The Stronghammer - CH - 56

King Robert Stormrage sat upon his blackstone throne, carved from the mountains of the Spine, polished to a gleaming obsidian shine. The throne room reflected the transformation of his kingdom—grand, luxurious, and awe-inspiring. Intricate murals depicting dragons soaring across the skies, armies marching into battle, and ships sailing the Bitterweed Bay adorned the walls and ceilings.

The hall’s pillars were sculpted like dragon tails, twisting upward, and the chandeliers hung like claws clutching flames, illuminating the space with a warm golden glow. Silk banners bearing the sigil of Stormrage—a black dragon over red waves—fluttered from the rafters.

Robert gazed across the chamber, his blue eyes sharp as they surveyed his gathered council, nobles, and merchants. His black hair hung loose, and his golden circlet, adorned with rubies and black pearls, sat comfortably on his brow. He wore a dark red tunic trimmed with gold, with a cape of black velvet draped over one shoulder, fastened with a dragon-shaped clasp.

Stormrage had become the envy of Essos.

The capital city of Zeagan was rebuilt into a shining gem—its streets paved with polished stone and fountains of clear water scattered across marketplaces. Marble statues of warriors and dragons lined the grand plazas, and gardens of exotic flowers filled the air with sweet scents.

Golden domes crowned the palaces, and spires of polished obsidian reached toward the heavens. The harbor buzzed with life, filled with trading ships from Volantis, Lys, Pentos, and beyond, carrying spices, silks, and precious metals.

Robert had poured much of his wealth and vision into reshaping his kingdom.

"People spend gold where they feel inspired," Robert often said, a belief that guided his reforms. Artists, architects, and craftsmen flocked to Stormrage, transforming even the villages into picturesque towns adorned with painted tiles and stained-glass windows.

Merchants sat nervously in the audience chamber, their ledgers and proposals stacked high on the long oak tables. They awaited the King’s ruling on new trade routes and guild formations.

“Stormrage has become the heart of trade, my King,” said Ser Holdan Norren, one of Robert’s advisors. “We have ships in every port, and the markets of Nymeris are brimming with goods. But with such wealth comes envy. The Free Cities grow uneasy.”

Robert nodded. “And let them. Let them see our strength and our prosperity. If they grow jealous, let them trade for what they lack.”

A merchant from Myr stepped forward. “My King, I offer ten ships of silver for exclusive trading rights in Stormrage.”

Robert smirked. “Exclusive rights? You wish to choke my markets and make my people dependent on you?”

The merchant faltered. “No, my King. I only meant—”

Robert raised his hand, silencing him. “Stormrage is built on freedom, not chains. If you wish to trade, you trade like the rest. No special privileges.”

The council murmured their approval, and the merchant retreated.

Robert’s Blackstone Legion patrolled the streets, their black armor polished and scarred with battles. They were a constant reminder of the order and discipline that ruled Stormrage.

Holden Cross, the Commander of the Legion, approached the throne. “My King, the Dothraki raids have ceased entirely. The mere shadow of Cannibal in the skies keeps them at bay. But there are rumors that Qohor is rebuilding its armies. They seek Unsullied to match us.”

Robert’s jaw tightened. “Let them try. I’ll burn their slave markets to the ground before they set foot near my lands again.”

Holden smirked. “Shall I ready the men?”

“Not yet,” Robert said. “Let’s see how bold they are first. If they want war, we’ll make them regret it.”

Despite his steel exterior, Robert softened whenever he visited his children. His firstborn, Eddard, had already grown into a fierce boy with a wild streak that mirrored his father. Eddard’s dragon, Arya, had grown larger and even more temperamental, matching her rider’s fiery personality.

In the palace gardens, Robert knelt beside Eddard, who practiced his sword forms under the watchful eyes of Holden Cross and Veyra.

“You’re still dropping your guard, Eddard,” Robert said, blocking a strike with his practice sword.

“I won’t when I ride Arya into battle!” Eddard huffed, his blue eyes blazing.

Robert chuckled. “You think dragons win wars alone? No, son. It’s discipline and strength. Without it, you’re just prey.”

Eddard pouted but kept swinging, earning his father’s nod of approval.

Nearby, Veyra and Esha watched with pride as their daughters played by the fountains. The palace had become a home filled with laughter, but Robert knew it wouldn’t last long. Peace was fleeting, and the world beyond Stormrage was hungry.

That evening, Robert stood on the balcony of his palace, gazing out toward the Bitterweed Bay. His eyes followed the merchant ships, but his mind wandered to the dragons resting in the Spine Mountains.

He knew the world’s eyes were on him. His enemies plotted in Westeros and Essos alike. The Free Cities feared his rise, and the Targaryens saw him as a threat to their legacy.

Holden Cross joined him, his armor glinting in the moonlight.

“They’re afraid of you, my King,” Holden said. “That’s why they watch.”

Robert smirked. “Let them watch. Stormrage was built by fire and blood, and I’ll make sure it stands long after their thrones crumble.”


