There were many matters in Westeros Stannis disliked. Whorehouses, alcohol, gambling, being a few. A disordered table was also something Stannis loathed. In a couple of hours, Stannis had found a clutter of folded parchments scattered all over his table in the Dragonstone solar.
It was an appalling sight.
Stannis slowly sunk onto his chair, his blue eyes fixated on the mess of papers in front of him. He'd seen a good many atrocities in his life ranging from the siege at Storm's End in Robert's war to a bloody battlefield – the untidiness in front of him was not as frightful, but it was quite close.
"We need a maester," Stannis announced grudgingly to Lord Seaworth and Ser Andar Royce who sat opposite him. "This" – he gestured to the pile of papers – "is a disaster. It will be too time consuming to search through these letters and find the correspondence we are looking for. We need an efficient maester to sort out the affairs here whilst we prepare to set sail for King's Landing."
"Who was the maester here before Maester Gormon?" inquired Ser Andar.
"Maester Jurne," said Stannis promptly. "He was sent back to the Citadel. We'll send a raven to the Citadel requesting his return immediately."
"There are more prisoners milord," spoke Lord Seaworth. "When we checked the cell filled with Tyrell soldiers who served as household guards, we found Ser Theodore and Ser Lyonel Tyrell, cousins to Ser Loras and Lady Margaery. After a search of the chambers, we discovered Lady Margaery's ladies who had been left behind by Lady Margaery when she made an escape from the island. As expected, the ladies were Tyrells – Megga, Alla and Elinor."
Stannis uttered a noise of disgust. "This castle is populated with Tyrells." If the Tyrells' plans had succeeded, Dragonstone might as well be called Rosestone or a fancier Tyrell-picked name. He neatened the parchments into a stack and pulled out an old map. It was yellow and faded, the lines and words carefully drawn and written a long time ago in black ink now barely readable. He drew a circle around Highgarden. "We need to remove the Tyrells from this war. Without the Tyrells, I suspect the false Targaryen will not hold onto King's Landing for long."
"Mace Tyrell is a buffoon," said Ser Andar flatly. "He knows naught about this. Last I heard, he was travelling to Highgarden to raise his banners to fight against the false dragon. I attended the Highgarden wedding – I believe Lord Mace Tyrell was satisfied with his daughter wedded to a royal Baratheon. To my knowledge, I haven't heard anything about Lord Tyrell in months."
"It's Lady Tyrell we must deal with," Stannis stated.
"She'll never relinquish her power," said Lord Seaworth uncertainly.
"She will if she wants two of her grandchildren returned alive. House Tyrell is like all Great Houses – family first. Some may not admit it openly like House Tully but their families will always come before power." Excluding House Lannister. "If we send a raven to the Tyrells, they may withdraw their armies."
"It will take too long," Ser Andar pointed out. "If we wait here any longer with no plan, word will spread of your recapture of Dragonstone. We will end up in a siege or a losing naval battle if the Redwyne fleet comes."
Stannis gritted his teeth. They were in no position to win against the Redwyne fleet, even with the newly constructed Vale fleet. "We will use them as bargaining chips when we arrive at King's Landing," he muttered. "They will remain here as prisoners under the strictest of guards. If the Redwyne fleet comes…" He felt his lips tighten. "The guards will be under orders to kill all Tyrell captives." He heard the Onion Knight gasp.
Even Ser Andar Royce looked alarmed. "Lord Baratheon," he started to say, his tone tentative. "That…that is rather drastic. Would it not be murder?"
If it was any ordinary circumstances, yes. "No," said Stannis coldly. "Is that not the purpose of a hostage? To be killed if our foes refuse our terms?"
"It is," conceded Ser Andar, "but-"
"The Tyrells were involved in two wars against us," Stannis cut in. "They must be stopped, whether peacefully or viciously. We'll take Sers Theodore and Lyonel with us – they will be proof to the Tyrells that we have Dragonstone." He glanced at Lord Seaworth. "Are the ships ready?"
