Chapter 4

Stannis Baratheon, second born son of the deceased Lord Steffon Baratheon, idly wondered where his brother was.

Not his younger brother, as he knew Renly was at his lessons. No, he was thinking of his older brother. Knowing Robert, though, he was probably either at one of the brothels or taverns in Storm's End, or in the court yard, using that large hammer of his to smash inanimate training dummies into splinters and paste.

Stannis was never one for idle speculation, but he sometimes wondered if his brother's choice in weapons reflected some part of his nature. Yes, Robert had a slightly disturbing love of battle, and he indulged often in drink, hunts, and whores, but a hammer was still a rather brutish weapon, especially for a trueborn scion of the Baratheon bloodline. Of course, considering that their house's words were "Ours is the Fury", perhaps Robert's disposition and choice of weapon was not so surprising after all. Stannis himself always preferred the sword. It was a traditional weapon, one that he had been trained to use since childhood, and an instrument that he was content to defend himself with. While he was not the greatest of swordsmen, he still took moderate pride in the fact that his abilities would help keep him alive if the need ever arose.

Stannis shook his head to clear his thoughts as thunder boomed in the distance. What was wrong with him? He did not usually speculate about much, if anything at all. He thought it an idiotic waste of time. Perhaps he was simply becoming bored. The evening was feeling strangely slow, for some reason.

He turned back to the tome he was studying. It was entitled The Gods of the World: a Treatise on Various Mythologies, and Superstitions. From Westeros to the East. By Maester Willam.

According to the histories, Willam had focused less of his studies on medicine and healing, as most Maesters were wont to do, and spent more time studying mythologies of the various cultures of the world. He had even asked the Archmaesters of the Citadel for permission to leave on a journey to further research various religions. They had debated, and, seeing no harm in it, decided to let him take the journey, with a few assistants, several months' worth of supplies, a ship, and a small guard of Hightower soldiers. For a few years, the maester had traversed with his retinue to as much as the world as he could, documenting his findings and research about the various religions and their mythologies, noting similarities and differences, observing the rituals that their worshippers performed for their respective deities, and, of course, making a list of each deity and what he, she or it represented, such as the Fire God, R'hllor, and the red priests of Asshai who venerated him.

While most of his findings were thoroughly documented and recorded, the one religion that he was rather sparse about, Stannis noted as he leafed through the tome, was the religion of the shadar-kai of Ikemmu. That in itself was not an utter surprise, as the race was rather secretive and distrustful of outsiders. Though Willam had traveled to the kingdom, and had been allowed in, all he had said of his findings, whatever they had been, was that they were "wondrous". For the rest of his days, when he returned to the citadel, he refused to speak of or document what he had saw in that shadowy kingdom, only saying that he had been treated kindly, and that upon his deathbed, he had died with a smile upon his face that could be described as a child's smile when they are expecting a much-wanted present.

Stannis sighed, and then closed the book. Why he had even bothered to read such a book was beyond him, as he wanted nothing to do with deities of any kind. Oh, he used to believe in the Seven when he was younger, as any good little Westerosi did, but that had all changed when he and Robert had received word of their parent's deaths. A shipwreck, off the coast of their own homeland, with the only survivor being a strange little man they called Patches, who spent all his days prancing about the castle and singing bizarre and nonsensical songs about the ocean, fish, and mermaids. Most just gave him a wide berth, out of both pity and perhaps fearful disgust, though Robert and Renly found him amusing.

Stannis had cursed and renounced all gods that day, with the thought that any gods, gods that his parents had venerated, who were cruel enough to take his father and mother in sight of their children would never have his worship. Even until the day he died. If it made him a blasphemer, then so be it.

With these thoughts in his head, he angrily shoved the book back into its place upon the shelves, and walked out of his family's library. As he strode towards the main hall, he heard the sound of doors opening, thus signaling his brother's return.

As his brother strode into view and came to a stop before him, not for the first time Stannis wondered how two men born from the same union could have so few similarities, and so many differences. While both were tall, broad of shoulder, muscled, and had their father's blue eyes and black hair, aside from those traits, they could have been as different as night and day.

Robert Baratheon was taller still, his hair long and wild, and his physique was built like a bull's. The rain water and sweat dripping off of his clothes and hair only seemed to add to the effect. He was handsome, affable, charming, charismatic, and seemed to always be trying to make his enemies into his friends, if possible. Women flocked to him in droves, and Stannis reasoned that there was probably more than one farmer's daughter or whore in the Stormlands who either had had, or still carried, a black haired and blue eyed bastard child in their bellies.

