Chapter 210: The Kings

A fierce sea wind roared across Dragonstone, howling like a raging beast.

The castle stood high upon its sheer cliffs, a marvel of Valyrian stonecraft. Its towers were sculpted into dragon shapes, while gargoyle-like spouts lined its walls, acting as parapets. Stone dragon claws protruded to hold torches, dragon wings sheltered the forges and armories, and dragon tails formed arches, bridges, and exterior staircases.

The Targaryens had taken possession of this island nearly a century before the Doom of Valyria. At the time, this bleak, desolate island was of little interest to them; after all, they barely regarded Westeros itself, seeing the vast continent of Essos as the center of the world.

But when the cataclysm destroyed Valyria, the Targaryens, who had taken refuge on Dragonstone, turned their gaze westward.

Dragonstone, poor and scarcely populated, sat strategically at the mouth of Blackwater Bay, yet remained insignificant before the Conquest—back then, King's Landing was still a mere fishing village. But once Aegon the Conqueror took Westeros and established his capital, Dragonstone's strategic importance soared. The island remained the seat of the Iron Throne's heir throughout the Targaryen reign.

After Robert's Rebellion, however, Robert Baratheon bestowed Dragonstone upon his younger brother, Stannis.

But the gesture had never felt like a gift to Stannis. His other brother, Renly, was given the rich lands of the Stormlands.

Having someone else enjoy the lion's share makes it hard to remain content.

Yet now, Stannis's moment had finally arrived. With Eddard Stark declaring Cersei's children bastards, Stannis now stood as the Iron Throne's rightful heir.

"Why does the letter refer to Robert as 'my dearly beloved brother'?" Stannis asked, frowning. "I never held any affection for him."

"Lord—ah, Your Grace," Maester Cressen, his old mentor, faltered with his words, unused to the new title. "It's customary to show respect."

"It's a lie," Stannis replied in a voice as unyielding as iron, cold and unwavering. "Take it out."

With a resigned sigh, Maester Cressen took up his quill and scratched out the words on the parchment.

Clearing his throat, he continued reading aloud from the missive addressed to the lords of Westeros. "...Upon the death of King Robert I, no legitimate heirs remain. Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella are the bastard offspring of Cersei Lannister and her brother, the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannis—"

"Change that to 'Ser Jaime,'" Stannis interrupted. "Whatever he's done, he remains a knight."

Maester Cressen sighed internally. This was Stannis Baratheon to his core: rigid, uncompromising, with a fierce sense of justice that refused deception or flattery.

Yet this cold impartiality would not endear him to his foes, nor even to his allies.

Among the Baratheon brothers, Renly was beloved by the common folk, Robert commanded loyalty with ease, but no one loved Stannis. Even his own brothers couldn't stand him.

Still, there were those who respected Stannis's severe, almost inhuman sense of justice. One of them, seated beside Maester Cressen, was Davos Seaworth, the "Onion Knight."

During Robert's Rebellion, when Storm's End was besieged and on the brink of starvation, Davos had sailed a smuggler's boat full of onions through the blockade, saving Stannis and his men from death by starvation.

For this, Stannis knighted Davos. But he also cut off the last four fingers of Davos's left hand, as punishment for his past crimes as a smuggler.

"Good deeds do not erase bad ones, nor do sins obscure virtue," Stannis had told Davos upon delivering both knighthood and punishment.

Most men would have left in anger, but Davos instead offered Stannis his unwavering loyalty, serving as his most faithful supporter.

"...born of incest between Cersei and her brother, Ser Jaime. By rights of blood and inheritance, I hereby declare myself the rightful heir to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms. All loyal subjects are called upon to pledge their allegiance without delay, in the names of the Old Gods and the New—"

"Change that to the Lord of Light," Stannis interrupted again.

Maester Cressen's frown deepened.

Stannis's wife, Lady Selyse Florent, was a devout believer in this new faith and had invited a red priest, Thoros, to Dragonstone to preach, brandishing flaming swords as he converted the island's inhabitants.

"Your Grace, there is hardly anyone in Westeros who believes in the Lord of Light."

"There will be soon enough."

Davos, too, leaned forward to advise him. "Your Grace, I also advise against changing the invocation to the Lord of Light. The nobles and commoners alike only know the Seven and the Old Gods."

Stannis's face remained impassive. "Since when did you become so devout, smuggler?"

"I make no claims to piety," Davos replied humbly. "But I do say my prayers every week. I believe it's the Mother who gave me my seven healthy sons and the Smith who keeps my ships safe."

"Your wife gave you sons, and skilled craftsmen keep your ships from falling apart. As for your knighthood and lands—those came from me!"

"Even so, Your Grace, changing faiths could lead people to think you're an arrogant king. The nobility may see it as madness, and the smallfolk will struggle to rally behind you."

"They have never rallied behind me!" Stannis stood abruptly, moving to the southern-facing window and staring out over the vast, stormy sea. "Since the day I watched Windproud wreck on the rocks and lost my parents to the waves, I swore I would never again pray to the Seven. Any gods who would let my parents die are unworthy of my faith!

Those priests endlessly preached about justice, claiming all fairness and order flowed from the Seven, but every bit of fairness I've seen has been human-made! Those damned gods have done nothing but watch.

