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Chapter 15 (Different Stannis)
🕑 Added 2025-06-08 14:00:12 +0000 UTCThird Pov
The candlelight flickered across the stone walls of Stannis Baratheon’s chamber in the Red Keep, casting restless shadows that danced like ghosts on the furniture. A single high backed chair sat near the hearth, where Stannis rested, hands wrapped around the hilt of Dawn, the legendary sword of House Dayne. Its blade, pale as milkglass, gleamed with an otherworldly sheen. According to legend, the founder of House Dayne tracked a falling star to an island at the mouth of the Torentine. He discovered there a stone with magical powers, and the castle of Starfall was constructed on that spot.
Stannis tilted the blade, watching how the firelight kissed its edge. A smile ghosted across his lips. 'What a remarkable weapon and more beautiful by far than the Valyrian blade I claimed from Randyll Tarly in that duel,' he mused.
He leaned back, the sword resting across his knees.
'For ten thousand years, the Daynes held this blade. Now it’s mine.' Pride surged through him. 'They’ll want it back, no doubt, but they should blame Arthur Dayne for losing it. Let them ask him why he lost it, why he helped a man who, already married and father to two children, ran off with a fourteen-year-old girl.'
The thought of Arthur Dayne stirred an admiration in Stannis. He leaned back, his gaze distant, recalling a clip he’d seen on TikTok in another life, an amazing video of Arthur Dayne fighting with his two swords multiple enemies at the same time.
Stannis sighed. “At this moment, He is the finest knight in Westeros,” he admitted to himself. “A pity I can’t name him to my Kingsguard.”
He couldn’t just forgive what Arthur had done. Aiding Rhaegar in his madness, endangering the realm, abducting a noble girl...
Besides, he had already given his word to Lord Eddard Stark that Arthur would be sent to the Wall.
A sudden knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
“You, Grace, Princess Elia Martell, and Princess Rhaenys are here to see you,” a guard called from beyond the door.
Stannis rose, carefully returning Dawn to its scabbard and placing it on the nearby table.
“Let them in,” he commanded.
The door swung open, and tiny Rhaenys burst into the room, her dark curls bouncing as she ran toward Stannis with arms outstretched, a bright smile lighting her face.
“Uncle Stannis!” she squealed, her voice brimming with joy.
Stannis's face softened into a warm smile as he scooped her up, her small arms wrapping around his neck. “Rhaenys, how are you, little one?”
“I’m good!” she chirped, her eyes sparkling. “I came to hear the end of the story!”
A gentle voice followed, “All day, she’s been wondering about what will happen to Little Red Riding Hood.” Stannis looked to see Elia Martell standing in the doorway, a tender smile gracing her lips. She was a vision of Dornish beauty, slender, with smooth olive skin that glowed in the candlelight. She wore a crimson gown, adorned with orange threads.
Stannis smiled at her, then looked back at Rhaenys. “Oh? Did we not finish the story yesterday?”
Rhaenys shook her head, her curls bouncing.
Over the past month, Rhaenys had grown close to Stannis, so much so that she now called him “uncle.” She often sat with him and Renly to hear the stories he read aloud, and cheered them on when Stannis trained Renly in the courtyard with wooden swords. She dined with them and laughed with them.
Though Elia and Rhaenys were indeed Staniss's captives, from a distance, they could have been mistaken for a happy family.
“We’ll fix that,” Stannis said, setting Rhaenys down. “Go fetch Renly, and we’ll dine together. Then I’ll tell you the full story again.”
“Yay!” Rhaenys shouted joyfully, dashed past her mother, and vanished into the corridor.
Elia watched her daughter with a fond smile. 'Rhaenys was never this joyful with Rhaegar,' she thought. Rhaegar had been a caring father, but his tales of history and prophecy bored Rhaenys; his parenting was more duty than delight. With Stannis’s stories and Renly as her playmate, Rhaenys had found a happiness she’d never known.
At the Red Keep, Rhaenys had often played alone because the only other child in the keep was Prince Viserys, and King Aerys didn't allow him to play with her.
Now, with Renly, she had a companion close to her age, a boy just two years older, who loved playing and laughing. Their bond had grown fast and strong.
"You look beautiful tonight, Princess," Stannis’s voice broke through her thoughts, his tone earnest.
