Rain tapped at the high windows like impatient fingers. Wind moaned low through the arrow slits, occasionally rising to a howl before settling back into its mournful song. Inside the solar, Thor Baratheon sat hunched over a wide oak table, fingers ink-stained and smudged, a half-full cup of cider cooling by his elbow. The fire crackled behind him, fighting off the damp chill that always crept into Storm's End no matter how many logs were burned.
Across from him, Maester Edric flipped a thick book shut with a dusty sigh. The sound seemed to punctuate the hours they'd spent together, the old man patiently guiding Thor through the lineages and legends of House Baratheon.
"You look like someone who'd rather be anywhere else," the old man said, adjusting the chain around his shoulders. The many metals clinked softly against each other—silver for healing, copper for history, iron for warcraft. Thor had learned what each link meant years ago, though he'd never tell the maester he remembered.
"I'd rather be anywhere dry," Thor muttered, glancing at the window where raindrops raced each other down the clouded glass. "This storm's been going three days."
"You say that as if it's unusual," Maester Edric replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "The Stormlands are aptly named, young lord."
Thor stretched in his chair, feeling the tightness in his shoulders from hours of sitting. "It feels different. Angrier."
The maester raised an eyebrow. "And what is Storm's End, if not a castle built for that exact kind of trouble?"
Thor gave a half-smile and leaned back in his chair. "Built so well even the gods couldn't knock it down. I've heard the stories."
"A thousand times, I'd wager," Edric said, carefully closing another tome. "Durran Godsgrief and his defiance of the gods. Six castles raised and six castles fallen, until the seventh stood against all the fury the heavens could muster." He ran a weathered hand over the book's leather binding. "But there's a difference between hearing a tale and understanding its meaning."
"Which is?"
"That's for you to discover." Edric smiled faintly. "Although I suspect you already have some ideas."
Thor shifted uncomfortably. Since the incident in the training yard three days ago—since the storm had answered his call—he'd avoided discussing it with anyone. Stannis had given him space, though his sharp eyes followed Thor wherever he went. Althera had tried to corner him twice, but he'd managed to evade her questions.
Only his father seemed unchanged, though Thor suspected that was because no one had told him what happened. Gendry Baratheon was meeting with lords from the Marches, handling disputes that had festered since winter.
"Yes," Edric said dryly, interrupting Thor's thoughts. "But hearing is not knowing. And you are your father's son. A Baratheon. You might not be heir, but one day you may need to stand where he stands. Or where your brother does."
Thor's smile faded. He sat up straighter, suddenly aware of his posture. "I know my place."
"Do you?" Edric's voice was gentle, but his eyes were keen. "I sometimes wonder if you're still searching for it."
The comment hit too close to the storm brewing in Thor's chest. He reached for his cider, taking a long sip to avoid responding.
Lightning flashed outside, briefly illuminating the room in stark white. Thunder followed almost immediately, shaking the very stones of the keep.
"That was close," Thor murmured.
"Indeed." Edric studied him carefully. "You seem... drawn to the storm."
Thor set down his cup. "I'm a Baratheon. Storm's blood, right?"
"Indeed," the maester repeated, but his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. He cleared his throat and slid a folded parchment across the table. "Quiz time."
"Seriously?" Thor groaned. "We've been at this for hours."
The maester's eyes twinkled. "Knowledge is never complete, young lord. And if Stannis could recite the line of succession before his tenth name day, you can handle a few questions at sixteen."
"Stannis probably emerged from the womb reciting the Baratheon lineage," Thor muttered, but he picked up the quill regardless. "Fine. Quiz me."
Edric leaned back, folding his hands over his rounded belly. "Who holds Storm's End?"
Thor dipped the quill in ink. "That's an easy one. Lord Gendry Baratheon."
"Add some detail," Edric prompted. "Think about what makes your father unique among the lords of Westeros."
Thor considered this as he wrote. "Lord Gendry Baratheon. Forged in fire, not born in silk. He rules by right and by work."
"Good," Edric nodded. "Now, name his heirs in order."
"Stannis, then Althera. Then me, I guess." Thor added with a smirk, "Third time's the charm."
"And what is Lady Althera known for?"
Thor couldn't help but smile as he wrote. "Sharp eyes. Sharper tongue. Can split an arrow from a hundred paces." He paused, then added, "Also thinks she's funnier than she is."
"I'm sure she would appreciate that assessment," Edric said dryly. "And your brother Stannis's greatest strength?"
Thor's quill hovered over the parchment. Despite their differences, he respected his half-brother deeply. "He never quits. Ever. Smart, hard as the keep walls. Carries a war hammer like it's an extension of his spine."
"Like your father in that regard," Edric observed.
"Except Father rarely uses his," Thor replied. "Stannis seems eager for a reason."
