Chapter Text
The Wild Storm
262 AC
Storm’s End
Steffon
A storm raged in Shipbreaker Bay below the high walls of Storm’s End and the rain lashed against the walls of the ancient fortress mercilessly. Lightning flashed and thunder roared and they were nearly enough to drown out the screams of Cassana in the birthing bed. Steffon paced nervously back and forth, glancing anxiously at the barred door. She had been in there longer than he thought a birth should last and he was helpless to do anything - this was her battlefield.
His mother, the Princess Rhaelle Targaryen, was assisting his wife, along with the maester and more midwives than he thought necessary. Cassana had taken to the birthing bed nearly 12 hours ago and all seemed well until the screams began a few hours ago. There were furious whispers behind the door which whipped open to give him a glimpse as serving girls carried buckets of hot water and clean linens in, taking bloody sheets out.
So far, he’s heard that the babe was large, and this worried him because Cassana was not a Baratheon and surely not built to carry a Baratheon babe. Still, even at six and a half feet Steffon had come from the dainty Princess Rhaelle and clearly his mother had survived and that gave him hope. The Storm Lord was anxious to meet his new babe.
A particularly loud scream had him throwing caution to the winds battering the castle and he nearly entered the room, propriety be damned! Selwyn Tarth, his paternal cousin and Lord of Evenfall held him back. ‘You must trust the maester and midwives, Steffon.’ He was always infuriatingly calm about everything.
A loud cry pierced the cold night and Steffon shook off Selwyn to leap into the room. He nearly collided with his mother as she moved to the other side of the bed.
A girl,’ she announced imperiously in that tone that always reminded him of his royal grandsire. ‘Strong and healthy.’
‘A girl,’ he repeated dumbly. Steffon approached the large bed where Cassana lay. She looked like she’d gone several bouts with the master-at-arms in the training yard, hair matted and stuck to her forehead and skin slick with sweat. Despite that, you couldn’t deny her happiness and Steffon felt his face match her smile.
‘A girl,’ he breathed softly. He lowered his large and muscled frame next to his glowing wife who showed him the wrapped bundle in her arms. Steffon took the proffered babe, carefully settling her in the crook of his arm and supporting the head. She was ruddy from birth and particularly sour tempered and her face was pinched. Her head was already full of coal-coloured hair like his own and her eyes were already open, a bright Baratheon blue looking back at him. She cried loudly.
Steffon laughed, the booming laugh of his grandsire the Laughing Storm. ‘This one is truly the blood of the Storm King’s of old! We’ll call her Argella. Argella Baratheon!’ Argella cried once more and Steffon gave her to a waiting wetnurse before turning back to comfort his wife.
‘She’s perfect, my lady. Rest.’
273 AC
Argella
‘May I be excused, Lady grandmother?’ Argella turned what she hoped were innocent eyes at her grandmother, willing her to let her leave the stuffy maester’s tower and run off to the training yard where she ought to be. Unfortunately, Princess Rhaelle - born a princess, always a princess no matter who I married, she always reminded them - was far too shrewd to accept that. Her lilac eyes narrowed dangerously.
‘Maester Jurne,’ she called. The young man, newly arrived at Storm’s End scurried to her side. The royal princess scared him, Argella had observed, but whether it was her imperious manner, cold words or inhuman Targaryen beauty the heir to Storm’s End could never tell. ‘These letters are for the Lord's Tarth, Dondarrion and Connington. These others are for the Braavosi waiting in the great hall.’ The maester scurried away to do her bidding. They were alone now and Argella twisted her dress to avoid voicing her discomfort. She loved grandmother terribly but she always felt that she was not living up to the grand expectations the woman had for her life.
At one-and-ten, Argella was near a woman grown and already flowered but more importantly she towered over her diminutive grandmother, and near all the women and some men in the castle. In this moment, she felt like she was the smaller one. Princess Rhaelle, for that was how she always thought of her grandmother, sat primly on the vacacted maester’s seat, looking all the world like she belonged among the stuffy, dusty room and gestured for her to take a seat as well.
Argella sighed inwardly and took care to sit as commandingly as possible in the proffered seat. She arranged her black skirts around her and assumed the position she’d seen her father take when he heard petitions.
