Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

And you see the things they never see,
All you wanted, I could be.
Now you know me, and I’m not afraid.
And I want to tell you who I am,
Can you help me be a man?
They can’t break me, as long as I know who I am.

Lyrics from “I’m Still Here” by Johnny Reznik, as performed in Disney’s Treasure Planet

Ser Jon,

I knew it! Didn’t I tell you that you’d have a “Ser” in front of your name the next time I saw you? Ser Rodrik says it’s quite an accomplishment to be knighted when you’ve only seen sixteen namedays, and he asked me to pass on a warning not to get too conceited. And that he’s still able to knock you flat on your back in the practice yard.

Jon smiled at Robb’s words. The sun was shining and the Narrow Sea was calm, especially as seen from the Sea Dragon Tower of Dragonstone where the lord of the island kept his solar and personal rooms. It was hard to believe that autumn had just arrived. While Stannis Baratheon frowned deeply at a number of messages of his own, Jon took a moment to enjoy a carefree conversation with his brother and best friend.

Jon’s new knightly title was not due to any great deeds in battle, but rather the unexpected result of saving Stannis from drowning in Shipbreaker Bay. “Every knight takes vows to defend the innocent, protect the weak, and stay loyal to his liege lord,” Stannis had said. “Gifting a barrel of onions and salt fish to a starving man is just as chivalrous as defeating the man who kidnapped and raped your betrothed. Or perhaps as chivalrous as saving your lord from drowning during a terrible storm.” Ser Rodrik’s warning wouldn’t be difficult to heed. From his experience, Jon knew that Stannis had as much tolerance for conceit as he did drinking and whoring, and Jon had no desire to ruin the respect that had slowly developed between them over the past year or so. Along with a knighthood, Stannis had also gifted him a magnificent bastard sword with a direwolf-shaped pommel named Clash, and Jon hoped his lord would never regret his generosity. For “Stannis Baratheon” and “generous” rarely appeared in the same sentence.

Have you thought of taking a new name for yourself? “Ghostwolf” has a nice ring to it, as I’m sure your direwolf would agree. And Ghost would accept nothing less than a white direwolf with red eyes for a sigil.

Jon had not seriously thought of choosing a new name or sigil for himself, and Stannis hadn’t mentioned it. We both know which name I’ve always wanted. I’m just as much a Stark of Winterfell as my brothers and sisters. The Old Gods surely knew that, or else why would there have been a direwolf for me? Robb had likely meant no offence with his question, but Jon still felt stung by it. Ever since that day in the Winterfell practice yard when Robb had declared that Jon could never be the Lord of Winterfell due to his bastard status, they had had an unspoken agreement never to bring up the topic again. Robb had been and would always be the heir to Winterfell, the next Lord Stark to wield Ice and to be buried in the ancient crypts with a stone direwolf at his side. While Jon would always remain a Snow.

Jon supposed that he would never get over his jealousy of Robb, no matter how much love he held for his brother. That wasn’t necessarily a failing unique to him, as Jon knew that men older and wiser than he had held grudges and resentment for decades—Stannis, for instance. Jon still cringed at the memory of the time he had asked his lord if he loved his brothers or not. Stannis had lost his normally reserved composure and started shouting, bitterly pointing out how lucky Jon was that none of his brothers had ever insulted, snubbed, or wished another in his place. Jon also had suspicions that Stannis was jealous of father, despite how much Stannis professed to trust and respect Lord Eddard Stark. But he would never dare ask. Let Stannis keep his secrets, just as I do mine. Jon returned to the rest of the letter:

Bran has become quite good at riding a horse, with the special saddle Tyrion Lannister designed for him. Though he seems more withdrawn since his fall, he’s eagerly taken to learning archery from horseback. Arya still loves taking dancing lessons from the strange little Braavosi man, though I don’t think she’s improved any. She still managed to step on my feet when mother insisted she show what she’s been learning. Sansa’s daydreams about marrying Prince Joffrey have become ridiculous, though I thank all the gods that it’s many years before the wedding can actually take place.

Robb’s lines about Sansa brought Jon’s current situation back to the forefront of his mind. Sansa would never have to marry that little shit of a prince, for Joffrey was neither a prince nor a true Baratheon but the bastard son of Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime Lannister. The same was true of young Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella. Stannis had known these truths for longer than he cared to admit, but instead of just sitting on Dragonstone, Stannis had taken action to inform Lord Renly about the incest. Stannis was now waiting for a sign before he did anything more, some message from Lord Renly or the King’s Hand Lord Estermont.

Jon glanced over at Stannis, whose deep frown now shared company with grinding teeth. He guessed that the expected sign must have arrived.

I wish you well, and may we see each other before winter comes.

Your brother,
Robb

~

As Jon read his raven from Winterfell with a slight smile on his face, Stannis’ attention was occupied by ravens carrying darker tidings. And those tidings didn’t include Eddard Stark informing him that Lord Commander Mormont of the Night’s Watch had marched beyond the Wall to investigate disturbing reports brought back by his rangers, all after nearly being killed by a thrall of the undead. The living are currently giving me too many problems, and I don’t have time to spare thoughts on the dead. Stark, at least, was keeping his promise to be vigilant about the events at the Wall, the reason he turned down Robert’s request to be Hand of the King. Now if only Renly can keep his promises and not undo all of my plans to bring Cersei and Jaime Lannister to justice for incest, adultery, and treason.

Stannis and Renly had recently hashed out a plan at Storm’s End to deal with the Lannisters and strengthen Robert’s hold on the Iron Throne: Renly would travel back to King’s Landing and inform their maternal grandfather and Hand of the King Lord Estermont of the incest, who would in turn inform Ser Barristan and ready the City Watch. Renly would then gallop off to muster troops from the Reach and the Stormlands, with the aim to march on and protect King’s Landing before Tywin Lannister even got word that his precious children had been imprisoned—which would happen as soon as Stannis gave the command. And where was Robert in all of this? Robert was to be purposely kept in the dark until Cersei and Jaime were behind bars, as a means to prevent him from doing something rash such as bashing in the Lannister twins’ heads with his war hammer. Robert would be angry, of course, but Robert’s anger was something that Stannis had dealt with his entire life. It was always terrible to behold, but it burnt itself out quick enough.

Stannis spread out two small pieces of parchment on his desk. Renly’s maester had written to say that the Lord of Storm’s End was enjoying Highgarden’s summer masquerades, along with new loyal friends from all corners of the Reach. As well, the boar hunting had been magnificent as of late, for the young lord had speared one in the Kingswood and two in the forests around Highgarden. The hunting escapades were likely true, for Renly never missed a chance to brag about his prowess in…anything really. The masquerades were the agreed upon code for an army and an alliance with the Tyrells, so that was in order. Good. Lord Estermont had little to say except that everything was set, and he was only waiting for Lord Stannis’ command.

Stannis looked out the window. A white raven had arrived from the Citadel no less than a week ago—along with young Maester Pylos, who was to assist Maester Cressen in his old age. It didn’t feel like autumn, not really, but it was inevitable that the longest summer in recent memory would have to come to an end sometime. He wondered what Jon thought of autumn in the South, if it was hotter than high summer ever was at Winterfell. Technically it was Ser Jon now, but Stannis didn’t really see Ned Stark’s bastard son any differently than before. Jon was still young and had much to learn, and Stannis intended to involve him as much as possible in the planning and execution of the coming war.

It would come to arms, for Tywin Lannister was not the type of man to sit idly by while his family name was besmirched with allegations of treason. Stannis had no real desire to fight another war. The easiest wars were the ones where there was no doubt as to who the enemy was, where the enemy had gone out of his way to make his intentions clear. Such as Balon Greyjoy’s reckless rebellion. The current situation was more delicate. Cersei would never admit to cuckolding her husband, so the Crown would have to convince the realm that the Baratheons weren’t swapping a Lannister queen for a Tyrell queen out of spite.

Stannis turned his attention back to the messages on his desk.

Everything is set, Lord Stannis. We await your return from Dragonstone.

He dipped his quill into a pot of ink and deliberately wrote two words on a fresh sheet of parchment addressed to the Lord Hand:

Act now.

~

“Father says there’s going to be a battle.”

“Perhaps. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

Jon was with Shireen on her favorite beach, the dragon-shaped towers of Dragonstone’s castle looming in the distance. He was due to sail with Stannis to King’s Landing in a fortnight, along with all the ships and men at Stannis’ disposal who weren’t integral to the defense of Dragonstone. Jon was skipping rocks into the sea, watching the ripples the smooth stones made in the water while Shireen threw pieces of driftwood for Ghost to fetch.

“Father doesn’t usually lie. He’s told me again and again the importance of telling the truth, even if it’s a bitter draught to swallow.” A few strands of jet-black hair had come loose from her neat braid.

Jon let out a dry laugh. “I won’t disagree with you there, my lady.”

“Ser Davos has said the same thing. I think that’s why he and father get along so well. If only it was the same way with father and mother.”

It was common knowledge on Dragonstone that the lord and lady had a cold marriage, and speculation as to why they didn’t have more children ranged from Lady Selyse being barren to Lord Stannis purposely shunning his wife’s bed. But what was Jon to say to their daughter?

“I know that father and mother don’t like each other very much,” continued Shireen sadly. “Just because I’m a young girl doesn’t mean I’m oblivious to everything going on around me. Mother doesn’t like you either, which I don’t understand.”

“You don’t?” asked Jon carefully. He’d rather stay away from such a difficult topic, especially since he didn’t know when he’d next have the opportunity to be relaxed and carefree with Shireen—who’d been his friend ever since he’d set foot on Dragonstone. But just like Stannis, Shireen had a propensity to think too much, to think too much about serious matters that she could never change.

“She says it’s because you’re bastard born, believe in heathen gods, and bring shame upon father. That doesn’t make any sense! Father never goes to the sept or prays to the Seven, so mother should call him a heathen to be fair. Also, if father truly thought that you were disgracing him, he wouldn’t have taken you to visit his bannermen or given you Clash or talked…”

“Shireen,” said Jon, cutting her off and hoping that his voice didn’t sound too harsh. “Lady Selyse is never going to like me.” Just like Lady Catelyn. “There’s likely nothing you or I can do to change her mind, so let the matter be.”

Shireen opened her mouth to say something more, but thankfully Ghost chose an opportune time to come back with a large piece of driftwood. He promptly laid it at her feet.

“I have something for you,” Shireen said without any preamble. Ghost immediately pushed his nose into her right hand, as if expecting a treat.

“Not you!” Shireen admonished the direwolf, a stern look on her face that reminded Jon so very much of Stannis. She reached into one of the pockets of her dress and drew out a small piece of grey cloth, handing it to him. Jon examined it, noting its softness and the white stitching along the border. Shireen was watching him, a faint blush curiously appearing on her cheeks.

“The embroidery isn’t the best, but I’ve never tried to make such a complicated design before.”

Jon immediately saw what she was referring to, for in one of the corners of the grey cloth was a white direwolf with red eyes and a doe—a doe with blue eyes and a dark grey cheek.

“So this is you and Ghost?”

“No. You’re the direwolf.” Shireen’s blush deepened, and Jon couldn’t remember her ever having trouble meeting his eyes. “No knight should go into battle without a favor from his lady, and since you don’t have a wife yet and your sisters are so far away and you’ve never met your mother…” Her voice trailed off.

“The embroidery is very good,” said Jon sincerely. “My sister Sansa is better than you, but she’s older and has had much more practice. Arya, though…” Jon smiled at the memory of his favorite little sister, remembering how she had once stitched whatever cloth her septa had her practicing on right onto her dress. “Arya would rather fight with her needles than sew.”

Shireen seemed pleased by that, but then her face fell. “I want you and father to come back more than anything. Father won’t promise that he’ll come back, saying that it would be wrong to give me false hope.”

I wonder if Stannis’ parents gave him false hope before they sailed away on their fateful voyage…

It was like saying goodbye to Arya all over again, and Jon wished that there was something more he could give to this bright, kind-hearted little girl so that she wouldn’t be so sad at his leaving. He’d given Arya Needle, but Shireen had no interest in weapons. She loved to read, but books were frightfully expensive, and the Dragonstone library already had more volumes than anyone could hope to read in a lifetime.

Jon stretched out a hand to ruffle Shireen’s hair, and Shireen took that opening to give him a fierce hug, burying her face in his chest. Jon closed his eyes, listening to the wind and the crash of the waves all around him.

~

Stannis was enjoying a quiet evening in his solar, the last one he would have before sailing to his third war on the morrow. Naturally, what made the evening even more enjoyable was a good meal, water mixed with fresh lemons, and a trusted companion. Ser Davos always patiently listened to him, and any objections of his were for good reason instead of for the sake of starting an argument. That’s why it’s so hard to work with Robert and Renly. Everything usually turns into an argument with them. Stannis idly wondered if his apprehension at sailing to King’s Landing had more to do with seeing his brothers than the possibility of battle. He wished that he could take Ser Davos with him to the Red Keep, but that would be selfish of him, especially when a man of Davos’ sailing experience was needed on Dragonstone.

Davos had just finished giving Stannis a thorough report of the status and location of all the ships on the island, including those from the Royal Fleet, those from Dragonstone’s bannermen, and Stannis’ personal ships. Everything was in order, though many of the sailors and fighting men were growing restless from not knowing what the threat to King’s Landing was. They’ll know soon enough, when Robert announces Cersei’s treasons to the realm.

“Ser Davos,” began Stannis, “I’m appointing you Dragonstone’s castellan in my absence.”

Davos had been in the middle of raising his goblet to his lips, but at Stannis’ statement he paused, carefully setting the goblet back on the table in front of him. He seemed puzzled.

“Castellan? But Ser Axell Florent has served you ably for many years, managing the castle during your time in King’s Landing and most recently your trips to Winterfell and Storm’s End.”

“Ser Axell serves me because he hopes I can grant him and his family royal favor, royal appointments, and advantageous marriages thought my connections in court. If my wife didn’t claim to love him like a father, he and a number of his loathsome relations would never have set foot on Dragonstone.” Better that the Florents be my family instead of the Tyrells, though it looks like Margaery Tyrell is slated to be my future good-sister. Still, reasoned Stannis, I’d rather have Margaery be queen than Lady of Storm’s End.

Stannis steepled his fingers together, looking at Davos more intently.

“You, Ser Davos, have never tried to use me or my family name for anything. True, you were after gold when you brought your onions and salt fish to Storm’s End all those years ago, but I justly rewarded you for them. Now you are a landed knight with your own ship and bright futures for your seven sons, and you’re content to loyally serve me.”

Davos raised his eyebrows, and Stannis realized the gravity of what he had just said.

“At least that’s what I believe, or else I’m being played for the biggest fool in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Davos’ eyes softened, and a small smile suddenly appeared on his face. “I’ve never played a man false. At least not those who didn’t deserve it.”

Stannis snorted.

“As castellan, you will make sure that Dragonstone’s affairs run as smoothly as they always have. Keep collecting taxes on merchant ships, make sure the garrison performs their daily drills, and see to it that my household remains in good order. I will be leaving a good portion of the Royal Fleet here, and should any Lannister ships appear I expect you to mount a defense and destroy them while still at sea. My men here have been told to report to you if they have any questions or concerns.”

“But my lord,” objected Davos. “I cannot read. Nor write.”

“You’ve managed your lands on Cape Wrath admirably these past sixteen years without knowing your letters. Maester Cressen can read for you, as well as Maester Pylos. If the matter still concerns you, you are welcome to ask them to instruct you. My stewards as well, and if they dare to disobey you, appoint new ones.”

“Of course. I assure you that Dragonstone will remain safe.”

Stannis waved those words away. He didn’t need to hear them, especially from Davos.

“Other than acting as castellan, I want you here for my wife and daughter.”

Davos looked at him curiously. “Shireen I could understand. But Lady Selyse speaks to me no more than she has to, and even then it’s usually through one of her servants or ladies in waiting.”

“I need you here as a smuggler, not as a companion. If something were to happen to Dragonstone, such as the Lannisters sacking it or the volcano suddenly erupting, I want them smuggled to safety.”

“Where to?”

“Winterfell.”

“Winterfell?”

“You sound surprised, Ser Davos. Do you have an old smuggler’s hideout that you believe I should use instead?” Davos shook his head as Stannis continued. “I don’t think that Ned Stark has it in him to deny an innocent mother and child.”

“I’m glad to hear that you’re finally friends with Lord Stark.”

“Stark is no friend of mine and never has been,” replied Stannis automatically. “But he’s a good man, I’ll give you that.”

Davos frowned. “He trusted you with his son.”

“His wife wanted to get rid of that same son. Stark told me as much.”

Davos looked like he quite wanted to say something more. Usually, Stannis would ask him, but right now he no patience to talk about dutiful, honorable Ned Stark. Besides, there was no real need, as Stark was up in the frozen North worrying about the snows and the undead.

Davos dropped the topic. “I eagerly await your return, my lord. I pray that this will be a short war or no war at all.”

Stannis met his faithful knight’s eyes. “I hope your prayers work, Davos, if only because I’ll never have the same faith as you. And if you think that wars are short…they never are.”

~

Jon stood on the prow of Stannis’ most impressive and favorite warship Fury, waiting for King’s Landing to appear. Ghost sat silently next to him. Shireen’s favor was in his hands, and Jon idly traced the direwolf and stag neatly stitched into the fabric. He was touched by the gesture, though the whole situation was absurd—he would never be anyone’s knight in shining armor. Ser Loras Tyrell, perhaps. He was the type of knight ladies would sigh over, not to mention that his jeweled armor literally shined. Ghost nosed at the tiny doe.

“Are you going to miss her too?” asked Jon, stroking the white fur on the wolf’s head. Ghost, of course, didn’t reply, but he did bare his teeth when Jon added: “You’ll have to earn your keep now, for I won’t spoil you like the future Lady of Dragonstone does.”

“What’s that in your hands?”

Jon started at Stannis’ voice. Ghost slunk away, no small feat given that he was now larger than a common wolf. Jon’s first instinct was to hide Shireen’s favor and then steal away like his wolf, worried that Stannis would draw the wrong conclusion. Still, he handed it over nevertheless, watching as Stannis studied it.

“Shireen made it for me,” said Jon, a bit warily.

“My daughter has too much time on her hands if she can embroider such intricate favors.”

To Jon’s surprise, Stannis reached inside his tunic and pulled out a neatly folded white piece of fabric. He held it out, and Jon could see a dark grey-cheeked doe and a stag with a handsome set of antlers.

“When I next see Shireen, I must tell her that it’s improper for a lady to give her favor to multiple men.”

His face was hard and gave nothing away as usual, but after a while Jon began to notice the edges of Stannis’ mouth turn up into a smile.

“If I disapproved of the amount of time Shireen spends with you, I would already have told you. It’s good for her to spend time with someone her age, rather than her fool and my wife’s companions who croak like trained crows. And she’s likely sewn one for Ser Davos as well.”

Jon let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Shireen reminds me of my little sister Arya. I miss her very much, and she always liked it when I ruffled her hair.”

Stannis simply nodded, a knowing look on his face. Stannis has seen how often Arya writes to me, more than the rest of my siblings put together save for Robb, thought Jon. That must explain his look. Stannis put the embroidered stags back inside his tunic and handed Jon’s direwolf and doe back to him.

Before long, Jon started to see red-colored towers in the distance, as well as buildings on two other high hills. He stared at the approaching city in fascination, having heard tales of the decadent city his entire life. Though Jon’s fascination was nowhere near Sansa’s imagination at how wonderful and sophisticated the place must be. Sansa had been quite jealous of the fact that he might get to visit King’s Landing while she remained at Winterfell, and she had made Jon promise to write her about the Red Keep and the fashions worn by the ladies at court. And their hairstyles, as if Jon ever truly noticed anything except whether a lady’s hair was up or down.

Stannis, naturally, ground his teeth when King’s Landing came into view.

“Be glad that you’re approaching King’s Landing by sea instead of by land.”

“Why so, my lord?”

“Stronger men than you have fainted from the smell of it, which the sea masks to a certain extent.”

Jon cocked his head. “That seems hard to believe.”

“Do you remember White Harbor?”

Jon nodded.

“White Harbor is but a village when compared to King’s Landing, though it is infinitely better designed and managed. Lord Manderly might be too fat to sit a horse, but he knows how keep his city clean—for dirt and other filth are more obvious on white stone than wood and mud bricks. Do you remember what the city smelled like?”

“It smelled like the sea.” That was one smell that Jon had gotten used to during his time with Stannis. “Salt was in the air, and the harbor smelled like fish.”

“Yes. Normal, clean smells. King’s Landing had no sewer system until one of the Targaryen kings realized that the stench from refuse being tossed into the streets and the Blackwater Rush was only a mere inconvenience compared to the disease that stemmed from it. Still, the stink from the sheer mass of people is enough to make any sane person vomit.”

“So I take it you prefer Dragonstone to King’s Landing, then?”

Stannis narrowed his eyes at him.

“As I’ve said before, Dragonstone is a pile of rocks with no redeeming features except for its strategic location. The Lord of Dragonstone collects taxes from passing merchant and trading ships, and he protects the capitol from pirate sloops and invading navies. King’s Landing, on the other hand…” Stannis frowned and looked straight ahead, disgust written on his face. “King’s Landing is the biggest, the richest, the most powerful, and the most diverse of all the cities in Westeros. But it is also the most polluted, the filthiest, the most violent, and the most corrupt. More vipers reside in the Red Keep than in the entirety of Dorne, and if only it were as easy to capture and roast them.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. Stannis’ cynicism was nothing new, and he usually had good reason for it. But surely the capitol wasn’t as bad as he was making it out to be…

“Are you sufficiently terrified, Ser Jon?”

When Jon didn’t respond immediately, Stannis added: “You’d be a fool if you weren’t.”

“Say that I am a fool. What can I do to protect myself?”

“Keep your direwolf close. He should be able to fend off lions and any other dangerous beasts that you might encounter.”

As the Fury was pulled into port and the crew folded up her sails, Jon noticed a knight wearing white armor and a white cloak suddenly appear where the gangplank would soon be put down. A retinue of at least twenty men outfitted in gold cloaks marched behind him. Stannis didn’t think there was anything unusual about this, straightening his handsome black and cloth-of-gold cloak and stag brooch before purposely disembarking. Jon followed, along with Ser Rolland Storm, Ser Andrew Estermont, and the rest of Stannis’ men. The white knight took a knee before Stannis motioned for him to rise.

“Ser Arys Oakheart. I had no idea that the knights of the Kingsguard patrolled the docks of King’s Landing.”

Ser Arys acted like he hadn’t heard. “Ser Barristan gave me strict orders to escort you to the Red Keep immediately after your ship came into port, Lord Stannis. King Robert wishes to speak with you at once.”

“I expect he does,” responded Stannis dryly. He turned toward Jon. “Come along, Ser Jon. We have a king to face.”

Chapter Text

The Red Keep was an architectural wonder. It dwarfed most all of the castles that Jon had visited in both size and scope, and it amazed him that such a place could be built by men. Magic was rumored to have been a factor in the construction of Winterfell and Storm’s End, but that magic was to help the castles’ defense, and no thought had been spared for such things as ornamented columns, marble floors, and stained glass windows. Jon had never seen stained glass before, thinking Winterfell’s glass gardens the most incredible thing ever built from the material. Despite all its beauty, the Red Keep didn’t feel like a home, and Jon was beginning to understand why Stannis resented having to come there.

Jon walked with Stannis from the docks as far as the king’s rooms before being dismissed. But not before being formally introduced to King Robert, who looked at Jon like he was seeing a ghost.

“May I present Ser Jon Snow, Your Grace? You might remember him from Winterfell.” Stannis inclined his head, gesturing toward Jon.

Recognition dawned on King Robert’s face, and his eyes roved between Jon and Stannis in surprise. He looked a sorry state, his clothing unkempt and face flushed. He appeared equal parts relieved and enraged to see Stannis. “Ser? None of Ned’s boys are knights, to my knowledge.”

“One of them is. I deemed Jon worthy and knighted him myself.” Stannis’ voice was neutral, but there was the tiniest hint of pride in it.

“For a moment there I thought you were your father, but in all likelihood he’s freezing himself at that damned Wall right now.” King Robert was still staring. Jon bowed, and Ghost followed suit by inclining his head.

“That’s very kind of you, Your Grace.”

The king’s attention turned back to his brother, and Stannis nodded to his knights before shutting the door behind him.

“Come on, lad,” Ser Rolland placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Let’s get you some more practice with that bastard sword of yours. I would not recommend lingering when King Robert and Lord Stannis are in a temper.”

Jon glanced at the closed door and the Kingsguard standing next to it. “Lord Stannis seems to be in a fair mood.”

Ser Rolland laughed darkly. “For now.”

~

“What is seven fucking hells is going on, Stannis?”

“What have you been told?”

“What have I been told? I’m the King of Westeros, yet apparently my lords feel no need to inform me that my queen and a member of my Kingsguard are going to be imprisoned for treason until they’re already in the black cells! Not to mention the dead Lannister guards who wouldn’t surrender, and my children…Joffrey has been screaming since he was locked up in his room, and Myrcella has been crying for her mother.”

I didn’t know that you cared so much. All of your children are thankfully as safe as they’ve ever been—and ignorant of their parentage, except for Edric Storm.

Robert was shouting and stomping around the king’s royal solar, face flushed and long black beard wild. His normally impeccable silk and velvet clothing was rumpled as if he’d been sleeping in it, though everything else about Robert’s posture and haggard expression told Stannis that sleep had not been one of his brother’s recent activities. Overall, Robert was taking the news of the incest relatively well, and miraculously everything else about the coup d’état had gone according to plan. Though I wonder if “coup d’état” is the correct phrase to use if only the queen is being removed from power. Cersei and Jaime were in the black cells as Robert just said, the royal children captive in their rooms, and the few Lannister soldiers in the castle either dead or locked away.

While King’s Landing was just as busy, crowded, dirty, and decadent as Stannis remembered it, the Red Keep had been eerily silent as Ser Arys Oakheart had escorted him and his men into the castle. The normally carefree mood of the court had turned serious, and most everyone Stannis had passed on his way to meet Robert had fearful and worried looks on their faces. Jon certainly knew why the mood was as it was, but that didn’t stop him from looking in wonderment at most everything in the castle, from the red stones to the vaulted ceilings to the stained glass windows and finally to the sheer immensity of things. Maegor the Cruel never did things by half, and the building of Red Keep during his reign was no exception.

“Renly, I could expect a wild scheme like this from him. But you?” Robert was still shouting, but the volume was such that only the Kingsguard stationed outside the room could overhear him. “You’re content to hole yourself up in your castle and brood over all the injustices ever done do you.”

Stannis narrowed his eyes. “Is that why you think I stayed on Dragonstone after our trip to Winterfell?”

“I’m not finished, Stannis.”

Stannis ignored that. “Do you think I have nothing better to do with my time?”

“Sometimes.”

Stannis snorted. If Robert thinks me guilty of dwelling on all the old slights against me, then he’s just as bad. At least I haven’t turned toward drinking and whoring to make me forget the things I cannot change.

“I was ready to send our grandfather back to Estermont for allowing all this to go on behind my back, not to mention riding to Highgarden to strangle Renly. But then Lord Estermont mentioned Jon Arryn, how Jon Arryn knew all about the true parentage of Cersei’s children and was prepared to tell me right before he died. Is it true that you brought the matter to him?”

“Yes,” said Stannis. “Lord Arryn was skeptical about the accusations I was bringing against the queen and her brother at first, like any logical man would be. But as he followed my line of investigation…” Stannis proceeded to tell Robert about the book, Grand Maester Malleon’s Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, and how all Baratheons were black of hair. He then described his and Lord Arryn’s visits to tanners, smiths, brothels, and the bastards to be found there. “Lord Arryn was going to bring our findings to you, but then he suddenly got sick and died within a fortnight. The timing of his death was no coincidence, and the Lannisters are among the only people who I can think of to profit from his death.”

Robert took a long sip from a nearby jeweled goblet, likely filled with wine. Stannis had always frowned upon his brother’s excessive drinking, but now…Now Robert is justified in wanting to drown his sorrows. But only to a point.

“Why didn’t the Lannisters go after you, then?” asked Robert, setting his goblet down and wiping his mouth. “If the lions were smart enough to riddle out what my Hand knew, surely they’d know that you were collaborating with him?”

Stannis had wondered about that as well, and the possible threat to his life was among the reasons why he had holed himself up on Dragonstone, as Robert had so elegantly put it. “I have no idea. Perhaps they didn’t want to bring any suspicion to themselves. Lord Arryn was old, and his death could be brushed off as natural. But to have the king’s Hand and the king’s brother die at the same time? That would scream foul play.”

