Son of Man(Nis) An ASOIAF SI

[Charlezany]

Arthur 1 289 AC

The Battlements of Dragonstone are grotesque, disgusting things, carved into the faces of the dragons that my great grandmother's family loved so much.

Personally, I find the statues closer to demons, not that I can't see the appeal in their living kin.

Still, it was here that even in my youth I found it easiest to speak to my father. As always, his eyes were cool and blue, and filled with an honesty that put to lie his intimidating size.

"Father…" I approached him from behind, making my intention to actually hold a conversation clear, as he had taught me.

"Arthur." His reply was curt, but let me know I was welcome here.

"You are going to fight the Ironborn." It wasn't a question, but my father could take the implied meaning.

"You cannot come with me, you are still too young, though I know that you chafe for more, much as I did at your age." I had no idea if he had actually 'chafed for more' at nine years old, but he had little time to talk, as always, he was only here to gather the fleet anyhow. I was lucky enough that he had even come to talk.

"I know. You still won't accept the cannons?"

"No, you were right that the Wisdom has value, but from what the men say they are still too dangerous and imperfect. We will rely on steel at this venture. When you are lord of Dragonstone you may use them if you wish. Until then I have a duty to those under me to not put them at risk."

I nodded at that, it had been what I expected, Alchemists were distrusted, and my use of Wisdom Frey to introduce them had brought with him the order's reputation. At least the man was properly pliable, and not a moron besides. If only we could get the damnable forges to work properly.

"Have you seen Shireen yet? She is still too young to miss you but…" It was a sore subject with father, the lack of time he could spend with us all due to his role as master of ships, and secondary Hand of the King for that matter. Still, it would do him good to see my baby sister.

"No," My father paused for a moment, breathing deeply of the salty blast before sighing, softer eyes than he was known for turning towards me. "I hadn't thought to, the cost of duty on my mind. Oh, don't give me that look, I will see your sister before I leave, and your mother besides, much as she dislikes me."

"Mother doesn't dislike you." I hurriedly said though I knew it was closer to the truth than I would like. "She just… wishes you could be home more."

"And leave the capital to Roberts foolishness? Unlikely, no, you don't have to lie to me, your mother and I have never truly loved each other, the best things to come of out marriage are you and your sister. We do our duty."

I moved up to hug him. I was sure that I was perhaps the only person in the Seven Kingdoms other than King Robert and perhaps Renly who could get away with doing so, and even then only when he was in the right mood, but I took the opportunity when I got it.

Perhaps, along with my sister, I was the only one amongst ant of those who got to feel my father's strong arms around my back.

"I know it is your duty father, just think of us when you can."

My father, implacable as he always seemed to be, froze for a second at that, before relaxing. "I always do, Arthur, I always do." My father brushed his hand through my hair, another rare sign of affection.

'He must be worried about the war.' I concluded internally. It made sense, the Ironborn were devils at sea, and fearless to boot.

"Come, you can lead me to your sister's cradle can't you?"

"Yes," I said, keeping the worry from my own voice. "I can do that."

I led my father down off of the battlements and into the courtyard through the gatehouse tower. The castle for its part was full of movement, even so early in the morning. Men moving wagons of supplies to and fro, taskmaster barking orders as the whole place thumped with excitement for the war to come, though the undercurrent of dread was ever-present as always within the former Targaryen Bastion.

We were greeted in the courtyard by Sir Seaworth, who was directing some of the men in moving supplies "My Lord." he greeted as he saw my father approach. "Arthur."

"Hello, Ser Davos," I replied cheerfully while my father made a sound of acknowledgment. "Is the stocking going well?"

"Well as can be expected, I suspect." Davos I knew had always found me a bit creepy, the odd maturity I always showed was likely as off-putting for him as it was appealing to my mother. Still, I had met him in person more than I had my father, and he had gradually grown accustomed to me enough that he treated me with more respect than a boy my age was due. "We will likely still have to restock in Dorne or the Westerlands."

My father ground his teeth at that, a habit that I would dearly like him to break. If for his dental health more than anything else. "And be overcharged for it as well no doubt."

"Aye Milord." Davos nodded, turning back to me. "Are you off to see your sister then?"

"Yes." I nodded, putting a smile back on my face. "Father is coming too."

"That'll be good for you my lord," Davos said, his eyes brightening. "A man fights better when he has more to fight for."

Father looked a bit caught off guard by that, but nodded sharply towards the smuggler. "Yes."

My smile got a bit bigger at that, and soon I was leading my father through the corridors of the keep proper to my sister's chamber.

When we reached the door, however, we did run into one last obstacle. "Husband, Arthur, here to see your sister are you?"

Selyse Baratheon, my mother, was a Visage of stern coldness to most people, including my father, and my sister, though she favored me to some extent, the son she wished for. Still, even towards me, her tongue was often a whip.

It was odd seeing the two of my parents together, both tall and dour, and utterly without love for the other, only a measured sort of respect.

"Selyse." My father said his eyes matching her own. "I am here to see our daughter."

"It would be the first time." Mother said, bitterness creeping into her voice. "You were absent for her birth after all."

"I have my duties, Wife."

"And duties to your wife as well. Lest you forget."

My father's eyes narrowed. "Duties that I will see to later, for now, I will see my daughter."

"Very well then." My mother stepped aside. "If you wish to do your duty then I shall be waiting in the chamber of the painted table."

My father watched her go from the corner of his eye, a quiet servant I hadn't even noticed hurrying after her.

After a moment, he turned to me, some small amount of warmth returning to his gaze. "Should you ever find yourself caught between two duties son, ensure that the greater is seen to first." He waited for my response, and I nodded sharply, even if I did not agree entirely. "Good, now let's see your sister."

Shireen had a mid-sized chamber on the north side of the drum that had a small window at its top and was otherwise lit by a small brazier, my own crib had once occupied the same room. My father moved quickly to her side and looked down at her as if restraining himself.

I had no such pride and scooped her up, tickling down her swaddled belly and gently rocking her. "Hey there Shireen, I've brought Father to see you."I said quietly, and I could swear a trace of a smile appeared on my father's face as she giggled."

"Here, you hold her," I said, pushing her into his arms and internally laughing at the dumbstruck look on his face. He was not at all used to this, and to my knowledge had picked me up only once in his life. Faced with a baby that giggled and burbled in his arms, Stannis Baratheon simply froze up.

I couldn't help it anymore, I broke out giggling a little, grabbing father's big hand and moving it to her belly. "just rub her a little bit, let her know you're there."

For a moment he had stared harshly at me, but then he remembered precisely where he was and his face softened correspondingly. Nervously he took to copying my actions, and for a little while, I managed to see a genuine smile on my father's face, a rare thing throughout my life.

He looked so much younger when he smiled, it reminded me that even now he was only twenty-five, and yet he had what seemed like the whole world on his shoulders.

I moved up and hugged him, and his shoulders sagged above me. Exhausted from his "duty" I had little doubt.

We stayed like that for a long while, the three of us Baratheons.

Finally, he let out a long sigh, handing Shireen back down to me. "See after your sister while I am gone, I must go see to your mother," he said, the grim mask that had slipped for but a moment slipping back over his brow.

I knew not whether he meant to see after her for the afternoon, or for the duration of the campaign, but either way, I would do so.

I was a Baratheon after all, and it was my duty.
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[Charlezany]

Cressen 1 289 AC

"And what then, is five multiplied by ten?"

"Yes, Aerys."

"Fifty"

"Very good. Aerys, please sit back down."

Maester Cressen sat on a bench looking over the repurposed dining area, now filled with the forty-some children over five that could be found in the port of Dragonstone. Below, Jakob, an acolyte from oldtown, taught from the book in his lap and occasionally etched chalk markings into a large table set behind him.

It was an odd thing to see, Children learning mathematics so young, but he supposed that was simply one of the changes that young Arthur seemed to be hell-bent on making.

He smiled at the thought, indeed, the desks, the tablet, the books themselves. The young lordling of Dragonstone was nothing if not industrious, though he worried at times if the boy was perhaps moving too fast.

Hearing footsteps, the old man turned towards the right, where the boy's father, his Lord, approached.

"Hello, Maester Cressen." The tall man greeted, so tall nowadays, Cressen had been taller than him when they first came to Dragonstone he was sure, spoke up in careful greeting.

"Stannis." Cressen greeted, perhaps one of the few in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms who could speak to the man without his title. "Keep your voice down, the children are learning below."


The Lord glanced over the balcony, raising an eyebrow before turning back to the old man. "Another of my son's designs? Is that why he wanted the spare maesters?"

"Yes, though he only got Acolytes in the end, the Citadel wasn't sure of the value of his press."

"I recall. He had me sign off on the deal in our correspondence." Stannis nodded, closing his eyes in thought for a moment.

"Do you think he's a normal child?" the man finally said, his gaze turning again towards the classroom. "Not odd in the way that I was, but this… motivation. Ever since he learned to speak it's been a constant stream of projects like this. I thought the first few were childish fancies, an alchemist, a ship to call his own, a stable of horses to have bred. But it's simply gone and on. And now he wants me to use his "cannons" to fight Ironborn. I love him dearly, but it just seems… wrong, for a boy of nine to be pursuing all of this."

Cressen thought for a moment, rocking back and forth on his posterior at the idea. He had already found his own answer, of course, Providence. That and a surely inherited sense of duty that seemed to keep the child active at every waking moment.

Still, as with all things Stannis, it had to be handled carefully.

"I would say that he is abnormal to some extent your grace, he is pursuing what he sees as the good of his lands far before the age a normal man would grasp such contexts." It was the honest truth, and Stannis would appreciate it, but before he could digest it, he needed to be given more. "But that is not an evil thing. Young Arthur does display understanding beyond his years, but it is perhaps because of your own example that he does so, did you not take command of a siege at fourteen. You were not as young as he, true, but the difference is not so great."

"I did not know what I was doing, a fool boy. I would hazard that my son has known his will since the day he was born, or shortly thereafter." Cressen held back a grimace, he had heard Stannis speak the same about his brother the King more than once.

"Do not sell yourself short Stannis." Cressen smiled at his son in all but name. "He is not Robert, for one thing, he cares for more than himself, and at another he neither drinks nor whores."

"Yet." Stannis pointed out.

"Yet." Cressen conceded but quickly followed up. "But can you seriously imagine him doing either? No, your son is abnormal certainly, but he is neither mad nor selfish, I think. and you will not find a person in this castle who testifies differently."

Stannis matched his gaze a long time after that, before nodding sharply, the only concession of having persuaded the man that Cressen was likely to get.

His lord turned back to the room below, where the arithmetic lesson was wrapping up with the onset of evening, his lips drawn in a tight line. "You are aware of all of his... projects and their outcomes yes?"

Cressen thought over the question before nodding. "I am at least tangentially aware of them, though for his work with the smiths and his "chemistry" you would need to speak to Wisdom Frey for more details."

"Good, tell me about them."

What followed was a long and drawn out conversation going over the lordlings myriad projects, from his night classes intended to improve literacy in the adults of Dragonstone to his current attempts to start his own "newspaper" using the presses, to his quiet hiring of accountants and merchants from Essos to both teach him, and help his mother when it came to administering taxes and tariffs across the wider island. Towards his more military projects, he knew little, though he had assisted the boy in finding sources what he called a military "Doctrine" in the model of the faith of the Seven. He also had a grasp on what the thundering ballistic the boy called cannons were supposed to do, that being hurl lead balls at high speeds towards the enemy, but not much of how they did it beyond using some sort of fire-powder that he had made in great quantities and stored in barrels buried in a field far away from the castle.

When he finished Lord Stannis looked back down towards the now-empty hall, his hand running carefully along the edge of his jaw.

"I see," he said, after an uncomfortably long silence. "He has done more than even I thought, though I can see now why he asked me for certain permissions. Where does he get his money?"

"He asked his mother for it at first, but from his correspondence, it seems he has since made investments in Braavos that have let him retain his staff. The ship you gave him on his eight nameday is also used for trade I hear."

"Hah," Stannis let out a single, biting laugh. "My son has become a penny pincher in my absence, well, there are worse things to be. Perhaps someday we will have a Master of Coin who isn't a whoremonger." the Lord stood up, offering a hand to Cressen, who gladly took it. "I presume you have kept his more… innovative designs in Dragonstone, barring the one he traded with the Citadel?"

"Yes, and I have been keeping track of Wisdom Frey's correspondence as well. While his grandfather has tried to pressure him for details on several occasions he has not yet shown any sign of breaking loyalty. He seems to be your son's man through and through."

"Good, see to it that he is rewarded presuming that stays true."

"Yes sir, though your son seems intent on rewarding him anyhow."

Stannis smiled at that, a small, thin smile, but one nonetheless. "As is his duty. Now, where can I find this weasel, I would at least see what my son has him working on ere' I depart."

The wizened maester nodded at that. "Your son has had his workshop moved up onto the Dragonmont behind the castle so that he can work in relative secrecy, well, aside from the thunder that the cannons make."

"Then I shall find him before he departs for the evening."
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[Charlezany]

Davos 1 289 AC

The Onion Knight stared at the young Baratheon who had snatched him from his duties and forced him to give a detailed explanation of every individual function of the rigging on the cogs that made up the larger part of the royal fleet. "Is that all?" he said, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum, it was still Lord Stannis' son after all, and he had no desire to offend any Baratheon. Even if the boy seemed less prone to his family's famous fury.

"One moment please, I do have more questions." The boy said quickly, continuing to scribble notes around a surprisingly well-detailed diagram of the ship in question. "I just want to have a good idea of its function."

"You planning on being a shipwright as well as a lord?"

"And about a dozen other things, I want to be a Renaissance man of sorts."

"Renaissance?" the word sounded strange in his ears, but the boy just smiled at him like an old man.

"An old word for Rebirth or Renewal. Westeros and even Essos have stagnated for far too long, I want to renew them. Or at least Dragonstone."

"And how do you plan on doing that exactly?" Davos asked.

Arthur simply raised his journal, turning to another page. "Partially with these."

On the page were detailed sketches of four different varieties of ships. They were clearly representative of different sizes and roles, but universally their rigging was far more complex than even a War Galley. "This one here is just a swan ship isn't it?" he asked, gesturing to one of the vessels. "But missing the fore and aft-castles."

"They won't be necessary anymore and they slow the ship down. If you look at the hatches on the sides. Those will have cannons behind them."

"The tubes that explode?" Davos chuckled, as the boy pouted at the question.

"Only for now, the Bessemer converters work better every time."

"Sure, and I'm sure the ships will too, only ships are expensive." He patted the lordling on the head, hoping lord Stannis wouldn't mind. "Find yourself a proper shipwright before you try building these. I won't say they've got no potential. That would be a lie since they seem to be like swan ships, but make sure you've got someone who knows what you're doing helping you, and not a crazed alchemist."

"Hmm." the child at least, didn't seem to take offense instead of just staring at his drawings. "Fine. I guess it was a long shot anyway."

"What was?"

"I thought to ask you to help me convince Father to try test building these, I've actually already arranged shipwrights, I just need materials from the mainland."

Davos sighed, so that was what he wanted. He could have just asked for it.

"I don't see an issue with it, but you aren't gonna get money for all of them unproven. Tell you what, which of these is the smallest?"

