Chapter 12: The Stag's Scrutiny, The Hawk's Guile

Chapter 12: The Stag's Scrutiny, The Hawk's Guile

The news of Ser Stannis Baratheon's impending inspection tour sent a ripple of focused activity through Lord Vorant's domains, but it was a ripple of preparation, not panic. Darth Vorhax had anticipated such scrutiny. Robert Baratheon might have been swayed by audacity and offerings, but his younger brother was a different breed of stag – one with a keen nose for impropriety and an unyielding adherence to the letter of the law.

Vorhax traveled from Stonefang to Crow's Nest, the grander, more strategically important of his two keeps, to personally oversee the arrangements. Brandon Snow, the White Wolf, met him with his customary grim pragmatism. Together, they orchestrated a meticulous stage for Stannis's visit. This was not about impressing with lavish displays, which Vorhax knew Stannis would disdain, but about demonstrating unassailable order, stark efficiency, and formidable, yet entirely justifiable, military readiness.

Maester Vymar, now looking perpetually haunted but also strangely invigorated by the intellectual demands of serving such an unorthodox master, worked with his clerks to compile the necessary records. Tax rolls from the newly integrated Morriggen lands, production figures from the Stonefang iron mines and the burgeoning farms, garrison rosters for both Stonefang and Crow's Nest, and ledgers detailing expenditures on fortifications and troop maintenance – all were presented with impeccable clarity. They painted a picture of a domain that was prosperous, well-managed, and meeting all its feudal obligations to Storm's End, while also subtly highlighting the significant resources required to maintain such order and security in previously neglected territories. Anything related to Vorhax's more… esoteric… pursuits, the specialized training of the Obsidian Guard beyond regular drills, or the true extent of his "rediscovered" Vorant wealth, remained carefully off these books.

Crow's Nest itself was a hive of disciplined activity. Its ancient walls were in good repair, siege engines gleamed with fresh oil (a detail Vorhax knew Stannis, a future master of sieges, would note), and the armories were impeccably organized, showcasing stacks of Stonefang iron spearheads, axe blades, and the distinctive dark armor of Vorant soldiers. The combined garrison – Snow's formidable Wolf Brigade and a strong detachment of Vorhax's own Obsidian Guard – drilled in the main courtyard with a precision that was both impressive and faintly menacing. Their movements were sharp, their discipline absolute.

Ser Stannis Baratheon arrived on a grey, windswept morning, his retinue as austere and functional as the man himself: a handful of household knights whose expressions mirrored his own grimness, a maester with ink-stained fingers, and a pair of sharp-eyed clerks. There were no fluttering banners beyond Stannis's personal crowned stag, no trumpets, just the quiet drum of hooves and the jingle of harness.

Vorhax, flanked by Brandon Snow, received him at the gatehouse of Crow's Nest. The Lord of Stonefang and Crow's Nest was clad in simple, dark attire of good quality, devoid of ornamentation save for a single, polished obsidian pin in the shape of a hawk's head clasping his cloak. He offered a curt, correct bow. "Ser Stannis. Welcome to Crow's Nest. House Vorant is honored by your visit on behalf of our Lord Paramount."

Stannis's gaze, hard and unblinking, swept over Vorhax, then Snow, then the disciplined ranks of guards lining the gate. He returned the greeting with a stiff nod. "Lord Vorant. Captain Snow. My brother, Lord Robert, has tasked me with ensuring the strength and good order of his domains. I trust you have prepared for a thorough inspection." His tone was flat, leaving no doubt that this was not a social call.

The inspection began immediately and was as meticulous and unrelenting as Vorhax had anticipated. Stannis, often accompanied by Snow while Vorhax observed or answered direct questions, walked every inch of Crow's Nest's battlements, his keen eyes noting the thickness of the walls, the state of the merlons, the fields of fire from the arrow-slits. He questioned the master-at-arms about water sources, food stores, and the readiness of the siege equipment. In the armory, he picked up a Stonefang iron spearhead, testing its weight and edge, his expression unreadable.

He observed the drilling of both the Wolf Brigade and the Obsidian Guard. The Northmen, under Snow's harsh command, were a picture of rugged, battle-hardened competence. The Obsidian Guard, however, drew Stannis's particular scrutiny. Their dark, almost uniform armor, their hawk-like helms that rendered them anonymous and intimidating, and the stark, brutal efficiency of their fighting style (a simplified, practical application of Sith martial forms Vorhax had drilled into them) were unlike anything typically seen in Westerosi garrisons.

"A formidable household guard, Lord Vorant," Stannis commented, his voice devoid of inflection as he watched the Obsidian Guard practice disarming techniques with chilling speed. "Their equipment… it is of unusual quality. And their methods?"

"Stonefang iron is indeed superior, Ser Stannis, as Lord Robert himself has noted," Vorhax replied calmly. "And their methods are those best suited to ensuring the swift and decisive application of order, whether against bandits or more organized threats. My lands were plagued by lawlessness before. They are not so now."

The longest part of the inspection involved the records. Stannis and his clerks sequestered themselves with Maester Vymar and the account books for hours. They cross-referenced tax receipts with production figures, muster rolls with wage payments, expenditures on fortifications with visible improvements. Vymar, though terrified, answered their questions with the precision Vorhax had coached into him, presenting a flawless paper trail of a well-run, productive, and entirely loyal fiefdom that was diligently working to meet its obligations, including the hefty fine levied by Lord Robert.