“If you knew Cersei to be guilty of such monstrous crimes, why didn’t you come and tell me straight away?”

This question again. I told Jon Snow it was because Robert didn’t love me, at least not compared to Jon Arryn. That answer would never do, though. Such a thing would sound petty, and it would make Stannis seem pathetic. Which he certainly wasn’t. “Would you have believed me, Robert? You just said that you didn’t take me, Renly, or Lord Estermont seriously until Lord Arryn was mentioned!”

Robert frowned, turning away and balling his fists.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” repeated Stannis, and edge to his voice. “Do you believe me now? Or are you going to threaten to strangle me like Renly?”

Robert didn’t reply. “I remember the Small Council laughing about you and Jon. They knew about all of your brothel visits and didn’t know what to make of them. Grand Maester Pycelle was convinced that you were trying to shut them down like before, while Littlefinger joked that you two had finally found a solution to your unhappy marriages.”

If Littlefinger hadn’t slithered off to the Eyrie, I’d be tempted to throw him out of a tower. After destroying him politically, of course. Upon his arrival to the Red Keep, Stannis had been informed that Petyr Baelish had sailed off to the Eyrie, purportedly as an honored guest of Lady Lysa Arryn. Stannis didn’t know what to make of it. Before his death, Lord Arryn had confided his fears that his wife was slowly going mad, thus his request that Stannis foster Robert Arryn on Dragonstone to get the boy out of the clutches of his mother. That had never come to pass, not that Stannis had shed any tears over the matter. As to Littlefinger’s irksome words…

“My marriage is not unhappy.”

“Oh?” Robert had calmed down a bit, and even cracked a smile. “Then my marriage is just like Florian and Jonquil’s. If they ever even married.”

Stannis thought about it, trying to justify his answer. Selyse wasn’t his confidant, he disliked her family, and he wouldn’t choose to spend time with her of his own accord. But Selyse had done her duties as Lady of Dragonstone well, never spent in excess of the income he took in, and had never been unfaithful to him. And they had made Shireen together. Stannis wouldn’t trade his daughter for anything else in Westeros.

“It’s not happy, but it’s not unhappy either.”

“If you say so,” replied Robert, utterly unconvinced. He poured himself another drink, not bothering to ask Stannis if he had a thirst. Stannis hadn’t had any food or drink since he had disembarked from his Fury, but arguing with either of his brothers always killed his appetite.

“Do you believe me, Robert?” asked Stannis again.

“I don’t have a choice now, do I?”

“That’s not an answer.”

Robert grimaced, fingering the hilt of the jeweled dagger on his belt. “I’ve thought a lot about the matter these past few days, and don’t you dare give me that look!”

Stannis raised his eyebrows.

“I can think just as well as the next man, though perhaps not as well as Jon Arryn or Ned Stark. Joffrey…I always wondered how I could’ve fathered such a son. A son who delights in cruelty. Do you remember that incident with the cat?”

Stannis did. A cook had promised Joffrey that he could have a kitten once the pregnant kitchen cat had given birth. But instead of waiting, Joffrey had taken a knife and cut the unborn kittens out of their mother’s belly. Needless to say, all the cats died, but Joffrey gleefully asked if another cat was going to have kittens soon. Robert had slapped the child as punishment, and Cersei had shrieked that Robert was a monster for raising a hand to her son. My son, she had said, not your son or our son.

“It all makes sense now, learning that the Kingslayer is his real father. A man who has no regret about killing his king and bedding his sister. But it still hurts, knowing that those children aren’t mine. I’ve never been a terribly good father, but it’s not like Cersei let me be, either. She was always with them, whispering into their ears about how they were all proud lion cubs, how one day they would grow up and devour their enemies.”

Robert took a deep breath and walked to the window.

“That’s why I haven’t sailed off to the Free Cities and become a sellsword: The thought of Joffrey sitting on the throne with her whispering in his ear.”

“You don’t want to be king?” Stannis was curious. The expression that soon flashed across Robert’s face soon told him everything.

“All I ever wanted was Lyanna. And to fight. I killed Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident, and in my dreams I kill him every night. But none of that mattered. It was Ned who was with Lyanna when she died, not me, not her betrothed. Ned told me that she suffered in her last moments, but had she lived she would still have been my queen and I would’ve done everything in my power to make her forget the dragons.”

Stannis didn’t quite know how to reply to that, and for once he didn’t envy Stark at all. Surviving the siege at Storm’s End during the rebellion was certainly easier than all that the Lord of Winterfell had gone through.

“But damn it, Stannis, don’t ever keep something like this from me again. And for so long! You’d be thrown in the black cells if Cersei and Jaime weren’t already there.”

Stannis nodded absently, watching Robert take another long drink.

“How much have you had to drink today?”

“That’s really none of your concern.”

“I do have your best interests at heart, regardless of what you believe.” Stannis lifted the pitcher and sniffed it. “Ale? Not wine?”

“It’s the weakest ale in the city, the weakest thing I can drink without resorting to water,” replied Robert proudly.

“There’s nothing wrong with water. Especially when it’s flavored with lemon or salt.”

“I’m told that my smallfolk rarely drink water because the cleanliness is often suspect. Only us noblemen have access to the freshest springs and can afford to purify it through boiling.”

“So?” Stannis was unconcerned. “Are you trying to say that I should drink ale to be more like my smallfolk? What will you say next, that I should drink expensive wine to be more like my lords?”

Robert didn’t deem that question worthy of an answer. “The maesters in the Red Keep said it would be better for my health not to drink so much wine, and given recent events…It would be prudent of me to have a clear head.”

So he’s just come to that remarkable conclusion?

“I wanted to cut off the wine altogether, though I was warned that if I stopped drinking any alcohol at this point it might kill me just the same. Though given your habits, Stannis, one goblet full of this weak ale might be enough to get you roaring drunk!”

Stannis scowled as Robert chortled, wanting very much to upend the entire pitcher of weakened ale over his brother’s head. If I was a small boy I could certainly get away with it.

“I will meet with you and the Small Council tomorrow, Robert. We still have much to discuss.”

“As ever. And good day to you too, Stannis!” called out Robert as Stannis left the solar.

~

Overall, there wasn’t much for Jon to do in the Red Keep. At Winterfell there were always his daily lessons and siblings to play with, and Dragonstone had been much the same, save that Shireen was there. While Stannis spent most of his days with the Small Council, Jon joined Ser Rolland, Ser Andrew, and the rest of the garrison in their daily drills—one of which included running the perimeter of the castle walls in full plate armor with a sword in hand. Ser Eldon Estermont, the Commander of the City Watch and one of Stannis’ relations, allowed Jon to ride with patrols that made daily excursions beyond the castle gates to the city proper of King’s Landing. Ser Eldon had but one piece of advice:

“Refrain from staring too long or opening your mouth, lest the people think you an uncouth northern savage.”

It was hard for Jon to keep from staring. Jon had never seen so many people, heard so many sounds, and smelled so many smells in one place before. One could find anything he had ever dreamed of in the many marketplaces, which boasted goods from all over Westeros and the Free Cities. There was even a dark-skinned vendor selling lurid cloths from an oasis city in the far east called Qarth. Jon had to physically restrain Ghost when they approached a street with nothing but butchers’ stalls. The sight and smell of so much meat even filled him with a carnal desire to sink his teeth into warm flesh and to taste rich blood, so much so that Jon had to violently shake his head and tell himself that he was not a wolf.

Lord Renly hadn’t arrived in the capitol yet, much to Stannis’ chagrin. He sent plenty of ravens, though, all of them lighthearted messages complete with flowery language and fanciful wishes.

“Renly still thinks this is all a game, given how fast he’s marching toward King’s Landing,” remarked Stannis with gritted teeth.

“How long does it take for a lord to call his banners?” replied Jon.

“Long enough,” admitted Stannis, “But Renly’s had more than enough time to wine and dine the Tyrells and their bannermen. And he already had a head start, having been courting them for years.”

“What was the latest news from him today?”

“Our future queen is traveling with the host, all the better to wed Robert once our current queen has faced justice. Doesn’t he understand that war is no place for women? Renly risks getting the Tyrell girl raped or killed, and for what? She was perfectly safe back at Highgarden.”

In the evenings, Stannis would often invite Jon to his chambers to share the evening meal with him, but what Stannis seemed to crave the most was conversation—and not simply to hear his own voice. Dealing with the members of the Small Council, various lords and officers, and especially King Robert every day never failed to put him in a foul mood. But alone with Jon in his private rooms, the tension in his shoulders would lessen, and he was less likely to clench his jaw or grind his teeth. His lord was always interested to hear about what Jon did and the people he met, no matter how mundane or ordinary.

“Your perspective is refreshing, Jon,” Stannis said during their first week in King’s Landing. “Coming from the North, you have a different set of eyes than many of the nobles who have spent most of their life in the capitol trying to wheedle favors from those in the capitol. You tell things like they are.”

“What’s remarkable about that?” wondered Jon. “I’m just telling you the truth. What is there to be gained by lying about the fact that most of the streets in Flea Bottom smell like shit, or that the noblemen seem to spend just as much on useless silk and satins as the noblewomen?”

“Gained? Nothing tangible, but I appreciate it all the same. I’ve simply been surrounded by fools and flatterers for too long. That’s inescapable when you’re the brother to a king. The moment you start lying to me, Ser Jon, I will ask you to find another lord to serve.”

“Why does the truth matter so much to you, though?” Jon had always known that Stannis put the truth on the same pedestal as he did justice, but he had never exactly asked why. Truth and justice weren’t the same things, even if they overlapped somewhat. “It’s not always a simple matter.”

Stannis frowned, but not out of anger. “The truth is often complicated, yes, and it’s not always wise to shout it from the castle tower tops. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie eventually comes to such a point where he cannot distinguish what the real truth is, eventually causing him to lose all respect for himself and for others.”

Jon thought about that for a long while, which Stannis didn’t fault.

“Lies should never become truths,” concluded Stannis.

Stannis is referring to the legitimacy of the royal children, surely, determined Jon. But something about his lord’s tone of voice made him suspect that he was alluding to other matters as well. Stannis walked over to his desk and uncapped a pot of ink.

“Here.” Stannis slid a small piece of parchment toward Jon, one already covered in small, neat handwriting. It was addressed to Shireen.

“Though I can’t promise my daughter that I will come back to Dragonstone alive, I can keep my word to tell her that my voyage here was smooth and uneventful.”

“That’s very kind of you, my lord.”

“I didn’t show you the letter so you could to judge my kindness or parenting skills. Write something to her.”

“To Shireen?” said Jon, surprised.

“No, to my wife and her ladies in waiting,” said Stannis as he pushed his quill and open pot of ink in Jon’s direction. “Shireen considers you a friend, and reading something from you will make her smile.” When Jon didn’t reach for the quill immediately, Stannis added: “If you don’t think you can write small enough, you’re welcome to find a maester or a scribe. But I do not want to be kept waiting.”

Jon scratched out a short message, signing it with both his and Ghost’s names. Once the ink was dry, he handed it over to Stannis, who immediately rolled it up and pressed a button of golden wax and his seal against it without reading what Jon had written. Jon was grateful for that. Not because he had written anything inappropriate, of course, but because Stannis cared enough to give his daughter a small measure of privacy in her correspondence.

~

“You want me to use all of the birds, my lord?” sputtered Grand Maester Pycelle.

“Not all of them,” responded Stannis, drumming the fingers of his right hand on the table. “The ravens to Highgarden can stay where they are; the Tyrells need no more convincing as they’ve thrown in their lots with the Crown. Skip the duplicate ravens to the lesser houses in the Westerlands, as Lord Tywin has likely spun a tale of Robert’s treasons against Cersei.”

“Let’s copy this and be done with it!” interrupted Robert.

“You’ve only just written what you want to say, Your Grace,” said Lord Estermont, calmly. “Let the Small Council hear it.”

It was a good thing he did. Read aloud a royal proclamation declaring Cersei and Jaime guilty of incest, adultery, and treason, their children nothing but bastards with no claim on the Baratheon name, that is. Robert’s language was direct and forceful, as a king’s should be, but his liberal use of curses detracted from the seriousness of the message.

“Swearing makes you sound like an obstinate child,” contended Stannis.

“Fuck you, Stannis,” said Robert, rolling his eyes.

“My point exactly, Robert.”

“My lords,” tittered Pycelle. “Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime haven’t been graced with their proper titles.

Stannis glanced at the proclamation draft again. Robert had called Cersei a whore and had neglected to mention that Jaime was a knight. Though he had included Jaime’s infamous “Kingslayer” nickname.

“Ser Jaime is a knight,” agreed Ser Barristan. “Keep the ‘Kingslayer’ bit in. The realm should know that he broke the sacred vows of his order.”

“And Cersei isn’t a whore, to my knowledge. Just an adulterer,” added Stannis. Though I wonder what that makes Robert, with all of his bastards. He frowned, reading the list of accusations against the Lannisters. “We also have no proof that the Lannisters killed Jon Arryn.”

Robert sighed. “Isn’t that what you think happened, Stannis? What all of us on this Small Council think happened?” Pycelle cleared his throat, but the king ignored him. “Jon Arryn was going to reveal the true parentage of Cersei’s children to me, so the Lannisters killed him. Mystery solved.”

Stannis frowned again, scratching his jaw. “As I said, we have no concrete proof. Your numerous black-haired bastards and that book are proof that the royal children aren’t Baratheons. Only circumstantial evidence ties the Lannisters to Lord Arryn.”

“Fine,” said Robert in a tone of finality, clearly itching to get out of the stuffy room. “Copy this proclamation and let the ravens fly. I also want messengers sent all over Westeros and the Free Cities, nailing the letter to every public place that they can reach, shouting its contents for all to hear.”

Stannis showed Jon the final draft that evening. He read it with interest, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace in Stannis’ solar. Stannis’ rooms in the Red Keep had large windows affording an impressive view of King’s Landing’s harbor, which was fitting for the Master of Ships. They were also as far as possible from Robert and Renly’s chambers as Stannis could get without leaving the castle.

“How do you think Shireen will take the news? She’s quite fond of Myrcella and Tommen. Joffrey not so much, for she claims he always mocked her grayscale scars.”

“I haven’t thought of it,” said Stannis honestly. “She will just have to accept it.”

“Does she know what adultery means?” asked Jon hesitantly.

Stannis had never had that particular conversation with Shireen. Such things made him uncomfortable. He hoped that Selyse would do her duty and inform their daughter of such…issues…when she came of age. Shireen’s already eleven, and soon she’ll be a woman flowered, even if she’s far from being a woman grown.

“I’ll leave that matter to my lady wife.” Stannis sat and crossed his arms. “Anything else, Jon?”

“Will you write to my father?”

“Lord Eddard Stark will receive a message with the king’s official seal. Likely more than one.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Jon with a shake of his head.

What then? What more do I have to say to Stark? What do I owe him? Stannis was uncomfortably reminded once again of how much Jon looked like his father, especially the young Eddard Stark that Stannis had met when Robert brought him to Storm’s End years before the rebellion. Same dark hair, same grey eyes, same long face…but yet there were subtle differences. The shape of Jon’s eyes was different, and his build was slighter. He’s not exactly like Stark, for he’s growing to be his own man. His mother left something in him as well.

“Father’s been asking you about your investigations into Lord Arryn’s death ever since I left Winterfell. I understand why you’ve been evasive, but now that the secret is being declared to the realm…you don’t have anything more to hide, do you? Father would appreciate learning of these events from your hand and your perspective, rather than some anonymous scribe’s.”

Jon was looking at him expectantly, so much that Stannis forced himself to reply:

“I’ll think about it.”

And think he did, once Jon had left his rooms and another glass of lemon water had disappeared. Stannis found himself in front of his desk with a sharpened quill in hand, its tip black.

Lord Eddard Stark,

Stannis paused, wondering if this was a sensible idea or not. He stared at the piece of parchment under his hand, already ruined by his address. Stark does deserve to hear the truth from me, for Jon Arryn was more to him than just the Lord of the Eyrie and Hand of the King. He meant enough to Stark to name a son after him, the same son that he trusted me with. Stannis had brushed aside that accusation of trust when Ser Davos had recently brought it up. He didn’t know why he’d been reluctant to discuss it with Davos, but there was just something about Stark that…

Stannis sighed, dipping his quill into the ink and putting it to the parchment before he could stop himself.

By now you will have received a raven from Robert, one informing the entire realm about the incest, adultery, and treason committed by Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime Lannister. But before Robert had any idea of those outrageous crimes, I sought advice from the Lord Hand about a theory of mine. A dangerous theory. I am writing to you, Lord Stark, to confess that I know why Jon Arryn died. I have known all along, avoiding your inquiries because I was worried about meeting his same fate. Until now…

~

Complaining about the Small Council was Stannis’ favorite conversation topic by far, Jon quickly realized. None of the men could ever do anything right, and those who could were always blocked and questioned to death. In light of the recent imprisonments, the realm was continuing on as usual. Almost. Taxes still had to be collected, the harvest still had to be properly stored, the salaries of the Red Keep’s servants and the City Watch still had to be paid, and the Royal Fleet still needed to be maintained, among other things.

Jon had already learned a fair amount about what Stannis did to manage the Royal Fleet as Master of Ships. A large portion of the ships were docked on Dragonstone, along with their crews. However, Jon had underestimated how big a role Stannis played in running the rest of the seven kingdoms. Stannis knew the Crown’s expense reports back and forth, which lords were at court to do what, how much the recent harvests had pulled in, and the efficiency of the tax collectors—not to mention the laws of the land. In addition, there was the management of Dragonstone. Jon had been tempted to suggest that his lord delegate some of his responsibilities, but a reluctance to hand over work wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Stannis had so little trust in others that he had to go over the work of his subordinates himself before he was satisfied.

I wonder if Stannis is training me to be his future castellan just so he’s assured to have someone competent serving under him, Jon mused. It wasn’t unheard of for bastards to run castles, especially if their fathers had properly educated them. But that was a topic for the future.

“Grand Maester Pycelle,” began Stannis in a disgusted voice. “If I knew how to influence the archmaesters at the Citadel, we might very well have a new Grand Maester in our midst. Much like the High Septon of the Faith, the Grand Maester usually serves in his post until death, regardless of how demented he becomes.”

“Maester Cressen is old as well,” Jon pointed out.

“Maester Cressen still has his wits about him, even if he no longer has the strength to scale staircases. Pycelle had the trust of Mad King Aerys, and he has yet to earn it from me. He’s a Lannister toady through and through, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“You’ve said that King Robert is attending most of the Small Council meetings,” Jon stated.

“The septons should be informed that miracles are now occurring on a daily basis.”

Jon was tempted to laugh, but the impassive expression on Stannis’ face always made him wary. “Haven’t you always criticized your brother for taking so little interest in the running of the realm? Much like Renly?”

“I have,” said Stannis curtly. “I don’t fault Robert for suddenly remembering that a king does more than wear a crown. I don’t. It’s just that…” he shut his eyes and groaned, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Robert has no patience. Neither he nor Renly do, save for wars and tournaments. If only my brothers were more like you and I.”

Jon widened his eyes at Stannis’ last comment. So did Ghost, who was presently curled up by the fire.

“Ser Barristan is a good man,” Jon eventually said.

Stannis nodded in approval. “Aye, I’ll not disagree with you there. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard takes his duty seriously, and you’ll be hard pressed to find a truer man in all of King’s Landing.”

“What about Ser Davos?”

“Ser Davos is on Dragonstone.” Stannis cracked open his eyes and shot Jon a withering look. “Ser Barristan concurs with me about Cersei and Jaime’s guilt. I believe his exact words were that the Lannisters were guilty without question. Should a trial occur in the near future, he told me that he would be glad to present evidence against the Kingslayer.”

Jon was puzzled. “I thought that the Kingsguard always kept the king’s secrets?”

“Ser Jaime Lannister is not the king, however much young maidens think he looks like one.”

Jon bit his tongue, hard, trying to forget his first impression of the golden Lannister knight.

~

“Where is Renly, again?”

Stannis was sitting in yet another Small Council meeting, and each had started the same way since he had arrived from Dragonstone. With Renly. Or the absence of Renly, to be precise. My little brother always has a talent for making sure he’s the center of attention.

“My lord, we just received another raven from him today,” croaked Grand Maester Pycelle, reaching into his robes and withdrawing a handful of small scrolls.

“And?” demanded Stannis. “He should already be in King’s Landing by now.”

“Lord Renly did have to raise an army, Lord Stannis,” replied Varys, his hands neatly folded on the table, barely poking out the long sleeves of his lavender silk robe.

“I know very well how long it takes to raise an army, Lord Varys,” snapped Stannis. “If you would like, I could also inform you how long it takes to build a fleet and find men to man the ships.”

Lord Estermont cleared his throat, more loudly than necessary, and proceeded to read Renly’s message. The Lord of Storm’s End was successfully marching his armies toward the capitol, and oh, how much the Crown would benefit from having a stronger relationship with the Reach! The future queen was presiding over tournaments to choose a new member of the Kingsguard. Large banquets were held most every day, showcasing the bounty of the Reach. The creamed swans, in particular, were most delectable.

“I thought that boy had more sense,” grumbled Robert. “Who in seven hells cares about bloody creamed swans?” Stannis found himself agreeing with his brother. That’s a rarity.

“There’s no harm in his actions, for we haven’t heard any word of Lord Tywin marching from Casterly Rock,” said Grand Maester Pycelle levelly.

“No harm?” interjected Ser Barristan. “Do you think that Lord Tywin will be so kind as to share his battle plans with us? Besides, it’s only the king who can appoint a new member of the Kingsguard, usually at the recommendation of the Lord Commander. A white cloak isn’t something to be won.”

That would anger Ser Barristan, reflected Stannis. Winning a joust or a mêlée says nothing about how a man will perform in a real battle, or how well he can protect his liege lord over saving his own skin.

Without warning, the door to the Small Council chamber burst open. Ser Balon Swann of the Kingsguard came running in, followed by a knight with a very similar face.

“Your Grace,” Ser Balon addressed Robert first, of course. “My lords. I apologize for the interruption, but my brother Ser Donnel has just arrived with an urgent message from Lord Renly.”

Stannis stilled, critically observing the new knight. Ser Donnel had been run ragged, and his chest was heaving as if he had sprinted from the gates of King’s Landing. The pupils of his eyes were dilated, and his hair and face were liberally streaked with dirt—apparent once his helmet had been removed. No smile graced his visage, and that’s when Stannis decided that something was very, very wrong.

“Well?” demanded Robert. “What does Renly have to say?”

“Lord Renly’s host was a few miles from King’s Landing. Beautiful weather, all the men in good spirits.” Ser Donnel’s words all came out in a rush. “Then…” He paused, his eyes darting all over the place. “Then the Lannisters attacked us.”

“WHAT?” roared Robert. “How is that possible? Didn’t Renly or Lord Tyrell or anyone have scouts patrolling?”

“They began by attacking the supply train,” the knight continued, determined to say everything before he forgot or fainted on the spot. “It was total chaos. No one was prepared, the men weren’t in formation, many didn’t have time to draw their swords before they were run over by Lord Tywin’s cavalry…”

“Did you see him?” Stannis cut in.

“Who?” asked Ser Donnel wildly.

“Lord Tywin. You’re positive that he was responsible for the attack?”

“He and his officers watched from a hill that was red with Lannister flags. He was wearing his famous golden lion helm. Thousands of men were running every direction. Lady Margaery is thankfully safe, but the Lannisters are now marching on King’s Landing!”

Stannis didn’t remember standing up, nor did he remember when Robert started pounding on the table or when Ser Barristan’s face turned as white as his cloak. The Small Council began to shout at once:

“Renly…”

“Where’s Renly?”

“Seven save us…”

“Is the city under attack?”

“Where in seven fucking hells is Renly?”

“Lord Renly…” Ser Donnel’s voice was hoarse. “Lord Renly…There where archers…So many arrows flying everywhere…”

Spit it out, thought Stannis frantically.

“Lord Renly is dead.”

Chapter Text

“There’s nothing of so infinite vexation
As man’s own thoughts.”

John Webster, The White Devil

“Lord Renly is dead.”

Ser Donnel Swann’s words had a powerful effect on everyone in the Small Council chamber, and the silence that followed was deafening. For a long while, no one moved or said anything, all eyes on the knight who looked like he was ready to collapse from sheer exhaustion.

“Your Grace,” began Ser Donnel, his voice shaking. “I offer you my condolences.”

Ser Donnel bowed his head, and all attention turned toward Robert. Stannis noted that his brother’s face looked as if someone had smacked him. Robert had yet to properly react, and Stannis waited. What will Robert do? Rage and storm? Become a personification of our house words? Stannis didn’t expect anything less. As for himself, he was curiously calm.

A knife with a jeweled handle suddenly found itself embedded into the center of the table.

“Gods damn those yellow-haired shits,” growled Robert, his voice colder than Stannis had ever heard it. “First the Lannister knight of the Kingsguard fucks my queen. Then Cersei parades her incestuous bastards around as my children. Then Lord Tywin attacks and kills my brother for the crime of helping to lock up his unruly…his unruly…” Robert searched for a word harsh enough to reflect his rage. “His unruly spawn. I thought that when the dragonspawn were all dead and fled that my throne would finally be secure!”

That’s the Robert I know.

A chair was procured for Ser Donnel, and the knight proceeded to tell everything about the disastrous battle. After being taken in the rear by the Lannisters, the Tyrell and Baratheon host hastily rushed to protect Lady Margaery and its high lords. Renly, of course, insisted on fighting himself, so he and Ser Loras Tyrell gathered all who would follow them and led a charge. The problem, explained Ser Donnel, was that by that point the Lannisters had surrounded them, leaving no room to maneuver or any avenue for retreat. Once Lord Renly was shot down by a well-placed arrow to the throat, the Lannisters suddenly stopped fighting and split their army in two: one fell back to where Lord Tywin had been watching from a hill, the other continuing on for King’s Landing. Ser Donnel was lucky to escape from the fray and make it to the gates of the city before the lions.

“They just stopped? Why not finish you all off?” Ser Barristan was perplexed.

“No idea,” breathed Ser Donnel. “Ransoms, perhaps? Maybe Lord Tywin wants to make a deal with Lord Tyrell? Regardless, the remains of Lord Renly’s army are still there, on an open expanse between the two pieces of the Lannister army. They wait for your commands.”

Our commands, reflected Stannis darkly. As if any of us had foreseen this heartening turn of events. Well, Ser Davos, we have our war just like I predicted. Now all that’s left is to see how short it will be.

“Will we go out and meet the Lannisters on the field?” asked Ser Eldon hesitantly. Robert opened his mouth, but Stannis beat him to it.

“No.”

“No?” Robert rounded on him.

“Not yet,” Stannis corrected.

“Not yet? What’s your advice, Stannis, to let the lions go stag hunting?” Robert’s hands were balled into fists, and they looked ready to start pounding on the table again.

“Have all of you forgotten that we have something Lord Tywin wants?” Stannis met the eyes of every man in the room. “We hold his children and grandchildren. If he attacks King’s Landing, what’s to stop us from slitting their throats from the walls of the Red Keep?”

“They should be hung like common criminals straight away!” spat Robert.

“I anticipate that Lord Tywin will try and negotiate with us,” said Stannis in a level voice, ignoring his brother’s words, but Robert rarely liked to be silenced.

“As if anything he can say will change my mind. Or me his.”

“Do you want more bloodshed, Robert?” Robert didn’t immediately respond. “I doubt Lord Tywin wants it either. He’ll likely besiege the city by land,” guessed Stannis. An educated guess, to be sure, but Stannis had seen enough battles to know how things worked. Tywin Lannister had sacked King’s Landing once before, but that was with a fresh army and a city full of Targaryens who had gladly allowed him through the gates before his true colors had been revealed. “Thankfully, the Royal Fleet controls the harbor and Dragonstone, so we won’t be cut off entirely. Besides, what army do we have here?”

“Don’t we have a City Watch? And men sworn to the Crownlands and Dragonstone?” responded Robert.

“We do, Your Grace. The gold cloaks have many able fighters, but they and the men Lord Stannis brought from Dragonstone are as ready to ride out to battle as you are,” said Ser Estermont firmly. “We were relying on Renly to muster the Reach and the Stormlands. Are you positively sure that Lord Renly is dead, Ser Donnel?”