"War hammers are creatures of war," Edric said. "And your brother was born during conflict. It shapes a man."
Thor nodded, though he wondered what shaped him. What formed the storm inside his chest? What made him different from his siblings, with their pure Baratheon blood?
"Speaking of your father, what would you say is his greatest weapon beyond the forge?"
Thor thought about it, remembering council meetings where lords shouted and argued until Gendry simply raised his hand. "His quiet. He listens when others fill the room with noise. Then says one sentence that shuts it all down."
"A wise observation," Edric said, genuine approval in his voice. "Now, something more local. Which tower whispers, and what's the tale?"
"The Whispering Tower," Thor replied, writing quickly now. "People say the sea speaks through its stone. Or that a woman's ghost is still waiting there, singing to the wind."
"Have you ever heard it?" Edric asked, curious.
Thor hesitated. "Once, during a storm worse than this one. But it wasn't a woman's voice."
"Oh?" The maester leaned forward slightly. "What did you hear?"
"Thunder," Thor said after a moment. "But... inside the stone. Like the lightning was trapped in the walls."
Edric's expression was unreadable. "Interesting. Perhaps we should discuss that another time." He cleared his throat. "If the castle were sieged today, where would we hold last?"
"Storm Cellar," Thor wrote. "Deep under the keep. Cold, dry, stocked for months. Only way in is from inside. Like a stone heart."
"Who commands if your father is absent?"
"Stannis," Thor replied promptly. "Then Althera. Then..." He met the maester's eyes. "Yeah. Me. Let's hope it never comes to that."
"And what would you do if it did come to that?" Edric asked softly.
Thor stared at the parchment for a long moment. The question wasn't merely academic. It probed at his deepest insecurities.
Finally, he wrote: "Close the gates. Get people safe. Light the high fires. Then go to the godswood, whisper my name, and pray I don't fail."
A heavy silence fell between them as Thor finished writing. The only sounds were the crackling fire and the persistent rain. Lightning flashed again, and Thor felt something respond within him—a flutter of energy behind his ribs.
Edric took the parchment and read in silence, his eyes flicking across each line. He didn't smile. But he didn't frown either.
"You think like someone who expects to be tested," he said at last.
"I think like someone who's been watching storms get worse," Thor said quietly. "And I have nightmares I can't explain."
That hung in the air a moment. The only sound was the rain at the glass.
"Do you want to talk about these nightmares?" Edric asked, setting the parchment aside.
Thor hesitated. The maester had always been kind to him, had treated him no differently than Stannis or Althera despite his weird behaviour. But could he trust him with this?
'No', thought
Before he could say anything, the door to the solar swung open. Althera stood in the doorway, her dark hair damp from the rain, her expression determined.
"So this is where you've been hiding," she said, striding into the room.
"Lady Althera," Maester Edric greeted her with a slight bow of his head. "We were just finishing our lessons."
"Good," she said, fixing her gaze on Thor. "Because my brother and I need to talk."
Thor suppressed a groan. "Can it wait? I've been sitting here for hours, and my brain is turning to soup."
"No, it can't," Althera replied firmly. She turned to the maester. "May we have the room?"
Edric glanced between the siblings, then slowly rose to his feet. "Of course, my lady. Young lord, shall we continue tomorrow?"
Thor nodded, resigned. "Thank you for the lessons, Maester."
"Knowledge is a shield and a sword," Edric replied, gathering his books. "Wield it well." With a final nod to Althera, he departed, the door closing softly behind him.
As soon as they were alone, Althera crossed her arms. "You've been avoiding me."
"I've been busy," Thor countered.
"For three days?" She arched an eyebrow. "Even at meals, you sit as far from me as possible. And you practically run when I enter a room."
Thor sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I needed time to think."
"About what happened in the yard." It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Care to explain it?"
Thor ran a hand through his violet hair—the legacy of his unknown mother, a constant reminder of his difference. "I can't explain what I don't understand."
Althera pulled out the chair Maester Edric had vacated and sat across from Thor. "Try."
Her tone was gentler now, and when Thor met her eyes, he saw genuine concern beneath her usual sharp demeanor.
"I don't know where to start," he admitted.
"The beginning is traditional," she suggested, a hint of her usual sass returning.
Thor almost smiled. "Which beginning? The nightmares? The feeling in my chest? The way the lightning seems to... recognize me?"
Althera frowned. "What do you mean, recognize you?"
Thor hesitated, then extended his hand, palm up. "I can feel it. Every strike. Like it's calling to me."
As if on cue, lightning flashed outside, and Thor's fingers twitched involuntarily. Althera's eyes widened.
"How long?" she asked.
"Forever," Thor replied. "But it's been getting stronger. Ever since..." He trailed off.
