The Stronghammer - CH - 57

Eddard Stormrage stood on the balcony of his chambers, gazing at the horizon. The sea stretched endlessly, its waves reflecting the light of the setting sun. Behind him, the massive form of Holden Cross loomed, his silhouette like that of an ancient statue carved out of granite.

Holden Cross was no ordinary man. Even in his old age, he radiated strength and discipline. The scars on his face told stories of countless battles, victories, and hardships. He had been the backbone of the Blackstone Legion for decades, a legend among warriors.

Eddie turned around and smiled. “You’ve been quiet, old man. Aren’t you excited about our journey?”

Holden raised an eyebrow, his weathered face betraying nothing. “Excited? No. Prepared? Always.”

Eddie chuckled. “You’re as grim as ever.”

“I prefer to call it realistic,” Holden replied, stepping closer. “You might be the future king, but don’t expect Westeros to welcome you with open arms. They don’t trust outsiders, let alone strangers claiming dragons and kingdoms in Essos.”

“I don’t want their trust,” Eddie said, folding his arms. “I want to see what kind of world my father came from. I want to understand the lords and ladies, the power struggles, and the people.”

Holden nodded. “Good. Then you’ll need someone who’s been through it all to keep you alive.”

Eddie grinned. “That’s why I asked you to come along.”

Holden leaned on the stone railing, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. “You didn’t need to ask. I swore my sword to your father, and now I swear it to you.”

Eddie’s expression softened. “Thank you, Holden. I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side.”

The port of Zeagan was bustling with activity. Dockworkers carried crates filled with supplies, while merchants argued over prices. In the midst of the chaos stood Eddie, Holden, and ten handpicked soldiers—all members of the Blackstone Legion.

Each soldier was chosen for their loyalty, skill, and ability to blend in as common men. They wore plain clothes, with no sigils or markings, appearing as mercenaries or travelers. Their sharp eyes and disciplined stances betrayed their training, but they carried themselves humbly.

Holden inspected the men, his eyes like a hawk’s. “No mistakes,” he barked. “We’re not sailing as knights or nobles. We’re common men—mercenaries, traders, travelers. Act like it.”

The soldiers nodded, their faces serious.

Eddie approached them, his youthful energy a stark contrast to Holden’s stern demeanor. “Remember, we’re not here to start wars. We’re here to learn, observe, and survive. But if anyone challenges us, don’t hesitate to remind them what Stormrage is made of.”

A ripple of confidence passed through the group, and Holden smirked. “Spoken like a true Stormrage.”

They boarded the ship, a sturdy vessel outfitted for long voyages. As the sails unfurled and the wind carried them away from Zeagan, Eddie stood at the bow, the sea spray hitting his face.

Holden joined him, his arms crossed. “Nervous?”

“No,” Eddie replied. “Eager.”

Holden chuckled. “Good. Because Westeros isn’t Essos. You’ll see things there—schemes, betrayals, and greed that make slavers and Dothraki look like amateurs.”

“I’m ready,” Eddie said, his voice steady. “I want to see it all.”

Days passed on the ship, and Eddie spent much of his time training with Holden.

“Faster!” Holden barked as Eddie swung his sword. “You’re too predictable. The moment you slow down, you’re dead.”

Eddie gritted his teeth, his muscles burning. “I won’t slow down.”

Holden parried his strike with ease. “Then stop thinking like a prince and start fighting like a soldier!”

The soldiers watched in awe as Holden disarmed Eddie with a swift motion, sending the sword clattering to the deck.

Eddie fell to his knees, panting. “You don’t hold back, do you?”

“No one will hold back in Westeros,” Holden replied, tossing the sword back to him. “If you want to survive, you’ll need to be better. Faster. Smarter.”

Eddie stood up and raised his sword. “Again.”

Holden grinned. “That’s more like it.”

After weeks at sea, the ship finally approached Westeros. Eddie stood at the bow, his eyes fixed on the distant coastline.

“Storm’s End,” Holden said, pointing to the castle perched atop the cliffs. “Your father’s home.”

Eddie’s heart raced. This was it—the land of his ancestors.

Holden placed a hand on his shoulder. “Remember, boy. We’re not here as conquerors. We’re here as shadows. Watch, listen, and learn.”

Eddie nodded. “I will.”

As the ship docked, the soldiers disembarked, blending seamlessly with the crowd. Eddie pulled his hood up, hiding his face.

“Welcome to Westeros,” Holden said, his voice low. “Let’s see what this place has to offer.”

And with that, the heir to Stormrage and his companions stepped onto the land that shaped his father’s legacy, ready to carve out a new chapter in their story.

Eddard Stormrage stood at the gates of Storm’s End, his hood pulled low against the brisk Westerosi wind. The towering walls of the ancient fortress loomed overhead, but the sight wasn’t intimidating. Instead, it felt like coming home.

Holden Cross glanced at him. “You’re sure he’s expecting us?”

Eddie smirked. “Of course. My grandfather wouldn’t let a week pass without writing me a letter or sending some ridiculous gift. He’ll probably scold me for not replying quickly enough.”

The gates creaked open, and a guard stepped forward, recognizing Eddie almost immediately. “Prince Eddard! The lord has been expecting you. He’ll be delighted to see you.”

Eddie winced at the title, but Holden nudged him forward. “Better get used to that. Even if you don’t want to flaunt it, blood doesn’t lie.”

The great hall of Storm’s End was warm, lit by roaring fires and filled with the savory aroma of roasted meats. At the far end of the hall, Lord Boremund Baratheon rose from his chair, his broad shoulders and graying beard making him look every inch the seasoned lord.

