A/N: Longclaw: Sorry guys, bunch of stuff came up, but we're back and better than ever.
BRuh4: Hello all, lil bit longer wait than usual but I had a whole lot of personal shit going on I had to deal with. Thankfully, we did finally get this ready. Lots of stuffs happening.
Enjoy.
Chapter 42: The Stag King
It was unmistakable.
Horrifyingly magnificent upon the horizon, and from the perch of gods and dragonlords, all could be seen.
For Daenerys, she could feel even Drogon and Viserion unsettled with the sight. As it stood, her eyes were rooted to the distant point on the edge of Blackwater Bay. A massive pyre of greasy smoke marking the city of her ancestors, itself the marker of an inferno so great that she was unsure even if her dragons would be capable of creating it.
A whole dozen dragons would struggle for the chaos, she was sure of it. As it stood, her eyes were wide and filled with terror just thinking of the carnage. Of the loss of innocent life.
Stannis… Cersei… What have you done?
The grassy knolls and grey-black peaks of Dragonstone both natural and constructed normally brought Daenerys a sense of peace - her birthplace, the home of her ancestors. It gave a feeling of familiarity in the bosom of the dying House Targaryen, reduced to a rump of a barren Queen and ancient man. But today, with what she had witnessed, there was no peace. No serenity. Just her dark thoughts, the fog of war, and an inner worry that threatened to break out into complete panic.
For she knew not if Jon had been within the inferno whose black pyre was visible from even here as it belched ash and smoke into the sky.
Land here, sweetling. Drogon hooted his response… which drew a roar from the ground. Rhaegal. As she - Viserion behind them - circled the large knoll of grass that served as a landing pad and the dragons' home on the island, Daenerys felt her heart soar at the sight of green scales. It lasted for only a few moments before the worries returned, but was grateful for it.
The landing was smooth, Dany barely feeling the thud on the ground. Without hesitation, she scrambled off of Drogon. "Thank you," she murmured, the black dragon letting her stroke his head.
Surprising her slightly, she felt a nudge against her side that nearly toppled her. It was Rhaegal, a low rumble from his throat.
Daenerys smiled wanly, hand going to his snout. "I'm alright, sweetling." Her words didn't soothe him, trying to wedge his snout against her side that he hadn't done since they arrived in Westeros… hells, since she flew out to Duskendale. For the life of her, she didn't know why… Perhaps Rhaegal felt her worry over Jon - now that it turned to love, he became more comforting. "I hope he's alright, Rhaegal." Unable to speak further, she rested her head on his hot scales.
Luckily for her bloodriders galloping towards her, Dany had bid her dragons farewell and was already walking towards the keep. While part of her wished for just a little bit of time alone with her thoughts, the worries within made her grateful that she would be soon taken to her council. "Khaleesi." They bowed in their saddle. "Praise be the Great Stallion that you've returned unharmed."
She was genuinely grateful for their words. "Thank you, Khovarro." She noticed a horse right alongside, one she simply walked to and mounted. "Escort me to the keep." They all hooted in unison and the Queen and bloodriders were soon galloping.
Tyrion, Barristan, Missandei, and Varys were waiting for her on the last set of steps to Dragonstone castle itself. "Gods be good," Missandei exclaimed, breaching protocol to hug her friend and Queen. "You've returned victorious."
Daenerys hugged back but settled a hard stare on the three advisors behind her lady in waiting. Pulling back, she smiled at Missy before falling back into business. "Tell me everything you know." As Tyrion opened his mouth, she shut him off with an open hand. "Before you give me your eloquent explanation, I already know about the destruction of King's Landing."
He sighed deeply. "Aye… I suppose it was better for you to witness it personally." He was glad he didn't, but Tyrion had his own reasons for that. "Apparently my sister had more wildfire leftover from her merriment at the Sept of Baelor."
"And from your actions at Blackwater Bay?" Daenerys added, watching as Tyrion quieted, averting his gaze. Hissing out a breath, Dany motioned all four of them to follow her. "Tell me, Ser Barristan, why shouldn't I hunt down every member of Tyrion's house and have them killed over this?" The Imp seemed to wince, but she didn't see it.
