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282 AC, Storm's End
There was not yet any Red Woman, no war of the Five Kings. Stannis did not yet have to be king, Renly did not have the opportunity to be. Stannis had not yet murdered his brother with a shadow, and would not go to his grave thinking of his brother's peach.
It was 282 AC, and there was no food anywhere in Storm’s End.
They had not prepared for a siege. They had less than 500 men, and the storehouses were only half full. They had depleted rapidly, and in half a year they had resorted to killing the dogs and cats to survive. All that was in the granary was rats, skinnier even than the men trying to catch them. And men did try to catch them, so they wouldn't starve. Men had resorted to eating shoe leather, to stop the anger of their bellies. Stannis would have been a liar if he said he was not one of those men. They had not prepared for a siege, and Robert’s forces were somewhere far away in the Riverlands, unable to help. Stannis could only occasionally shoot down a gull for his wife or brother, and he gave them all of the meat from those hunts. What kind of husband would he be, if he took food out of his wife’s mouth? What kind of brother? Even if there was anything left, he had 500 men stationed here, protecting the castle from the Tyrells. What kind of lord would he be, taking meat out of his men's mouths? He had a duty, and by the Seven he would see it through. Robert had given him a task, and he had to follow it through.
It had been a while since he had caught a gull. There were no sounds of rats scurrying, because there were no more rats. In the yard, it was deathly quiet. Donal Noye, the blacksmith, had lost an arm to an infection, and there were no metal sounds coming from his forge. All the men he passed on the way to his chambers were gaunt, with hollow eyes and empty bellies. Their eyes looked listlessly ahead of them, their clothes hung off their narrow frames. And even from a mile away, the sounds of Mace Tyrell’s army feasting could be heard. Mace hoped to taunt them out, and had almost succeeded. Four men, including the castle's own master-at-arms, Ser Gawen Wylde, had been caught trying to deflect not two weeks ago. Had it not been for Maester Cressen, Stannis would have catapulted the men to the Tyrell army.
Had it not been for Maester Cressen, there would be no meat for Selyse or Renly.
Gawen had died of his own causes. Stannis had not killed him. But when his gailor had come to him and Cressen, saying that Gawen was dead in his cell, he had glanced at the old man and had the same thought he did. Stannis had not killed him, but meat was meat.
Cressen cooked him. Not all of him-just an arm, not even a whole arm, just his forearm-and made it into a stew. Stannis had not told any of his men this. Tomorrow, he would order the rest of Gawen cooked. He would not tell his men where he got the meat. He would let Cressen lie about hidden stores, and he would just hope the men were too hungry to question it. If people figured it out….. There were only three other prisoners, and that could last maybe another moon, if they rationed. Harshly rationed. Men would still starve if Robert did not win this rebellion, and send a relief force soon. Even if people figured it out, most would starve to death before they could gossip about it. Stannis set those thoughts away. For tonight, he would see to it that his family went to bed with something in their empty bellies.
In a private room, Cressen poured out four measly bowls of stew. Stannis motioned to get rid of one.
“I’m not hungry.” Later, he would force down some shoe leather. But Renly, a child of only five, did not need to know that he hungered, or that he resorted to eating shoe leather. Renly need not know how dire their circumstances were, and Stannis would keep it from him until he himself starved to death. He had raised that boy, since their parents had drowned four years ago. Renly had been an infant then, Stannis a boy of 14.
“My lord,” The Maester protested. Cressen was an old man, and had been the Maester of Storm’s End for all of Stannis’s life. It was Cressen who taught Stannis to read, and to write, Cressen who he turned to for advice. Maesters were sworn to never father any children, but Stannis knew he viewed him and Renly as his sons. Stannis moved his eyes to where Renly sat, eagerly awaiting his stew. Cressen sighed, and did as he was told.
“Did you catch a big one?” Renly asked eagerly. He had lost a tooth, and it made a whistling sound when he talked. Cressen set a bowl in front of the boy, before sitting down in between him and Stannis. Selyse took her bowl and went to her chambers, closing the door behind her. Stannis did not blame her for that. It was not their duty to like each other.
