The king's stride turned out to be faster than Stannis had expected. Two members of the Kingsguard walked discreetly behind them – Lord Tywin's son, and the Lord Commander himself. Stannis was surprised to realize that they were making their way to the throne room. Surely the painting of his father could not be there?
"Leave us," the king dismissed the two Kingsguards.
"Your Grace," Ser Gerold protested.
"Why, are you planning to spy on me, Ser Gerold? To report my conversation with Stannis to my son?" The king turned his attention to Jaime Lannister, his index finger poking the boy's armored chest. "And you, boy, what about you? Spying for your father, perhaps?"
Jaime Lannister met the king's gaze with an expressionless face, but he eventually faltered as the king continued to stare at him maliciously. His gaze went to his feet instead. The king laughed. Ser Gerold barely reacted to the wild accusations, as if he was quite used to them. "We are here to protect you, Your Grace," he replied.
"I don't need protection from the son of my own cousin! Must I repeat myself? Do I need to remind you that I am still your king? Leave, I say!"
"At once, Your Grace," Ser Gerold finally said. He and Jaime Lannister made their way out of the throne room, as Stannis shifted his weight from one foot to another, uncertain as to what was expected of him. The king was standing at the foot of the throne, his eyes fixed on the iron throne itself, with it's sharp, jagged edges and treacherous surfaces.
"It is a most uncomfortable chair to sit on, I can tell you that," the king whispered, his voice so low Stannis had to strain his ears to hear him. "Oh, I know what they call me. King Scab, they say, for he cuts himself so often sitting on that chair. But they don't know what it's like, sitting there day after day after day, year after year after year, staring at all those indifferent faces, all wanting something, greedy and grasping and horrid. Make me a lord, make me a richer lord, take my side in the dispute with that other lord, bring down my taxes. And all the time they're staring at me, secretly whispering to each other – "Tywin Lannister would be a better king. Prince Rhaegar would be a better king. King Scab should have died at Duskendale." The king's voice had been growing louder and louder, he was shouting now. "Laughing at me. Mocking me. Their king! I am a Targaryen, I have the blood of the dragon in me. How dare these men mock me? These mere … mortals?"
The question did not seem to be directed to Stannis, more to the room itself. Or perhaps to the world at large. Stannis replied to it nonetheless.
"My father taught me that it is how we judge our own self that truly matters, not the judgment of others," Stannis said.
The king seemed startled, as if he had forgotten that Stannis was in the room with him. He smiled. "Cousin Steffon was a wise man. A good man." The smile curdled into a grimace. "But he never sat on that throne, he never knew or understood how treacherous it is." His grimace turned into a smile again, a wide grin this time that made Stannis more uncomfortable than the grimace. "Would you like to sit on it? To see what it is like? So you can understand what I am telling you."
"On the iron throne? No, Your Grace, I understand what you are telling me perfectly well. I do not need to sit on the throne."
The king was insistent. "You cannot truly see it, or know it, until you're sitting there yourself."
Stannis shook his head. "Your Grace -"
The king was furious, as furious as he had been when Ser Gerold had protested about leaving. "Are you going to defy me too?" He shouted.
Stannis took a step towards the throne. "Go on," the king said, walking beside Stannis, his hand on Stannis' shoulder. They walked up the steps together, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the almost empty room. Lyanna's dream, the one she had shared with him, intruded on Stannis' thoughts. He did not know why; he was not following the king into the path of a storm.
It was Tywin Lannister and not King Aerys he and Robert had actually seen sitting on that throne, the first time Father had brought them to court, when Stannis was only four. Stannis and Robert had not known that until much later. He wondered how many boys, and perhaps even men, had made the same mistake he and Robert had made. Lord Tywin had indeed looked very kingly and regal. The man who truly rules the realm. The king's diatribes, paranoid and wild as they were, perhaps had their seeds in something real.
But Lord Tywin is no longer Hand of the King. And His Grace's suspicion of his own son and heir does not seem warranted, Stannis thought.
"Sit," came the brusque command from the king.
It was a chair deliberately made to be uncomfortable, history claimed. At least, history as recounted by the maesters and the archmaesters from the Citadel. In truth, it did not feel all that different from sitting on other chairs to Stannis. He was sitting with the same rigid posture he would usually have sitting on other chairs in other rooms.
"Well?" The king's gleeful tone shocked Stannis.
