Gazing upon Storm's End in the distance, every man among them felt the world tilt beneath his feet.
"How can this be?"
"My eyes deceive me surely! Tell me, brothers—what banners do you see?"
"That is Storm's End... but those colors..."
The cavalrymen pulled hard upon their reins, leather creaking as horses danced nervously beneath them, while voices rose in disbelief across the ranks.
Their eyes spoke truth, though their hearts would deny it.
No longer did the crowned stag fly alone above Storm's End's ancient battlements. Now it shared the walls with a golden lion rampant, the two beasts facing each other as if locked in eternal struggle.
King Joffrey's banners!
What could this mean save the most terrible truth of all? Storm's End had fallen!
The incomparable fortress, the seat of storms, the castle that had never yielded in all its long history—the stronghold that could weather any tempest and withstand the siege of a hundred thousand swords—had been breached at last!
How was such a thing accomplished?
Lord Randyll Tarly surveyed the scene from horseback, his weathered face grave with confusion. "I see no signs of battle, no remnants of the siege camps our spies reported. What in seven hells transpired here?"
Renly Baratheon's brow furrowed deep as storm clouds.
This was beyond all his expectations, beyond every calculation he had made. Joffrey had entered Storm's End? Taken it from within?
Such a possibility had never crossed Renly's mind.
All his preparations, every strategy he had devised, rested upon the certainty that Joffrey remained outside the walls, trapped between siege and sea.
According to his plan—to launch a devastating surprise attack and catch the boy king unawares—Renly had personally led twenty thousand horse at breakneck speed straight for Storm's End, intending to end this war with one swift stroke.
To keep the enemy blind to his approach and ensure complete success, he had sent no scouts ahead, lest word of his coming reach Joffrey's ears.
After all, if the sea routes remained open and even Joffrey alone escaped, it would count as catastrophic failure.
For this reason, his host had advanced in silence and haste, the vanguard never ranging far, defending only the immediate surroundings to prevent any soul from bearing word to the usurper.
All had been calm until the previous night.
But now...
Renly gazed upon his ancestral seat, upon those hated banners that flew where his own should reign supreme, and felt rage and frustration near to bursting in his chest.
My Storm's End!
Mine by rights of birth and blood!
Joffrey, how dare you plant that shameful lion upon Storm's End's walls? Storm's End belongs not to Lannister gold but to Baratheon black and gold!
Fury made his breathing harsh and rapid.
Lord Randyll quickly intervened. "Your Grace, we must first see to the men and establish a proper camp."
"We have ridden hard and far—the horses are spent, the men weary. We cannot assault a castle in such state. Let us make camp, gather intelligence, then plan our course."
Renly drew a steadying breath. "You speak wisdom, Lord Randyll. See to it."
Randyll Tarly bowed and departed to his duties.
The remaining lords exchanged uncertain glances, wondering whether to step forward with counsel or tactfully withdraw.
Renly forced a smile that fooled no one. "It seems we shall spend this night beneath the stars rather than within familiar halls. Go, see to your men—ensure all are settled before the sun sets."
The assembly breathed relief and begged leave to depart.
Watching the lords scatter to their tasks, Renly's gaze returned to Storm's End. Though his fury had cooled to manageable embers, it left behind something darker and more troubling.
Storm's End. How in the name of all the gods was it done?
Was it Joffrey's strange powers, the sorcery that men whispered of?
Did not Storm's End itself possess ancient magic woven into its very stones? If Joffrey's power was real, then were the old tales of his castle's strength mere lies?
Renly felt lost as a child in an empty castle.
Around him, twenty thousand men began to move at their commanders' orders—some maintaining watch upon the silent fortress, others riding to nearby villages for supplies and information, still more establishing camp and preparing the evening meal.
Storm's End remained as silent as a tomb.
Renly spurred his destrier forward, circling the castle at safe distance, searching for some clue to explain this mystery.
The walls, the sea, the land, the very rocks—all appeared exactly as they had when last he dwelt here.
