Chapter 28:

[(The storm-lashed halls of Storm's End echo with tension as Steffon Baratheon stands before the roaring hearth, his shadow flickering against the ancient stone walls. Stannis enters, his jaw set in that familiar rigid line, rainwater still dripping from his shoulders.)

Stannis: "Robert's called the banners."

Steffon: (without turning) "I know."

Stannis: "He means to march on Rhaegar. To war."

Steffon: (finally facing his son) "And what would you have me do? Ride out and stop him?"

(A beat of silence, filled only by the crackling fire.)

Stannis: "You're Master of Ships. The Crown—"

Steffon: (sharp laugh) "The Crown? Aegon is my cousin, but Robert is my blood. And yet..." (rubbing his temples) "This fool's errand over a girl—"

Stannis: "Lyanna Stark is more than just 'a girl' to him."

Steffon: (snapping) "She's a betrothal, not a kingdom! And now my hot-headed son would tear the realm apart for wounded pride!"

(Stannis' eyes flicker toward the window where rain lashes the glass.)

Stannis: "Alyssa writes from King's Landing. The Targaryens prepare—quietly. Daeron funnels gold to Rhaegar. Dorne sharpens its spears."

Steffon: (grimacing) "While we stand here, watching our house fracture. Robert charging north, you wed to a Targaryen princess..."

Stannis: (stiffly) "I took no side."

Steffon: (exhaling) "No. You never do."

(A servant enters hesitantly, bearing a letter stamped with the direwolf seal. Steffon breaks it open, his frown deepening.)

Stannis: "Rickon Stark?"

Steffon: (tossing the letter into the fire) "Demanding answers about his daughter. As if I hold her hostage."

(The flames consume the parchment, casting writhing shadows.)

Stannis: "What now?"

Steffon: (watching the embers die) "Now? We wait. We watch. And when this storm breaks..." (meeting Stannis' gaze) "Pray your wife's family remembers it was Robert who swung first."

(Outside, thunder rolls across Shipbreaker Bay—a fitting omen for the tempest to come.) ]

[(The heavy oak doors of Storm's End's common room burst open as Robert Baratheon storms in, rainwater dripping from his fur cloak. His face is flushed with fury, his massive frame blocking the doorway as he glares at his father and brother.)

Robert: (booming) "So this is where you plot your neutrality? While Rhaegar Targaryen spits on our honor?"

Steffon: (calm, though his grip tightens on his goblet) "I plot nothing, Robert. Only the survival of our house."

Stannis: (flatly) "You're drunk."

Robert: (slamming his fist on the table) "I'm right! That silver-haired bastard took Lyanna—my betrothed—and you two sit here like meek lambs!"

Steffon: (standing slowly) "And what would you have me do? Burn our bridges with the Crown? Aegon is my cousin—"

Robert: (mocking) "Oh, aye, and family means so much to him! His own son steals women like a common brigand, and the king does nothing!"

Stannis: (coldly) "He exiled Rhaegar. Cut him loose. That's not nothing."

Robert: (laughing bitterly) "Exiled? He gave him permission to raise an army! While you—" (pointing at Stannis) "—married his daughter and now play the loyal dog!"

Steffon: (voice sharpening) "Enough. Stannis is your brother."

Robert: (ignoring him, pacing like a caged beast) "I'll tell you what's enough. The North rides with me. The Vale rides with me. Even Tywin Lannister eyes the field. But my own father? My blood?" (spitting the word) "You hide behind Aegon's skirts."

Steffon: (finally snapping) "I hide behind sense! You think this is about Lyanna? This is about your pride, Robert. You'd tear the realm apart for a girl who never wanted you!"

(Robert's face darkens. For a heartbeat, the room is deathly silent. Then—)

Robert: (low, dangerous) "Careful, Father."

Stannis: (stepping between them) "The king has dragons, Robert. Or have you forgotten?"

Robert: (grinning savagely) "Let him bring them. I'll shove that throne up his—"

Steffon: (roaring) "Enough!" (The windows rattle. Even Robert stills.) "Go. Rally your forces. Fight your war. But know this—when the dust settles, House Baratheon will still stand. Even if you won't."

(Robert's jaw works. For a moment, it seems he might argue. Then he turns on his heel, his cloak whipping behind him as he storms out. The door crashes shut behind him, leaving Steffon and Stannis in heavy silence.)

Stannis: (after a pause) "He'll get himself killed."

Steffon: (sinking back into his chair, suddenly weary) "Or he'll get us all burned. Pray to whichever god you like, Stannis... but prepare for war."

(Outside, the storm rages on—as unrelenting as the fury of a scorned Baratheon.) ]

[(The small, nameless port is alive with activity as ships bearing the banners of the Vale and North unload men and supplies under a slate-gray sky. Robert Baratheon stands on the creaking dock, his massive frame casting a long shadow as Jon Arryn and Rickon Stark approach. The salty wind carries the scent of fish and damp wool.)

Jon Arryn: (clasping Robert's forearm) "You've gathered a formidable host, Robert. The Vale stands with you."

Rickon Stark: (grim, his face lined with worry) "As does the North. But remember—this is about justice for Lyanna, not vengeance."

Robert: (grinning, though his eyes burn) "Justice is vengeance when it comes to Rhaegar. That silver-haired snake won't keep what's mine."

Jon: (lowering his voice) "Aye, but tread carefully. Steffon may be neutral, but Aegon still has dragons. Push too far, and—"

Robert: (snorting) "What? He'll burn his own kin? I'm his cousin's son!"

Rickon: (coldly) "And Lyanna is my daughter. Yet here we are, weighing fire and blood against honor. Do not mistake caution for cowardice, Robert."

(A tense silence falls. Nearby, a group of Stark men sharpen swords, their eyes occasionally flicking toward the heated discussion.)

Jon: (diplomatic) "The plan remains: corner Rhaegar, force him to answer for Lyanna. But the throne is not our aim."

Robert: (rolling his shoulders) "So long as I get to cave in Rhaegar's chest, the throne can rot for all I care."

Rickon: (exchanging a glance with Jon) "See that you remember that. Aegon may be staying his hand now, but if you threaten his crown..."

Robert: (grinning, though it doesn't reach his eyes) "Then I'll have two fewer dragons to worry about when I'm done."

(Jon sighs, rubbing his temples. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles—an ominous echo of the storm to come.) ]

[(The Red Keep's courtyard shimmers in the afternoon heat as King Aegon VI and his sons carefully arrange five dragon eggs on a raised stone platform. The eggs—each distinct in color and pattern—radiate warmth even through the thick gloves they wear. Fenrir circles lazily overhead, his shadow passing over them like a warning.)

Daemon: (poking a black-and-red egg with gold swirls) "You'd think after a decade, these damned things would've hatched out of sheer boredom."

Daeron: (adjusting his grip on a deep green egg) "They're not chickens, Daemon."

Aegon VI: (running a gloved hand over the largest egg—pale cream with bronze streaks) "Tiamat's first clutch took years. These may yet wake."

Daemon: (grinning) "Or they're just very expensive paperweights."

(A sudden pulse of heat makes them all jerk back. The pale egg trembles slightly.)

Daeron: (staring) "Did that—?"

Aegon VI: (sharp) "Quiet."

(They hold their breath. The egg stills. Fenrir lands nearby with a thud, his golden eyes fixed on the eggs with unsettling intensity.)

Daemon: (whispering) "Well. That's not ominous at all."

Aegon VI: (grim) "War is coming. If these hatch now... it's no coincidence."

(The eggs remain silent, but the air hums with unspent fire—and possibility.) ]