notes: Hello! This may not be updated regularly, as I've only just finished The Storm and the Snow and I am nearing the end of the first intallment in my Lysa Tully series (The Girl In the Trout Garb). I received the prompt from and I was so intrigued by it that I had to give it a try. This is my first time writing Stannis POV, and it was difficult. Keep in mind that at this point he has not yet been sidelined by Robert so many times - he still has Storm's End, doesn't even know who Selyse is, etc. So he's likely not so bitter. I've tried to portray him accurately. I hope you like it :)
STANNIS
Dragonstone was an ancient fortress, built by the long-forgotten crafts of Valyria in the mouth of the elusive Dragonmont volcano. Its towers themselves were shaped like dragons, figures made of stone so dark that whispers spoke that they had been snatched from hell itself by the Valyrians of old. Stannis himself put no stock in such rumours; he put no stock in anything that had to do with the gods, after all, but he too had to admit that they were frightening to look at. He had never been here before but as a child he could remember his grandmother telling him about it. Rhaelle Baratheon, born Targaryen, had lived many a moon in her family's castle. Stannis could not shake off his memories of her as the gates came into view.
"Deal with the dragonspawn," Robert had told him between cups. "With that whoreson Rhaegar's mother, and her wretched son. You're my brother; sail to Dragonstone and end this war."
Is it so easy for you, brother? To order the deaths of a woman our father once spoke lovingly of? Stannis wondered. Is it so easy for you, to make me a kinslayer?
Ser Jaime Lannister had dealt with the Mad King, breaking his vows and discarding whatever shred of honour he had once possessed. Lord Tywin's men had dealt with Princess Elia and her children. Now it was Stannis' turn. Deal with the dragonspawn, Robert had said. No true man should hurt women and innocents, he knew, but his brother was now the king. His duty was to his king, and Stannis Baratheon was nothing if not dutiful.
The garrison had surrendered the castle. It was a stormy night, and they clearly did not wish to fight against seasoned men that far outnumbered them. Another stormy night from the years past came to Stannis' mind and he nearly shuddered. What would you have done in my place, Father? Your blood or your liege? Have I made the correct choice?
Just like that night, a parent was to die tonight, by a King's word if not hand.
Am I doing the correct thing, Mother? he thought futilely, as though he would receive an answer. Stannis mentally chastised himself on realising sharply that he had been thinking of his own parents again. Foolish, foolish. They are not going to answer.
The mad King's sad Queen, and her young child. Deal with the dragonspawn, the loud voice of his brother echoed through his mind.
Wind boomed through the Stone Drum of Dragonstone as he walked in. A few of the household knights bowed to him but he paid them no heed. Cowards and lickspittles, the whole lot of them. There was only one man he had eyes for: Ser Willem Darry, the castellan and once master-at-arms at the Red Keep. He had been the one to negotiate the surrender.
"Where are they?" he demanded to the aging riverlands knight. The man narrowed his eyes and frowned.
"Have a care how you speak about Their Graces, my lord, it was on the Queen's instructions that I even agreed to meet you," he spat. "Were it my choice, we would have taken the fight to the Usurper's ships."
He was a loyalist, then. As though your men would have consented to fighting under a raging storm, ser, Stannis wished to retort cynically. But this was not the time for such, and once more the guilt crept up to him. It was on her instructions that I even agreed to meet you, Ser Willem had said. The Queen Dowager yet lived, and had allowed him into the castle. Deal with the dragonspawn, had been Robert's words. He would walk out of Dragonstone with a host's blood on his hands.
Stannis ground his teeth. "Show me the way to Her Grace, then, ser," he relented. This was not going to be easy.
The keep was as haunted from inside as outside. Its walls showcased tapestries belonging to the age when Valyria had yet thrived across the Narrow Sea. It had once been the westernmost outpost of the Freehold until Doom. Dragonstone's first Targaryen lord, Aenar, had brought his family here before the fires had taken their home. The irony was not lost on Stannis. Rhaella Targaryen had brought her family here before the Lannisters had taken her home. It seemed Dragonstone was very much the home of exiles.
A woman's cry led him away from his thoughts. Agony, despair, pain... they all seemed to blend in the walls of the Stone Drum. In front of him, Ser Willem Darry stiffened. As the screams grew closer, Stannis understood just how bad the situation was. Queen Rhaella, he knew. Queen Rhaella is the one screaming.
Which meant the rumours were true, as Stannis was loath to realise. Spies had indicated that the Queen might be with child, and the only other time he remembered hearing such terrifying cries from a woman was when his lady mother had given birth to Renly. A babe would be on its way. Deal with the dragonspawn, he could hear Robert say.