Princess Rhaelle was as beautiful as all Targaryen’s were said to be: her hair, pinned back in a simple bun, shone silver-gold and her lilac eyes were set the perfect distance from each other. Her nose was her greatest feature, long and aquiline and capable of wrinkling, just a small wrinkle, on the side to express deep disdain better than any words ever could. Argella adored, admired and feared her in equal parts.
‘Your cousins and future vassals are in the training yard.’ The princess said this in that quiet voice that she took on whenever she wanted to speak on important matters.
‘I’ll join them as soon as I can,’ Argella affirmed. The Stormlords had sent their sons to Storm’s End three moons ago. Many of them were clearly here to win her favour, some to win her hand because they thought that would make them the Lord of Storm’s End in truth. Argella was rather large for her age and she had been training with a sword since she was six. It was completely unorthodox and when the old master-at-arms had refused to train her father had replaced him with Harlan Storm, the bastard of Blackhaven who took on the challenge with a relish.
Father did not care for arrogance but he beamed with pride whenever Argella excelled in the yard and excelled she did. Fighting came so naturally, so easily to her but that didn’t stop her from practicing everyday - her arms ached constantly and the work was gruesome but rewarding. She had begun to best the other squires and boys in the yard. Now that the heirs had arrived and her future bannermen, she was training harder than ever and it pleased her to no end to discover she was better than all of them. The boys hadn’t taken it well at first but Argella did not lord her wins over them and slowly she was winning them over - it certainly helped that her Estermont cousins Alyn and Andrew didn’t take defeat by a girl as a slight (she was taller than all the boys in the yard) and encouraged her. The only true competition in the yard was Roland Storm, the bastard of Nightsong, Argella had yet to best him.
‘Your talents in the yard are a credit to you and to our House. It is a great relief for your father and I that you take those duties seriously; you will find it easier to sit on the Throne of Storms with martial skills.’ Argella beamed at the praise. ‘However - ‘ her face fell. ‘Running a castle, number, history and diplomacy are equally as important.’
Argella bowed her head in shame. It was true she did not excel in the maester’s room as she did in the yard. Numbers came easily to Elenei and Jocelyn was already well versed in the history of their House and quickly mastered all other Houses. She would have to put in more effort into learning the other skills required to rule effectively; she wasn’t about to allow some lord to take her seat just because he was a man. Argella would not become a broodmare.
‘The King will ride for Storm’s End in the new year. We will host celebrations when he arrives. We must remind the realm of the close ties we share with the Iron Throne.’ Grandmother turned to the side, a sign that she was about to say something Argella would not like to hear.
‘I believe your father and I have settled on a husband for you.’ Argella’s heart started beating in her chest, the same rhythm Donal Noye had when he beat swords and plate in the bellows. She knew she would have to have a husband, there was no way around it. The difficult thing would be to find a husband that would allow his wife to rule while he ran the castle or at the very least helped his wife. Such men surely only existed in Dorne. She wasn’t about to marry a Dornishman, was she?
Grandmother turned to her once more, her eyes shining even brighter than usual. ‘Your father wanted to keep this news until the new year celebrations but I believe you must be prepared. Your path will not be easy, Argella. The first woman to rule the Stormlands will face a tremendous challenge.’
The expectations again. Her heart thundered some more and a great weight settled on her shoulders. Argella had begun to shadow her father when he was here, learning to rule by his side and when he was in King’s Landing fulfilling his duties as Master of Laws she followed her grandmother as she ruled in his name. Even at her age she knew ruling was difficult: her people’s future rested on her. She would have to make decisions to benefit them, her future children and possibly her sisters. The coffers were her responsibility, the harvest a constant source of worry. If she didn’t want to be Lady as bad as she did Argella would have run off to Dorne to marry a Cornishmen and swing her sword the rest of her life.
‘Securing your rule has been a source of conflict with your father, I admit. He will not take another wife and therefore, you are his heir and we agree that we must make sure that no one challenges your right to hold this seat.’ The princess took a deep breath - the death of her lady mother during the birth of her youngest sister Elenei had shaken them. For a long time, Argella had not seen her father smile. It was only when Elenei had begun to toddle around the castle that his booming laughter had echoed off the walls again. Many lords had urged him to take a wife who would give him a son but Steffon Baratheon had brushed them all off and insisted that Argella would sit the Throne of Storms after him. ‘She is the blood of the Storm Kings and as capable as any lord before her,’ he had said to Lord Grandison when he offered his daughter.