The knight nodded grimly. “As I said, Lord Renly was pierced by multiple arrows, including one through his throat. Ser Loras went mad once he fell, screaming and becoming oblivious to everything else around him.”

Robert sat back down and wrenched his dagger out from the middle of the table. “Get out. All of you. I’ll summon you again soon.”

Everyone left in haste, save for Stannis, who remained sitting in his chair with his arms crossed. Robert didn’t seem surprised by that.

“What do you want, Stannis?” Robert poured himself a goblet full of watered-down ale.

“Do you wish to say anything to me about Renly?”

“What is there to say? He’s dead. Just like mother and father. Just like Lyanna.”

Stannis stood up and pushed his chair in, turning to go out the open door. Before he could walk over the threshold, however, Robert had one more thing to say:

“If the Lannisters attack King’s Landing instead of besiege it, I’ll put your head on a spike.”

“And lose both of your beloved brothers?”

Robert sighed, downing his glass of ale. “Why have the gods done this, Stannis?”

“You still believe that there are gods, Robert? What good have they ever done you, or any of us?” Stannis didn’t wait for a reply, leaving his brother and going his own way.

~

The news of Renly’s death had a sobering effect on the Red Keep. Not that it had been in a boisterous mood before, like when Robert had hosted one of his many tournaments. The bells of King’s Landing started to ring at dusk, but whether it was in mourning for the king’s brother or in warning for the approaching army, Stannis had no idea. By nightfall, a ring of fires surrounded the city, far enough away to be out of the range of archers but still close enough to cause alarm. The Lannisters didn’t attack the city, just as he had predicted. There was nothing Stannis could personally do at the moment, so he felt no guilt in sitting in his chambers, a glass of lemon water in his hand as he stared into the fireplace.

Ser Jon was there, of course, and Stannis appreciated the fact that his knight had barely said a word. The direwolf was present as well, silently curled up at his master’s feet. Only when the fire began to die and the logs became embers did Jon turn and address him.

“I’m sorry about your brother, my lord. Renly was very kind to me when I met him at Storm’s End.”

“You found him charming, did you?” Stannis could almost taste the bitterness in his voice. “He was always able to charm everyone, from his nurses to maesters to young men like Loras Tyrell.”

Jon shrugged. “It’s courteous to say something good about the dead.”

“Fine.” I can play that game as well as anyone. “Renly was a sweet boy, but he grew up to be a frivolous, vain man who cared more about the glitter of his sword than its sharpness.”

Jon didn’t say anything.

“What do you expect me to do, Ser Jon? Weep like a maiden over a lost babe?” I shed all my tears the day I watched my parents drown.

Jon still didn’t say anything.

“I never wanted Renly to die. But he brought his death upon himself, with his pride and his damn tourneys! When Storm’s End was under siege, Mace Tyrell hosted a number of contests outside the walls while he feasted and joked with his men. Even though he was starving, Renly would eagerly watch the jousts and mêlées. I had to drag him inside more times than I could count, which would always cause him to cry. Maester Cressen would admonish me, but I didn’t care. My little brother needed to know that war wasn’t a game, that our enemies would try anything and everything in order to utterly destroy us.”

“Lord Renly learned your lesson, then,” stated Jon. There was no emotion in his voice.

“Which one? I tried to teach him many things, but he rarely sat still long enough to listen.”

“That boasting can lead to arrogance, and arrogance can lead to death.”

Stannis would’ve laughed, a dry, serious laugh devoid of mirth. But even he, who cared little for social graces and propriety, realized that such a thing would be uncalled for. Jon had the right of it, recalling advice that Stannis had given him some time ago. And how prophetic that turned out to be…

“Yes. Yes, to his sorrow he did.”

Stannis drained his goblet.

“I had hoped…” said Stannis softly, closing his eyes. “I had hoped that things would end differently, now that Robert, Renly, and I were working toward a common goal. But that’s not what fate had planned.”

“I’m sorry that you and your brothers never got to be the friends that you wanted to be.”

Normally, Stannis would have snapped at a comment such as that. He needed no man’s pity, and wasn’t Jon wise enough to know that? But there was no pity in Jon’s grey eyes, only sincerity. He spoke the truth, a truth I’ve rarely admitted to myself.

“Thank you, Jon.”

~

Jon adjusted his gauntlets for the tenth time in as many minutes. His shoulders were beginning to ache under the weight of his mail and armor, but Stannis had insisted. The Lannisters had called for a parley out in the no-man’s land between the front line of their army and King’s Landing’s walls. Stannis seemed to have been expecting such an event, so King Robert sent him out to negotiate, claiming that the Lord of Dragonstone was more diplomatic than himself. Jon didn’t know if he would ever describe Stannis as diplomatic, for tact wasn’t among Stannis’ strongest virtues. But at any rate, Stannis was less likely to draw his sword and yell for a head compared to King Robert.

“A knight should never go to a parley without being outfitted for battle, Ser Jon.”

“But a parley isn’t a battle. It’s a peace talk, and the laws of chivalry forbid arms to be drawn under a white flag.”

“And do you trust your enemies to obey the laws of chivalry? You have more sense than that. Regardless,” continued Stannis, “Parleys are about show more than anything. Impressive looks, impressive names, impressive reputations…those are just as important as a leader with a diplomatic tongue.”

“But my name…” Jon looked around at the small group of knights and lords that Stannis and the Small Council had selected to meet with the Lannisters. All of them fit under one of the categories of “impressive” that Stannis had just named.

“You might not be a Stark, but your dark hair, long face, and direwolf are enough to fool anyone in the realm, including the king.” Stannis was irritated. “I didn’t bring you with me to speak but to watch and learn. Take note of who the Lannisters send under their white flag, their expressions and tones of voice…Also, look at their camp as much as you can. The smallest detail can give away whether or not they’re preparing for an attack on the morrow or settling in for a siege.”

“Of course, my lord,” replied Jon. Ghost was loping along next to his horse, silent as ever. Jon had already made one observation, and it wasn’t about the Lannisters. The knights and lords following Stannis had been glaring at Jon ever since they had all mounted their horses, as if they were resentful of the fact that the king’s brother was giving all his attention to a green, bastard knight instead of themselves. Jon had the feeling that neither King Robert nor Lord Renly had ever insulted their supporters in such a fashion. Stannis seemed oblivious to the fact that he had been ignoring every man save for Jon—or perhaps he was aware but just didn’t care.

Jon rolled his shoulders, wishing again that armor was more comfortable. For some strange reason it felt heavier trotting on a horse than when he ran about the practice yard with a sword in hand. Likely because I’m focusing on the strategies of a fight. Though it didn’t sparkle with jewels like Ser Loras’, Jon was rather proud of his armor. It had been a gift from Stannis, and when Jon had stammered that he would find a way to pay the steep cost, his lord simply said that he could afford to outfit every knight in his service. But just like with Clash, Stannis had gone beyond his duty of a lord equipping his knights with the proper tools, for Jon’s armor was strong with exceptional workmanship—not to mention that it was well-fitted to his body.

An older knight with blonde hair liberally streaked with silver nodded his head when Stannis’ party approached. He was outfitted in golden armor and a rich red velvet cloak clasped at the throat with a lion brooch. The lion’s eyes were red stones, and Jon wagered that the stones were rubies instead of garnets. The knight urged his horse forward.

“Ser Kevan,” said Stannis as a greeting. “Lord Tywin doesn’t think it worth his while to show himself?”

“I would ask you the same about King Robert, Lord Stannis.”

So this is Ser Kevan Lannister, Lord Tywin’s brother. Stannis had told Jon that Ser Kevan Lannister was a good man, a good man who was unshakably loyal to his older brother and always did his duty. With those attributes, it was no wonder that Stannis regarded him highly.

“May I present Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard? Along with…” Stannis rattled off the rest of the names of the men with him. “And Ser Jon Snow and his direwolf.”

Ser Kevan’s steady green eyes only wavered at Ghost’s introduction, and Ghost promptly bared his teeth.

“In turn, Lord Stannis, I must present Ser Daven Lannister, Ser Addam Marbrand, Ser Tybolt Crakehall…” All of Ser Kevan’s men were young knights, Jon noticed. And none of them bastards.

Stannis’ face was as hard as ever, and he gave Ser Kevan his undivided attention. A white flag fluttered in the breeze beside him. The overwhelming scent of blood filled Jon’s nose, and he immediately looked down to see that Ghost had lifted his snout, nostrils wide open.

“Free Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime from the Black Cells and deliver them to Lord Tywin. Their children as well.” Ser Kevan got directly to the point. “If they are unharmed, we won’t attack King’s Landing.”

“Lord Tywin’s children will be delivered to him one they have faced justice. If you attack King’s Landing before that, the throats of Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime the Kingslayer will be slit on the walls of the Red Keep.”

Both men stared at each other, and neither seemed surprised at what was said.

“Your terms are unacceptable.”

“So are yours.”

In front of him, Jon saw a sea of red. Thousands of red tents had been erected, and the smoke from cook-fires could be seen. While plenty of soldiers had their eyes on Lord Stannis and Ser Kevan, just as many were walking around and going about other business. Not all were armed.

“It looks like we’ve come to an impasse, Lord Stannis.”

“We have indeed, Ser Kevan.”

“Best settle in for a long siege. Lord Tyrell might be your new friend, but his crops won’t be able to make it up the Roseroad with us sitting outside King’s Landing’s gates. Need I remind you how many mouths King’s Landing has to feed?”

Stannis was unconcerned about Ser Kevan’s threat. “Do you remember where I spent most of Robert’s Rebellion, Ser? I was at Storm’s End, under siege by land and by sea. I held out for over a year before the Targaryens fell. It will be no trouble at all to do the same, especially since the waters are still open to King’s Landing.”

“For now.”

“For now, certainly. But need I remind you that Tywin Lannister’s fleet has to get past Lord Redwyne’s fleet, my own fleet, and the Royal Fleet before King’s Landing is in any kind of danger?”

Ser Kevan didn’t have a reply to that, so he tried a different tactic. “I’ve always respected you, Lord Stannis. You know how to plan and organize, and were I to go to war I would want you as one of my commanders. So let’s be honest with each other.”

“I am always honest, Ser Kevan. As honest with a man as he is with me.”

“King Robert’s recent proclamation was cleverly written, and the words left no room for debate. Tell me, did you and your brothers fabricate the ludicrous charge of incest to justify a rebellion? Or has Lord Mace Tyrell promised you something that my brother cannot?”

“There is no room for debate because there is nothing to debate,” shot Stannis right back. “Since you took the time to flatter me for my record as a battle commander, why would I start a rebellion for a fictitious cause? That’s sheer folly. I have no love for Lord Mace Tyrell, mainly because he once tried to starve me to death. It was him who besieged me at Storm’s End.”

“How curious that you’re allies with him now. You’ve learned to forgive and forget, am I correct?”

Stannis ground his teeth, but his hands didn’t stray to his sword.

“By necessity, Ser Kevan, not by choice. If it were my choice and mine alone, I would ally with Lord Tywin over Lord Tyrell. Your brother is the lesser of two evils. However, Queen Cersei has committed treason and isn’t fit to sit the throne that Lord Tywin won for her through bloodshed and treachery—not to mention the corpses of innocent children. She needs to be brought to justice, and justice should always trump personal preference.”

Jon’s eyebrows rose, and he was left with little doubt that Stannis had kept his word to be honest with Ser Kevan. So Stannis preferred Lord Tywin over Lord Tyrell? Lord Eddard Stark had always been careful not to speak unkindly about other men in front of his sons, especially those his sons had never met. Still, his father had been unable to hide his hatred of the Lannister lord, declaring that he would sooner trust a poisonous viper than Lord Tywin. Was that because of the dead Targaryen children that Stannis mentioned? Jon didn’t know, for father rarely talked about King Robert’s rebellion. It caused him too much sorrow, too much shame.

Jon studied Stannis again, the deep blue pools of his eyes unwavering.

“I am not incapable of forgiveness, Ser Kevan, just as I am not without mercy. But I never forget.”

“I believe we have nothing more to say to each other, Lord Stannis,” said Ser Kevan eventually. His voice was resigned. “Until we meet again.”

Stannis inclined his head, digging his heels into his horse and turning it around, setting back off to King’s Landing. Jon gave one more glance to the Lannister camp before following, the Kingsguard and other knights behind him.

“You never expected to accomplish anything, did you,” stated Jon when he was back at Stannis’ side.

Stannis looked at him, his hands twisted around his horse’s reins. “I did accomplish something.” When Jon didn’t say anything in return, Stannis continued. “I didn’t expect to sign a peace treaty, certainly. Lord Tywin will never concede to our demands unless he has no other option; the same with King Robert.”

So both sides are just as unyielding. We didn’t need to go to such formalities to establish that. Perhaps Jon was missing something. Stannis rode back through King’s Landing’s gates unconcerned, as if the whole parley was simply another one of his lessons to Jon back on Dragonstone.

“Was it wise to be so hostile to the Tyrells?” asked Jon. “What you said to Ser Kevan could easily get back to Lord Tyrell.”

“If it does, Lord Tyrell will hardly be surprised. He knows my sentiments toward him, and if our justice system truly took an eye for an eye, the fat flower would’ve been forced to starve in Highgarden for a year with an army besieging him.”

For someone who thinks men who wear their hearts on their sleeve to be fools, Stannis certainly wears his resentment for all to see. For all of Stannis’ good qualities, Jon sincerely hoped that he never became as bitter as him.

~

“Was the parley successful?”

“What do you think, Robert?”

“Lord Tywin might have softened in his old age.”

Stannis snorted. “He wasn’t even there. How does that Lannister song go? ‘And now the rains weep o’er his halls with not a soul to hear?’ That man will fight to the bitter end and then some, especially when his legacy is at stake.”

“So will you, for that matter.”

“I like to think that my stubbornness is a Baratheon family trait.”

“Not a legacy from King Argilac the Arrogant?”

“If it is, I got his stubbornness and you got his arrogance.” Along with Renly, Stannis wanted to say, but that comment would’ve been in poor taste given…recent events.

Robert gave a grim smile. “So what are the Lannisters doing, sharpening battering rams? Should I prepare a spike for your head?”

“I don’t think Ser Kevan’s troops are preparing to attack any time soon. His camp looks too comfortable.” He seems to be waiting for something. Whether it be orders from Lord Tywin, winter, or something else, Stannis didn’t know.

“Good. Because I’m going to attack him tomorrow at sunrise.”

“Have fun with that, Robert.”

“I’m serious, Stannis.”

No you’re not, Stannis had been prepared to say, but he froze when he caught Robert’s expression and the determined gleam in his eyes. No goblet full of wine or weakened ale was near, and in fact Robert hadn’t had a drop to drink all afternoon. That was unusual, making Stannis unnerved. Robert was usually so easy to predict, down to when he would start yelling and want to hit someone. Unless Robert has suddenly gone insane with some reckless idea…

“I’ve never felt more alive than with my war hammer in my hand. If the gods see fit to end my life in battle, then so be it. That’s a hell of a lot better than drinking myself to death or being gored by a boar, gods forbid. History will have much to say about my reign and little of it good…” Robert trailed off, looking deliberately at Stannis, even more when Stannis remained silent.

“See, you’re not rushing to contradict me! I can always count on you to tell the truth, Stannis. Though I rarely want to hear it.”

Stannis’ mouth twitched as Robert continued on, rather dejectedly: “Say I’m a better king than Mad King Aerys, at least.”

“You’re a better king than Mad King Aerys.” That was certainly true. Robert, for all of his failings, had yet to stoop to burning lords alive while their heirs were strangled in front of them.

“Do you know the real reason behind my wish to ride out and fight? I want it to be remembered that King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, always fought his own battles. I won’t hide here in the Red Keep while you or any other knight rides out to defend this city. This mess is partially my fault, and I’ll be the one to get us out of it. If I had taken more care of my queen…well, perhaps things would’ve been different.”

Stannis scratched his chin.

“Am I making any sense to you, Stannis, or do I have to explain my reasoning to you over and over again, like when I left to go to war against the Targaryens?”

Robert’s idea is reckless, but he hasn’t gone insane. He’s thought this through and taken a deeper look at himself and his kingship than I ever thought possible. I have to give him credit for admitting that he’s been a poor king at the very least. “You’re making sense, Robert,” said Stannis with a scowl.

“Good. Hold this castle, hold this city. No matter what happens or what you hear has happened, don’t surrender.”

Robert’s words were eerily similar to those he had told Stannis right before he left Storm’s End, right before the ancestral Baratheon stronghold was besieged for a year. “I will always do my duty to you, Robert. Not solely because you’re the rightful king, but because you’re my brother.”

Robert gave a firm nod. “Before I leave for battle, I’ll write out an official will disinheriting Cersei’s incestuous spawn and declaring you as my heir.”

“Your heir?”

“The realm could do a lot worse than with you on the Iron Throne. Gods, you’d hate being king even more than I do, but at least you actually know how to command an army and rule. And you can sit still for an entire Small Council meeting.”

Stannis was momentarily speechless, a situation he rarely found himself in. Had Robert just given him a compliment? A genuine compliment, not some seemingly pretty words laced with insults and sarcasm? Robert noticed his shock.

“Don’t act so surprised. You’ve known that you’re the rightful heir ever since you discovered Cersei’s adultery. I can’t believe that it’s me bringing up a will instead of you! No matter. I’ll write some words on a parchment and get the Small Council to sign it as witnesses.”

Stannis didn’t say anything.

“No smile, no words of thanks?”

“I’m your rightful heir. I’ll do my duty.”

Robert sighed, clearly expecting a different reaction. What do you want me to do, Robert? To get down on my hands and knees and thank you profusely? It’s one thing to be your heir. It will be another to become king as a result of your untimely death in the upcoming battle. Who knows how many lords will think it was me who started this war just to grab the Iron Throne for myself?

“Will anything ever please you, Stannis? How about this: If I come back from this battle alive, I’ll give you Storm’s End. Will that make you happy?”

If Stannis was speechless a few moments before, now he was properly stunned. After all those years of asking you to be made lord of the castle that has been mine by rights… “What about Dragonstone?”

Robert shrugged. “As if I give a damn about that Targaryen pile of rocks. I wanted to incinerate it with wildfire at the start of my reign, but Jon Arryn sharply reminded me that the island was essential for protecting King’s Landing by sea—and for collecting a great deal of taxes from ships traveling to and from the capitol. Taxes! As if I fought to overthrow the Targaryens just to be saddled with such matters.”

Taxes from passing ships are where the majority of the Lord of Dragonstone’s incomes comes from, as his bannermen are few and relatively poor. I know that all too well, yet you have ever thought that sentimentality was the only reason I wanted to be Lord of Storm’s End. Stannis would have told Robert that, but as his brother just said, he had neither the head nor the patience for mundane matters like taxes.

“It will please me to serve you as Lord of Storm’s End, Your Grace.”

“At least you’ll stop harping about your rights to that castle…”

Stannis gave Robert a formal bow.

“Just don’t do anything stupid that will get you killed, Robert.”

Robert answered with a jovial laugh. “Believe me, I want to die as much as you want to be the proprietor of all the whorehouses in King’s Landing.”

~

Stannis knew that he’d never change Robert’s mind about riding out to battle. But he did get Robert to wait one more day. One more day gave them more time to gather what troops were in King’s Landing, and most importantly to inform the remnants of Renly’s host what their plan was. And receive a swift reply in return that the commands were received. The Lannisters were still camped outside the city as expected, though their soldiers were spotted digging ditches. Stannis was told that the citizens of King’s Landing were frightened, those with gold making straight for the harbor to sail away—and those without hiding in their meager homes.

Robert had no problem spending hours on end in the Small Council chamber now that it had been turned into a war room. Robert understood war, and there was no doubt that Robert was bold and always had the courage to bull through whatever obstacles to get what he wanted. Stannis, however, had one concern about Robert. One major concern.

“Have you chosen your men?”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “My men? Orders have already been given out to our troops.”

“The sworn swords who will ride by your side and keep you from harm,” clarified Stannis. “You aren’t the warrior you once were. Perhaps in mind, but certainly not in body.”

“I’m touched that you’re so concerned.”

“When was the last time you swung your war hammer? Can you even lift it?”

“Do I need to demonstrate for you, Stannis?” replied Robert with a glare.

“Killing Rhaegar Targaryen every night in your dreams doesn’t count.”

“I’m taking half the Kingsguard with me, as well as…” Robert spoke over Stannis, listing a few more names. “Oh, and I’ll take Ned’s boy with me.”

“Jon Snow?” Stannis’ eyes widened, and all of his anger and concern toward Robert suddenly vanished. “He’s just a young man and has never seen battle.”

“You of all people knighted him. Are you trying to tell me that Ned’s boy is too green to adequately protect his king?”

“No.”

“Now’s as good a time as any to bloody our swords. And a man can’t properly call himself a man until he has seen his own blood flow and heard his teeth crunch under the blow of his opponent. Besides, Ned never shied away from battle. Why should his son?”

Not everything is about Ned Stark, Robert. Do you want Jon to ride with you simply because he looks like the brother you always wanted but never had? Stannis dearly wished to ask Robert that, but now wasn’t the time or place. It would never be the time or place, truly.

Do I regret knighting Jon? No. I didn’t regret it then, and I don’t regret it now. Perhaps some part of Stannis wished to keep Jon from the harsh realities of war a little longer, for Jon still had much to learn. But of course, it was expected if not necessary for the sons of lords to be good battle commanders, and good battle commanders weren’t made unless they were first good soldiers who could follow orders. I was thrown into a year-long siege and then a battle on Dragonstone without much warning. Those experiences made me the man I am today. Along with watching my parents drown when the Windproud shattered in Shipbreaker Bay.

Stannis simply nodded, not being able to fault Robert for his reasoning. But that didn’t mean he liked it.

“I’ll inform Ser Jon of your orders, Your Grace.”

~

Waiting on the edge of a battle that he couldn’t escape was excruciating. Sunrise couldn’t come soon enough, and Jon just wanted to get it over with—not sing or joke with the rest of the soldiers. He simply had too much time alone with his thoughts, too much time feeling the weight of his armor and wondering if all the lessons he had ever had about swordplay, riding, keeping his shield up, and overall survival would be for naught. At least there’s no danger of me drowning beneath the walls of King’s Landing, thought Jon grimly. How I ever survived the shipwreck of the Sea Stag in Shipbreaker Bay I’ll never know.

Jon heard the tune to the “Rains of Castamere” for what must have been the seventh or seventieth time that night. Of course, the lyrics were altered in rude, lewd, and crude ways, but Jon wished that there was some Baratheon song that didn’t sound like a funeral dirge that could be sung instead. Even Ghost didn’t like it. Sadly, the wolf couldn’t howl to drown out the offending song.

Jon was with Stannis again, though the courtyard of the Red Keep in the middle of the night was a far cry from their usual haunts. For their usual haunts of solars and balconies didn’t include men in full armor clanking about, horses braying, and shouts of all kinds from every different direction. Like Jon, Stannis was dressed for battle, though he was to remain at the Red Keep as King Robert’s heir.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Jon said to Stannis. Stannis wasn’t one to joke or sing before a battle either, not that he was ever found doing those things during peaceful times to begin with. “To be acknowledged as the heir to the Iron Throne?”

“It is not a question of wanting. I am the heir to the Iron Throne.”

It must be strange for Stannis to help plan but not be a part of this battle. Waiting in the wings is the role of the women and children, or of the old and infirm. But Stannis will do whatever duty requires of him, no matter how little glory there is to be had. Jon had not been surprised when Stannis had informed him of King Robert’s orders, and he hoped that he proved himself worthy of the honor to ride beside the king. He was young, quick, in good health with strong armor, and his sword was sharp. By all rights he should be eager to finally be going to battle, something he and Robb had talked about countless times as young boys, imagining the heroic deeds that they would perform. But now that battle was soon to be a reality…

“It feels that I’ve been preparing for this my whole life,” Jon told Stannis, who patiently listened. “I learned how to ride and to swing a sword as soon as I could walk, and barely a day has gone by when I haven’t spent time doing something that involves killing—such as hunting or learning histories of old battles.”

“War is a necessary part of a nobleman’s education, save perhaps if he is given to the Faith at an early age. Life is always hard, and it is the duty of a lord and his family to make sure it is not poorer, nastier, and shorter for his people than it needs to be.”

Jon didn’t bother to tell Stannis that he wasn’t a nobleman. Stannis knew very well that Jon was bastard born, but he never treated him that way—granted, Stannis treated all men in his service equally unless they deserved otherwise. To him, Jon was a son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Which was all Jon had ever wanted to be.

“Does it make me any less of a man to be afraid before battle?” Jon said softly, hoping to conceal any anxiety in his voice. His eyes were trained to the ground, for he couldn’t bear to see possible disappointment on Stannis’ face. It was a shameful question, but Jon didn’t know who else to ask. Most everyone here in the Red Keep was a stranger to him, and he didn’t want to appear weak. If only father were here…

Stannis placed his hands on Jon’s shoulders, and Jon could feel their firm grip even through the layers of armor, mail, and padded linen shirts that he was wearing.

“I’ll let you decide that. I expect you to tell me when you come back.”

When Jon still kept his gaze determinedly on the ground, Stannis gave him a shake and gently lifted his chin with an ungloved hand. There was no disappointment in his lord’s deep blue eyes, which made it possible for Jon to hold his gaze. There was a mixture of emotions there, certainly, but Jon was at a loss as to what to call them.

“Remember: you are needed here, for things other than war.”

Stannis let go of Jon and stepped back. They stared at each other for a long moment before Jon nodded and turned away, off to find King Robert with Ghost loyally by his side.

~

Stannis watched Jon walk away into the throng of armored men, his direwolf padding after him. There was no need for him to stand there any longer, for he would only get in the way. He wasn’t commanding any of the men due to ride out the gates, and there was nothing more for him to say to Robert. Robert was in his element, as he had never been in a Small Council meeting. If this was to be his end, it would be such an end to make the singers sing it for decades to come. As long as the Lannisters don’t ultimately win this war.

In no time at all, Stannis found himself in front of the Iron Throne, the monstrosity that so many men coveted but so few knew what to do with once they sat it. No one really knew how many swords were a part of it, as some were so twisted and melted together that it was hard to know where one began and one ended. Many of the swords were dark brown in places, and whether it was from rust or blood Stannis had no idea. He moved closer toward it, running his hand lightly over the many pommels that composed the large, wide arms of the throne.

Will I ever have to sit here? Stannis thought. I wouldn’t mind doing it as Hand of the King, carrying out justice the way it should be done. But as the king? Robert had recognized him as the heir to the throne, the first in the line of succession, and the future Lord of Storm’s End. As he should have. As is my right.

Stannis ground his teeth. King Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, Protector of the Realm. Is that to be my fate? It that the duty I will have to do? It took only one well-placed arrow to kill Renly, a man in the prime of his life. Will it be an arrow that kills Robert, a man who has passed his prime at least in body? Stannis didn’t want it to be an arrow. He wanted Robert to die in his sleep of old age, his grandchildren surrounding him while Stannis was peacefully ruling Storm’s End along with his grandchildren. Will I lose both of my brothers in a fortnight, now that we’ve finally begun to repair our damaged relationships? Is that the price of justice? Stannis wasn’t sure if he was prepared for the answers to those questions.

What advice do you have for me, father? As Stannis strove to remember his father’s voice, he suddenly came to the terrifying realization that he had seen more namedays than Steffon Baratheon ever had—and had experienced more of the horrors of life. Stannis had been thirteen when the Windproud had sailed away from Storm’s End, never to return to her dock in one piece ever again. Father never had to see any of his sons off to war. He also never knew what it was like to lose a brother or to watch one of his children nearly die from greyscale.

The Iron Throne still sat there. Stannis stared at it for a long time, grasping the pommel of the sword hanging at his hip. He then turned on his heel and strode away.

There was work to do.

Chapter Text

The Gate of the Gods was right in front of Jon, and within the hour he would be galloping through it by King Robert’s side. The sun always rose in the east, and therein lay the king’s greatest advantage against the Lannisters. That and surprise, for all the old gods and the new knew that he didn’t have the numbers. The sunrise would blind any man looking directly at King’s Landing, and if enough soldiers were sleeping, it would be no challenge at all to meet the remnants of Renly’s host and march on Lord Tywin after defeating Ser Kevan.

King Robert was making the rounds through his men, clapping hundreds of soldiers on the shoulder with one of his mailed fists. The king certainly looked imposing dressed head to toe in plate armor, more than he ever had in his silks and velvets and crown. His war hammer was slung over his shoulder, in addition to the knives belted around his waist. A grin stretched across his face, a match for the indomitable gleam that had been in his eyes all night. Stannis is worried that King Robert might be seeking his death this morning, thought Jon. If he is, he’s doing a very good job of hiding it.