“It was a regular size gull.” Stannis said gruffly. Renly happily took a few bites. Stannis wondered how long he could keep the murmurs of the others from him. If he could have it his way, Renly would never know what he was eating. He would tell him Gawen’s body had been tossed into the sea, and pray that he never questioned it, pray he never heard any of the rumors.
“Aren't you hungry?” His brother asked, wide-eyed with broth dripping out of his mouth. Stannis was curt and harsh. “No. Eat.” A look from his older brother made Renly drop the subject, focusing on his stew. That same look made Cressen hesitantly take a few bites of stew. Stannis knew that, no matter what he said or threatened, Cressen would feign being full after half the bowl, and insist Stannis finish it. He did not know whether to love or hate the old man for it.
Stannis watched Renly eat as the boy talked about his day, about the words he could write, about stories he had come up with. Stannis remained silent, listening.
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That night, after the sun had gone down, Stannis sat in an armchair in his rooms overlooking the sea, with Renly asleep in his lap. In the waters below, Paxter Redwyne’s fleet had barricaded Shipbreaker Bay, stopping ships from bringing food to Storm’s End. Stannis could not attack them with so few men; it was all he could do to defend the castle.
Shipbreaker Bay, so aptly named, had not managed to destroy Redwynes fleet. Years ago, he had watched his parents ship crash and all aboard drown, aside from the mad fool Patchface, who his father thought could make Stannis laugh. The fool never had, and was more likely to terrify Renly than to amuse him, but he remained at Storm's End all the same.
Renly stirred in his arms, and he adjusted his grip on the boy. Renly had had a small army of nursemaids and nannies, but he would still creep his way up to his brother's room when he had nightmares. Had they had a mother, or a father, or even Robert, Renly might have gone to them. But they had no one. Renly was always wanting attention, even when he was asleep. Stannis did not sleep much anymore. His stomach hurt too much, and somewhere deep down he worried that if he drifted off, he may not wake again. Men had done that, withered away to nothing in the night. Stannis spent most of his nights watching the ships down in the bay, hoping that he might see a fleet with Baratheon or Stark heraldry, come to rescue them. He had done as Robert had asked, and would hold Storm’s End until he starved, but Renly….
Glancing down at the bay, Stannis thought he saw something move in the quiet night. He stood up, still holding Renly, to get a better look. Then he saw it.
A sailboat, with black sails and oars, silently swimming towards the port of Storm’s End. Stannis could not make out how many men were on it, under the cover of darkness. He turned to the door, throwing the still sleeping Renly onto his bed before rushing out of the door.
“Stannis?” He heard Renly say as he ran, his lost tooth making his s come out like a hiss. Stannis ignored him and ran down all of the stairs, alerting as many guards as he could on his way to the port. Despite their hunger and weakness, he managed to rouse twenty or so men. He knew five well-fed, strong men could easily take them, but they could get at least one or two. It was their duty to at least put up a fight.
He and his men were waiting in the port when the tiny sailboat slid into the harbor. However many men were in there, they hid themselves under a black blanket, to conceal themselves.
“Announce yourselves!” Stannis shouted, holstering his sword. He and his group did not make a very threatening image, he knew. The enemy wouldn't exactly be pissing themselves in fear. But they could still fight, at least a little bit.
The blanket justled, and a man popped out, holding his hands up. One man, he thought. Just one.
“I’m Davos, of Flea Bottom, m’lord.” The man said. He was a few years older than Stannis, but much better fed.
“What business do you have here, Davos of Flea Bottom?” Stannis demanded. Clearly not much of a threat, this man was.
“I’m a smuggler, m’lord. I bring you onions, and potatoes, and saltfish…..” The man -Davos- let his words fade as the men behind Stannis realized what he had brought. Food. This smuggler had brought food.
Stannis swallowed. He was starving, he knew. And his men. But… “What's your price, for your onions and potatoes and salt fish?”
Davos smiled nervously. “Just a bit o’gold, m’lord.”
