Lyonel Baratheon

Storm's End

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The Prince’s letter sat on Lyonel’s desk as he called in his Castellan and uncle, Ser Royce Baratheon. The elder Baratheon-- by ten years, but still elder nonetheless-- looked as unkempt as the popular perception of Baratheons might lead one to believe. His beard, struck through with grey, still was thick and wiry and predominantly black. In his older age he grew more barrel-chested, a monstrous man with sharp blue eyes.

“Uncle, we’ll be expecting royal company soon,” Lyonel announced, nodding to the letter with the freshly-broken Targaryen seal. “The Crown Prince is to arrive shortly. We shall of course have to feast him and I will throw a tourney in his honor.”

“It’s been a quiet few months, but for the capital,” Ser Royce responded. “Seems as good a time as any to me.”

“Indeed,” Lyonel agreed. “Raise one thousand men for security and set the builders to work on lists, grandstands, and a box for the Prince and his noble guests. Get the servants to prepare quarters in the castle for him, as well.”

Royce nodded. “It’ll get done.”

“Send up Ser Alyn, as well, he has work to do in preparation,” Lyonel said, looking up at his uncle.

Once again, Royce nodded, and he disappeared through the door.

A report had been delivered to him that his own men in Storm’s End had detected a spy in his castle, though they had not caught the fiend they knew them to exist in the keep. This was a threat that would necessarily have to be purged.

Ser Alyn Buckler, himself a loyal servant of House Baratheon for many years, had trained Lyonel in how to use a sword when he was a boy before he had gone to the Eyrie. His brothers and sons had a much closer relationship to him, but Ser Alyn’s loyalty was beyond question and that was all he needed.

“My lord,” Ser Alyn said, bowing upon entering the solar. He straightened up and stood tall, his eyes inquisitive.

Lyonel didn’t bother to hush his voice. “Agents within Storm’s End,” he announced, hoping they were listening in. Their masters might not be so bold if they knew he was hunting for them. “Take whatever resource you need and hunt them down. If you find them, get the name of their master from them. If you do, report it to me and hang the spy.”

“It will be done, my lord,” Ser Alyn replied, bowing again and turning on his heel before vanishing into the hallway. A guardsman leaned in and pulled the door closed. This was about to become a busy moon.