“Eddard!” His voice boomed across the hall, and before Eddie could respond, Boremund strode toward him, his face split with a wide grin.

“Grandfather.” Eddie barely had time to brace himself before Boremund pulled him into a crushing embrace.

“Look at you, boy!” Boremund laughed as he pulled back to examine him. “You’ve grown since the last time I saw you. Still as strong as your father. And what’s this?” He grabbed Eddie’s arm, flexing it. “You’ve been swinging that sword of yours, haven’t you?”

Eddie chuckled. “I didn’t have much of a choice. You kept sending me blades and armor that demanded to be used.”

Boremund clapped him on the back. “And you put them to good use, I’ll wager. I’ve heard the stories, Eddie. Stormrage has become something more than anyone imagined. I knew you’d make us proud.”

Holden Cross stepped forward, bowing slightly. “Lord Boremund.”

“Holden! Still keeping this one out of trouble, I see.” Boremund grinned. “I trust he hasn’t given you too much of a headache?”

Holden smirked. “More than a few, my lord. But he’s learning.”

Boremund laughed and gestured toward the table. “Come, sit. We have food and drink—and much to talk about.”

As they ate, the conversation turned to their correspondence.

“I still have the last letter you sent me,” Eddie admitted. “I was barely able to write back without spilling ink everywhere.”

“And now look at you,” Boremund said proudly. “Ruling a kingdom and commanding armies. You’ve done more in your short years than most lords accomplish in a lifetime.”

Eddie’s gaze dropped for a moment. “I had good teachers.”

“You had the fire of the Baratheons,” Boremund corrected. “And your father’s stubbornness. That’s enough to move mountains.”

Boremund’s tone softened as he leaned in. “I always knew you’d be something special. I told your father the same thing when he first wrote to me about you. He was terrified of raising a son—thought he’d ruin you somehow. But you’ve proven him wrong.”

Eddie smiled, but Holden shifted the topic. “We need your support, my lord. We’re traveling through Westeros quietly, but things can go wrong quickly.”

Boremund nodded. “You’ll have it. Whatever you need, you’ll get. And if anyone dares to lay a hand on my grandson, they’ll regret it.”

Eddie’s heart swelled at his grandfather’s words. This was the man he had known for years—the man who had sent gifts, advice, and encouragement even from across the sea. Now, sitting beside him, Eddie felt a sense of belonging he hadn’t expected.

Eddie stood in the grand hall of Storm’s End, feeling both anticipation and curiosity. His uncle, Borros Baratheon, had arranged the meeting, insisting that his daughters had been pestering him ever since word spread that their cousin had arrived.

The heavy oak doors swung open, and in walked the three Baratheon daughters—Cassandra, Ellyn, and Maris. Each carried themselves with the proud bearing of their lineage, yet their differences were immediately apparent to Eddie.

Cassandra, the eldest, moved with practiced grace, her golden hair arranged in elaborate braids. She offered Eddie a polite smile but held herself with the poise of someone who had spent her life being courted by lords and knights.

“So, you’re the famous cousin from Essos,” Cassandra said with a raised brow. “I expected someone… taller.”

Eddie grinned. “And I expected someone less intimidating.”

Ellyn, the second daughter, was the first to laugh. With her untamed curls and mischievous glint in her eyes, she was clearly the wild one. “He’s not afraid of you, Cass! I like him already.”

Eddie smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Maris, the youngest, stepped forward shyly, her soft features and wide eyes making her seem far younger than her sisters. “Is it true you have a dragon?”

Eddie knelt slightly to meet her gaze. “Not just one. My brothers and sisters each have dragons too.”

Her eyes widened in awe. “Real dragons?”

He chuckled. “Real dragons.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Don’t fill her head with nonsense. She’ll start thinking she can ride one too.”

“Maybe she can,” Ellyn interrupted, stepping closer to Eddie. “You must tell us about Essos. Is it true there are cities of gold? And slave markets where kings are bought and sold?”

“It’s not as glamorous as the songs make it sound,” Eddie replied. “But it’s… wild. Dangerous. And beautiful.”

Cassandra tilted her head. “And you rule it?”

Eddie shrugged. “I help keep it safe. My father built it from nothing, and I’ll make sure no one takes it from us.”

There was a flicker of admiration in Cassandra’s eyes, quickly masked by her usual aloofness. “Perhaps you’re taller than I thought.”

The exchange earned another laugh from Ellyn. “He’s taller than you in spirit, Cass.”

Maris tugged at Eddie’s sleeve. “Will you show me your dragon one day?”

Eddie smiled. “One day, perhaps.”

Borros stepped into the hall, clapping his hands. “I see you’re already making trouble,” he said, looking at his daughters. “Don’t overwhelm the boy before he’s had dinner.”

Eddie glanced back at his cousins, already feeling at ease with them. “I think I’ll manage.”

As the evening wore on, Eddie found himself enjoying the company of his cousins. Though their personalities varied, each reminded him of home—and of the family he’d left behind to build a kingdom of his own.

Later, as the fires burned low, Boremund walked Eddie to the hall’s entrance.

“You’ll always have a home here,” he said firmly. “But I know you. You won’t stay long. You’ve got the restlessness of your father.”

Eddie grinned. “And you’ll keep reminding me of it.”

Boremund chuckled. “Of course I will. Now, go. See Westeros. Make allies. And if you need me, send word. No matter what, I’ll be there.”

Eddie clasped his grandfather’s arm, feeling the weight of his legacy. “Thank you. For everything.”

And with that, Eddie stepped out into the cool night air, ready to face whatever Westeros had in store.