the long sword that was shining with a strange light, but he could only swing at the air in anger.

(End of this chapter)