It was likely rhetorical, but Barristan attempted to answer. "If Stannis wins that battle, they're all dead anyway. If not… the Lady Genna in the Westerlands is innocent of any of Tywin or Cersei's schemes, so I would advise sparing her."
"Hmph." Gods, she felt heavy. Fatigued from the weight of it all - her victory in Dorne only created more problems that she needed to attend to, and now this. "Do we know who won? Varys?"
The eunuch tucked his lips between his teeth. "My birds did send reports, but once the wildfire exploded there hasn't been much to say. All I know are the initial preparations."
She swiveled her head around. "Well, let's hear them."
Varys nodded. "Stannis assaulted the Gate of the Gods with all his forces. Once they broke through against the Lannister defenses, I assume that's when Cersei let off the wildfire. After that…"
"Oh, it was Cersei alright," Tyrion chuckled darkly. "After the Mountain killed Selyse Baratheon, there's no out for her." Remembering how she almost gave Tommen poison when Stannis first came knocking… gods, he would have rather dealt with that than Cersei. Even when trying to have Mandon Moore kill him was she more reasonable than now.
"Do we know if either is dead? Someone took the city?" These were questions that infuriated her not to know the answer.
There was one other question she truly wished to ask above all others but hesitated.
"No, your Grace." Barristan was equally frustrated. "Only that most of the city is a pyre."
Daenerys closed her eyes. Gods… I spared the city of my Dragonfire to save all those innocents, and the Lion and Stag annihilate all of them anyway. She was absolved of any blame or guilt over it, but that didn't make it less repulsive to her.
But the true worry deep down finally bubbled to the surface. "And Jon… Lord Stark?" Dany's stomach churned at the wait for an answer.
All three advisors looked at each other, not knowing what to say… "Spit it out," demanded Missandei.
Varys, clearing his throat, took the question. "From leaving Duskendale, none of my birds have gotten any whispers of Lord Stark."
"How… how is that possible?"
"I don't know. He could have been with Stannis, or not. We just can't be sure."
The last of Dany's resolve cracked. "Leave me!" she barked. "I wish to be alone."
All complied with her command, though Missy escorted her to the royal chambers without incident. She huffed and started to pace.
Jon Stark was her weakness, and she both hated it and embraced it.
Out of all of this, she only wished Jon was safe. Then she would be content.
Unable to move any further, Arya collapsed to her knees into the ruins of what seemed to be a tavern. Her lungs burned and ached - she did her best to hack them out of her very body, coughing and billowing dark-grey clouds of dust and ash. She wanted to move… she wanted to just roll over onto her back and sleep but she was too exhausted. So Arya just remained there, crouched on all fours as she coughed and puked her organs out into the rubble.
I failed… I failed… Her father unavenged, her brother unavenged. Her innocence, Sansa's innocence, all would never be given justice because she was too weak to do the deed and drive her sword through Cersei Lannister's belly.
And as for the devastation all around her? I was too late… couldn't kill her quick enough and as a result…
A dry heave rocked her painfully just as someone knelt beside her. Arms wrapping around her waist and adding just a little bit of comfort. "Arry… Arry relax. Just breathe."
"My fault…" she managed to croak out, shaking as Gendry pulled her upright into his embrace. Almost instinctively, Arya sought him out - expending her last reserves of energy to return the embrace. "I could've ended this."
Gendry somehow knew what she spoke of. "People like us… bastards and outcasts… there will never be an end to their hate for us." Had Cersei not blown them up, someone would. "She was always gonna do this, Arry."
"Had I been quicker…"
"She rigged the city to blow. It was always gonna happen." She had little response for that, only to sob further into his ash-stained shirt. It was weak, but Arya didn't care. After everything, only Jon and Gendry could she be vulnerable with.
Neither knew how long they rested there in that position, how long the world passed them by in a blur after their escape through the tunnels of the now partially ruined Red Keep. But ringing in Arya's ears amongst the various screams or collapsing buildings was a chant. A very distinctive chant, erupting from hundreds of different hoarse throats.