Elia blushed, her cheeks tinged with a faint pink as she glanced down, a shy smile playing on her lips. She quickly shifted the topic, her voice soft. “You spoil Rhaenys too much.”
Stannis chuckled, his blue eyes warm. “Every child deserves some spoiling.”
He moved to a table, retrieving a flagon of wine and pouring it into two goblets. He brought one to Elia, who accepted it with a murmured, “Thank you.”
Elia took a sip, then met his gaze, her expression softened. “I heard of Lyanna Stark’s fate. I grieve for her and Lord Stark’s loss.”
Stannis nodded, his face darkening. “Aye, Ned Stark has suffered greatly. First his brother, his father, and now his sister. And Robert, who was like a brother to him.”
Elia’s eyes drifted to the table, landing on the sword and recognizing it. She’d seen that sword countless times in the hands of Ser Arthur Dayne. “Is that Arthur’s sword?” she asked, stepping closer to inspect it, her fingers hovering near the hilt.
“Aye,” Stannis said, watching her. “The legendary Dawn, wielded by the Sword of the Morning.”
Elia’s voice was quiet, tinged with curiosity and concern. “What’s become of its wielder?”
“He’s in the dungeons,” Stannis replied.
Elia swallowed. She had first met Arthur as a girl when the Daynes visited Sunspear. Over the years, they’d crossed paths at tourneys and feasts. At a young age, he had already been granted the honor of carrying Dawn, an honor few in House Dayne had earned so young. Many Dornish women had admired him. Elia had once been among them. His appointment to the Kingsguard had broken many young women in Dorne and beyond.
At the Red Keep, they barely spoke. Arthur had always been distant, solemn, and dedicated to duty. Nothing like his younger sister, the lively and beautiful Ashara.
'Ashara, I wonder how she fares now.' Elia thought, a pang of nostalgia striking her. She remembered the violet-eyed girl who’d become her lady-in-waiting and accompanied her to King’s Landing for her marriage to Rhaegar. Ashara had been a loyal friend, but when the rebellion started, she had asked to return home, and Elia had let her go.
“Elia,” Stannis’s voice pulled her back, He was watching her carefully. “Are you well?”
She nodded, though her voice was soft. “Yes, I was just thinking of Arthur. What will happen to him?” When she learned that Arthur was one of those who aided Rhaegar in Lyanna’s abduction, she was furious with him, but her anger faded over time, though not entirely fade.
“Lord Stark has decided the Wall is a fitting punishment,” Stannis replied.
Elia’s thoughts darkened. 'The Wall? If nothing else, should Aegon ever be sent there in the future, at least someone might look out for him.' The thought of her son facing such a fate brought a wave of sadness, her expression clouding as she lowered her gaze.
Stannis noticed the shift, stepping closer. He gently lifted her chin with his hand, his blue eyes meeting hers.
“Elia, why so sad? Sorrow doesn’t suit you.” His gaze softened as he added, “You should smile, you have a beautiful smile.”
Elia found herself lost in his sea-blue eyes, their faces drawing closer, her breath catching as their lips nearly met. But the door burst open, startling them apart as Renly and Rhaenys burst into the room, their voices bright. “Let’s eat, I’m starving!” Renly declared while Rhaenys added with a grin, “I want lemon cakes!”
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Stannis sat on a couch, Rhaenys and Renly curled up on either side of him. “…and never again did Little Red Riding Hood talk to strangers. As for the wolf, he kept well away from little girls, especially those wearing red capes,” Stannis finished the story. He glanced children, noting both had fallen asleep, their heads resting against him.
“A fine tale, Your Grace,” Elia’s voice came from across the room, where she sat at the table, a goblet of wine in hand, watching them with a warm smile.
Stannis rose carefully, avoiding waking the children, and moved to join her at the table, picking up his goblet of wine.
“My mother used to tell me this story at bedtime,” he said, a half-truth. In this life, no, but in his past one, when he was a child, his mother truly used to tell him fairy tales before bed.
“You’re good with them. You’ll make a fine father,” Elia said as she rose from her seat, a bit flushed from the wine, her eyes lingered on the sleeping children.
He smiled, a rare softness in his expression.
“I hope so,” he murmured.
