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Chapter 11 (Different Stannis)
🕑 Added 2025-06-04 20:16:39 +0000 UTCMC’s Pov
My gaze sweeps across the silent throne room, Targaryen banners were replaced with Baratheon banners.
It was once full of dragon skulls of all sizes, reminders of the Targaryen dynasty’s old power, the power that forged the Iron Throne and united Westeros under one king.
I had the skulls removed. The relics of Targaryens hold no place in the new Baratheon era, which I will build. In their place now stretch long feasting tables, freshly polished and gleaming beneath the flickering torchlight, waiting for tonight's feast.
I sit on the Iron Throne. It is far from comfortable. It is Rough, sharp, and relentless, but I remain seated because I can feel the power of this chair, even if discomfort accompanies it.
"This Thorne has seen many kings, and I will be the best one," I said with a determined tone.
This throne is not like the one I remember from my previous life. This throne resembles a mountain of swords with stairs carved into it, and at the top of the stairs is the king's seat, from where he looks down on everyone like a god looking down on humans.
Much has happened in these past days.
I had the wildfire jars removed from the city. At first, I thought to dump them into the sea, but I reconsidered, they might be useful in the future. Wildfire can be a destructive weapon if it is used wisely, like Tyrion used it during the battle of the Blackwater. So instead of dumping them to sea, I had them distributed among several keeps in the crownlands; those keeps were taken from the lords who either died or were captured in the Battle of the Trident.
Also, Lord Varys, known as the spider, appeared and offered his services, but I had him killed and quietly disposed of his body so that no one would know of his fate.
Why? Because I can't trust him.
Varys was a very mysterious character. I remember the theories about him from my old world. A most popular theory was that Varys is Blackfyre, plotting to weaken Westeros, so when young Griff arrives with the golden company, it will be easier for him to conquer Westeros.
Young Griff, a boy Varys gave Jon Connington to raise, and Varys told him that he was Rhaegar’s son. But fans had a theory that the boy was not Rhaegar's son but the son of Illyrio Mopatis and a Blackfyre woman.
"I’ll need to kill Illyrio Mopatis too," I mutter, exhaling slowly. "Too many schemes."
Then there’s the matter of Dragonstone.
The mad king's heir and pregnant wife remain there, with the royal fleet protecting them. I sent a letter to Queen Rhaella, telling her that if she surrenders, I won't harm her or her children, but she hasn't answered.
My fleet is too weak to challenge the royal fleet. So I sent Raven to Highgarden with a letter for Lady Olenna Tyrell, née Redwyne. I asked her to send the fleets of Oldtown and the Arbor to the king's landing, to help me capture the Dragonstone.
In return, I promised that if I ever have a daughter, I will betroth her to her grandson. No answer yet. But I believe Olenna knows an opportunity when it knocks.
Strange that Robert never tried that in the original story; instead, he ordered Stannis, who had no naval experience, to build a fleet and capture the last Targaryens. Perhaps he didn't do it because he was afraid of the betrayal of the Reachmen.
But from different of Robert, I have the lord of Highraden, who is also a goodbrother of lord Redwyne and Ser Baelor Hightower of Heir Oldtown as my captives, so I don't think they will betray.
Speaking of Robert, His body arrived yesterday, brought by lords who fought at the Trident but didn’t accompany Ned Stark or Jon Arryn and stayed back. He lies now in the Great Sept of Baelor, awaiting his burial later today. A feast will follow, held in this Great Hall, in Robert's honor.
Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted. The throne room doors groan open. Ser Boris, my Stormguard now tasked with guarding the Red Keep, steps inside. He approaches the throne’s base and bows.
“Your Grace,” he says, his voice firm. “The Stormguard from Storm’s End and Fellwood have arrived. They’re entering the city.”
“Excellent,” I say, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. “I wrote Lomas to bring Renly, too. I missed that little brat.”
Rising from the throne, I descend the iron steps carefully.
“Come,” I call to Boris. “Let us greet them in the courtyard.”
Together, we move quickly, the sound of our boots echoing through the stone hall as we make our way toward the courtyard.
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Third Pov
In the courtyard of the Red Keep, Stannis Baratheon stood near the gate, his cloak snapping in the breeze. Ser Boris stood at his side, silent, as they awaited the arrival of the Stormguards.
