Chapter 10: The Hawk in the Stag's Court
The journey to Storm's End was undertaken with grim purpose. Darth Vorhax, styled Lord Ellys Vorant, rode at the head of his twenty-man retinue. Ser Gareth, his face set in lines of fierce loyalty, rode at his right, while Hobb and Joron, silent and formidable in their dark Stonefang iron, flanked him slightly behind. The rest of their small troop, the best of Stonefang's burgeoning elite, moved with a disciplined cohesion that was unsettling in its quiet intensity. Nyx, Vorhax's goshawk, was not perched on his arm for this formal summons, but he had released her as they left Stonefang's territory, feeling her presence as a watchful eye in the stormy skies above, a silent extension of his will.
They passed through lands far richer than Stonefang's meager coastal strip – rolling hills, dense woodlands, and prosperous-looking villages, all under the dominion of various Stormlords whose keeps they occasionally glimpsed in the distance. Vorhax observed it all with a conqueror's eye, noting the strengths and weaknesses, the flow of trade, the disposition of the people. He saw lands ripe for better management, for the imposition of true order. His order.
The sight of Storm's End, when it finally loomed before them, was undeniably impressive, even to a being who had seen planet-destroying superweapons and city-spanning ecumenopolises. The colossal drum tower, said to have been raised with the aid of magic in the Age of Heroes, stood defiant against the raging storms of Shipbreaker Bay, its sheer, curving walls seeming to absorb the fury of the elements. Banners bearing the crowned black stag of Baratheon whipped from its battlements. This was a seat of true power, ancient and formidable.
Their arrival caused an immediate stir. The guards at the massive gatehouse, veterans in Baratheon gold and black, eyed the small, dark-clad retinue from Stonefang with open hostility and suspicion. Whispers followed them like a malevolent shadow as they were escorted through the outer baileys and into the heart of the fortress: "The Hawk of Stonefang," "Morriggen's Bane," "The Dark Lordling." Vorhax welcomed the fear; it was a useful precursor to respect, or at least, to caution.
They were made to wait in a cold, stone antechamber for what felt like an eternity – a deliberate power play, Vorhax knew. He remained perfectly still, centered in the Force, his men mirroring his implacable calm. Finally, a stern-faced steward summoned them. "Lord Robert will see you now."
The Great Hall of Storm's End was vast, its ceiling lost in shadows, its walls hung with ancient war banners and the mounted heads of monstrous beasts. At the far end, on a dais, sat Robert Baratheon. Even seated, his presence was immense. He was young, barely a man grown, yet already possessed of a warrior's formidable build, his black hair wild, his blue eyes burning with a fierce energy. This was the man Vorhax had seen in his visions – the jovial giant, the furious warrior, the future king who would inadvertently trigger the wars Vorhax intended to exploit. At his side stood a younger, leaner man with a grim, set jaw and deeply suspicious eyes – Stannis Baratheon, Vorhax recognized from his visions. A much younger boy, Renly, fidgeted nearby, awed by the proceedings. Maester Cressen stood attentively behind them, and several stern-looking household knights flanked the dais.
"Lord Ellys Vorant!" Robert's voice boomed, crashing through the hall like a thunderclap, laced with undisguised fury. "You are summoned to account for the most grievous crime of annihilating one of my sworn bannermen, Lord Petyr Morriggen, and seizing his castle of Crow's Nest! By what right, by what madness, do you commit such an outrage in my lands?"
Vorhax advanced slowly, his retinue halting respectfully at the foot of the dais. He met Robert's furious gaze without flinching, projecting an aura of calm strength that seemed to momentarily surprise the young Lord Paramount.
"Lord Robert," Vorhax began, his voice clear and carrying, devoid of any tremor of fear. "I stand before you not as a madman, but as a loyal, if firm, servant of House Baratheon and the peace of the Stormlands."
"Peace?" Robert roared, slamming a mailed fist on the arm of his throne. "You call the slaughter of an entire noble house peace? You call it loyalty to butcher my bannerman and steal his lands?"
