Hey!
Been awhile but welcome to my new OC story! This time we're following Osric Baratheon, son and heir of Stannis Baratheon and let's just say he brings the Storm and Fury with him.
Ready? Let's begin! Ours is the Fury!
Chapter 1: Praying to the Mother
298AC … one week after Jon Arryn's death … in the evening
Sept at basement level, Central Drum Tower, Storm's End, Seat of power of House Baratheon (Stannis line) in the Stormlands
Storm's End occupied the edge of Durran's Point like it had risen on the cliff directly from the ancient Storm King's grief and rage. Each stone so well placed that the curving wall of the formidable castle gave the ire of the Sky Goddess no purchase, the eighty-metre-thick wall so well compacted that the wrath of the Sea God could not begin to break it down. The colossal drum tower rose from the centre, like a pale grey fist thrusting upwards towards the dreary sky. It was the personification of King Durran's age-old defiance of the Ancient Gods in physical form.
The irony of Osric's ancestors' battle with the Old Storm Gods was not lost on him as he stood before the New Gods. The Warrior posed proudly on his left and the Father stoic on his right but it was the chiselled feet of the Mother his lumbering limbs knelt in front of. The statues of the Seven went around the room in a circle with the Warrior having the pride of place facing the entrance and the Crone's with its back to it. The sept of Storm's End was situated in the basement of the drum tower, between the granary and the prison cells. The space was hardly enough to accommodate twenty worshipers. Faith had been an afterthought in a castle dedicated to withstanding an assault from men and Gods alike.
Lit torches adorned the four windowless walls, illuminating the room well enough so Osric could see the small cracks on the Mother's hands and the patchy discolouration of time on the stonework. His eyes drifted upwards from the ever-knowing expression the stonemason had chosen to give the statue. So low was the smooth pale grey surface of the ceiling that the Smith threatened to smash it with his raised stone hammer.
Osric's large frame cast a shadow over five small candles placed between him and the statue. It had taken him a few hours to come to this point but he touched the burning match in his hand to the first candle.
"Ser Harbert Baratheon."
Osric sucked in a breath and a large hand brushed through his thick mop of black hair. The last image he had of his great uncle was of him fighting with the wheel of the Storm Dancer, right before the ship had crashed into the rocky coast of Shipbreaker's Bay. The second tragedy to befall House Baratheon in Shipbreaker's Bay in as many decades but it had been fitting that Harbert would die the same way his brother had or that is what Osric remember his father muttering at the funeral.
He blinked and the image disappeared. His great uncle had been brave but how was a man supposed to win a fight against the sea?
"Richard Lonmouth."
His deep but quiet voice echoed around the room as the Seven watched the heir of Storm's End proceed through his annual ritual, each name setting alight another wick.
"Guyard Morrigen."
He closed his eyes, forcing out the terrified faces in favour of past smiles and joyous laughter.
"Clifford Swann."
Those three names would forever remain in his memory. He could see each of his childhood friend's last moments in his inner eye. One by one they had succumbed to the raging sea, their grip on the driftwood loosening and their bodies being dragged under the waves by exhaustion and whittled down hope until only himself, Brienne and Ser Harbert's squire Brus Buckler had remained afloat.
Osric shivered despite the stifling heat in the room. His fingers itched to swing his favoured mace and return to the familiar dance of sparring but he had caused enough bruises today and the sun had set. He knew deep down it would be a retreat from a task he had yet to complete and his pride didn't allow for him to back down, even from himself.
The dead had to be honoured so they would be.
The heat of the burning match singed his fingertips, rushing his next action as he dropped the nearly burnt-out piece of wood into the final candle. The flame flickered and came to life to bring Osric to the most painful part of this rite.
"Selyse Baratheon," Osric paused soberly instilling his next word with six years of missed moments and sadness. "Mother."
The door snapped open behind him. He pushed off the floor and rotated into a standing position with his hand tightening around the handle of his long dagger on his hip. His fingers twitched as his assailant launched into an attack but he released the steel in his hand to return the fierce hug of his sister.
"Shireen," he said softly, allowing the little girl to curl her arms around his hips and burrow her forehead into his lower torso.
"You started without me."
Osric flinched at the hurt tone, "I don't like upsetting you and I thought you were asleep."
"We do this every year. Together."
"You're right," Osric conceded, his hand resting comfortingly on the back of Shireen's head.
"Sorry for being late," Shireen mumbled into the front of Osric's leather tunic, "Septa Edyth was patrolling the corridors, extinguishing the candles."
"Did she not notice you weren't in your bed?"
Shireen lifted her head to meet her brother's soft blue eyes. A cheeky smile graced her normally innocent-looking face.