After a few minutes, the gates groaned open, and horsemen rode in. Their banners bore the crowned stag of House Baratheon, fluttering proudly against the blue sky. Stannis’s sharp eyes picked out his captain's faces among the riders: Balon Storm, Lionel Selmy, Bonifer Hasty, young Bryce Caron, Davos Seaworth, and his cousin Lomas Estermont. In front of Lomas, sat little Renly, a five-year-old boy with bright blue eyes and black hair, his face alight with a wide grin. The moment he spotted Stannis, Renly’s voice rang out, clear and joyful.
“Stannis!” He waved eagerly, his small hand a blur of excitement.
Stannis’s stern face softened, and a rare smile broke through. He raised his hand, waving back. Renly was a spark of light in this dark world, a boy untainted by the treachery of Westeros. Stannis knew from his old life that Renly disliked Stannis. After Robert's death, Renly didn't support Stannis and instead tried to claim Iron Thorne for himself, but it wouldn’t happen here.
Stannis had poured much into raising the boy, determined to drive him from the path of rivalry that marked their original tale.
He had played with Renly, read him tales of old heroes, and done all the things a true elder brother should, unlike Robert, who had been a stranger to him, a brother in name only. To Stannis, Renly was his true little brother. Which he loved and would protect at any cost.
Lomas drew his horse to a halt and dismounted with the ease of a seasoned rider, then gently lifted Renly down. The boy’s feet barely touched the ground before he bolted toward Stannis, arms outstretched, his smile unwavering. Stannis dropped to one knee, matching Renly’s height, and opened his arms. Renly threw himself into the embrace, clinging tightly.
“Stannis, I missed you so much!” he said, his voice muffled against Stannis’s chest. “Don’t leave me for so long again!”
Stannis’s smile widened, a warmth spreading through him.
“I missed you, too, Renly,” he said, lifting the boy into his arms as he stood.
The other captains dismounted, offering respectful bows. Stannis nodded back, his gaze settling on Lomas.
“Have you brought the captives?” he asked, voice steady. Lomas inclined his head. “
Aye, Your Grace. They’re all here.”
Stannis gave a curt nod. “Good.” He turned to Boris. “See captives settled and treated well.”
Boris bowed deeply. “As you command, Your Grace.”
Stannis then addressed the captains, his tone warming slightly.
“Come, let's break bread. The journey must have wearied you. Roland will join us as well.” With Renly still in his arms, he led the way into the keep.
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In the Godswood, which became Stannis's favourite place to eat and relax, the long table was laden with food. Stannis sat at the head of a table, his captains gathered around him, while Renly sat at his right side, talking brightly as they broke their fast. The boy’s voice bubbled with excitement as he recounted his days at Storm’s End while Stannis had been at war.
“And now everyone calls me a prince,” Renly said, his blue eyes wide with pride as he tore into a piece of bread. “Everyone at Storm’s End says it!”
Stannis smiled softly. “That’s because your brother is king now, Renly. It’s only natural they call you prince.”
Renly’s face fell suddenly, his small hands stilling over his plate as he looked down, a shadow crossing his features. Stannis noticed at once.
“What’s wrong?” he asked gently.
“I miss Robert,” Renly mumbled, his voice small.
Stannis’s mind turned inward. Renly had barely known Robert, two weeks at most, scattered over the years. Yet the boy’s grief was real. Stannis rested a hand on Renly’s shoulder.
“I miss him too,” he said gently. “But full Westeros will remember him as a hero who fought against the mad king. He was a strong warrior. If you want to be strong like him, you need to eat well. So go on, eat.”
Renly nodded, picking up his bread again, his expression brightening slightly.
Stannis turned to his captains, his tone shifting to a commanding tone.
“You may have noticed the gold cloaks are gone from the city. Most were slaughtered by the Lannisters. Yet King’s Landing needs order and protection, so I’ve decided the Stormguards will take up this duty.” He fixed his gaze on Bonifer Hasty.
“Ser Bonifer, you are the captain of infantry. Now I name you Commander of the City Watch, you and your soldiers will defend the city and the enforcers of the law.”
Bonifer’s eyes widened, and he bowed his head in gratitude. “Thank you, Your Grace. I won’t fail you.”
Stannis continued, glancing at young Balon Storm. “Balon, you and your archers will serve under Bonifer.”
"As you command, your grace," the blond bastard nodded.
