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Chapter 17 (Different Stannis)
🕑 Added 2025-06-11 23:08:04 +0000 UTCThird Pov
The first light of dawn crept through the windows of Stannis Baratheon’s chamber in the Red Keep, awakening him from a deep sleep.
Stannis stirred, blinking against the dim glow as his senses awakened slowly. He felt a warm body pressed against his chest, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw a spill of dark hair spread across him like silk.
Slowly, his eyes traced to Elia Martell’s face, her features softened in calm, a soft and warm smile curving her lips.
The sight warmed him, and a memory of the previous night flashed through his mind, passionate moments that left a smile tugging at his lips. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Elia’s forehead. She stirred slightly, murmuring in her sleep, and settled back into a restful sleep.
Stannis glanced toward the window again, noting the early morning glow. 'Today is my coronation day,' he thought, the realization settling in. He had waited a month for this. 'I must rise and check if everything is ready.'
His eyes returned to Elia, and he carefully slid his arm from beneath her head, intent on not disturbing her. But his movement awakened her.
Elia’s eyes fluttered open, revealing her deep, beautiful black eyes, which met his gaze with a moment of confusion. She rubbed her eyes with a delicate hand, then glanced downward, realizing they were lying together, bare beneath the sheets. A flush crept up her cheeks as the memories of the night flooded back.
Stannis, amused and aroused by her sudden shyness, grinned.
“Good morning, Princess,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Did you sleep well?” He leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, hungry kiss.
Elia hesitated but then melted into it. Stannis trailed kisses down her neck, his hand slipping beneath the sheets to caress her thigh, his fingers brushing against her sensitive core. A soft moan escaped her, but a sudden thought stopped her.
She caught his wrist, her voice firm yet breathless.
“Stop. I must go. Rhaenys and Aegon will wake soon, and I need to tend to them.”
Stannis didn’t stop; his fingers teased her gently.
“It’s barely dawn,” he murmured against her skin. “And the maids will take care of them if they awaken.” His voice held a rare coaxing note, his blue eyes glinting with desire.
His words eased her resistance, and she kissed him back, surrendering to the moment. Soon, the chamber filled with the sounds of their passion: soft moans, the rustle of sheets, and the rhythmic creak of the bed.
When they finished, breathless and satisfied. Elia rested her head on his chest, their bodies entwined in a comfortable silence. Stannis broke it, his voice gentle. “Today is my coronation.”
Elia looked up, catching sight of his face as he stared at the ceiling. Her mind drifted. She had often imagined a coronation, but not Stannis’s.
No, her dreams had been of the day when Rhaegar would have been crowned king, and she would have stood beside him as his queen.
A soft sigh escaped her as she gently rested her head on Stannis’s chest, 'That dream is gone forever,' she thought bitterly.
Elia wasn’t naive. She understood what this was, what they were. Her affair with Stannis meant little. He would never make her his queen. How could he? She could no longer give him what every queen must, an heir.
Grand Maester Pycelle's words, which he had spoken to Rhaegar, echoed in her mind: “My prince, she’ll bear you no more children.”
Having been born a month early, the maester told Elia’s mother that she wouldn’t survive infancy, yet she did.
Against all odds, she had given Rhaegar two children: Rhaenys, whose birth had cost her months of bed rest, and Aegon, whose birth nearly killed her. She had sacrificed so much to fulfill her duty, only for Rhaegar to abandon her and their children for a younger woman, chasing after a third child.
'Oh, Rhaegar,' she thought, a pang of bitterness rising. 'Were Rhaenys, Aegon, and I not enough?' If he had not pursued his folly, today might have been his coronation, with her at his side.
“Elia,” Stannis’s gentle voice pulled her from her thoughts. She smiled, masking her sorrow, and propped herself up, resting her hands on his chest. Her chin settled on her hands, her dark eyes locking with his.
“I know,” she said, her voice warm and her smile radiant. “I haven’t forgotten about the coronation.”
When the news of Rhaegar’s death reached her, Elia knew with dreadful certainty that the Targaryen dynasty was finished. The line of dragons was broken, its future crumbling into ash. Her children, especially Aegon, Rhaegar’s heir, were now nothing more than living threats to the new dynasty. She remembered the cold warnings of the maesters from her youth, teaching her that when dynasties fell, the new ones wasted no time erasing the old.
Her fears had nearly come true. There had been an attempt on their lives, not by the new king but by the Lannisters. Yet it was Stannis who had saved them.