"I dragged a few of your cloaks into my bed and draped my blanket over them."
"That worked?" Osric chuckled.
"Works every time," Shireen said confidently.
Osric simply ruffled her hair, knowing all about her late-night trips to Storm End's library.
Shireen's next words were barely above a whisper but they cut through Osric as cleanly as a Valyrian steel dagger would.
"Will you tell me what she was like?
Osric's entire body went ridged as he fought the oncoming memory. He was back on the Storm Dancer clinging to the mast with terrified tears mixing with the cruel heaven's droplets on his cheeks. Men's panicked shouts surrounded him as the rocks of Shipbreaker Bay loomed large through the hurricane of rain. Then there she was. Mother. Running across the deck towards him with one hand outstretched as the crew jumped off the railings of the doomed ship. Her wet tangled brown hair was whipping around her face but she held a determined look. A mother trying to save her child. Her mouth was moving but the swirling wind was deafening. He was sure she had been shouting his name in the moment. He had reached out with one hand, too afraid to leave the mast but wanting his mother's comfort.
She had nearly reached him. How he wished she had.
The ship's bow had smashed into jagged rocks and Osric had witnessed his mother be thrown into the black waters below. A singular cry of, "Osric!" broke through the dim of the raging storm before the Sea God had swallowed her whole.
Osric blinked aware Shireen had continued to speak in absence of his answer.
"I've seen paintings of mother around Storm's End and Uncle Erren sometimes tells me a story of what she was like as a girl but I can't … I can't really remember her."
"You were five when she … passed."
"You mean died? You don't have to mollycoddle me. I'm not a little girl anymore!"
That is exactly what you are, Osric thought as he used his thumb to smooth away an ink stain on Shireen's forehead. "You are eleven years old, Shireen. Just thank the Gods you weren't on Storm Dancer too. That you didn't have to witness what I did!"
Shireen hung her head at Osric's raised voice, realising it hadn't been her feelings he had been protecting but his own.
Osric saw Shireen shrink before him and he inwardly cursed himself, "Shireen … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that as I did."
Shireen shuffled closer to Osric, her arms still clutching at his sides, "I thank the Gods every day that Ser Courtnay Penrose found you atop a piece of driftwood with Brienne and Brus."
There was no mistaking the emotional wobble in each of her words. Osric let out a small regretful sigh. He hated upsetting his little sister but sometimes there were topics he just wasn't willing to discuss.
Osric pushed Shireen gently away and knelt to her level, "I'm sorry for starting without you. I lied earlier. I don't like upsetting you but the reason I started without you is I don't like you seeing me upset."
Shireen's ever-observant nature picked up the tremble in her big brother's square jaw and the glistening tint in his large blue eyes. She grabbed ahold of Osric's hand before tugging him back towards the statue of the Mother and the five flickering candles.
"That's exactly why we do this together so we can lend each other our strength."
Osric's tense face slipped into a small smile at the wise words coming from his sister. She'd always been an old head on young shoulders. Just as it was predictable that Osric could be found in the practice yard of Storm's End sparring so too was it that Shireen would be in the library devouring all the books she could. At eleven years old she knew more about Westerosi history than Osric would ever know or care to.
Shireen continued as Osric mulled over his thoughts, "She was my mother too and father is needed in King's Landing to help Uncle Robert so we have to stick together here."
Osric smothered the snide remark on the tip of his tongue content to envelop Shireen's tiny hand in his own and let her comment go unchallenged. He doubted his father was paying his respects to his dead wife or even knew today was the anniversary of her death.
The last time Osric had seen his father had been at his mother's funeral. Despite his best efforts, his mind sent him back to that moment. To the image of a stoic and unfeeling man; unable to comfort his crying children as a Septon's words gave a farewell to their mother. When Osric had burst into tears it hadn't been his father that had picked him up and taken him into another room. It had been Robert. Likewise, when Shireen had followed suit it had been Renly to wipe away her tears and guide her from the room hand-in-hand.
In the six years that had followed his wife's funeral, Stannis Baratheon hadn't seen fit to visit Storm's End or his children. Osric had always wondered if his emotional outburst that day had led to his father's permanent residence in King's Landing. Many a day he had considered sending a raven to King's Landing or riding there himself to demand answers but fragile pride and a buried childhood fear of formal rejection stayed his hand and his stallion.
Another tug on his hand had Osric sitting cross-legged on the floor with Shireen leaning into his side as they both watched the candle wicks burn out in the silence of the darkening room.
When the fading torches threaten total darkness Osric shook Shireen's shoulder gently, "Were Brus and Brienne still guarding the door when you came in?"