"Wrath of the North! Wrath of the North! Wrath of the North!"
Energy coursed through her again. "Gendry… Gendry, off." Weakly pushing on his chest, the lad pulled back on his own. "Listen, you hear that?"
"Wrath of the North? Dunno what that means, Arry."
"That's what Stannis' men call Jon!" It was close by. As if on the street right beside them. She rushed to the window - they were on the first floor but the tavern was built against a ridgeside. The street was another floor below them, giving her an excellent view of the throngs of Baratheon bannermen cheering for someone.
Not just someone. Jon…
Arya would know him anywhere. "Come on, Bull." She grabbed his wrist, knowing he'd follow her into the Seven Hells had she asked. "I'm not losing my brother again."
Like a slow, ponderous swarm of ants, the battered and soot-covered survivors of King's Landing trudged towards the large square overlooking the outer ramparts of the Red Keep. They ached, they suffered… burns, broken bones, gashes. Their homes and livelihoods had been gutted by the raging infernos ignited by the two titans battling over the iron chair dwelling within the great castle, but still, they marched. Some did it because they had nowhere else to be, some because of the exhortations of the victorious Baratheon bannermen proclaiming food, water, and medical attention for all at the Red Keep.
Most, however, simply followed the throng of the crowd. Like sheep, shellshocked and merely looking for direction. For a ruler to emerge from the ashes and finally provide the safe sheets and full bellies they merely desired.
As two massive banners embroidered with the flaming stag of the new conqueror, Stannis Baratheon walked tall and proud out of the Red Keep - the home of his brother and his Targaryen ancestors long before, now finally ripped away from the golden-haired bastards and usurpers. His leg throbbed from the strain and exertion but he ignored it. The pain almost was numb to him, so great was the surge of energy and vigor for this day.
It is mine. Finally mine.
A giant pyre was built to the left of the ramparts on which Stannis walked. A lone stake stood there without a form on it, yet.
Court gutted over the years, the place usually taken by the great smattering of highborn nobles was occupied by Stannis' officers. Randall Tarly, Rolland Caron, Selwyn "Evenstar" Tarth, all watched as Littlefinger strolled from among them towards the Stag King's side - pinned to his doublet was the symbol for the Hand of the King. "Everything is ready, your Grace," he informed Stannis. His first act as Hand, the simple arranging of spectacle that would further ingratiate himself to the Baratheon King.
Stannis nodded. "Be done with it. I've been waiting for this moment for so long that I seek to wait no longer."
Littlefinger, his arms clasped over his lower belly, cleared his throat. "Presenting, returned from his conquests and liberations, the One True King of the Seven Kingdoms. Stannis of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men, the Prince who was Promised, the Lightbringer. Heir to Robert of House Baratheon and Protector of the Realm. Long may he reign!"
"Long may he reign!" The shout boomed from the soldiers' throats. It was muted from the crowd, if at all.
Stannis basked in it all the same.
"Subjects!" he announced, almost feeling his inner dragon blood roaring to the forefront. "The reign of terror is over! Your pain is over! The perfidy and malevolence that has shrouded your lives since my brother's vile death has been lifted!" He waited for cheers and applause that never came but pressed on without much care. "As your rightful King, I vow to rule this land with the firm and just hand it so needs, and it begins with what will happen today. What will happen this very moment, where the evildoers meet the everlasting fires of the Lord. Bring the first forward!"
From the keep, three guards dragged out a blubbering, shaking old man by his shoulders. The disgraced maester and former Hand of the Queen were barefoot, soles scraping along with the dirty wood and stone. Qyburn's face was covered in bruises, while more laid unseen underneath his filthy tunic. A sad, pathetic shell of who was once one of the most feared men in King's Landing.
Drawing a knife, Stannis brought it to Qyburn's neck. "The King's Justice begins today, and it shall start with…"
The crowd started to rouse, stopping Stannis. His eyes scanned the massive assemblage for what was going on. Before he knew it. The people started to move aside for a lone figure. Many of the people had never seen him before, yet many felt like they recognized him. Perhaps it was the jet black hair or Valyrian steel sword at his hip.