At first, despite his actions, she hated Stannis because he had planned to send Aegon to the Wall, a place for thieves and worse, where he would be doomed to freeze or die at the hands of wildlings.
But hatred, like fire, burns out when there is no fresh fuel. Over time, her anger cooled. Stannis proved himself not a usurper or tyrant, but a kind, honorable man thrust into power after Robert's death, with no hint of his thirst for power.
Stannis treated her and her children kindly, spending time with Rhaenys, who now called him “uncle” and loved listening to his strange, captivating tales, stories Elia had never heard but found very interesting.
Also, Hope began to grow in her chest. Perhaps Aegon would be spared the Wall; maybe he would take the chain of a maester instead, living a quieter and much safer life. And Rhaenys will become a queen, wedded to Stannis’s heir. If the boy were like his father, she would be happy enough.
“Lost in thought again, Elia?” Stannis’s voice broke her trance. She smiled, rose, and kissed him lightly before sitting on the edge of the bed, her nudity exposed. Small breasts with dark nipples, a narrow waist, and a faint shadow of black hair above her sex. Stannis’s eyes darkened with desire.
“You’ll be a good king, I’m sure of it,” she said, her smile enhancing her beauty.
Her words and beauty stirred him. He sat up, pulling her close and pushing her onto her back. His lips found her neck, and his hands roamed her curves. Elia’s breath hitched with arousal, but she pushed his hands away, her voice firm yet playful. “Enough, Stannis. You must prepare for your coronation, or you won’t even have time to bathe before it begins.”
Stannis smiled. "If you wish, I could delay the coronation and spend the day here with you." He leaned in to kiss her, but she stopped him with a finger on his lips, smiling.
“I need to leave,” she said. “Rhaenys will come looking, and I’d prefer she not find me naked in your bed.” She slid off the bed, her bare form graceful in the morning light.
Stannis groaned, flopping back with a mock sigh. “I’ll summon servants for water and a bathtub. We could prepare together.” He patted the bed invitingly. “Come, let’s continue.”
Elia’s laughter echoed through the room, bright and teasing. She looked around and spotted her gown crumpled near the hearth. With deliberate, provocative steps, she walked over to it, bending slowly to pick it up, fully aware of Stannis’s gaze on her. The dress was torn in several places, but it didn’t matter. Her chambers were close, and modesty could wait. She slipped it on and then turned to face him.
“You’d best start preparing,” she said, her voice warm but firm. She dipped her head in a playful curtsey. “Your Grace.”
With a final radiant smile, she turned and glided from the chamber, leaving Stannis alone with his crown and his thoughts.
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In Elia Martell’s chamber in the Meager's holdfast, Elia sat at a small wooden table with her daughter, Rhaenys, who poked at the remnants of her breakfast. Across the room, baby Aegon lay cradled in his crib, his soft breaths the only sound breaking the quiet. The air carried the faint scent of freshly baked bread, cooked bacon, eggs, and other foods laid out on the table.
Rhaenys pushed her plate aside, her dark eyes sparkling with energy. “Mama, I’m all done! Can I go play with Renly now?” Her voice was bright, eager for the day’s adventures.
Elia smiled, her gentle expression softening. “Renly isn’t in the holdfast, sweetling. He’s with Stannis at the Sept of Baelor, making sure everything is ready for the coronation.”
Rhaenys scrunched her tiny nose, the unfamiliar word tumbling awkwardly from her lips. “Coro… what? What’s that?”
“A coronation is a big ceremony where someone is crowned as king,” Elia explained gently, brushing a crumb from her daughter’s cheek.
“But Uncle Stannis is already king!” Rhaenys said, her voice puzzled. “Are we getting a new king?”
Elia chuckled softly. “No, sweetling. Stannis hasn’t been crowned yet. Today, he’ll officially become king, with a crown and all.”
Rhaenys fell silent, starting to think. If everyone already treated Uncle Stannis like a king, why did he need a big ceremony? She shrugged, her thoughts drifting, then looked up with a shy glimmer. “Mama, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, my love,” Elia said, her dark eyes warm. “Anything you like.”
Rhaenys hesitated, twisting her fingers in her lap. “Is Uncle Stannis your new husband?”
Elia froze, the question catching her off guard like a slap. Her heart skipped a beat, and then she laughed, her cheeks warming. “New husband? Why would you think that, sweetling?”
Rhaenys’s cheeks flushed, and she mumbled, “’Cause you and Uncle Stannis smile at each other a lot. He says you’re pretty, and you are always happy when he’s around. And last night, I saw you hugging and kissing him.”