"Yes," Shireen rubbed her eyes, "Why don't they come in?"
"I've told them many times they are welcome to but both refuse," Osric continued seeing the next question written all over his little sister's face, "Brus doesn't want to be reminded of what he endured. He'd rather forget. He thinks that the past is always where you leave it and Brienne feels responsible–"
"Why?" Shireen jabbed.
"Mother and I were returning from Tarth when the storm hit. She had been negotiating for a betrothal between Brienne and me."
"You are going to marry Brienne?"
"No," Osric nearly smiled at how Shireen's eyes had lit up at the prospect, she had always liked Brienne from the moment the freakishly tall woman had walked through Storm's Ends gates half a decade ago.
"But she left Tarth and came to Storm's End."
"To train and serve House Baratheon as a sworn sword, not to marry me," although Osric suspected redemption for her perceived involvement in the sinking of Storm Dancer had also played a part in her decision to leave Tarth.
Osric refocused on the statue before them, "The betrothal was mother's idea and with her death, nothing came of it."
With the blunt reminder of their loss, the Baratheon siblings lapsed into silence which Osric was grateful for. His little sister was ever the inquisitor but sometimes questions had painful answers.
Eventually, the gentle snoring of a sleeping girl filled the air and Osric scooped up his little sister and made his way toward the door.
On the other side, he was greeted by his closest companions. A burly brown-haired man with twinkling eyes, that stood just above six feet but was still at least a head shorter than Osric and a blond woman dressed in light chainmail and trousers that towered over them both.
"Ser Cortnay and Maester Cressen were looking for you," Brus announced but gave out a short yelp as Brienne slapped the back of his head and raised a finger to her lips while looking at the sleeping form of Shireen in Osric's arms.
Brus rubbed a hand through his curly hair and put his other up in apology.
Osric started to walk down the empty corridor in the direction of the Lord's chambers, "What did you tell them?"
"When Ser Cortnay came, I told him that you were in the library with Maester Cressen and I told the old fusspot you were in the training yard with Ser no smiles," Brus said matching his friend's hushed tone.
Brienne rolled her eyes at Brus's name-calling but Osric let it go, "Good, they dislike each other enough not to have checked your word."
Although Osric knew spending time grieving his mother wouldn't be frowned upon, he preferred to pray in the knowledge no one but those closest to him knew where he would be.
The three friends reached the Lord's chambers. Brus held the door open for Osric to manoeuvre the sleeping bundle through and exaggerated a bow when Brienne passed him. It earned him a little shake of Brienne's head but this type of harmless jesting was normal for them now.
Brus and Brienne followed Osric into the solar and loitered by the open-door Osric had just passed through on the other side of the room to see their future Lord tuck his sleeping sister into bed and place a kiss atop the crown of her head before closing the door gently and returning to his friends.
"Thank you for keeping watch."
Brus shrugged off the thanks good-naturedly while Brienne gave a little smile. The small moment of friendship was interrupted by a knock on the solar door. Osric almost wrenched the door from its hinges in an attempt to make sure there wasn't a second knock.
"What?" he growled into the face of Maester Cressen's new assistant.
The clean-shaven man jumped back at the aggressive tone, "My apologies but you have a visitor in the Round Hall."
"At this time of night?" Osric hissed.
"He just arrived and immediately requested an audience with you."
Such was Osric's indignation and annoyance he thundered past the bewildered young maester in training and forgot to ask who the visitor was.
Brus patted the still startled robed man as he passed him by, "Don't worry Pylos, he isn't really mad at you but at the son of a whore demanding his presence."
Round Hall, Central Drum Tower, Storm's End, Seat of power of House Baratheon (Stannis line) in the Stormlands
Who dared summon him like a mongrel pup in his father's castle? Osric's feet smacked against the stone floor like thunder in a storm and gods bless any still awake wayward servant who got in the way of his charge.
Osric rounded the corner to enter through the open double doors of the Round Hall to see both his maternal uncles sitting down on one of the long-since abandoned dinner tables in conversation with a man whose presence immediately pacified his anger and fury.
"Uncle Renly," Osric bellowed as the two Baratheon men clashed together in a tight embrace, "What are you doing here?"
"A question we have been trying to get him to answer for the past hour. Maybe you will have better luck," Ser Erren Florent nudged, watching the two elated Baratheon men who looked more like brothers than uncle and nephew release each other.
Both stood tall, significantly above six feet and had the typical Baratheon features of thick black hair and bright blue eyes. Renly had a slighter frame than Osric and was half a head shorter with sharper features in the face that his well-trimmed beard highlighted. Osric despite letting his hair grow to touch his shoulders went clean-shaven whereas his uncle's shortcut blended in seamlessly with his facial hair.