Argella had never loved the man more but even she knew that the Stormlands had never been held by a woman.
Grandmother continued. ‘During his visit the King shall affirm that you are the heir to the Stormlands and will inherit after your father. He’ll also announce the betrothal between Crown Prince Rhaegar and your sister Jocelyn. Elenei has also been betrothed to Jaime Lannister.’
Argella released a breath and she felt lighter than ever. Those matches would effectively secure her rule! With Jocelyn as the future Queen and her nephew the future King and another nephew the future Lord of Casterly Rock none would dare oppose her own rights. It was a brilliant move from her father and grandmother. She couldn’t restrain herself, Argella launched herself at her grandmother.
‘Thank you! Thank you, lady grandmother!’
Princess Rhaelle smiled tightly and held her at arm's length. ‘We’ve settled on a Hightower for you.’
Argella stiffened. A Hightower? Oldtown was all the way on the other side of the continent.
Her grandmother laughed lightly at her confusion. Even her laugh was musical. ‘The Hightowers are as rich as the Lannister and we’ve been trading quite a lot with them in recent years. Lord Hightower has numerous sons and would love to have a grandson as the future Lord of the Stormlands. His other grandson will be the Lord of Highgarden.’
Argella understood immediately. Another marriage of convenience to a powerful House to secure them allies. Between the Iron Throne and the richest Houses in the realm bound to each other by marriage and blood they would be more powerful than ever.
‘The marriage contract will include a lot of trade, grandmother.’ It was a statement more than a question.
That musical laugh again. ‘Now you’re thinking like the future Lady of Storm’s End. Yes, the marriage terms include quite a lot of trade terms and Leyton Hightower is including a bride price as well.’
Argella gasped. ‘A bride price!’
‘Yes, a Valyrian custom that he was familiar with. In the Freehold, when a younger son married another dragonrider family included a bride price. That wealth would be to ensure the children of the union remember where their father came from. Lord Hightower wasn’t as reluctant to pay it as I thought he would be.’
‘This is a great honour for us, grandmother.’
Rhaella’s eyes narrowed in thought. ‘Indeed. Leyton is hardly an altruistic man. He wants our lumber and this marriage ensures he gets the best terms. Speaking of the best terms, he has also secured himself a betrothal to the heir to Winterfell.’
Argella was thoroughly confused by now.
‘Winterfell has increased its trade with Oldtown, particularly lumber, and the south in recent years. Rickard Stark is proving an ambitious lord and marrying Leyton’s daughter secures him even more trade than before. Your future children and the future Starks shall be cousins.’
What about the Faith?’ A firm nod showed her grandmother’s approval at the question.
‘Leyton hightower has more power over the Starry Sept than anyone can imagine. They will not oppose him. Besides, I imagine that the marriage contract shall address that thorny issue.’
‘Now, Argella, ask me what you want to know.’
She hesitated slightly. ‘Do you know his name? What he is like?’ She bit her lip, a habit she had picked up from her father and grandmother thoroughly disapproved of in both of them.
The Targaryen princess sighed. ‘His name is Garmund, the third son of Lord Leyton who reports that his son is rather bookish. It has been made clear to him that you are the Lady of this castle.’
Argella breathed a sigh of relief. She did not want a husband to compete with.
‘Now, your marriage will not happen until you are six-and-ten and Garmund will be here six moons before the wedding.’ Argella took that as the dismissal it was and rose to her feat.
‘I need to practice in the yard, lady grandmother.’ The princess nodded and Argella ran out to find Jocelyn and Elenei.
274 AC
Argella
The King was nearly as beautiful as his aunt, the Princess Rhaelle. He was a tall man with short silver-gold hair, more gold than silver, and pale purple eyes. His features were a little too sharply angled for Argella’s liking, they cast a dark shadow over his face that made her want to squirm.
The courtyard of Storm’s End was filled as numerous lords, knights, riders and attendants as well as the servants all knelt before the King. Argella wanted to take a closer look at him but she kept her dark head bowed like the rest of them all.
‘Rise.’ His voice was strong and commanding.
Argella hoped she was graceful as she stood. All her grace in the training yard seemed to disappear in other areas of her life and her courtesies were not as perfect as she would like them to be despite all the practice grandmother had put them through in preparation for this visit.