Stannis let his gaze roamed through the entirety of the throne room, imagining the room filled with lords and knights and common folks, all with their claims and their concerns. And it was the king's duty to listen, to judge, to decide, for the people of the whole kingdom, as it was his duty now as the Lord of Storm's End to do the same for the people of the stormlands.
But the act of imagining was not the same as truly seeing, or truly knowing. He did not know what to say to the king. He only knew he wanted to be out of that chair and out of that room, as soon as possible.
"It must be very lonely, sitting up here." He did not know where those words had come from. They were out of his mouth before he could consider them.
The king stared at Stannis for a long while. His expression softened towards something resembling the man Stannis had once known as a boy. "So you do understand. I knew you would." The boiling fury was suddenly back on his face and in his voice, as he continued. "My son doesn't. Rhaegar does not understand at all. And Viserys is too young. Too young and too powerless to defend me from his older brother."
To defend the king from Rhaegar? This was a spider-induced paranoia, Stannis was certain of it. As much as he disliked the Crown Prince, he distrusted the Master of Whisperers even more.
Stannis went for the direct route. "What is it that Lord Varys claims Prince Rhaegar is plotting, Your Grace?"
The king scoffed. "Claim! It is not a mere claim. He has proof. Meetings. Secret meetings. Talks of calling a council. To make Rhaegar king."
"He is your rightful heir, Your Grace. He will be king after you, that is the law."
"He does not want to wait! Don't you understand? Oh he is beloved, my son. So very beloved. They cheer for him in the streets, tell endless stories about him and his harp and his glorious, glorious voice. What a good king he will make, they say. The best king the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen." The anger and fury in the king's voice was hard to listen to. But the hardest thing, the thing that troubled Stannis the most, was the hurt in it. And the hatred. He had been driven to hate his own son, his own heir, perhaps with grave consequences for the realm.
Damn that eunuch, Stannis swore in his head.
The king was looking at him with a calculating expression. "You don't believe me, do you? I am disappointed in you, Stannis. I never took you for the type to fall for my son's charm."
"It is not about charm, Your Grace."
"We are not that different, you and I. Always in the shadow. Always merely second-best. Second-rate. Never good enough in the eyes of others. Not as good as your brother Robert. Not as good as my grandfather, then my father, then my own Hand. And now my son."
"Prince Rhaegar would never -"
The king interrupted swiftly. "How do you know what he would never do? He was going to steal your brother's intended bride, did you know that? Yes, your Lyanna, your wife now."
She is not my Lyanna, Stannis wanted to say. And I know that already, about the prince.
"Lord Varys seems to spend most of his time spying on the Crown Prince, rather than spying on the enemies of the realm," Stannis said instead.
"The enemy of the king is the enemy of the realm."
Stannis did not have a reply to that. He stayed silent, waiting for the king to speak.
"Look to that wall on your right. The painting beside the third dragon skull," the king finally spoke.
Stannis' father, as a red-faced, squalling babe, in the arms of Princess Rhaelle Targaryen. Steffon Baratheon's dark hair stood out in stark contrast to his mother's silvery-gold mane. Stannis stared and stared. He could not take his eyes off the painting.
"It is here … in the throne room. I did not think … I did not know it would be here."
"I commanded them to put it in the throne room, of course. For everyone to see. To honor your father," the king said softly. "He was loyal to me. To the very end. Sometimes I wish … that he is still here."
I wish that every day, Stannis thought. Every day that I am alive, and Father and Mother are not.
The king grasped both of Stannis' hands. "Will you be as loyal to me as your father was, Stannis? Can I count on you as much as I counted on him? As much as I once depended on him?"
He is my king. It is my duty to be loyal to him, Stannis repeated the words to himself.
"Of course, Your Grace." He hesitated for a moment, before continuing. "But Lord Varys -"
"He is valuable in his own way. I need him too." The king was looking distracted. "I have to ask him something. Something important. Very, very important. Go tell him I want to see him in my bedchamber."
"Yes, Your Grace." Stannis took his leave from the throne room. He glanced back at the door, watching the king running his fingers through the iron throne, muttering to himself.
I will have to speak to the Crown Prince. The thought repulsed Stannis. But he knew it was something he had to do. For the king. For the realm.
He glanced at the painting of his father for the last time. Father, is this what you would have done?
He waited. And waited. There was no answer, but he was not expecting one.
