Chapter 4—"The Storm and the Fire"
Year 283 AC
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Winter had not yet arrived, but the famine had.
Seventy-three days had passed since the Tyrells surrounded Storm's End.
At first, the soldiers had held out proudly. They drank, sang, and swore that the men of Highgarden would never breach the fortress. But now, in the damp, dark halls, the most common sound was that of an empty stomach.
The boiled bones were gone. Rats were scarce. People chewed boiled leather to stave off hunger.
And yet, Bastion held.
---
Day 74 of the Siege
Ronnel awoke before dawn, his stomach empty and his throat dry. He went down to the common room, where several serving girls were stirring a cauldron of what had once been soup. Now, the pale liquid looked like dirty water.
Marenna, the head cook, was there. Her hands trembled with fatigue, her dark circles deep under her eyes.
"There's only enough for half a bowl per person today, child," she said, without looking at him.
Ronnel came closer, assessing the contents of the cauldron.
"Give out less in the morning," he suggested calmly. "Make them think there's another meal at noon. That will keep them hopeful."
Marenna looked at him with a mixture of fatigue and frustration.
"And what happens when they discover there's nothing for noon?"
"Then they've spent half an extra day resisting," he replied, shrugging. "Sometimes lying is another way to save lives."
The woman sighed, but she did it. And that morning, the rumor that there would be extra food at noon kept people moving. No one thought of giving up. No one died... yet.
---
Day 77 of the Siege
The disease came before the defeat.
The halls smelled of damp, unwashed bodies, and vomit. Dysentery. The first cases were spreading among the soldiers.
In the maester's tower, Cressen mixed herbs with trembling hands while Ronnel read an ancient tome on medicine.
"There isn't enough myrrh," Cressen murmured. "And the burdock root ran out weeks ago."
Ronnel flipped through the book, memorizing diagrams, dosages, and symptoms.
"We can boil dried pomegranate peels," he said suddenly. "It's not ideal, but it reduces diarrhea and prevents further water loss."
The old man looked up, surprised.
"How the hell do you know that?"
Ronnel blushed slightly.
"I hear more than you think, maester."
Cressen looked at him carefully. There was respect in his eyes… and a hint of fear.
"You're not a normal boy, Ronnel Storm."
"I'm not," he replied without hesitation. "And if we're still alive, you'd better listen to me."
---
Day 82 of the Siege
The knights gathered in the great hall for a discussion that nearly ended in a duel.
Ronnel slipped in discreetly, sitting in a corner.
"We're dying here like trapped rats!" roared Ser Harlon Swann, banging his fist on the table. "Let's go out and fight like men!"
"And let sixty thousand Tyrells slaughter us," replied Ser Harbert, the weapons master, in a gravelly voice. "Whether you die with honor or without it, you're still dead."
The tension grew until Stannis spoke, his voice sharp as steel:
"No one will leave. Bastion stands. As long as I live, no one will open the gates."
Silence fell over the room. Even the proudest knights lowered their gaze.
It was then that Ronnel stood and spoke, his voice calm:
"If we fight now, we will all die. But if we wait, we wear down the enemy. Every day we resist is a day Robert wins in the field."
The knights murmured among themselves. A five-year-old boy was giving them a lesson in strategy. And he was right.
Stannis looked at him from the head of the table. His lips didn't move, but his eyes said:
> "I hear you, bastard. I hear you."---
Day 90 of the Siege
Hunger reached its cruelest point.
That day, two soldiers were caught trying to kill a rat in the common cellar. When they were arrested, they cried like children.
Ronnel was present when they were brought before Stannis.
"The rat was for my son," sobbed one, a bony man with calloused hands. "You haven't seen one another for three days... please, my lord..."
Stannis closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his gaze was hard as stone.
"If I allow each of you to steal what little we have, no one will live."
The man fell to his knees, weeping. Ronnel watched everything, silent. Then he took a step forward.
"Sir... let me speak."
Stannis looked at him, surprised, but came closer.
Ronnel bowed to the soldiers.
"If you are executed, your son will surely die." But if you work for me, I can guarantee you'll have a bowl of broth every three days.
The man looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, uncomprehending.
"Why... why would you do that?"
"Because I don't want people to think Bastion kills its own men while we fight to survive," Ronnel replied, his voice gravelly. "And because I need loyal men."
Stannis frowned, but didn't contradict him. The soldiers bowed to Ronnel and left.
That night, in the dark halls, whispers grew:
> "The bastard saved two men from hanging."
---
Day 101 of the Siege
That night, Renly secretly searched for Ronnel.
I found him on the walls, watching the Tyrell torches in the distance.
"I don't understand why you're doing all this," the boy said, hugging his shoulders. You're not a Baratheon. You're nothing.
Ronnel slowly turned his head, looking at her.
"If I do nothing, we all die. And I'd rather be something than no one."
Renly watched him for a long moment, his face illuminated by the moonlight.
"Sometimes... sometimes I think you're more of a brother to me than Stannis."
For the first time, Ronnel sounds true.
"And I think that, when this is over, I'll teach you how to earn the respect of men."
Renly looked at him with doubt, but also with a glimmer of hope.
For the first time, they were no longer rivals... if only a little.
---
Day 115 of the Siege
Despair reached its peak.
The Tyrells burned all the nearby fields, destroying any chance of finding food outside. Supplies were running low.
That's when Davos Seaworth, the smuggler, entered the fray.
A rumor spread through the halls: a man had broken through the naval blockade and was bringing in a shipment of onions and dried fish.
Stannis received him privately, but Ronnel managed to be there.
"You risked your life for us," Stannis said tersely.
"For a good price, my lord," Davos replied, smiling humbly.
Ronnel approached, looking at him intensely.