Lord Seaworth nodded. "Aye milord. The flags have been painted and are most likely dry by now." He looked as if he wished to keep speaking.
Stannis sighed. "Speak your mind, Lord Seaworth."
"Anything can go wrong milord," admitted Lord Seaworth. "The false king and the Tyrells might catch wind of this. They might not want the sellswords near the capital at all. We don't know what the sellswords and the false dragon had earlier planned. Jon Connington isn't here either. He is one of the false dragon's staunch supporters. A shame we didn't catch him. There's been no word of Connington – I spoke to a few of the soldiers and they knew naught about where he is now. They told me that when the false dragon departed Dragonstone, he left Connington in charge of Dragonstone."
Stannis snorted. "I doubt that boded well with Ser Loras."
"When we arrived at Dragonstone milord, it was Ser Loras in charge. Some of the soldiers said he was named the castellan only a couple of days ago when Lord Connington left Dragonstone."
"Did they say why he left?"
"No milord."
"We must sail to King's Landing my lord," said Ser Andar at once. "Sailors and other smallfolk would've seen you gather ships and men. Rumours would spread. Words are wind, but if the Tyrells suspect you to be behind this Lord Baratheon, I fear they will strongly believe it."
Stannis nodded slowly. "I loathe to leave Dragonstone in a state like this, but it is time we sail. Tomorrow at dawn, we will leave for King's Landing."
"Is your decision on the Tyrells final?" asked Ser Andar.
Stannis nodded firmly. "It is."
It was a cold, chilly dawn that greeted Stannis. Sleep had eluded him for hours the night before; too much was on his mind.
Silently, Stannis changed from his grubby clothes to a fresh pair of breeches of brown roughspun and a studded leather jerkin over a quilted doublet. He quietly secured a plain black belt around his waist and slipped his feet into his old, well-worn brown leather boots. His boots were old, but still tough and durable.
Fastening the clasp of a woollen cloak around his throat, Stannis permitted his thoughts to wander to his children. Shireen should be quite close to Storm's End by now, if not already safe in the castle. She was well-protected, surrounded by a host of loyal, handpicked men and Devan Seaworth. The Seaworths were loyal to the bone – even if all the handpicked men turned out to be traitorous turncloaks, Devan would protect Shireen. He was an unfailing squire, Devan, just like his four older brothers before him. He will be knighted, Stannis decided, straightening his cloak. It was a dangerous task, escorting the daughter of a supposed traitor.
Stannis exited the bedchamber, closing the door behind him. According to the two Seaworth brothers Allard and Matthos, Cassana remained in the Eyrie under the care and protect of Lady Arryn, with Prince Ormund and Princess Minisa and Lord Robert Arryn and his sister Lady Alyssa.
It was Steffon that concerned Stannis. If Stannis had his way, Steffon would be a squire in this war, not a soldier. He was well-trained at Storm's End, but did not gain enough experience to fight in a battle. It irritated Stannis that Steffon, who'd usually been dutiful, refused to stay safe in the Vale or Dragonstone (not that it'd be much safer at Dragonstone). Stannis had offered his son and heir the position of Castellan of Dragonstone – Steffon had declined. "I swore a vow that I'd aid my cousin the king in reclaiming his throne," he had said stubbornly. "I cannot break my vow, Father."
No he couldn't.
Meeting Stannis at the docks were thousands of Valemen, hundreds of soldiers from the Stormlands and all the soldiers and men who had once fought for House Tyrell and the false dragon. The majority wore plain armour and plain cloaks, not a House sigil in sight. Standing wedged between two burly and tall Vale knights, with their hands tied behind their backs, were Sers Theodore and Lyonel Tyrell. Their discomfort was obvious by the scowls on their faces.
"Milord." Lord Davos stepped forward. Tucked under his arm was a visorless pot helm. "The winds are in our favour, as are the waters. If we're fortunate, we'll reach the shores of Blackwater Bay very soon. The Seven have blessed us."