The boy gestured to the bottom right one. A thin vessel with a shallow draft and three triangular sails hanging from a single mast. "This is a Cutter, well, or a Sloop, I can't decide between the names. It's supposed to be small and extremely fast. And it can run right up against the wind."

"I'll see what I can do." Convincing Lord Stannis wouldn't be all that difficult in all likelihood, the utility of a fast sailing vessel was self-explanatory, but he would want to see it himself before he approved it. "Can you give me another copy of that drawing, and what you think each sail and design element will do?"

"Sure." the boy said, a little oddly, but Davos took it to mean "yes", and he watched with a little bit of wonder as the boy knocked out another quick drawing.

"If my father needs more explanation, let him know to ask me when you beat the Ironborn I guess." the child grimaced. "I'd prefer to start as soon as possible though, honestly. As you say it's trial and error, and I want to have reliable ships before I reach my majority."

"Oh? Planning on conquering the stepstones?"

The boy, no, Arthur, looked up at Davos with blue eyes that were just as sharp as his father's, and with a far brighter ambition. "Maybe."

When the boy left, Davos found himself standing for a good long while in the lengthening evening, only occasionally moving to help the men load supplies or otherwise give orders. The Men didn't like the lack of whores on Dragonstone, but ultimately they would keep in line out of respect for Lord Stannis.

'And speaking of the Lord.` Davos smiled as Lord Stannis approached, standing up and greeting him. "Milord."

"Ser Davos. How goes the preparation?"

"Well enough. We should have no issues getting to the Reach with what we have aboard now."

"Good," Stannis said, marching by towards the Fury, which sat further down the docks.

"Pardon me, Lord, are you not staying at the castle tonight?"

"Are the men?"

"No, my Lord."

"Then I shan't be either." Davos wondered why the upper nobility even bothered marrying at all if they disliked each other so much. He certainly intended to stay at Port with his own dear wife.

'Then again, perhaps it's just duty.'

Even after serving as his right hand for nearly a decade, Davos found his lord hard to read at times.

He turned back towards the castle and felt the crunch of paper in his pocket. 'Ah, I forgot to ask him about the boats.'
_______________________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Arthur 2 289 AC

My mother declined to watch the fleet depart with me from the battlements, citing a mild cold she had contracted in the morning.

It wasn't a lie worth arguing about.

It was nice seeing Father at least, I had even made the effort to visit him on the Fury this morning, just to see him off. It was important that he feels appreciated, my Father was not yet so old and bitter about his life as he might become, and I would try to relieve his burden as much as I could without joining his expedition myself.

I was no social genius, but Stannis seemed the type to be greatly relieved knowing that someone he cared for did seriously appreciate his efforts. It was an appreciation my uncles were unhelpful in providing. So I would pick up the slack wherever I could.

I had slipped up yesterday, I didn't want to make anyone aware of my intent to conquer the stepstones later on just yet, but my father would likely know soon enough, and that would probably lead to a conversation that I didn't really want to have just yet.

I sighed as I walked down the stairs. Presently I had too little to show for my inventions, despite the rather lucrative trade in dragon-glass jewelry that was keeping them running. Sure I was probably making the highest quality steel outside of Qohor, but that didn't solve the issue with actually turning it into Cannons.

Handguns I had already done quite well with of course. The scale of them made it far more manageable, and no firing mechanism was so complicated that it wasn't workable. Hell, I'd even made a working bolt action. If Gerald Frey could make a contact explosive that wasn't wildfire I would be quite a bit ahead of the curve for small arms when news of gunpowder eventually leaked. For now, though we mostly made misfiring cannons and breechloading flintlocks.

Then again, I should thank my lucky stars I could even get this far. Westerosi and Essosi metalworking were far ahead of every other aspect of their society, social or technological, and it didn't take too long for an armorsmith to figure out how a gun worked.

Cannons were the goal though, and the blasted things continued to elude me.

Thinking on this line, I entered the workshop in a somewhat sour mood, waving over my ostensibly reformed alchemist.

"Ah, Arthur, how are you this morning."

"Tired, Grumpy, you?"

Gerald Frey was a twig of a man, something one wouldn't expect of the most fertile family in Westeros. But, something he did share with much of his kin was a strong desire to leave the Twins, and he had originally found an outlet for that desire in the Alchemist Guild. However, after Robert's Rebellion the guild had been left leaderless by a certain Lannister, and his noble blood saw him rise to the rank of Wisdom in the absence of oversight.

That was when his issues started as I understood. Gerald Frey was not very good at politics you see, and he had been on his way to being dead in a dark alley when my father had snatched him up and packaged him off to me as the most convenient available alchemist.

Thankfully too, a more savvy politician would be far less trustworthy.

Gerald had worked for me three years now, and with a genuine love for learning, we had gotten a long way up the tech tree, further than I had thought possible when we started.

"I'm doing quite well actually. Lord Stannis visited last night."

"Really?" Well, it was going to happen eventually. "What did he think of it?"

"Ah, he didn't say much, just asked me around the place and I demonstrated what we're trying to build. Oh, he did take one of the cannons and some shot and powder for it though, after I explained what it did."

"He did?" I brightened up considerably with that news. Hopefully, he wouldn't get his men killed untrained, but at least it meant he approved of them in some capacity.

"Yes, he said it might serve well as a signaling device that the whole fleet could hear."

I had to chuckle slightly at that, it would serve that purpose at least. "Well, let's hope it does what he wants it to, which one was it?"

"The thick bore. It at least shouldn't blow apart on the first shot."

"Good." I nodded towards the proper forge. "That one was decent looking, just a bit frail towards the front. Let's see if we can't get any even bore on the next cast shall we?"

"I'll have the smith's stoke up the fires at once."

"Good. I want a working one for father when he gets back."

Once I got the smiths and Gerald started, it was off to my own lessons. It wasn't as if I was much help in the workshop anyhow. No, instead my day was rather full of classes. I had riding lessons for two hours, then history and religion for around another two. In the afternoon when it was warmer and less damp I had swordplay and archery, which I enjoyed well enough, though archery would be redundant when I actually went to battle. Normally we would have dinner afterward, after which I would take a quick bath, and then I would go speak to my accountants and partners. After that I would retreat to my quarters for the evening, or, on nights like tonight, go talk to Maester Cressen.

Of all the people in Dragonstone while my father was away, the good old man was second only to my mother in terms of power, official and otherwise, and it was thus he who I relied on the most for the purposes of making sure my projects were working right.

"So, how many people are attending the night-classes now?" I sat across the table from the man, who smiled nicely as he pulled out his notes.

"A few more men than last week Arthur, these things take time as I have told you." The man said and I frowned a little. The lack of literacy was one thing, but a lack of desire for literacy was almost offensive.

"Is there no way to further promote it?"

"Are you going to start offering free drinks to pull the men away from the pubs?"

"No. Father wouldn't approve." I sat down, sighing. Whoever said it was only the nobility of Westeros who was stupid was lying to themselves.

"How many does that make now then?"

"Fifty-four, though some may well drop the classes, and more will likely join." the kind smile on his face softened the bad news to some extent. In many ways, Cressen reminded me of my own Santa Clause, albeit mostly by his appearance "Septa Dana is overjoyed with the number."

"She would be, it's a miracle anyone in Westeros can read at all given the lack of desire to do so," I grumbled, fishing out a pen from my jar and dipping it in the Inkwell. "I have enough coin left from the last shipment to spend some of it. Tell them every man who finishes the class able to read the Seven-Pointed Star will be given a week's worth of whatever he is paid."

"I doubt anyone has ever paid men to learn their letters before."

"Every literate man is a better resource for the state, and as men become literate their families will follow." I signed the writ, handing it to him to post on the noticeboard next to the class advertisement. The fact that illiterate men couldn't read it amused me, but they could ask a friend or something.

"Is there anything else pressing?" I asked calmly, and the Maester paused for a moment, nodding.

"There is one thing. You had mentioned previously your desire to search the lower levels of the Drum for the old Targaryen vaults."

"Aye. But I needed Father's permission since we'll be taking some walls down."

"Well, I brought it up with your father, and he agreed that you may do so as long as you keep an architect handy, I have his seal here." He handed me a letter with the Master of Ships insignia on it, and I grabbed it quickly, tearing it open and noting his signature.

"Excellent, may I have permission to skip History and Religion classes with you until I find it?" I asked, perhaps a tad too eagerly. Still, the possibility of Valerian Steel was too good to pass up as far as I was concerned.

"Every other day." He said, staring me down. "And no more than three days a week."

"Deal," I said, shooting to my feet, I needed to go collect helpers, and a good architect besides.

"Don't trip over yourself in haste Arthur." He called down the corridor behind me. I slowed my pace a tad and smiled at the old man's words.

I strolled into Shireen's room past a startled maid and quickly planted a kiss goodnight onto her forehead.

Searching for buried treasure could wait for the morning. Caution was a virtue after all.
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[Charlezany]

Davos 2 289 AC

It was two weeks at sea before the lookouts spotted the green hills of the arbor, covered in their famous vineyards and olive groves. Even at this distance, it looked far more cheerful than the port at Dragonstone they had set out from.

Despite this, however, the mood of Lord Stannis had only worsened. The proximity to the Reach was decidedly negative in the Lord's view, despite the fact that he would be acquiring reinforcements to the fleet there.

Davos could guess why. Many of those ships that were joining the fleet today were the same ones that had seen Stannis, his wife, and their newborn son nearly starve to death some nine years earlier Feasted even as the defenders starved. Indeed he had earned his knighthood sneaking past them.

Personally, he thought it justice in a way that Lord Paxter would now be answering to Lord Stannis' call. The tables were fully turned, but Lord Stannis always did have a hard time seeing the positive in things.

"Davos." His lord nodded as he stepped onto the deck, exiting his quarters at the aft of the Fury. The Baratheon moved beside him, taller than him by nearly a full head.

'He was just a boy the last time he saw the Redwyne fleet.' Davos realized with a start, his Lord had indeed been only sixteen when he held storms end, and shorter than the onion knight by afoot. The nubs where the tips of his fingers once sat tingled.

"Hmm. It seems that Lord Paxter wants to lay out the red carpet for us. Let's see what he wants." His lord gestured to a path that was being opened in the fleet ahead for the flagship to traverse. "I can't imagine he does it of the kindness of his heart."

"No" Davos admitted. "I imagine not."

They were guided by their rowers past a few dozen cogs and a handful of Gallies to the Redwyne's own docks at Ryamsport. The town's rulers had obviously decided to display their wealth as ostentatiously as at all possible. Great green and purple banners hung from the white plastered buildings of the port, and streamers bearing the symbol of house Redwyne flapped from a hundred flagpoles strewn across the waterfront.

He saw that his Lord's frown deepened at the display, and he knew that whatever the Redwynes wanted they likely wouldn't get this day.

Still, it appeared that they fully intended to try, as Lord Paxter himself had come down from the docks at the head of a procession. Even his Lord Baratheon wasn't willing to snub the man so greatly as to ignore him personally.

No, with a quick glance he let Davos know that he was in charge of the ship, before marching off with his bodyguard to go meet his peer.

While Davos considered getting away from politics largely a positive, he had to admit that the Fury took a great deal of effort to manage, even more so when it's supplies needed refilling.

"Right you sorry layabouts. Let's get to work."

It was several hours in a blur of haggling, telling off port officials who wanted to tax the royal godsdamn fleet, and keeping unruly sailors in line before evening set in, and his Lord's return with it.

Davos didn't doubt that he had been offered to lodge with the Redwynes, but if the man wouldn't sleep in his own castle while on the campaign then he doubted their hospitality was worthwhile to the stag either.

After a change of clothes, his Lord came to stand with him on the Fury's deck. Overlooking the still bustling port town.

"I take it the men have not decided to quarter on the ship?" Davos turned to his lord, raising an eyebrow at the silly question.

"If you're asking if they're all out whoring the answer is yes."

Lord Stannis let out a sharp breath through his nose and then shook his head. "Fools, the lot of them."

"Not all men hold duty as highly as you, my Lord."

"I am aware."

They stood there a while, in a silence that was both amiable, and a tad awkward, as all things were with his Lord.

Still, eventually, the curiosity got the better of him.

"So what did the Redwynes want anyway?" he asked, turning away from the raunchy port town to look at his Lord.

"Just another marriage proposal for Arthur, they have a daughter the same age that they introduced me too. She is not unpleasant."

"I hadn't realized that you were so inundated with requests for the boy's hand."

"There are indeed many such requests, most unserious or ill-fitting. The Redwynes are neither."

"So you accepted?"

"No."

Davos stared at his lord, and finally, the Baratheon relented and explained.

"He is still too young. He will face his duty in time, but until then I will not sell his hand away."

Davos nodded at that, even if the boy was oddly mature, he was still very young for marriage. Not entirely unheard of, but extremely rare, especially for boys.

"I take it that went over well?"

"Well enough once I explained my reasoning. The fleet still sails."

"Of course it does, they aren't Freys." Davos snorted. "Even if they don't like you the won't ignore the crown's command over a denied marriage proposal to a child."

"Mhm." Stannis nodded and turned back towards his quarters.

Still, the Onion Knight had one last question to ask.

"My Lord, have you decided on an age that would be appropriate for him yet?" It was idle curiosity, more out of interest as to whether his Lord was simply shielding his son from the world or if he truly intended to marry him off eventually.

Lord Stannis paused for a moment, as if thinking it over, before finally answering.

"Twelve I should think. That was when mine was arranged."

As his Lord disappeared below decks, Davos internally swore off ever seeking arranged marriages for his children.

'tch, lord's games.'
___________________________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Gerald 1 289 AC

Gerald smiled as he prepared the cotton and beeswax mixture to stuff into his ears. This was always the best part of testing the new molds, dozens of cannons would be fired off all day long into targets on the side of the mountain. So far not a one had managed it without a misfire, over the five previous test days, and the criteria that Young Arthur had set was to stand up to a day of reasonably continuous fire reliably, so as to not fail in the midst of battle.

He was a bit surprised to note that the young genius himself had come around and waved him over even as the first of the cannon-thunder started further up the Dragonmont.

"Arthur. I'm surprised to see you up and about. Done knocking down the keep yet?"

"I don't know where the Dragons hid their godsdamned loot Gerald, but I would bet my wealth it isn't under the Drum. Every wall that wasn't keeping the ceiling up, every empty space. Hell, we dug a few skeletons up, but not a single coin or scrap of any value."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Gerald said honestly, he was looking forward to reforging Valyrian steel if he got the chance, there was just so much that could be done with it. "Are you going to continue searching?"

"Aye, The Targayens left treasure everywhere they ever lived, and here, in their oldest homeland? I suspect one bigger than most. I just won't personally be overseeing the search anymore. There are more pressing matters."

"Such as?"

"Cannons."

"Ah." the two turned up towards the volcano above, where the air quivered with the relentless cannon fire of the thirty or so molds being tested today. "Do you think any of them will make it?"

"I don't know." the boy said, glancing up to the slope. "But there are more interesting developments at play, follow me."

Gerald felt a flash of disappointment at not getting to observe the barrage but followed nonetheless.

"You know how Sig screwed up the powder he was making last week?" the boy asked genially, leading him over to one of the various stone storage lockers around their testing range.