Elia’s laughter died, her face turning crimson. The memory of last night flooded back, a kiss interrupted by a fallen wine flagon that had jolted Rhaenys awake.
Elia had assumed her daughter hadn't seen anything, but it turned out she had. She reached out, stroking Rhaenys’s cheek. “Oh, my sweet girl, Stannis and I are just good friends, like you and Renly. You must have dreamed the kissing part.”
Rhaenys pouted, unconvinced.
“Maybe,” she mumbled, crossing her arms.
A sharp knock at the door broke the moment.
“Princess,” came the voice of the guard Stannis had assigned to them, “Lady Ashara Dayne requests an audience.”
“Ashara?” Elia’s eyes widened, surprise giving way to joy. She hadn’t heard from her friend since she left King’s Landing.
Rhaenys’s face lit up like a beacon. Ashara, her mother’s former lady-in-waiting, had helped raise her as a child and often played with her; because of this, Rhaenys adored her.
“Ashara’s back!” Rhaenys squealed, leaping from her chair and racing to the door.
Elia rose, smiling, but paused to check on Aegon, ensuring her daughter’s shout hadn’t woken him. Satisfied, she followed Rhaenys, who flung open the door to reveal a tall, striking woman in a dark purple gown.
Ashara Dayne’s long, dark hair framed her hauntingly beautiful face, and her violet eyes sparkled with warmth as she knelt to greet Rhaenys.
“Rhaenys!” Ashara exclaimed, her voice soft and melodic. Rhaenys launched herself into Ashara’s arms, giggling as Ashara lifted her. “I missed you so much!”
“I missed you, too!” Rhaenys chirped, hugging her tightly.
Ashara carried Rhaenys into the chamber, her gaze meeting Elia’s across the room. They embraced warmly, careful not to squish Rhaenys between them.
Elia kissed Ashara’s cheek, her heart swelling. Ashara had been more than a lady-in-waiting; she was like a younger sister to her.
“Ashara, I’m so glad you’re here,” Elia said, her voice thick with emotion.
“And I’m glad to be back,” Ashara replied, setting Rhaenys down. “How are you faring?”
Elia offered a wry smile.
“Better than I expected, given that we’re captives.” Her tone was light as she gestured to the table with her hand. “Come, join us for breakfast. Rhaenys and I were just finishing.”
Ashara sat, with Rhaenys climbing onto her lap. Elia took the seat across from them, her eyes lingering on her friend. “And you? How are you?”
Ashara’s smile faltered, masking the pain of her stillborn daughter—a secret she wasn’t ready to share.
“I’m well,” she said, forcing brightness into her voice. “My brother Vorian came for the new king’s coronation, and I decided to join him to see you and the children.” Her smile faded, replaced by concern. “But tell me truly, Elia, how are they treating you? Is the new king treating you well?”
Before Elia could answer, Rhaenys piped up, bouncing in Ashara’s lap. “Uncle Stannis is so nice! He tells me stories, plays with me, and gives Mama kisses!”
Ashara’s eyes widened, darting to Elia. “Kisses?”
Elia’s cheeks burned as she waved a hand dismissively. “No, no, Rhaenys is imagining things. It was a dream,” she said, turning to Ashara, flustered. “Don’t listen to her. Stannis is a good man, but there’s nothing between us.” Yet her flushed face told a different story, and Ashara’s lips curved into a smile.
“Of course,” Ashara said, teasingly. “I believe you. Just a dream, I’m sure.”
Desperate to change the topic, Elia cleared her throat. “Where’s Vorian? Your brother?”
Ashara’s amusement faded, and a shadow crossed her face as she recalled her brother’s purpose. “He’s gone to speak with the king about Arthur,” she said, her voice tight.
Elia noticed the shift in her friend’s demeanor and recalled her conversation with Stannis from the night before about Arthur Dayne. She glanced at Rhaenys and said gently, “Sweetling, go find Jayne and ask her to help you pick a pretty gown for the coronation. You want to look like a princess, don’t you?”
Rhaenys’s eyes sparkled. She loved dressing up and twirling in gowns before the mirror. “Yes, Mama!” she replied, then turned to Ashara. “Come help me pick the best, Ashara!”
Sensing Elia’s intent to speak privately, Ashara gently said, “Go ahead, sweetling. Your mother and I will join you soon, and we’ll find the prettiest gowns—one for you and another for your mother.”
“Okay!” Rhaenys said, sliding off Ashara’s lap and rushing out the door, calling for her nursemaid.