The military encampment Ser Cortnay had described in his letters was naught but empty ground, showing signs of recent occupation but no trace of battle.
It appeared Joffrey's forces had simply... moved into Storm's End as if welcomed guests.
But how could such a thing be possible?
Ser Cortnay Penrose and Storm's End's garrison were no mindless puppets. How could they have offered no resistance?
Yet perhaps they had become something worse than puppets now.
Pain lanced through Renly's heart.
Knowing Joffrey's nature, Ser Cortnay must have suffered a terrible fate indeed.
The people within the castle likely shared that doom.
And young Edric Storm—the boy's identity was too dangerous for Joffrey to ignore. Even if spared death, his life would surely be worse than the grave.
Renly raged against his helplessness.
The plan had been to catch Joffrey between his host and Storm's End's walls. Now Storm's End itself had become the enemy's fortress.
Slaying Joffrey seemed nigh impossible.
Storm's End with five thousand defenders could withstand ten times that number. And these were the same five thousand who had somehow taken the castle without battle. Even if the fortress could be reclaimed, the royal fleet could carry Joffrey to safety across the waves.
What course remains?
"Hear me, rebels! Hear me, rebels!" A voice like thunder rolled across the field, causing horses to shy and whinny in alarm.
Renly looked up sharply.
The voice continued its proclamation: "To show the gods' mercy and His Grace's benevolence, His Majesty will send an envoy for parley. At midday, Ser Cortnay Penrose shall leave the city alone—the rebels must guarantee his safe passage..."
Renly's eyes went wide as moons.
Cortnay! Is it truly Cortnay? How can he serve as Joffrey's envoy?
The shock among Renly's lords was no less profound. Ser Cortnay Penrose had been Storm's End's castellan, and now it seemed...
"Traitor! Craven turncloak! Have you any shame left to face His Grace?" Lord Alester Florent's voice cracked like a whip.
Within the hastily erected pavilion, Renly and his lords formed a circle around Ser Cortnay Penrose, studying the man who had once been among their most trusted.
Renly had mastered his initial fury. Even now, he could scarce believe Ser Cortnay would truly betray him.
"Ser Cortnay, explain yourself," Renly commanded.
Ser Cortnay's eyes held depths of sorrow and pain. "His Grace King Joffrey commanded me to offer terms for your surrender."
So that is how matters stand.
"If you will abandon this rebellion, withdraw your accusations and unlawful claims, His Grace will commute your death sentence to exile at the Wall as a brother of the Night's Watch. Your lords shall also receive royal pardons."
Ser Cortnay sighed like a man bearing the weight of worlds. "Defeat is inevitable. I beg you to consider this offer carefully... Lord Renly."
The assembled lords could no longer contain their outrage.
"Did you say 'Lord Renly'?"
"What grace did His Grace show you through all these years? A few days pass, and already you style him mere 'Lord' instead of king? Weathervane!"
"Speak, craven! Why did you deliver Storm's End to that bastard boy?"
Renly's heart lifted slightly at their loyalty.
Ser Cortnay wished desperately to remain silent, but the mystical guidance compelled response. "Storm's End was not delivered by my hand. His Grace is blessed by the gods themselves—his power extends even to wood and stone."
Renly's heart sank like a stone in deep water.
Ser Cortnay continued his tale with hollow voice. "After a week of siege, a small vessel entered the harbor beneath the cliffs. Then... the very walls opened of their own accord, and His Grace's forces entered the city without resistance."
Silence fell heavy as a burial shroud as each man imagined that scene, wondering how any mortal defense could stand against such power.
Understanding struck Renly like a thunderbolt.
The same power that conjured those impossible warships can reshape stone itself! Why would he need to besiege anything?
But wait—if such power was his to command, why had Joffrey bothered with a siege at all?
Renly stared in dawning horror.
Ser Cortnay's voice was heavy with regret. "Lord Renly... you should never have come."