"I can remember, yes." if he were still an alchemist he would have had the boy whipped, but then, he was a chemist now. "Did you find a use for it?"

"Oh did I ever." he watched as the child reached down, picking up what appeared to be a large hardened paper construction with a fuse at the back. "I had never quite figure out how to do rockets before this, but now? Now we have flares."

"Flares?"

"Ah, sorry, they had mostly been theoretical before. Just uh, watch this."

The boy set the thing at the base of a steep ramp, before lighting the fuse and scrabbling back away. "You may want to cover your ears."

Sure enough, just as he clamped down hard on his head, the thing went tearing up into the sky, making a fizzling noise. After a moment, it burst into a dull red light with a loud crack. Its remnants seemed to hang in the air.

"Is that supposed to go towards the enemy?" even now he could imagine the damage strapping a bomb to the front might do.

"No, it's not as impressive in the daylight, but it's intended to hang in the air and give us light to fight by at night. I should be able to use these to make night attacks a possibility. They'll also probably scare the shite out of people the first time they see them."

"All of your "inventions" do that." the word always felt strange on his tongue, but he had gotten used to it after Arthur insisted. The boy was always creating words to describe his creations.

"Yeah well, the important thing is that we need to figure out exactly how Sig screwed it up. If we can replicate it we can do both Flares and rockets. Those are the ones you point towards the enemy."

"Like Mortars but faster?" Gerald always wondered why the boy didn't share the mortars with his father, always so focused on cannons instead. The things already made catapults irrelevant.

"Exactly." Arthur nodded, a wide smile crossing his face, and Gerald sighed.

'Guess I have to go track down Sig.'
______________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Stannis 1 289 AC

The Lord of Dragonstone glared down at the map, much as he had been doing for the last few hours, looking it over carefully for anywhere that a trap or ambush could be hiding. He was sat in his improvised war-room aboard the Fury in preparation for the assault.

The Ironborn had made a colossal tactical blunder, now trapped between Fair-Isle and the mainland by their own plundering down the coast, their longboats would be worth far less trapped against the coast where they could not maneuver.

It all seemed to easy, and much too stupid for a people who lived and died at sea. Still, he could not miss his opportunity simply because of an ill feeling, and he had already sent the Redwyne fleet around the Isle to cut off any avenue of retreat for the raiders.

At dawn, the thunder of his son's cannon would signal the start of the attack, and the greatest fleets in Westeros would crush in on the Ironborn from both sides, reducing them to so much kindling in the waves.

Presuming, of course, that this was not, in fact, a trap.

"My Lord?" Davis stepped into the chamber, his sword at his side and his eyes sharp as a hawk's.

"Yes, Davos?"

"The sun is rising, and we've spotted Redwyne flags on the other side of the Iron Fleet."

"They aren't even attempting a breakout?"

"No My Lord, some of them are still being put to water, it seems the Ironborn have only just finished their reaving."

"Mhm. Eyes on the coast today Davos, they wouldn't be this stupid unless it was meant to distract us from something." Stannis reached down, grabbing his sword and throwing his cloak around his shoulders as he marched onto the deck.

"Yes My Lord, I'll have the other captains made aware."

"Good, Once you've done that, start the attack."

He wouldn't let himself be caught unawares by some trickery, but that didn't mean he would wait for an attempted breakout either. Now was the day and the hour for victory.

At least, if he read the winds right.

The thunder of the Cannon signaled the men to set all the sails in the fleet to full, the Fury at the head of a great wedge of ships that stretched from the coast of the mainland to that of the Fair Isle, the Royal Fleet sailing proud in all its splendor, the great War Gallies positioned at the fore with their ramming heads like an arrow at the heart of the Ironborn fleet, the wind at their backs and their sails full of the biting breeze

The Redwynes would be the anvil today, and perhaps poetically, Stannis was the hammer. The thought sent a frown to his face, but it soon departed in the face of battle fervor as the cannon at the prow fired once more, it missed it's mark considerably, but still produced a great pillar of water that set the men cheering.

Stannis for his part shouted a chant the Stormlanders of his navy knew well.

"Ours is the Fury!"

His cry was echoed by hundreds of others, and the cannon fired again, splintering the mast of an enemy longship. The white sails of the vessel falling into the deep even as the scorpions and catapults of the Royal Gallies opened fire with their own deadly payloads.

There was a great tearing sound and a shock of inertia as the Fury split one of the longships in half with its great Ram, the whole vessel shuddering as splinters bombarded the forecastle.

Cries of "FURY" broke the silence that followed, and the ship continued to fight. The fleet at large crushing the ill-prepared Ironborn and shoving the mass of them back into the waiting Redwyne fleet. Archers opened fire from both sides as the Ironborn struggled fruitlessly to injure the larger vessels.

Oh, they boarded a few certainly, and when they could they certainly did their butchers work, unmatched as they were in fighting aboard ships. Still, most of them drowned or died in the torrent of missiles that shattered their morale.

It was only after the battle was over and the bloodlust calmed that Davos informed him that the ship which the Fury had rammed at the very start of the fighting had belonged to Aeron Greyjoy and that the man had been captured trying to climb his own vessel.

When the final tally was called, and damages to the fleet recorded, Stannis couldn't help but wonder how the Iron Islands had ever expected a victory in the first place. Their fleet was laden with Westerland's bullion and unfit for fighting, though unfortunately much of it now rested at the bottom of the sea. As far as he could tell there had been no trap, no cunning, and he felt his estimation of the Iron Islanders slip somewhat compared to their fearsome reputation.

As he stared out at the wreckage littered coast, he felt Davos move to his side.

"The Fleet is ready to move again my lord."

"Good, we sail for Lannisport."

"Aye My Lord."

As Davos turned to leave, Stannis stopped him for a moment, a hand on the smaller man's shoulder.

"How did the cannon fare?, it stopped firing I know."

"The men are saying it grew teeth and they couldn't fire it anymore."

"Grew teeth?"

"Blew out the front of it more likely, but the men have taken a liking to it. Gave it a name and everything."

"Oh?" Stannis asked, turning to the knight.

"They're calling it "Iron Eater"."
_________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Arthur 3 289 AC

It was halfway through my archery lesson when news came of my Father's victory in the straights of Fair-Isle, and needless to say, I was let out of lessons for the rest of the day. Instead, I took to reading over Father's letter, again and again, to parse out details from what he had said.

It seemed that the Ironborn had blundered ridiculously, caught with their pants down in the straights and smashed to pieces by my father and the Redwyne's fleets.

He had sailed to Lannisport, where he had sent the letter, and picked up my Uncles army and some Lannisport forces besides, and now he was moving north to get the Stark's army before launching a proper invasion of the Islands. That meant that there were probably only a few months left in the war before he got back.

Whatsmore he explicitly mentioned my cannon, mentioning that it was useful. High praise as far as I was concerned. It only stung a little that they still weren't combat-ready. I was almost ready to give up and go to Iron or Bronze, but I wanted a bigger advantage than the two would provide. I knew there had to be some way to make them from Steel.

Mother for her part smiled thinly at the news, or perhaps at my enthusiasm for it, and Shireen certainly giggled when I read it out to her, which prompted a play session where I carried her about and tickled her.

A play session which was unfortunately interrupted, as one of the castle aids came running into the room.

"Young Lord." the skinny man, Aegor if I recalled properly, said breathlessly. "They have found a vault."

I rested Shireen on my knee, bobbing her gently.

"Where?" I asked as my sister giggled at the change in tone.

"Beneath Aegon's Garden."

My mind raced at the implications, and moreover what might be within.

"Show me."

After I put my sister back in her crib, I followed the man through the labyrinthine passages of the Drum to the back courtyard which housed Aegon's Garden, overlooked by dozens of Stone Gargoyles in the shapes of monstrosities some mythical and some all too real.

At its back right corner, a shaft had been unearthed, and my mouth watered as I saw it. The workers moved aside as I approached and I saw the great red-obsidian door, carved in the shape of a coiling dragon. No lever or doorknob was present.

"So… this is where they hid their treasures." I brushed my hand down the door, feeling the finely wrought stone before turning up to the workmen. "Have any of you found a way to open it?" I asked though they shook their heads at that and I turned back to the vault.

'Probably Fire and Blood knowing the Targs…' I groaned internally. My ancestors on that side truly did have an unhealthy fascination with making their magic require both burning and bleeding. I thought on the likely source, then pulled out a copper knife from my pocket.

After a moment of utter, ludicrous idiocy though, I stopped. The sane part of my mind somehow clinging on to Maester Cressen's insistence on patience and saving me from my own impulsiveness. I put my knife away, making wildfire in front of a crowd was bad practice. Not to mention utterly stupid to do in an uncontrolled environment.

'What the fuck am I thinking.' I crawled out of the pit. For now, I would attribute the momentary lapse in impulse control to Targaryen blood, or perhaps Baratheon as well come to think of it.

Besides, it was magical shit, and as limited as both of our abilities were, Gerald still had more experience with that than me. My resolve set, I ordered the door covered with canvas, for now, I could access it at a later date, and there was no reason to risk a spy somehow getting in or something.

Purpose in my step I made for the Dragonglass dungeon where the more secretive experiments were done.

As I descended the black and more importantly fireproof, pit where all the truly dangerous shit in the castle happened, I silently wished that magic wasn't such a load of horseshit.

The Dragonglass dungeon had, when the Targaryens ruled as a sovereign power, been their equivalent to the black cells, a place to keep their most odious enemies in pitched black obsidian darkness removed from all light. It was thus decorated sparsely and thankfully removed of most of the stupid dragon gargoyles that covered the rest of the castle. An excellent place to serve as my evil lair as it were.

Of course, in reality, my lair here was just a somewhat more magically inclined workshop than the ones on the surface. It was here that I had bid Gerald teach me how to make Wildfire, a surprisingly simple process in reality, though a clearly magical one. Blood should not make copper dissolve into tar and turn it green no matter what ridiculous words you said when you opened the cut, and yet it worked anyway, not that I bothered with it very often.

Whatever magic was in wildfire didn't transfer to metal crafted with it as far as I could tell. That meant it was only really useful as a magical and highly unstable napalm. Still, I did have some stores, made by both myself and Gerald, as well as the three apprentices he had managed to recruit from the school I had set up.

My attempts to use magic for other things were frustratingly inefficient as well, though it did create what might technically be considered an electric light source in the form of some stupid jars on the wall which crackled occasionally with lightning. They looked like novelty plasma lamps and as far as I could tell they were useless as batteries. Even as a light source they were both dim and obviously magical. For the moment they were not suited for much besides accidentally electrocuting yourself.

No, I had largely left this place to Gerald alone since about a year ago. I had decided that magic was mostly useless for what I wanted it to do, and moved on to more practical matters. The remnants of his experiments with percussion caps were the only recent experiments in the room, and I was here mostly to grab a small vial of Wildfire and be on my way.

I selected a clay tube from a particularly weak batch and went on my way. I needed to find Gerald and consult with him on what to do about the vault door.

Soon enough I would have access to whatever it was the Targaryens had squirreled away here.

Soon enough.
__________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Davos 3 289 AC

Davos frowned as he rode up beside his Lord. Despite having learned to ride after he earned his knighthood, the saddle still felt wrong to him. He knew some men got seasick on the ocean, and he wondered if he might have the same trouble on horses. Still, he followed where his lord went, and most of the martial host was on foot owing to the difficulty of getting horses to the Iron Islands.

"There it is Davos. Hammerhorn. Not a particularly impressive castle." Stannis grumbled, "And yet one we have to take while my brother claims Pyke. As always."

'Not touching that with a halberd.' Davos thought. There were just some issues that you didn't talk to Lord Stannis about unless you were his family or Maester Cressen. "Do you want the men to bring up the siege weapons?"

"Yes. I think they should. These Iron Islanders have repeatedly proven morons. Perhaps they will surrender faster if they see what we bring against them."

"Yes, sir."

Personally, Davos thought it might be better if they just started the bombardment entirely before demanding surrender. It had taken burning bales of hay being flung over the walls of Crow Spike Keep and Pebbleton to get them to surrender, and he wanted this blasted campaign over with at least as much as his lord did.

Still, he rode up to the gates as he had for all the other stupid barbarian castles on the Great Wyk, and presented his Lords ultimatum.

Gorold Goodbrother stood atop the gate, accompanied by his retinue.

"Greetings, Southerner. I take it you have come to demand the surrender of my keep?"

He stared up quizzically at the man. It was the first time one of the blasted Reavers had met him at the gate before they started burning their castles down. "Aye, that's true."

The Man nodded plainly, glancing at his men before turning back to Davos. "Let's hear your terms then."

Davos cleared his throat, back to the part he was equipped for then. "Lord Stannis Baratheon of Dragonstone, in the Name of his Royal Highness, Robert Baratheon, king of seven kingdoms and his royal brother, hereby formally requests the surrender of House Goodbrother of Hammerhorn and their submission to the King's Justice. If this surrender is met, Lord Stannis will be willing to intercede on behalf of House Goodbrother to the king, and will ensure that all your vassals are treated with respect befitting their status."

The Reaver glared down with hard eyes, looking at Davos and then back towards the army setting up for siege behind him.

"I have some concerns over the terms of this deal. I would like to negotiate a more amicable surrender."

Davos stopped for a second, thinking quickly.

"Do you have a negotiator who you would like to send?"

The man nodded and gestured to one of his men, who broke away from the wall.

"Yes, my Son Gornon will meet you in a moment. I expect him returned intact on your lord's honor, whether the negotiations go well or not."

Davos couldn't actually promise that, but he nodded nonetheless. Though he expected the boy would be fine, Lord Stannis was not the type to murder messengers.

The Gates parted slightly, and a young man walked out. His hair long and ruddy blond and his features bitter like most Iron Islanders. Davos nodded at the nervous-looking boy, smiling.

"Cmon, let's get this whole mess over with."

The boy, his face flushing at his nervousness being caught out, sputtered, before standing straighter. It was funny how he tried to make his voice sound deeper than it was. "Certainly," he said, raising his shoulders so as to appear bigger, though the effect was lost to a man on horseback.

He led the Goodbrother back to the siege camp, where he found Lord Stannis waiting at the gates, no longer mounted himself, but instead standing with the guard.

"Lord Goodbrother is willing to surrender, but would like to negotiate."

"Pah, he should have done that when he still had a fleet. Now he sends a boy to negotiate." His lord spat out the words like they were the brackish water of these isles. "Fine, come with me. Robert said to give you fools a chance as it stands."

He glanced down as the boy's facade crumbled. He was clearly unready for this, and Davos had to wonder why his father had even sent him our, to begin with.

'Probably because he didn't care if he died.' Davos thought though he tried not to show the way the idea disgusted him on his face.

The disregard that some Lords often showed for their own families had always been their worst aspect to him.

At least his own was not the same.
______________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Cressen 2 289 AC

He was in the midst of writing a letter to congratulate Lord Stannis for his victory at fair Isle when young Arthur knocked on his door, and he let the boy in after only a moment. It was too late in the day for the Ravens to fly anyhow.

"What is it?" he asked curiously, as the boy appeared to be quite out of breath, though the smile on his face belied the fact that he was likely here with good news.