Ser Willem walked inside the chamber first, Stannis following him to see a woman on the bed, her silver hair disheveled and her face contorted in misery. There was a pool of blood that had gathered around Rhaella Targaryen. Her recalled how once she had been the image of beauty, serenity and regality. Now she looked like any other woman bringing a child into the world. Stressed; suffering. Lonely, even.
It was a baby girl that the midwife carefully handled, her cry shrill and thundering as the storm that prevailed outside. The last child to bear the name Targaryen, if Robert could help it. Tiny silver hair decorated her head, and Stannis had no doubt her eyes were a deep indigo.
The former Queen held her daughter close, beaming at the bundle in her arms and whispering, "Daenerys. Daenerys. Daenerys, stormborn."
Daenerys Targaryen. Only one of the children to be dealt with today.
"The princess of peace," Ser Willem Darry murmured beside him. Indeed - the first Daenerys Targaryen had sealed peace between Dorne and the rest of the realm years ago. The gods were making mockery of him, Stannis knew. Deal with the dragonspawn, Robert had ordered. This Daenerys Targaryen would be a princess of peace of a sort, too, ushering in a new era for the Iron Throne.
Not for the first time, he wondered how his brother's friend Ned Stark would react if he knew what Robert had demanded. The northern lord had argued vehemently at the deaths of Elia Martell and her children. What would he say if he knew about Rhaella Targaryen and her children?
She saw him on looking up from her babe, and widened her eyes. There was wonder, surprise in them, inducing Stannis into a frown. The Queen Dowager made to get up from the bed, but her health would not permit it.
"It is better to rest now, Your Grace," the timid young midwife urged. Rhaella Targaryen shook her head, her gaze still on him.
"Steffon," she whispered. Oh, Stannis realised. She thinks I am Father. He could feel the discomfort and hesitation in him.
"I am not Steffon, Your Grace," he answered stiffly, but Rhaella Targaryen did not heed him. She was looking at him in a strange, unearthly way.
"Steffon," the Queen Dowager repeated. "Oh, Cousin, they told me we were being sieged, but I knew... I knew someone would come, and you did."
He felt his voice catch in his throat. No one ever thought I looked like Father. Stannis turned to Ser Willem, who was frowning at him. He was mouthing something that curiously sounded like 'go to her'. At a loss of words before a delirious woman, he felt utterly out of place and confused. Ser Willem was louder then. "Go to her," he urged, with a murderous gaze.
Stannis did so.
"My name is Stannis," he stated to the Queen. "Stannis Baratheon. Lord Steffon's second son."
She shook her head, turning back to the babe in her arms. Rocking little Daenerys Targaryen gently, she said, "Baratheon... Baratheon... Of course, my Aunt Rhaelle's son... My Cousin Steffon..."
The woman was getting on his nerves now. Could she simply not understand that he was Stannis, not Steffon? He desperately looked around the room. What was he even doing in this room? He ought to have found the boy, the Mad King's son. What was he doing with a crazy woman and her sickly babe?
The Queen looked back at him, full of desperation, worry and fear outlining her face. "Steffon," she cried. Stannis felt helpless. "Steffon, you must protect her. Promise me, dear cousin. Protect her... And treat her kindly, yes. My Daenerys. My daughter."
He had never felt this out of touch with reality. Protect her from whom, Your Grace? He could yet remember when he and Robert had accompanied Father to King's Landing. "Oh, Stannis, you're my dear cousin's son, you must call me Aunt Rhaella, of course," she had smiled at him. Aunt Rhaella, do you remember me? Do you know what has happened outside these walls? Do you know why I am here; who sent me?
The thunder crackled outside. Deal with the dragonspawn.
"Promise me, Steffon," Rhaella Targaryen cried, between her wary gazes at Daenerys and the midwife holding her back. "Protect her, and my Viserys, oh Ser Willem, where is my sweet boy? He must see his sister, of course."
Stannis looked on as the old knight fumbled and excused himself, throwing a warning look his direction. He knows, Stannis thought. He knows why I am here. He knows what I am to do.
"She does not have much time left," the midwife told him, as though that was supposed to mean something. To him, it only meant one Targaryen less to deal with himself.
He could remember another woman, silver-haired and violet-eyed. Grandmother, he wondered, do you know what I have been told to do? Outside, the storm battered. What would you have done in my place, Father?
"Promise me, Steffon," the Queen Dowager cried urgently. "Protect them, please -"
Protect them from whom? Myself? My brother, the new King?
When the boy came in, tears in his eyes, Stannis felt even more discomfort wash over him. I shouldn't be here.
"Viserys," Rhaella Targaryen called. "My son, meet your sister. Daenerys."
