A/N: I love this character and just wanted to give him some justice, because he has been royally screwed over by his television portrayal. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy! :)
STANNIS I
The first battle I bore witness to was one month after my ninth name day, and the clouds had gathered above us in a large grey cluster. Three days previous, a message arrived from the Tyrells of the Highgarden. They had sent word to my father that common folk from our lands were wreaking havoc on the grain farms that bordered our two regions. Men had been murdered. Women raped and taken hostage. My father read the letter aloud, not believing that children had innocent and sensitive ears. Instead of issuing a return response, he had the maester equip my brother and I with steel armor, gathered a company of one hundred and fifty bannermen, and rode for the Reach the next day. As the Maester Osmund had me fasten my greaves, I saw him quickly draft a message on a small, torn piece of parchment, and attached it to a raven that he promptly sent out of the armories window. As we rode, I wondered what the message said. It was no doubt directed towards a highborn lord; I saw the wax seal.
We now sat atop a hill with tall grass, on the border of the Reach. Below, houses were burnt to ash. Bodies littered the roads. A sea of red mud flooded the river bank, two hundred yards to the sheer humidity made me start to sweat around the neck of my chest guard. As the raindrops slowly fell, I began to shift back and forth on my saddle. Robert, my elder brother, smacked the arch of my back. When I turned to return the favor, I found my father — wearing an iron helmet with Baratheon antlers adorning its crown — staring back at me. Surrounded by his bannermen, each wearing short golden cloaks, he shook his head. "We weather the storm. We endure discomfort." He read my face, and he answered the question I didn't have the courage to voice.
"Because we must."
I watched as he, along with more than half of his company, galloped down the hill to meet the bandits. As the mud and shit kicked up from their heels, I feared my father wouldn't return. Worry consumed me, and I turned to my brother, who seemed calm, his long black hair plastered to his jaw. "Robert, I'm frightened," I whispered. He ignored my complaints and kept his eyes fixed on the battle below. Iron clashed and the river of blood flowed quicker, it's redness deepening. Screams were heard below. I recognized the voice of command as my father's. "Torys, flank my right!" he shouted. More clashing. More screams. Until they suddenly ceased. And they were replaced by roars from beneath. Echoing their roar were the soldiers guarding us. Robert raised a fist to join them. Our banners of gold and black danced in the downpour.
Victory. My first experience with it. I had been bested in swordplay by my brother countless times. In archery as well. Others proved better at leisure activities. Where I thrived was the scroll; penmanship and learning. Only because Robert had no patience for it. But there was no "victory" to be gained in the pursuit of knowledge. I longed to be a great warrior, the likes of Aemon the Dragonknight, or even Ser Duncan the Tall. To serve the king in his Kingsguard. To don the white cloak and vow to protect the King even if meant my death.
It never happened.
No, nine years later, my brother and his surrogate family raised their banners in Rebellion. I was garrisoned at our hold, where tensions had already been raised since the death of Lord Rickard Stark and his eldest son Brandon. I had known both to be honorable men, but no one dared raise a finger to challenge the Mad King. When Robert did, I was left completely defenseless. Well, not completely. The walls of Storm's End kept me safe. To stall my brothers adversaries, we starved. My family, my men, our people.
I never forgot that. And I never will.
Now, I stood in storm once again. This time aboard a ship set sail for the Iron Islands.
The salty mist brushed my face. We had been sailing for several hours now, and were now within a few miles of the Straits of Fair Aisle, where scouts had reported seeing near one thousand Ironborn sails. Robert had every tree in the Riverlands torn down to build himself and Lord Eddard Stark, the Warden in the North, a fleet to attack Pyke. Our attack was a coordinated effort. Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden in the East and Robert's father by marriage, was ambushed and delivered a humiliating defeat at his wharf, Lannisport.
I didn't care who was leading them; they would all perish beneath my fury.
Robert - now, King Robert - bestowed upon me, as Master of Ships, the honor of breaking the Iron Fleet. For the first time since we were children, Robert extended me actual respect.
I was to take the Royal Fleet and meet with ships from the Arbor, commanded by Lord Paxter Redwyne — a man who participated in the attempted destruction of my home; and failed. Uneasy was not the proper word to describe my feelings towards Lord Redwyne. He did his duty, and for that I had honest respect. But when Lord Eddard arrived on Storm's End to lift the siege, Lord Redwyne bent the knee alongside his liege lord, pleading ignorance. Robert rewarded his treason by letting Mace Tyrell keep all of his previous titles - including Warden in the South - and offering Lord Redwyne a seat on his small council. No doubt the influence of his new beloved ally and father by law.