"Ah, good, you're still awake. Come quickly." the boy almost lifted him from his chair. "I found the vault, but I don't want to touch anything that might crumble."

"The Targaryen Vault?" Cressen asked, putting his own feet down. That certainly was news worth getting excited about. Cressen staggered to his feet with the help of the boy.

"Where did you find it?"

"Under Aegon's Garden, It had a magic door, but we got the thing to open with a bit of wildfire."

"A magic door?" he looked questioningly at the boy. He had thought him smarter than that.

"You tell me what kind of lock you need fire to open and I'll stop calling it magic. Besides, Magic is just physics that we don't understand yet."

Cressen smiled at that, and gestured for the boy to lead on, which he did, eventually taking them to Aegon's Garden, a large part of which had been dug up. Several large wooden pallets were stacked to the side, likely waiting for the loot below to be extracted.

"We'll have to stand on one of those to be lowered down. It's quite a drop." The boy waved over the Frey Alchemist who seemed to be putting up some sort of pulley system on long stilts that stood over the pit. "Gerald, will we be ready to go soon?"

"Aye Arthur, we should be set."

Cressen took the liberty to stare down into the pit, he could see the so-called "Magic" door below, carved out of red dragonglass and clearly quite decorative. Its sides were quite smooth, and he could not deny that perhaps it might be more than ordinary, given the way that even now it stood directly upward despite the tug of the world. Below was a black pit that seemed to go quite a ways down, the sparse light from above making little visible in its depth.

"It seems quite ancient from the look of what I saw earlier. Possibly quite a bit older than our more recent Targaryen Emigrees." The child said, staring down alongside him. "Of course, it would likely have been easier to find had they not burned the old seneschal's records."

"That's certainly true." the old man admitted, before turning to the platform that was supposed to be carrying them, along with a couple of the young Baratheon's aides. "Are you certain of the stability of this lift?"

"Oh yeah, normally we use it to move Cannons up out of the foundry. It can lift an awful lot more than us."

"Very well then." He stepped onto the platform, following Arthur's example and grabbing hold of a rope.

"It will wobble a bit I wager, but just because we ourselves aren't precisely balanced."

'This is far too much exertion for an old man.' Cressen groaned, even as the thing began to descend. He was excited of course, for the ancient knowledge that might be found here, but that didn't quite make up for the stomach-wrenching lurches of the pallet in his mind, at least not while he was riding it.

To his side, the aides lit torches, and as they slowly descended Cressen got a look at exactly what they were dealing with.

"Seven Heavens…" He let out involuntarily.

The Vault was an enormous and damp chamber, a construction that few could hope to achieve in a single room, even with the greatest of architects. Its walls were polished dragonglass of a dozen colors, crisscrossing in patterns that seemed to follow the lines of its fused construction. Four colossal statues of collared dragons served as columns holding up the corners of the chamber, leering down at the descending lift, and the bottom glittered with what might well be Gold.

"This must predate the Dance…" Arthur said beside him. "I can't see any way they would be able to build those things without Dragonfire."

"It seems likely," Cressen said, nodding up at them. "But why was it built? This would be a major effort for the Targaryens even at the height of their power."

"Perhaps it was security, a reserve of wealth and knowledge to fall back on that was lost when they started murdering each other. I suppose it might also predate the conquest, but then I imagine that Aegon would have used it."

As they reached towards the bottom it became clear that the vault was indeed wealthy, and with more than just gold besides.

"My word…" Cressen's eyes immediately went to the neatly stacked rows upon rows of spherical stones at the back of the chamber. "Those are dragon eggs aren't they?"

While the Aides took a step back, almost as if in fear of the very idea, young Arthur merely glanced at them and turned away. "Yes, they indeed are, but they are of little use to me at the moment, and probably Fossilized besides. I'm sure some of them could be hatched in the right circumstances, but they are of little use to my father or I presently, at the very least."

Instead, Cressen felt a bit of shock at the quick dismissal as the boy made his way to ancient bookshelf upon which numerous ancient books rested, bound in tanned dragonhide by the looks of them. "Be careful with those books lad, paper ages quickly in the wet."

"I'm aware, but I doubt these have been affected that way, at least if my suspicions are correct. Sig, bring me that light."

Cressen moved to the boy's side as he brought the book up flat on an ancient table. In the light, its title was quite clear, written in a truly old Valyrian script. "Customs of the barbarians." He translated, and Arthur nodded along with him.

"If this isn't from Valyria itself it probably closely follows the doom."

The boy turned the cover back, sending a cascade of dusk into the air which sent him coughing over the book. Cressen reached out an arm, but Arthur waved him off. "I'm fine, I'll drink some water to clean my mouth out when we get back up."

The Maester nodded and looked to the page. "A copy of an original work by… Meernies of Ghis." He felt a chill run through his body. The book in his hands might well contain knowledge well over a thousand years old.

"The Founder of Meereen?" Arthur questioned, having shaken off his coughing fit. "That certainly is old."

"Yes, and who knows what else is on that shelf."

"Who knows what else is down here? You mean. Since we know the books aren't falling apart we have one of my major objectives down and then… aha." The boy climbed over a pile of Gold dragons as if they were nothing, moving towards the dragon eggs.

There, pressed against the feet of two of the great statues he stopped.

"Oh, My…" the boy said, apparently struck dumb by the sight before him.

Even as Cressen stumbled over the pile of coins to follow, he found that he felt much the same.

"I uh… I think that this collection here may be more Valyrian Steel than there is in Westeros."

Cressen stared wide-eyed along with the boy at the enormous amount of the legendary material, Not just swords, there were also daggers, axes, Glaives and polearms, even a suit of scale armor if his eyes didn't deceive him, all glistening in the torchlight with that distinctive pattern in the metal unique only to the craftsmanship.

The Awestruck silence was broken at last by Sig of all people, who spoke from behind him on the coin pile.

"Ayy, what in the hells? These ain't Dragons."
____________________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Stannis 2 289AC

Lances splintered and shields shattered on the muddy ground of Lannisport. The horns sounded victory and defeat.

It was all ephemeral for him. The shouting and laughing and the unreasonable consumption of alcohol. No, only the bitterness of thankless duty sat in the heart of Stannis Baratheon.

When the winners had been announced, the prizes awarded, and the feasting once more commenced, Stannis did not smile, nor would he.

For what was the tourney held in honor of? Why Robert and Ned Stark's victory over the Ironborn. The two were away down the high-table from him now, past all of the Lannister's. His brother laughing and drinking, and no doubt later whoring as he always did.

It was remarkable that his wife did not object at court, but then again the Lannisters only ever did care for power, raw and military. And who was more exemplary of that ambition than the old Lion next to him?

Tywin Lannister was, he had to admit, a respectable man in some senses. There was something dutiful about the way the man worked for his dynasty, but at times his ambition strayed far beyond his station.

Still, at the very least he did not try to make unnecessary conversation, and the two of them were able to eat in relative silence away from the more raucous end of the table.

Ironically, for all that the tournament favored him, Ned Stark also seemed out of his element. Though that was unsurprising, the stern Northerners rarely if ever held their own tourneys from what he understood.

A practical policy.

He suspected that, much like himself, the Stark would dearly prefer to be in his own lands, as opposed to wasting time in the Westerlands. He had heard the man had children, and by all accounts actually cared for them, unlike Robert.

Well, perhaps that was a tad unfair. Robert may have some love for his children, but much like whatever love he might have for Stannis or Renly, it always came second to his own desires.

Stannis ground his teeth. Thinking well of Robert at all was irritating.

Still, he continued to hold his tongue as Robert repeated for the fourth time how he had made Greyjoy kneel and beg to avoid execution. Something Stannis doubted. Kneel, probably, but the Greyjoy's did not seem a begging lot. Not even the young one Theon who was to be fostered by the Starks as a hostage.

Even now the child glared sullenly at his brother the king, and Stannis wondered if his brother ever realized how many enemies his demeanor earned him.

But then, he was not one to speak about such matters. Dutiful behavior had a tendency to offend the dishonest after all, and in his years Stannis suspected he had made many enemies due to his duties.

Pity for them.

He had no desire to offend anyone tonight, just to get through it. So he drank his watered-down wine, and soon enough the blasted feast was over and he was finally back on board the Fury.

"I take it you didn't enjoy the tournament, My Lord?"

"I don't enjoy seeing my brother waste his money on frivolity, no." He answered, managing to avoid grinding his teeth. After more than two months at sea, the water was far more relaxing than the Lannister sod. Things made sense on the Fury. The men knew their duty, and how to avoid overstepping it.

He glanced at the silhouette of the "Iron Eater." The mostly broken cannon that now served more as a figurehead than it had as a weapon. Still, it had proven his son's point well enough. there was, indeed, the potential for a weapon smaller than a scorpion and more powerful than a trebuchet. Presuming that the boy's pet Wisdom could fix the fragility of it at least.

"Has any news come from Dragonstone?"

"Not for some time. Though I have no idea where they would send it. We haven't stayed at one port for very long."

"Mhm. I will send a letter describing our victory and the subjugation of the Great Wyk. I'm sure Arthur will enjoy it at least."

"He does seem to be more militarily inclined than the Prince, though the prince is still young. I doubt Joffrey will ever plan to conquer the Stepstones though."

"No." Stannis felt a small smile creep onto his lips, his son's apparent desire to conquer the pirate-infested isles was perhaps the only time he would ever think of Arthur having a childish dream. Like his own wounded Goshawk, the boy would learn better in time.

Then again, perhaps that was why he wanted his cannons and his boats.

Either way, it mattered little to Stannis, it would be beyond his duty, and Robert likely wouldn't thank him, but it would perhaps relieve some of the bleakness of Dragonstone to have it be king over the narrow sea.

Just as long as Arthur didn't get himself killed doing it.
____________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Arthur 4 289 AC

The Vault proved to be as much of a treasure trove as I expected, more so even, with the enormous cache of Valyrian Steel weapons. Though it became increasingly clear that it predated the Targaryens entirely, being some sort of reserve vault for one of the Dragonlord houses.

The fact that this much wealth could be concentrated in what amounted to a colonial garrison fortress was terrifying in a way, demonstrating the ludicrous power Valyria possessed at its height before the Doom.

That said, I had to impose strict rules at the moment, no one who entered the Garden was allowed to leave the confines of the castle. Even Mother agreed. It was simply too much wealth in one place. Wars had been fought for less.

No, we would not fall victim to lax security, we would sit tight and take inventory until my father got back, then decide what to do from there, as the treasure was, by rights, his. Until then the castle might as well be under siege. Even the Ravens were kept under lock and key at my request. Any that came in would be taken care of here for the time being and not sent back to their masters. It might step on some toes, but we were not going to let a word escape these halls. It, unfortunately, put a stop to classes for a while, but that was the price of our security, and father was returning soon anyway.

Still, it was thrilling in a way just counting everything out. Enough Gold sat in the vault alone to fight a war, and that was in many ways the least of its treasures.

Seventy-two dragon eggs remained in viable condition. They were now being kept in the Dragonglass tower with my other more secretive holdings. They were worth little to us except perhaps in trade, but perhaps someday I or my descendants would discover the method raising them once more. Until then they would sleep in the most secure place I could find.

Then there were the books, which would likely help make that endeavor marginally less fruitless. Not a one was original, a marvel in its own right given how expensive copying books was without one of my presses, but then the Valyrians had slaves for that. Still, it was a remarkable cache, an ancient history long ago passed into myth was now made clear, albeit with a strong Valyrian bias. The real treasures were the dragon lore. The Valyrian methods for hatching, rearing, and keeping dragons, and more besides. There was even a book on their uses for architecture, twisting their fire into stone to create structures like Dragonstone itself. The Targaryens themselves clearly didn't know half of this shit, else Maegor's holdfast would probably look more like Barad-Dur.

Then came the armory. A thing of utter beauty and no less absurdity. There were no less than 47 separate items crafted out of high-quality Valyrian steel, including two sets of armor, four shields, and a helmet. The forty weapons were each a work of art in their own right, and while I would wait for my father's return to give them names, I had still held each one in my hand testing their weight, though most I couldn't properly swing.

In addition to the Valyrian Steel, there was a truly staggering amount of Dragonbone stored in a side chamber. Skeletons of Dragons great and small decorated the walls, and a good number of mighty wing bones had been forged into bows. It was almost a shame that they would soon be outdated by firearms.

Finally, there was chest after chest of luxury goods, stored in great stacks of uniform wooden boxes against the bottoms of the walls in both the side chamber and the main. Mirrors of polished gold, jewelry of ludicrous finery, indeed even a necklace of Valyrian steel encrusted with an enormous emerald and rows of pearls, fit for some warrior princess of old to wear. Valyrian clothing fit for the Dragonlords somehow preserved against the effects of time, apparel fit for the royalty of the most powerful empire in the history of the world.

Amongst them were several silk skirts that I planned to quietly sell off as fast as possible. The Valyrian style left little to the imagination, and I wished to see neither my sister nor my mother don the near-transparent clothing. Even if it did sparkle like diamonds in the torchlight.

Overall, I spent a good part of my next few days in that damp, cold vault, withdrawing treasure after gilded treasure from its depths. My mind racing through the possibilities it provided for both my family and myself.

Truly, I thought, I had been blessed with the luck of the Gods.

It was only on the day before my father returned that I noticed the curse that I had taken on in exchange for that luck.

It was then that the skin on the edge of my right shoulder blade began to turn a sickly grey and start to flake off. Becoming hard and stiff like granite.

Evidently, the Gods loved their jokes.
_____________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Stannis 3 289 AC.

The Fury's return to Dragonstone was a thing of small fanfare. Most of the fleet had already split off back to Kings landing for repair and resupply. Or else to other ports along the coast from Tarth north to Cracklaw point. Still, despite the lack of fanfare, or perhaps because of it, Stannis was glad to be back to his own holding. It would never be Storm's End, but his family was here, even if they had been strangely silent for some time. To his growing fear.

His fears were relieved somewhat when he saw that Maester Cressen and his wife both had come down to the port to see him in, the small delegation cast into shadow by the Enormity of the Galley as it came into port. He was surprised to see Selyse, but he supposes it was her duty, and perhaps she wanted him to perform his own as she often did when he made it to Dragonstone.

"Can you take care of the men Davos?"

The Knight nodded and he returned the favor, stepping down the gangplank to go meet with the two.

"My Lord, it is good to see you returned in good health. We were rather thrilled to hear of your victory."

Stannis felt his spirits drop as he heard the tightness in the old man's voice. He glanced sharply to his wife, but her face betrayed nothing of the problem either, save a look of worry that he had scarcely seen her wear.

"What is wrong Maester?" He asked his almost-glad countenance from a moment before turning on its head.

"Ah, well, many things have happened recently, but here is not the place to discuss it. Let's return to the keep."

Stannis blinked at the words but then nodded. If it was serious enough that Cressen feared spies then he could certainly afford to speak in a more secure location.

"give me a moment to make Sir Davos aware," he said quickly, waving the man down and letting him know he was going to the keep.

He noticed the whole town seemed to be on edge as they moved through it, and the castle had guards posted at a full watch.

when the gate shut behind them with a heavy *thud* he turned to his Master with a questioning look, and the man simply gestured him on into the great hall.

