Chapter 108 — The King's Summons

The crowned stag arrived at FireStorm on a lathered horse. Renly's messenger had ridden hard enough that the animal's flanks steamed when he dismounted in the yard. He carried a sealed letter rather than a proclamation, and the wax bore Storm's End rather than the royal seal.

Arlan read it once beside the horse trough, then again in the council chamber: Robert Baratheon was coming to Storm's End with the royal household and a substantial court retinue. Renly expected every hereditary vassal he had summoned to present himself before the King, who would arrive roughly twenty days after the letter had been sent. The courier had already spent four days on the road.

The final paragraph was less formal, because Elton Caron was already at Storm's End. He had spent days seeking audiences, cultivating servants around the royal party, and repeating stories about FireStorm's trade, troops, and supposed foreign connections. Renly did not tell Arlan to stay away. He told him to arrive prepared and to give Elton no easy weapon.

Rodrick read the letter after him. "That is almost admirable persistence."

"A rat can be persistent."

"And surprisingly difficult to kill without damaging the pantry."

Cade and Brienne stood on the other side of the long table. Morton's chair remained empty at the far end, a fact Arlan still noticed whenever he called a council. Cade folded his arms. "If Elton has been there for days, he has witnesses and papers ready. Claim illness, and you deny him the chance to provoke you in front of Robert."

"I also let him explain my absence for me," Arlan said. "No."

That ended the suggestion, and Robert's temperament made the journey dangerous, but refusing Renly's summons would be worse. Arlan now headed a lordly house directly sworn to Storm's End. A royal visit was not optional merely because one of his enemies had arrived first. Brienne rested one hand on her greatsword. "Then I ride with you."

"You do."

Rodrick adjusted his spectacles. "I should go ahead. Elton's accusations have had months to breed, and I want to know which have reached Robert's people and which still exist only in Stormlands gossip."

"Do it."

They moved from risk to preparation, beginning with Elton's three obvious lines of attack. He could call FireStorm's military expansion unlawful, revive the accusations of dealing with mountain raiders, or return to the forged story that Arlan had ties to Targaryen exiles across the Narrow Sea.

The first could be answered with Renly's warrants, Black Armor rosters, and reports showing where FireStorm's soldiers had suppressed raids and protected roads. The second had already been damaged by captured Caron orders and previous testimony.

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The third was the most dangerous because Robert did not need good evidence to become angry at the word Targaryen, while Arlan's newly discovered egg made that accusation privately terrifying and publicly no more credible than before.

"We do not argue about dragons unless someone forces the subject," Arlan said. "If Elton waves another forged letter, we attack the forgery. We do not behave like men trying to prove a thing does not exist."

Rodrick nodded. "A frightened denial would give his rumor weight."

They also prepared gifts, because court was partly governed by customs that became suspicious when ignored. For Robert, Arlan selected mature Red Sun Flame, a heavy clear-glass drinking set, and a pair of excellent hunting knives forged from FireStorm steel. He rejected anything made from exotic metal. A gift designed to impress the King did not need to invite questions about where the metal had come from.

For Renly, he chose a smaller glass service, perfumed oil from FireStorm's trade stock, and several bottles from the best cellar batch. "The King likes strong drink and hunting," Rodrick said. "That much requires no espionage."

"Good. I prefer gifts based on known appetites to pretending we discovered his soul."

Rodrick prepared the paper defense as carefully as the wagons. One case held Renly's patrol warrants and the decree recognizing House Ashenblade's direct status. Another contained testimony and Caron correspondence from the earlier raids. Trade accounts documented FireStorm's Essosi dealings down to barrels, crates, and payment.

If Robert's court wanted to call ordinary commerce a Targaryen conspiracy, they would have to do it while staring at manifests for glass cups and liquor.

The military arrangements were simpler: Brienne would accompany Arlan with twenty veteran Black Armor soldiers. Cade remained at FireStorm with command of the household forces and explicit orders not to let Elton exploit Arlan's absence. Rodrick would depart first with a small escort and establish contact with his Storm's End informants.

Before leaving, Arlan made one final visit to Blackstone Creek. The egg's crimson seams brightened when he applied the usual drop of blood, and the internal heartbeat came twice beneath his fingertips. He did not increase the temperature or add more blood simply because he would be gone for several days.

He closed the chamber and checked the eight-man guard roster with Cade. The inner key went into a sealed pouch in Cade’s keeping, with written instructions to maintain the furnace from outside. Only noise or a sudden change of heat justified opening the chamber, and then Cade would enter with two trusted veterans. If the egg hatched, the notes prescribed warmth, blood and cooked meat until Arlan returned. He left his old cloak beside the nest, as Vaelora’s notes advised. Nothing authorized more blood on the shell, a hotter furnace, or any other experiment. Three mornings after Renly's messenger arrived, FireStorm's small procession assembled in the yard. The veterans wore polished equipment without ceremonial excess, while two wagons carried gifts and ordinary travel supplies.

The household banner snapped above them: a silver sword wreathed in flame before a red sun, on storm-grey. There was no elaborate farewell, because Arlan wanted the journey to look like obedience to a summons, not a minor lord marching to court as though he had conquered half the Stormlands.

He looked once toward the western hills where Blackstone Creek lay hidden beyond the ridges. A living dragon egg waited under stone, while at Storm's End waited a king who hated the last dragonlords and an enemy eager to make that hatred useful. Arlan settled into the saddle. "Ride."

They left FireStorm beneath a cold autumn sky.