290 AC – Interlude: Stannis Baratheon
Robert is set to arrive imminently, once again to treat my domain as his personal retreat of leisure. I am expected to keep my seat stocked with fine foods, finer wines as well as cater to the personal tastes of my brother's boisterous pack of scoundrels that endlessly follow him around. For the greater part of a decade I have kept Dragonstone orderly, loyal and most importantly; free of the stench of corruption and vice of the nearby capital.
In less than a year Robert has connived to reopen the brothels, screamed at me until I let his whores into my halls and drained Dragonstone of anything resembling proper virtue and adherence to our duties. Where once my Great Hall was filled with solemn conversation suited to leaving my domain, and those of my bannermen, greater than we had found it...now there is nothing but empty merriment and pointless gossip.
Robert pays lip service to my suzerainty over Dragonstone, but in practice I rule nothing anymore. My bannermen openly court the attention of our sovereign, my knights prance around for a taste of my brother's frivolous so called generosity and half of King's Landing crowds my pointless dominion. That last, more than anything, chafes at my very being.
My lands may be cold and dreary, but they afforded me peace when my disgust with my brother's
illustrious capital threatens to spill over into ill considered actions. Now even that solace has been taken away from me. When I complain to Robert he exhorts me to visit Storm's End if I dislike his company so terribly... As if there is any peace to be found in my ancestral home, for me.
Is it any wonder I consistently spend my time enjoying the last vestiges of my authority?
On the top deck of my flagship Fury I oversaw my sailors tending to their tasks. Four hundred men called it theirs and I only allowed the very best of my Navy to staff it, common born though the majority might be. They were disciplined –
in times of peace and strife alike – brave and a damned sight more loyal than any other men I have the pleasure of nominally holding their fealty. From the flurry of activity on deck you might be forgiven for mistaking it for chaos, but every last man was stepping with purpose.
While the other vessels in our fleet did not exhibit the same discipline as on my flagship, they were up to task to deal with our adversaries. Our orders were to see to the dispersal of the pirates that had taken advantage of the distraction of my fleet. By the time we returned from the Iron Islands after Balon's ill considered rebellion they were more than settled in. Cursory patrols simply were not sufficient to push them out of the Step Stones, and more than once suspicions have been raised that the Tyroshi were not holding up their end of our most recent treaty.
Rather than dissuading the pirates away from the Step Stones they seem to have taken up their cause. Or perhaps it is simply the reverse, we shall likely not find out until Lord Varys deigns to inform us.
My first mate, Nathan Waters screeched in that grating high pitched voice of his, "
Crossbowmen at the ready!"
Echoed by a hundred voices came a roaring sound, "
Aye!"
It was to be the last loud sound until the assault on the docks.
Though the weather was bright and clear we sailed headfirst into a menacing fog that surrounding the port on the smallest of the Grey Gallows. Port Niri Sar Mell they used to call, in days gone past. Now they simply whisper of it as Port Plunder.
One of the
many Port Plunders around. It was comforting in a way, to have that continuity in a sense. From the Basillisk Isles, to the Cinnamon Straights and even now in the Step Stones they are all the same.
A vile cesspit of unnatural vices, chaotic overindulging and a ruthless disregard for propriety that might put even King's Landing to shame. Like most other temporary locations known as Port Plunder it was mostly defended by its obscurity. If you did not have...acquaintances with a reputation for seafaring avarice you could sail the entire world without so much as a glance of the port. A network among the pirates themselves kept them and all those interested in the spoils of their service aware, but outsiders were carefully kept in the dark.
I took light and shallow breaths –
the warm steam was not pleasant to breath in – and further considered the goal ahead of me to take my mind off of the discomfort.
Port Plunder and its many duplicates have been a thorn –
and for the various Free Cities, occasionally allies – in the side of everyone plying their trade on the seas. Merchants are quick to bitterly proclaim their contentions with the seafaring scum, but when push comes to shove are equally as quick to hand over their gold in tribute to them. These payments and thefts, on top of funds pouring in from the Free Cities ensure that there is
always a Port Plunder.
Those same merchants, when confronted with their ties to various pirates –
when such tenuous matters occasionally manage to dart past the near perfect shield of corruption surrounding Robert's Court – exclaim that they do nothing their fathers have not done. Or even as their grandfathers and
their grandfathers have since the Dawn, but that is simply not true.
Pirates have always roamed the seas, granted, but they only became such an organized scourge in the past four centuries. In times of old, the Valyrian Freehold guaranteed any trade to and from their various colonies. In those times even the wiliest of the pirates could not hope to keep even an transient holdfast for very long. Aegon the Conqueror and his kin after him should have continued that tradition, even if only in the Step Stones and along the shores of the Narrow Sea.
They did not.
Thankfully, Robert proved eager to best the Targaryens in yet another field and gave me permission to scour the pirates from the Narrow Sea. By fire and blood if need be.
I heard the leather beating, and rustling of metal on metal long before Orys landed roughly on the deck of Fury. When he came into sight through the thick, and rather well heated considering how we produced them, mists the first thing I noticed were the new scratches on his armor. His wings were covered in thick leather, highly fine chain mess covered the rest of his frame and on his tail hung a handful of leather ropes, tipped with morning stars. Around his oversized head laid a circlet of gold layered metal from which hung a similar exceedingly fine mesh that fit perfectly around the eye guards that –
hopefully – kept arrows out of them.
All in all, Orys made for an impressive sight. It's been a year since my little fearsome beast hatched and it wouldn't be fair to keep referring to him as such.
Even though it occasionally gives me great pleasure to do so. My Dragon weighed as much as a healthy sized bull and when he moved on the wrists of his wings he came up to my head.
And I was not a small man.
I cleared my throat and spoke, "Report, if you would Orys."
My worry for him can wait until
after we take the impromptu port. For now I needed to know how their defenses were arrayed and if any significant alterations needed to be made to our plan for attack. I certainly wasn't about to leave anything to chance and the notion of having to explain to Robert why a bunch of ill disciplined
pirates were able to see me off is unimaginable.
Orys flashed me his impressive set of teeth in a mockery of a smile and bellowed out, "The pirates have surrendered to me, Stannis! They gave me all their gold and all I had to give them was a Baratheon banner I stole from Cassana's Grief!" My Dragon cocked his head sideways when he continued onward, "But it's not really stealing if its for our War on Pirate Scum and I did it because Captain Velaryon did not wish to part from it, right Stannis?"
What...
AN: Feedback and commentary is greatly appreciated! Leave a post to let me know what you think!
AN2: The small sideways mentions of development in the plot will get elaborated on at some point, but feel free to theorize away.