"We've had guards looking for you for over an hour. Where have you been?" Ser Imry Florent asked rising from the table and moving away from his younger brother.
"Mourning the loss of my mother or did you forget, Ser Imry, your sister died on this day," Osric replied cooly.
Imry had enough self-awareness to look abashed and stay silent. Erren only offered a dip of his head in apology for his brother's forgetfulness.
"Come Nephew, I am willing to discuss my sudden arrival over a fine Dornish wine in your solar," Renly interceded.
Osric nodded and left the two Florents alone, passing by Brus and Brienne who had watched the interactions from a respectable distance by the entrance to the large hall.
Osric observed his uncle take a few generous sips of the red wine, "So?"
Renly dabbed at his wet lips with a silk cloth as he leaned back into the chair and took in the familiar layout of Osric's solar. The walls were filled with stuffed hunting trophies and mounted weapons of past Baratheon Lords. Three doors broke the curtain of trophies and assortment of armaments, one led to the guarded corridor while the other two led to Shireen's and Osric's chambers. A large bear rug dominated the centre of the room with an unlit fireplace just beyond its head. The rounded table they now sat by was on one side of the rug and a large heavy-set oak desk was on the other. Piles of closed books surrounded the desk like a mini wall with the surface near-covered with opened pages and what space was left was taken up by still-lit candles. It was all Shireen's doing. Not once had he sat at that desk since taking over the running of Storm's End a few years ago.
"You haven't changed much in here," Renly stated, waving his free hand around the room.
"It's not mine to change."
"Not yet," Renly agreed, "but when the time comes, please do invest in some vibrant yellow flags and perhaps some new paintings to replace the heads of dead animals?"
Osric pushed his untouched wine goblet aside and leaned forward, "Renly."
"Fine," the elder Baratheon conceded before finishing the Dornish red and placing it down on the table's rough surface. "Your father sent me to bring you to King's Landing."
"Why not send a raven? I don't require an escort."
Laughter graced Renly's handsome face, "No, I'd say you'd end up being mine but a raven could not be trusted with the message and I think my presence would make you more likely to acquiesce to the incoming request."
When Renly took a further sip and didn't elaborate, clearly enjoying the theatrics, Osric bit, "Renly, what patience I do have is growing thin."
"You sounded just like your father then."
"If I was my father, I wouldn't have said anything and let my eyes do the talking."
Renly straightened up at the bitterness in the comment, "He's always been that way."
"Since you became the Master of Laws, you've come back to Storm's End more than he has and in peacetime, I'd expect the Master of Laws to be busier than the Master of Ships."
"Stannis takes his duty much more seriously than I. He helped Jon Arryn run the Kingdoms while Robert …" Renly waved both cup and hand in circles, "does what Robert does."
"I know what Robert is famed for," Osric said, his mind taking a moment longer to process the significant word, "helped … is my father no longer on the Small Council? Has he and Uncle Robert fallen out?"
Renly let out a chuckle at the assumption, "He practically is the Small Council at this point. No, I mean Jon Arryn died."
"You could have started with that. Who is the new Hand?"
"Robert hasn't decided yet or he hadn't by the time Stannis bid me to leave King's Landing to get you."
"So again, why are you here?"
Renly smoothed down his trimmed moustache, "Stannis thinks Jon Arryn was murdered."
"Why? By who? Is my father in danger?"
Renly put up both hands, "He suspects the Queen."
Osric's eyebrows shot up and he tilted his head in confusion but let Renly continue.
"He thinks this because he and Jon Arryn were investigating the possibility that the Queen's children are bastards born of incest between her and Ser Jaime."
Osric's mouth parted in surprise and he leaned back into his chair. Twice he went to speak but words failed him.
"That would mean Stannis is Robert's heir, not Joffrey and yes," Renly added in the proceeding lull, "I think Stannis is in danger and right now he is only trusting his own blood. That is why he wants you in King's Landing. He needs his son."
Osric struggled for a full minute before finding his tongue again, "Why does my father suspect this?"
"Has there ever been a blond-haired Baratheon babe? Every Baratheon has black hair and blue eyes. Cersei's children have neither and none look like Robert or any of our relations. One could be excused as a jape from the Gods but three," Renly exclaimed, 'That's a woman's doing."
Osric didn't look convinced but was eager to hear his father out in person, "Under what pretence is my Lord father going to justify dragging a son he has all but disowned in name to King's Landing for?"