Now that she could look at him more closely, Argella could see that while he was more handsome than beautiful, King Aerys the second of his name, had something cold about his face, lurking just behind his twinkling eyes and nearly jovial nature.
‘Lady Aunt.’ he stepped forward and embraced his aunt warmly, the princess Rhaelle returning the gesture with enough warmth that anyone who didn’t know her well would be fooled by. Argella was old enough at one-and-ten to know her grandmother held little warmth for her nephew, lingering resentment for his parents, her siblings, elopement that ended with her in Storm’s End.
The King moved on quickly.’ Cousin.’ Her father and the King clasped hands and then slapped each other’s back. It looked almost comical with the height difference but very few men were taller than her father, Lord Selwyn Tarth the only one Argella knew, and he was father’s cousin, the son of Shireen Baratheon, her father’s aunt who married The Evenstar after Prince Duncan Targaryen slighted her.
Before she knew it the King stood in front of her, scrutinising her face. She dropped into a deep courtesy, careful to hold the position and mindful of her posture.
The King laughed heartily and helped her to her feet.
‘By the gods! Steffon, what do you Baratheons feed your young. She’s nearly as tall as me!’
Argella’s face burned a bright red. In the few moons since she’d known about the King’s visit she’d grown another inch and her grandmother was exuberant about it. ‘It’s easier to rule men when you can look them in the eye than men who think you’re always beneath them,’ she crowed. Argella didn’t find it quite so funny, she was growing faster than her legs and arms could keep up with and her breasts had started coming in. All of this had started to slow her down in the training yard and she had to practice even more to compensate for her lack of grace and awkward weight distribution.
‘Not only is she tall, Your Grace but she has the spirit of Visenya Targaryen as well as her Durrandon ancestors.’ Her father pushed her forward with pride.
King Aerys seemed impressed. ‘A worthy Lady of Storm’s End and a credit to our shared ancestors, Steffon, as well as yours.’ He moved on and Argella stepped back.
This was the true test, what the King had ridden all the way to Storm’s End to see with his own eyes. He stopped in front of Jocelyn who promptly executed a courtesy with more grace than any human had the right to have.
Jocelyn was rather tall as well, not nearly as tall as Argella had been when she was nine years old but still taller than many men. Her younger sister had the Targaryen colouring, with bright lilac eyes inherited from their grandmother and wavy silver hair that flowed down her back and shone brightly in the sunlight. The inhuman beauty of the dragonlords of old showed in Jocelyn’s face, with her high cheekbones and aquiline nose and perfect heart-shaped pink lips. She looked like their grandmother writ large.
From the moment she was born, Jocelyn was destined to be Queen and grandmother had laughed with delight as she spun the little silver haired baby around. Their father had to stop her from giving Jocelyn a Targaryen name, insisting that a Baratheon should have a Baratheon name. Jocelyn was not only beautiful as a Targaryen, she was as graceful as one, with the musical voice. Already, she excelled in her history studies and could charm anyone with a quick laugh and her wit. Argella fiercely loved her sisters and she thought Jocelyn would make a fine Queen.
The King agreed, it seemed. He laughed with delight, not so musical as grandmother and Jocelyn, Argella noted and turned to the large party that followed him.
‘Rhaegar,’ he bellowed. ‘Come and meet your cousins!’
A young man that Argella hadn’t noticed before stepped forward. She nearly gasped when he came into view. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen!. Crown Prince Rhaegar was taller than his father, with silver hair down to his neck and dark purple eyes that looked sad. His face must have been chiseled by the Smith himself but even those sharp angles made him more beautiful than handsome.
He came forward, greeting her father with a polite bow of his head, embracing her lady grandmother even more warmly - Argella knew they corresponded - before stepping in front of her.
She dropped into courtesy and the Prince pressed his lips lightly to her knuckles. ‘My lady,’ he murmured. His voice rang smooth and clear and Argella blushed.
He moved on quickly and stood next to his father and repeated his action with Jocelyn who stared at him boldly.
‘What is your name, my lady?’ A mere formality for the lords assembled, his father the King knew all their names, the children of his favoured cousin, and his unofficial betrothed.
Jocelyn lifted her chin some more, she could be bold when she wanted to be. ‘Jocelyn, my Prince.’
‘After your ancestor, Princess Rhaenys’s mother?’ The Prince knew his history.