Once the door closed, Elia’s expression turned serious. “Ashara, Arthur’s in the dungeon. They plan to send him to the Wall.”
The words pierced Ashara like a blade. She had expected this fate for her brother, but hearing it spoken aloud was still painful. Burying her face in her hands, she began to weep for him.
Elia’s heart ached for her friend. She rose, moved to Ashara’s side, and wrapped her arms around her.
“I’m so sorry, Ashara,” she said softly.
Through her tears, Ashara whispered, “I know he’s guilty. He shouldn’t have aided Rhaegar, but you know his nature, that he is extremely principled and dutiful. That’s why he did something so foolish, and now it’s cost him everything.”
Elia pulled back slightly, her voice soft but firm. "Yes, I know. I even considered asking Stannis to release Arthur, but it was Eddard Stark who decided to send him to the Wall. I doubt Stannis would overturn that decision, as it would be an insult to the Starks. They have already lost so much, and Arthur bears part of the blame for those losses."
At the mention of Eddard, Ashara's tears ceased. She lifted her head, fury igniting in her violet eyes. “Eddard? He decided to send Arthur to the Wall?” She rose sharply from her chair and strode toward the door.
Elia stood, startled. “Ashara, where are you going?”
Ashara opened the door and turned, her violet eyes blazing. “I’m going to find Eddard Stark. He owes me a great debt… and I intend to see it repaid.”
With that, she spun and stormed out, leaving Elia alone and confused about the debt Ashara referred to.
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The Great Sept of Baelor shone in the morning light, its white marble and golden dome casting soft rainbows. Seven slender crystal towers stretched toward the sky, their bells quiet for now, waiting to announce the new king's crowning.
Inside of sept, under the vast dome, Stannis Baratheon stood in the heart of the sept. Stannis held the crown in both hands, his gaze fixed on it. The crown was crafted from gold and black metal; it featured small antler-like prongs curving gracefully, with a single stag emblem engraved on the front, a symbol of his house and new dynasty. This was the crown the High Septon would place upon his head today, marking the official beginning of his reign before a sea of noble eyes. He turned it over, testing its weight. It was light enough to wear with ease, yet substantial enough to remind him of its burden, a balance he approved of.
"Fine work," Stannis said, his voice low but carrying a note of approval as he addressed the master craftsman standing at a respectful distance. The man was wiry, with weathered hands, and wore a simple tunic, his eyes bright with expectation.
At Stannis's words, the craftsman’s face lit up with pride. "Thank you, Your Grace," he replied, bowing low. "I poured all my skill and heart into its making. It delights me to know it pleases you."
Stannis lifted his gaze from the crown, fixing the craftsman with a steady look. "You’ve earned my thanks for your craftsmanship. I’ll have your payment doubled for your effort. Someone will deliver it to you. Now, you may go."
The craftsman’s eyes widened with joy, though he maintained his composure. He bowed deeper, his voice trembling slightly. "My thanks, Your Grace," he murmured, then turned and departed, his footsteps echoing faintly on the marble.
As the craftsman vanished into the shadows of the sept, a small figure bounded toward Stannis, his dark curls bouncing with each eager step. Renly Baratheon, five years old and clad in a tiny velvet doublet of black and gold, skidded to a stop before his brother, his blue eyes wide with excitement. "Stannis! Is that your king's crown?" he asked, his voice high and bubbly as he craned his neck to peer at the crown in Stannis’s hands.
Stannis's stern expression softened a rare flicker of warmth in his eyes. He knelt at Renly’s level, holding the crown so the boy could see it. "Yes, Renly. This is the crown I’ll wear today. What do you think of it?"
Renly’s face scrunched in thought, his small hands reaching out but stopping short, as if afraid to touch it. "It’s shiny!" he declared, grinning. "The stag looks fierce, like the one on our banners! But… why does it have horns? Kings don’t have horns, do they?"
Stannis’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "They’re antlers, not horns. They represent strength for our house, Renly." He tilted the crown, letting the light catch the gold. "Do you think it suits a king?"
Renly nodded vigorously, his curls bouncing. "It’s perfect! You’ll look like the best king ever!" He paused, then added with a giggle, "But don’t let it fall off when you bow!"
Stannis snorted softly, the sound as close to laughter as he ever came. "I’ll manage. Now, I have a task for you." He stood, holding the crown out. "Take this to the High Septon. Tell him it’s for the ceremony. Can you do that?"