It seemed quite surreal for Jon Stark. Feet gliding along the cobblestones one step at a time, the roars and cheers of Stannis' army greeted him. Hurling the greatest of praise upon the 'White Wolf' and 'Wrath of the North.' By all of it, it seemed that they loved him more than they did their own King. How… how did this happen?
But Jon knew. By instinct he knew, the old fashioned way… upon the battlefield. Fighting and bleeding and struggling for and among these men without anything but Longclaw to protect him. It was heady and heartening… it may have given Jon a sliver of happiness had he not been surrounded by reminders of the death and destruction that engulfed this city.
An inferno he knew Daenerys could never cause… since she refused to when faced with the same risks. Cersei Lannister had no such moral compunctions - would Stannis? He could see the Stag King resting upon the front of the dias, Jon's eyes squinting to get a better glimpse of him as he continued walking forward.
Even though the figure wasn't in full view, Stannis knew in his bones who it was. He withdrew the blade from Qyburn's neck. "Ah! Lord Stark! Welcome. You've come to see my victory." Jon walked out past the crowd, nearing the gallows-like structure. The guards moved aside as well. His eyes totally stuck on Stannis, his supposed King. "Davos told me you might be alive. I wasn't sure I totally believed him. But here you are."
Jon narrowed his eyes, looking over the counterpart to Daenerys in his mind. Stannis Baratheon looked hard. A joyless man that nevertheless held no guile. Everything was out in the open, the good as well as the bad. A hard man yet an honest one, and his expression seemed pleased to see Jon back. He will reveal his true nature sooner than later.
An appraisal done, Jon outstretched his hands, "Here I am."
"You've been away for some time. I've missed your precious insight."
Slowly, Jon walked towards the raised dias… Stannis' guards passed to allow him up. Even if Jon didn't remember the past, the rest did. Jon Stark, the loyal Warden of the North for their King and his most loyal, skilled general. This wasn't lost on Jon, but as he listened and watched the Stag King, he couldn't help but wonder what this braggart could have done to earn his loyalty in times past. He legitimized me… Such was all he could think of. "Forgive me for being captured, your Grace. I did my best to escape."
"I'm still surprised the Dragon Whore let you escape… she must be stupider than I thought." He missed Jon's bristling at the insults on Daenerys. "Doesn't matter. As you can see," Stannis laughed, truly laughed. "I've done it on my own!"
The words came to his mind. "What did it cost you?"
Stannis seemed stumped. "What?"
"Everyone bears a cost to their decisions." He did, Daenerys did, and based on what he had been told, his family bore the cost of their decisions as well. "What did it cost these people?" Jon asked, raising his voice. Then gesturing to the townsfolk behind him. "I've seen what remains of the city. It's in total complete shambles. Tens of thousands dead, on both sides and smallfolk alike. Your men did well to rape and steal all they wanted. I stopped what I could."
For the first time, Stannis failed to recognize Jon. "What's happened to you?"
"Much," Jon said, narrowing his gaze. "As you said, I've been gone some time."
"Too much time as the Dragon Queen's prisoner," Stannis said. "Are you even on my side anymore?"
"I… I don't know. My mind isn't what it was."
"I can tell."
Qyburn began to squirm under Stannis' grip. In response, he pressed his knife back on the older man's throat. "You must want to die."
"How long are you going to hold him?" Jon challenged. "Kill him or don't. You're wasting my time."
Stannis continued to struggle with the person he saw. Nothing his eyes saw reminded him of the Jon he knew, aside from his physical appearance. "Other than that hair tied back, and some new scars, you look exactly the same as I last saw you. Yet, you're not the same. The Jon I knew preserved the lives of those who deserved it."
"You think he deserves to live?"