Throughout the day, Stannis's interactions with Vorhax were a tense chess match. The Lord Paramount's brother was not susceptible to the same tactics that had swayed Robert. There was no appealing to joviality or a warrior's impulsive respect for audacity. Stannis was a creature of logic, duty, and an almost puritanical sense of justice.

"Lord Morriggen's demise was… irregular, Lord Vorant," Stannis stated during a sparse evening meal in the Great Hall, his gaze like a physical weight. "You acted outside the King's Law and the authority of your liege lord."

"I acted, Ser Stannis, as events compelled me," Vorhax responded, his voice even. He did not attempt to re-litigate the Morriggen affair, knowing Stannis's judgment was already fixed on that point. "Lord Robert has rendered his judgment, and I have complied with its terms. My focus now is on fulfilling my duties as his loyal bannerman: to maintain peace, ensure prosperity, and strengthen this corner of his domain against any and all threats." He subtly used the Force to project an aura of unwavering resolve and stark, functional honesty, hoping to resonate with Stannis's own rigid sense of purpose, even if their definitions of "order" differed vastly.

"Your definition of 'strengthen' seems to involve a military buildup that far exceeds the traditional station of a house such as Vorant, even with its new acquisitions," Stannis countered, his eyes narrowing. "This Obsidian Guard… they are more akin to a private army of shock troops than a lord's household retinue."

"They are precisely what is needed to guard such extensive, previously ill-managed lands, Ser Stannis," Vorhax replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Lands that were, until recently, a haven for brigands and a drain on Lord Robert's peace. Now they contribute to it. My methods are effective. The results speak for themselves. Is not a strong, secure, and productive fiefdom a greater asset to Lord Robert than a weak and troubled one?"

Stannis did not concede the point, but he had no immediate counter beyond his own deep-seated suspicion. Vorhax had carefully constructed a narrative of dutiful strength, of a harsh but necessary order imposed in service to the greater peace of the Stormlands.

On the final day of the inspection, Stannis requested to speak with some of the local headmen from villages formerly under Morriggen's rule. Vorhax readily agreed, confident in the groundwork he had laid. The headmen, coached by Vorhax's agents and genuinely experiencing a more stable (if fear-laden) existence, spoke of fairer tax collection than under Morriggen, of the eradication of bandit threats, and of the new lord's… firm… hand in all matters. They were clearly terrified of Lord Vorant, but they could not deny that their lives were, in some material ways, improved.

At the end of his exhaustive scrutiny, Stannis Baratheon could find no concrete fault, no actionable breach of feudal law or direct disobedience to his brother's commands. The records were impeccable. The garrisons were disciplined. The lands were orderly. Yet, as he prepared to depart Crow's Nest, his expression was, if anything, even grimmer.

"Lord Vorant," he said, his voice like grinding stones, "you have presented a well-ordered domain. On paper, your obligations are met." He paused, his eyes boring into Vorhax. "But be assured, the eyes of Storm's End will remain upon you. Lord Robert's leniency was a singular event. Any further… irregularities… will be met with the full weight of Baratheon justice."

"I would expect nothing less, Ser Stannis," Vorhax replied, his demeanor one of cold, unwavering rectitude. "I serve House Baratheon. Its justice is my own." A statement laden with layers of Sith irony that were entirely lost on the literal-minded Stannis.

Stannis departed as he had arrived, without warmth or unnecessary ceremony. Vorhax watched his retinue recede from the battlements of Crow's Nest, Nyx landing silently on his offered gauntlet. He had weathered the Stag's scrutiny, passed the inspection. But he knew Stannis was far from satisfied. The man was a bloodhound; he had scented something unnatural, something dangerous, even if he could not yet give it a name or form. The suspicion from Storm's End would not abate; it would simply become more watchful, more patient.

"He sees the strength, but not the source," Vorhax murmured to Nyx, stroking her feathers. "He suspects the ambition, but cannot guess its scale." Stannis was a more formidable long-term adversary than Robert in many ways, precisely because he was not easily swayed by personality or short-term gains. He operated on principle, however harsh.

The immediate pressure had eased, but Vorhax knew he needed to be even more cautious. His true power, the wellspring of the Dark Side that fueled his intellect and his will, had to remain utterly concealed. His plans for the Obsidian Guard, for his economic dominance, for the subtle reshaping of his domain into a Sith-principled enclave, would continue, but with even greater secrecy.

A few days after Stannis's departure, a report arrived from Will, his chief informant in Storm's End. It detailed Stannis's private report to Robert: Ser Stannis had apparently conceded that Lord Vorant was managing his new lands with remarkable efficiency and that his military strength, while formidable, was currently directed towards maintaining local order. However, he had also voiced his profound unease, stating that Vorant was "an unknown quantity, sharp as a razor, cold as the grave, and ambitious beyond the ken of ordinary men." He had urged Robert to keep a close watch. Robert, according to Will's source, had laughed and said, "As long as the Hawk pays his taxes and brings his swords when called, his ambition can sharpen our claws as well as his own!"

Vorhax allowed himself another cold smile. Robert's pragmatism was still his most effective shield against Stannis's suspicions. But the game was becoming more complex. The horizon, with its promised great wars, was still distant, but the path towards it was fraught with such tests. Each one passed made him stronger, but also drew more unwelcome attention. He would need all his Sith guile, all his carefully cultivated power, to navigate the treacherous years ahead.

(Word Count: Approx. 4150 words)