"To see his King knight him of course," Renly smiled, having had longer to digest the realm-breaking news and come to terms with it. "You're eighteen now, you perform well in all the melees and jousts you enter in the Stormlands. I heard that you won your last one too. It's time you became a Ser and bring your large entourage of young Stormlanders to come and enjoy your success."
Osric understood Renly's unspoken meaning, "Why doesn't my father just tell Robert his suspicions?"
Renly nearly choked on his wine in response, "It's not something you just bring up over dinner Osric and it's essentially treason we're talking about. Your father would rather have irrefutable proof before accusing Cersei Lannister of fucking her brother and cuckolding Robert. My eldest brother is stubborn but he will listen to reason if it is shouted loud enough at him. Besides we will need time to prepare for the aftermath if we attain such evidence. I do not think Tywin Lannister will accept such a scenario without action nor do I think all the Lords of the realm will accept it either and there is the question of what to do with Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen."
"It is no child's fault who their parents are," Osric murmured, "What of Shireen?"
Renly read the concern in Osric's voice at leaving her behind but where they were going and what they were doing was too dangerous for a little girl to tag along in, "King's Landing is not Storm's End, it's no place for her and she doesn't need to know the truth of your departure."
Osric nodded slowly, his eyes flicking to the closed-door Shireen was sleeping soundly behind.
Only she wasn't.
Her ear was against the door and she had heard every word uttered between the Baratheon men and quickly hopped back into bed the moment she heard the wooden chairs scrape against the stone floor.
Her mind was spinning.
How could she help? How could she protect her family? What did this mean for her brother? What was a bastard? She resolved to do what she normally did when confronted with a problem she was unsure of how to solve, go to the library and research.
Author Notes:
There you have it; your first taste of Osric Baratheon and his immediate relationships and environment. Obviously in this story Stannis has a much better relationship with Renly than in canon due to there being no conflict over Storm's End and Renly having essentially grown up with Osric at Storm's End but he is still Stannis. Focus will be on Baratheon characters but the plot encompasses all areas of the Seven Kingdoms.
This chapter, and the next few, were designed to be a nice world building introduction into how Osric fits into the universe and drop you into the story at a recognised point (just after Jon Arryn's death) so you can settle in. I know I'm throwing a lot of characters (OC & book canon) at you and information so if you have any questions feel free to ask them.
The story will address the following but please take note that due to Osric's existence there have been some foundational changes to the universe (E.g Stannis & Seylse married before Robert's Rebellion so no Edric Storm + Renly isn't Lord of Storm's End; Stannis is & Joffrey is the Prince of Dragonstone + Shireen grew up in Storm's End so no Greyscale for her etc.) This story will contain both elements from the show and the books.
The deaths in the RIP section are past events but I thought I'd note them anyway.
RIP (I tend to only do named characters here but death is not limited to them)
Ser Harbert Baratheon (Drowned/smashed against the rocky coast - went down with the ship)
He tried to keep the ship afloat for as long as possible but the storm got him and the ship was wrecked amongst the rocks. In this story he is Steffon Baratheon's younger brother so is a paternal uncle to Robert, Stannis and Renly.
Clifford Swan, Guyard Morrigen, Richard Lonmouth (Drowned in the storm)
Minor Stormland Lords that I have turned into children. They were all between the ages of 10-13 and died one by one, slipping off the same driftwood as Osric, Brus and Brienne were clinging to as their strength faded in the storm's waves. During this storm Osric is 12, Brus is 14 while Brienne would've been 16.
Selyse Baratheon (Drowned)
First canon divergence death really. Went overboard during the storm before the ship was dashed against rocks but her body was never found.
Note:
I'm using the books timelines for birth dates and events but going with the show logic of aging characters up by 2 years so Shireen is supposed to be 9 in 298AC but she's really 11, Brienne's not 20 but 22, Brus is 20, Renly is 23, Stannis is 36 etc. Osric Baratheon was born during the Siege of Storm's End (282AC) so he's 18 in 298AC/the start of this story. The events of the shipwreck and funeral happens in 292AC.
Also, for speed of travel I'm using the show's benchmark of it took Robert a month to march from King's Landing to Winterfell and I assume an army would be as slow as this but a smaller party would be much quicker.
Structure & Schedule:
Just like Dance of the Falcon (DotF) this is going to be a novel (8 show seasons and books timeline covered). I have planned five arcs in total, first draft is over 200,000 words but might reduce (lol) or increase (guaranteed) after I edit and polish each arc of the story.
Next Up: Osric answers his father's summons, Robert makes a rare decision and loyalty is rewarded.
If you are enjoying this story, please *Toss a coin to your writer, Oh valley of readers* and review, follow and favourite the carnage that is to come! (Witcher reference)