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ode-to-fury · 7 months ago

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Winter Thorns and Iron Crowns pt. 16

Summary: Stannis and Robert really not doing the Baratheons any favours when it comes to beating the idiot allegations

Pairings: Stannis Baratheon x Reader

Disclaimer: Ok! This is the last part! I’m so sorry if the prose isn’t as good I haven’t read the books in a minute so I might be using a different writing style a little I’m so sorry. Also really sorry if this sucks I haven’t touched this fic in like a year and a half lol. Anyway I hope everyone enjoys. Eat your heart out Bridgerton season 3 This is how you do a friends to lovers confession!

Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon’s Kingsguard, strode through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast and felt trepidation close it’s unrelenting fingers around his heart.

It was raining, drops pattering against the walls, dripping from eaves and lightly spattering onto his armour as he walked.

He clenched his fists at his sides, knowing Robert had sent him on this errand as some sort of test, though whether it was his test, Barristan could not say.

He stopped in front of a set of double doors, polished so that he could see his reflection in them. He took off his white helm and knocked on the door. Once. Sharply.

It was a few moments before a girl answered, pitch black hair and wide, deep blue eyes.

“Yes, m’lord?” She asked him, half hiding behind the door.

“Is lady Stark within?” He asked her kindly.

“Yes, m’lord,” she replied, and dropped into a quick curtsy. “But, begging your pardon m’lord, she said she wanted no visitors today, owing to the rain.”

He suppressed a roll of his eyes.

“Would you be so kind as to inform her that she will have to make an exception for a summons from king Robert?”

The girl’s already wide eyes widened even further, and she nodded, disappearing behind the large door.

A short time later, Y/n Stark came to the door.

She was dressed in black, her golden brown hair braided back from her face almost austerely, drawing attention to the lines around her mouth, the shadowed bruises beneath her eyes, the four thin scars on her cheek which seemed even more stark against her pale skin.

Barristan remembered the first time he had seen her, a shy, unremarkable girl. She had blossomed during her wardship, had become a lovely young woman, quick with a grin or a sly look for him or anyone else.

No trace of that girl could he see in the woman before him now. Now, all he could see was her slumped form in front of the Iron Throne, tears streaking across her cheeks.

Her lip curled as her eyes met his, as they travelled up and down, taking in his white armour and cloak.

Her eyes were dull, no trace of the twinkle that he had become accustomed to.

A great shame, for her beauty had always been in the twinkle of her grey eyes.

She shook her head, sighing through her nose.

“And out of everyone, he sends me you,” she said scornfully.

“Robert always did have the most terrible sense of humour.”

Will I ever be forgiven for living? He thought, knowing full well which one of his brothers she would have preferred to see outside her door.

“Well?” She snapped, before he could say anything, “Are you going to escort me or just stand there like a halfwit?”

He saluted and turned, not knowing how to reply, and began the long, silent walk to Robert’s solar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Barristan held the door for lady Stark as she strode into the room. He closed it behind himself and took up a place beside it, opposite ser Meryn Trant.

Deliberately, he did not allow any thought on his new brother to enter his mind or show on his face.

The lady Stark strode into the room, black skirts swirling.

Robert, Maester Pycelle, Jon Arryn and even the king’s eunuch were present. Stannis Baratheon was still on Dragonstone, and would leave within three days, if his letters told true. Which they always did.

She sat down on a chair opposite the king without waiting for his leave, and Barristan felt his jaw tighten in tandem with Robert’s.

She and Robert stared at one another across the table for a long moment before she poured herself a goblet of wine.

“So,” she said finally, “I have been summoned to an audience with the king. I assume there is a reason for it?”

Robert opened his mouth to speak, but it was Jon Arryn who spoke first.

“Marriage.”

The word fell into the silence of the room like an arrow into a shield.

Thunk.

Robert cleared his throat.

“Ahem, yes. I’ve been informed that it is my duty as king to take a wife.”

He flashed her a sheepish smile across the small table, charming in its boyishness.