More like luck.
"We'll use the sellswords' ships?" inquired a Vale lord, glancing doubtfully at a ship with a fork-tailed blue-and-white flag. "Are they seaworthy my lord?"
"Yes," said Stannis sharply. "If they weren't, the sellswords who sailed here in the company of the dragon pretender would be lying at the bottom of the narrow sea, their bodies feasted upon by fish."
The Vale lord flinched.
"They are steady ships," Lord Seaworth said loudly. "Finely made." His words seemed to have soothed the concerned knights. One by one the lords, knights and soldiers boarded the ships, starting with the ones that were owned by sellsword troops. Earlier, Lord Seaworth had expressed the worry of Westerosi ships being recognised by observers – it was agreed therefore to sail with the Essosi ships at the front, sides and back of the sailing formation with Westerosi vessels sailing in the middle. Scorpions left behind by Tyrells were carried onto the ships as were the long iron-headed spears and hundreds of other weapons. Stannis watched as hundreds of horses were led onto two of the Massey ships. If the plan works well, they would have enough time to form a cavalry in their army.
"You should take command of one of the ships in the middle milord," advised Lord Davos as Stannis took a step towards the third warship. "If the soldiers see, or catch sight of you, they will assemble a fleet against us."
Stannis frowned. "They can't assemble a fleet that fast."
"Do you want to risk it milord?"
With a second of hesitation, Stannis subtly retreated. It was highly unlikely he would be recognised from afar, but the Onion Knight was correct; there's always the risk of being seen. By the Seven, he would not risk that. The Vale lords might be on King Orys's side at the present moment, but some will flee like cowards to the Targaryen pretender the second the scent of defeat wafted in the air towards them. The Royces, Waynwoods and Redforts would remain loyal, but the Corbray men? The Templetons?
The sooner the king was secure on the Iron Throne, the better.
"Father." Stannis glanced at Steffon who had walked up to him, his plain helm with a dark plume tucked under his arm. Steffon met his gaze with a solemn look of his own. "I'm sorry I disappointed you," he said quietly. "It is wrong for sons to disobey their fathers. However, you told me since I was a young boy that I should always keep my promises."
"You didn't disappoint me," Stannis said automatically.
"You seemed upset when I declined your offer to be Castellan of Dragonstone," Steffon explained. "I thought I disappointed you."
"No. If you disappointed me, I would have told you. You did not disappoint me at all, Steffon. Stay with Ser Andar. Perhaps I should've arranged for you to be his – or another Vale knight's – squire." It would've helped foster good relations with the Vale, but at the cost of angering the storm lords who would've loved to have a Baratheon, the heir apparent to Storm's End no less, as a ward or squire. "Do not think recklessly," Stannis instructed. "Follow orders and if it comes to fighting, be careful. Choose your targets wisely. I rather you wound two men and return alive than kill a man like Ser Gregor Clegane and return severely injured."
"What if I die?"
Stannis froze, the hair at the back of his neck prickling sharply. "What if I die?" His son's question echoed in Stannis's mind. "What if I die?"
"He'll be safe Lord Baratheon." Ser Andar Royce's confident voice snapped him back to reality. "I'm happy to take him as my squire if you are concerned my lord. From father to father, I know you must be worried for Steffon's safety. I'll always be concerned of my sons in squire tourneys. When the war is won, my lord, your son will return to you a knight."
"I thank you for that, Ser Andar," Stannis managed to say, still deterred by his son's words. "I am in your debt."
"I am honoured to be of service to the royal family," replied Ser Andar. "Shall it be this warship we board, my lord?"
The winds were good again. Swift, harsh and in the direction Stannis hoped it would blow. With the cooperation of the wind, the sea was compliant.
Excellent.
"The Seven are on our side," more than one soldier had uttered.