"Good enough." The old man said, sitting down and bidding he do the same. After a moment Selyse sat next to him, her eyes staring straight forward as if she was trying to contain herself. "First and foremost. Your Son found the Valyrian vault he was looking for and a truly spectacular hoard inside."

Stannis raised an eyebrow at that. "Spectacular enough that you all have decided to shut the castle off as if it is under siege?"

"There were no less than forty Valyrian Steel weapons in the vault."

Stannis looked at the man for a moment, the words taking time to settle in. "Forty…"

You could have heard a pin drop in the hall despite its size.

"Wait.. did you just say Forty?!?" for the first time in a very long time, Stannis Baratheon found himself caught flat-footed. House Baratheon had only ever had one such weapon, and that was lost with his father's ship, sunken deep in the Bay of Storms. "That's… that's more than the Targaryens ever had."

"The Vault predates their coming here, by what I estimate to be around one hundred and thirty years. It was built before the doom, and the rest of its treasure is just as worthy as the weapons. All of it was somehow preserved against the cold and damp. Which brings us to the second problem."

Before he could ask Cressen what he meant, his wife blurted out the answer. Her face finally breaking into a mass of worry.

"Arthur has contracted Greyscale." She said matter-of-factly. "My son got Greyscale pulling treasures for you out of that damned vault."

Stannis wasn't quite sure how to respond to his life, normally she was simple enough to deal with, but now, with tears welling in her eyes and the news of his son's…

'Arthur might die.'

That was unacceptable.

Stannis stood to his feet.

"Where is he?"

"He's shut himself in his room at the moment. He let me in to see him once, to verify that it was truly Greyscale, but otherwise, he has denied all contact but to have men pass water and food through the door. He says he doesn't want to infect others."

Stannis could see the logic in that, the duty his son took on, but he just couldn't find it in himself to care. He turned to Selyse, who had dabbed up the tears of her outburst with a kerchief. "Take me there, I can't navigate this blasted castle."

Maester Cressen made a valiant attempt to stand, trying to block them. "Now Stannis, I will tell you now, he has only contracted the scale, not the plague, he should be fine given adequate care, which he seems capable of giving himself well enough. I would not have left him alone had I thought he would not-" Stannis cut him off, marching past the man with Selyse. Contagion or no, lethal or no, he would not fail his son the one time he actually seemed to need him.

It was duty, and also more than that.

His wife guided him down the paths of the castle swiftly to the shut door of his son's quarters. They may have disliked each other in many ways, but at this moment they acted as one.

His support was evidently all she needed to override Cressen.

He knocked three times, sharply, and perhaps a bit harder than he needed too.

"... I'm going to guess that that's Mother?" he heard from the other side of the door. His son's voice sounding clear despite the sickness.

"Close, but incorrect," Stannis spoke clearly, turning the knob which was surprisingly unlocked.

"Father? Come in if you feel you must, but know that you risk your own health doing so."

He pushed open the door, the quarters were large, though not so much as his own princely quarters, and his son sat at the table scribbling notes down without a shirt, his pale chest and back exposed along with the grey splotches that formed high on his right shoulder. His son quickly closed the notebook, turning to face him.

Stannis felt the wind go out of him at the sight.

"It's true then?"

"That I managed to pick up Greyscale in the ancient dragon-vault? Yes. The disease loves the damp and cold, I should have known some might reside there."

"Is that why you have the fire burning in summer?" he asked, noting the small bellows next to the blazing fireplace in the corner of the room, which flickered a pale orange.

"partially that, and also because scalding water is supposed to slow down its spread, amongst other things." the boy shut the book before him, instead gesturing to a shelf full to the side. "I have become quite the expert on idiotic methods for combating Greyscale over the last two days, and all that I can speak to in order to relieve you is that this does not seem to be a deadly case. The Grey plague is reported to start at the extremities, and my fingers and toes work fine as of yet."

"But-" His mother started, but Arthur simply pointed towards his shoulder.

"This is going to spread somewhat, I cannot stop it, but I am currently doing everything reasonable to slow it's spread that does not include removing my own collarbone. I do intend to live through this mother."

"Oh… Arthur…"Stannis was rather taken aback when the woman flung herself at their son, only for the boy to push his chair into her and rebuff her attempt to embrace him.

"Mother please, you cannot hug me. If you got infected your own case might not be this mild."

Stannis felt a chill as his son turned to him, a pleading look in his eyes. He already knew what the boy wanted. He wanted Stannis to do his duty, to look past his own feelings on the matter.

It felt like a punch in the gut, but one for his own sake, like replacing a dislocated joint.

"We need to go," he said, finally, his hand clamping down around his wife's shoulder. "If anything changes. If you think you are going to die, tell me or Maester Cressen," he said simply. Taking his wife out of the room. He knew that his son would suffer, that he very well might still die. The whole thing felt like a blade being pressed against Stannis' heart.

Nonetheless, he would endure it rather than risk himself pointlessly.

For that was what duty meant. Even in pain, sorrow or heartbreak, he would soldier on.

He was a Baratheon damn it.

He had to.
______________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Arthur 5 290 AC

It was a harrowing thing watching a quite possibly magical fungal infection grow on one's own shoulder over a period of months, trapped in a single room while you ate bread and stew and drank little other than boiled water.

It was an unpleasant experience, and one I was not entirely sure that I would live through, particularly when the infection began to creep up the side of my neck. From my reading, I knew the face was particularly vulnerable to greyscale due to the orifices present.

On the other hand, the rest of the castle's population seemed to be able to avoid it from my through-the-door conversations with Gerald. Maester Cresen had apparently taken to my recommendation of cooking all of the loot in bakers ovens with gusto, which likely helped remove it from whatever sorry piece of junk I had been infected by.

Well, presuming it was not magical. I had no idea if it was or not.

Still, I had little to do in the long hours and trackless days locked in my quarters other than taking searing baths and rubbing alcohol on the afflicted area, which did, admittedly, slow it's growth down. It just didn't seem to stop it.

I spent most of my time doing something that I likely should have done far earlier, given the precarious nature of life in this world. I had Maester Cressen being me a fresh book, and then I began to write down all I could think of that would be valuable to my family.

Ideas, concepts, insights. From Astronomy to political science and from steam engines to recoilless rifles I scoured my brain for everything useful that could be done, and when I finished that? I began to write what I knew of the future yet to come. Of the death of Robert, the nature of his children, why Littlefinger and Varys should be summarily executed if you ever got an excuse. What Daenerys would likely do with her Dragons and the invasion of the white walkers in the North both were clear enough as well.

It was grim work on my part, more akin to writing a last Will and Testament than anything I truly desired to put to paper in such a form, monotonous too.

By the fourth month, when I could finally confirm that the Greyscale had stopped, it was a new year. The infection had been slowed to a crawl for some time, so I had taken to marking my flesh with ink at intervals so that I could make sure that it actually properly stopped.

In a polished golden mirror, I stared at the damage, such as it was. The Stoney skin had crept over my right shoulder and down onto my chest, where it had ended, it's growth just above my right nipple, though it had thankfully let my arm and shoulder joint alone as far as I could tell. It was more stiff of disuse than due to disease I would wager.

Unfortunately, my neck and face were not equally spared. While it might still be less important for a man than a girl like my sister, it still stung to know that I would likely forever bare the scar of rocky flesh reaching up to around the base of my jaw on the right, with jagged growths that appeared like mountains stretching up my cheek.

I would likely never have been in handsome in more than a rugged way anyhow, given my parents, but the Gods seemed intent even to ruin that little chance in exchange for my prize of ancient wealth.

'I wonder if the Targayens put that vault here as a security against the Rhoynar plague. Ironic then, that they probably carried it here themselves.'

When No marks had been passed for the past week, I asked Maester Cressen to come to confirm that the disease had indeed stopped. He pricked me with needles, drew a bit of clear blood from beneath the skin, and then confirmed it.

"You appear to be healthy, if a somewhat scared young boy at the moment." he smiled, ruffling my hair. "Come let's get you to see your father."

"He is on Dragonstone?" I asked surprised, he had not come to speak to me since I asked him and mother to stay away.

"He has never left out of fear for you I suspect. The small council raised a fuss, but he silenced them by giving King Robert a Valyrian sword."

I nodded at that, it seemed like something Father would do, though the fact that he had stayed out of fear for me was touching in a way that was hard to describe.

"What else has changed while I have been shut up in there?"

"Well…" As we walked through the great fused-stone halls of Dragonstone, Maester Cressen informed me of what my father had done with all of the treasure, most of it was expected, but some of it…

"He's done what?"

"You heard me correctly, he decided that half the gold be set aside for "My son's expensive projects." I was quite surprised as well. But then, his men have taken a liking to your cannon I hear."

I blinked at the enormous sum that likely represented even as I entered the room of the painted table where my parents were having dinner.

Of course, what happened to the treasure fled my mind almost instantly as I saw the baby cradled in my Mother's arms, far too small to be Shireen.

"What?"
________________________________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Thandril 1 291 AC

Thandril Blunt was considered a boring man by Essosi standards. A well-connected one to be sure, but boring nonetheless.

He had always strived to take that as a compliment. It was a desirable trait for his profession after all. One would not trust an exciting man to take care of their money, lest he lose it all in some gamble in a far off land you had never heard of.

Not that exciting men weren't useful mind you. They most certainly were, indeed, the discerning investor could make a great deal of money by identifying the very gambles he spoke of, for as long as the risks were mitigated properly investment in one could yield truly enormous rewards to the boring men who backed them.

Thandril made it a habit of being one of those backers, and approximately a third of the time it worked out for him. That third made enough money to easily dwarf the other two, let him pay interests on the accounts, and the Iron Bank grew, as a result, dwarfing the other banks of Essos to a point where if not for political defenses, it could likely devour them all, and still not take in its own value in the process.

Not that that would be desirable in the long term. The Iron Bank had it's own political protections to concern itself with, protection that only existed in Braavos.

Still, its interests did not stop at the edge of the Titan's Feet, no it had a presence in all of the free cities, and moreover was the primary external bank to operate in the Seven Kingdoms. A land full of exciting men held back from profit by the nature of the frankly primitive systems that governed them.

Still, the occasional individual did breakthrough, and one such man, or perhaps boy would be more accurate, was Arthur Baratheon.

'Now what on Earth am I going to do with this?' Thandril wondered staring down at the odd-looking ship sitting lightly in the dock before him. The letter describing it and its operation had called it a "Cutter" and it was apparently supposed to be a demonstration of the Boy's new shipbuilding concerns.

According to the men he had hired to test it, it was quick, light, and could tack well against the wind without rowers, but it was hardly anything he would have use for.

Why, he hadn't even set foot on a boat outside of parties held on them, much less sailed. He had never set foot beyond the edge of Braavos. He was much too busy for that.

Still, it was a gift and investment in future relations with the bank, and he could not deny the impressive scale of the gesture.

'perhaps the boy wants to invest as much in us as we invest in him?' the banker chuckled, nodding slightly. It was always good for the bank to be properly appreciated, for all their talk of feudal contracts it always seemed hard for the Westerosi to grasp any similar obligation to the Iron Bank, and relations tended to be sour at best as a result.

'Well, I'm sure the Sealord will like it. One more boat for his pleasure fleet I suppose.'

It was all much too exciting for him.
__________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Aerys 1 291 AC

It had sounded a cushy deal at first, sign up for the young lord's classes, learn to read and get paid to do it. Indeed it was a cushy deal, too good in fact.

Because once he learned to read he couldn't go back to being a fisherman.

Oh, he had no doubt some men could, some of his friends had even, gone back better fishermen, but fishermen still, but he read the paper. He saw the Lord Arthur's new ships glide out into the sea like daggers propelled by the wind, their bright white sails bulging as they flew over the waves. He heard of the opportunity in the new "company" the young Lord had made for men who could captain a boat, and he had taken to the job with relish.

Now, he was captain of his own ship, well, the company's own, but he was still her captain.

The Wave-Dasher, she was named and his pride and joy she was, to the point his wife had gotten jealous, heh. The boat lived up to her name, the seventh of her kind. She had some small improvements over her kin, and he was sure she could beat any Tyroshi Cog from King's Landing to Volantis thrice over before the cog made one full trip. She may have lacked cargo space, but you simply couldn't beat that speed.

No, he was quite sure that there wasn't a ship in the world outside the company that could even hope to match her in that regard.

And now, far from his trials sailing about the bay at Dragonstone, he was finally being given permission to run her free on the coast. The company had given him the charter to run a circuit from King's landing to White-Harbor, and all the real ports in between.

At each stop, the company had an office, and the men there would ensure he got high-quality goods at a reasonable price, and sell off what he carried from the last port. He and the crew even got a cut of the profit, and the profits ought to be excellent given what speed they could carry them with, especially when split over a crew of only fifteen.

The Captains of those "Galleons" the young Lord was working on at the new shipyard might have more things to sell when they hit the water, but whatever they made would be split over thirty or forty men, perhaps more. He would take his odds with his smaller crew.

It all seemed right clever to him, this whole company business. Everybody won, the sailors got a better cut since there wasn't a need to pay oarsmen. The captains got the best damn ships he'd ever seen, and the company took a bit of money out to build more ships. A tidy arrangement if ever he saw one, and his father was a merchant.

Well, he wasn't a great merchant, else his son wouldn't have had to become a fisherman to take care of him in his old age, but still, a merchant nonetheless.

He toyed with his hat where it met his braided silver hair. And to top it all off he had gotten a bonus for just being a captain. They'd dressed him all up in a nice leather coat and boots like he was some sort of lord or a knight at least.

He smiled as he saw the reefs coming in the distance, the water shallow near their top. To a normal ship, they would be terrifying, but he spied them in the distance and felt the wind caught in the sails as he turned the ships-wheel, the light vessel swerving to the side with grace and speed as he tacked around the obstruction, the breeze of the Northern Blackwater captured even at an angle in the triangular sails.

'Aye, If every man had a boat like this, then every man'd be happy.'
_______________________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Arthur 6 291 AC

I smiled as I made my way down to the docks, waving at the men I passed. Ever since I had been able to leave the castle I had begun marching about the town as frequently as possible so as to ingratiate myself to the populace at large. Occasionally I even convinced my sworn sword and tutor, Jaerys Velaryon (A nice young knight from one of their numerous Cadet houses), to ride out with me to some of the smaller fishing villages around Dragonstone where I had been trying to set up more classes. The people didn't really seem to know what to make of me for the most part, but I was confident that they would come around eventually. The Lord you knew was better than the one you didn't.

Still, most days it was just my growing little port here, full of Dragonseeds and Essosi and Crownlanders hired to build ships. Thus far at least people hadn't made too much of a fuss over the immigration, but that would probably only last as long as there were jobs and money for all of them.

But then, that was what the company was for.

By far the largest of the buildings in town, if one forgot the towering castle, Built of stone and wood over a steel frame, the first steel-framed building in the world if I was thinking correctly, though it was no high-rise to really need the support, but it demonstrated that it could be done.

The lobby was well designed, if still plainly furnished, and a great wooden carving of the corporate seal sat above the welcome desk.

I nodded at the doorman, Jon, before moving upstairs to my office. It had the best view of the rapidly developing harbor, befitting my status, from it I could see the new buildings being erected, the piers being put it out.