What am I waiting for, then?
The king noticed him standing by the door. "What are you still doing here? I need to see Varys now."
Stannis rushed out of the room.
Lyanna's look of relief when she saw him arriving back at the feast was not lost on Stannis. He cursed himself for not thinking about what it must have been like for her, to be left at that table. With that company.
I have to leave you alone again, Lyanna. Forgive me.
He ignored Varys' self-satisfied smile when he was told about the king's summon, and Oberyn Martell's jibe about secrets. Stannis and Rhaegar did not speak until they were well away from the feast.
"What is it you want to speak to me about, Stannis?"
"Your Grace -"
The prince smiled. "Rhaegar, please. Or Cousin Rhaegar, if you are more comfortable with that."
"How much do you know about Lord Varys?" Stannis asked. "Your Grace."
Rhaegar sighed. He looked weary, his eyes drifting upward to stare at the night sky. It was a starless night, dark and foreboding. He returned his gaze to Stannis after a few minutes. "Not much. Only what he has deigned to tell us, of course, and who knows how much of that is even true. Why?"
"Perhaps it is not my place to speak of this, but Lord Varys seems to have gained a considerable amount of influence on the king," Stannis said stiffly. "Maybe more than he should."
Rhaegar nodded. "I know. I have tried to speak to my father about the matter, but it only seemed to raise his ire towards me. He is not very fond of me recently, I'm sure you have noticed that."
There was no other way to approach the subject, except to ask the question bluntly. "Are you plotting to depose your father from the throne, and install yourself as king before his death?"
The prince's reaction was not what Stannis had expected at all. He had expected anger, indignation, furious denials. Instead, Rhaegar stared at Stannis with his sad, haunting eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Stannis had to look away after a while.
"Is that what he told you?" The prince asked.
"Have you given him any cause to have this suspicion?" Stannis replied with his own question.
"Tell me, Stannis, what is your impression of my father? His … health. His mental state. You have not seen him in quite a long time, I know."
"I fail to see how my impression of the king matters," Stannis replied stiffly.
"It matters to me. In fact, it matters to me a great deal, Stannis," the prince said, his eyes boring through Stannis' own as if he was trying to read Stannis' mind. Stannis deeply resented the intrusion. The prince continued. "Depose. It is such an ugly word."
"The truth is often ugly, when laid bare for all to see. What word would you prefer instead? Something sweeter and prettier but full of lies and treacheries?" Stannis could not keep the disgust out of his voice.
Rhaegar did not seem to take offense, and that only raised Stannis' anger and disgust. "You have not answered my question," the prince said calmly.
Deep breath. He was not here to quarrel with the prince. "It was a shock to see His Grace the king," Stannis admitted. "How long …"
"... has he been like this? It started after Duskendale. He was never the same after that. Not surprising, after everything he suffered."
"And the mistrust, suspicion and paranoia? Were those more recent, after Lord Varys' arrival?"
Rhaegar pondered the question. "I would like to believe that is the case. But the truth is, that started before Varys. The spider made it worse, perhaps, with his whispers and rumors and supposed "news", but my father had stopped trusting anyone around him long before Varys ever stepped foot in King's Landing."
"You have not answered my question,Your Grace. Are you plotting -"
"I love my father, you know," the prince interrupted.
"That was not my question," Stannis said firmly.
The prince was equally firm in his response. "I want you to know that. It is important to me that you know that."
Why? Who am I to you? No one. Why should it matter? Why should it be important?
"Are you always so certain about where your duty lies, Stannis?"
"Aren't you?"
"I used to be. And then gradually … gradually I come to realize that it is not always so simple. So … certain. So black and white. My duty to my father, to my king. My duty to the realm, to my people. What happens if the two are in opposition to one another? What should I do? How do I choose?"
"How could the two be in opposition?"
Rhaegar's haunting eyes were staring at him again, insistent, almost desperate. "You know how. You are aware of it yourself, which is why you wanted to have this conversation with me. Even though … even though I am probably last man in the Seven Kingdoms you wish to speak to."
"You did not mention your duty to your wife and to your children. Have you forgotten that? Or is it never that important to you?"
"I deserve that," Rhaegar replied, smiling wryly.
"Yes, you do." Stannis was not smiling. "Your Grace."
"Will you still help me?"
"Help you?"
"To consider that question. About competing duties. I may need your counsel soon, I think."