Their eyes met a quiet passion passing between them. Encouraged by the wine, Stannis reached out, his hand brushing her cheek tenderly. Elia mirrored the gesture, her fingers grazing his face as they drew closer, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss.
Their eyes locked in a heated gaze, igniting a quiet yet undeniable passion that simmered just beneath the surface. Encouraged by the rich, velvety wine that warmed their cheeks and relaxed their inhibitions, Stannis reached out, his hand tenderly brushing against her cheek, his fingertips barely grazing her skin. Elia mirrored his movement with equal intent, her fingers trailing over the stubble on his jaw, drawing closer until their lips met in a gentle kiss, the kind that sent shivers down their spines.
However, the gentleness quickly dissipated, replaced by an urgent need. Desire surged between them with overwhelming force, fueled by the lingering glances they had exchanged throughout the evening, the swirling warmth of the wine, and the quiet intimacy of the evening.
In that moment, they completely forgot the children who were asleep nearby. Stannis's hand slid deliberately from her face to her waist, his touch firm yet reassuring, pulling her closer as she let out a low, breathy moan that further fueled the fire of his desire. He pressed her against the sturdy wooden table, the cool surface a stark contrast to their heated bodies, but as she shifted, her hip knocked against the heavy iron flagon of wine, sending it crashing to the floor with a loud clatter.
The noise snapped them apart, their breaths uneven.
“Mama, what’s happening?” Rhaenys’s sleepy voice called from the couch, stirring slightly while Renly remained asleep.
Elia and Stannis exchanged a glance, the reality of the children’s presence sobering them. Elia hurried to Rhaenys, scooping her up gently.
“Nothing, sweetling, go back to sleep. I’ll take you to your bed.” She turned to Stannis, her voice steady despite her flushed cheeks. “Your Grace, I’ll take Rhaenys to her chambers.”
Stannis nodded, his gaze lingering on her.
“And I’ll take Renly to his.” He paused, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at the fallen flagon. “But you could return, so we might finish the story we started.”
Elia caught his meaning, her heart racing. Though hesitation flickered in her mind, the wine and her lingering desire won out. She met his gaze with a coy smile.
“I’ll see you soon, Your Grace,” she said softly, her voice teasing. As she turned to leave, she walked slowly, moving her hips side to side in a bold, inviting way. Her dress hugged her body, showing off every step clearly.
Stannis watched her go, a smile spreading across his face.
“I’ll see you soon, Princess,” he murmured, then turned to Renly, still asleep on the couch. He lifted the boy gently, careful not to wake him. “Come, little stag, let’s get you to your room.”
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Cersei Lannister lay on her bed in the Red Keep, her face pressed into a silk pillow, her thoughts a whirlwind of dread. She couldn’t escape Stannis Baratheon’s words: “I know everything about you and Jaime.” Each time they surfaced in her mind, a chill gripped her, her breath catching.
"How could he know?" she muttered into the fabric, her voice trembling with disbelief. "It’s impossible."
She and Jaime had always been cautious. In King’s Landing, they’d only surrendered to their passion once, years ago, in a shadowed room at the Old Inn on Eel Alley. Cersei was very careful, slipping from the Red Keep in a hooded cloak, ensuring no one saw her face.
In Casterly Rock, their intimacy never went beyond stolen kisses and fleeting caresses, always behind locked doors or in forgotten corners of the castle. Yet Stannis knew, and his words gnawed at her, planting seeds of paranoia.
A sharp knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts, followed by Jaime’s hesitant voice. “Cersei, may I come in?”
She didn’t respond, her mind too tangled to engage in the conversation. Ignoring her silence, Jaime pushed the door open and stepped inside. His eyes swept the shadowed chamber before settling on her, sprawled across the bed. He approached with quiet steps and sat beside her. “Father was asking how your meeting with the king went, and why you didn’t join us for supper.”
Cersei lifted her head slightly, her voice muffled against the pillow. “And what did you tell him?”
Jaime’s lips twitched into a faint, reassuring smile. “I told him your talk with Stannis went smoothly, that he offered his terms for making you queen, and gave you several days to consider. And that you carried yourself with dignity, and didn’t rush to answer, made him wait for your decision. As for supper, I told him you’d been choosing gowns and jewels all day and needed rest.”
