Of Crown and Kin
Twenty-Second Day of the Twelfth Month 292 AC
You hold back a sigh, relived to leave the mater of Mantarys and its demons to another day, and instead speak of things closer to home and less likely to be a strain upon your mother's vision of the world. "We journeyed to Tarth to parlay with Renly Baratheon, youngest brother of the Usurper and current Lord of Storm's End. He brought with him various knights of little import, and the Lord of Tarth, seeing as we were using his island as a meeting ground. The meeting followed a letter offering ransom for Stannis Baratheon, who the Usurper named Master of Ships and Lord of Dragonstone. We captured him when he attempted to sail the Royal Fleet to Sorcerer's Deep with orders to take or sack the port. As I told you a few nights ago, they failed. The fleet never came within sight of the island, in fact, but for those that defected to my banner."
"Stannis, a very serious boy, almost grim he was. I saw him but a few times at court, and never once did I know him to laugh or even smile," your mother muses. "I think he would have tried to take the town over burning it, at least if his orders allowed. Are your considering giving him the Stormlands or leaving it to the younger brother?" Seeing your surprised look she adds, "There is little other reason to ransom a traitor unless you expect him to turn his cloak twice."
"I would not say so, the gold shines very prettily," you counter, earning a reproving look that is only half-serious. "To answer plainly, I think Stannis is a fine lord if too rigid in some matters and loyal to an unworthy cause."
"Of course treason is unworthy," comes the instant reply.
"Not precisely what I meant. That the Usurper is a traitor makes him my enemy. That he cannot look past his next wine cup even to see to the release of his own kin makes him unfit to rule...
anything at all." You feel old anger rise within you, not a child's helplessness, but the sheer frustration of one faced with negligence deep enough to be a crime itself. "As you can well imagine, he has been even more lax in other matters and these are not days for a king to be napping. More than once I've traveled to Westeros in secret to not only gather support but aid against threats to body and soul. At Crackclaw Point there was no one beyond me and my friends to send aid against the same sort of foulness that drove Damphair because the Lannister 'queen' is more concerned with making japes at her subjects' expense and her husband was probably blind drunk while she did it. At White Harbor no one even considered sending a raven to King's Landing and so I happened upon a plot of devils by chance."
"It was not strictly speaking chance, a sorceress in lord Manderly's employ sought us out, wary of our intentions," Dany interjects. "The old lord was grateful by the end... even if he was not happy to be so."
"The Manderlys are loyal to House Stark and ever have been." Your mother shakes her head. "What made you go north if not knowledge of this...
plot?"
"Oh," Dany gasps. "We should have told you this before. Rhaegar had a second son by Lyanna Stark. Fearing the Usurper's wrath, Lord Stark named the boy Jon, claimed him as his bastard and took him to be raised alongside his cousins in Winterfell."
"I... How do you know this?" You catch sight of a tear in her corner of her eye, thinking of your brother and his fate.
"Bloodraven showed him to me..." Seeing her about to object you raise a hand to forestall her. "I worked my own divinations into the matter, the boy is our closest living kin and that would only make sense if he is Rhaegar's son. We who bear the dragon blood are few, if not as few as our foes would have it: we three here, Bloodraven upon his weirwood throne, Maester Aemon at Castle Black where we are heading, and Jon Snow, a dragon's get hidden in a wolf's litter. For that alone I would excuse Lord Stark much, never mind that he had cause to raise his banners if anyone ever did."
For a long moment your mother looks into the fire, you suspect caught in the grip of memory. "I'm glad something of him lives, even only a bastard," she says at last, voice thick with emotion.
Rhaegar's death was only months ago for her, not years, you realize abruptly.
"I did not mean to upset you, mother," Dany says contritely.
"Sweetheart, you did
not upset me, you gave me good news. It's just that sometimes even the best of tidings can remind you of grief and loss." Though the smile she gives your sister is melancholy and wavering, it is by far the most genuine she has worn today.
"It might help to talk about him," you offer.
Dany nods. "I'd like to know about him too if you feel like talking."
And so you send the reminder of your time by that nameless northern stream speaking not of matters grand or terrible but of a son and bother now lost: of a quiet clever child who grew into a often moody but skilled and even kind man. You might never be able to see your brother unshadowed by his great folly, but he is kin and so you will remember him.
OOC: I know I keep derailing these parts, but I feel this is more realistic than having everything nice and ordered.