Stannis shrugged, "Good point. As many times before, I'll take your advice." Not wasting another second, he jabbed the blade deep into Qyburn's neck. The poor man had no time to react. He would've reached for his neck but Stannis kept him restrained. The deep crimson spouted out, covering Qyburn's robes, even some wetting the steps before Jon. After a few moments, Stannis let go of him. Qyburn's body tumbled down the stairs, falling to Jon's feet. With a gesture, Stannis invited Jon up to the top.
Slowly, Jon waded over Qyburn and followed up. He wasn't able to see what lay on the top of that makeship rampart. But as he rose to the top, he understood. This was Stannis cleaning house. Because his reign couldn't have remnants. All of Cersei's Queensguard stood up there in chains, four of them. A handful of lord-looking men were on their knees next to the Knights.
Stannis regarded them with contempt. "I gave you the chance to bend the knee to me long ago, yet you took the claim of a bastard before me." Shaking his head, he pointed to his Kingsguards. "They will take the heads of some - those who know their deaths are obvious. I can kill every single one of you, or all bend the knee, and some will survive." Older Lords nodded, falling to their knees while the younger ones let resignation dawn on their faces - tears welling at the thought of losing their fathers. Even at her worst, Daenerys gave an actual choice of mercy for loyalty...
Jon's eyes kept moving around and they settled on a face that seemed familiar. Dirty golden hair, bright green eyes staring him down.
Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. Jon knew they had met in the past, albeit briefly. Their armies had clashed but he wasn't sure they physically saw each other. Yet Jon merely knew it was him by reputation. They both held a stare. Jaime had recognized him as well. Jon thought he might get a hateful stare. Instead, the Kingslayer didn't look like he had anything left.
Stannis walked back to the front and began speaking to the crowd. Probably about him, but he wasn't listening. A young girl caught his eye, with crusty scarring on her face. A much older man standing behind her, Davos, he recognized. The Onion Knight locked eyes with him and smiled. At a certain point, the girl noticed who he was looking at and also grinned at Jon. It didn't take him much longer to realize the girl was Princess Shireen. He didn't recall much interaction with her. Though he knew in reality they probably did.
He began to listen to Stannis after that.
"I've come to save you, of course. You lived under a horrid Queen who didn't care for you. Who sat by whilst you suffered. Who fornicated with her brother and made vicious bastards. Passing them off as my brother's children, awful as sin. But I am here today to make sure her sins don't go unpunished. Everyone should be held accountable for their actions. That is why…" Stannis lifted his left hand high, a signal. From where Jon couldn't see exactly, but two Baratheon Bannermen came rolling out carrying - more dragging a woman with orange blonde hair. Stannis began speaking again, "I've brought Cersei Lannister. To atone!" To his delight, the crowd erupted in cheers. "To atone for what she's done to you!"
Eyes falling on the Lannister Queen, Jon was faced with not a foe that could grapple toe to toe with Daenerys and Stannis at the same time. The woman before him had fallen into a self-evident madness. In a short time in captivity, Cersei's black dress was frayed and stained. Close-cropped hair was nevertheless frizzled in wild clumps, eyes almost the same shade of green as wildfire as they swiveled widely about. A gag covered her mouth, to which she screamed through and snapped at it.
Pathetic. Truly pathetic. Jon held no sympathy for her.
If the townsfolk were upset by the destruction of their homes, they didn't outwardly show it. Everyone got loud, raving to see Cersei go before their eyes. Stannis bared a toothy grin at the sight, raising his arms to the sky.
Jon found himself moving closer to Davos, really the only person he actually knew there. The scarred girl kept her eyes on him, somewhat hopeful looking. He wasn't sure why. Davos said something to the girl then stepped out closer to him. "Jon," he said, with a small smile but it disappeared quickly. "Things have changed."
"Seems that way," Jon replied grimly. "But I don't have much to compare it to, really. I don't remember what he was like before."
"Nothing like this," Davos said. "Never like this."
"He burned Mance Ryder and Olenna," Jon pointed out.
"Aye, but he was never excited about doin' it."
He looked back at Cersei. While the means did unsettle him, Cersei clearly deserved this and more. "The man has won a great victory against a truly horrid foe. Perhaps he's earned a bit of excitement, Ser Davos."