“A thousand men won’t suffice to keep peace in the city," Stannis continued, eyeing the other captains," so the cavalry captains will assist Ser Bonifer until he can recruit and train enough men.”
The captains nodded in agreement, their expressions serious. Stannis turned to Roland. “Once Bonifer has his numbers, Roland, you and the other cavalry captains will form the royal army, fortified near the city. You’ll lead them.”
Roland’s face lit with pride. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Stannis gave a faint smile. “I know you won’t, that’s why I chose you.”
Finally, he turned to Davos, who sat quietly, his weathered hands gripping his cup. “Davos, I want you on the small council as master of trade. I want to expand the sale of our drinks to Essos and the other regions of Westeros, along with the new goods we’ll produce. We’ll need a strong merchant fleet, and you’ll build it.”
Davos froze, his eyes wide with shock. Davos is a man of low birth, born in the foulest and most lawless district of the King's Landing.
A man born in Flea Bottom, now named to the small council? It was unbelievable.
Roland, sitting beside him, slapped his shoulder with a grin. “What’s wrong, Davos? Swallow your tongue?”
The others at the table chuckled at Davos’s stunned expression. Davos blinked, gathering himself, and stammered, “Your Grace, I… thank you for this honor. I don’t know what to say.”
“You didn’t want to learn to read when I urged you,” Stannis said, his tone lighter. “Now you see why it was worth it.”
Renly had been watching the whole time, wriggling in his seat as Stannis handed out positions and titles, waiting for his turn. At last, unable to hold it in any longer, he tugged at his brother’s sleeve.
“Stannis,” he whispered urgently, “what about me? What do I get to be?”
Stannis turned to him, his expression softening. “For you, Renly, I have an important and responsible position.”
Renly’s eyes sparkled with excitement, wondering what grand title awaited him.
Stannis leaned closer, his voice low but firm. “Tell me, have you been paying attention to Maester Cressen’s lessons? Do you remember what Dragonstone became after the Targaryens took Westeros?”
Renly squinted, nose scrunching as he tried to remember. “Umm…” he tapped his chin with a finger. “Dragonstone is… the place where the crown prince lives?”
Stannis nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And who’s the crown prince now?”
Renly tilted his head, thinking hard. “Well, that’s the king’s first son, but… You don’t have a son, so…” His voice drifted off as realization struck. His eyes widened.
“Wait… that means me! I’m the crown prince!” he shouted, practically bouncing in his chair. “Does that mean Dragonstone is mine now?”
Stannis couldn’t help it and let out a quiet laugh. Renly was already imagining himself ruling over ancient halls and hidden chambers.
“Dragonstone is so cool!” Renly went on, barely breathing between words. “T I’ve heard they keep dragon eggs there, I must find one!”
The table erupted in laughter, Stannis included, as the captains joined in at the sight of Renly’s gleeful outburst. Stannis raised a hand to calm him.
“Renly, Renly, wait, you forgot one thing. We are Baratheons, not Targaryens.”
Renly blinked up at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?” he asked, his head cocked to one side. Stannis explained patiently,
“Dragonstone was the ancestral castle of the Targaryens, which is why it was the seat of their crown prince. We Baratheons have our own heritage. Can you tell me which castle is the ancestral home of House Baratheon?”
Renly’s excitement dimmed a little, his lips turning into a small pout. “Storm’s End,” he mumbled, kicking his feet. “But Dragonstone sounds way cooler…”
Stannis laughed again, ruffling Renly’s dark hair.
"Trust me, Renly, Storms' End is a more powerful seat than Dragonstone."
Renly didn’t look convinced, but he gave a small nod, already dreaming of castles and dragons again.
“Renly won't be the only one who gets a castle,” Stannis raised his voice, glancing at his captains. “I’ll also grant each of you your keep. And for those who haven’t yet received high positions, fear not, your time will come.” The captains beamed at the promise, and their futures brightened. They were second sons, bastards, and lowborn, who’d never inherit anything. Bryce Caron, Stannis’s youngest captain, stood with a cup in hand, raising a toast to their king.
“To King Stannis!” he declared, his voice ringing. “To our new king, who saw us, the spare sons, bastards, men with dirt on our hands, and gave us more than gold. He gave us a chance to prove our worth!”
“To King Stannis!” the others roared, cups raised, their cheers echoing off the stone walls.
Stannis nodded, his heart steady. These men were his strength, Renly his heart. With them, he’d forge a new Westeros.