Jon was standing by his horse, his sword hand stroking Ghost’s white fur. Ghost understood exactly what was to come, exactly what they were waiting for. How Jon knew that he had no idea; he could simply feel it.

“Ser Jon!” King Robert was walking toward him, arms outstretched in a greeting. His grin was still intact, and Jon noted that he had seen the king smile more in the past few hours than he had Stannis in the past year and a half.

“Your Grace,” Jon bowed his head.

“Ned was always silent before battle, especially the Battle of the Trident. He thinks too much, your father, but for all that I could never have asked for a better man to fight at my side.”

“Father rarely talks about your rebellion,” admitted Jon.

“Some men are like that. We all deal with the aftermath of war in different ways. You’ll have a tale or two to tell him when you see him next!”

Jon gave a weak smile in return.

“Let me see your sword.”

Jon unsheathed Clash and handed the bastard sword over. King Robert took it in one of his big hands, testing the balance and slowly rotating it. He seemed satisfied, but as he made to give the sword back something caught his eye, forcing him to stop and reexamine the weapon.

“Your Grace?” asked Jon.

“When I saw the direwolf pommel, I thought that Ned had this sword made for you. But now that I see the maker’s mark…” Robert trailed off, looking at the sword in surprise.

“Do you know it?”

“Of course I know it. I owned and trained with many weapons bearing that same mark. My father met a remarkable blacksmith during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and he invited him back to Storm’s End where he served until his death. Though,” the king bit his lip. “I don’t recall him making anything with a direwolf.”

“It’s called Clash, and the pommel used to have a golden stag,” said Jon helpfully. “There was a stone carver on Dragonstone who Lord Stannis commissioned to carve the white marble. He felt that a direwolf was more appropriate for me.”

“Not only did he knight you, but he gave you one of our father’s own swords,” muttered King Robert under his breath. He looked back and forth between Clash and Jon with the oddest expression on his face. Jon got the impression that the king wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

King Robert eventually gave Clash back, sighing.

“Stannis isn’t the type of man to let a good sword go to rust, at any rate.”

~

“Lord Stannis.”

“Ser Barristan,” greeted Stannis from behind the large desk in his solar.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had elected to stay away from the fighting, sending those white brothers of his who were younger and quicker fighters to guard King Robert. Stannis approved of the decision, for Ser Barristan was a decent and practical man, one who he had gotten along well with during his time on the Small Council.

Multiple candles throughout the room illuminated neat piles of parchment, including one of recent correspondence. Since Stannis needed to be awake before dawn, there was no reason for him to sleep for a few short hours—and there was always something for him to do. Ser Davos had informed him that the seas around Dragonstone remained clear, and from the large, childish handwriting, Stannis gathered that his onion knight had actually taken it upon himself to learn his letters. The messages from Ned Stark were much more…interesting, to say the least, for Stannis couldn’t tell if Stark was trying to thank him or yell at him for his honesty concerning Jon Arryn.

“It’s nearly dawn,” stated Ser Barristan. “I presume that you wish to watch the battle from the castle walls? The spyglasses are already set up.”

“Of course,” nodded Stannis. “We must see how well our fearless king’s gamble plays out.”

Ser Barristan said nothing, following Stannis to the walls like a white shadow.

~

The sun’s rays had just begun to peak over the horizon, and Jon was mounted on his horse, shield up and naked sword in hand. King Robert’s magnificent destrier began to kick the cobbled street with its iron-shod hooves when the king shortened its reins and raised his war hammer with a cry.

“Lord Tywin caught my brother with his pants down feasting on creamed swans. Let’s return the favor and show that mangy old lion what happens to someone who dares mess with my family!”

All the soldiers behind Jon answered with a roar of approval. King Robert’s voice was loud, and Jon was willing to bet that the soldiers waiting to charge out of the King’s Gate, the Lion Gate, the Dragon Gate, and all the other gates could hear him as well. He remembered climbing with Robb to the highest towers of Winterfell to practice shouting at each other, for father had impressed upon them how important a loud voice was on the battlefield. Was father recalling King Robert’s battle cries?

“Let the rains weep o’er his halls today!”

The bells of every sept in King’s Landing began to ring as all the gates along the walls creaked open. Trumpets blasted, both from the men around Jon and from Renly’s men far away. The trumpets had been Stannis’ idea, a way to make their army sound larger than it actually was. Trumpets and blinding light. Those sounds were soon drowned out, though, by the thundering of hooves as Jon kicked his horse into a gallop. He tightened his grip on Clash, giving his horse all the rein that it wanted. King Robert was just in front of him to the left, the sharp tip of his war hammer glinting. Ghost raced along at Jon’s side, a deadly white blur eating up the ground as swiftly as any other beast. The sea of red Lannister tents now lay before him, and Jon braced himself for impact, praying to any god out there that his horse didn’t throw him to his death.

Men were spilling out of the red tents, hands filled with swords, maces, crossbows, bows and arrows—any weapon within their reach. They were quickly trampled, and Jon could physically feel the crunch as his horse’s hooves made contact with bones beneath him. Enough Lannister soldiers were awake enough to put up some kind of fight, and Jon made sure that Clash met whatever came at him. The taste of blood filled his mouth time and time again, and out of the corner of his eye Jon could spy Ghost tearing out throats. King Robert was going strong, smashing skulls with his war hammer. Jon kept to the king’s side the best he could. Until he couldn’t.

There was a ditch right in front of him, and his horse was going too fast right at it. Jon wasn’t a good enough rider to jump horses over obstacles, and he couldn’t judge how wide the ditch was in the first place. If he could get the animal to turn in time…

Jon yanked the reins to the right, but it was too late: his horse stumbled and then reared up, thrashing about wildly. Jon’s boots slipped out of his stirrups as he was thrown backwards, twisting in the air and landing on his shield face-down in the ditch. The fall knocked the wind out of him, and he barely had the breath to groan. Jon had fallen plenty of times during training, and in fact falling the right way was one of the first lessons he’d ever learned in the practice yard. He gritted his teeth, quickly getting to his knees and grabbing his sword—which had thankfully remained in his hand until his impact with the ground. He lifted his shield, trying to get a sense of his new surroundings.

It was a good thing he did.

A sword came crashing down on the metal rim of Jon’s shield, barely missing his left eye. Jon jumped to his feet, hastily taking a step back as the same sword slammed into his shield again. He hit the wall of the ditch—it was more of a small hole, truly—behind him and finally took a look at his attacker, a man of similar height dressed in red: red shirt, red hose, red leather gauntlets and vambraces, and a long mail shirt thrown over all of that. The only piece of armor the knight had on was a helmet, it likely being the only thing he had time to don when the trumpets started sounding.

I have the advantage, Jon repeated over and over to himself. I’m fully armored. I have a shield. He doesn’t. When the enemy sword came at him for a third time, Jon was able to meet it with his own. Clash clashed as it hit another sharp piece of steel, pushing against it with as much strength as Jon could gather. The knight staggered back, and Jon pressed his advantage. I’m stronger than him, I must be, or else I’d be the one going backwards. On the next pass, Jon brought Clash under and up, catching the other hilt and jerking the sword from the knight’s hand. It went flying, and when the Lannister knight’s eyes wildly looked around for another weapon, Jon saw his opening. It was easy, almost too easy to thrust Clash under his enemy’s arm, the tip of the sword slicing though the thin chain mail and coming out at the bottom of his throat.

Jon yanked Clash out as the knight tumbled back, his helmet falling off in the process and revealing sandy-colored hair. There was a spray of blood, and the knight did not get up. Jon turned around, making to climb out of the ditch and fight his way to wherever Ghost was, but a pitiful moan stopped him. Jon slowly looked back. The Lannister knight he had just dueled was scrabbling at his left vambrace, pulling out a piece of light blue cloth and holding it up to his eyes. His eyes were hazel, and they spoke of excruciating pain. Jon tried but failed to drag his grey eyes away, involuntarily gripped by the scene in front of him.

“Tell her…” the knight rasped. His fist opened and closed around the blue cloth, and it looked like he was trying to hand it over to Jon.

“Tell her what?” urged Jon. “Who is she?”

The knight never answered. He had gone still, eyes staring straight ahead. His mouth was still half open, and blood was slowly dripping down from the left corner.

Jon stared at him for a long moment. He looked up, and after determining that the soldiers on both sides were doing their best to avoid falling into the small ditch, he kneeled down next to the dead knight. Jon took the blue cloth from the limp hand and spread it out. A grey dolphin danced through waves, waves encased in a ring of purple flowers shaped like stars. It’s a favor, but a favor from whom? His lover? His sister? Or even his mother? Red smudges now dotted the favor, and Jon would never know whose blood it was. What did he want me to tell her? That he loved her? That he was sorry about something? That he wished he’s never left home?

The sounds of the battle happening all around him rang in Jon’s ears, the sounds of steel on steel, dying horses, screams of terrified men, the crashes of tents collapsing, triumphant yells, trumpets, war horns, and shouts of “Mother!” With all those sounds, with all his logic telling him that he should get to where Ghost was, all Jon could do was continue to kneel by the dead knight. He looks the same age as me, or close enough not to make much of a difference. The Lannister twins had to be brought to justice for their treasons, Jon knew, but this knight had nothing to do with them. Neither do I, for that matter, so what reason did I have to kill him? If I met him in the streets of Lannisport or wherever he’s from, we would have no cause to be anything but civil to each other. He never harmed me or anyone I care about, not until we fell into this ditch together.

Jon reached out a hand and closed those hazel eyes, folding the blue piece of cloth and stuffing it under one of his own vambraces. Right next to his favor from Shireen.

Shaking his head to force himself back to reality, Jon gathered his shield and sword and climbed out of the ditch. He immediately crouched down, making sure that nothing was running at him and that no one was trying to attack him. He couldn’t see or hear King Robert, so that was a lost cause, but Jon could acutely feel Ghost. Ghost badly needed his help and was urging him to come. Jon rushed in the direction of his direwolf, striking down men foolish enough to run at him. Most of those had helmets and were wearing more armor than the knight in the ditch, and Jon didn’t look back to see how deadly his blows were.

Ghost was in front of an impressive tent that had partially collapsed. The wolf was silently snarling, his sharp teeth barred in warning to anyone who dared come near him. When Jon got closer, he noticed that Ghost was protecting an unarmed man on the ground. Red cloaked men jeered, their drawn swords looking for the right opening. Jon dispatched one of them before the others realized that he was there, smashing another in the head with his shield.

“STOP!” desperately cried the man on the ground. “Yield to the direwolf and his master! Enough blood has been spilled today, and this battle has already been lost.”

Jon remembered that voice, and looking down he recognized the knight that Stannis had met to parley with just a short time ago…

“Ser Kevan? Is that you?”

“You must be Ser Jon. The direwolf recognized you approaching.” Right on cue, Ghost leapt to Jon’s side, teeth still barred even though all the Lannister men around him had dropped their weapons at their commander’s orders.

“Who’s your commanding officer, the man who led the sortie? Lord Stannis?”

Jon gawked at him. He doesn’t know Stannis very well.

“King Robert led the charge out of the gates.”

Ser Kevan looked rather stunned. “Truly? I didn’t think he…”

“Are you surrendering to me, Ser Kevan?” said Jon before Ser Kevan could finish his sentence. You didn’t think that he could still swing his war hammer? Or that he’s too fat for a suit of armor?

“I surrender to you, Ser Jon. Let’s go find King Robert and stop this.” Ser Kevan slowly got to his feet, wincing as he put weight on his right foot. Jon couldn’t see any blood, so hopefully the injury wasn’t too serious.

“Do I have your word?”

“On my honor as a Lannister. On my honor as a knight.”

~

“Lord Stannis, I insist that you get some rest.”

That wasn’t the first time that Ser Barristan had said those words, but now was the first time that Stannis decided to take them seriously. Ser Kevan’s troops had clearly been routed, and Lord Tywin’s troops had stopped fighting after an absurdly short engagement. That’s all he knew for certain, for spyglasses could help a man see only so far. Robert must still be alive, or else a knight like Ser Donnel would’ve come to breathlessly tell him the dreadful news. As for any direwolves…

Stannis fell asleep as soon as his head touched his pillows, not even bothering to remove any of his armor save for his sword belt.

He dreamed. He dreamed terrible dreams. There was a lady with hair the color of blood smiling as she burned someone chained to a stake. Then the Blackwater was on fire, evil green flames devouring everything in their path except for the screams of dying men. The green flames gave way to snow, cold snow where creatures with icy blue eyes began to rise up. Finally, Stannis saw Jon, clad in all black and reaching for a sword with a direwolf pommel so like that of Clash as other men in black stabbed him with knives. Stannis tried to scream, tried to scream at Jon to defend himself, but all Jon did was look at him with utter defeat written in his eyes before he fell face-first into the snow.

Stannis’ eyes snapped open, and he was breathing as if he had just finished a battle himself. He looked wildly around him, but there was no sign of fire or snow of any color. Or blood. Just his chambers in the Red Keep. Stannis wondered where such nightmares had come from, if they were signs of any sort, portents of what could have been or what was yet to come. Normally, he scoffed at such things, letting the septons talk themselves hoarse about signs from the merciful gods. But those images had been so real.

Stannis shook his head, getting up and pouring himself a goblet full of water, sprinkling it with salt. The sun was close to setting, and he cursed himself for sleeping so long.

If I think that I’m living a nightmare now, things could be much, much worse. They always can.

~

King Robert was delighted to see Jon, especially when he saw who Jon had captured and won a surrender from. The king had done very well himself. Miraculously well, in fact. After galloping through Ser Kevan’s camp, he had headed straight up the hill to Tywin Lannister’s tent. Lord Tywin’s camp was similarly sleepy and unprepared for an attack, and it was no trouble at all for King Robert to have his war hammer at Lord Tywin’s throat before he had even dressed in his armor for the day.

“Ser Jon! I thought you had fallen!”

“I did fall…into a ditch.” Robert responded to that with a hearty laugh, though Jon wasn’t trying to be particularly amusing. “But I climbed out.”

“That you did. And captured Ser Kevan while you were at it!”

“My direwolf did most of the work, to be honest…” But the king wouldn’t hear any of Jon’s humble excuses, putting a meaty arm around his shoulders and walking with him.

“Who else here can control such a fearsome beast? Just like those damned Targaryens and their dragons. Thankfully all of the dragons are dead, save for a little girl floundering in the deserts of Essos from what my spies tell me.”

“My siblings all have direwolves of their own,” began Jon, but the king wasn’t listening to him.

“I’ve wanted to charge at Tywin Lannister with my war hammer for a long time. He’s always so smug, so cold that Stannis looks jovial in comparison. Anyway, you should’ve seen his face when I barged into his tent…” King Robert kept talking, recounting the battle in a loud voice as he and Jon walked through Renly’s camp. Enthusiastic shouts of “Your Grace!” and “Long live King Robert!” followed them. Jon felt uncomfortable, and not because of the king’s iron grip around his shoulders. Hundreds of eyes were following him, likely wondering who he was and why the king was acting so familiar with him.

King Robert finally stopped at a large green tent guarded by knights wearing golden roses. An impeccably dressed man with a girth to match the king’s emerged.

“Your Grace! You were truly the hero today!”

“Lord Tyrell!” boomed King Robert in response. “This realm is being put back to rights, one chained up treasonous Lannister at a time.”

“Lord Tywin wanted me to ally with him, did you know? Said I should marry my daughter to his grandson Joffrey, and that he would give Storm’s End to one of my sons once you and Lord Stannis were short a head.”

“He did, did he?” growled the king.

“I refused him, of course! I told Lord Tywin that I faithfully served my king.” Lord Tyrell sounded for all the world like he was sincere, but Jon was willing to bet his sword that the Lord of Highgarden would have been just as faithful to Lord Tywin had the king been defeated in battle. With the promise of Storm’s End along with his daughter being made a queen, Jon wondered if the outcome of the battle hadn’t been rather disappointing to him. Stannis will be interested to hear this, though he likely thinks nothing good of the man who tried to starve him to death in the first place. If King Robert found anything suspect about Lord Tyrell’s words, however, he didn’t show it when a young girl of age with Jon appeared by Lord Tyrell’s side.

“Your Grace, may I introduce my daughter, Lady Margaery?

Margaery was wrapped in a green velvet cloak, and her hair was a tumble of brown curls cascading down her back. Jon supposed that she was pretty, but he couldn’t get it out of his head how out of place she looked in the army camp. Much like if Shireen or any of his sisters had been walking among the soldiers.

The king politely took Margaery’s hand and kissed it. His eyes lingered on her.

“Are you hoping to be called ‘Your Grace’ yourself sometime soon?”

“If my father commands me,” she said.

King Robert laughed. “Of course, of course. While I speak with your lord father, you must meet Ser Jon. The other hero of this battle!” He disappeared into the tent, leaving Jon alone with Margaery. Well, there were plenty of guards with golden roses around, but for all intents they were alone. Jon didn’t really know what to say to her, though he was tempted to say that he was far from a hero.

“I apologize that my brother Loras is not here to greet you, Ser, as I know you are previously acquainted.” said Margaery first, a soft smile on her heart-shaped face. “He’s been rather distraught since Lord Renly’s death. They were very good friends, much like you and Lord Stannis.”

“I…” started Jon. I wouldn’t call Stannis and I good friends, let alone friends. He doesn’t have friends, exactly, though there are certainly men he trusts more than others. “How did you know that I serve Lord Stannis? And that I met your brother?”

“Loras told me about your visit to Storm’s End, and about your massive white direwolf. I hear that you’ve never seen a joust before! All three of my brothers have entered the lists at one tourney or another, and I’m sure any of them would be glad to tell you more.”

Jousting? Is she completely oblivious to where we are and what just happened? Or is she purposely talking about something frivolous to assuage the seriousness of our situation? Jon decided to give Margaery the benefit of the doubt.

“I must take my leave, my lady,” bowed Jon. Margaery simply nodded, smile still intact.

~

For rest of the day, as King Robert and Lord Tyrell and numerous other high ranking lords and knights decided what to do with Lord Tywin, Jon helped collect the wounded and the dead from the battlefield. Men who were moaning were brought to the makeshift infirmary immediately, where the maesters further separated them based on the severity of their injuries. With those men who weren’t moaning, well…they had already gone to their gods, and nothing more could be done other than line them up with the other dead. Occasionally, still men lying at awkward angles had heartbeats, and they joined their injured brothers at the mercy of the maesters. Ghost was quite good and sniffing out life, though it was hard to know if any of those poor men would ever live to see the next day.

It was almost too easy to tell the Lannister dead from those who had fought for Renly or King Robert. Not always because of red cloaks and red-gold armor, but because of a lack of any kind of protection. The Lannisters had fully been caught unawares, and Jon was only beginning to understand the scale of the carnage that he had been a part of.

While the physical work was usually enough to keep Jon focused, his thoughts would often drift off. He had now seen for himself the King Robert that the songs had sung about, the stag that had slaughtered dragons. The king was a completely different man from the slovenly monarch that Jon had watched from afar at Winterfell, before Stannis had taken Jon on as a squire and turned all of Westeros upside-down with the truth about the royal children…

Father once said that Stannis and King Robert were utterly unlike each other, in both demeanor and character. But since both of the elder Baratheon brothers were famed for their prowess in battle, Jon had assumed that war was the one thing they had in common. I was wrong about that. Jon had gotten the chance to observe how both men worked when the stakes were high. Robert always had to be the first through the gates, the first through the lines, screaming and smashing at everything in sight. He was a true warrior, putting faith in his brawn and betting that his enemy would never expect him to be so bold. Stannis, on the other hand, was no warrior, regardless of how well he could hold his own with a sword. Stannis was a commander, more interested in the planning and execution of a war than the actual fighting. And he was good at it, good at strategizing and predicting what his enemy would do and what was feasible for him to do. The fighting could be left to the hot-headed young men eager for any excuse to cross swords and spill blood.

When they worked together, a commander and a warrior could do great things. Hadn’t Stannis and King Robert proved that? During Robert’s Rebellion, the king had taken out Rhaegar Targaryen while Stannis had held Storm’s End and planned and effected the capture of Dragonstone. In the Greyjoy Rebellion, Stannis had cleverly trapped and destroyed the Iron Fleet, leaving the seas open for Robert to storm Pyke and have Lord Balon at his mercy. They worked well together again here. Jon had seen firsthand all the planning that Stannis had done to bring the Lannisters to justice ever since they were on Dragonstone—all the ravens, all the bickering with lords and council members, and all the late nights. Renly’s failure had unexpectedly thrown off some of those plans, but King Robert had easily remedied that with one daring dawn ride.

What kind of man am I? The warrior or the commander? The warrior gets all the glory, though that’s based more on luck and brute strength. The commander has the harder job, and often he goes unnoticed from his place behind the lines.

Jon sighed.

Or maybe I’m just a boy who’s gotten his chance to play at war.

~

There was a feast that night. King Robert insisted that Jon sit on his right, honoring him for his capture of Ser Kevan. Once again, too many eyes were upon him. Jon drank too many glasses of sweet red summerwine, for it was hard to refuse when King Robert pressed a jeweled goblet into his hands and made toast after toast. All of the shouts Jon heard were in celebration now, and the song of swords heard in the morning had changed into the song of harps and lutes. Jon wondered where such musicians had come from, for what use did an army have for them? Ghost had been given a haunch of something, and no one said anything when the wolf dragged the meat and ate it right behind Jon.

“What’s your secret, Your Grace? How does a man kill Rhaegar Targaryen and trap Tywin Lannister without breaking a sweat?” shouted a knight with a red griffin on his surcoat.

“My secret?” King Robert raised his goblet. “Be brave! Go into every fight, every battle not caring about death. Without any inhibitions to hold you back, you have more freedom than you can ever imagine!”

Cheers followed that statement, though Jon didn’t join in. What King Robert said sounds more like recklessness than bravery.

“Your Grace.” Two men from the City Watch suddenly materialized behind the king, their gold cloaks hanging behind them.

“What is it?” asked King Robert, irritated.

“Your Grace, we’ve found a member of your Kingsguard injured on the field. Ser Mandon Moore.”

“Ser Mandon? I left him in the Red Keep, guarding our queen’s incestuous bastards.”

The gold cloaks looked at each other, a look part fear and part apprehension passing between them. The men feasting around the king had fallen silent.

“We suggest that you talk to Ser Mandon at once.” They wouldn’t say anything more. King Robert shrugged, standing up and stepping over his bench.

“Ned, with me!” called King Robert. It took Jon a moment before he realized that the king was referring to him. Jon opened his mouth to correct him but quickly closed it, remembering all the summerwine that had been flowing freely all throughout the feast. He’s too drunk to know that I’m not my father, but does he even care? Jon purposely didn’t dwell on those thoughts as he rushed to follow.

The gold cloaks led them to a private tent next to the makeshift infirmary. Ser Mandon was identifiable by his white armor, and his sword arm was in a sling. He was standing next to a table where a dead Lannister soldier had been laid out. It had to be a Lannister, for the body was clad in red and gold armor. However, as Jon walked closer and saw the soldier’s face, his breath caught in his throat.

Gods…

It was Prince Joffrey. Jon last remembered him insulting Robb in Winterfell’s practice yard, wearing a tunic decorated with lions and stags. The cause of Joffrey’s death wasn’t evident, but red cloaks were good at hiding blood, after all. Jon looked to the king, who had balled his hands into fists. His face was curiously blank when by all expectations it should’ve been red with rage at the scene before him.

“What is the meaning of this, Ser Mandon? You abandoned your post.” The king’s voice was equally as expressionless as his face.

Ser Mandon glared at the king. “Queen Cersei asked me to smuggle the heir to the Iron Throne to his grandfather. Your battle was the perfect time to do it, but we encountered unforeseen…complications.”

“You obeyed her? You are a member of the Kingsguard, Ser Mandon. You serve the king.” Now King Robert was angry, and disgust was etched across his face.

“The Kingsguard also protects the king’s family,” insisted Ser Mandon. “I failed in my duty, for the prince is dead while I stand here with nothing more than a twisted wrist! Besides, the queen is more worthy of my protection than you.”

“Guards!” shouted the king. The requested guards appeared. “Put Ser Mandon in chains and throw him with the rest of the highborn prisoners. His comfort should be no concern of yours.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” was repeated many times as the errant Kingsguard knight was dragged off. The two gold cloaks that brought Jon to the tent were still there. One hesitantly addressed King Robert.

“It will be said that…”

“That what? That I murdered my own son?”

No one said anything.

“Men die in war. With armor and cloak in the Lannister colors, how was anyone supposed to have known that Joffrey wasn’t a squire to some Westerlands knight? So many of them have yellow hair, it’s hard to tell them apart!”

Jon immediately thought of the sandy-haired knight with the dolphin favor. Tell her…The dying voice rang in his ears once again.

“Joffrey is not my son. Joffrey has never been my son. Even when I thought he was…he was always hers.” King Robert’s voice was cold, as cold as winter, and his deep blue eyes were like bruises.

“What should we do with his body?”

“Save it for Lord Tywin. As an act of faith, for he’ll likely want to bury his kin. I sure don’t have any use for it.”

When Jon could finally get away from King Robert, he made his way to the edge of the camp. That took a while, as there were thousands of men milling around with all of their tents, horses, camp followers…but they had to end somewhere. King’s Landing with its three high hills was to his east, and stars glittered from the dark night sky above him. Jon’s head was pounding, and it felt like ages since he had last slept, ages since he had been ignorant about the sight of so much blood…

Jon promptly vomited, emptying out the contents of his stomach onto the grass. He fell to his knees and continued to retch even when he knew that there was nothing left, his mouth filled with an abhorrent sour taste. It’s all the wine I drank, surely. No wonder Stannis never drinks. But as Jon wiped his mouth on his sleeve, he wondered if he was only lying to himself. He had seen plenty today that he wished could be unseen, down to King Robert staring unfeelingly at Joffrey’s dead body. Ghost nosed at his hip. Jon stroked his direwolf’s fur, noting the many dark splotches in the normally white coat. Those could very well be mud, but blood was just as likely. Ghost ripped out his share of throats today. I know because I tasted it myself.

Jon ran his fingers through his hair, forcing himself to take a deep breath.

If anyone asks if I’m sick, I’ll say that I simply drank too much wine. That’s not a lie.

Chapter Text

“Make way for the king!”

Stannis was standing in the Red Keep’s courtyard, armored arms crossed and sword at his side. Ser Barristan, Lord Estermont, Lord Varys, and anyone else of any note were naturally there as well. Trumpets blared as the gates opened and dozens of men and their mounts rode through. Robert was at the center, of course, flanked by two white knights of the Kingsguard, along with…Well well, we have Lord Tywin Lannister and Ser Kevan Lannister. And neither of them seems pleased about this situation at all. Stannis looked on with grim satisfaction as the Kingsguard immediately took hold of the Lannister commanders once they got off their horses.

“Stannis!” called Robert. Stannis couldn’t recall when his brother had last been in such good spirits. By all logic, a man of Robert’s current size shouldn’t be able to fit into armor, but Robert was walking around as if the material weighed nothing at all.

“What a battle you missed!”

“I was protecting the Red Keep as your heir.”

“Of course you were,” dismissed Robert as if he had just remembered. “Lord Tywin wasn’t expecting me to come riding into his tent with my war hammer before he’d taken his first shit of the day!”

“Your Grace,” said Lord Tywin through gritted teeth, as though each word was costing him a golden stag. “I don’t know who to thank more for the delightful situation that we’re in: you or your brother.”

“I assure you, Lord Tywin, that all the thanks should go to your children,” responded Stannis in kind.

“Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime will be put on trial for their alleged crimes shortly,” informed Robert, loud enough for all around him to hear. “Justice comes from the king, but since the accused parties are my wife and my good-brother, I have asked Lord Tywin to serve as a judge with myself and our Lord Hand.”

Stannis immediately saw many things wrong with that statement. Where to begin? He quickly strode up to Robert, not caring about all the people watching them. “I deserve to be one of those judges,” he insisted, keeping his voice purposefully low. “I discovered the incest in the first place!”

“Exactly. You’re the one bringing up the charges. You can’t act as a judge, for you’ve already decided on a guilty verdict. It’s only fair.”

“And Lord Tywin is impartial? What has he done to you, Robert? Bewitched you? Poisoned your mind? He’s at your mercy, so why are doing this?”