"Since when?"
Thor took a deep breath. "Since my 11th name day."
Althera leaned forward. "That was four months ago. You've been dealing with this alone for that long?"
"What was I supposed to say?" Thor stood abruptly, pacing to the window. Rain streamed down the glass, distorting the world outside. "'Good morn, FATHER!! BROTHER !!! SISTER!!!!! I think I might be able to control storms. Pass the bread?'"
"You could have told me," Althera said quietly.
Thor turned to face her. "Would you have believed me?"
"I believe what I saw three days ago." She stood as well, moving to join him by the window. "The storm followed you, Thor. It came when you were in pain. It left when you calmed." She searched his face. "That's not normal, even for a Baratheon."
"I know," he whispered.
For a moment, they stood in silence, watching the rain. Then Althera spoke again, her voice unusually gentle.
"Who is Jane?"
Thor tensed. "I don't know."
"You said her name. When you were..." She gestured vaguely. "When the storm was at its worst."
"It's just a name from a dream," Thor said, though he wasn't sure if that was true. The name felt important, like a key to a lock he couldn't see.
"Stannis thinks—"
"I don't care what Stannis thinks," Thor interrupted, more sharply than intended.
Althera raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you do. You've spent your entire life trying to impress him."
Thor couldn't deny it. Despite their seven names day age difference, he'd always looked up to his serious half-brother. Stannis represented everything a Baratheon should be—strong, reliable, unflinching.
"What does he think?" Thor asked finally.
"He thinks you're dangerous," Althera said bluntly. "But he also thinks you don't mean to be."
Thunder rumbled overhead, as if in response to Thor's emotions. "And you? Do you think I'm dangerous?"
Althera studied him for a long moment. "I think you're my brother. And I think you're scared."
The simple truth of it hit Thor like a physical blow. His shoulders sagged, and he leaned against the window frame.
"I am," he admitted. "I don't know what's happening to me, Althera. I feel like..." He searched for the words. "Like I'm two people. The one I've always been, and someone else. Someone with memories I can't quite reach and powers I can't control."
Althera placed a hand on his arm—a rare gesture of affection. "Then let me help you."
"How?"
"We start by figuring out what triggers it," she said practically. "The storm came when you were exhausted from training. When your defenses were down."
Thor nodded slowly. "That makes sense. When I dream of... the other place... it's always strongest when I wake up. Before I remember who I am."
"The other place?" Althera prompted.
Thor hesitated, then decided to trust her completely. "In my dreams, I'm somewhere else. Not Westeros. It's a realm of light and color and impossible bridges. There are buildings that touch the sky and weapons that shoot fire without dragonglass or wildfire." He looked at her, waiting for disbelief or mockery.
Instead, she simply asked, "Do you have a different name there?"
The question startled him. "I... I think so. But I can never quite hear it when people call to me."
Althera nodded thoughtfully. "Father should know about this."
"No!" Thor's response was immediate and forceful. "He has enough to worry about."
"Thor—"
"Please, Althera." He gripped her arms. "Give me time to understand it first. To control it."
She looked as though she wanted to argue, but something in his expression changed her mind. "Fine. But if it happens again—if another storm comes because of you—I'm telling him."
"Fair enough," Thor agreed, relieved.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted them. Before either could respond, it swung open to reveal Stannis. His tall frame filled the doorway, his expression as stormy as the weather outside.
"I've been looking for you both," he said without preamble.
"We were just discussing the weather," Althera said lightly.
Stannis's eyes flicked to Thor. "Were you?"
Thor met his brother's gaze evenly. "Among other things."
For a moment, tension crackled between them like the lightning outside. Then Stannis stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him.
"Father returns tomorrow," he announced. "The disputes in the Marches are settled, for now."
"That's good news," Thor said cautiously.
"Is it?" Stannis moved to the fire, warming his hands. "He'll want to know why a freak storm destroyed half the training yard three days ago."
"I'll tell him it was the weather," Althera offered.
Stannis shot her a withering look. "The weather doesn't behave like that, sister. Not naturally."
"What are you suggesting?" Thor asked, though he already knew.
Stannis turned to face him fully. "I'm not suggesting anything. I'm stating what we all saw." He took a step closer. "The storm came from you, Thor."
The bluntness of it hung in the air between them. Thor didn't deny it—couldn't deny it—but neither did he confirm it.
"I don't know what happened," he said finally.
"Don't lie to me," Stannis replied, his voice quiet but intense. "Not about this."
Thor felt the familiar pressure building in his chest, the storm stirring within. "I'm not lying. I don't understand it any more than you do."
"But you know it's real," Stannis pressed. "You know it's connected to you."
Thunder boomed overhead, and all three siblings glanced up instinctively.