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
Prince Rhaegar nodded quietly and stepped back. He was near a man grown at four-and-ten while Jocelyn was still a child, there was not much for them to say to each other.
The King and Prince greeted Elenei warmly and then proceeded to acknowledge the assembled lords, starting with Lord Tarth.
The Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister then stepped forward to greet her father and then all of them in turn. He stopped briefly at Elenei, considering her with his gold-flecked green eyes before following the King.
The party dispersed at that and Argella followed her lady grandmother to assist her in the last of the preparations of the feast in the evening.
The feast was the loudest affair Argella had ever been to. Musicians strummed their instruments and sang at the sides of the hall and many lords and knights were already well into their cups and the third course had only just been served.
Argella picked at her wild boar disdainfully, her appetite gone from all the preparations she had helped with. Throwing a feast was a more complex affair than she cared for. The Targaryens, Baratheons and Lord Lannister and other important lords sat at the head table as their due and the banners of the three houses displayed behind them. Grandmother sat next to the King at the centre of the table, with father next to her. This was not quite protocol, Argella knew, but she had learned that Targaryens cared little for such. Grandmother and the King were deep in conversation, their food hardly touched and the King seemed pleased by his aunt’s words.
Lord Tywin Lannister sat to the King’s right, scowling at everyone and drinking his first cup of wine. He spoke to no one at the table, not even the Crown Prince at his right. Cousin Selwyn and then Uncles Aemon and Lomas Estermont were at his right. Lord Tarth seemed to be entertaining the Prince with a story about the sapphires of Tarth judging by the jewel he held up for inspection.
In honour of the occasion, even Elenei sat at the high table although it was obvious she would be sent to bed soon with the way her eyes were drooping. Argella gripped the watered down wine she had been allowed at the feast and took a sip. It was not to her taste but she tried all the same. Jocelyn was a vision in a black dress, trimmed with Baratheon gold and hair held back with a dragon shaped comb grandmother had gifted. Argella was not quire fond of dresses but she was also adorned in a coal black dress with gold trimming that she loved. The gold trimming made patterns of prancing stags up and down her arms and around her chest before dipping to the rim of the skirts. Her hair was braided with tied to her scalp and a hairnet with blue sapphires from Tarth adorned the net. Argella was proud of how she looked tonight.
jocelyn hadn’t touched her drink and was cutting at her meat with little enthusiasm.
‘I’m sure it won’t be so bad, Jocelyn.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ her little sister spat. ‘You get to be Lady of Storm’s End never leave home.’
Argella sighed. Father had broken the news of her betrothal yesterday morning and her sister was not taking it well. It seemed the King had picked the one girl in the realm that did not wish to be a Princess or Queen. Unfortunately for them both, their father was the King’s cousin and Jocelyn’s Targaryen look pleased him greatly so Queen she would be.
The heralds shouted over the din in the hall to get the attention of their guests.
Father and the King stood up.
‘My lords and ladies, friends and family,’ Father started. ‘Today our King honours us with a visit to these lands.’ A great cheer went up.
‘It pleases me to host His Grace in the Stormlands, and I’m sure my lady mother is even more grateful to see her family.’ The hall laughed at that and grandmother lifted her cup at father.
The King spoke next. ‘This visit is long overdue. The Storm Lords are staunch allies of the throne and it pleases me to tie the Throne closer to these lords.’ The hall went silent once more.
‘It pleases me to find my cousin’s House as well as I do, with his heir my young cousin Argella and her sisters.’
Lord Tarth banged his cup on the table and started a loud clap for Argella. The rest of the Stormlords followed suit and clapped, not wanting to seem less enthusiastic than the rest. Not quite acceptance, Argella noted, but there was little to do once the King had decreed it. The offical document was already signed and stamped and the ravens would fly on the morrow.
‘Now, the Throne wishes to renew the ties to House Baratheon by marriage. As of this moment, my son Prince Rhaegar and Jocelyn Baratheon are betrothed!’
It took a minute for the news to sink in but the hall erupted in thunderous applause that went on longer than the previous ones. The raucous Stormlords banged their claps and yelled at the top of their lungs. Father and King took sips from their cups; Lord Lannister looked like he had swallowed a lemon and Princess Rhaelle took a triumphant sip of her wine.
The applause went on.