"A man like you could be very useful in times of war."
Davos raised an eyebrow.
"And what do you know of war, boy?"
Ronnel irritatingly.
"Enough to know that when this is over, it won't be the last."
Davos looked at him closely. And in that moment, a silent alliance was born.
---
On the walls of Bastion, the wind blew hard. The smell of salt, sweat, and death permeated the air.
In the distance, the Tyrell torches still lit, but inside the fortress, the fire of resistance still burned.
Ronnel leaned against the cold stone, closing his eyes. He felt every footstep, every sigh, every hungry glance. He knew this siege was forging him.
> "The Tyrells believe they will break us. They don't understand that the storm feeds on pressure. And I... I will be the lightning bolt that splits the heavens."
---
Year 283 AC
---
The sound of the sea had ceased to be music to Storm's End.
Now it was a constant reminder: they were trapped.
The walls breathed hunger, fear, and tension. The fortress had not fallen in a thousand years, but the stone could not feed the living.
It was the 143rd day of the siege.
---
POV: Ser Harbert, Master-at-Arms
The smell of sweat and blood filled the training yard. Ser Harbert, the Master-at-Arms, looked down at the soldiers with a stern expression. Their armor hung slack on wasted bodies.
"Shields up!" he roared. "Though you may starve, you will not lower your arms when the Tyrells attack!"
The men obeyed, but their movements were slow, almost clumsy. Hunger was killing them faster than any sword.
It was then that Ronnel Storm appeared, carrying a small barrel over his shoulder. He wasn't large, but his barely six-year-old body seemed to move with a force that wasn't natural.
"Fresh water," he said, setting it down.
The soldiers stared at him in surprise. One of them, Torrhen, a weary-eyed veteran, took a bowl and drank greedily.
"You're not like your father," he said, wiping his beard. "Robert forgets we exist. You don't."
Ronnel smiled calmly.
"A hungry man fights worse than a fed one. A soldier who knows someone is thinking of him fights to the bitter end."
Ser Harbert watched him closely. That bastard was different. Too different.
---POV: Marenna, the cook
The kitchen had become a living hell. The air was thick with smoke, heat, and the sour smell of broth made from thrice-boiled bones. Marenna stirred an empty cauldron, as if by doing so she could conjure food.
The serving girls murmured among themselves:
"They say the bastard knows how many grains are left..."
"They say he spoke to Stannis..."
"They say even the knights listen."
Marenna silenced the rumors with a gesture. Ronnel entered the kitchen at that moment, carrying a sack of dried roots.
"I found them in the pantry in the west wing," he announced, placing it on the table. "It's not much, but it'll add flavor."
Marenna looked at him, exhausted.
"You're a child. You won't have to carry this."
Ronnel held her gaze, serious.
"I'm not a child, Marenna. Not since the assault began."
There was an awkward silence. Everyone knew it.
In Bastion, childhood was long dead.
---
POV: Stannis Baratheon
The main hall was dim. Stannis was leaning over a wax-stained map. His face was a mask of tension. Men were dying, famine was increasing, and supplies wouldn't last more than two weeks.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in."
Ronnel crossed the threshold, carrying a tray with two goblets of water.
"If you continue without sleep, you'll fall before the walls," he said, placing it next to the map.
Stannis raised an eyebrow.
"You order me around like a lord."
"I don't order you around, Uncle. I'm telling you the truth."
Stannis snorted, but drank.
"The Tyrells expect us to starve," he murmured, pointing at the map. "But if they hold out until winter, their own army will be exhausted."
Ronnel leaned forward, studying the positions.
"We won't hold out until winter if we don't get more food."
"And how do you suggest doing that? Call upon the gods?"
The child is barely awake.
"No. I'll summon men willing to break a blockade for a good price."
Stannis stared at him. It went without saying. They were both thinking the same thing: Davos Seaworth.
---
POV: Davos Seaworth
The smuggler was smoking on the southern wall, looking at the enemy torches in the distance.
He had risked his life once to bring in onions and dried fish, but now the blockade was tighter.
Ronnel found him there, sitting on an empty barrel.
"If I try to get in again, they'll kill me," Davos said, not looking at him.
"And if you don't, we'll all die," Ronnel replied, sitting down beside him.
The smuggler gave a bitter laugh.
"You talk as if you know how this all ends, kid."
Ronnel glanced at him.
"I know how wars end: the strong survive, the weak are forgotten. I don't intend to be forgotten."
Davos studied him silently, and something inside him changed. That kid… he didn't talk like a kid.
---
POV: Renly Baratheon
The youngest Baratheon walked alone through the dark halls, hugging an old blanket. Before, he hated Ronnel. Envied him. But now… now, he followed him silently.
He found him in the courtyard, teaching a group of squires how to ration water without the troops noticing.
"Why are you doing all this?" Renly asked suddenly.
Ronnel looked at him calmly.
"Because if I don't, we'll all die."
Renly lowered his gaze. He had learned something new during the siege: a family name doesn't save you from hunger.
For the first time, he let Ronnel speak to him as an equal.
---
The Arrival of Eddard Stark
On the 184th day of the siege, a horn sounded in the distance.
From the walls, they saw direwolf banners fluttering in the dust. Eddard Stark had arrived.
Ronnel watched the soldiers weep, the servants fall to their knees, and Stannis close his eyes with a silent sigh. The storm had survived.
When Eddard passed through the gates, his face was grave and cold, but his words were warm:
"Robert sends his regards, Stannis. The war is over. The dragon is dead. The throne… is ours."
Stannis nodded stiffly. But Ronnel wasn't listening. His mind was already working silently.
> "The game is not over. Aerys is dead, but another board opens. And I… I will be the one to move the pieces."
---