Stannis nodded sagely. “You’ll get your gold, and more.”
He breathed a sigh of relief as his men unloaded the food Davos had brought. With the food, they would not need to serve Gawen Wylde. He would toss the rest of the body off into the ocean. No one need ever know what he had resorted to. Renly could live forever in ignorance, thinking that they had come close but never needed to resort to cannibalism.
The next day, at the meal where Stannis had planned to serve Gawen, he served tiny portions of onions to his men. Stretched out like this, they could make it another few months. It wasn't a lot of food, but it was enough. Stannis himself plated food for Renly, and cut up his onions and potatoes and saltfish. Until after he saw Renly and his entire castle eating, did he take a single bite.
288 AC
All Daenerys had ever known was the house in Braavos, with the red door and the lemon tree. Next year, Willem would get sick and die, and then she and her brother would be homeless and on the run for years. Her brother would sell their mothers crown, and grow cruel, and in nine years he would sell her to Khal Drogo for a crown. In ten years, she would watch as Drogo killed Viserys with a crown of melted gold, and she would feel nothing. She would then be the last Targaryen, all alone in the world. But that wouldn't happen for years.
For now, it was 288 AC. She and her brother lived with Ser Willem, and they were safe, and they were happy. Viserys was not yet the beggar king, or the khal rhae marr, or the khal rhaggat. He was only 12, and was her staunch protector, her best friend. He held her on his shoulders as she grabbed for lemons off of the tree, laughing all the while. He told her stories about their past: The Good Queen Alysanne, Naerys and Aemon the Dragonknight, Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives, their mother and their brother. She liked the ones about Naerys and Rhaegar the best, loved hearing about the queen’s piety and Rhaegar’s wit.
Darry’s cook made her whatever foods she could want-cheese plates, honied lamb, ginger soups, fish pies, oak cakes, and as many types of bread as Dany could count. But her favorite dishes included the lemons that grew just outside the house. Lemon cakes, lemon candies, lemon sweet to drink. She loved it especially when she was allowed to pick the lemons herself. She always made sure to pick the best, biggest, and juiciest lemons to give to the cook.
Upstairs, Daenerys had her own room. It had a small, four poster bed with a canopy of red linen, with a purple quilt embroidered with flowers. When she got a bit bigger, Darry promised to get her a Septa to teach her embroidery and needlework, and all the other skills important for a princess to know. Kneeling on her woolen carpet, Dany played with her dolls, playing Naerys and the Dragonknight. She glanced out her window, where she could see the lemon tree growing, and inhaled deeply the scent of citrus.
Ser Willem opened the door, shoving his burly body through the door as he grabbed Dany and swung her around, causing her to erupt into a fit of giggles.
“There's my little princess! How was your day, my little lady?” The knight was a large, foreboding man, but to Dany he was just a sweet old bear, the only father she had ever known. She laughed again. “I had fun! With my dollies! I played Naerys and the Dragonknight!”
“Wonderful, wonderful!” Darry boomed. “Is your brother back yet?”
“Nope! He’s still at the market.”
Ser Willem smiled, and set Daenerys down. “Well, he’ll just have to hurry up so he can be back in time for dinner. You know,” He started, conspiratorially, “If you were to get the cook a few lemons…he may have time to fix up a few lemon cakes for dessert. Only if you hurry.” Darry added with a smile.
Dany squealed in delight. She adored lemon cakes, more than any other dessert the cook could whip up. She ran around the big knight, and raced downstairs to her lemon tree, ignoring the protests of the servants she ran into on her way. Reaching up to reach the handle, she swung open the red door, shoving herself outside. And there was her tree! Tall, bright, and beautiful, it was her favorite part of her home. She could sit outside on her stoop for hours, breathing in the fresh lemon scent and gazing at the rolling fields. Sometimes, Viserys would join her, and regale her with tales of their family before the Usurper ruined it with his rebellion. Dany had never lived in Kings Landing, and she had been a newborn when Ser Willem had smuggled them to safety in Braavos, but she loved to hear the stories of her family all the same. She felt closest to them then, as if she had truly known her sweet mother Rhaella, or her brother Rhaegar, who they had called The Last Dragon. She sometimes wondered if they had liked lemon cakes, like she did. They had been dead for only four years, but that had been all of Dany's life.