So, yes, I choose the Red God—for at least he has shown power beyond mortal men, true and undeniable strength."

Davos ventured a final caution: "Your Grace, if you're referring to Thoros's flaming sword, please believe me, it's mostly theatrics."

"No. I speak of true power—the power I've glimpsed in the flames," Stannis said, glancing at the fireplace, as if he could once again see the terrifying visions the fire had shown him. "I need that power."

Davos remembered the disturbing reports from Skyreach. At first, he hadn't believed that anyone could kill four Kingsguard in a single blow, but as more people confirmed the story, even he began to believe it.

And the one who had done it had wielded a flaming sword…

Was this truly the power of fire?

Seeing Davos fall silent, Stannis turned sharply, his eyes cold.

"Make the revisions as I instructed, and then release all our ravens," he commanded.

"Yes, Your Grace," Maester Cressen replied, resigning himself to the task.

Stannis nodded in satisfaction, returning to his place at the massive wooden table that Aegon the Conqueror had commissioned, the entire continent of Westeros carved upon it in intricate detail.

Stannis's seat was strategically aligned with the location of Dragonstone itself, so that it seemed he was poised to take the entire Seven Kingdoms into his grasp.

---

King's Landing, the Red Keep

The young king sat at the head of the Small Council table, perched atop a pile of cushions just to reach the tabletop.

"Only a few more left," Ser Kevan Lannister reassured him, noticing his impatience.

Tommen pouted but obediently gripped the quill in his pudgy hand, preparing to sign the next document.

Kevan handed him a parchment, explaining, "This one declares Samwell Caesar guilty of treason and regicide and instructs Lord Mace Tyrell to strip him of all titles, lands, and rights, and to deliver him to King's Landing for trial."

"I heard Caesar has a dragon," remarked the Master of Coin, Tyrion Lannister, with interest.

Kevan nodded. "I haven't forgotten. But without a dragonrider, we're left with two options: either have the soldiers kill it, or let it go wild."

"What a waste," Tyrion said, shaking his head.

"There's no helping it," Kevan replied with a shrug. "Besides, whether or not this decree is enforced depends entirely on House Tyrell's cooperation. At the moment, our main focus is elsewhere."

"Agreed," Tyrion said, shifting in his chair. "Stannis's new letter—have you read it, Uncle?"

"I have." Kevan's lips curled with mild disdain. "He's as stiff and unyielding as ever. He'll win no hearts with that attitude."

"True, Stannis has never been a charmer—not even his own brothers could tolerate him. Still, some of the Stormland lords will likely recognize his claim, given that he's a Baratheon," Tyrion observed.

"The Stormlands have been ravaged by war and their resources drained. They won't risk their last reserves on Stannis. They just need an excuse to refuse him—and thanks to your father, we've given them one." Kevan handed another document to the young king. "This document legitimizes Robert's bastard, Edric Storm, granting him the title of Lord of Storm's End and naming him Warden of the Stormlands."

"An excellent strategy," Tyrion remarked approvingly. "If young Lord Edric wants to secure his new title, he'll have to recognize Tommen's claim to the throne. This gives the Stormlords an excuse to stand against Stannis without appearing disloyal to House Baratheon. Father's move is masterful."

"For now, all we need is for the Stormlands to stay fractured. We don't want them uniting under one banner to trouble us," Kevan agreed, setting aside the signed proclamation. "Our real focus should be on the northern forces rallying around Eddard Stark. And in that, the support of the Reach is crucial."

Tyrion glanced at Tommen with a smile. "Which means my dear nephew must soon wed the 'Rose of Highgarden.'"

Kevan gave him a pointed look. "He's your nephew, not your son."

"Yes, yes, nephew," Tyrion replied with a dismissive wave. Then, casting a playful glance at Tommen, he added, "So our dear nephew will marry Margaery Tyrell, and we'll win Highgarden's support."

"And where is my father now?" Tyrion asked, leaning forward with interest.

"Your father has already led the army toward Harrenhal," Kevan replied.

Tyrion nodded in understanding. "To cut off the northmen's path south."

"Exactly," said Kevan, then turned his attention back to Tyrion. "Will the supply lines hold?"

"They're strained, but we can manage—for now." Tyrion raised his hands in an exaggerated gesture of despair. "You know the state of the treasury, Uncle. The war has left us nearly empty. And with King's Landing's enormous population and the army to feed…"

Kevan nodded. "The Lannisters will contribute funds where necessary."

"Then we're fine," Tyrion said with a satisfied smile. But he added, "Although, food supplies can't always be secured with gold alone. King's Landing has relied on the grain from the Reach and the Riverlands. Now, with the Riverlands siding with Stark, our troops and the city's half-million inhabitants are dependent solely on the Reach. If our marriage alliance fails…"

"That's why we cannot allow it to fail," Kevan said firmly, placing another parchment before Tommen. "This one appoints Lord Mace Tyrell as Master of Laws, with a seat on the Small Council."

As Tommen carefully signed the document, Tyrion gave him an encouraging smile, though the young king's hand wobbled with each stroke.

"An excellent choice," Tyrion murmured approvingly.

(End of Chapter)