Robert Stormrage stood on the balcony of his grand palace, gazing out at the sprawling expanse of Zeagan, the capital of his ever-expanding kingdom. The city glimmered under the golden sun, its marble towers and ornate gardens a testament to the wealth and power he had amassed over the years. Merchants filled the streets, and the sound of hammers rang from the docks as ships were built and repaired.

But today, Robert's thoughts were not on the bustling city or its growing prosperity. Instead, they lingered on his children—his legacy.

It was only a few months ago that Leirah had given birth to twin boys, whom Robert had named Stannis and Renly after the brothers he lost in his past life. The names were not chosen lightly.

Stanis was the quiet one, always observing, his sharp blue eyes studying every movement and detail around him. He was already showing signs of being a leader and strategist, much like the Stannis Robert remembered—unyielding and focused.

Renly, on the other hand, was outgoing and charming, always laughing and making mischief. He had inherited Robert’s confidence and charisma, and even at his young age, he had the ability to win people over effortlessly.

“They’re growing like weeds,” Leirah had said one evening as they sat in the garden, watching the boys play.

“Like Stags,” Robert corrected, smiling. “Strong and hungry.”

He often found himself marveling at them—at how they reminded him of the family he had once lost and how he would never make the same mistakes again. This time, his sons would not be divided. They would stand together, united by blood, dragons, and purpose.

What made Robert even more proud was the bond his children had formed with the dragons that had emerged from Cannibal’s eggs.

Eddard had bonded with Arya, the ferocious she-dragon, and their relationship was already legendary within Stormrage. But now, the twins—Stanis and Renly—had each formed connections with two dragons of their own.

Stanis’s dragon, Storm, was a sleek, dark-scaled beast with sharp golden eyes. She was calm and calculating, much like her rider, and had a preference for patrolling the skies rather than showing off her power.

Renly’s dragon, Astrid, was the opposite—wild and playful, always testing boundaries and roaring whenever she wanted attention. She shared her rider’s flair for dramatics and seemed to enjoy flying over the city to terrify livestock and amuse the citizens.

Nymeria and Nymella—his daughters—rode their dragons with a grace that belied their age. Both only ten years old, yet their bond with their dragons was undeniable. Nymeria’s dragon, Obsidara, had scales as black as midnight, shimmering with hints of violet in the sunlight. It was a fierce and elegant beast, much like its rider. Nymella’s dragon, Emberwing, was a fiery orange-red, its wings glowing like molten fire whenever it soared through the sky. It reflected her fiery temperament and boundless energy.

Robert watched them with a mixture of pride and caution. He had trained his daughters to be strong, both in spirit and in skill. But dragons were unpredictable, and he never let himself forget the lessons of history. The Dance of Dragons was a cautionary tale burned deep into his memory, and he vowed to avoid such chaos within his own bloodline.

As the girls circled the skies, they dove toward the palace, their dragons letting out triumphant roars that echoed across Zeagan. When they landed in the courtyard, the twins dismounted with practiced ease, their silver-trimmed riding leathers covered in soot and dust.

Nymeria was the first to speak. “Father, Emberwing and Obsidara handled perfectly today. We flew beyond the river and scouted the northern plains. No sign of raiders.”

Nymella grinned and added, “And we made them race each other! Emberwing won, of course.”

Robert crossed his arms and gave them a mock frown. “Is that what I trained you for? Racing dragons?”

The girls giggled but quickly stood straight when their father stepped closer. He ruffled their hair and smiled. “You both did well. But remember—these are not toys. They are beasts of war, creatures of fire and fury. Treat them with respect, and they will guard you fiercely.”

Nymeria nodded solemnly, but Nymella rolled her eyes, “We know, Father. You’ve told us a hundred times.”

Robert laughed. “And I’ll tell you a hundred more. Now, clean yourselves up and get some food. Tomorrow, we’ll start lessons in battle formations. You need to know how to lead men as well as dragons.”

As the girls hurried off, their dragons took flight again, circling above the palace like sentinels. Robert watched them go, a sense of pride swelling in his chest.

Robert often sat with his council, Holden Cross by his side, as he plotted the future of Stormrage.

“Each of my children will rule their own regions,” Robert declared during one such meeting. “Like the Warden of the North, East, and South in Westeros. But they will not rule as rivals. They will rule as brothers and sisters united.”

Holden raised an eyebrow. “Dividing your kingdom could weaken it, my King.”

Robert shook his head. “It’s not division—it’s reinforcement. I will build this kingdom into realms within realms, each ruled by my blood and protected by their dragons. And no one—not Qohor, not Volantis, not even Westeros—will dare challenge us.”

The council murmured their agreement.

“And what of the Free Cities?” Holden asked.

“We deal with them as always,” Robert replied, his voice hardened like steel. “With fire and blood if need be. But first, we give them the chance to bend the knee peacefully.”