When I arrived with my men days before, Lord Redwyne greeted me warmly. I never was fond of the Reach. It's sweet scents nauseated me. It smelled of treachery and deceit. I preferred the smell of salt and grass. Their men were not hardened and respectable like the north. They were not warriors. Scholars maybe. But in my eyes, cowards. Even the great Lord Randyll Tarly, a good swordsman in his own right, was powerless when grim Ned Stark approached with his hadn't a shred of honor, much like the Ironborn. But unlike the Ironborn, they knew when to roll over. Paxter Redwyne was an experienced sailor but like his countrymen, unremarkable in matters of war. When he received me at his gates, I saw that he wore a pear-colored cloak draped over a detailed leather cuirass, with a pattern of his house sigil etched at the center of his chest. I became amused at the thought of burying my broadsword through it. His face was weathered, but his expression was soft. He smelled of a putrid, dishonorable politician.
"Lord Stannis. The Arbor and House Redwyne welcomes you, my lord," he said as he bowed courteously.
"Lord Redwyne. I am not here for pleasantries," I replied curtly. Annoyed and furious though I was, he was still the Lord of the Arbor and I would address him as such.
"Of course." His smile betrayed him. It appeared that he too was not fond of this new alliance, sailing beneath a man who he still considered to be a boy of four and twenty.
"See that your men are prepared for a long voyage."
"These men are nothing if not experienced. The best sailors in Wes-"
"And see that they remove their heavy pauldrons and cuirasses."
"Paxter raised a skeptical brow. "We have no need to change tactics now," he said. "My men are used to sailing. We've traveled in all sorts of weather. Some travel to Braavos once every moon. We have no fear."
I scoffed at his arrogance. "Very well. Keep your armor. When we sail, your ships will flank my left. You will follow my lead. There will be no exceptions made for an order failed to be carried out. And should you or any of your men should drown, I will show you the same concern you have shown me." Lord Redwyne, obviously offended, didn't dare challenge my authority.
Though he gritted his teeth, he bowed his head in deference. "As you command."
When I looked back, I saw Lord Redwynes ships swaying on the waves off the coast of Lannisport. He was not talking out of his arse when he boasted of his men's ability to sail. Their ships cut through the waves, limiting its shiftiness. They ran a tight ship. In my eyes, it was all a performance. As useless as their formalities and red drink. The real battle was ahead, not here. To the east, the harbor was visible. It was occupied by large piles of ship debris. In the distance, I could see Lannister men, dressed in their easily distinguishable crimson armor, piling the debris, no doubt getting ready to burn it after the passing of the storm. Some were sitting. When they recognized our ships and King Robert's banners, they rose to their feet and cheered loudly. Our men cheered in response, and the Tyrell and Redwyne men echoed. I had no doubts that the Ironborn heard that. I thought to silence my men, to keep our position a mystery to the enemy.
But this in fact worked to our benefit.
I began planning how to go about this attack. The gears turned, and I contemplated the possible outcomes.
Seconds passed, and I had come up with the strategy we needed to defeat our adversary.
"Captain Gilbert Farring!" I shouted above the sound of the crashing waves. A man suited in traditional Royal navy armor ran alongside the ship's rails, passing by the soldiers holding the sail intact.
"Yes, m'lord!"
"Captain Farring," I repeated, still speaking loud and clear. "Before we round this peninsula, inform Lord Redwyne that he is to halt his ships one mile off the coastline. Drop their anchors. Use the flags."
"Aye aye, sir!" He retreated back to the stern with his orders.
If my strategy were to work, we would need to be absolutely precise. Looking to the rear, I saw a line of our sailors waving striped flags in the direction of the Redwyne war galleys. The order was acknowledged. As we navigated around the tip of the peninsula of Kayce, my chest tightened, and I clenched my hand on the hilt of my sword to calm my nerves. Robert called this feeling thrill. I called it dread. Death was fast approaching, and I had no desire to meet him prematurely. I stood at the bow, peering through the dark shadows that the clouds had cast and the relentless mist of salt and rain. A hand reached out to grip my shoulder. I nearly threw the man in the ocean beneath our ship. I recognized the hand of my bannerman, Ser Davos Seaworth. One of the three officers I had aboard my ship.
"Get your hand off of me," I spat.
"Apologies, m'lord," he said earnestly, removing his hand. "I overheard your command of Captain Farring. I am here to be your second voice."