Renly’s chest puffed out with pride, his eyes gleaming. "Yes, Stannis! I’ll be careful!" He took the crown with both hands, holding it as if it were made of glass, and turned to rush off, his small steps echoing in the vast sept.
As the guard’s footsteps faded, Stannis noticed Ser Bonifer Hasty approaching, accompanied by a stranger in a blue tunic. The man’s pale blond hair and striking purple eyes immediately captured Stannis's attention—traits of Valyrian blood. Perhaps someone from House Velaryon? He mused silently.
When Ser Bonifer and the stranger halted before him, they both bowed in unison. The knight spoke first. “Your Grace, Lord Vorian Dayne wishes to speak with you.” The stranger stepped forward and bowed again.
“Vorian Dayne?” Stannis’s mind clicked into place. This must be the elder brother of the renowned Arthur Dayne. He recalled that the Daynes were known for their violet eyes, but the pale hair was surprising.
“Your Grace,” Vorian began, his tone measured, “I am Vorian Dayne, Lord of Starfall. I come to offer my congratulations on your coronation and to wish you a long reign. I also seek to speak about my brother and our family’s sword…”
Stannis’s eyes narrowed. 'Just as I thought. They want Dawn back, and no matter how I try to justify keeping the sword for myself, it will still seem unacceptable, so I won’t bother making excuses, so I’ll just tell him everything directly,' Stannis thought.
“Lord Vorian,” he said, his voice flat and unyielding, “there’s nothing to discuss. Your brother aided Rhaegar Targaryen in abducting Lyanna Stark, an act that led to the deaths of Brandon and Rickard Stark, Elbert and Denys Arryn, Jeffory Mallister, Lyanna herself, and thousands more. I will not release him.”
He paused, watching Vorian’s face as his words sank in. The lord’s gaze dropped, shamed by his brother’s deeds. Stannis pressed on. “As for Dawn, your family’s sword, it’s mine now, and it will stay with me.”
Vorian’s eyes widened, a storm of anger and despair flickering across his face. The loss of his brother was a blow, but losing the sword, which was forged by his ancestors ten thousand years ago, was a deeper wound. “But it’s my family’s blade,” he protested, his voice trembling. “My ancestors forged it, and it has been ours ever since.” His tone rose, edged with fury. “This is theft! You’re robbing my house!”
“And?” Stannis replied, a faint, mocking smile tugging at his lips. “What if it is? What will you do? I hold the Seven Kingdoms. You have no strength to challenge me. Even Dorne won’t support you against me.”
Vorian’s fury erupted, his hands clenching. “You dishonorable cunt!” he snarled, his voice ringing through the sept.
Stannis’s guards stepped forward, hands resting on their sword hilts. Before they could draw, Stannis raised a hand, halting them.
His smile twisted into something darker, more arrogant. “Lord Dayne, I’ll pardon this insult this once. Consider it a gift in exchange for your family’s sword.” His expression hardened. “Now leave, before I reconsider and have my guards behead you, a task they would carry out without hesitation.”
Vorian shook with rage, his fists clenched. He opened his mouth as if to retort, then shut it, the weight of his powerlessness crashing down on him. Challenging the king alone would only deepen his loss. Without a word or a bow, he turned and strode away, his steps heavy with defeat.
Stannis turned to Ser Bonifer, who had watched in silence. “Keep an eye on him. Ensure he doesn’t do anything foolish, or I’ll have his head.”
Ser Bonifer nodded and moved to follow Vorian. As Stannis resumed his inspection, a small figure darted toward him. It was the squire of Rolland Storm. The boy bowed low. “Your Grace, the Martell ship has docked at the harbor.”
“Good,” Stannis replied. “Tell Rolland to escort them to the Red Keep. I'll join them when I'm free.”
The boy bowed again, murmured a farewell, and scurried off, leaving Stannis alone.
Comments
Aeden Emrys
I came here, after reading this story on QQ, because I wanted to read more and I'm going to continue so after these little comments! First is that I don't understand why our MC is trying to make an enemy out of Vorian Dayne when there is no 🙂↔️ reason to! Our MC does not need more enemies right now! In any case, what I'm much more interested in, is our MC's relationship with Elia 🥰! I truly hope that they will get to be together, as they fit so well together in both this chapter and the previous chapters! And it would be even better if Ashara also joins their relationship, as she would fit in nicely I think and she deserves better than the sad 😢 hand she's had! Okay! That's enough from me for now! I'm going to be reading on now!
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a bit of dick move in regards to sword... ot is one thing to keep the sword, it is how he acted it.