“Look, Stannis,” Robert stepped closer and hissed in his ear. “Tywin Lannister is a heartless bastard, and I have no intention of giving away any more ground to him. The Crown is three million golden stags in debt to him, however, and we can’t afford to make the entire Westerlands our enemy. But if we can convince Lord Tywin that Cersei and Jaime are truly guilty and prove their guilt to such a point that he can’t refute it…then we’ve won. We’ll be rid of the Lannisters from court without making enemies of Casterly Rock.”

Stannis stared at him.

“You convinced Jon Arryn of the incest, and he was the one who forced me to marry Cersei for the good of the realm! Surely you can do the same with Lord Tywin!”

I’m flattered that you have so much faith in me. “Your brilliant plan is for me to get Tywin Lannister to publically admit to his children’s treason? And that his grandchildren are nothing more than incestuous bastards? Seven hells, Robert, Cersei and Jaime could fuck each other in front of his eyes and he’d still never admit it!”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Shireen could think of a better idea. But try as he might, Stannis had a hard time formulating something intelligent to say on the spot. He ground his teeth, wanting to start shouting at his brother in front of the whole court, everything else be damned. Why does Robert put me in such moods? Only he can cause my emotions to swing as wildly as a catapult! He and Renly.

Lord Estermont came to Stannis’ side and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down, son. All the problems of the realm won’t be solved in this moment.”

Stannis jerked himself out of his grandfather’s grip. You’re not my father. My father died over twenty years ago. No one has a right to call me son and then proceed to tell me what to do, even if they share my blood.

“You are too familiar, my Lord Hand,” said Stannis, focusing on the turtle brooch clasping his grandfather’s cloak. “Still, there’s nothing to do except follow our king’s orders for the nonce. It should be no trouble at all to shorten Cersei and Jaime by a head without making enemies of Casterly Rock.”

Robert made no comment to that, turning away to formally greet the other men who rode in with him. Stannis saw Lord Tyrell, who was fatter than he last remembered. Too many banquets and not enough battles for him, certainly. Lord Tyrell was accompanied by two young men with light brown hair and jeweled armor, obviously his sons Ser Garlan and Ser Loras. Lord Randyll Tarly and Lord Alester Florent were there, as were a number of notable lords and knights from the Reach and the Stormlands. It was only then, after he had calmed down from his encounter with Robert, did Stannis notice that Ser Jon wasn’t there. Robert insisted that Jon ride out to battle with him, so surely he would give him the honor of riding back with him? Unless…

Unless Jon had fallen. Men died in war; that was as certain as the sunrise. Stannis’ nightmare of Jon being stabbed from all sides abruptly came back to him. That can’t have happened. All the men were wearing black, and there was snow on the ground. Stannis looked wildly around, and even as tall as he was, he couldn’t see everyone in the crowd that had come in with the king, and more men were still coming in. He was momentarily seized with a mad desire to run to Robert and ask him if he knew what had happened to Jon—not just for himself, but for Shireen. Jon was her friend.

Before Stannis could act on any such desire, the wet press of a tongue on his hand brought him back to his senses. He looked down, and a red pair of eyes looked back up at him. Ghost was alive and well, though his fur was dirty and matted in places.

“Ghost.” Stannis reached out and stroked the fur on the direwolf’s head. A hand wearing a grey leather gauntlet soon joined his, and Stannis let out a long breath.

“Lord Stannis,” said Jon with a tired smile.

“Ser Jon,” responded Stannis with a stiff nod. “You didn’t ride into the Red Keep with the king?”

“Ser Kevan refused point blank to ride anywhere near Ghost, as Ghost deserves all the credit for capturing him and forcing him to surrender. Lord Tywin agreed with his brother.”

“Indeed.” Stannis cocked his head. Jon certainly did well for himself, and now no one will be able to deny that he doesn’t deserve his knighthood. I needn’t have worried. “I see that keeping your direwolf close was good advice for you after all.”

“I’m glad that the battle’s over.”

“Oh?” Stannis looked Jon up and down.

“I mean…” Jon frowned and bit his lip. “As a knight I have a duty to my lord and above all a duty to my king. I understand why King Robert wants revenge; and the same with Lord Tywin. If someone had imprisoned my father for an unjust cause or held my sisters hostage, I’d want to ride to battle. I’m just relieved that this one’s over, and that I’m out of that army camp.”

“An army camp isn’t as pleasant as the Red Keep?”

“There aren’t any soft mattresses, certainly.”

Stannis placed a hand on Jon’s right shoulder. Jon made no move to brush it away, and instead he rather leant into the touch.

“Find someone to help you out of your armor, then come up to my rooms. We can talk like we usually do.” Or just sit in silence, which never gets tiresome. “There will be food, if you want it, though I refuse on principle to offer you wine.”

“I’d like that very much. Gods know I don’t need any more wine.”

Stannis wondered about that comment, but Jon’s look toward Robert told him all he needed to know. It was Stannis’ turn to frown, wondering what further idiocy his gallant older brother had done. He also wondered how much Jon knew of Robert’s absurd plan concerning Tywin Lannister. If he knows nothing, I’ll tell him all before long.

“I’ll be there soon.” Jon turned and went on his way, and Stannis did likewise. He had his own armor to remove, after all. However, if Stannis had thought to look back, he would’ve seen Robert staring at him and Jon, an unreadable expression on his face.

~

It was a relief to get back into his wool and leather clothing. Stannis had comfortable chairs in his solar, though they weren’t ostentatiously decorated like elsewhere in the castle. Jon could hear the waves crash onto the rocks far below him, and the soothing sound almost made him feel as if he were back on Dragonstone. Almost. Black bread and a thick bean and bacon stew had been waiting for him as promised, along with his lord’s favored boiled water with lemons. There was even a plate of raw meat for Ghost. Jon ate in companionable silence with Stannis, all the while mulling over how to broach the topic of the battle. He knew that he wanted to talk about it, and he knew that Stannis wanted to hear about it. Stannis wasn’t prompting him, however, so Jon started with what he remembered most clearly:

“I spent most of the battle in a ditch with a dead man.”

Stannis didn’t immediately reply, considering Jon’s statement. “And I spent most of Robert’s Rebellion starving behind stone walls. What of it?”

“I should’ve been watching where I was riding, I should’ve been able to control my horse better, I should’ve stayed with the king, I should’ve fought more…” Jon searched for the right word and couldn’t find it, so he used the first that came to mind. “More heroically.”

Stannis didn’t scoff at that, surprisingly, though he didn’t approve.

“Robert had enough other men around him who didn’t fail in their duty, so don’t let being torn away from him weigh on your conscience. There are innumerable variables that you can’t control once you’re in the middle of a battle. Nevertheless, you’re alive and you helped your king accomplish his objective. How you do so usually doesn’t matter.”

“Usually?” caught Jon.

“I would advise against the rape of defenseless women and the murder of innocent children. The blood of Elia Martell and her children will always be on Tywin Lannister’s hands, even if it was technically his sworn swords who did the deed.”

Stannis’ words made Jon think of Prince Joffrey’s corpse, even if the cruel boy hadn’t met his death the same way as the Targaryen children. Suddenly, everything about the battle and its aftermath came flooding back, and Jon couldn’t stop the torrent of words that came rushing out of him. He needed to say them, needed to say them now to someone who could understand. Stannis listened to him without interrupting, never taking his eyes from Jon’s face except to refill his goblet of lemon water. Jon was dully grateful for that. It was only when he had relived most everything about the past two days that he finally felt prepared to talk about his time in the ditch with the dead man.

“There was a Lannister knight. At least I think he was a knight. He would’ve killed me, but I was quicker and ran him through with my sword first. He didn’t die right away.” Jon reached into his tunic and brought out the blue favor with the dancing dolphins. The spots of blood had turned brown. “ ‘Tell her,’ he said.”

“Tell who what?”

“I’ll never know. Do you know which house has a dolphin for a sigil? A dolphin with purple flowers?”

Stannis shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Jon.”

“I can’t get the knight’s voice out of my head!” said Jon, his voice more distressed than he meant it to be.

Stannis frowned, pouring himself another glass of lemon water. Surely he’s experienced something like this, seen another man die before his eyes, a man who he killed with his own hands. Surely he’s felt something.

“You can’t do anything about it. What else was there for you to do? Let him kill you?”

Jon shook his head.

“The first man you kill—truly kill, not just ride down with a horse—will always stay with you, if only to remind you how you never want your life to end.”

“What about the heroes? Brandon the Builder, Aemon the Dragonknight, Aegon the Conqueror? Do you think they remembered the men that they killed?”

“First of all, Aegon the Conqueror was a conqueror, not a hero,” emphasized Stannis. “He wanted to rule over more lands than just his domain, and he didn’t care how many thousands his dragons burned to accomplish that goal.”

Jon smiled in spite of himself.

Stannis wasn’t finished. “If they were human, they remembered. Also, heroism is only a myth. Those men who set out to become heroes usually fail or compromise themselves. Occasionally, men will commit heroic acts, but those acts are largely due to chance and only recognized as such after the fact. Such as Ser Davos with his black ship full of onions and salt fish. You don’t need to be a hero to be a good, fair, and most importantly a just man.”

“That sounds like something my father would say.” Jon let out a yawn.

A dark look passed across Stannis’ face, which confused and frustrated Jon at the same time. Was he not allowed to say something good about Lord Eddard Stark? Why are you jealous of my father, Stannis? What has he ever done to you? He respects you just as much as you do him.

“Then perhaps you’ll take my words seriously,” said Stannis.

“I always do.”

The dark look passed just as quickly as it had come, and Stannis’ eyebrows rose ever so slightly. He even began to smile, though that was likely a trick of the flickering light.

Jon’s eyelids felt very heavy, and suddenly it was a challenge to stay awake. Every one of his muscles ached, and he knew that when he took off his clothes he would find a multitude of bruises in all shapes and colors. Jon’s chair simply felt so comfortable, and the only sounds he could hear now were those of his and Stannis’ voices. And the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, so very different from the cacophony of the battlefield. It was relaxing, and for the first time in a long while Jon felt safe.

~

As Jon continued speaking, Stannis was reminded of those nights when his father would regal him and Robert with tales from the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Lord Steffon had fought alongside his friends Prince Aerys and Ser Tywin, and Robert would never tire of asking questions. “Who killed whom?” was said as often as “What weapons were used?” and “What was it like to be in the midst of a battle?” However, when Robert had had his fill and happily went off to bed or whatever duties he had that day, Stannis would ask father much different questions:

“You try and make battle seem like a song, father, but whenever you describe what it’s like to be in a battle your face becomes serious and your eyes have a haunted look.”

“I never said that battle was like the songs, Stannis.”

“But that’s how Robert always interprets your stories.”

Father sighed, running a hand through his thick black hair. “Robert is the future Lord of Storm’s End. Lords are too often dragged into wars, either through direct provocation or because their king commands them. Robert will likely lead the armies of the Stormlands into battle one day, and the more enthusiasm he has for war, the better.”

Stannis thought about that, but something didn’t seem right. “You don’t seem to have any enthusiasm for war, and you’ve been a good lord.”

Father gave a tired smile. “I did what needed to be done. If the time comes again, I’ll do my duty once more. Robert is lucky to have you as a brother, Stannis, for while he might enjoy battle, it sounds like you’ll be by his side urging caution.”

“Robert never listens to me, though.”

“Some things come with time, son.”

All evening, Jon’s eyes had had that haunted look that Stannis had seen in his father’s eyes…Aye, in the eyes of many of the men he had seen starve to death or led to battle himself.

“I have an answer to my question, my lord, the question I asked you before the battle,” Jon said in a low voice, his eyes half closed.

The question if you’re any less of a man to be afraid? Stannis waited for Jon’s answer, remembering his first battle on Dragonstone. In a rush he had built a fleet, sailing to the island with Ser Davos’ advice on how to best approach it and where to best dock his ships for maximum surprise. Many of the soldiers vomited before setting foot on dry land, and not from seasickness. Some pissed themselves, others murmured prayers, and still more clutched tokens from someone who they loved. Sure, there were cowards in every army, but most of the men brought to Dragonstone fought well and easily took the castle from the last Targaryens. Stannis had never told Jon that, but Jon had never thought to ask. Now he’s had a chance to figure it out himself, for he’s experienced some of the same things I have. One battle isn’t a war, but it’s enough to show men what war’s like.

No answer came, and Stannis looked more intently at the young man sitting before him. Jon’s eyes had fully closed, and his breathing was steady. He’s fallen asleep. Stannis looked down, seeing that the direwolf was also fast asleep. No twitching ears, no red eyes open and watchful. The wolf must not think his master is in any danger here. The past two days had been very exhausting, and Stannis could do with more sleep himself. He debated whether or not to shake Jon by the shoulder and send him back to his own rooms. But that will force him to wake up again, even if a chair doesn’t make for the most restful bed.

Stannis stood up and rolled his shoulders, glad not to have armor weighing him down for a third night in a row. His black and cloth-of-gold cloak was draped on the back of his chair. Stannis picked it up and gently threw it over his knight, the hem brushing the fur on Ghost’s back. When he reached the door to his bedchamber, Stannis turned back, giving Jon and his sleeping direwolf one last look before retiring himself.

“I don’t think you any less of a man.”

Chapter Text

How do I convince someone to acknowledge a hard truth? A hard truth that would be so convenient to leave as a lie?

For one of the first times in his life, Stannis was at a loss as to what to do. Robert had given him a week to assemble witnesses to prove his case against the Lannisters. And it really was his case—Stannis had discovered the incest in the first place, proved it without a doubt to the Lord Hand, and watched as the Westerlands, Stormlands, Reach, and the Crownlands took up arms because of it. The fate of the realm would be riding on the outcome of the trial, and Stannis would see it until the bitter end. Gathering witnesses wasn’t a huge challenge. The same with designing a strategy so that the evidence was presented in a logical and effective way, despite all the sleepless nights such as this one. The challenge was Tywin Lannister.

Can I get a man to believe the impossible?

Stannis wasn’t a mummer, a sorcerer, a septon, or a master manipulator. His preferred course of action was to bluntly spell out the truth and let the truth speak for itself. Bribing was beneath him, as was spinning webs of doubt and deception.

Can I get a father to condemn his own children?

That was the key right there. Lord Tywin was a cold, calculating, ruthless, and altogether despicable man, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of loving his children. He might not love them for themselves, but he at least loved them for the legacy they represented. Unless he’s more cold, calculating, and ruthless that I ever thought possible. Robert’s banking on him being a heartless bastard, so I might as well do the same.

Stannis tapped the tip of his quill on the sheet of parchment set out before him. He’d gone through a fair amount of ink writing down ideas, though most had been scratched out with angry strokes. Stannis poured himself a glass of lime-flavored water. Limes were very different from lemons. He had been prepared to admonish the servant who brought the drink along with his dinner, but it wasn’t worth putting the young girl in a state for the fault of the cook. He swirled the liquid around in his glass, and inspiration struck him. Cersei and Jaime were likely eating the meanest of food in the black cells. It wouldn’t harm anything to make sure that they were fed according to their station. Let them have the meats swimming in rich sauces, the fresh vegetables, the sweetbreads dripping with honey—and the finest wine available. Gods knew all the shocking things that Robert had spewed during feasts, drowning in rich foods and expensive wines. Most things were innocuous, lewd, and simply inane, but occasionally something would slip, some truth that made Stannis wonder why the gods had ever inflicted him with brothers.

Wine can get men to speak the truth, depriving them of any inhibitions and common sense. Robert liked to declare that Ned Stark was the only brother he had ever wanted or would ever need when he was in his cups. That always hurt, no matter how many times Stannis heard Robert say it. You can’t force a horse to drink when you lead it to water, but if it’s dying of thirst it will have no other choice. The wine was worth trying, at any rate.

Stannis wrote out an order for feasts to be delivered to the dungeons forthwith and threw down his quill. He took a breath and covered his face with his hands for a moment. I should get to sleep before dawn. I still have too much to do tomorrow. But it’s one day closer to when I get to go home to Storm’s End as its lord. Stannis purposely hadn’t told anyone of Robert’s offer of Storm’s End, for it wouldn’t be a sure thing until the king had formally announced it in court. If I can convince Tywin Lannister of his children’s guilt, Robert will surely not renege on his word to grant me the lordship of Storm’s End. If I fail, though…Who’s to say that he won’t keep me on Dragonstone, like he did when I failed to capture Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen? Stannis went to bed thinking of the castle where he had grown up, the castle he had dreamed of being his ever since Robert became king. Shireen would love living there, and Stannis could show his daughter where he used to play as a boy. She’d inherit the finest castle in Westeros, instead of a pile of rocks whose stone dragons gave her nightmares. Jon could learn all about the Stormlands, and Davos would be closer than ever to his keep on Cape Wrath…

~

Stannis spent most of the next few days consulting with Robert and Lord Estermont, detailing his prosecution plans. As judges, his brother and grandfather would hold most of the power to call up witnesses and ask them questions. Stannis had outlined who to call when and which things to ask. Robert seemed pleased with Stannis’ work. After thirty five years, he’s finally listening to me. Are you proud of your sons now, father?

“Ser Barristan will say something! He’s always hated the Kingslayer because of his morals, so I wonder what dirt he has to share. And Grand Maester Pycelle? He has something to contribute to our side?”

“I just told you, Robert. Pycelle is only useful insofar as his ability to read.”

“Do we know if the Lannisters will call any witnesses?” asked Lord Estermont.

Stannis frowned. He had thought about the matter and come up with nothing. What defense could the Lannisters possibly present? Even if the High Septon himself testified that brother and sister were incapable of lying together in sin, he couldn’t refute all of Robert’s black-haired bastards and that book. Discrediting Robert didn’t serve any purpose, and it wasn’t like Robert was trying to present himself as a paragon of virtue.

“We’ll have to wait and see.”

Robert was still looking at Stannis’ list of witnesses. “You’re bringing them in?”

Stannis craned his neck to read the names that Robert had stopped on. “The mothers of your bastards? As many as can be found, along with their children. I sent Ser Jon and other trusted men to collect them.”

As it turned out, there was a slight complication with that. Stannis rounded on Jon the night before the trial was set to begin.

“Ser Jon. Apparently two of Robert’s whores that you brought to the castle are under the impression that they have acquired employment on Dragonstone. Furthermore, they are also under the impression that they and their children are under my personal protection, not simply that of the Crown.”

“Only one of the women is a whore, my lord. The other is a barmaid.”

Stannis scowled. “They’re as good as whores. Robert used them and left them. But you’re changing the subject. The women that you collected had much to say about one of my knights, a handsome dark-haired young man with a white direwolf. They told me that they had no intention of testifying at the trial until you made a deal with them.”

“You told me to use whatever means I thought necessary to bring them here.”

“I gave you leave to offer gold, more gold than a whore could possibly dream of making in years.”

“How is a servant’s position on Dragonstone any different? Gold didn’t interest them, for gold won’t be able to protect them from the wrath of the Lannisters.”

“My lady wife is on Dragonstone. She will not take kindly to having two of Robert’s bastards running around the island.”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“So I should start keeping secrets from her? How well did that work out for your father and his wife?”

As soon as he said those words, Stannis immediately regretted them. That was uncalled for, though I do have a valid point. Jon had turned his face away, though Stannis still caught his frown. When Jon looked back, his face was mask.

“The children aren’t your bastards,” Jon said slowly. “That makes all the difference. The lives of those women will be at risk after they testify at the trial, not to mention the lives of their children.”

“It’s not their safety that concerns me. They will help justice be…”

“Justice won’t be served if more innocents die! You have Edric Storm. You have well-respected knights and high lords vouching for the appearances of the other bastards. You have the book. You don’t necessarily need the mothers and bastards themselves.” Stannis had rarely heard Jon speak about something so passionately.

“This means that much to you?”

“They’re your nieces and nephews, and Shireen’s cousins.”

“Fine. I’ll honor the deal you struck with them. Just don’t disobey me like this again.”

“I didn’t disobey you, my lord. If you don’t trust my judgment, then give me more specific orders.” Jon walked out of the room without looking back.

Stannis let him, if only because he didn’t want to end up yelling at him. My nerves have been so frayed recently. Jon had done the right thing, but sometimes the right thing was far from convenient and just so frustrating. He really didn’t want to deal with more women and children. This is what happens when you let your cock rule your head, Robert. Still, all of your affairs have given me plenty of evidence, for it’s not simply luck that fifteen very different women all gave birth to black-haired babes. The irony of the entire situation was not lost on him. Stannis tilted his head back and groaned.

~

Judgment day had dawned. Or at least the beginning of a string of judgment days. The throne room had been transformed into a court room: Tourney stands had been brought in for the minor nobles and any smallfolk who could squeeze themselves in, comfortable chairs for the high lords and knights, a witness box, and plain wooden chairs with chains attached for the accused. Two ornate chairs flanked the Iron Throne, waiting for Lords Lannister and Estermont to occupy them.

Jon had taken a seat in the upmost row of the stands, which would give him an excellent view of all of the proceedings. He easily could’ve sat closer to Lord Stannis and King Robert, but Jon wanted to be able to observe without worrying about being observed himself. He dearly wished that Ghost was by his side, but a courtroom was no place for a direwolf.

Bells started to ring in the distance, which was the cue for King Robert to march into the room followed by his court. Interestingly, the king had chosen to wear a gold-washed mail shirt under his rich clothing, reminding everyone that he was still capable of becoming the warrior who had won the throne sixteen years ago. Lord Estermont wore green velvets complete with an emerald turtle brooch, and Lord Lannister was resplendent in red silks. The Lord of Casterly Rock had a hard face, and his mouth was set in a thin line. I wonder if I’ve finally found a man who smiles less than Stannis. Lord Stannis himself was wearing his black and cloth-of-gold cloak over black velvets. His face was also hard, but his eyes had a determined gleam. A large leather-bound book was in his arms, which he promptly placed under his chair.

The crowd hushed as Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime were brought in. Jon remembered the queen’s arrival at Winterfell, everything from her immaculately dressed hair to the sour expression on her face that told Jon exactly what she thought of the Stark castle. Now, the queen’s hair was still neatly dressed and her expression was still sour. But her red gown hung from her shoulders, and the shape of a skull was beginning to become visible under her painted face. Her eyes didn’t show any fear, and she kept them trained straight ahead of her. Ser Jaime no longer looked like a king, but he didn’t seem to care. His golden hair was dirty and his white Kingsguard armor had lost its luster. A lopsided smile was stretched across his face, as if he found the whole situation terribly amusing.

After King Robert officially opened the trial and listed the charges, he called Grand Maester Pycelle to the witness stand. Stannis stood and picked up his book.

“This whole trial is an outrage, Your Grace!” said Pycelle immediately. “As I’ve told you over and over since you locked up our gracious queen…”

“Grand Maester,” addressed Stannis, completely ignoring Pycelle’s words, “I would like you to read something for us.”

“I refuse to read your outrageous lies!”

“I am sorry to hear that you believe esteemed Grand Maester Malleon to be a liar. It is his book I wish for you to read from, you see, a book that both the libraries of the Citadel and the Red Keep have copies of.”

Pycelle stopped, adjusting his chain. “Well…”

“Excellent.” Stannis had already opened to the desired page and pointed his finger to a large letter illuminated in gold leaf. Jon couldn’t actually see the pages of the book, but he had once read them himself. “Start reading here.”

“House Baratheon,” began Pycelle in a cautious voice, “Orys Baratheon, founder of House Baratheon, black of hair. Married Argella Durrandon, two sons and two daughters from the union, all having black hair. Lord Davos Baratheon, black of hair….” Pycelle read for a few minutes before he stopped. “How much do you want me to read, my lord?”

“The entire section about House Baratheon,” said Stannis with a quirk of his mouth. “We aren’t pressed for time. Besides, it’s quite illuminating, don’t you think?”

Pycelle read on, and Jon noticed that Stannis was pleased every time the phrase “black of hair” was mentioned. That’s how every child from a Baratheon father was described for three hundred years until Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. “Golden haired” was jarring to hear, which Jon knew to be Stannis’ objective.

A short recess was called, and then the court reassembled to hear about all of King Robert’s bastards. There were sixteen in all, and of course all of them were black of hair. Simply having the children named and described wouldn’t do, however. For each bastard boy or girl there was a lord, knight, or someone with a respected reputation who vouched for the existence of the child as well as told the tale of his or her conception.

That’s how Jon learned the sordid details of Stannis’ wedding to Lady Selyse. Lord Alester Florent of Brightwater Keep described the occasion, and his heir Alekyne talked of his cousin’s bedding ceremony and discovering King Robert and his other cousin Delena enthusiastically making love in the marriage bed. The boy Edric Storm had been conceived that night, and it was well known that he was being raised at Storm’s End. What a way to start a marriage. Jon sent a quick prayer to the Old Gods that Shireen never learned the tale. It was sad enough that she knew her father and mother didn’t like each other very much, and it wouldn’t do to learn that their marriage was likely doomed from the start. Father and Lady Catelyn learned to love each other, though. Lady Catelyn must have forgiven father for my presence in Winterfell and transferred any animosity from him to me. Stannis’ hard expression didn’t change throughout the Florents’ testimony, not that Jon expected it to. This trial is doing a very good job at exposing a whole host of unhappy marriages.

One of the queen’s maids came shaking to the stand. After much prompting from Lord Estermont, the maid revealed that she had served the queen for ten years and had travelled with her to the tourney at Lannisport won by Ser Jorah Mormont. The king fell for one of the serving wenches in service to Casterly Rock, a comely thing with yellow hair. The serving wench gave birth to black-haired twins nine months after the tournament.

“Where are these twins?” asked Lord Estermont.

“The queen ordered them killed,” said the maid. “I…I…I was to make sure that the deed was carried out.”

“And the mother?”

“The mother was sold to a passing slaver.”

Jon widened his eyes as whispers sped through the throne room.

“Do you deny killing those twins, Cersei?” spat King Robert.

Cersei, who had been looking daggers at her maid, decided to dignify the king with a response. “No, Your Grace. I did what needed to be done after you had shamed me so, and in my father’s own castle no less!”

If hearing Stannis list King Robert’s bastards in the privacy of his solar had disgusted Jon, hearing the detailed stories surrounding each of them in a packed court was even worse. The king barely reacted to anything, which was unnerving because he so often wore his heart on his sleeve. He’s a gifted warrior, but he has absolutely no honor when it comes to women. No trace of emotion crossed the king’s face when one of the pretty whores Jon had collected from a King’s Landing brothel declared her undying love, bouncing a little black-haired girl just past her first nameday on her knee. Even if my mother was a whore that my father used for one night, Lord Eddard Stark had enough honor to acknowledge and raise me himself. That’s made all the difference.

Once again, Jon vowed never to put himself in a situation where he could father a bastard. Any sons or daughters of his would grow up knowing that their parents were married, and that they never need be ashamed of their names. And that their father loves them very much.

~

Proof of the existence and appearance of all Robert’s bastards took the rest of the first day and all of the next. Everything was going according to plan, and Stannis barely noticed the passage of time. Lord Tywin sat next to Robert like he was carved out of stone, and he had yet to utter a word. Cersei glared at Robert most of the time, and Robert himself appeared totally unaffected by anything. He had begun to swing his war hammer around in the practice yards during the evenings. That, along with him drinking weakened ale in place of strong wine, was doing him wonders.

Ser Barristan took the stand to report on Ser Jaime’s assignments as a member of the Kingsguard. Ser Jaime always volunteered for the post to guard Cersei, so often that he would take it as an insult if any other white knight was allowed near her. While the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard didn’t have the muddiest of dirt to throw, Stannis wasn’t stupid enough to deny Ser Barristan’s freely offered testimony. The knight’s honorable reputation was famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms, even more so than Ned Stark’s. Any seeds of doubt that he could sew were gladly accepted.

“Ser Jaime always had ample opportunity to be alone with Queen Cersei. No one ever questioned how much time they spent together.”

Lord Tywin’s stone veneer began to crack at that statement.

“Your speculation is nothing but that, Ser Barristan. You have no way to prove that my children are guilty of the sins that they’re accused of.”

“Perhaps not, Lord Lannister, but I stand by what I say. Ser Jaime should’ve known better, and he should also know for once in his life that knighthood is about more than being able to run someone through with a sword. There are vows, sacred vows, such as not killing the very king you swore to protect. Since Ser Jaime disregarded his most important vow of all, it would be no problem at all for him to break another.”

Ser Jaime laughed hysterically all the while Ser Barristan was up on the stand. Stannis made a mental note to tell Robert and his grandfather to question Jaime about his broken vows when the time came.