It was all artificial of course. Dragonstone's spectacular growth. The company was not so large just yet that it would need this many docks in the near future, nor was the economy of the entire island enough to need this much trade, at least not yet.

But for all I cared, the invisible hand of the market could go toss itself over the Dragonmont Caldera. I was intently and deliberately making sure that my own hand was both very present and very visible.

I was essentially a broadcasting opportunity.

Oh sure, to the men coming it was mostly just "The Narrow Sea Company" or even the individual recruiter that was hiring them, and that was deliberate.

Once they set foot on my island though they learned damned quick that it was MY island, and that I was the one buttering their bread, selling them houses at below-market rates and offering to transport their families here free after a year of service. I was the one bringing them up to what might someday be considered middle class.

And at the moment, I was losing money hand over fist doing it. I would see profits off the trade, certainly, but not Net profits when one factored in all the things I was importing. The inland of Dragonstone was now for the first time being shaped into terrace farms and cultivated, but the food wasn't the biggest cost anyhow. Not to mention the large expense of keeping my overseas offices. They were paying for themselves already by cutting out middle-men, but they were still yet another thing to add to the negative side of the budget.

This morning was the first meeting I was holding in my brand spanking new office, and appropriately enough, it was in order to solve my money problems.

I tugged at my high-collar as the Braavosi man walked in. I had taken to wearing one in order to conceal the greyscale. It didn't quite hide the scarring on my right cheek, but it did at least make it less obvious.

"My Lord." he greeted, the picture of politeness, though I did not yet have the title.

"Mr, Andien. I'm not one yet, but thank you for the greeting."

"Ah, but a Lord of ships regardless. I daresay you are trying to build your own arsenal here."

"Mhm," I nodded slightly. "Though for purposes of building trade rather than crushing loathsome slavers, at least for now."

The man nodded, smiling at that. "And worth quite a fortune too, as I hear it. I presume that this is why you call on the Iron Bank? My, erm, Lord, Mr. Thandril, in particular, was interested, I believe you have dealt with him before. "

"Yes, give my greetings to him if you please. While I still have funds to spend for a good while longer, I suspect they will run dry by the middle of next year." I actually expected to run out at about the first quarter, but he didn't need to know that. "Hence, I need a loan to push through the rest of my expansion until my trading vessels begin to pay for themselves "

"Most would be content to settle for less… explosive, growth, we're they in your position. How does the bank know you will repay your debt?"

"My model is sound. It will only take me perhaps through next year to upkeep my current holdings through trade profits, and the company will only continue expanding from there."

"I was under the impression that your knife-ships were not such great money-makers."

"They make well above what their tonnage would suggest because of the model, but even still, it will be the Galleons that really bring in the gold." I gestured to my window, open for now with glass yet to be installed. "You can see their skeletons forming across the bay. They'll carry more goods than a Cog and be near as fast as a cutter with the wind at their backs, though slower in tacking."

"I see, a match for Swan Ships of the Summer Isles then?"

"Quite." I nodded. "And with a bigger complement of men to safeguard against pirates, I can expand past Westeros and Braavos to do business through the Stepstones onto the southern coast of Essos."

"That does indeed raise your prospects." The man admitted, his hand rubbing gently the wispy black beard admitted his chin. "The Sealord sent me here in friendship as well… Mhm. I presume you would be willing to put some of your ships up as collateral?"

"The designs as well if you consider them worthy enough."

The man's eyes narrowed like a hawk at that, probably expecting me to be more hesitant in parting with the designs. I met his gaze evenly.

"I am simply that confident in my success."

Whatever he saw in my eyes, he relented, pulling a long scroll out of his cloak.

"In that case, I believe the Iron Bank will be willing to make a generous exchange."
______________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Jon Arryn 1 AC 291

The hand of the king rolled out of bed, groaning as his back popped with the strain. He was old, and he felt it more every day. He dressed himself in his fine suit and acted the part of the Hand for a disinterested king. A thankless task, and one that left his own lands bereft of a proper lord.

If Tywin Lannister's father hadn't made him a monster, then Jon was sure that this job would have done it anyway. Kings landing was like a bitter poison, it seeped into you even as you tried to maintain some semblance of order over it.

'and speaking of poison...' He made his way down from his quarters in the tower of the hand into the Small-Council chambers, where the real rulers of the realm gathered. Unusually, he was not the first one present, and he glanced at the two men who had apparently arrived before him only to stare each other down.

"No.," the King's brother said, a tone of an imminent threat to his voice. "You will keep your paws off of my son's businesses in the future or I will see you thrown from this tower. Your duty lies elsewhere Lord Baelish, I suggest you see to it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." The slightly younger man said, pleading his innocence. "I only maintain the treasury."

"We both know that those men answered to you." The Baratheon looked up from Petyr, noticing Jon and nodding silently. "Lord Arryn. It appears your choice for Master of Coin was a poor one."

"Now I hardly think that's fair, what evidence do you have against me?, I will hear it."

"My son's men have been rejecting your bribes for months at this point."

"I have simply been inviting them out for dinner. That does not prove I would order an attack on them."

"Dinner and whoring both no doubt. I am glad that they are men of real conscience, else they would have surely fallen prey to your foolishness."

"Your brother the king seems to view it as more than-"

"Lord Stannis. Petyr. Please cease this bickering." Jon finally shouted over the two. His eyes scanning between theirs. "Lord Stannis, I must ask that you refrain from making such accusations in future without enough evidence to support them, and Petyr, I have told you before that running brothels and street-gangs is unbecoming of a Master of Coin."

Petyr had the decency to look abashed, while Stannis if anything glared harder. He looked about to say something when another voice spoke out at the table.

"Quite, though I do not believe it was Lord Baelish who gave those men orders to harangue your son's, ah, what is the term his company uses? "Employees"?" Jon turned to see the spider, looking much as he always did, far too smug to be up to anything good. Still, he did not doubt the truth in the man's words. Petyr wasn't stupid enough by all accounts to pick a fight with the master of ships. Everyone was keenly aware of the glistening sword that hung at the Lord of Dragonstone's side, as well as the wealth he had supposedly found alongside it.

His teeth grinding, Stannis turned to the Master of Whispers, before he seemed to think better of it and his anger lessened. He nodded sharply, though he still sent a parting glare against the Master of Coin.

The Small Council lapsed into an uneasy silence as they waited for the arrival of their last regular members Selmy arrived quickly, and unsurprisingly Pycelle took longer than was at all reasonable to come bumbling into the chamber.

Tapping his finger on the desk, Jon glanced around, clearing his throat.

"The Small Council is now in session."

There were nods around the table, and he felt some relief that the men could at least manage to shut up for a moment to think for the good of the realm.

"The first object on our table today is the recent fire in Flea Bottom. While the suspects have been arrested, it is unclear what their intentions for starting it in the first place we're at the moment."

The various Lords at the table glanced around, such discussion would normally belong to the Master of Laws, but none was present at the moment, so the position's tasks fell to the small council.

"You fear co-conspirators?" Ser Barristan Selmy asked, in many ways the Kingsguard commander was wasted as a bodyguard. Having long served the Kings of Westeros he had a good mind for law and justice.

"Indeed. Do you have any insight Varys?"

The old Eunuch glanced at the knight for a moment before nodding to Jon. "I have suspicions, but I cannot yet confirm anything. The cult of R'hllor has become more active in the city of late, and both of the suspects are members. My sources speak that they seek a great fire as a tribute to their Red God, but whether that is their true goal here I do not know."

"Is a purge necessary then? Drive them out of the city back to wherever they came?" Petyr asked plainly, but Jon had to shake his head.

"Better we simply keep eyes on them, do not let them achieve their arson, but if we purge their cult they may well go underground, and in Flea-Bottom that would make them very hard to properly route indeed."

"A sensible plan. I agree." the Lord of ships said, his hand resting on his sword-handle, perhaps unconsciously, as if daring anyone to challenge his ruling.

None did, the measure past quickly, and Jon was thankful for a moment before he remembered the next item on his list.

"So, the organizing for Prince Joffrey's tenth name-day tournament is going to be…"

Somedays, Jon wondered if he had made the right choice becoming Robert's Hand.

Every time he concluded that yes, he had needed to do it, the realm needed order and, moreover, Robert needed him.

Every time he asked, he found that he had to think longer to reach that answer.
___________________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Selyse 1 291 AC

"My Lady."

Selyse stared at the Essosi woman, and moreover at the enormous boxes at the servants carried behind her. Her son was a dear, but he had a tendency to overdo things, much like his little port.

"Let me see it."

She stared at the dress, long, embroidered finery, far prettier than she deserved, despite what her son said. She had it on good authority from her eye in his company that the boy had hired the tailoress all the way from Volantis.

All to make sure she looked her best when they went to King's landing for Prince Joffrey's tenth name-day. It seemed a bit overblown from her perspective, but then, it might well just be her son looking after her, making sure she did not embarrass his father before the court.

'Her husband.' she corrected herself. He had given her three children, and even if the man himself was insufferable she could spare him at least that much respect.

Respect she did not share for his brother the King.

She sighed into her hand, before gesturing to the tailoress who came with it to help her put on the fine thing. "I Might as well see how it looks on me."

"Yes my Lady," the Tailoress said, and Selyse moved to undress as the woman unpacked the rest of the material.

Selyse was forced to correct her posture as the corset was snapped into place, some Volantene invention, it felt like it was crushing her torso when she breathed, so she did so more lightly. After the Corset, the first part of the dress proper was put on, a long silk thing it hung down from her shoulders to her ankles in the bright yellow of her husband's house. But, much unlike the Fashion of Westeros, there were yet far more pieces to come.

A jacket of black with gold and onyx inlay was placed over the dress proper, and a smaller skirt of the same colors was placed over her hips, hanging slightly below her knees, thin yellow sleeves were placed over her arms from her hands up, and buttoned into the corset beneath the other fabric, then another set of far puffier sleeves was placed over those, this time bearing small rims of pearls around the edges. Finally, silvered slippers were placed upon her feet and black silk gloves over her hands.

She was about to comment at how ridiculous it all must look when she felt the tailoress begin to braid her hair behind her, but the words dried up in her mouth as she saw her reflection in the mirror.

It did little to hide the plainness of her face, true, and while it aided her body's contours somewhat, it was nowhere near enough to match her pretty cousins and their enormous bosoms.

But none of that mattered, because what stared back at her in the mirror was not simply ugly, tall, bosomless Selyne Florent. 'keh, Baratheon.' She corrected herself as she marveled at her own appearance, touching her face just to make sure it was still her under all that.

"Is it to your liking my Lady?" The Volantene woman said to the side, a small grin on her face as she stood admiring her own work.

Selyse would not begrudge her that.

Selyse was sure there was not another dress in the seven kingdoms as fine as this one, the intricacy, the detail. Even if it made it hard to breathe, it was more than worth it.

Even better that it wasn't one of those low cut dresses that her pretty cousins loved so much, no, despite the ostentatious wealth on display there was no harlotry here. Only dignity, firmness befitting a proper lady.

And here she would never have even known to ask for it. No, she had always thought that the same blacks and greys of her husband suited her best, but it seemed that like in so many things her son had an understanding that was far greater than his age. In this, she looked neither the Harlot nor the Septa. It was a real dress fit for a real lady.

It was almost a shame that she would have to wear it next to her dour husband. Stannis Baratheon didn't own an article with a color brighter than grey, save perhaps for the occasional brown.

'Then again, perhaps I will not have to.'

She turned to one of the other servants, a Dragonseed like many of those who served in the castle. "Would you please bring my son here, I would like to speak with him for a bit."

A moments thought and she turned back to the Tailoress, realizing she must have been unnecessarily rude.

"I very much like this dress." She said curtly. No reason to beat around the bush. "And I think I may yet have more need of your services."

"Indeed my lady?" The woman grinned as she spoke, her posture showing clear excitement. "I would be most happy to make you more. It is so rare that folk appreciate my Tailoring, and the nobles in Volantis thought it too stuffy."

"Oh no, this one shall be more than enough for me. No, but it would be such a shame to stand beside my son and husband in their dour garb while I wear something so beautiful." She made sure to remember to smile even as she addressed the woman, something she normally saved only for her darling children. "My son's gift is much appreciated, I believe I should return the favor, and perhaps for my husband as well."

The woman blinked for a moment, the idea clearly running through her head before she nodded frantically. "I could do that my lady, I have done men's clothes before, albeit rarely."

"Good." Selyse kept smiling. "Now what's your name my dear, I think I should learn more of one so skilled."

"Dyna, my Lady, I was apprenticed to The Radiant Weaver's house in Volantis, though I only recently earned my mastery."

"Indeed? Tell me, has my son already offered you a retainer?"

"Indeed, three dragons a month, plus whatever material I require."

"I will make it five, and you shall be part of my personal staff," Selyse said with authority. Her son might be upset to have the tailoress stolen, but she was his mother, and this woman was worth more besides. "Once my son gets here for measurements, you will start work on his and his father's clothing immediately. I already have my husband's measurements kept."

Dyna nodded as if she had thought this might happen all along. "Is there anything else my Lady?"

The Lady of Dragonstone started to shake her head before a final thought occurred.

"Actually, there is one other thing…"
_____________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Arthur 7 291 AC

It had seemed at first that there was no way the first of my galleons, the appropriately named Great Stag for its tall and complicated rigging, would never be finished in time to carry us to my cousin's Tenth nameday. It was a massive ship, after all, intended to carry cargo across the Narrow Sea and beyond, indeed I planned to have a fleet of them circle the globe someday if I ever got the chance. Though perhaps by the time that was reasonable I would possess yet larger vessels. Who could say?

Either way, the bulk of it had been unfinished a month before the coming tournament, and my shipwrights had not thought it possible for them to be ready in time.

I had pushed the deadline anyhow, making sure they had firewood to work through the nights, and my men had come through. It was easily the largest ship in the harbor, not just from its visibly enormous masts, built from ancient Northern Oaks, but also for its tonnage and width, for while the length was comparable to a larger war-galleys like my father's Fury, the Great Stag and it's sister ships were half again as wide, and with a considerably deeper draft.

Fortunately, Dragonstone's bay had once been able to dock old Valyrian Dragonships, and even with my knowledge, I couldn't build a wooden ship the size of an aircraft carrier. Though the Valyrians had admittedly cheated and used magic to do so.

It was a little bittersweet, the first time I had ever left the island other than sailing about on short trips to drift mark or the like on my first few cutters. I waved to Shireen and little Edric, who were still too young to travel. Master Cressey would see after them while we were gone.

Still, despite the melancholy of leaving home, my ship was a spectacular sight and made me wish for a brass band to see us on our way. Its great Yellow Sails were unfurled for the first time, the crowned black stag of House Baratheon repeated on each one rampant and swollen with the wind that sent us soaring out of the port of Dragonstone like an eagle over the Dragonmont.

I turned to my mother and kept my surprise silent as I saw her dabbing a tear from her eye. No reason to embarrass her when Mother's displays of emotion were so rare already.

Instead, I just hugged her side, an embrace which she returned for just a moment before releasing me.

"Hah…" she sighed, standing to her full, impressive height. "Enough of that."