"There's a difference between relishing a victory, and relishing in the pain of others… no matter how vile." The idea of Daario Naharis came to mind. The old Jon never would have engaged in such brutality and he hoped never to see it again.
"What are you talking about?"
"Lord Stark, you've not been with him. Regardless, the time you did spend with him you don't remember," Ser Davos said, sounding exasperated. "This is not the man that legitimized you. Now, he acts entirely out of his own self-interest. He cares not for the people."
"I noticed the state of the city on my stroll up here."
"I spoke against that."
"What happened?... Exactly?" As more lofty speeches exhorted the crowd, cheers and cries for justice masked their words.
"Cersei laid wildfire. It was set off. The explosion killed countless of Stannis' forces. We knew there was more beyond the gates. He reckoned to let fly fire at the city, set off the rest. Which worked, but caused the death of thousands of innocents."
Suddenly, Jon's mind flashed back to one of the earliest vivid memories. A dream… his last before waking up into the shattered existence he now found himself. A burned city… a large crowd… fire, fire everywhere… They hadn't been just delusions, but visions. Greensight as it was called. "Some King of the people…"
"Aye, indeed." Davos averted his gaze, ashamed. "I tried to stop it, but I failed."
Jon swallowed as Cersei Lannister was tied to the stake. "I'm sure had it been possible, you would have succeeded."
Davos chuckled mirthlessly. "For once, you are the optimist of the two of us."
Meanwhile, Stannis approached the stake. "Your knife, Ser Edric." His nephew bowed, removing the dagger from its sheath and handing it to the King. Reaching Cersei, Stannis took the knife and cut off the gag, letting it fall to the pitch-soaked fetters below.
"You cunt!" she screamed.
Stannis backhanded her, leaving a bright pink welt on her cheek. "I gave you a chance at survival. You turned it down and murdered my wife. What do you expect me to do? Your fate is exactly what I told you it was."
"You won't break me."
Stannis smiled, "I suspect the flames will. Any last words, whore?"
While crazed… while broken down… for but a moment lucidity shone in her green eyes. "I only regret that I will not see your impending death by fire."
Stannis grinned. "The fire is mine, dear Cersei." Still grinning in an almost manic glee, he stuck the dagger deep into Cersei's side, relishing in her scream. "For Selyse, who died without a face." Removing the dagger from her side, he held it high for the people to witness. "She styles herself a god among us, but a god doesn't bleed." With the cheers and shouts, he moved to where the executioner waited with the torch, fire flickering at the tip. "The time has come to send this demon back where she belongs!" Not holding back any longer, he tossed the torch into the fetters, watching them ignite almost instantly.
Quiet lasted but a moment before the screams started. Cersei thrashed as much as the ropes binding her allowed, all pride and nobility lost as the tall flames licked at her feet and legs. Her throat grew hoarse with the agonizing screams that echoed far and wide. "Don't look, Princess," Davos cringed, covering Shireen's eyes. Jon could only stare, not even the hot flames warming his soul. Imagining the flames of Dany's dragon on the battlefield…
Such was at least quick. Clean… nothing like this.
Stannis just skipped giddily over to Jaime, who's eyes and mouth held open wide as the bannermen kept him rooted upon the ground. He got close to the Kingslayer, next to his face. "You see her, Lannister? She's roasting. I hope you never forget the sound of her voice as the flames cured her of her iniquity. She's never been purer, except for when she burst from your mother's womb."
Jaime said nothing, eyes welling with tears of shame. Forgive me… forgive me for not saving you...
"I told you what I would do." He grinned as wide as his face allowed. "My only regret is that your father and your bastards weren't in the flames with her," Stannis snarled. "Don't worry, you'll meet the same fate. You'll join them in the flames. I just wanted you to be here to watch your sister ascend."
His eyes closed, unable to bear what was happening.