"Lord Morriggen was no loyal servant of peace, my lord," Vorhax stated, his tone hardening. "He was a festering wound upon your lands. His men attacked a lawful trade convoy under my protection, a convoy conducting legitimate business with your own loyal bannerman, Lord Estermont of Greenstone. This was an act of banditry, a provocation that could not be ignored."
He had Vymar's meticulously prepared (and carefully edited) account, but he did not present it yet. He needed to engage Robert directly, to appeal to the character traits he had glimpsed in his Force visions.
"Morriggen's men were weak, yes, and his rule often neglectful," Vorhax continued, choosing his words with care. "When Korg's bandits plagued the western woods, a threat to all, including your own tenants in Streamside, Lord Morriggen did nothing. Stonefang acted. When shadowcats descended, threatening your people, Stonefang acted. Lord Morriggen was a lord in name only, unable or unwilling to maintain order even within his own purview, let alone respect the rights of his neighbors."
Stannis Baratheon stepped forward, his expression like granite. "My lord brother, even if these accusations hold merit, they do not grant Lord Vorant the right to act as judge, jury, and executioner. There are laws. Processes."
"Laws and processes are for times of order, Ser Stannis," Vorhax countered, turning his gaze briefly to the younger brother. "When a rabid dog threatens the flock, does the shepherd convene a council, or does he act decisively to protect his charge? Lord Morriggen, through his aggression and incompetence, had become such a threat. I acted to protect my own, and in doing so, I excised a blight that would have inevitably demanded your own stern attention, Lord Robert."
He then played his masterstroke. He knelt, a gesture of fealty that seemed strangely at odds with his unyielding demeanor. "My lord Robert, Crow's Nest and all its lands are not mine to claim by conquest. They are yours, as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. I took them only to end a threat and restore order where there was none. I now lay the castle, its incomes, and its disposition entirely at your feet. My only claim is to the justice of my actions in defending my House and securing peace in my corner of your domain."
Robert Baratheon, who had been about to explode again, paused. This was unexpected. The young lordling wasn't defiantly holding onto his spoils; he was offering them up. It changed the complexion of the confrontation.
Vorhax pressed his advantage, appealing to Robert's nature. "You are a warrior, Lord Robert. A leader of men. You understand that strength respects strength, that decisiveness is a virtue in a ruler. Lord Morriggen was weak, vacillating, unable to control his own men or protect his own people. Such weakness invites chaos. I acted as any strong bannerman should, to cauterize a wound before it infected the entire limb."
He rose, his gaze locking with Robert's. "Furthermore, the company of Northmen formerly in Morriggen's employ, under Captain Brandon Snow, now serve House Vorant. A hundred disciplined warriors. Their service, through me, is also offered to you, Lord Robert. Should you have need of strong arms and loyal hearts in these unsettled times, they stand ready."
Robert leaned back, stroking his burgeoning beard, his initial fury giving way to a thoughtful, appraising look. He glanced at Stannis, who looked even more disapproving, then at Maester Cressen, who appeared deeply troubled. The offer of Crow's Nest, and the service of a hundred proven sellswords, was a powerful gambit. This young Vorant was not just a reckless boy; he was cunning, ruthless, and he was offering tangible assets.
"You speak boldly for one who has just admitted to destroying one of my houses," Robert rumbled, though some of the fire had left his voice. "What guarantee do I have that your ambition will not turn on other loyal bannermen? Or even on Storm's End itself one day?"
"My lord," Vorhax said, projecting utter conviction, "my only ambition is to see House Vorant strong and secure, a loyal pillar supporting the rule of House Baratheon in the Stormlands. A strong bannerman makes for a strong realm. A weak one is a liability. I have merely demonstrated my commitment to strength and order. My loyalty to you, my liege lord, is absolute. Test it, and you will not find it wanting."
He could sense the conflict in Robert. The Lord Paramount's sense of feudal justice warred with his pragmatic appreciation for strength, audacity, and useful tools. Vorhax had, in essence, presented Robert with a fait accompli and then offered him a way to legitimize it while simultaneously increasing his own power and prestige.
Robert was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on Vorhax. The hall was so quiet one could hear the distant roar of the sea.