Later that evening, Robert found himself in the dragon caverns where the dragons were located. Cannibal and Arya roosted high in the Spine Mountains, but the younger dragons—Storm, Astrid, Obsidara and Emberwing are flying freely.

Eddard knelt beside Arya’s hatchling, stroking their scales. Stanis and Renly were nearby, practicing their sword forms with wooden sticks, their dragons watching curiously.

“They’ll make fine riders,” Holden said, standing beside Robert.

“They’ll make kings and queens,” Robert corrected, his voice filled with pride.

Robert laughed. “Even the little ones are fearless.”

“They’ll need to be,” Veyra replied. “This world doesn’t let the weak survive.”

Robert looked at his children—the future of Stormrage—and knew she was right. They were not ordinary children. They were dragonborn, destined to reshape Essos and beyond.

Despite the peace and prosperity, Robert knew it would not last forever. The Free Cities were watching. The Dothraki were rebuilding. And whispers of unrest in Westeros had begun to spread—talk of dragons and succession wars.

Standing atop the palace walls that night, Robert gazed toward the horizon, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. The winds of change were coming, but he was ready.

With his children at his side, their dragons soaring through the skies, and the Blackstone Legion guarding the borders, Robert knew that Stormrage was unshakable.

Eddard Stormrage—known affectionately as Eddie—was the shining star of Stormrage, a prince destined for greatness. Even at the young age of sixteen, he was already renowned for his sharp intellect, commanding presence, and mastery of both swordplay and strategy. His father, King Robert, often remarked with pride that Eddie was destined to be an even greater ruler than himself.

Robert had made sure that Eddie’s education covered everything a ruler needed to know. From governance and diplomacy to warfare and economics, Eddie excelled in every field. His wisdom often surprised the council, and Robert began including his son in major decisions, allowing him to shape the kingdom’s policies. Many already looked at Eddie as the future emperor who would lead Stormrage into a golden age.

Yet, for all his brilliance, Eddie had a restless spirit—a nomadic fever that refused to be tamed.

He spent much of his youth disguised as a common man, traveling across Essos to experience life among the smallfolk. From fishing villages on the coast to farming communities deep in the forests, Eddie immersed himself in the lives of the people. He hunted with shepherds, feasted with villagers, and fought alongside mercenaries against bandits.

To the frustration of his royal tutors and advisors, he often disappeared for weeks without notice, only to return with tales of adventure and newfound wisdom. Despite their protests, Robert understood his son’s need to roam.

“You can’t chain a dragon,” Robert often said, much to the amusement of his court.

But now, Eddie’s restless heart turned toward Westeros—the land of his father’s birth and the home of his extended family. He had grown up hearing stories of Storm’s End, the Baratheons, and the Targaryens. The idea of seeing the Seven Kingdoms fascinated him.

At dinner one evening, Eddie brought up the idea.

“Father,” he said, pushing his plate aside, “I want to see Westeros. I want to meet the family you left behind.”

Robert looked up from his goblet, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly do you expect to find there, Eddie? They’re not like the people here. The lords and ladies of Westeros are sharks. They’ll see you as a threat—or worse, an opportunity.”

Eddie leaned forward. “I don’t want to claim anything there. I just want to see it. To understand where we came from. You taught me that a ruler must know the world to lead it. How can I rule Stormrage if I don’t know the lands that shaped our bloodline?”

Robert leaned back, stroking his beard. He couldn’t deny Eddie’s reasoning, but the thought of sending his heir to Westeros unsettled him.

“And how do you expect to travel? Do you think you can simply fly into King’s Landing on Arya’s back without causing a panic?” Robert said, referring to Eddie’s massive she-dragon.

Eddie grinned. “I’ll go as a common man, like I always do. No banners, no titles.”

Robert sighed. “You think you can blend in, but you’ll stand out, Eddie. You carry yourself like a king already.”

“Then let me prove that I can handle it,” Eddie countered. “I won’t take Arya. I’ll take a ship and travel quietly. I’ll observe and learn. You said it yourself—dragons don’t need chains. Trust me.”

Robert studied his son for a long moment before finally nodding. “Fine. But you’ll take a few men with you. Disguised, of course. And you’ll write to me every week.”

“I will,” Eddie promised, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“And if you get into trouble,” Robert added, “you’ll send word immediately. No playing the hero.”

Eddie’s grin widened. “No promises on that one.”

Despite his reservations, Robert couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as he watched Eddie prepare for the journey. His son was bold, ambitious, and wise beyond his years.

The night before Eddie’s departure, Robert took him aside.

“Stormrage was built with fire and blood,” Robert said. “And it will be protected by both. But you—Eddie—you have something more. You’ve earned the love of the people, not just their fear. Never lose that. And don’t forget that no matter where you go, you’re my son. A Stormrage.”

Eddie embraced his father. “I won’t forget.”

And with that, the future emperor of Stormrage set sail toward Westeros, eager to explore the land of his ancestors and face whatever challenges awaited him.