"''My lord', Ser Davos. 'M'lord' is a lowborn dialect." Despite my insult, I appreciated his presence. I would need someone to relay my command to the men. "Stay behind me," I commanded. "And speak clearly."
"Aye, my lord."
"Sound the drums," I commanded. War was as much about swords as they were about the drum and horn. My attention refocused on the open body of water before me. Visibility was still non-existent. The torrential rain continued to pour, its rage smattering the deck, while the waves continued to crash against our port side. I needed to be able to see in order to command. And right now, I was blind, A moment later, a bolt of lightning and booming thunder changed that.
The Iron fleet lay in wait, three hundred yards off the coast of Fair Isle, making way for the mainland. This, I would not allow. An icy breeze passed, prompting the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. Quelling this sick rebellion began here. I would succeed where Tywin failed, even if at the cost of my life. I would not return, a wounded dog before my King brother.
"Ready the soldiers!" I shouted. The order was echoed to the soldiers who lay beneath. I kept my eyes to the fleet, never looking away, for fear of losing sight of them. "On my command, lower the sails!" I would not be hastened to make first contact. But I would make it appear so.
"Ramming speed! Make for the strait!"
Ser Davos hesitated, I could feel it. But he did his duty and shouted my next command. The Baratheon stag wavered, before catching the wind. We traveled at breakneck speed, making for the strait with haste. Come now, you godless scum. The Iron Fleet, which had been pouring through the strait in a line, unusual for Ironborn, suddenly disorganized, and began bolting for the strait in an effort to intercept us. Fools. As we closed in on their ships, a heat raised within my chest.
"Lower sails!"
My men were well trained. The command was executed without hesitation. Our great war galley, Fury, stopped momentum, treading approximately forty yards away from the strait. Ironborn soldiers roared from the decks of their ships. Fools. Their ships steadied at the tip of the strait, and there was shouting. They were preparing to board. As the sound of their shield and axe and sword echoed across the sea, a strong storm breeze carried through, causing my cloak to press against my shoulders.
"Raise sails!"
"Raise the sails!" echoed the Onion Knight.
"ROW YOU LAZY, CUNT, BASTARDS!" shouted Captain Farring from the far rear.
Our golden sails whipped violently before catching the tailwind, propelling us forward. "READY THE SWORDS!"
"SWORDS TO THE FRONT!" shouted Ser Davos.
In a few moments, we would be breathing the same hot air as the Ironborn. I had known a few in my youth. Some were vagabond pirates, others were rapers and thieves. They were indecent and without a shred of honor. But they were formidable warriors. One would think that being raised on fish and piss, the Ironborn would be weak. When face to face with an Ironborn, that theory quickly evaporates. In one instance, a single Ironborn soldier murdered two whole garrisons on our shores. I learned later that the man who maimed and massacred my men was none other than Victarion Greyjoy, the Captain of the Iron Fleet - and the false King Balon Greyjoy's younger brother. I had fear. Fear of death. Fear of being taken prisoner by such brutes.
Their roars broke my trance. Behind me stood near two hundred men, in two columns along either side of the scorpion clad deck. This was no time to be questioning myself, yet here I stood, frozen as we approached the Kraken. As I glanced at our position, I carefully calculated. We would smash their first ship.
"CAPTAIN FARRING!" I shouted.
"YES, MY LORD!"
"LOOSE THE FLEET! SEND FOR REDWYNE TO INTERCEPT THEIR SHIPS!"
"AYE, MY LORD!"
He stormed to the stern. In the thick veil of rain, the Redwyne ships seemed almost invisible. Had they abandoned us? No, they were docked to our rear. They would do their duty. As much of a petty schemer Lord Redwyne was, he would not go against the wish of his liege lord in favor of a Greyjoy. As we approached, I noticed that their longship had stalled.
Stuck on the rocks. They were careless. So excited by the potential battle that the dullards didn't realized they were on the shores of Fair Isle. We had them.
"Full speed, Ser Davos," I commanded, a calm washing over me.
"FULL SPEED!" The soldiers controlling the sails yanked their ropes low, creating a bowl for the wind. Below, the waves crashed against our starboard. Oars rowed at a furious pace. If we missed our target, we would be doomed to a cruel fate. Many of our men would drown in the wreckage. I wouldn't let that happen. Of course, it came down to timing...and execution. "Steer east!"
"EAST!" shouted my second-in-command.
I donned the helm that my brother had made for me, his wedding gift to me. It was a simple steel helm, with a ridge running up the center, and carved maple antlers extending from either side of the helm. It saved my vision. The men would know their commander in the field of battle now.