The midwife encouraged the boy and he walked ahead, gently moving his hand to the babe. Stannis remembered being just the same once, when his own mother had given birth to Renly. Ser Willem frowned at his dumbfoundedness from the other side of the Queen. Disapproval. Disgust. Disdain.
"You must be a good brother to her," Queen Rhaella was saying to her son. The boy was weeping.
"Mother! No! You must stay! You aren't going to leave us! No, Mother!"
Had I ever cried like this? Stannis thought. Had I cried like this when the Windproud went down and my parents were lost to this world?
He did not remember. He had stared at the scene before him, and muttered the prayers the Septon had taught him. He had called for the Father, the Mother, the Smith, the Crone, the Maiden, the Warrior, the Stranger. He had asked them to spare his parents. But they had not done so, and Steffon and Cassana Baratheon had drowned with the rest of the ship.
He had never prayed after that. Neither had he weeped.
Stannis was brought out of his reverie by his father's cousin's urgent voice once more. "Cousin, you must protect them. Viserys, and my daughter. Daenerys. You will protect them, won't you? Let no harm come to them. Promise me, dear Cousin. Promise me."
I am not your cousin, Stannis wanted to snap. I am his son. I am not Steffon, I am Stannis.
The woman was losing too much blood. Her end was near. His gaze fell on the children, newborn Daenerys and seven nameday old Viserys. The Mad King's children, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Robert whispered. Your cousins, another said. Deal with the dragonspawn, he remembered. That whoreson Rhaegar's mother, and her wretched son.
Deal with them, not kill them. For Robert it likely meant the very same. Stannis thought of his father, speaking to this woman before him, and reminiscing about their time running around King Aegon the Fifth's court as children. You must call me Aunt Rhaella, she had told him during her husband's reign. Now her husband was dead and her cousin's eldest sat upon the throne.
Do you know what you have asked me to do, Robert? he demanded to the image of his brother in his head.
The boy, the babe and the woman all seemed to stare at him, awaiting his answer. Ser Willem scowled from the corner, and the midwife was fussing about impatiently.
They're your kin, a voice hissed in his head. They must die, hissed another.
"Protect them, Cousin," Rhaella Targaryen had said.
"Promise me, Cousin," she repeated now.
I am not your cousin, he wanted to say. I am the man who has been sent to deal with you. To secure my brother's dynasty; to make sure no one rallies behind your son. I am not Steffon. I am not my father.
But he was not his brother, either.
Deal with the dragonspawn, Robert had said. Deal with them. Not kill them.
This is not what duty is, he chastised himself. Finding loopholes.
Stannis could see his mother now, talking with the Queen, both holding their newborn sons close. It had been a moon prior to the journey to their journey to the Free Cities. Renly Baratheon and Viserys Targaryen, second cousins, and Queen Rhaella had decided that they could grow up together in the future. Lady Cassana had been hesitant even then. Court was a dangerous place, especially so after Duskendale. Still, she had smiled and nodded. "Like our husbands," she had said. "Like our husbands," the Queen had agreed.
Innocents always died in war, he knew. Women, children, they all perished when carnage came to the realm. This was how the world worked. He had learnt that the hard way, cooped up in Storm's End for near a year, starving while the Mad King's men had feasted outside the fortress. The population of the castle had dwindled gradually, but he had never thought of surrendering. Renly cried about asking the men outside for food, but Stannis himself never once considered such a thing. Robert had told him to hold their home, not lose it. He had done just that before damnable Ned Stark had broken the siege.
"Steffon," Queen Rhaella had called him, though. What had he hoped to achieve by walking into the castle like this?
They were his kin, he knew. They were threats to his brother's reign, that too he knew.
But death is not the only way for threats to be eliminated.
"You will protect him, won't you?" another woman had asked of him long ago. At the harbour, about to board a ship. Renly had been a babe then, but Stannis had promised his mother. "I will," he had said firmly. "I will."
The dying woman, the weeping boy, the newborn babe. They had never played a part in the war. They were guilty of no crime; no abduction and no murder.
What are they dying for, then? For being born with the last name Targaryen? For being family to mad men?
Stannis thought of the smuggler he had left on his ship, whose fingers he had chopped off for his illicit activities just as he had knighted the man for saving Storm's End. "You are a cruel man," Robert had said with distaste on hearing that. Stannis had ground his teeth. "No, I am a just man," he had replied.
What sort of just man does a deed such as this?
Deal with the dragonspawn, had been Robert's words. Deal with them. Not kill them.
Rhaella Targaryen's face bore into his. Forgive me, Brother, he thought.
"Promise me, Cousin," she had asked of him. He knew what he had to do.
"I promise," Stannis replied.