I backed up a bit and she smiled at me plainly. "I must admit Arthur, when you first began hiring strange alchemists and the like I worried you might be mad, some Targaryen sickness brought on by Dragonstone." she nodded back towards the rapidly retreating bleak island in the distance. "I cannot deny though, that all of this." she waved her hand up towards the great yellow sales, golden in the dawn's light "is impressive. You have done both your father and I proud, and you are not even a man grown yet."

"Thank You Mother, I'm glad you like it." I cheekily grinned, and she reached out, ruffling my hair, like father's.

"I do, so much. You've done great things for the house and for me as well, but I do want to warn you. King's Landing is not Dragonstone. I cannot protect you nearly as well there. Your father can do more with his position, but still, you will not be safe."

I nodded sharply, I knew well what she was talking about. The whole city was a nest of vipers.

"Under no circumstances should you ever move alone, or even leave your quarters in the castle."

I tightened my lips but nodded. And she smiled in turn.

"Don't pout dear, once you're a man the size of your father it will be different, but there are far too many ways to hurt a child, and reasons to hurt you in particular, indeed we stand on one right now."

"I would still like to visit my office at the port mother, just to let the employees know I am appreciated." 'and to make sure they aren't on anybody else's payrolls,' was left unsaid. "Aside from that, I won't leave your side if you do not wish it."

"Mine or your father's at least. That should be fine then. If he will not make the visit with you I will."

The idea of my mother talking to merchant folk was strangely amusing, but it looked like she had more to say.

"Just… Look, you know that I love you Arthur, and your father does too, I think, in his own way."

I smiled "Yep, I know both of those things."

She looked relieved then, before sighing. "It's just… you are nearing twelve now, and while the greyscale has put you below what a Lord paramount might want for their daughter, you are likely going to be quite desirable to every other noble lady in the kingdom. Especially since your father decreed he would begin considering betrothal contracts at twelve. If any of them make advances on you… or offer to perform ehm, favors, I would ask that you reject them."

'oh, Ohh, Oooohhhh' It took a moment to run what she was getting at through my brain, it was simply so outside of my concerns. Essentially, don't sleep around with the young noble ladies.

'Christ, I'm eleven, they don't start that young do they?' My memory of the books wasn't as clear as it had once been, but I couldn't remember much like that happening, at least, I didn't think it did.

"I certainly won't," I said, nodding seriously, and I meant it. The very idea of throwing my business into jeopardy for something so stupid.

Then again, I was Robert's nephew. Perhaps my mother was just being pragmatic.

"Good," She said. "Good. I think I will retreat below decks with Dyna, and finish selecting the Jewelry we will all wear."

I watched as my mother departed, she had taken a liking to the tailor far more than I ever thought possible for her, and I was glad for it, Mother didn't have enough friends as it was.

Still, as she disappeared below decks a very odd thought crossed my mind.

That being the very idea of my father wearing anything other than rings for jewelry.
________________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Baelish 1 291 AC

The Master of Coin did not come to his study in the Red Keep very much.

Oh, he was there to fix his records, to make sure that they appeared spotless even to a thorough inspection, largely because they were completely full of lies. Transactions with merchants who didn't exist. Tax farmers with private contracts, the like. Fixing records only took so long, however, and his real business was conducted in dozens of smaller studies across the city, where he made sure that the crown took in huge amounts of money, and spent even more.

Still, he had come to his office on this day largely to get out of the city proper, the stench had begun bothering him, and the balcony here was seaward-facing. If he threw open the door the wind would keep the smell down, replace it with the salty ocean breeze off the Blackwater, which was infinitely preferable.

He eventually moved out onto the balcony, enjoying the late evening sun as it faded into the horizon behind him, the Red Keep casting it's great shadow out over the Blackwater Bay, keeping him, and all the seaward side of the building hidden in the darkness.

At first, the sails were merely a curiosity far away on the open water, a flicker in the distance. He was bored, his considerable intellect tired after a long and extremely profitable day.

He had some time ago collected a Myrish Eye from an Essosi sailor who couldn't pay his debts. An unfortunate fellow who now swam at the bottom of the bay. The brass mechanism was normally simply a decorative piece for his chambers here, but now, with his curiosity piqued, he used it to look upon those slowly growing sails in the far distance.

What he saw in them was power, a dozen great sheets carrying by far the largest ship he had ever seen, it's prow splitting the water like a greatsword, and it's whole form glowing with a ruddy orange in the light of the setting sun, like some fire-spewing demon.

It was clear who's ship it was. Everyone had heard of the knife ships of the greyscaled Baratheon child. They passed through King's landing regularly with their bright white sails and absurd speed, but this, this must have been one of the larger ships, the vessels that the spies on Dragonstone spoke of being built in their rare correspondences. If anything they had understated the scale. The sails on its mast towered over the sea like the battlements of a castle in and of itself.

The Merchant Princeling of Dragonstone was sending a message here, and he likely knew it as well. His vessel would dwarf every ship in the harbor, and with the Stags on the sails, it would be instantly recognizable. 'I bet the old Lion will throw a fit when he arrives.' Petyr chuckled. The man would see it as a clear threat to his bastard of a grandson, not that Tywin was even aware of his children's incestuous habits, at least not as far as Petyr could tell.

Still, the young stag was not his problem. Even if he wanted him gone there were too many eyes on the boy right now to act so carelessly, especially after most of the Council suspected he had been behind the attempted racketeering at the boy's office in the city. He hadn't been, of course, those men worked for the Queen, but he could hardly say that without revealing that he knew she also was running about behind the scenes. Something he was sure only Varys was also aware of on the Small Council.

The Spider was the only man that truly scared him in the city, well, he and perhaps Lord Stannis, who was no good at intrigue, but simply wielded a great degree of wealth and power. And now Tywin Lannister would be coming here as well, another man with wealth and power, but if rumors held far better at intrigue than the Lord of Dragonstone. No, Petyr would keep his head down until this whole tournament blew over. He didn't have enough power of his own just yet to step into the melee with the noble sorts. As always he would be helpful, courteous and meek, while his power grew ever greater behind the scenes.

'On that note.' he thought, pulling his arms through a blue satin vest and tossing his silver cape over his shoulder. 'perhaps the young Stag will be interested in a tour.'

It would certainly be interesting to see the boy in a brothel, he'd see if he shared his Uncle or his Father's temperament.

If nothing else, Petyr was sure it would make clear whether the boy was truly the prodigy he was known to be, or merely a puppet for his father or perhaps the Frey alchemist he was known to have hired as a boy.

'Yes… I think everyone in the city wants to know. Who is Arthur Baratheon really?'
__________________________________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Stannis 4 291 AC

He had to admit. The ship was impressive. Arthur's letters had told him the measurements, but it was one thing to know a ship was 120 feet high and 160 long, but entirely another to be cast in the shadow of its golden sails as it pulled into port bearing your own house's sigil on each one.

It certainly made an impression, as little time as he would normally give such things, and he could only imagine how much time the court would waste gossiping about it in the coming weeks.

Still, he did wonder if anyone else noticed the long row of shutters along the middle deck or the way that the railing on the top deck was cut at regular intervals.

No, his son might call this a trading vessel, but should he choose to do so, Arthur could fill this vessel full of the cannons he had been stacking for a year in those storehouses of his. The boy's forge never slept as far as he could tell, and there were likely enough of the things now to arm half of the Royal Fleet with them exclusively, but he would not pry into his son's stores so carelessly. As long as the Royal Fleet could do its duty properly he could keep letting his son build strength for now.

Indeed, the vessel wasn't the only display of strength on parade today. The gangplank was lowered and the disciplined spearman who marched down ahead of his son and wife was another odd but decidedly intimidating sight. His son had explained that they were to be sailing men-at-arms, trained for fighting at sea, but he had only formed the one company so far. Someday he hoped to attach them to every ship, calling them Mar-rines. He had questioned what they had to do with the city, but Arthur had replied that it was unrelated and simply rooted in the same Old Ghischari word.

Either way, they looked competent enough, big men all, and marching in step with each other down the gangplank. They held their spears over their shoulders oddly, but he supposed that was some quirk of their training.

Still, the real surprise was not the disciplined men marching in order, but rather what came after them.

Stannis had traveled more than most men did in their lives in his role as master of ships, but he could honestly say that he has never seen clothing quite like that which his son and wife wore before.

He would be lying if he said it didn't catch him off guard, nothing had warned him of something like this. They were extravagant true, but not in the undignified way that Reachmen or Lannisters favored. There was a certain dignity and austerity in the way the cloth fit around them. While he would not choose to wear it for himself, he could not deny that it was honestly some of the first passable courtly clothing he had seen in his life that wasn't a plain robe.

Of course, he would still be dragged kicking and screaming to the hell before they would manage to put it on him, as the gaze in his wife's eye seemed to suggest was her plan.

There was simply no way.
______________________________________

Stannis groaned and tugged at the obnoxiously high collar as the tournament started in earnest. It had been two days since his family arrived, and with the party from Casterly Rock arriving last evening, the tournament had started in full today. There would be a full six days of feasting before Prince Joffrey's nameday. The first three would have jousts and the latter three Melee's.

For now, he sat quietly in the stands for three he upper nobility as some Reacher Knight unseated some young moron from Dorne, it all mattered fairly little as far as things went. Robert would laugh and cheer and guzzle down ale, and prince Joffrey would grin with every brutal hit.

Stannis had been to far too many tournaments with his brother and the crown prince. It seemed they could not go twenty days without at least a small one these days.

'At least Arthur is enjoying himself.' The boy had shown a rather quick dislike for Kings Landing, something which probably spoke well of his tastes. It had been amusing to no end that the boy had immediately taken to scribing down a sewer system for his new structures at Dragonstone as soon as they had gotten settled into their quarters. Though it had unfortunately left him with no easy excuse to escape his wife, and resulted in him wearing the same overly complex outfit as his son.

Still, they had been receiving appreciative looks form courtiers ever since she had started making them wear the things, so he supposed it was probably just some sort of court-fashion affair, which was his wife's duty to keep track of anyhow.

He smiled gently as he saw Arthur Grin and cheer at a knight helping another unseated man off of the ground. A stark contrast to the silence from the younger boy in the royal box.

'It is good that my son was not Joffrey.' he decided at last. 'I would not support his cruelty and that would drive him mad.'
____________________________________

 

[Charlezany]

Arthur 8 291 AC

As much as the city of King's Landing was unpleasant, overcrowded, smelly, and disgusting, it did have a few redeeming features. The Great Sept of Baelor and the Red Keep were both marvels of architecture, on par with the Hagia Sophia and any castle I could care to name, particularly with its skyscraper size. Maegor's Holdfast easily dwarfed Dragonstone. Though oddly I missed the gargoyles, which was a bit odd to admit, I had never thought I liked the things that much.

And then there was the tournament.

Now, I had been to a great many jousts in my day, at Renaissance fairs and restaurants mostly. But there was something more authentic about the crushing, violent clashes that were occurring now. Everything was less standardized, the armor varied, as did the skull of the men. It surprised me actually, I think most of the modern jousts I had seen were actually at a higher level of skill than all but the best of the Knights here. Perhaps it was simply that the sport was the actual employment of many of the modern men I saw. They had more time to practice and better gear.

That said, there was at times a frightening lack of respect for the opponent's life, and not in the showy way it had occasionally been used before. Here men were unhooked and sometimes left to find their own ways back to their tents while nursing broken arms or legs.

I made sure to cheer whenever the rule was broken and men did help the others back up. As much as my designs would likely kill chivalry forever, I could still appreciate it's nobler practitioners while they lived.

The Melee was in many ways worse in that aspect. While the fights were certainly entertaining, particularly those involving Thoros of Myr with his moronic flaming sword. The injuries were much more brutal and often uncared for until the end of the match.

However, while I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the bloodsports to some degree, if just out of a fascination for seeing how medieval combat really worked outside of my own tutoring, what enjoyment I found there couldn't salvage King's Landing for me.

The Feasts afterward were simply put the most odious thing I've ever experienced, not least because of my "Family" and my Family.

The first night of feasting was when I was introduced to the lot of them, though I had seen them the day before. My father said most of the words while I stood to the side and bowed.

"Robert, here is my son, Arthur."

"Aye, I remember you, and stop that bowing lad, you're my nephew." I did as I was told, turning to face the king in the eye. He was a big man, though no taller than my father, he was broader by a great deal. "The last time I saw you, you were a bundle in your mother's arms. You've grown a bit since then, and taken to ships like your father I've heard. Tell me, what's the name of that vessel you've sat in the harbor?"

"The Great Stag your grace," I replied, which got a rumbling belly laugh out of the man.

"Your son has a better sense for names than you Stannis, and a better head for money too I hear."

I could hear my father's teeth grind as the king laughed. I had thought he had broken the habit, but I supposed maybe he had just kept it to a minimum on Dragonstone.

"Alright go on then, introduce yourself to the Queen and your cousins."

I nodded, not quite sure what to make of Robert yet. I had no such qualms about the Queen.

Cersei Lannister was a very pretty woman, fit to be a Sports Illustrated Model or something of the like. Great proportions, big assets, a pretty face, the works, but she was also an incestuous Harlot and before I even got to say my name she was already spitting venom at me.

"Greetings, your Grace, I am-"

"I know who you are, the Grey Baratheon. I take it you are enjoying the festivities?"

The greyscale remnants on my chin prickled and the woman glowered down at me with eyes like a snake's, as if daring me to refute the name. I had to take a step back at the sheer amount of open hostility right off the bat. I had expected her to at least pretend to be nice or charming at first.

"His name is Arthur, your Grace." My father was by my side in a moment, but if anything, his rebuttal only made the witch laugh.

"Oho, my mistake." She said gleefully, and I could hear the ripples through the court, still, I didn't need much from anyone here who would care about that sort of thing.

"Ah, you must meet my darling little Joffrey though, he's the most handsome little boy in Westeros."

She grabbed the boy, who was loitering around behind her and pulled him up to us. 'I wonder if she thinks she's being subtle with that comparison?'

Still, I took the initiative to introduce myself. "Hello Joffrey, I'm Arthur, your cousin." Joffrey was, at this point, still relatively cute, with a round face, but he already had that Lannister glare down pat.

"I know, Mother has told me about you." the little psycho said, his eyes immediately going to my scar. "Is it true that Greyscale turns you into a statue if you have it long enough."

'Are they coordinating, or is it just their natural inclination to pick on someone's weaknesses,' I wondered as I shook my head. "No, it just makes the skin hard and flaky, it isn't actual stone."

If either of them thought physical appearance was really going to give them a victory over me then they were wrong, I had more true power than either of them, at least at the moment, and I was not so vain as to explode over their insults.

"A shame, you would look good in the garden."

I could swear the sound of teeth grinding beside me doubled in volume, but for my part, I simply chuckled. "I have been told I would look good anywhere," I said, which caused a look of confusion and anger to pass over the boy's face, though his mother stepped in.

"A shame so many will lie to children, ah, but I'm afraid my younger child is still too small for the feast, please, you should introduce yourself to your other uncle, he looks to be getting impatient over there."

I nodded, wanting to spend no more time with the ridiculous Lannisters and instead ended up being dragged into an enormous hug by the recently appointed Master of Laws.

"Hah, Young Arthur, I was your age the last time I saw you lad, but your father has been bragging about you so much since then."