Stannis, on the other hand, sometimes humorlessly thought that women flocked from him in droves. While not particularly unattractive, Stannis knew that he was nowhere near as swoon-worthy as Robert.

His brother's sudden clap upon his shoulder shook Stannis loose from his thoughts. He looked up into Robert's happily grinning face, was silent for a moment longer, and then said, "Robert, I was wondering where you've been until now."

Robert looked at him strangely for a moment, then smiled again and laughed in a loud, strong voice. "What's this? Is my little brother, Stern Stannis, actually showing some emotion for once?!" He laughed again.

While Stannis knew that there was no malice behind Robert's words, the mention of his unofficial nickname, "Stern Stannis", still caused him to unconsciously grind his teeth in aggravated displeasure. Obviously noticing the displeased expression on his younger brother's face, Robert at least had the decency to look momentarily ashamed. "Oh come now brother! You know I only jest. You should at least try to laugh once in a while, as it will do you some good."

Slinging his arm around Stannis's shoulders, Robert began steering him towards the dining hall. "Now, why don't we collect little Renly and have the cooks prepare us some dinner? I am quite famished."

As per his brother's orders, their youngest brother, Renly Baratheon was brought before his brothers, where Robert preceded to envelop the nine year old boy in a hug and lift him squealing in laughter off the ground. Stannis, on the other hand, just gave Renly a cursory nod.

Before long, the cooks were finished, and the brothers Baratheon were seated at their table and tucked into venison, bread, and fresh vegetables. While Stannis ate in his usual silent and brooding manner, Robert and Renly chatted amiably with one another. Renly prattled on about everything he had done today and everything that maester Cressan had taught him, while Robert told their younger brother a few funny stories and jokes. Through it all, Stannis just ate his meal in silence, barely listening. After dinner, the brothers bade each other good night, and went to their own rooms. On the way to his room, Stannis suddenly had an indescribable urge to return to the library and take up Maester Willam's tome on the deities once more. He did so, and then headed off to his room where he changed into his nightclothes, lit a candle, settled into bed, and began to read.

The candle had burned low, and his eyes began to droop, when Stannis heard a scream. An ear-rending, heartbroken, bellowing scream. It was Robert's voice, and it came from Renly's bedroom. Throwing propriety to the wind, Stannis rushed to his younger brother's chambers, where maester Cressan and a few servants stood. The maester caught Stannis's gaze, stood aside, and let him enter.

There was blood. That was the first thing he saw. There was a good deal of it staining the bed, and floor along with some burn marks He saw Robert hunched over a small, half burnt corpse, weeping piteously in great heaving sobs, while another, larger corpse lay on the floor with its head smashed in. Disbelief flooded through Stannis.

"…..Robert?" he asked tentatively.

"Robert stopped weeping for a moment, and looked up at his younger sibling, his eyes red with running tears, his clothes rumpled, and his hair disheveled. His hands still clutched the small corpse. "He's dead, Stannis. They killed him!"

Surely, Robert did not mean who he thought, fate was not so cruel as to take from him twice. "…..no".

"YES! RENLY IS DEAD, STANNIS! HE'S BEEN MURDERED!"

"But he was a lad! Who would want to kill him?!" Yes, he knew he was shouting, and he knew people could hear him, but he did not care.

At this, Robert's red eyes turned hard, and he began to shake in barely suppressed rage. "That assassin", he pointed towards the second corpse, "carried the mark of the Targaryens. They did this."

At that, Stannis's eyes widened. "Do you honestly think that they would do this?"

"OPEN UP YOUR FUCKING EYES STANNIS! King Aerys has always been so damned fond of burning people! Only he would order an assassin to do this to a corpse! NOW HE HAS GONE TOO FAR! THIS MEANS WAR!"

It was at times like this that Roberts's ability to command shone through. "Send ravens to all our loyal Bannerman, to Jon Arryn of the Eyrie, to anyone who will listen! There will be blood to pay! THIS IS WAR!

As the maester hurried off as best he can to send the requested ravens, and the servants ran off, Robert sank back down onto his knees, cradled their brother's charred corpse in his arms, and began to weep again. Stannis walked silently back to his room. As he entered his chambers, he caught sight of Maester Willam's tome on the gods. Overcome with a sudden and black rage, he ripped the book to shreds, and threw the remains out of his window.

Meanwhile, the voice of Patcheface could suddenly be heard ringing throughout the castle;

The shadows have come to dance and stay, dance and stay, dance and stay.

The lost fishes will be found, and the dark mother never goes away.