Stannis had said naught as usual, yet he did wonder. Predicting the foe's next movement was one matter; controlling the weather and the sea was another. I've not believed in the Seven in many years, Stannis contemplated. I'd prayed to them – they did not listen. Perhaps they are listening now. If the Seven bless us with good winds to King's Landing, then King Orys is the rightful king in their eyes. He almost smiled. His late brother Robert liked to loudly state, "The rule of dragonspawn is over! This is the time of the stags!" It seemed to bear truth at last.
As Stannis stood stoically on the deck, deep in thought, he caught a glimpse of one of his former squires, Ser Allard Seaworth, make his way through the crowd of soldiers towards him. He remembered knighting Lord Seaworth's sons one by one after he deemed them fit for knighthood. Expectedly, the four elder ones had chosen to captain ships like their lord father. Sailing was in their blood. The fifth Seaworth boy, Devan, was with Shireen; the last two were still children. Stannis nodded at the Seaworth knight. "Ser Allard."
"My lord." Ser Allard dipped his head. His brown eyes flickered with the tiniest dose of shock. "Forgive me. I haven't been called 'Ser Allard' in quite some time. I forget a little that I'm a knight."
"Oh?"
"People see me as the Onion Knight's son or captain of the Lady Marya. They'd often forget I'm a knight too. My father asked me to be your sworn shield." Allard Seaworth swiftly changed the topic of conversation. "I know I'm not as good with the sword as any of the knights of the Kingsguard, but I can fight."
Stannis stared at him unblinkingly. Davos Seaworth risked his life to smuggle him and the other soldiers at Storm's End crates of onions; Devan Seaworth had volunteered be part of Shireen's escort; and now Allard Seaworth was offering to be his sworn shield.
"You're a good man, Ser Allard," Stannis said at last. "I recall you a fair fighter when you were my squire. A little rash at times, but a fair swordsman." He meant every word he said. "I thank you for your offer, but I must decline. The Seaworths have done plenty for my House. I will not risk your life for mine."
"It's an honour," Ser Allard insisted. "I'm not afraid of death."
Only a fool is not afraid of death. Stannis held his tongue. "Being crippled for a lifetime is worse than death, Ser Allard," he said darkly. "You are a captain of the ship, Ser Allard, not an experienced soldier. Play to your strengths. If our plan is a failure, that is when you, your brother and Lord Seaworth and other experienced sailors are vital. You know warships at the back of your hand, not swords."
Ser Allard nodded, looking disappointed. "Aye my lord." He retreated into the sea of sailors and soldiers.
It wasn't long before it was time for the ships to separate. As agreed, a portion of ships would remain a short distance away from King's Landing in the case of a sudden emergency to retreat for reinforcements. Ser Matthis Seaworth had been put in charge of those ships. The rest of the fleet would head down to Blackwater Rush where some – including the transportation ship – would hopefully be tied to the dock closer to King's Gate. All the seven gates would be heavily guarded by Dornishmen and Reachmen. Perhaps King's Gate would be guarded less heavily – unlikely though. Very unlikely.
Silence reigned supreme on the ship as it was steered sluggishly towards the Blackwater Rush. Stannis grabbed hold of one of the masts as the boat suddenly rocked to the right and then sharply to the left. Though the soldiers stayed quiet, the silent ambiance was ripped to shreds by the loud growls of the water current between Blackwater Rush and Blackwater Bay.
The Blackwater's currents were always wicked and treacherous; tranquil and pleasant one minute and uncontrollable the next. Out of all days to be treacherous. Stannis shook his head with a silent sigh. All he could do was pray – if he trusted the Seven gods at all.
To Stannis's consternation, as his warship approached the yearning mouth of the harbour, there weren't many trading vessels in sight. Where were the dozen or more small fishing boats that usually congested the Blackwater? Where was a fleet of trading galleys that carried goods from the Free Cities? It was not just the lack of trading ships that bothered Stannis. It was also the queer silence. It was a few hours past dawn – usually there would be a loud mass of chatter in a variety of different languages and accents. Currently, Stannis did not hear even a squeak of low Valyrian or a Braavosi accent.