I smiled at the man, even if he would turn traitor, later on, he was not one yet. "Uncle Renly I presume?"

"The very same. And here I thought Stannis had been simply boasting before you sailed that monster into the harbor. The Great Stag you call it? Tell me, do you plan to build more of them?"

"Aye uncle, for my trading company."

"Haha, and I have heard of that as well. I have no idea where you got a head for money from, the Seven know not one amongst thought the three of us do."

"I don't either, but I have it nonetheless, and it would be a waste to not put it to use."

"Indeed indeed. Ah, your father is giving me a look, I shall leave you to him for the moment. We will have plenty of time to chat at the feast anyhow."

I nodded "See you later then Uncle Renly" while my father shuffled me over to the side. He crouched down beside me, glancing over towards the main feast which was thankfully going perfectly well despite our absence.

He looked like he had a great deal to say, but finally just stopped, looking me in the eye.

"Stay away from the queen and the prince if you can avoid them. They do not like you, and she sees you as a threat. If you must speak to them, just do your duty. I should have warned you beforehand but now is good enough."

I nodded sharply as if to say I had been planning on it anyway, which I had.

"Good." He put a hand on my shoulder. "Your mother already told you the rest. If men like us just keep quiet and do our duty then we'll be fine."
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[Charlezany]

Cersei 2 291 AC

None of them could see it, no one except her.

Oh, she had known that the master of ships was ambitious and petty. Ever since her husband had given him that useless rock to rule she had known he would likely be their enemy one day.

But everyone else, her oaf of a husband included thought he was some stalwart knight instead. Even her Jaime didn't believe the Baratheon capable of deceit, much less the sort to have royal ambitions. Indeed, he put up a front about "Duty" and such that even she couldn't quite deduce his plans.

It had only hit her what his true goal was when the rumors began to trickle in from Dragonstone that the son of Stannis was a genius.

No, the Baratheon was far too clever to try to seize the throne himself. Like her father Tywin, he planned to maneuver his children onto it. To kill her Joffrey no doubt, and replace him with his own dynasty.

It was clever, she would give him that. Making the boy appear more intelligent than he was, dressing his family up in finery, hiring Bravosi shipwrights in the boy's name to make him seem far more powerful than he was.

But he had made a crucial error in not teaching his son the ways of the court. The boy she saw was no genius, but a weak child away from his father. That was why the man had needed to drag him away from the feast, to instruct him and no doubt scold him for not matching his facade after she had ripped him apart before the court. Ah, but it was too late. Now she knew the weakness in his plans, the twine that could be made to snap. Throughout the meal he was silent and quiet as a lamb, only answering when spoken to, and even then only shortly. His father must have scolded him harshly.

When the feast-proper devolved into more of a social gathering, nobles split off into their own little cliques, and she saw her opportunity to strike.

Her father must have sensed her plans, as he pulled the Lord of Dragonstone away, pursuing the purchase of a Valyrian weapon. She half wondered if he actually meant it or not, true it would be good for Jaime to have one, to fit his status, but she worried about how much more money it might give the Dragonstone Baratheons.

Still, that left the boy's mother his only guardian, and she was socializing with a few other ladies on the other side of the hall. They had foolishly left the boy alone. Still, she could not approach him directly. That would be far too suspicious, and besides, the boy was being swarmed by marriage candidates anyway, now that his father wasn't there to shield him. Young Ladies of the court no doubt hoping to secure a piece of the boy's money. Amateurs the lot of them, unused to the tools between their legs, but she could stick around the group and listen for something juicy anyhow. She only needed a bit of leverage and she was sure she could drag the boy's father down along with the boy.

Arthur for his part seemed to be being overwhelmed by the attention, despite his efforts to fend it off. The little whores were far too interested in him, and she suspected the boy had been raised tight to his mother's breast so as not to ruin his parent's plans.

She had seen her own Joffrey suffer the same sort of attention, and she always moved to keep them away from him, but it seemed no-one was around to protect the smallest Baratheon present. The boy eventually made a break for it, claiming to be going to the privy, but really sneaking out onto one of the balconies down a side hallway.

A perfect opportunity. She could push the little shit off and be done with it, it would be a tragedy true, and she would "mourn" with the rest but it would remove a threat to her golden prince, and that was what mattered.

She crept along the edge of the great curtain towards the side of the balcony. The fabric fluttering in the wind off of the bay as the sunset on the other side of the tower, casting the entire balcony into the deep, inky darkness.

There could be no better time for it, but she internally cursed and took a step back as she heard the boy talking to a woman on the balcony.

She peeked from the shadows and eyed the two, her mind working quickly to come up with a different plan.

Well, perhaps the boy would live today after all, but then, rumors could be as deadly as any knife.

'Yes…' she smiled as she walked back towards the feast proper. Her mind already whirring with ideas. 'as long as they make a good story.'

A wicked light flashed in the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms' eyes.

'a good story indeed.'
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[Charlezany]

Brienne 1 291 AC

Brienne found that she did not like Kings Landing.

Oh, there was glory true, and the tourney called to her despite the bar on her entry. Indeed, it had been the main reason she had accepted Lord Renly's invitation. It was a kind gesture on the chivalrous lords part, but she found chivalry sorely lacking in the city.

The crime and iniquity along the waterfront she had known to expect, same as the smell that touched the city everywhere. Those were just like the stories, the seedy underbelly of a place where far too much coin flowed.

What she had not expected was the same infectious villainy to have seeped into the court itself. The King was no Baelor, but a drunkard, and if rumor held he also cavorted with harlots. She could certainly believe it given the way that the Queen dressed. And the other Ladies! Oh, they were the worst, constantly tittering behind her back like a swarm of vicious songbirds. She was sure she could lift and strangle one in each hand if only she got the opportunity.

The only saving grace of the city as far as she was concerned was the Great Sept, glorious and beautiful, the Seven-Sided Dome stood above the filth of the city, and separate from the pettiness of the Court. Each day after the tournament she took to praying in its tranquil halls, and while the Septas sometimes tries to warn her from her warrior's path she knew it was of the kindness of their hearts and not the vicious desire to tear her down that was the norm at court.

Still, she was in some capacity representing her father, and a guest of Lord Renly besides. She was staying in the Red Keep, and she was expected to attend all of the feastings, to show her presence, and that of her house.

It was a thankless task, but a knight should be no stranger to that, and so she persevered through the dinner. Ignored the mocking stares and commentary regarding her riding clothes, for not even for Lord Renly would she wear a dress. He had been courteous to her true, more than she could say of any other man, but no, she had been mocked in her childhood long for her lack of ladylike graces, and she would not pretend that she cared enough to don such clothing again. Now she was a warrior first, and a lady second if ever, and Warriors did not wear dresses, women or no.

She wished she could call herself a knight instead, but no Lord would create a woman-knight, and no Septon would accept her oaths. Instead, she would likely always be but a warrior, and the court was no place for her.

So she sat and she ate a little bit, and she tasted some small amount of the wine, less than a cup so as to keep her senses and not embarrass Lord Renly any more than her presence alone surely did. She knew the alcohol might dull the embarrassment, but it was not her way to be so careless.

When the feasting broke down into more of a social occasion, however, men and women breaking off into groups of their peers in a way that must have been pre-arranged for it to be so smooth, she found herself utterly alone. She had no peers here, no one who would treat a young woman who in their view played at being a warrior with anything but disdain. Save Lord Renly and perhaps Loras his squire, but they were off talking to great lords, and she did not wish to interrupt their conversation.

No, she stayed, and she circled the hall, and she ignored the whispers that were sometimes directed towards her as best she could.

Eventually, though, she simply couldn't take it anymore. In a fit of cowardice, she left the hall behind, making instead for a balcony on the ocean-facing side of the Red Keep. It might be an embarrassment to Lord Renly that she did so, but she found she simply could not stand the harsh gazes and whispers of the court ladies for even a moment more.

She found a wooden seat and sat down in the growing darkness, breathing heavily despite the lack of physical exertion. What she had done was tantamount to cowardice, fleeing the conflict presented to her.

She gazed out over the Blackwater Bay, cast in a reddish light by the setting sun. She thought she could almost see her home in the distance from so high up, but that was foolish imagination. She was at court and had embarrassed herself greatly.

Should she return and face the whispers once more?

She simply didn't know.

"Ah, pardon me, I hadn't realized anyone else was out here."

Brienne whirled around, turning back towards the keep. Only to breathe a sigh of relief as she realized it was only a child, not some new viper come to mock her looks or attire.

"Oh…" the child pressed a hand to his chin, his eyes appearing calculating, though his face was difficult to make out in the shadow. "You are… Brienne of Tarth are you not? Greetings my Lady."

Brienne stared down at the boy a little dumbfounded, was she so recognizable?

"I hope I am not disturbing you, I just found the feast to be getting somewhat insufferable, I will move to a different balcony if my presence offends you."

"I…" Brienne squinted at the child, trying to discern his face, but in the darkness it was pointless, then she noticed the silhouette. There was perhaps only one child in a costume so ridiculous and flamboyant at the feasting. "Ah, my apologies young Lord Baratheon, I did not recognize you." She dropped into a light bow immediately, it was slightly more than etiquette dictated of her, but he was a prominent lordling, and it would hurt her house greatly to offend him.

"Oh, that's nothing to apologize for, and you need not bow to me, it's dark, and I only made you out by the look of your figure and the lack of a dress. Besides, you were here first, I should be the one apologizing."

She shook her head, a little surprised by the lack of scorn in the boy's voice. "I could hardly ask that of you, you may go where you wish after all."

The boy seemed to snort at that, but spoke no more of leaving. "I take it you are here with my uncle's retinue?"

"Yes." She wondered how he knew that but then he was Lord Renly's nephew, so perhaps the Lord had mentioned her to him. "Your uncle has been kind to me, far beyond what is necessary, and for that, I am quite thankful."

"Indeed? That doesn't surprise me, though I met him for the first time I can remember only a few hours ago. He seems inclined towards kindness, far more than many of my relatives here."

"Oh…" she felt her head sag slightly, remembering the public insults from the Queen earlier in the evening. She felt sympathy for the boy, he could no more control the greyscale that scarred his chin than she could her unsightly figure or the freckles that covered her face.

"Bah." She looked up, turning towards the boy. "These court affairs aren't my forte', I understand why they happen well enough, but insults don't come to my mind so easily as the vipers that nest here. Though their prattle matters little in the end." He turned his gaze towards her, and in the dark, she could swear there was a rare glimpse of sympathy in his eyes. "But look at me whining. I suppose it is worse for you than for I. Most of them haven't decided just what to think of me just yet, and my Galleon at harbor means I will always have some respect. I suppose they have already cast you out fully. Fools, the lot of them."

"I… My Lord," Brienne said, a little shakingly. "I don't quite know your meaning." though she did, somewhat, at least towards the end there. It was all odd-sounding to her ears, his words moved too fast and jumping between too many places.

"I'm ranting, don't let it bother you." the young stag turned back towards the water, his eyes glaring down across the blackwater, perhaps towards his own home of Dragonstone. "All of this politicking, it's ridiculous, if unfortunately necessary, with my own two hands and the hands of those who follow me I can turn the world on its head, mold it like clay until I have made something better, but in these parts that ugly behemoth of a twisted throne blocks their view of the greater picture. If I am ever king I will cast it into the sea, and probably this whole damnable keep alongside it."

Brienne blinked at the words which might very well be construed at treason that poured from the young stag's mouth, but then, he wasn't precisely wrong either. Certainly, the court was not full of true knights, asides perhaps from the oath-bound Kingsguard. "My Lord…" she weakly raised her hand, but it did nothing to deter the young Baratheon. Who seemed to swell like a small thunder-storm with a lofty ambition that's sheer height was beyond her grasp.

"No, when I am through the waters will be awash with ships twice the size of the Great Stag plying their trade around this sorry globe we call a world. The slaves of Essos will have their cruel bonds broken by honest steel, and the world will stand a better, freer place. Men from here to Yi-Ti and beyond will heed the call of their common humanity." The boy seemed to deflate as his words ended, turning towards Brienne with an apologetic look in his eyes. "That's my dream at least. Sorry about the monolog, it's probably not anything that interests you and I just needed to let off steam."

"Uh…" Words left Brienne as she stared down at the boy, such things were so far beyond her Ken of the world. Such great changes seemed fit only for the Seven, or perhaps the dragon kings of old, yet here they sprung from the lips of a boy four years her junior.

"Ah, I apologize… I've wasted too much of your time and spoken too much already. My parents will no doubt be fearing for my safety and I don't want to keep them."

She brushed aside how the boy could possibly feel unsafe in the Red Keep of all places as he turned to leave, and before she knew it she had reached out, her hand clamping around his shoulder. "Wait," She said, not even sure herself what she was doing. "Please stay for just a moment longer."

The next seconds were the longest in Brienne's life as she waited for his answer, it wasn't long at all, but it felt like eons.

"Uh, ok, but can you let go of my shoulder, it kind of hurts."

"Oh" she pulled back, her cheeks flushing red as she realized how harshly she had been squeezing him. He wasn't even into puberty yet and she often forgot how fragile children could be. "I'm sorry my Lord."

"Don't worry about it, I can't feel the top half of it anyway. Now, what did you need of me?"

"Ah, it's just. I have heard your dream, would it be too much to… Would you please here mine?"

The boy looked at her for a moment and then nodded, smiling. "Certainly my lady, it will surely be more feasible than my own at least."

"I doubt that, but it is only a small dream in comparison." she sighed, watching as he took one of the seats on the balcony.

And she told him, the dream that she had only told her father and Lord Renly before. Of her desire to be a true knight, in oaths as well as in manners, to be a hero like Serwyn of the mirror shield, or Ser Barristan who now stood upon the Kingsguard, and at the last to be recognized for her achievements just as a man might be. It was a foolish dream, and it seemed so small compared to the world sundering ideas of the boy before her, but it was the one she had always held, ever since she was a little girl and had first been driven by the mockery of her peers to pick up her sword. In many ways, the dream was who she was.

When the fountain of her words dried up, and she looked to the boy she was glad to find not the scorn or pity she expected, but merely a measuring look, as if he was trying to see whether she was lying to him.

Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for and nodded. "That's as good a dream as any I think. Better to try to be a hero and fail than to accept your role as one of these vipers."

Brienne smiled at the reasoning, watching even as the young Baratheon stood to leave. Apologizing once again, this time for having to return to his parents, lest they worry too greatly over him, and leaving her now alone in the stretching twilight.

Perhaps there was just something about the Baratheons at large that made them more accepting of her, though it likely didn't extend to the bullying prince Joffrey, at least if the way he had introduced himself to his cousin earlier in the evening was any indication.

Brienne thought it might be good if the young boy who had spoken to her or even Lord Renly were to be king instead, but that was as much a fantasy as her own hopes for knighthood, they were too far down the succession, and even were Joffrey childless the chances of them ever taking the throne were low.

No, whatever sublime nobility and kindness were in the house of Baratheon would be kept in Storms-End and Dragonstone it seemed, but then again, neither of those were so far from Tarth, and was not the young stag famed for his fast ships? She would see whether their dreams succeeded herself, and they would see hers.

She was sure of it.
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