Finally, Robert spoke, his voice a low growl. "The laws of gods and men cry out against what you have done, Lord Vorant. The destruction of a noble house is a stain upon the honor of the Stormlands." He paused, then a reluctant, almost grudging respect flickered in his eyes. "But you are also right. Morriggen was a blustering fool who could not hold what was his. And you… you are a hawk indeed. A dangerous one."
He rose from his throne, pacing the dais. "Stannis would have your head. And part of me agrees with him." He stopped, turning back to Vorhax. "But I am Lord of the Stormlands now. And the Stormlands need strong men, not dithering weaklings. You have offered me Crow's Nest. You have offered me the service of these Northmen."
He made his decision. "Very well, Lord Vorant. In light of Morriggen's documented aggressions, his clear incompetence, and your… decisive… rectification of the matter, and in recognition of your fealty in laying the castle at my feet, I, Robert of House Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, hereby grant you and your heirs the castle of Crow's Nest and all attendant lands and titles formerly held by House Morriggen."
A gasp went through the hall. Stannis looked as though he had swallowed poison.
Robert raised a hand for silence. "However!" his voice boomed again. "This leniency comes with a heavy price and a stark warning. You will pay a fine of five thousand golden stags to the treasury of Storm's End for the unlawful manner of your campaign, to be delivered within the year. You will swear fresh oaths of fealty here and now, before my court. And heed this, Lord Vorant: any further actions of this nature, any unsanctioned warfare, any hint of overweening ambition, and I will personally lead the armies of the Stormlands to your gates and grind Stonefang and Crow's Nest into dust. Am I understood?"
"Perfectly, my lord Robert," Vorhax said, inclining his head, a flicker of triumph carefully concealed. The fine was steep, but manageable given the resources he could now extract from the richer Morriggen lands and the "rediscovered" Vorant treasures. The oaths were meaningless words to him. He had won. "Your judgment is harsh, but fair. House Vorant accepts."
He swore the oaths, his hand on a proffered ancient tome, his voice ringing with feigned sincerity. Robert Baratheon, for his part, seemed satisfied. He had asserted his authority, extracted a price, and gained a formidable, if terrifying, new bannerman, along with control over a company of elite sellswords.
The remainder of their stay in Storm's End was tense. Vorhax and his men were treated with a mixture of fear, awe, and deep suspicion by the Baratheon court. Stannis made his disapproval plain, his cold gaze following Vorhax whenever they were in the same room. But Robert, his initial fury spent, became almost jovial in his interactions with Vorhax, seeing in him a kindred spirit of decisive action, albeit one that needed a firm leash. He even clapped Vorhax on the shoulder at one point, nearly sending the slighter Sith Lord sprawling, and declared that the "Hawk of Stonefang" had stones bigger than a dragon's egg.
Vorhax endured it all with his customary chilling calm. He had achieved his primary objective. He was now Lord of Stonefang and Crow's Nest, his domains significantly expanded, his resources multiplied. He had faced the Stag in his own court and emerged not just unscathed, but empowered.
Upon his return to his newly expanded territories, Vorhax moved swiftly. He installed Brandon Snow as castellan of Crow's Nest, giving the White Wolf autonomy over the castle's defense and the management of the surrounding lands, answerable only to him. This freed Vorhax to focus on developing Stonefang as his primary seat of power and industrial heartland. The fine to Robert would be paid through increased iron production, trade, and the careful exploitation of the Morriggen estates.
He stood on the battlements of Crow's Nest, a far grander perch than Stonefang's, looking out over the verdant lands that were now his. Nyx, having rejoined him, landed smoothly on his gauntlet, her yellow eyes fierce. The game had been dangerous, the stakes immense. But the Sith always played for keeps. He had manipulated the young Lord Paramount, appealing to his warrior nature, his pragmatism, and his desire for strong, effective bannermen. He had turned a dire summons into a resounding victory.
The Stormlands now knew the name of Ellys Vorant. The Hawk's shadow had lengthened considerably. But Vorhax knew this was merely one more step. Robert Baratheon was a powerful piece on the board, one he had now subtly influenced. The real wars, the ones he had seen in the fiery tapestry of the future, were yet to come. And he would be ready.
(Word Count: Approx. 4150 words)