"Draw swords!' I withdrew my weapon from its sheath. It's wail made my skin crawl. To my rear, two hundred men followed the command, kite shields and blades at the ready. On our enemies ship, half of the crew frantically tried using oars to propel them away from the rocks. The other half stood firm, shadows in the mist. I had seen worse. Yet, the feeling never eased. "These treasonous pretenders mean to bleed our realm dry! They wish to make wenches of our women, and mountains of our corpses; including your children. We have a duty to uphold. Survival! Slay these criminals, and live on as decorated heroes of the realm!" Cheers shook our galley, almost as powerful as the rolling thunder that lingered to our starboard. A bright flash of lightning made of course clear. We were within fifty meters of the enemies ships. The Fury's men-at-arms remained unshaken, wearing intense glares on their wet faces.
"Archers!" The sound of armored feet shuffled about the deck behind me.
"Knock!" A faint sound of twined bowstring being drawn.
It all happened in an instant. "LOOSE!" Through the relentless downpour, another sort of rain sliced through the air. Bone chilling screams were carried by the wind. "Brace!" Impact was imminent. As we rocked back on the waves beneath us, we were suddenly thrown - coursing forward to the head of their fleet. There was crunch, and a moment later, bloody splinters smashed my face and helm. When I brought my arm down to examine Fury, I found that we had cut their ship in half. At the bow, an ironborn soldier was pinned, his body split, mirroring his mother ship. I rushed to the front, and remembered my duty, "Board!"
Behind me, Ser Davos rallied the men to his side, his pot helm, with studded ear-guards shined. The brave knight charged to the rails. "Ladders!" he shouted. I would entrust command to him for now. The pinned Ironborn continued to scream. I held my sword to his throat, pressing it into his bulged, purple veins. "Whose ship is this?" I questioned. He groaned, and then...began to laugh hysterically.
"I ain't telling you a fuckin' thing," he said, as he expectorated his bloody filth towards me.
"You have a choice, soldier; tell me whose ship this is and die quickly, or continue your stubborn performance and I keep you alive and give you to a Lord who will strip you of more than just your rags."
His red smile widened. "Eat the corn out've my shit, mainlander. What is dead may never d-"
Before he could finish, I cut his throat, and his veins flushed out onto the deck before me. My nerves had calmed, and I flew across the ladder, boarding the enemy ship. I stood and peered through the mist, where I saw Lord Redwynes ships had carried out my command. They had successfully cut off the fleet. Another victory. Minor though it was, still a victory. Across the planks of the half of the ship I had boarded, Ironborn dead were littered, a crimson river rushing into the sea. At the aft, a group of four Ironborn were encircled by my men.
"My lord, should we put these scum in irons?" said Captain Farring, through gritted teeth.
"You're not puttin' anyone in anythin', you girly fooks," said a long haired ironborn, with a jagged scar over his milk colored eye.
There was more screaming below deck, and we swayed on the waves. I stepped forward to face the adversary. "The name of this ship." He looked at me incredulously, almost in disbelief before he began to laugh.
"This is Lord Aeron Greyjoy's ship. Golden Storm."
I called for Ser Gilbert and he stood by side, awaiting his next command studiously. "Gather the men. Take Aeron and put him aboard the ship. We are still at war."
Captain Farring did not hesitate. He knew better than to question orders, as a veteran of the Rebellion. As my men passed me, worried expressions did as well. Soon, the deck emptied, and I was alone with the four Ironborn soldiers. Their weapons were still at the ready, and they looked equally confused as they did bloodthirsty.
"You're not very smart, are you?" the shaggy haired one spat. He was supposedly their captain
I weaved my sword to my front and charged forward. Axe and swords from three directions rained down on me. I parried them all and swept my sword across their cotton covered bellies. Their remains came pouring out, and as I turned back to their leader, I felt my sword hand raise. When it came down, his hair splayed over the deck. This was far from over. We were currently docked, and not providing any use staying here. As I boarded my flagship and ordered the men to remove us from the wreckage, Ser Davos approached me.
"My lord, Aeron Greyjoy was not found amongst the living. He may have drowned with the others when we destroyed the ship."
I breathed heavy, and examined the sea separating us from the Isles. We would need to finish these bastards here and now, and quickly take Great Wyk before they send soldiers to Pyke.
"We have no time to search for Aeron. Turn this ship around, and make for Great Wyk."
"As you command, my lord."
Lack of honesty and justice was a pesky Ironborn trait. I would purge their dishonor from this realm.