“A wife from an important family,” Jon continued for him, “With influence, and power. You were raised here, at court, this you know.”

Y/n nodded slowly, her face a blank slate.

“I would have it be Cersei Lannister,” the new Hand continued. “The Lannisters are the richest family in the realm, and we could do worse than having the lord Tywin bound to us.”

He took a deep breath.

“Robert would have it be you.”

Y/n’s shoulders tensed. She sat upright.

“Me?” She asked, her voice small.

“Of course you!” Robert burst out with a laugh. “You are a hero to the smallfolk, a figure from stories already told around hearthfires throughout the realm.”

He smiled at her warmly.

“We would have been kin, you and I.”

Y/n’s jaw tensed.

“I am not Lyanna, Robert.”

“I know that!” The king said, “But she is not here, and so cannot be my queen. If not her, I would have it be you. For the sake of the realm, for the sake of my sanity, for the sake of her memory. For Ned's sake, as well.”

Like as not he thinks the difference between them too small to matter, Barristan could not help but think.

Y/n looked at the table, her lips pursing. For a moment, Barristan saw once more the unsure young girl who had stared wonderingly as he sparred with Arthur Dayne in the courtyard.

“You know better than most what is at stake here, Y/n,” Jon Arryn said.

She looked up once more, and this time her jaw was set, something defiant in those grey eyes of hers.

“I do,” she said quietly, but not softly. “Just as the king knows better than most why I cannot accept his offer.”

There was silence for a moment.

"What?" Robert asked.

"I can't, Robert," she said. "I can't."

The king stared at her, openmouthed.

“Y/n, please,” he said, “Think of the realm, think what Ned would want! Think for a moment- !”

“I have, your grace,” she hesitated. “Robert. Ask me to do anything else for the realm. Ask me to die, if I must. But do not ask me this.”

They stared at one another for a moment, the king becoming angrier with every second that passed.

“And if it turns out he does not love you?” Robert eventually growled at her. “You would have me kiss Tywin Lannister’s feet for a man whose heart turned to stone long ago?”

Lady Stark's jaw clenched, her shoulders tensing, and it was with deliberate slow control that she stood from the chair.

“I daresay you could do worse, your grace, than Tywin Lannister’s feet, or Cersei Lannister’s cunt,” she said coolly. “My answer is no.”

She spun around toward the door.

“I am your king!” Robert shouted at her, standing from his seat to slam his hands on the tabletop.

She flinched at the noise, stopping, but did not turn back toward him.

“Do I have your leave, your grace?” She spat the last words like an insult.

Robert’s face was red, and he looked for a moment as though he would argue further, but then he waved a hand at her back.

“Bah,” he said, sagging into his chair, “Get out of my sight.”

Y/n opened the door and strode out.

“And send someone with wine!” Robert called after her, just before the door slammed shut.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“My lord,” Stannis’ chamberlain called hesitantly from the door to his rooms.

“What?” He asked, not looking up from the harbour catalogue. The man was incompetent at best, but Stannis put up with it, just as he put up with everything in his life.

“Ah, Lady Stark to see you, my lord.”

Stannis’ hand stilled on the page.

He had seen this morning, the preparations starting to be made for the royal wedding as he made his way up from the harbour to the Red Keep. Flowers being brought in, carts stuffed with barrels of wine rolling in from the direction of Dorne. He had paid it no mind, had not been the least bit interested in who Robert had chosen to marry so long as he was somewhat sensible in his choice.

Until the bakery.

He’d never noticed there was a bakery in that particular street before, but as he rode up toward the Red Keep, one woman was shouting at another as they opened for the day.

“I thought it was the Stark girl he’s marrying?”

“Maybe your right, I thought it was a Lannister.”

“No, no, my sister washes linens for the Hand, said she heard him complaining about the king not goin’ along with his choice.”

“Well… there you have it then. Got to admit it won’t change that much for us.”

Stannis hadn’t realised how tightly he was holding the reigns until his horse reared and almost threw him. He wrenched them again, turning the animal to the right course, ignoring the looks of the men riding with him.

