Work Text:
STEFFON & CASSANA SURVIVE AU
The day their parents’ ship is due back to port, Robert and Stannis are standing on the parapet of Storm’s End, the lashing wind turning their faces ruddy and the salt spray from the sea stinging their eyes. Their youngest brother, downstairs in his cradle, screams with all his might, but is drowned out by the howl of the storm. Stannis is the first to spot the sails on the horizon, prow battling through the crashing waves and the whole boat bobbing around like a cork. Beside him, Robert shouts, waving his arms; beneath them, Renly continues to scream, the wet nurse unable to console him no matter how she tries.
The rocks of Shipbreaker Bay are treacherous; that is how it got its name. And yet, the storm abates just as Steffon and Cassana Baratheon’s ship begins to make its way to harbour, the wind dropping off, the sea smoothing out to lying as flat as glass. Silence falls, broken only by the thin wailing of the crying baby downstairs. Steffon’s silver-streaked dark head appears on deck, leading their mother by the hand, and Robert and Stannis race down the stairs to the entrance hall to be wrapped in their mother’s arms and have their hair ruffled by their father.
Renly is brought down a few moments later, still squalling and kicking in his swaddling clothes, tiny face scrunched up and red; the second his mother takes him, his eyes blink open, wide and tearful and as blue as the sea, and he calms. She coos at him, offering him her finger, and he wraps a small hand around it and gurgles, rewarding her with a wide, toothless smile.
RENLY AT THE TOURNEY AT HARRENHAL/A DORNISH QUEEN OF LOVE AND BEAUTY AU
‘Harrenhal has a terrible grim prospect, my lord,’ Bryte remarks to Robert as they ride through the twisted, melted gates, ‘but I hear the tourney is to be something to behold.’
‘Held in honour of the Whent girl’s name day, I imagine so,’ Robert grunts, and turns to the child riding beside him, all huge blue eyes and black hair curling around his collar, hardly old enough to sit his pony. ‘You’re to stay out of the way, not go running off, and pay attention to Cressen, you hear?’
‘Yes, Robert,’ Renly nods, staring up at the towers above them and imagining the great thudding of beating wings, the searing heat of dragonfire on the skin. He opens his mouth and screams, making his pony startle and bolt. A quick-thinking steward grabs her reins and drags her to a halt before she can throw him.
Robert is furious. ‘What in the seven hells were you playing at, you little fool? You could have gotten yourself killed!’
‘I wanted to know how it would feel to be a dragon,’ Renly answers, and Robert turns away in disgust as the steward lifts him down.
The tourney is indeed a sight to behold, more colours and people than Renly has ever seen before in his life; pride of place in the royal box is the prince himself, silver-haired and fair as a maiden, with his Dornish bride beside him and their daughter on her lap. Rhaegar Targaryen rides that day, and when he approaches the Stark girl with the garland extended on the tip of his lance, the whole stadium holds it breath. But he canters on and stops before his daughter, with her dark curling Dornish hair and her violet eyes like stars, and holds out the wreath of blue winter roses to her mother, who removes the golden sunburst circlet from her head to crown herself the queen of spring and tie her favour to the end of his lance, and the prince’s eyes are bright.
ROBERT LOSES THE REBELLION AU
The ‘Mad’ King Aerys lives up to his name in the aftermath of the rebellion that killed his son, the crown prince, and passed the mantle on to a boy no more than a babe in arms. Elia of Dorne had hidden in her chambers, Rhaenys and Aegon clutched to her chest, for fear that Baratheon men-at-arms would crash through the oak doors and dash out their brains in front of her. No soldiers came; instead came the pealing of the bells, a cry that peace was long-fought and hard won; it was the body of Robert Baratheon that was dragged, semi-conscious, through the streets of King’s Landing to be jailed until fit to stand trial. King Aerys ensures that both brothers attend the trial, throughout which seven-year-old Renly weeps into his cloak and Stannis stands, straight-backed and jaw clenched, to watch. The ever-martial Robert demands a trial by combat; Aerys, only too happy to concur, names wildfire as his champion, the birthright of a dragon, and Robert Baratheon is torched in front of the only family remaining to him, Renly’s eyes reflecting the green of the flames.
STANNIS SPARES RENLY’S LIFE AU
The meeting at Bitterbridge of two stags is a battle of words as well as a clash of arms. Renly’s glib jests and sarcastic asides set Stannis’ teeth to grinding, his temper – usually so well restrained – to simmering beneath the surface. Beside him, the red woman watches the younger brother with cool crimson eyes, a dissecting gaze as if imagining exactly how she would pick him apart into all the composite pieces of a man, a king, a traitor. Renly pays her as little heed as he pays the redheaded woman at his own side, dismissing her as a Northerner, unused to these Southron intrigues.
Later that night, after he has sent Loras from his tent with a hitch in his step and new prayers upon his tongue, Renly goes for a walk, slipping past the watchful eyes of his kingsguard in a disguise of plain raiment. He meets with Davos, Stannis’ advisor and – if it can be believed of his brother – a true friend; Renly swears he will never bend the knee, and Davos advises if it is not his knee, it will be his neck, before a sword.
The battle is waged the following morning. Renly is brought, dazed and bleeding from a wound to the head, in front of his brother, thrown down in a crash of dented armour at his feet like a child’s discarded toy. Stannis’ only words are, ‘Get him out of my sight.’ Uncommonly merciful. And so, Renly goes; to where, it is not known. The Wall, perhaps, to live out his days in black. Or across the Narrow Sea, as the Targaryen prince and princess did before him. Perhaps he will come back again, to test his brother’s strength; but for now, Stannis is ruler of this small corner of their broken kingdom, and there are more battles to be fought.
KING RENLY BARATHEON, FIRST OF HIS NAME AU
There is always two members of the Kingsguard stationed outside the door to the royal chambers, and another inside. Today, Ser Loras Tyrell has twin duties, as sworn sword to his king and queen; and as a brother to his sister, who screams and rails and rages against her husband as she bears down to bring his child into the world. Renly, who is squeamish around what lies between a woman’s legs in the first place, and more so about blood, is standing by the window, back to the bed, breathless and frantic. At his side, Loras Tyrell runs his hands through the king’s hair, speaking soothing words, stroking his thumb over Renly’s bearded cheek.
The cry of a newborn draws not only the young knight’s attention, but the king’s as well. The queen, now serene and glowing with the flush in her cheeks and the dew of sweat on her brow, cradles a baby against her chest, a tiny creature with hair the colour of coal and deep blue eyes. She offers him to the king, and Renly takes the child, sitting by her side to watch the baby’s mouth open and close, eyes blinking sleepily and small hands waving. Like any number of fathers before him, he strokes the boy’s cheek, watches him root towards the touch, and smiles.
‘We have made him,’ he says softly, ‘we three,’ and the queen nods, her brother already swearing in his heart that this is not a loss, but a gain.