Cersei exhaled, a flicker of relief cutting through her tension. “Good. You handled it well.”
Jaime’s gaze lingered on her, his concern deepening as he took in her rigid posture. He reached out, his fingers brushing her golden hair in a gesture meant to soothe. But the instant his hand made contact, Cersei flinched, bolting upright. She slapped his hand away, her eyes blazing with a mix of fear and fury.
“Are you mad?” she snapped, her voice sharp and paranoid. “What are you doing?”
Jaime froze, confusion etching his features. “What’s wrong? I was just....”
“You can’t touch me!” she hissed, her eyes darting to the walls as if they might sprout ears. “This place is crawling with spies. Don’t touch me again unless I say so.”
He frowned, his confusion giving way to irritation. “I was only comforting you. It’s nothing unusual between siblings.”
“Even so,” she retorted, her voice icy, “don’t. Especially not after my wedding. I won’t risk Stannis questioning my loyalty over something so trivial.”
Jaime’s expression darkened, his voice tightening. “Wedding? You’re still planning to marry him?”
Cersei scoffed, her words dripping with disdain. “Why wouldn’t I? He said he’d marry me regardless, as long as I remain loyal.”
“That’s precisely why you shouldn’t,” Jaime shot back, his tone urgent. “He knows about us and still wants you? He’s either a fool or mad.”
Cersei’s eyes flashed with anger. She rose from the bed, smoothing her gown, and moved to her dressing table, snatching a comb to tame her hair. “Or,” she said, her voice dripping with arrogance, “my beauty has ensnared him so completely he’d do anything to have me.”
Jaime stood, his hands clenching at his sides. “I still say it’s a mistake. He’s scheming something twisted, Cersei.”
Her irritation flared into anger. “And what do I tell Father? That I rejected the king because he knows I’ve bedded my brother? He’d have our heads!”
Jaime fell silent, her words striking true. Tywin’s rage would be unrelenting if she refused Stannis without a justifiable excuse. Desperation seized him, and he blurted, “Then let’s run.”
Cersei, now standing by the mirror, brushing her hair, paused mid-stroke. She turned, her eyes wide with shock. “What did you say?”
He stepped closer, his voice raw with emotion. “Let’s flee to Essos, Cersei. Where no one can find us.”
She stared at him, her expression shifting from disbelief to scorn. “Flee? And live how? Off what? Do you think Father would let us disgrace him before the realm and not hunt us down? You’ve no idea what he’s capable of.”
Jaime grabbed her hands, his grip firm, his plea desperate. “I’ll work as a sellsword. We’ll earn coin and go so far he’ll never reach us.”
Cersei studied him for a long, silent moment. Then she laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that sliced through the room. She yanked her hands free and resumed brushing her hair, her tone thick with disdain.
“Flee to Essos with you? Live on whatever copper coins you earn? No, that’s not my life.” She finished brushing and struck a poised stance before the mirror, her reflection filling her with pride. “I was born to be a queen. That’s my fate.”
Jaime’s face crumpled, her words cutting deeper than any blade. He’d give up everything for her, and she laughed at the thought. His voice dropped, heavy with hurt. “Do you really love me, Cersei?”
She met his gaze in the mirror, her expression hardening. “What?”
His tone sharpened and edged with pain. “Does our love mean nothing to you? Everything we’ve shared? That night at Eel Alley, does it mean nothing? I’m offering you a way to be together, and you mock me.”
Cersei slammed the comb down, spinning to face him, her voice a furious whisper. “Stop this silliness, Jaime! And never mention that night again, someone might hear! What happened between us was a childish mistake, a folly that won’t be repeated. Don’t you understand? I was born to be queen. It’s all I’ve ever dreamed of, it is my purpose in this wretched world.”
Jaime’s eyes burned with a mix of anger and betrayal. She had dismissed their love, the same love that had driven him to forsake his inheritance and join the Kingsguard just to stay close to her. A fire rose in his chest. Without another word, he turned and stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him.
Cersei watched him go, her breath ragged, her fury unabated.
“Fool,” she muttered, turning back to the mirror.
She gazed at her reflection, her voice swelling with triumph. “I was born to be a queen, and no man will take that from me. Not even you, Jaime.”