After a short recess, King Robert asked if the accused wished to bring forth any witnesses of their own. Neither Cersei nor Jaime made a move to say anything, and Stannis was not surprised when Lord Tywin spoke for them.

“This whole farce of a trial is pure speculation. King Robert claimed his marital rights with my daughter the queen often enough, and there is no concrete way to prove that my grandchildren are deserving of any name other than Baratheon. I don’t care if the king has a hundred bastards who are ‘black of hair’ or some similar rot.”

Ah, so you’re in denial, but that’s okay for now. I can’t concretely prove that Jaime is the father of Cersei’s bastards, if that makes you feel any better.

“Lord Stannis, I need to ask you a question,” commanded Lord Tywin in a tone that brokered no argument.

“By all means, Lord Tywin,” responded Stannis, rising and walking to the witness box. Robert and Lord Estermont were looking at each other uneasily, but Stannis simply shrugged back at them. He was curious as to what Lord Tywin would ask him, but by no means would he let his guard down. Stannis didn’t fear the Lord of Casterly Rock, no more than he did Robert in a temper or any gods. They were simply men. Or created by men.

Lord Tywin’s hands were calmly folded in his lap, but his green eyes were poisonous and his jaw clenched.

“Why did you ever come up with the preposterous idea that my son and daughter were having an affair? I know it was you. The king told me as much, and we both know that our good king is too oblivious to notice what’s going on around him.”

We might share similar opinions about Robert, my lord, but he’s still the rightful king. And my brother.

“Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are golden…”

“Spare me the talk of hair color, Lord Stannis, and answer my question.”

Stannis scowled, and not simply because Lord Tywin had dared to interrupt him. His reasons for suspecting Cersei and Jaime in the first place? They fell under the category of speculation, and he knew exactly what Lord Tywin felt about that. How was he to describe a feeling he had, an instinct that something was not as it should be?

“I’ve lived many years at court during King Robert’s reign, Lord Tywin. More years than you, I would expect, since Dragonstone is much closer to King’s Landing than Casterly Rock. During those years I’ve observed a great many people.” Stannis frowned. “I’ve observed our king’s legendary fondness for women, as well as our queen’s fondness for her brother. They were always together, always smiling at each other, dancing with each other, whispering to each other, walking around the castle arm in arm. A couple years ago during a feast, Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime left the room together. Robert was drunk with some serving wench on his lap, so he wasn’t paying attention to them. Before they disappeared into the darkness, Ser Jaime whispered something in Queen Cersei’s ear, which she responded to with a laugh and a kiss on his lips. I’ve seen plenty of chaste kisses between family members, and this kiss was not that.”

Stannis thought back to that feast, and the way Cersei and Jaime seemed to inhabit their own world. Their eyes were only for each other, and every touch, every brush of a hand seemed to carry more affection than what was normally found between siblings. He watched them the entire night, and he remembered it all so clearly. Stannis shook his head, focusing anew on Lord Tywin.

“It took me time to comprehend what I had just witnessed. I formulated a hypothesis and I proved it through my investigation.”

“Are you sure you weren’t drunk yourself?”

“I assure you, Lord Tywin, I was not. I am not inclined to drink on most occasions.” Robert, along with many of the nobles, laughed at that. For once I don’t mind Robert ridiculing me, as my notorious sobriety only supports my claim.

“You must have been drunk when you plotted to make Margaery Tyrell the next queen of the realm. Ser Kevan told me of your enduring hatred toward her father, Lord Mace Tyrell.”

This again? What are you trying to do, sour the loving relationship that I have with Lord Tyrell? And for the record, I do not plot. “I really don’t give a damn about who becomes the next queen, my lord, so long as your daughter is made to answer for her crimes!” Stannis purposely avoided eye contact with anyone except for Lord Tywin. Fat Lord Tyrell was likely affronted, along with his posse of Reach lords. As if I care. “I agree that it’s unfortunate that Lady Margaery’s surname is Tyrell, but love isn’t a prerequisite for an alliance. You were prepared to make her Joffrey’s queen, as I recall? I will speak no more on this matter, as it has nothing to do with the case at hand.”

Lord Tywin didn’t have anything else to ask or say, giving Stannis leave to leave the witness box and make his way back to his chair with the smallest of nods. “I now call Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin, to the stand.”

Stannis started, taken off guard for the first time during the trial. Littlefinger? So he’s slithered back to the capitol without anyone’s knowledge. Did he ever leave for the Eyrie, or has he been with Tywin Lannister this whole time? He wondered what the whoremonger could possibly say, and if any of the expected lies that came out of his mouth would do any damage.

Littlefinger materialized from the crowd, strolling up to the witness box. A silver mockingbird-patterned cloak lay over rich blue velvets, and all were topped off with a smug little smile. How did Jon Arryn ever come to trust this man? “I thank you, my lord. However, my title is now Lord Consort of the Eyrie.”

Even Lord Tywin was shocked at that statement, and Stannis now knew that the insanity that the late Lord Arryn had suspected in his wife was real. Lysa Arryn had no business marrying someone with such a lowly status as Littlefinger, and the lords of the Vale were undoubtedly unhappy.

“Lady Lysa Arryn invited me to the Eyrie to comfort her during her period of mourning for her husband. I am an old childhood friend of hers, after all. Then after I helped her overcome her grief, she forced me to marry her!” said Littlefinger as an explanation. “Lord Jon Arryn’s death was a tragic loss for the realm of course,” he added as an afterthought.

Robert snorted at that. “No man can be forced into marriage against his will.”

Says the man who had to be dragged kicking and screaming into his marriage with Cersei Lannister. Men are victims of arranged marriages just as much as women.

Littlefinger gave a good natured smile in return to that comment.

“Lord Baelish, then,” asked Lord Tywin, “What do you make of all the evidence presented by King Robert and Lord Stannis against Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime?”

“It’s pure speculation, of course. Goodness knows there are plenty of children who don’t look like either of their parents!” Littlefinger elaborated his point, and Stannis blocked his words out until Ned Stark was mentioned. “If fact, there are even some noble families here in Westeros where all of a lord’s children look like his lady wife—save for his bastards. Take Lord Eddard Stark, for instance. All of Stark’s trueborn sons have auburn hair and blue eyes like Lady Catelyn Tully, save for his bastard son who has his dark brown hair and grey eyes. Given the case presented by the Crown, either Lord Stark is being cuckolded by his wife and has no trueborn heirs, or else children can solely take after their mother.”

Up in the stands, Stannis saw that Jon was clearly offended. Robert also didn’t like Littlefinger’s slight against the Starks.

“You dare say something against Ned Stark? What’s he ever done to you? Besides, Stark has a daughter with dark hair who looks like him. There goes your cuckolding theory!”

Littlefinger didn’t look at all perturbed. “Lady Catelyn might have let her lord husband into her bed at least once, or else she was smart enough to find a lover with dark hair.”

Like yourself, you mean? It was common knowledge in King’s Landing that Littlefinger was overly fond of auburn-haired, blue-eyed whores, and only now was Stannis beginning to realize that the predilection could be due to an obsession with Hoster Tully’s daughters. He wondered if Stark knew.

“Since we’re on the subject of disputed paternity, Your Grace, do you really think that your niece is a true Baratheon? It’s no secret how often your brother beds his wife, and how he does everything to avoid her company. Doesn’t that demented fool who trails after your niece have black hair and blue eyes as well?”

Where’s an open window on a high tower when I need one? Or the Eyrie’s famed Moon Door, I’m not picky. Lord Tywin was looking at Littlefinger with approval, and doubt was beginning to cross Robert’s eyes. You don’t think I’m capable of bedding my wife, Robert? I shouldn’t have to demonstrate that for you!

Littlefinger noticed this, and he continued with his lies. “I do grant that some of Dragonstone’s gargoyles are more comely than Lady Selyse, but even if she were as stunning as the Maiden Lord Stannis might not notice her. He spends an unusual amount of time with that knight of his…”

Don’t you dare go there.

“Always finding excuses to gift a lowborn criminal with lands, ships, titles…What could be the meaning of that? And then there’s his young bastard knight, who Lord Stannis has gifted not only an expensive new suit of armor but a Baratheon heirloom sword. Perhaps he’s getting certain favors in return?”

Stannis ground his teeth, glaring directly at his brother, trying to wordlessly communicate all of his thoughts. Are you really going to believe Littlefinger, especially after what he said about honorable, dutiful Ned Stark?

Robert met his eyes and frowned. The silence stretched out, as did Littlefinger’s disgusting smirk. Finally, Robert shook his head, resolutely grabbing the sword-pommel studded arms of the Iron Throne. “Stannis, what does that book say about the Starks? And what were Lord Arryn’s last words again?”

Stannis answered immediately. “Most of the Starks referenced by Grand Maester Malleon have dark hair, but occasionally you’ll get one with red or blonde hair. The same thing with the Targaryens, for not all of them had silver hair.” Stannis shot Littlefinger a glare. “As to Lord Arryn, his last words were ‘the seed is strong.’ He was of the opinion that the Baratheon seed must have some magical property that gives all progeny black hair, for there is no other House in recorded history where all the descendants all look the same.”

“You’ve repeated that point ad nauseam,” Littlefinger remarked.

“Because it’s the truth!” Stannis all but screamed at him. His patience was wearing thin with the man, and Lord Tywin’s strategy was beginning to become clear to him. He seeks to discredit me first, then to drive a wedge between me and Robert—as if one didn’t already exist. Lord Tywin also seemed to be targeting those closest to Stannis, which he found more offensive than the attacks on his person. How dare he mock my daughter. She’s done nothing to him, just like Davos and Jon. Stannis had expected better. He can’t prove that his children are innocent, so he’s just trying to cast doubt on the fact that they’re guilty. All Littlefinger’s doing is muddying the waters. If so, then we all might be stuck here for a long time.

Fine by me.

~

The next day, Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime finally took the stand, though separately. Stannis had told Jon that all of the wine he had ordered sent down to the black cells was being drunk, even the wine sent down with breakfast. Jon didn’t quite share the same faith in the drink as Stannis did, but he didn’t tell him that. I didn’t exactly divulge my deep dark secrets to Tyrion Lannister when I had too many glasses of summerwine at the Winterfell feast, not to mention how I barely said anything to King Robert when I was drunk after the battle. After he had called me by my father’s name. Jon did tell Stannis that he didn’t believe any of the outrageous lies that came out of Littlefinger’s mouth:

“I know that Lady Stark loves my father, whatever else I might think of her. She would never be unfaithful to him. Also, I don’t think…” Jon’s voice trailed off and became softer. He had trouble meeting Stannis’ eyes, though there was no logical reason that he should. “I know that you’re not trying to take advantage of me the way that Littlefinger is implying. That’s not your style. If you truly wanted something, you wouldn’t set out to get it with expensive bribes.”

Stannis’ face was as hard as ever, and Jon noted that this was easily the most awkward he had ever felt around him. Even more awkward than when Stannis threatened to send him back to Winterfell if Jon was ever caught drinking and whoring. However, a quick flicker of relief passed through Stannis’ eyes.

“Littlefinger has a gift for spreading discord and chaos. If I want something of a man, I will always tell him the truth straight out.” He didn’t say anything more.

Queen Cersei said very little on the stand, keeping her answers short. Most of them were either “yes” or “no.” She had likely been coached by her father, even though the judges were supposedly forbidden from speaking with the accused when court was not in session.

“Do you have anything else to say, Cersei?” asked King Robert. Jon saw Lord Tywin shake his head.

“No, Your Grace. But…” Lord Tywin widened his eyes in warning. “You’re a hypocrite, Robert. By rights you should be put on trial for all the times you strayed from your marriage bed, all those bastards you fathered!”

“Have you ever seen any of my bastards at court?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t tried to bring them here.”

“You threatened to kill them. After hearing about my twins from the Lannisport wench, I know that wasn’t an empty threat.”

“I’m a lion,” the queen declared proudly, “Not a witless fish like Catelyn Tully. If I was her, I would’ve smothered Eddard Stark’s bastard in his cradle rather than put up with a lifetime of shame!”

Jon was very glad that Ghost was not with him, or else Queen Cersei would be less one throat. Lady Stark might not be capable of murder, but that doesn’t make her weak. She wished me dead, true, but she loves her husband and children too much to ever do something that would break their hearts. Any sympathy that Jon had momentarily felt for the queen for being married to Robert evaporated in a flash. It’s a mark of how despicable she is that I’d defend Lady Stark against her as well as against Littlefinger.

Robert didn’t comment. “I’ve never legitimized any of my bastards, even though that’s my prerogative as king.”

Queen Cersei didn’t say anything else, and she was led out of the witness box with her head held high as her brother took her place. Ser Jaime had an easy smile on his face, and he pushed his golden hair out of his face as he leaned back in his chair. He seemed completely at ease, and Jon wondered how much of his act was genuine and how much was bravado. Also, perhaps it was just a guess, but Jon now knew who had drunk all the wine sent to the dungeons…

King Robert started the questioning:

“Why did you kill King Aerys Targaryen?”

“He was mad. I doubt that there’s anyone alive in Westeros who grieves for him.”

“Do you laugh when you think of him?”

“What would cause you to believe that?”

“You laughed when Ser Barristan discussed your broken oaths,” Lord Estermont pointed out.

“There’s no crime in laughing, though Lord Stannis might like to make it so,” shrugged Ser Jaime.

The king and Lord Hand continued their questioning in that fashion for quite some time, seemingly going round in circles as Ser Jaime gave glib remarks. Stannis looked like he dearly wished to take control, but since he couldn’t he just sat there with his jaw clenched. Ser Jaime eventually got fed up, rolling his eyes and sighing.

“What do you want me to say? That I killed the king because I wanted to be the next king? Or that I killed the king because he was planning on incinerating the entire city with wildfire?”

“Wildfire?” Even Lord Tywin’s eyebrows shot up. “Surely you jest.”

“Not as much as Tyrion likes to.” Ser Jaime then went on to describe the wild tale about what exactly happened the day he became the Kingslayer, to the horror of everyone in the throne room. It sounded to Jon like one of Old Nan’s stories, except that the evil kings in her tales were always obsessed with ice and winter. Ser Jaime’s grin got wider as the minutes dragged on, and his voice grew more animated. And a touch deranged.

“Eddard Stark found you in the throne room, sitting on the Iron Throne with King Aerys’ bloody corpse at your feet,” stated King Robert. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth? Why didn’t you tell anyone about the Mad King’s plot to burn the city to the ground?”

“The honorable Lord Stark only had to look at me to judge me guilty. Do you think he would have listened to my explanations?”

“Of course. Ned always does the right thing.”

Ser Jaime rolled his eyes. “He betrayed his pretty wife and fathered a bastard, much like you’ve done countless times. He also refused your request to be Hand of the King. You certainly didn’t consider that to be the right thing over a year ago. How about I ask Lord Stark myself?”

“Lord Stark is far away in Winterfell.”

“No he’s not. He’s been watching this entire trial!” With that, Jaime stood up and pointed to where Jon was sitting, on the topmost row of the set of tourney stands that had been brought into the room for spectators. Jon stared at him.

“Lord Stark looks younger than I remember him, but my eyesight isn’t what it once was. By what right does the wolf judge the lion, Lord Stark? By what right?”

Jon continued to stare at the knight in utter bewilderment, and those sitting next to Jon edged away from him as space would allow. King Robert looked bewildered as well, and Stannis appeared irritated. Lord Tywin stayed silently sitting in his chair, the hard line of his mouth not even moving into a frown.

Lord Estermont restored order for a short moment by changing the line of inquiry:

“Why did you kill Jon Arryn?”

“Our late Lord Hand? I had no reason to kill him,” replied Ser Jaime, still standing. “You’re trying to get me to say that I killed him, that I had a motive due to what he knew about my sister and me. But know this: for all the men I’ve killed, I’ve yet to resort to poison. If I even suspected that Lord Arryn was going to denounce Cersei, he would’ve been run though with my own sword. Him and Lord Stannis, to get rid of everyone who knew the truth.”

“The fabricated lies, you mean,” said Lord Tywin automatically.

“Do you think Lord Stannis is lying?”

“You’re asking me that?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m asking all of you!” Ser Jaime turned around, gesturing wildly to the crowd. He got no response, much to his dismay. “Are you all deaf and dumb? This is Stannis Baratheon we’re talking about. Would he go to this much trouble to start a war and marry his family into the bloody Tyrells if the charges against my sweet sister and I weren’t true? It’s not like he wants to sit the Iron Throne, gods forbid. He has no ambition whatsoever, save to hole himself up in Storm’s End with his ships and that knight of his!”

~

Stannis believed what Jaime had to say about Lord Arryn. The Kingslayer isn’t one to use poison. He’d do the deed by his own hand and watch the blood flow. If not Jaime or Cersei, then who did it? Lord Tywin? No, he was far away at Casterly Rock, and even still, he does things thoroughly. I would be dead as well for being Lord Arryn’s accomplice. But who, then? Who profited from the death the most? Almost immediately, Stannis found Littlefinger’s face. The new Lord Consort of the Eyrie, who was so tragically forced into marriage, and who Lord Arryn had trusted so implicitly…Stannis was prepared to shout for Littlefinger to be brought back to the stand, but then Jaime said what Stannis had been waiting for him to say for years:

“Would he go to this much trouble to start a war and marry his family into the bloody Tyrells if the charges against my sweet sister and I weren’t true?”

Littlefinger left Stannis’ mind as quickly as he had entered it. Keep talking, Ser, just keep talking. Let the wine say all those things you’re dying to say.

“It’s not like he wants to sit the Iron Throne, gods forbid. He has no ambition whatsoever, save to hole himself up in Storm’s End with his ships and that knight of his!”

Stannis narrowed his eyes at that. I do more things in life than shut myself away in castles! Not that there wouldn’t be an upside to staying in Storm’s End and never having to deal with Robert’s insufferable court, but a lord had duties to his people. And those duties required that he leave his castle occasionally. Also, had Jaime swallowed Littlefinger’s lies about his knights? It doesn’t matter. It’s the least of his crimes.

Jaime’s grin was now a thing of the past, being replaced with hysterical laughter. He laughed and laughed, as if he were attending the greatest mummer’s show on earth. Jaime’s face was flushed and tears were streaming down his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe them away.

“Is that a confession?” Robert called out eagerly, but Jaime only had ears for his father.

“Recant those lies of yours immediately!”

“Everything that Lord Stannis has said about me and Cersei is true. Her children are mine, though she never let me be a father to them. I never even held any of them after they were born, for Cersei thought that would look too suspicious. I asked her again and again to run away with me to the Free Cities, where our love could be displayed for all to see, but that would have meant her giving up her crown.”

“Are you confessing your guilt?” called out Robert again. Like before, Jaime ignored him.

“I am innocent, father, is that what you want to hear? I am innocent of murdering the Mad King in cold blood, for he was going to incinerate me and everyone else in the city. Can you understand that after what you did to the Reynes and the Tarbecks, though? I can’t commit adultery as I’m not married to any unfortunate wench, and as to incest and treason…how is it a crime to lie with the woman you love? No one ever stopped the Targaryens from marrying brother to sister, and if you bring up Baelor the Blessed’s opinions on the matter, well, he was afraid of his own cock!”

Cersei was staring at Jaime like he was some horrific apparition, and at one point he heard her gasp a word that sounded like “valenkar.” Stannis didn’t know what it meant; it was likely nonsense. Jaime’s hysterical laughter still hadn’t abated, but he did need to take a breath every so often. Cersei took advantage of one of the gasps for air to announce in her firmest, most regal voice:

“I demand trial by battle!”

You can’t. Jaime’s already admitted his guilt, and given the laws of this realm…But before Stannis could even finish his thought, someone else said those same words:

“You can’t. In our justice system, once the accused party has admitted guilt there is no going back. There is nothing more for the gods to decide.”

Stannis blinked. “Gods be good,” he muttered under his breath for the first time in decades as Lord Tywin’s voice echoed throughout the throne room. The crowd immediately fell silent, and Cersei now had another horrific apparition to add to her living nightmare.

Tywin Lannister stood up, arms crossed and a cold, disgusted expression etched on his face. He approached the witness box, where Jaime gave him a lopsided smile.

“Father. How kind of you to acknowledge me.”

“You had everything, boy. The best education, the best arms, more gold than you could ever spend, and most importantly, my name.”

“I’m sorry to have disappointed you. You know how much I aim to please.”

“I refuse to let you further sully the Lannister name with this filth.”

Jaime hooted. “Are you disowning me? Tyrion will be glad to hear that. He’s always wanted to be Lord of Casterly Rock.”

“That misshapen fool of a dwarf will not turn the castle of my ancestors into his whorehouse! Well?”

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to beg for mercy?”

“Mercy?”

“You killed King Aerys Targaryen out of self-defense and prevented him from burning King’s Landing and all of its people to the ground,” said Tywin as if he were teaching a lesson to a small child. “His caches of wildfire will be hunted down and destroyed. Those good deeds are enough to get you pardoned if you only ask for mercy.”

“Pardoned and sent where? Casterly Rock? The Wall’s the most likely place. Are you suggesting that I leave my sweet sister to die a lonely death, only to live out my life on a wall of ice? If so, I reject your generous offer, father.”

“It will be Casterly Rock. You need to take your rightful place as my heir.”

“No. No, no, no, no! Don’t you get it? I will not become the next lord of your rock if it means leaving Cersei! She means more to me than you or your legacy ever have!”

Tywin looked as if his son had just run him through with his own sword. The muscles on his face slowly contorted, twisting and hardening into a chilling look that might as well have been carved from ice.

“You are not my son.”

“So be it, then.” The hysterics had suddenly disappeared from Jaime’s voice, and his eyes dared his father to contradict him.

Tywin Lannister will fight to the bitter end and then some, Stannis had recently told Robert. This was the bitter end of Jaime’s testimony, and the bitter end of the trial. Will he still fight? Or will he recognize when to surrender, as a good commander should also know how to do? Lord Tywin remained standing where he was, and it appeared as if all the blood had drained from his face. He reminded Stannis of one of the mythical White Walkers, creatures carved of equal parts ice and wrath who had the ability to freeze everything around them.

“So be it.” That simple sentence was uttered in a whisper, yet it was still one of the most terrifying things that Stannis had ever heard in his life.

Tywin sat back in his chair, eyes still trained on Jaime. Robert and Lord Estermont whispered to each other, and Robert turned to Tywin to presumably get confirmation. Tywin didn’t respond, making no move to acknowledge Robert, focusing completely on his son with a spare glance at his daughter. Robert shrugged and rose from the Iron Throne, head held high and jeweled crown secure on his head.

“Ser Jaime Lannister and Queen Cersei Lannister,” Robert proclaimed in a loud, deep voice, “You are found guilty of incest, adultery, and treason. I, Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, First of My Name, sentence you to death in the presence of all the old gods and the new.”

We’ve won. I’ve won. Stannis felt intense satisfaction. With the help of a few casks of wine and a complete breakdown by Jaime Lannister, of course. Tywin Lannister had done the unthinkable and disowned his golden son for all to see, revealing to all of Westeros that his allegiance was to the Lannister name and the Lannister name only. The Lannister name is still going to be sullied for a long time to come, my lord. Good luck in finding an heir to continue you legacy.

The crowd in the throne room erupted. Fists pounded on benches, boots stamped on the marble floors. There were some cheers and some catcalls as guards began to drag Cersei and Jaime back to the Black Cells, but most of the sounds were shocked gasps. A couple of shouts demanded heads then and there, but that wasn’t going to happen. Jaime still needed to be questioned about what he knew of King Aerys’ wildfire caches, and even Robert wasn’t stupid enough too…A terrifying shriek suddenly killed all the sounds. Cersei had wrenched free of her guards and thrown herself at Robert’s feet. Her whole body was shaking, and she was pulling at her immaculately styled hair.

“Your Grace, mercy!”

Stannis stared at Cersei, along with everyone else in the throne room. He had never, ever seen her in such a state. Sure, Cersei had always been a gifted manipulator who could shed tears on command, but she wasn’t acting now. The queen, to his knowledge, had also never begged Robert for anything before, thinking it beneath her to do such a thing. Her grief and distress were genuine.

She knows that the end is near. No one is coming to save her. Her beloved brother condemned her, and her father was so horrified by the truth that he disowned her with one look. Stannis personally hoped that Robert wouldn’t give in to Cersei’s pleas, for she above all others didn’t deserve mercy. Men had lost their lives for much less. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and mouth an unwavering thin line. Until he heard what Cersei shrieked next:

“My children! Please show mercy for my children, Robert, for the love of all the old gods and the new!”

Robert looked down at her as if she were a roach that needed to be squashed. His blue eyes were murderous.

“Mercy? You didn’t show any for the bastards of mine you had murdered! Why shouldn’t I do the same to yours?”

“You believed Tommen and Myrcella to be your children. Surely you loved them once?”

Robert’s expression changed, but not in the way Cersei was hoping for. If looks could kill, she would be a pile of ash right now, reasoned Stannis. He looked at his brother long and hard, noting not only his face and tone of voice but how he held himself, how his clenched fists were itching for a war hammer. Is this what Robert looked like when he learned of Lyanna’s kidnapping? Is this what the future King of the Seven Kingdoms looked like when he dueled Rhaegar Targaryen? If so, then Rhaegar never stood a chance.

The crowd remained silent, and everyone from the lowly spectators to Margaery Tyrell was still staring at the king and queen. For the first time in his life, Stannis was scared of what Robert might do. He remembered a conversation that he had once had with Davos on Dragonstone. “Do you think me capable of murdering innocent children, Davos?” Stannis had asked, to which Davos replied: “Absolute justice doesn’t always protect the innocent.” Robert looked ready to surrender to absolute justice, to fight revenge with revenge regardless if children paid the price for both his and Cersei’s sins.

Cersei’s shrieking had turned pitiful, and her words were barely understandable through her loud sobs. “Mercy, please don’t harm them.”

Stannis stood up, preparing to go to Robert and get him to agree to the pleas of mercy. The mercy wasn’t for Cersei herself, only for her children. Justice would be delivered to her shortly, and her children need not be a part of it. They had done nothing wrong and had broken no laws. Robert’s pride had been ripped to shreds these past few months, but damaged pride wasn’t worth the dark places that killing Tommen and Myrcella would take him, both personally and politically. Cersei’s sobs where the only audible sounds in the throne room until a familiar voice addressed Robert:

“You should listen to her, Your Grace.”

Stannis immediately caught Jon’s eyes with his own and gave a small shake of his head. Don’t say anything, Jon! Don’t let Robert’s fury descend upon you. Ned Stark had screamed at Robert about the dead Targaryen children, and that would’ve been the end of their friendship if they hadn’t bonded over Lyanna’s death. He wondered if Jon knew that. This isn’t your fight. Let me change Robert’s mind, for it’s not like we have much of a relationship to destroy. Jon held Stannis’ eyes, but instead of obeying he continued on:

“A true king protects his people. Especially innocent children.”

Robert glared at Jon as expected, and his eyes flicked back and forth from Jon to Cersei for a long time. He turned, looking at the audience, his judges, and even up above to where the seven gods in the seven heavens were believed to reside. Finally, Robert unclenched his fists and gave a deep sigh.

“Your children won’t be harmed, Cersei.”

“Will you promise me that, Robert?”

“I promise.”

Chapter Text

“I expect immediate repayment of all the Crown’s debts to Casterly Rock, along with the interest previously agreed upon,” stated Lord Tywin directly to Lord Estermont. “I don’t care what you have to do—sell the Red Keep to the Iron Bank for all I care. I take it you remember what happened to the Reynes of Castamere when they refused repayment on their loans?”

I don’t think we’ll have to resort to such drastic measures, my lord. The Red Keep has plenty of finery that it can profitably dispose of, and former Queen Cersei’s jewels will fetch a pretty price, mused Stannis. All morning, Lord Tywin had been listing his demands of the Iron Throne to the Small Council. He refused to meet the eyes of anyone except those of Lord Estermont, likely because the Lord Hand had damaged him and his name the least. Lord Tywin didn’t even look at Littlefinger, perhaps because the whoremonger had failed to turn Robert against his beloved brother. Stannis’ gut feeling during the trial that Littlefinger had murdered Jon Arryn was still present, and Stannis cursed himself for not doing anything about it then and there. The Lannisters had to be dealt with, though, and Littlefinger’s time would come. Stannis hadn’t trusted the man before Lord Arryn’s death, and now he trusted him even less.

So far Lord Tywin had gotten everything he wanted, not that Stannis minded. He’s welcome to put a price on justice, but no matter what he still lost. The lives of his children are forfeit, and he helped bring it about.