Stannis grunted in contempt. "Your incest has cost you much. Even if those bastards were still alive, I'd toss them on the pyre with her." Turning, he continued to watch his greatest triumph before him. The flames had engulfed Cersei completely, slowly roasting her inside out as her screams turned visceral. Shrieking, inhuman wails that caused all but the most hardened and sadistic of men to wince. Music to his ears…
The crowd began to stir, then erupt once they realized what had happened. Cersei's incessant wails finally ceased. Her head slumped over, a blade stuck in above her breast.
Stannis' eyes widened as far as humanly possible. His feet carried him a bit closer to the fire for a better look. When he noticed that Cersei was truly dead, even though the flames still melted her flesh. He couldn't form words but his voice raised to the heavens above. Arms flinging over his head, face red as it's ever been.
Arya stepped out where everyone could see her. It didn't take long for Stannis' gaze to lock with hers. She hit her fist against her chest, "My. Kill!"
Stannis stomped his foot and yelled as loud as he could. "Fucking kill her! Catch her!" He looked around to some nearby guards. "DO SOMETHING."
Jon had stepped up to watch the scene right after Cersei was hit. His eyes settled on Arya and she for him. Her face exploded into a shit-eating grin. Jon's countenance ended up being a bit more lost. Mostly because he felt like he should know the person he was looking at. Then, a murky memory flooded his eyes. Of running around a muddy courtyard, chasing a girl much smaller than him. They swung wooden swords at one another.
Gendry came up to grab Arya by the arm, he basically dragged her away. But she called out to Jon. "Jon! Jon! I'll find you!"
Her voice recalled Jon from his mind, back to the present. Uncertain what he'd just seen. Though he recognized this girl must have been one of his sisters from Winterfell. He watched her and the man with her shove their way out the crowd. Then run quickly away into the streets as guards neared. Even that far away, the girl looked back to him and waved.
Stannis approached Jon and grabbed his arm, "Why is seven fucking hells is your sister interjecting on my punishment for the Lannister bitch?" He looked livid, blazing a fit of anger that was clearly uncharacteristic for the Stag King. "What is with you Starks?"
Jon craned his neck to coldly regard the Stag, "I'm afraid I don't know. Though I'd like you to let go of my arm, Your Grace."
Stannis gritted his teeth and released Jon. "What has happened to you, Stark? I need my Warden of the North back. My Wrath of the North." Jon had no response.
When the crowd started to leave, Littlefinger took the initiative to step up and regale them about Stannis' upcoming coronation.
The Stag - planning in commending his Hand for the quick thinking, stayed on Jon. Using the pause to speak what was needed. "Is what Davos told me about you true?"
"I imagine Davos might've said quite a lot. You might need to be more specific."
Stannis scoffed, then sighed. "He said you died. Killed by one of the Dragon Bitch's swordsmen. But Lady Melisandre brought you back to life."
"Aye," he shrugged. "That's the most of it."
"There's more you're not saying."
"I'm not the same man. Seems I left pieces of me wherever death sent me. Forgot to pick them up on my sudden journey back to breathing."
Stannis frowned, cocking his head eschew. "What pieces?"
"Memories. Several of them," Jon said, crossing his arms. "While I now know that was my sister who threw the knife at Cersei, I wouldn't have recognized her in the streets."
"Oh, well, perhaps you won't mind bringing me her head on a stick."
Jon blinked. "What?"
"She has to pay for this disgrace. She said she'd find you. You'll go out and wait for her. Then you'll kill her and her fucking friend."
"You can't ask me to kill my own sister."
Stannis' eyes narrowed, voice dropping. "I killed my own brother for his treason," he whispered with a dark edge. "If your King can choose duty over-sentimentality, you can too."
He stared back, just as hard. "I can't see myself so heartless." Even in his shattered state, Jon could tell there were lines he could never cross.
But Stannis wasn't done, smirking slightly. "You've done it once before, with that wildling savage you loved."
A memory… lost to time. Jon couldn't remember this nameless woman, although a flash of cold and red poked through the abyss of his mind. Was what the Stag said true? Was he that callous and ruthless? Questions for another time, for he couldn't doubt himself. "When do you wish for me to begin the search?"