The false dragon's men cannot be prepared this early. Unless… Stannis had no desire to confront the alternative.
Five soldiers garbed in armour marched onto the first dock. Stannis watched a Vale knight dressed as an Essosi sellsword emerge, from below deck, descend the ramp and meet them. The Vale knight selected for the vital task of convincing the false dragon's men that the fleet belonged to sellswords was a distant relation of the Royces. "We call him Perros the Parrot," Ser Andar had said with a grin, after he recommended his distant cousin for the job. "He talks more than he fights. He is a great talker, Cousin Perros. He can talk us into anything. Once, when we were boys, Perros-" He would have kept regaling the knights with a humorous tale of their boyhood if Stannis had not stopped him.
Another advantage of having Ser Perros Royce do the talking was that he was an unknown figure to the men of King's Landing, Dorne and the Reach. According to Ser Andar, Ser Perros had not left the Vale once since boyhood due to a lack of gold and ambition. As ever second trickled by and no vessel moved, Stannis's gut tightened. On instinct, he grinded his teeth. Ser Perros better be persuading them that they were sellswords in the pay of the false dragon and his bunch of loyalists, not parroting about a tale of his youth. He wondered if Ser Perros was feigning a Braavosi accent – the knight had proven to be rather good at it a few days ago.
Stannis sighed behind his gritted teeth as Ser Perros turned and flashed him a triumphant grin. The five soldiers began to walk back towards the Mud Gate, one lingering behind to watch. Ser Perros shouted something inaudible to the men on board the first war galley and to Stannis's relief, soldiers began descending down to the dock, weapons in hand. Ser Perros shouted again and a ramp was pushed out of the second and third ships. More soldiers exited the warships. As Stannis's war galley edged closer, he saw every second soldier creep away from the crowd of men and towards the King's Gate.
More and more soldiers carefully disembarked the warships in pairs or small groups of threes. Soon it was Stannis's turn. Stannis cautiously exited the galley, Ser Allard Seaworth at his side. He pulled down his helm's visor and marched to the Mud Gate. He marched past armoured soldiers – if they thought it odd that an Essosi sellsword wore a helm, they said nothing.
Following the other soldiers in straight lines of four, Stannis marched through the Mud Gate and began the long walk to the Red Keep.
One of the Reach soldiers joined Stannis. "Is Dragonstone safe?" he asked out of mere curiosity. "Have you heard anything about the traitor Stannis?"
"Aye," Stannis responded bluntly. "Dragonstone is the king's." King Orys's, he did not add. "Heard naught about the traitor. What of you?"
The soldier glanced around. "Heard he's still alive," he said in a lowered voice. "Probably wounded though. Some say he's on his way to Dragonstone; others say he's on the way here. That's why the Master of War ordered us to wait here and at the other gates on our guard. Glad you lot are here though. We need all the aid we can get against the Stag Usurper."
Stannis grunted as he continued marching in silence, the shadows of the Red Keep looming closer by the minute. The alarm bells have not rang yet – once they did, the rest of the plan will begin.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter! The next few chapters will all be related to King's Landing. We haven't had a POV guessing game in quite some time, so...whose perspective do you think the next chapter is in? :P
Here are a few hints to hopefully help you guess who the next chapter's POV is:
- It is a man.
- He did not have a POV in The Dance of Spring before.
- He did not have a POV in the ASOIAF books before.
- He is an ally of Orys Baratheon.
- He is a knight.
- He is part of the Stormlands-Vale host.
The winner will be the first person who tells me the correct POV.
For the winner: Same as last time - set me a ASOIAF oneshot prompt about your favourite pairing you really want to see written and I will write it for you.
I'm really excited to see whose POV you think the next chapter is in and the potential oneshot prompts! :)