“I will also be taking my two remaining grandchildren back to Casterly Rock with me.”

Robert simply shrugged at that, but Stannis saw the danger. Give Tywin Lannister Myrcella and Tommen, and we’ll have no hold over him. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and do to the Baratheons what he did to the Reynes and the Tarbecks, as he just baldly threatened. There will never be a song titled “The Rains of Storm’s End” while I still draw breath, mark my words. Stannis predicted that Lord Tywin would still have an enormous hold over the Crown regardless, but now the odds were slightly less in his favor than before the truth of the royal children had been made public.

“Your grandchildren will remain in the Red Keep, Lord Tywin,” said Stannis. “If that is not to your liking, then I’m sure we can arrange for them to be wards on Dragonstone, Storm’s End, or even Winterfell if you trust Lord Eddard Stark more. You and your family will never be prevented from visiting with them, of course, but you must understand why your request cannot be accommodated.”

“Lord Estermont, please talk some sense into your grandson.”

Lord Estermont rubbed his jaw. “As Lord Hand I speak with the king’s voice, and the king would not find fault with anything that Lord Stannis has said. As well, I must add that Greenstone is a delightful castle this time of year.”

Lord Tywin and Lord Estermont continued in that vein for quite some time, until a contract was drawn up and signed. After Lord Tywin added his elegant signature next to Robert’s barely legible scrawl, he addressed the king and Small Council with his usual stern voice and harsh glare.

“I will return to Casterly Rock forthwith. I wish you the best of luck in ruling the kingdom, Your Grace, but remember this: While I will never stop defending the Westerlands, you might find that Casterly Rock will not come to your aid when you next call your banners. Or ever.”

~

Jon didn’t look away when Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime lost their heads. Stannis would know if he did. He felt no joy in watching the twin deaths, but he did feel a measure of satisfaction in the fact that King Robert had dismissed his headsman and swung the sword himself. It was only right, as he had been the one to condemn them to death. Jon wondered who had convinced the king. Had it been Stannis, who had carried out justice by his own hand ever since Ser Davos had lost his fingertips? Or had father told the king of the old way? Regardless, King Robert had changed for the better. Though he won’t be able to change all of his faults so easily.

After the executions, Jon sat in his rooms and composed a long letter to Shireen. He didn’t write much about the battle, the trial, or the subsequent executions except to say that they happened and he was alive. Instead, he described the beaches near the Red Keep, all the colorful merchants by the docks, how Ghost would terrorize the street of butcher shops in only he had the chance, how Ser Rolland had once tripped over his own boots while saddling his horse, how pretty the stained-glass windows looked in the morning light, how her father had pitched a fit when he was given lime-flavored water instead of lemon-flavored water, what the view looked like from the tallest tower of the Great Sept of Baelor…Most anything that came to mind, really, anything that he thought would make Shireen smile and take her mind off more serious matters. Jon considered telling about the time when Ghost had discovered the gigantic dragon skulls hidden away in the bowels of the Red Keep, but that might give her nightmares.

Stannis said nothing when Jon gave him Shireen’s letter. He merely wrapped it around a small parchment covered with his own handwriting and sealed it.

Compared to the ease of writing to Shireen, fulfilling his promise to write Sansa about the court was agony. It took longer than it should for Jon to write a short sentence about how Margaery Tyrell styled her hair: “She mostly wears it loose without any braids, and sometimes she ties half of it into a knot on the back of her head.” The ladies’ gowns were more colorful and had more silk and velvet than those commonly found in the North, so Jon put that in. He sighed, knowing that his sister would be thoroughly disappointed with him, but he simply didn’t spend much time around the women of the court. Stannis had other uses for him than simply trading gossip or parading about in finery, and he wouldn’t feel comfortable even if his lord needed him to do that.

~

The next morning, Ser Barristan was waiting for Jon when he finished his daily drills with the City Watch. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was as stoic and serious as ever, but there was a curious look in his eyes as they followed Jon’s every movement. Jon had the distinct feeling that he was being judged. But for what?

“King Robert would like a word with you, Ser Jon,” said Ser Barristan. “I’m here to escort you to his solar straight away.”

What could the king possibly want to speak to me about? Is he going to punish me over pleading mercy for Myrcella and Tommen? Surely not that, since he publically promised Cersei that he would spare the lives of her remaining children.

“Might I have permission to change, first? I’m in no fit state to see the king like this.” Jon gestured to his sweaty clothes.

“I’ll grant you that,” replied Ser Barristan, and he silently followed Jon to his rooms where he donned a fresh tunic and his grey cloak lined with white fur—the finest piece of clothing that he owned. Jon belted Clash around his waist, hoping to look as much the part of a knight as possible.

King Robert welcomed Jon into his solar with a shout, pouring him a goblet full of weakened ale straight away. Jon took a sip to be polite, resolving never to let the king push him into drinking more than he ought ever again. The king didn’t waste time with useless courtesies and instead got straight to the point:

“I don’t like it when men contradict me or tell me what to do. Call it a side effect of being king, or perhaps I was always like that.”

So this is about Cersei’s children after all, realized Jon. The king’s comment also reminded him of the countless times that Stannis had complained about his brothers. You never did like to listen to anyone, if Stannis is to be believed.

“I was angry when you urged me to show mercy for Cersei’s bastards. You put me on the spot, in front of the whole damned court!” King Robert took a long swallow from his goblet, fingering a jeweled dagger at his side.

“I apologize, Your…” Jon began, keeping his gaze down, but the king spoke over him.

“You were right. I don’t know if you were speaking from your heart or your head in that moment, but nevertheless you were right.” Jon’s eyes snapped up. “A king does not murder children for the crime of having the wrong parents. What would the realm think of me if I had let my emotions run away from me? I’d be no better than Mad King Aerys—no, I’d be worse than Mad King Aerys. It’s true that I never shed any tears over the dead Targaryen children, but Tywin Lannister is responsible for those deaths. It’s also true that I sent assassins after Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen multiple times over the years, though…”

The king looked at him and furrowed his brows.

“Seven hells, I didn’t call you in here to discuss morality. I can never get my thoughts straight on such matters, to the point where I end up sounding like a fool. I’m not a conversationalist, I like to do things. But don’t ever try to manipulate me like that again, for I might be tempted to call for your head.”

Jon didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t know the king well enough, and the things he did know were so contradictory.

“Hopefully you’ll take the time to do more training with your war hammer.”

King Robert laughed. “Yes, I do need to get back to doing that! More vigilantly, at least. I slept for a solid day after that battle, and it was more like a short skirmish. I want to return to the fighting condition I once had, and with Cersei gone I feel like a new man. The rot that the Lannisters brought to court is being cut away, and I mean to make sure that it doesn’t root and fester once more. Starting with the Kingsguard.”

“The Kingsguard?’

“With Ser Jaime no longer wearing a white cloak, the finest order of knighthood in the realm is now one member short. Renly hosted all those damn tourneys in hopes of finding a worthy knight, but tourneys say nothing about how a man will act in a real battle. They also say nothing about his character. I want to trust my sworn swords, trust them like brothers.”

He’s staring straight at me, realized Jon with a shock. “Didn’t you imprison Ser Mandon Moore for smuggling Joffrey out of the Red Keep?”

“Him?” Jon’s question had distracted the king. “He was imprisoned for a time, until Ser Barristan convinced me to pardon him just like he had been pardoned for fighting on Mad King Aerys’ side. All the man did was obey the queen’s orders, but still…I’ll never trust him, though he did inadvertently rid me of Joffrey. Anyway,” King Robert paused and pushed a hand through his wild black hair. “You’re already knighted, so that’s out of the way. I asked Ser Barristan what he thinks of you, and the only negative thing he had to say was that you’re a bit young.”

“A bit young for what?”

“I’d have you be a member of my Kingsguard, of course! You and that direwolf of yours were invaluable to me, and I want you by my side when the next war comes.”

“I…” Jon had dreamed about being a knight of the Kingsguard as a young boy, of course. A bastard might never be the Lord of Winterfell, but he could rise to be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard if he proved himself true. Jon had a fleeting vision of himself returning to Winterfell, clad in white armor with a white cloak clasped at his shoulders. Father would be proud of him, surely, and Robb would clap him on the shoulders in congratulations. Bran would look up to him just as much as he had Ser Aemon the Dragonknight and the other famous Kingsguard knights. Even Lady Stark would smile at him approvingly, for never again would she have to fear him stealing the inheritance of her trueborn children…

The king wasn’t finished. “Oh, and I’ll legitimize you while I’m at it. Make you Ser Jon Stark. Ned shouldn’t mind, and I’m surprised that he hasn’t asked me for such a favor before! Perhaps he’s worried about angering that wife of his.” He shrugged, smiling again. “How about it, Jon?”

Jon’s breath caught in his throat. The king and the king alone had the power to erase the stain of bastardy. Nevermore would I have to remain a Snow, and the whole realm will have to see me as a true son of Eddard Stark. Ser Jon Stark. Just hearing the name made Jon want to say “Yes!” to the king then and there. The name sounded real, it sounded right. But as Jon’s left hand strayed to the white direwolf-shaped pommel of his sword, visions of all the glorious deeds he had yet to accomplish suddenly began to fade as an image of Stannis frowning suddenly swam in front of him. Stannis always frowned, so that didn’t give Jon pause as much as the disappointment that was painfully obvious in his eyes. Shireen also appeared, staring sadly at the ground.

Jon shook his head, trying to think straight. This decision wasn’t as clear cut as it initially seemed. He should feel honored, certainly. Honored that the king would want a bastard knight by his side when he next rode into battle—regardless of how glorious battle really was.

King Robert wants me to be a knight of the Kingsguard. Stannis wants…I’ve never truly known what he wants, let alone what he wants me to be. And myself? What is it that I want?

“Are you refusing me, Jon Snow?” said King Robert, now with an edge to his voice.

“No,” said Jon quickly. This was a place on the Kingsguard that King Robert was offering, and the Kingsguard was not to be refused lightly. “Your offer took me unawares, Your Grace. May I have some time to consider it?”

“As you will, though consider quickly. But know this: all you have to do is bend your knee, lay your sword at my feet, and you’ll rise as Ser Jon Stark of the Kingsguard.”

~

The morning had been going so well. After breaking his fast over fresh autumn fruit, Stannis had sat through a highly enjoyable Small Council meeting where Robert had announced for all to hear that Stannis was to be formally appointed the Lord of Storm’s End and the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands at the next open court session. Stannis had been prepared to write about the good news to his family on Dragonstone, tell Jon, and start preparations for his move. But then, once all the other members had filed out of the room, Robert had casually mentioned that he was going to ask Ser Jon to be a member of his Kingsguard and offer to legitimize him, complete with a “Ned will be so proud!”

Stannis immediately grabbed Ser Rolland and Ser Andrew and left the castle to inspect the Royal Fleet. He walked along the docks for half the day, talking with ship captains, goods inspectors, and docking fee collectors. Then he made his way to the shore, closing his eyes and listening to the crash of the waves on rocks and sand while smelling the salt of the sea. When Stannis returned to the Red Keep, he climbed staircase after staircase, avoided the throne room, the godswood, the king’s chambers…any place where he was likely to run in to Robert or Jon or Robert and Jon together. Stannis ground his teeth so hard that his jaw started to ache.

Jon was going to accept Robert’s offer. It was inevitable. Why would he refuse? The Kingsguard was the finest and most storied order of knighthood in the realm, and wherever in the realm he traveled, a knight in white commanded the highest respect. And that name…Being a Stark instead of a Snow had to be just as much a temptation as a white cloak. Stannis knew that Jon wanted it, to share the same name as the father he looked so much like. As much as Jon had somewhat made peace with his bastard status, he’d likely change it in a heartbeat. Robert was offering Jon more than Ned Stark ever did—and more than Stannis ever could. And so Robert bests me once again.

If Robert had offered the same to Ser Andrew or Ser Rolland, then Stannis would’ve been annoyed, certainly. Both men were honest, loyal, and had performed their duties to him admirably. However, they were their own men and had a right to make their own decisions. But why do I feel so upset that Robert asked Jon? Stannis thought it a small miracle that his teeth weren’t cracking into splinters by now. He had not planned for Jon to leave his service so soon, at any rate. He’s not my son. I know he’s not, and Selyse has always found the occasion to tell me so. He has dark brown hair and grey eyes, not black hair and blue eyes. But he listens to me. He doesn’t take pleasure in killing. He’s my daughter’s friend.

Robert was slighting him, Stannis realized, just as Robert had slighted him his whole life. First by giving Storm’s End to Renly, then ruining his wedding night, passing him over for Hand of the King…And those were just the major things. Stannis had lost count of all the times Robert had laughed at him growing up, the belittling names he had called him over Proudwing and his inability to ever beat Robert in a fight. Robert’s actions hadn’t changed terribly much as an adult, and he had never given Stannis the respect or the recognition that he had deserved. The recent battles with the Lannisters had brought about a change in Robert, to be sure, with Robert listening to and having more faith in Stannis than he ever had in his life. But these have been extraordinary times. Extraordinary times can cause men to do extraordinary things, and who knows if Robert getting his act together will be a permanent change?

The irony of this whole matter is that Robert likely doesn’t even realize that he’s slighting me, for it’s not like Jon is a possession of mine to be stolen away. Kings always got what they wanted, didn’t they? They always got what they wanted because everyone was too scared to refuse them. Knights were always vying for a position on the Kingsguard, and rarely did one become available since the men served for life. But something niggled at the back of Stannis’ mind: Lyanna Stark. Lyanna was all that Robert had ever wanted, as Stannis had heard directly from his brother’s mouth. Being king was just an unfortunate consequence of failing to win her back, despite destroying the evil dragon who had locked her up in a tower. Just like the songs. But life is never like the songs, is it? Just like there aren’t any gods to save us.

And then there was Ned Stark. Stark had refused to become Robert’s Hand of the King. It didn’t matter how many polite letters Stark sent to Robert, or how noble his cause of wanting to help the Night’s Watch was. Robert had been hurt by the only brother he had ever wanted, the only brother he had ever loved. And Jon Snow looked and acted exactly like his father on the surface, dark hair and long face complete with a reserved nature and a desire to do the right thing, the honorable thing. Robert wants his best friend back, so he goes for the son. Stannis was tempted to run to Robert and remind him that despite all the similarities, Jon Snow was not Ned Stark. Jon will never bed a woman not his wife for fear of fathering a bastard. Is it any surprise that Stark was guilty of that particular sin after being around Robert for so long?

“Damn you, Ned Stark!” Robert had yelled over and over during his last day at Winterfell. Stannis had not forgotten that.

Yes, damn you, Ned Stark. Everything always came back to the dutiful, honorable Lord of Winterfell in the end. It was because of Ned Stark that Stannis had been pushed aside by Robert. Ned Stark had gotten credit for breaking the Storm’s End siege, Ned Stark had been awarded Robert’s unconditional faith and trust, and Ned Stark had been the only man Robert had ever tried to love like a brother. And now it was due to Ned Stark that Robert was going to get Ser Jon on his Kingsguard. Stannis wondered if Jon was astute enough to grasp what Robert was doing.

Stannis started walking up the spiraling staircase that led to his solar. The sun was starting to set, and it was time for his evening meal. Normally, he would have already requested that Jon join him, and the direwolf would appear to curl up by the fireplace. Stannis would talk with Jon about everything and nothing. Sometimes not a word passed between them if there wasn’t anything that needed to be said.

Has Robert taken the time to get to know Jon off of the battlefield? Does he know the boy he was and the man he’s growing to be? Stannis liked to think that he and Jon got on well beyond what duty demanded of them by their roles of lord and knight. They both had similar temperaments and ways of thinking. Stannis believed that Jon looked up to him, and in turn Stannis admired qualities of Jon’s own—even if he was loath to admit it. Jon was unfailingly kind to those who deserved it. Not every young man his age would’ve befriended Shireen or implored their king to spare the lives of innocents for a reason that wasn’t political. Would Robert have felt remorse over killing a man during battle? Stannis had a feeling that Jon had confided nothing of the Lannister knight with the dolphin favor to the king.

Stannis let out a long sigh.

Cersei and Jaime had gotten the justice that they deserved, but at the cost of Renly’s life. Now I’ve gotten the castle I’ve always wanted, but at the cost of Jon’s…Service? Company? Friendship? Stannis didn’t know what to call it. It wasn’t like Jon would be gone forever, he’d just always be at Robert’s side, doing Robert’s bidding, talking and smiling with Robert instead of him.

Stannis wished that he could counsel Jon on the pros and cons of being a knight of the Kingsguard. If he asks me I’ll answer, but if not…It’s his decision to make. It’s a man’s decision, and Jon has proven that he isn’t the same boy who rode out of Winterfell’s gates all that time ago. When the staircase came to an end, Stannis resolved to do nothing but respect Jon if he next saw him wearing a white cloak.

~

Jon was waiting for Stannis in his lord’s solar, admiring the view of King’s Landing’s harbor from the large windows. He had tried to find Stannis all day to no avail, but that was probably for the best. Jon had had a lot of thinking to do, and it was best that he did it alone. Oh, Ghost had been with him of course, but Ghost didn’t count. Ghost was a part of him that Jon couldn’t quite describe. The fact that I’ve been having dreams that I’m a wolf is a topic for another day.

Jon walked over to Stannis’ desk, picking up a beautiful white conch shell and turning it over in his hand. There were many such shells on the desk, all of which had been collected by Shireen during her infrequent trips to King’s Landing. After all that Jon had gone through today, he was oddly calm. He had just told King Robert his decision concerning the Kingsguard, and now he had to tell Stannis. I don’t regret the decision I made. It’s for the best. Jon prayed to the gods that Stannis saw it that way.

~

The door to his solar was open wide, yet instead of crossing the threshold Stannis decided to lean against the doorframe for a time, his arms crossed. Jon was still wearing his grey cloak, Clash hanging by his side as he absently picked up the shells on the desk. Stannis silently studied his knight without making his presence known, wanting to delay indefinitely the moment when Jon told him that Robert wanted to appoint him to the Kingsguard. And that he’d accepted.

“Have you been fitted for a white cloak yet?” Stannis’ voice was harsher than he thought it would be.

Jon started, nearly dropping the shell in his hand. He quickly placed it back on the desk, all the while looking like a guilty young boy. Jon straightened his cloak, then resolutely met Stannis’ eyes with his.

This is when he’s going to say it.

“Do you think I want to be a member of the Kingsguard?”

Of course you do, Stannis would’ve replied immediately, but something about Jon’s tone of voice made him pause. He already knew the reasons why Jon would want to be on the Kingsguard, complete with finally having the Stark name. But reasons to refuse? Did the vows of serving for life and taking no family give him pause? He’d been ready to give up everything to join the Night’s Watch at fourteen, so that didn’t make much sense. Did he balk at having to serve Robert? Stannis didn’t quite know what Jon thought of Robert besides him being the king who he had a duty to. Stannis had complained about Robert to Jon often enough, complaints built up over a lifetime of being a brother, but he had never specifically said that Robert was a bad or evil man like Maegor the Cruel. Jon’s spent enough time with Robert to form his own opinion of our gracious king, so my views shouldn’t have influenced him. Perhaps Jon wanted to stay by his side regardless of whether he was at Dragonstone, Storm’s End, or the Red Keep? Stannis refused to dwell on that thought, as no one had ever chosen him over Robert.

Stannis frowned as Jon continued to meet his eyes. Jon had clearly planned that question—had undoubtedly wanted to Stannis to seriously consider it.

“I don’t know.”

There was a slight quirk to Jon’s mouth. “Fair answer.”

Stannis waited for Jon to explain himself, and that he did:

“The Kingsguard has been made up of more heroes than any of the other companies of knights combined. Performing great deeds of my own was one of the first things I thought of when King Robert offered me a place on the Kingsguard, much like when my uncle Benjen would entertain me with tales of the Night’s Watch. But then I remembered what you told me about heroism, about how there are no true heroes. The Kingsguard as it is now is not a company of heroes, and from what I’ve seen only half of them have any honor. I have a feeling that I would’ve discovered the same thing about the Night’s Watch if I had gone to the Wall.”

The honor of the Kingsguard. Is that what he’s been thinking about this entire time? “Do you think the Kingsguard and the Night’s Watch are lost causes, then?”

“No,” said Jon quickly. “It’s just…” he bit his lip. “I could help make the Kingsguard great again. King Robert wants to make changes now that the Lannisters are gone from court, and I believe that he would be receptive to any ideas or advice that I could give him. Ser Barristan already serves on the Small Council, meaning that the Kingsguard plays an integral part in governing the realm besides protecting the king.”

Stannis scoffed at Jon’s idealism, and he neglected to tell him how much Ser Barristan had actually said during Small Council meetings over the years. Not that the Lord Commander was incompetent by any means, but he hadn’t played as progressive a role as Jon thought.

“Is that why you said yes to Robert, then? Because you think you can change things for the better?”

“No.”

“Then why did you say yes to Robert?”

Jon finally looked away. “What if I advised King Robert to appoint Ser Loras Tyrell to the Kingsguard instead? Lady Margaery would appreciate such a generous wedding gift, and Ser Loras would never bed his sister like Ser Jaime.”

“Oh?” Has Jon heard all of the rumors about Renly and Ser Loras?

“Ser Loras and Lady Margaery both have brown hair, and it would be unlikely for a black haired child to be born of their union and passed off as a true Baratheon,” said Jon like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Stannis let out a dry laugh in spite of himself. So he really does know nothing about those rumors and the truth behind them. Stannis pushed himself away from the doorframe, arms still crossed. He slowly walked toward Jon, his boots making no sound on the deep blue carpet that stretched across the room.

“You haven’t answered my question, Jon.”

Stannis stopped when he was close enough to touch the young man who he had knighted with his own sword. The direwolf materialized from out of nowhere, nudging his master’s hip as if he too was trying to get Jon to answer Stannis’ question.

“I didn’t say yes to King Robert.”

“You…” Stannis’ eyes widened. All day he had been preparing to hear the opposite, all the while cursing Robert for being Robert. This refusal was entirely unexpected, and Stannis found that he didn’t have anything more intelligent to say other than:

“Why?”

“King Robert wants me to be my father, while you want me to be my own man.” A faint blush crept its way onto Jon’s face. “That’s the heart of it, anyway.”

Before Stannis could process the implications of that statement, he immediately asked: “Will you come to Storm’s End? And continue to serve me there?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t need time to consider my offer?”

Jon shook his head. “I believe that I’m meant to serve the Baratheons for now, but King Robert isn’t the only stag in the realm. I swore my vows of knighthood and loyalty to you, and it would feel wrong to go against them.”

“Vows of knighthood aren’t like the vows of the Night’s Watch,” Stannis pointed out. “You won’t get your head chopped off for switching allegiances between lords.”

“I know…But I feel that I will have the opportunity to grow more as a knight—and as a man—by continuing to serve you. King Robert knows how to fight and inspire his soldiers, but he doesn’t know how to rule. You do, though, and I’ve always enjoyed learning from you. You’ll spend enough time in King’s Landing because of your seat on the Small Council for me to get my fill of the capitol and of how governing the realm really goes about. Also, as much as I admire my father, I don’t want to feel pressured into becoming just like him. Lord Eddard Stark made some choices that he shouldn’t have, choices that the king doesn’t look down upon.”

Jon just chose me over Robert. A mix of emotions flooded through Stannis. Surprise and shock were among them, for everyone had always been drawn to Robert’s strength, his charisma, and his status. But Jon seemed to value Stannis’ qualities over Robert’s, or at least thought that Stannis had more to offer him than the King of Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms. Stannis felt…touched. But there was still one thing that he didn’t quite believe…

“I forgot!” Jon exclaimed. “I haven’t congratulated you for being named Lord of Storm’s End yet!”

Stannis waved Jon’s words away, as much as hearing his new title made him want to grin like a madman.

“Robert offered you a name.”

“You already gave a name, my lord—a name much harder to earn. I’m content with that.”

If any other man had said that, Stannis would not have believed him. But Ser Jon was smiling at him, a smile so full of sincerity that Stannis had no doubt that he was hearing the truth.

Chapter Text

For me, it’s a glance,
And a smile on your face.
The touch of your hands,
An honest embrace.
For where I lay it’s you I keep,
This changing world, I fall asleep.
With you all I know is, I’m coming home.

Vanessa Carlton, “Home”

The godswood of the Red Keep had no weirwood trees, but its great oak heart tree looked like it had been growing there long before Aegon the Conqueror had ever been born. Jon always liked visiting the place because it was quiet and empty. Few in the South worshiped the Old Gods, and Jon wondered if the gods even saw fit to travel so far from the North. He would never know, for they were silent deities who rarely found the need to speak to people or possess them. Ghost was sniffing at the smokeberry vines growing at the base of the heart tree when suddenly his head shot up and he bounded over to Jon’s side.

“Is everything alright, Ghost?”

“Ser Jon, what a coincidence to meet you here.”

Jon abruptly turned around at the sound. When he found the source of the voice, Jon doubted very much that it was a coincidence that brought Margaery Tyrell and her brother Ser Loras to the godswood at this exact time. The siblings looked so similar and so at ease with each other. Jon wondered if he and Arya looked like that when they stood next to each other. Gods, do I miss my little sister.

Margaery was wearing a beautiful green silk gown with golden roses stitched on the bodice. The sleeves were long, and they were lined with cloth-of-gold. Though the dress was appropriately modest, the richness of it left no doubt that this was the queen-to-be. Loras looked quite handsome in a new suit of white armor topped off with a white cloak. The young knight looked very pleased with the appointment. Good. He’s the type of man who loves tournaments and the trappings of knighthood, so he’ll have that in common with the king. Lady Margaery would do well to have at least one member of her family around when she is queen, for the Red Keep can be a very daunting and lonely place.

King Robert had heeded Jon’s suggestion to name Ser Loras to the Kingsguard, though not after screaming at Jon that he was being an ungrateful bastard. It had taken all of Jon’s self control to keep his face hard and frozen like his father’s Lord Stark face during the king’s tirade, all the while mentally repeating Stannis’ words that King Robert was simply a man and not to be feared.

Jon had carefully planned how exactly he was going to refuse the king: Make sure that the king was seated and play up his inexperience. Maester Cressen had said that standing men were more inclined to shout and rage, while sitting men were more likely to listen. Jon’s focus on his inexperience was only to mask the key reason for his refusal, which he would never dare confess to the king.

In the hours after Ser Jon Stark of the Kingsguard had been dangled in front of him, Jon had tried to reconcile the King Robert he had come to know with the King Robert he had heard about from so many different people. He wanted the name and the title, that was certain, but serving a man who Lord Stannis constantly complained about and who father loved also came with them. It was only when Jon though of father that everything started to fall into place. Lord Eddard Stark had been mentioned every time Jon had spoken with the king, and while Jon didn’t mind the fact that King Robert seemed to have put his father on a pedestal equal to that of the gods—for Jon sincerely believed that his father was a good man and thoroughly deserved praise and admiration —he wanted the king to look at him and see Jon. However, Jon didn’t have much faith that that would ever happen. If wine can get men to speak truths that they’d normally never admit out loud, then the king simply wants me to be my father. Father has turned a blind eye toward the king’s impulsive and pleasure seeking lifestyle for near on twenty years, something I would never be comfortable doing.

Stannis, by contrast, seemed to go out of his way to avoid mentioning Lord Eddard Stark, to the point where he was offended if Jon saw the need to say anything about father. The new Lord of Storm’s End still respected father, though, which was enough. I daresay that Stannis respects me as well, something not to be taken lightly for a man as hard and as cynical as him. Jon simply felt more comfortable around Stannis than King Robert, and he had never felt pressured to be anything that he was not. Between the two men it was not difficult to decide who he would rather serve and learn from. The number of bastards each has fathered aside.

Jon blinked, turning his attention back to Margaery and Loras.

“Walk with me.” Margaery held out one of her graceful arms. Jon stared at it, which caused her to laugh. “My virtue won’t be compromised by a simple walk around the godswood. Besides, a knight of the Kingsguard is my chaperone, so it’s you who should be worried.”

Jon tentatively took her right arm with his left, burying his free hand into the fur on Ghost’s neck. Ser Loras walked behind at a respectful distance, close enough to see them but far enough away not to hear them.

“This godswood is so different from the gardens at Highgarden. There’s a wildness to it, while at Highgarden every rose knows its proper place.”

“As you say, my lady,” answered Jon, wondering if there was some veiled meaning behind her statement.