Preparing to climb the tree, she pulled her purple dress up to around her knees. With Viserys, she could stand on his shoulders and easily pick the lemons, but without a boost she had to climb into the tree herself. She had been doing it since she could walk, but she was small for her age, and it worried Ser Willem to no end to come home and see her sitting atop the tree, nestled in the branches.
She was halfway up the trunk when a familiar voice called her name, and familiar hands hoisted her off the trunk.
“What would Ser Willem say, if he saw a Targaryen princess climbing his prized lemon tree?” Her brother said, jokingly. Spinning her around to face her, Daenerys squealed in delight.
“What’d you find at the market?” She asked. Sometimes, if he was in a good mood, he would bring some candies that some Westerosi ships traded off. Once, he had brought her a doll’s dress made to resemble a gown worn by the Good Queen Alysanne.
“Hmm. Nothing good. No new gossip about the Usurper.” The Usurper was Viserys’s favorite topic. He could rant about the evils of Robert Baratheon for hours on end, until Dany was sleepy with boredom. “What were you doing, climbing the tree?”
“Ser Willem said that we could have lemon cakes for dessert, if I brought cook some lemons!”
Viserys nodded slowly. He was only eight years older than her, but at 12 he was as scrawny as children years younger than him. Soon, he would be unable to carry Dany around, as he had done since she was a baby. But for now, he could loft her above his head to help her get a better grasp on the lemons at the top of the tree. “Grab that one there! The big juicy one!”
Dany did as he said, and soon the doorstep had a wonderful selection of Braavosi lemons.
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Daenerys and Viserys ate dinner at the same table Ser Willem did, just like a true family. Dinner that evening was fish cakes, dark bread, a sweet honey drink, and olives that Viserys had gotten from the market. There were no lemon cakes, or lemon candies, or lemon anything. Dany guessed she hadn't gotten the lemons to the kitchen in time for dinner tonight, so she would have to wait for tomorrow’s dinner.
They all talked while they ate-there was never a quiet moment at the table. Darry and Viserys talked about the Seven Kingdoms, Darry and Dany talked about how beautiful the fields were this close to harvest, and Dany and Viserys talked about gossip he heard at the market-gossip that wasn't about the Usurper, or a life they had lived years ago.
“Now, I’ve written to a few lords-ones that are still loyal, though they have to claim otherwise to the Usurper-and they remain steadfast in their support. Once you bring your army to Westeros, you will have a boatload of support.” Darry said, in between bites of fish cake. “But, remember, we have years before you're ready to lead an army-I recommend we train every day, instead of every other day. Getting you prepared with a sword is one of the most important parts of preparing you to come into your kingdom.”
Dany yawned. They talked so often about the Seven Kingdoms, and it bored Dany to no end. She pushed crumbs of her food around her plate, ready to be excused so she could play before bed. She noticed Darry and Viserys glancing at each other conspiratorially, but she paid it no mind. She really didn't want to have to listen to them talk about their plans for reclaiming their kingdom. She heard it so often. For a four-year-old, it was the most boring thing they could talk about.
Ser Willem motioned for a servant to take away their empty plates, and for another to refill his wine glass. Then, he grinned, and called out to the cook. “Syreo! Anything left in the kitchens for us?” Syreo, the knight’s cook, brought out a platter of lemon cakes shaped into beautiful flowers, each with a piece of candy in the middle.
“A ship had some candy from the Reach to trade,” Viserys said nonchalantly, reaching over to grab a flower. “Made with honey from Honeyholt.”
Dany laughed as she grabbed a few pieces. That night, she went to bed with sticky fingers and a full belly, lured to sleep with stories of Alysanne and Jaehaerys and Jenny of Oldstones. She was the happiest she had ever been, at her home with the red door.