While Jon had no intention of killing Arya, he did intend on talking to her. If that placated the King for now, so be it.
A massive crowd gathered in the throne room for the coronation of the new King. It was typical for an event like that. But many folks might've rather skipped it after Stannis' actions at the burning. Not many had seen things quite as vile. There'd been public executions before, sure. But not quick like that. Lords, somewhat innocent in their own right, heads separated. The previous Hand of the Queen, throat cut ear to ear. The previous ruler, Queen Cersei, pregnant, roasted down to bone on a stake.
Quite indicative of the times, all previous Kings or Hands since the reign of the last Targaryen King ending up either murdered or just escaping such. None knew what fate the latest Stag King would receive given the existence of Daenerys Targaryen just across the bay.
The entanglement with Jon Stark loomed over many of their minds. What all that meant. No one truly knew. Not many southerners actually knew that much of Jon Stark, save his reputation and his existence. He had made an impression now though.
If Stannis wanted to start his rule with a boom he had done that, at the very least. Not many would ever forget what he'd done. The executions, and also raining fire on the city. There had been countless explosions and seemingly unrepairable damage done to the King's Landing. It wasn't publicly known that Stannis certainly caused more of the wildfire to go off. It just all seemed to go at once for those on the ground. Also, those who were affected directly by the explosions, couldn't exactly snitch, as they didn't exist any longer.
As such, the townsfolk, lords, and ladies were mostly quiet. No one dared be overly loud or outspoken lest Stannis also toss them in a fire. Fear, from the outset, and he hadn't even worn the crown yet. If Stannis had intended to be able to bring everyone to heel instantly, he'd done that.
Everyone rose as he entered the massive room through the big double doors. Stannis wore a dark black tunic with the sigil of his house emblazoned upon it in white thread. Red-orange framed the rearing stag, exactly what distinguished him from those embarrassments he called brothers. But they were dead, and he was here about to be crowned.
All courtiers, from his own loyal forces to those obsequious survivors of regimes past that shamelessly sided with him upon his victory, bowed as he walked towards the dias where the Iron Throne rested - calling for him. Forged for him as his destiny, those of his small council waiting around for him to arrive. The wound on his leg throbbed not as he walked up the steps, yet another auspicious omen.
Resting atop a pillow, the Hand of the King walked to it. "Today, I proclaim Stannis of House Baratheon, First of His Name. King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men. Prince who was Promised. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."
Littlefinger gripped the newly-forged crown, gold with red rubies and the signature Stag sigil. He turned to Stannis, who held the sternest but joyful countenance he could. Achieving one of your greatest dreams did that to him. Hardly seemed real. After his stout defeat at Blackwater, all hope seemed lost. But he made it back, and he fucking won. He had many people to thank for helping him. Or should thank. Not likely he ever would, directly, at least.
He might've thanked Lady Melisandre had she not deserted him.
He might've thanked Davos Seaworth had he not disobeyed him.
He might've thanked Jon Stark had he not insulted him.
No, he needed not to thank anyone. To those who forged their own destiny, humility was not something one needed. Stannis had created this victory - one not built on winning one single duel to the death as Robert had. One not built on greed and opportunism that Renly tried to steal for himself.
Crown lowered onto his head, Stannis allowed himself a smile as he then sat upon the Iron throne. Hands ghosting down the arm of the dragonforged chair of swords. This was his and he would never relinquish it.
"Long may he reign."
"LONG MAY HE REIGN."
A/N: BRuh4: Hey, Cersei's down for the count. We wanted to burn her but Arya had to get in the mix. We liked it that way. There'll be more info in what happened from her perspective next time I believe.
Jon has came back to Stannis but don't feel like he's really 'returning'. Not like it was. You'll see.
Not sure of the timeline for next chapter. Hopefully not too long. Hope you enjoyed this one.
Longclaw: The New Jon and the New Stannis don't have the same chemistry as they did back in the beginning. Unfortunate in the short term for Jon.
Stay tuned. We'll do our best with the next chap, but the more comments the more motivated we will be :)