Margaery continued to talk about roses and flowers and gardening as Jon dutifully led her past oak, elm, alder, and cottonwood trees. She had plans to redesign the gardens of the Red Keep, for at the moment they were rather bare and neglected. Winter wasn’t on the horizon yet, so there was still time to grow beautiful things. Eventually, Margaery turned her head toward him. The carefree tone of her voice vanished, as did the innocent sparkle in her brown eyes.

“You must be wondering why I sought you out, Ser.”

Jon gave her a slow nod. He had been wondering about that; it certainly wasn’t for his conversation skills.

“I wish to know more about my future husband.”

“I’m not the right person to ask, my lady,” said Jon automatically. “There are plenty who have been at court longer than I have, and…”

Margaery cut him off. “And all of those people don’t know him at all. They bow and say what they think the king wants to hear in order to get desired favors. The Kingsguard guards him night and day, but their vows prevent them divulging their king’s secrets—even something as simple as which hawks he prefers to hunt with might be deemed too private. I would ask Lord Stannis, for a brother would know a brother best of all, but sadly he’ll always despise me because of who my father is. You, on the other hand, have ridden beside King Robert in battle, and his friendship with you father Lord Eddard Stark is legendary. As well,” Margaery leaned close to Jon, close enough to kiss. But instead of finding his mouth, her lips brushed his ear and whispered: “There are rumors that Loras was only the king’s second choice to be a member of his Kingsguard, a second choice because you refused him.”

Jon looked at Margaery warily, leaning away to keep a respectful distance between them. He wasn’t aware that anyone apart from Stannis and Ser Barristan had known about King Robert’s offer and Jon’s subsequent refusal.

“Those are just rumors, of course,” said Jon, but he got the feeling that Margaery could see through his lie readily enough.

“Of course,” replied Margaery. She smiled sweetly. “I would have the truth from you Ser Jon. What do you think of King Robert? Do you think he’s a good king, and most importantly do you think he will make me a good husband?”

Jon thought about it, carefully choosing his words. “King Robert is not a monster. He wants to be a better king than he was, a better warrior, and above all a better man. With the right advisors around him, the realm shouldn’t get any worse than it is now.”

Margaery didn’t say anything. Jon took a deep breath, preparing himself to say something that would no doubt hurt her. If she doesn’t learn the hard truth now, she’ll only learn it later and be all the more devastated.

“I do not think King Robert will be a good husband to you, my lady. He has no honor when it comes to women, and even though former Queen Cersei was unfaithful to him as well, that doesn’t excuse his actions. I don’t imagine that having a new queen will cause him to change his nature.”

“What do you think I should do about that, then?”

As if I know anything about being a queen or a good wife. “Be faithful to him, be a good mother to any children that you bear him, and perhaps he will come to respect you. Queen Cersei looked down upon everyone and everything from the little I saw and heard of her, and I sincerely believe that you could be a better queen than her if you try to make your people love you.”

Margaery considered his words. She didn’t seem too shocked, though she didn’t seem pleased either. Still, she gave a resolute nod as if steeling herself for a battle she could not escape.

“It was ever so brave of you to plead mercy for Queen Cersei’s remaining children. I’ve heard that they are delightful, and no child should be harmed simply because of who his parents are.”

Margaery had a faraway look in her eyes.

“If King Robert had killed them, I would’ve refused to marry him. I’ve obeyed my father in all things, but joining the Silent Sisters seems a preferable fate to marrying a man who would murder an innocent little boy and girl he used to call his own.”

That was the most honest thing Margaery had said, and for a moment Jon felt pity for her. It would never do to tell her that, though, so instead Ghost shook free of Jon’s grip and pushed his snout into Margaery’s hand, drawing out a genuine laugh.

~

“Do you really have to leave the Red Keep now, brother?”

“Why, Robert, are you going to miss me?” replied Stannis. Stannis had just informed Robert of his intention to ride for Storm’s End in a fortnight. The Lannisters were done with, and Lord Tywin was due to march back to Casterly Rock that afternoon. Let him stay there and rot for the rest of his life. It was quicker to travel overland via the Kingsroad to his castle rather than sail to it, and he was impatient to finally return to Storm’s End as its lord. A raven had been dispatched to Ser Davos on Dragonstone, ordering him to safely see Shireen and Selyse to their new home on whichever ship seemed most fit.

“You missed me when I left for the Eyrie to be fostered with Jon Arryn.”

“When I was a young boy of eight or so, I’ll grant you that.” Before you started sending letters extolling all the virtues of Ned Stark and what a good friend he was. Besides, with you gone I got father all to myself as Renly hadn’t been born yet.

“You’ll be back here for my wedding, of course. You must bring your family, as I can’t remember the last time I saw your daughter. Did her greyscale finally go away?”

Shireen hasn’t be afflicted with greyscale for over ten years. “I’ve been ordered to attend the occasion practically on the point of death,” Stannis pointed out. Instead of being offended, Robert only laughed. Stannis hated feasts and festivities, and he liked those honoring Robert even less. But his presence was expected, and the realm needed to see that the rapport between the King of Westeros and the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands was as strong as ever. While the wedding would be more extravagant and more costly than Stannis ever would have wished, Lord Tyrell had been convinced to front half of the costs. Stannis had also deemed it a small victory when he had been able to squash fat flower’s most absurd notions—such as serving seventy seven courses.

“I’m not asking you to attend an orgy, Stannis! Have a glass of wine and dance with a beautiful girl for once in your life! Or if dancing is as abhorrent to you as laughing, then all the high lords in the realm will be there for you to talk to. The ravens keep coming, and more lords and famous knights are announcing their intention to attend every day! Even Ned Stark is dragging his frozen body away from the Wall to travel to King’s Landing with his family.”

Curiously, Robert’s enthusiasm about seeing Ned Stark again didn’t frustrate Stannis as much as it usually did. Jon will be pleased to see his father and siblings at any rate, and hopefully Shireen will befriend Stark’s other children just as easily. Stannis also had much to say to Stark about who he believed to be behind Jon Arryn’s death, a matter that he didn’t trust to a raven now that his suspicions didn’t involve the Lannisters. If the matter is handled delicately enough, Stark could be of great help in bringing Littlefinger to justice. Speaking of Littlefinger…

“Robert, have you considered appointing a new Master of Coin?”

“Didn’t like all those things that Littlefinger said about you at the trial, hmm?”

“Littlefinger’s outrageous lies are inconsequential.” Stannis paused. “I trust you do believe them to be lies?”

“I’ll give you that much credit, Stannis. Any man who sets out to smear Ned’s good name is not to be trusted, but you do have to admit that Littlefinger brought up some interesting points…”

“Is it so farfetched to believe that I can bed my wife or be generous to a friend without something sinister going on behind closed doors?” Stannis nearly shouted over Robert. He was possessed with a sudden desire to call for Littlefinger’s tongue to be ripped out, but that tongue needed to stay in its proper place to confess. “I suspect that the new Lord Consort of the Eyrie is doing something highly unethical and illegal with the Crown’s finances. With the large debt that we need to pay back to Tywin Lannister, it would not be wise to have a man who has proved himself to be in Lord Tywin’s employ stay in such a position of power. As well…” Stannis stopped.

“Go on,” encouraged Robert. “What else has the man done?”

Should I tell Robert of my belief that Littlefinger is behind Jon Arryn’s death? I don’t have any solid evidence, just like when I first suspected Jaime to be the father of Cersei’s children. Robert shouted at me never to keep such an important matter like the incest from him for so long, but what if he does something rash? Littlefinger was a more slippery foe than any of the lions of Casterly Rock, and Stannis didn’t want the whoremonger to ever deduce that he was a suspect in the late Lord Hand’s death until he was chained behind the black bars of the Black Cells. Stannis remained lost in thought for so long that Robert was getting irritated.

“You have something that you want to say to me. Well? Spit it out, or do I have to command you as your king?”

Should I trust Robert with this? Can I trust Robert with this?

“Littlefinger murdered Jon Arryn. I just can’t prove it yet.” Stannis’ voice was low enough so that only Robert could hear it. Robert’s eyes widened in shock.

“I thought it was Cersei or Jaime who…”

“Don’t say anything more!” hissed Stannis. “Give me time to investigate the matter and plan a way so he doesn’t escape. Your wedding might be the perfect time, as he’ll likely be distracted by all the people and the festivities.”

“Is it your intention to make a scandalous scene at my wedding in repayment for what I did at yours?”

No. It’s not my intention to humiliate you at your wedding, though I would like for you to feel remorse for bedding Delena Florent when and where you did.

“That’s not funny, Robert.”

“Would it kill you to play along for once?” Robert paused, looking Stannis up and down. “Then again, it probably would.” As Stannis scowled, Robert sighed. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have my leave to do whatever you need to do to see justice done.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” said Stannis as he gave Robert a formal bow.

“Oh, and Stannis?” called Robert just as Stannis had turned around to leave. “Tell Ser Jon that I’m not mad at him. Anymore. Lady Margaery kissed me on the cheek when I named her brother Loras to the Kingsguard, and she seemed genuinely happy. Perhaps this marriage won’t be as much of a disaster as the last one.”

Jon had never told Stannis about how Robert had reacted to his refusal, and Stannis doubted that Robert had simply smiled and sent him on his way.

Robert wasn’t finished. “I don’t know who taught him to be so god-dammed humble—likely Ned, who’s just as humble as he’s honorable. Anyway, Jon could’ve chosen someone much worse to serve, such as the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He’ll be of no use to anyone on the Wall unless there are snarks and grumpkins to chase.”

Stannis met Robert’s eyes with his own. He wondered if Robert was trying to apologize to him, compliment him, or acknowledge how petty it was that both of them had been fighting for allegiance of the same young man. Stannis would never ask, of course, because most everything was at peace between him and Robert. For now.

~

Before Lord Tywin and his lords marched back to the Westerlands, Jon sought out Ser Kevan. He was apprehensive about how the old knight would receive him, especially after all that had happened during the battle and the trial. Jon had ordered Ghost away at any rate, in deference to Ser Kevan’s uneasiness around the direwolf—and the fact that Jon trusted Ser Kevan not to murder him in front of half the court. There was a matter he wanted to settle once and for all.

Jon showed him the sky-blue cloth with the dolphin and purple flowers. “Do you know any knight with this sigil?”

Ser Kevan looked at it. Jon waited for recognition to dawn on his face, but it never came. Is that a good or a bad thing? Eventually, Ser Kevan shook his head.

“I don’t, Ser Jon. Is he a friend of yours?”

“No. I…” I killed him, Jon had been preparing to say, but he couldn’t get the words out. “I was with him as he died, and he wanted me to say something to the woman he loved. He was a Lannister soldier, so I thought you might know.”

“If you ever come to Lannisport, lad, seek me out. I’ll help you find the girl who sewed the dolphins.”

“You’ll help me? Even though I fought for King Robert and currently serve Lord Stannis? Even though I took you prisoner?”

“Nothing that happened was your fault,” said Ser Kevan, a bit of a consoling tone in his voice. “Just thank your gods that I’m not trying to find a girl who made a favor with a white direwolf, to inform her of your death.”

There’s no way that he can know that. The only person who knows that Shireen embroidered a direwolf and a doe for me is Stannis, and he’s not exactly going to spread that fact around. “How did you…”

“Just a guess.” Ser Kevan shrugged. “Your direwolf is what I remember most about you. I wish you well, Ser Jon, I truly do.”

~

Stannis knew that he was pushing his horse way too hard, but he justified his actions by knowing that the southern end of the Kingsroad—and Storm’s End, of course—could be seen from the crest of the next hill. He had long left his small yet cumbersome party behind, an assortment of guards with ever-needed supplies. Ser Jon was naturally keeping pace with Stannis, his direwolf joyfully racing beside the horses. When Storm’s End finally came into view, its great curtain wall of smooth black stone rising from the cliffs overlooking the treacherous Shipbreaker Bay, he pressed his horse into a gallop.

The castle gates opened at his approach, and in a short time the castellan Ser Cortnay Penrose appeared in the courtyard to greet him. The knight bowed, and Stannis noticed that his russet-colored cloak matched his russet-colored beard.

“Lord Stannis, may I be the first to welcome you home. The castle has been prepared for your arrival, despite your short notice.”

“I am not the most patient of men,” stated Stannis as he dismounted from his horse, handing off the reins to a waiting groom. “Once the Lannisters were dealt with there was no need for me to linger in King’s Landing.”

“I take it you wish to stay in the lord’s chambers, as befits your new title?”

Stannis would normally have nodded, but then he remembered yet again how he had become the Lord of Storm’s End. Renly had left the castle months ago to gather troops at Highgarden, and all of his things were likely still in those rooms, along with the remnants of his extensive wardrobe. Stannis didn’t want to be reminded of his little brother and his untimely death any more than he had to.

“No,” said Stannis slowly, and he saw Jon raise his eyebrows from his place beside him. “I will stay in the rooms I occupied during my last visit here, for the nonce.”

“As you wish, my lord,” responded Ser Cortnay with another bow. Stannis proceeded to give orders to the rest of his men, and then for the remainder of the day he walked along every foot of Storm’s End’s walls, inspected every room, and talked to stewards, blacksmiths, and cooks alike, gauging what state Renly left the castle in. He hadn’t done a bad job, truly, though Stannis suspected that had more to do with the efficiency of the castle staff than any brilliance on Renly’s part.

~

If it weren’t for his youth, Jon wouldn’t have been able to keep up with Stannis as his lord ran around Storm’s End all day. He had never seen Stannis so enthusiastic about anything before. Sure, Stannis had always cared that Dragonstone was functionally and defensively sound, but that was something that duty required of him. With Storm’s End, however, there was genuine love evident in his eyes as Stannis inspected the castle, love that was no longer a dream but an assured fact now that the castle was rightfully his.

The larders and food storage rooms were rather chaotic at the moment, for the first of hopefully many autumn harvests had just been reaped. Bushels of grains, fruits, and vegetables were coming in by the cartload, and stewards were busy tallying the deliveries and making note of which goods the castle was purchasing versus those that were being given as taxes.

Stannis paused by a large stash of peaches. “Where did these come from?” he asked one of the stewards. “The Stormlands don’t have any peach orchards as far as I can recall.”

“The peaches just came in yesterday from the Reach! Lord Renly was able to negotiate favorable trade agreements with Highgarden over the past few years, and all the fresh produce you see here is only part of that bounty.”

Jon watched Stannis reach out and grab a peach, gazing at it thoughtfully. He muttered something under his breath that sounded rather like “not as much of an idiot as I thought.” Stannis hailed one of the cooks who was bustling about, her arms filled with potatoes likely to be chopped up for a stew.

“Would it be too much trouble to have some of these peaches baked into a pie?”

“None at all, my lord,” said the maid, bowing as best she could.

“Good. I will have a pie with my evening meal, along with…” Stannis’ eyes lit upon the many casks of wine that lined the walls. “Along with a pitcher of Arbor Gold.”

Jon stared at him. Stannis returned his stare with a smile that reached his eyes, a smile that showed teeth.

“It’s not every day that a man gets to return to his childhood castle as its lord. A small celebration is in order, don’t you think? It won’t harm us to indulge for once, and one glass of wine won’t erase all of our faculties.”

Who are you and what have you done with Stannis Baratheon?

“Also, Jon, it’s unseemly to gape like that unless you’re a mummer swallowing a sword.”

Jon closed his mouth, not even realizing that it had fallen open in the first place.

Later, as the sun was setting, Jon naturally joined Stannis for the evening meal in a small room with a commanding view of Shipbreaker Bay and the Narrow Sea. Ghost had already dined on an aurochs carcass, the beast having been slaughtered earlier that day and the meat stripped to be cured. He was now gnawing on a bone by the fireplace, and Jon wondered if Stannis was irritated by the noise. Then again, the sound isn’t very different from grinding teeth, which he’s intimately familiar with.

Stannis ignored the black bread and beef stew brought in by the servants, instead attacking a peach pie fresh from the ovens with his knife. The crust was golden brown, and the juices from the fruit smelled incredibly sweet. He even served Jon a slice and then filled two goblets with a golden wine so pale it was almost the color of water.

“Ser Davos and my wife and daughter will be arriving soon,” said Stannis. “I trust you will show Shireen around the castle when I’m otherwise occupied? She’s never been here before, and I want her to feel at home. This castle will be hers one day, and it would not do for her to have nightmares of the stone stags that adorn the archways.”

Lady Selyse will no doubt approve of that, though thankfully Stannis isn’t asking me to escort her anywhere. “Of course, my lord. I will enjoy that very much.” Jon raised his goblet and proposed a toast. If this is indeed a celebration, then this won’t be out of place.

“To the Lord of Storm’s End! Long may he reign!”

Stannis remained silent for a long time, and Jon feared that he had done something wrong. But then Stannis cocked his head and slowly lifted his own goblet, as if finding it curious that he was performing such a gesture.

“To the Lord of Storm’s End,” said Stannis, mostly to himself. He turned toward Jon and met his eyes, blue meeting grey. “And his loyal knight.”

~

Stannis was in the lord’s—no, my—solar when a guard informed him that a ship flying the Baratheon colors had just sailed into Storm’s End’s docks. He immediately stopped what he was doing, grabbed his black and cloth-of-gold cloak, and headed down. It would not do for a lord to be remiss in welcoming his family to their new home. Stannis was not surprised that Ser Jon and his direwolf were already at the docks, waiting for the ship’s passengers to disembark. The direwolf had likely scented the ship and then run to inform his master before any of the sentries on duty had spotted it. How, Stannis had no idea, but there was an uncanny relationship between Jon and Ghost, almost as if they were extensions of themselves. That’s absurd. The beast is well-trained, that’s all.

Ser Davos had sailed his Black Betha to Storm’s End this time, and he was the first down the gangplank to inform Stannis that the journey had been smooth and uneventful.

“The seas around Dragonstone still remain free of Lannister ships, though I left instructions for the garrison to remain as alert as ever.”

“Nothing less than I expected from you. You’ve taken it upon yourself to learn you letters, I take?”

“Maester Cressen and Maester Pylos are patient teachers. Your daughter has tried to get me to read books to her, despite my protests that she’ll always be far superior to me in that!”

Stannis’ eyes easily found Shireen. She had eagerly run down the gangplank after Davos, immediately throwing her arms around Ghost. Ghost promptly licked her face, much to her delight. Selyse pursed her lips in disapproval, which Stannis had half expected. Shireen’s not doing anything wrong, so there’s no need to stop her. Stannis saw Shireen look back and forth between Jon and himself, as if debating who she wanted to greet first. Jon was grinning like a fool, but he tilted his head in Stannis’ direction. In the blink of an eye, Stannis felt his daughter’s arms around him, her head against his chest.

“You came back, father, even though you refused to promise me that you would!”

“I don’t make promises if I’m not certain that I can keep them, Shireen.” Shireen’s hold on him only got tighter. Stannis was prepared to admonish her, but then he thought better of it. Robert doesn’t have any children of his own. He fathered plenty but never got to know them, and the children he did get to know weren’t fathered by him. Stannis lightly placed one of his hands on Shireen’s back and the other on her head, stroking hair as black as his.

~

Shipbreaker Bay did have a number of nice beaches, though it would be a wasted effort ever to build a harbor there. If a ship wasn’t drowned at anchor by a violent storm, it would surely be ripped open by one of the gigantic boulders lying in the shallows. A steep, rocky path led from Storm’s End down to the bay, and Jon and Ghost were guiding Shireen along it. She had insisted on comparing these beaches to those on Dragonstone, and Jon was pleased to accompany her. Stannis was otherwise occupied, trying to sort out the mess that Lord Renly had made of lord’s solar. While the room looked impeccable on the surface, important deeds, manuscripts, ledgers, and letters where stuffed haphazardly in drawers and trunks, among other things. His lord wouldn’t be the most pleasant person to be around at the moment, if he ever stopped cursing his brother.

Shireen was wearing a simple and practical navy-blue dress that matched the color of the Narrow Sea, and her hair was tied back in a long braid. She was as surefooted as Ghost on the path, and when she got to the bottom she lifted her skirts and ran to the water’s edge, spinning around when she got there.

“You seem to like Storm’s End better than Dragonstone already, my lady,” mentioned Jon after watching Shireen happily skip along in the sand and find things for Ghost to fetch.

“Of course I do! Cousin Edric is here and he’s very nice, and Ser Davos said that he’ll be bringing his son Devan, who’s my age. I don’t think I’ll be as lonely. And there aren’t any dragons here!”

Jon sincerely hoped that Shireen was never lonely ever again. Her fool Patchface had apparently refused to sail to Storm’s End, which had disappointed her. Bad memories of Shipbreaker Bay, Stannis had said without elaborating. “Be thankful that Orys Baratheon didn’t insist on having a dragon for a sigil, then.”

Shireen picked up a short piece of driftwood and began to idly draw designs in the sand.

“I prayed for you and father in the sept every day that you were gone. Ghost as well.”

“You did?” said Jon, surprised.

“You believe in the Old Gods instead of the Seven, and father doesn’t believe in any gods, but I didn’t think it would do any harm. I did want you to come back.” A stag with antlers bigger than its body was taking shape. “Mother was pleased with me, at any rate. She thinks I’m on my way to the Seven Heavens instead of the Seven Hells now, though if she actually heard my prayers she might have a different opinion.”

Jon laughed at that, feeling rather touched by her words.

Shireen continued on. “I’m happy that you wrote to me. No one has ever written to me before, no one except for father.”

Jon neglected to say that Stannis had rather forced him into writing to Shireen, but not because Jon was reluctant to do so in the first place. A bastard knight composing letters to his lord’s maiden daughter was not a wise plan, and it could end with a one-way trip to the Wall—or worse. Whatever Stannis thought him capable of, Jon was glad that dishonoring Shireen was not among those things.

“Thank you, Shireen. I’m glad that I could make you smile.”

Jon found some smooth pebbles in the sand, and he started skipping them into the water. Shireen talked for some time about the things he had written to her about Kings Landing. She had only been to the city a couple of times, and even then she had spent most of that time stuck in her chambers in the Red Keep with her mother.

“I played with my cousins Tommen and Myrcella once, though Queen Cersei shrieked when she saw us together. She said that it wasn’t proper for a disfigured girl like me to play with a prince and a princess. I never told father, because he would’ve just sent me back to Dragonstone where no one would dare insult me—at least to my face.” She bit her lip. “You said that Uncle Robert took her head. Father and mother told me that she was a traitor who had done terrible things.”

“Yes,” said Jon slowly. “She ordered newborn children to be killed, among other things.”

“I don’t think I’ll miss her. Do you like Lady Margaery? Will she be a good queen?”

“It’s hard to know.” Jon didn’t trust Lord Tyrell, and there was no telling if Margaery would be brave enough to speak her mind or simply do whatever her father or King Robert told her to do. She was brave enough to ask me about the king, and she had been prepared to join the Silent Sisters. That’s got to count for something.

“The wedding should be a grand occasion,” added Shireen. “Father doesn’t seem too happy about attending, however. A ‘useless and utterly frivolous spectacle’ he called it.”

“I think your father’s had enough of the Red Keep for the rest of his life, if you ask me. I’m looking forward to the wedding as well, for my father wrote to me to say that him and all of my siblings will travel to King’s Landing for the event. You should get along well with them. If not, Ghost will make sure that all of the direwolves like you.” Jon wished that he was seeing them all again at Winterfell, but he felt lucky enough to be seeing them at all. He couldn’t wait to spar with Robb again, tell Bran stories, and to ruffle Arya’s hair. Jon also vowed to ask his father some very specific questions, no matter how much it pained him. I’m old enough to know who my mother is and why my father left her.

“Did you enjoy the battle?” Shireen’s voice interrupted Jon’s thoughts.

“No.” Enjoy was not the word that Jon would’ve used to best describe his experiences. He had been glad for the opportunity, and in many ways it had been a necessity. He wasn’t a green boy any longer, though he was far from being a man like father or Stannis. Jon liked fighting well enough, and he had been told that he had the makings of a good swordsman from no less than Ser Barristan himself. Still, fighting for a cause that had nothing to do with him personally wasn’t something that he had ever dreamed about.

“Good. I didn’t enjoy it either.”

Jon raised his eyebrows, looking curiously at Shireen. “But you weren’t even there.”

“A battle is just as hard for those not fighting. You’re stuck waiting, knowing that there is nothing you can do to change the outcome.”

Jon had never really thought of it that way before.

“Besides, I couldn’t fight even if I wanted to,” Shireen said dejectedly.

“Why do you say that?”

“I can barely lift your sword, let alone swing it!”

“Swords aren’t the only weapons out there,” Jon reasoned. “A lady can still poke someone full of holes with a knife or poison a drink. Or better yet, you can use your mind as a weapon. Strength of arms won’t matter if your mind is as sharp as Valyrian steel.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Do you think I’d lie to you?”

Shireen frowned, thinking. “No. You’ve always told me the truth, just like father.”

Jon reached into his tunic, finding the favor that Shireen had carefully stitched for him. “I have something for you.”

“A present?” Her eyes lit up.

“Not quite,” said Jon. He still didn’t know what would make a fitting present for Shireen. All of the things he thought she wanted and truly deserved weren’t material. Jon unfolded her favor. “I wore this when I rode into battle, and I was able to keep it safe.”

Shireen traced the doe and the direwolf with her fingers, noticing the brown spots in the grey cloth. “This is blood, isn’t it? Is it yours?”

Jon didn’t say anything for some time, choosing to focus on the waves hitting the sand in front of him. “I don’t know.”

Shireen looked at him intently. “You don’t look like you have any scars.”

On the surface, at least.

“I wasn’t a pretty sight after the battle, and you’d be amazed at how many colors bruises can turn. I got thrown from my horse in full armor, and it was only due to luck that I didn’t lose Clash in the process.”

“I’ll find a way to get the blood out. Will you let me?”

The hope in Shireen’s blue eyes was so sincere that it would’ve been impossible for Jon to do anything except say yes. In the meantime, Ghost had grabbed a piece of driftwood with his teeth, angling his head so he too could draw on the sand—or attempt to, at any rate. The direwolf produced some perfectly good squiggles and loops, and he made a circle around Shireen’s stag. That seemed to delight her, at any rate, and she rewarded Ghost by scratching behind his ears. Unexpectedly, Shireen reached up and ruffled Jon’s hair.

“Hey!”

“But you ruffle my hair! Father once talked to me about reciprocal justice, quoting some law that a man has a right to do unto others what they have done unto him!” Shireen responded.

Jon had a feeling that the law didn’t quite work that way, but there would be time for Shireen to get her facts straight. Stannis would demand nothing less from the future Lady of Storm’s End. For now, Jon simply enjoyed being out by the sea with his wolf and his friend, pretending that he didn’t have a care in the world.

~

Stannis would never get tired of watching the sunrise from the tallest tower of Storm’s End. It was something he had done more times than he could count as a boy, and now that he was a man he had no plans to stop. Sunrise always held so much promise, and enough people were still sleeping that Stannis was almost guaranteed to be alone. Alone with the silence and calm that mornings brought, before the day turned everything sour. Besides, he couldn’t afford to sleep the day away. Stannis wasn’t alone for this sunrise, however, and oddly he didn’t seem to mind. Jon was by his side, eyes trained to the horizon. He was relaxed, and his arms were folded as he leaned against a parapet. The direwolf was sitting sentinel at his side.

“Are you happy?” asked Jon once the sun had fully risen.

“Happiness is for fools.”

“Are you happy?” Jon repeated insistently. “Forget all that you’ve suffered, forget all those who have died for you to get to this point. Just think about this moment,” he urged. “Are you truly happy?”

All that I’ve suffered... His parents’ drowning, Renly’s death, all of Robert’s slights and insults. Stannis would never be able to forget those things, and it would be folly to do so. But Jon had a point. His life hadn’t been one tragedy after another; there had been some good things as well. Such as the night Davos sailed into Storm’s End with his onions, the day that Shireen was born, and the Small Council session where Robert declared me the Lord of Storm’s End. Stannis looked at Jon. And the moment when Jon chose me over Robert, giving up a white cloak and the Stark name. Did those things make him happy? Happiness was for fools, just like he had said, and it was overall a foreign concept to him. And yet…

I’m the Lord of Storm’s End. I succeeded in bringing justice to the realm. My wife and daughter are safe, and I have both of my loyal knights by my side. He still had Robert’s damn wedding to go to, Littlefinger needed to be apprehended, and Ned Stark might try and convince the entire realm to go fight at the frozen Wall. But for now, and for one of the first times in his life, Stannis Baratheon decided that he was happy.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

END