"Yes," Thor admitted. "I know."
The confession seemed to release some of the tension in the room. Stannis nodded, as if he'd expected nothing less.
"Show me," he said.
Thor blinked. "What?"
"Show me what you can do."
"Stannis," Althera interjected, "he just said he doesn't understand it."
"Which is why he needs to practice," Stannis replied, never taking his eyes off Thor. "Control comes through knowledge and repetition. If he can summon it, he can learn to control it."
"It's not that simple," Thor protested. "It's not like swinging a sword or shooting an arrow. It's... it's inside me. Part of me."
"All the more reason to master it," Stannis said firmly. "Before it masters you."
Thor hesitated, looking to Althera. She seemed conflicted but gave him a small nod of encouragement.
"I don't know how to summon it deliberately," Thor said.
"What were you feeling when it happened?" Stannis asked.
Thor thought back to the training yard, to the moment the wooden sword had split and the heavens had opened. "Exhaustion. Pain." He paused. "And something else. A kind of... power. Like lightning in my blood."
"Can you feel it now?" Althera asked.
Thor closed his eyes, listening to the storm outside and the one within. "Yes. It's always there. But quieter sometimes."
"And what makes it louder?" Stannis prompted.
"Strong emotions," Thor realized. "Anger. Fear." He opened his eyes. "The training—pushing myself to the limit—it weakened whatever keeps it contained."
Stannis nodded thoughtfully. "Then perhaps that's where we start."
"By making me angry?" Thor asked incredulously.
"By helping you face those emotions in a controlled environment," Stannis corrected. "Not the training yard. Somewhere isolated."
"The Whispering Tower," Althera suggested. "No one goes there except during storms."
"Which makes it perfect," Stannis agreed. "We'll start tomorrow night, after Father returns."
Thor shook his head. "He can't know."
"He already suspects something is different about you," Stannis said bluntly. "He's not blind, Thor."
"Different is one thing," Thor replied. "This is..." He gestured helplessly. "This is madness."
"This is who you are," Althera said quietly. "At least part of who you are."
The simple acceptance in her voice nearly undid him. Thor turned away, fighting the sudden burn of tears.
"What if I can't control it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if I hurt someone?"
"You won't," Stannis said with such certainty that Thor had to look at him. "You're a Baratheon, whatever else you might be. And Baratheons master storms; we don't fall to them."
It was as close to a vote of confidence as Stannis had ever given him. Thor straightened, feeling something settle in his chest—not the storm quieting, but his resolve strengthening.
"Alright," he said. "Tomorrow night."
Stannis nodded once, then turned to leave. At the door, he paused. "In the meantime, try not to bring the castle down around us."
It might have been a joke, but with Stannis, it was hard to tell.
After he left, Thor and Althera stood in companionable silence for a moment.
"He's right, you know," Althera said finally. "Father does suspect something."
"What has he said?" Thor asked.
Althera smiled faintly. "Nothing directly. But I've caught him watching you when you're not looking. Especially during storms."
Thor considered this. "Do you think he knows? About what I can do?"
"I think," Althera said carefully, "that Father has secrets of his own. We all do."
The cryptic response didn't satisfy Thor, but he recognized the futility of pressing further. Althera kept confidences well, especially their father's.
"I should let you rest," she said, moving toward the door. "Controlling storms sounds exhausting."
"Althera," Thor called as she reached for the handle. "Thank you. For not thinking I'm... wrong somehow."
She turned back, her expression serious. "You're not wrong, Thor. You're just different." A smile tugged at her lips. "Besides, having a brother who can call lightning might be useful someday."
With that, she was gone, leaving Thor alone with the fire, the rain, and the storm inside him.
He moved back to the window, pressing his palm against the cold glass. Outside, lightning forked across the sky, and he felt an answering spark in his veins. This time, he didn't fight it. He let it wash through him, a current of power that was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
I am Thor Baratheon, he thought. Son of Gendry. Brother of Stannis and Althera. And something more.
The lightning flashed again, closer this time, illuminating the courtyard below. For just a moment, Thor thought he saw a figure standing in the rain, looking up at his window—a man with hands in his pockets judging.
But when the next flash came, there was no one there.
Just the rain, the wind, and the endless storm.
'pockets hmmm foreign word' he thought
"You're not your brother," he recalled Maester Edric saying. "And that's not an insult. Stannis is the blade. But you... you're something still being forged."
Thor didn't answer the memory. He didn't need to. He just stared into the storm outside, listening to its call. It would rage all night. It always did. But Storm's End still stood.
And so did he.
AUTHOR'S NOTE :- I EDIT EM LOKE THIS CUZ I WANT MY STORY TO BE LISTENING FROIENDLY.
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Chapter End
Smiley Face
I edit the