She’s no Lyanna, but it’ll do.

He should have known. He should have seen that Robert would not allow him this, would never even think of what such a proposal might mean to Stannis. He should have- he should have-

What? Proposed to her first?

He’d almost laughed aloud, but instead had merely ground his teeth harder.

The thought that she would ever consent to a life shackled to him, the second son, when she could have the Iron Throne was laughable. The thought that she would ever consent to a life shackled to him when she could have Robert was even more so.

He had given his report of Dragonstone to the king’s small council, the king notably absent, endured their gripes about his failure to capture the two Targaryen children, and made his way to his chambers.

His appetite was gone, but already he had work to do as master of ships, and it served well enough as a distraction from the pain in his chest that had not eased since the morning.

Absurdly, he wondered how long it would take Davos to get to the Red Keep from Dragonstone if he would summon him.

He realised his chamberlain was still waiting for his answer, and cursed himself for a fool.

The mere thought of her presence stole his wits from him, made him tense, and breathless.

The last thing in the world he wanted was to see her.

But then he was nodding to the man, and closing the ledger, because he had never been able to deny her a thing.

And then she entered.

Her long hair was swept up in braids, in a style that reminded him of his childhood in Storm’s End. She wore black, and seemed pale, and there were dark bruises beneath her eyes which he knew matched those beneath his own.

His heart clenched in his chest, under no control of his own.

“Lady Stark,” he said in greeting. Too hard, too cold by half but he could not do it any other way.

She frowned, almost bemused, and sank into a quick curtsy.

“Lord Stannis,” her head tilted slightly to the side. “Forgive the intrusion.”

She cast her eyes to the door, where his chamberlain lingered still.

“Leave us,” he snapped. The man obeyed quickly.

Her eyes roamed over his face, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Why did you not come?” She said, after what felt like too long of a silence.

“Robert said your ship landed this morning. I was waiting all day.”

He did not look her in the eyes when he bit out, “I did not wish to interrupt your preparations.”

She frowned again.

“Preparations?”

If he was any other man, if he was Robert, perhaps, or Brandon Stark or Rhaegar Targaryen or some peasant in Fleabottom, perhaps he would have overturned his desk. Perhaps he would have walked to the wall and broke his hand against it.

Instead he looked down at the closed book on his desk.

“I suppose I should congratulate you on the match, or,” he could not resist adding through clenched teeth, bitterness leaking into his voice, “Perhaps it would be better to congratulate him, and give you my condolences.”

The frown remained on her face for a heartbeat, and then understanding dawned in her eyes.

“You…” he startled at the sound of her voice, at the hurt in it.

“You think I agreed to marry him?” She asked, shock in every word.

“I assumed so, yes,” he said stifly, not wishing for her pity.

“Only a fool would turn down the king.”

She stared at him, her mouth slightly open.

“After all this time,” she said, disbelievingly, “You think I would marry him? After everything? Do you truly know me so little?”

He blinked. Once.

“You- ?”

“I turned him down,” she said quietly.

“Of course I did, Stannis.”

He stared at her, clenched fists forgotten, clenched jaw slack for once in his life, disbelief and shock vying for the honor of making his knees weak.

Relief, as well.

The shock on her face morphed into hurt, slowly, and it felt as though someone was sliding a sword into his stomach, like a slow death by starvation all over again.

She schooled her features into indifference, and Stannis thought perhaps that was worse than a year of starvation.

“It did not cross my mind that you would refuse him,” he said, and the words sounded too bland to his own ears, and he wished fervantly for once in his life that he could cease speaking but the words seemed to fall from his mouth without his consent.

“Robert has always gotten everything he wanted- “

“He isn’t you, you halfwit!” She burst out, anger momentarily breaking through the indifference. “And you should know me better by now than to think I want that godsforsaken throne to myself when it has brought me nothing but misery my whole life!”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and her neutrality reasserted itsself. If it did not hurt so much, he would have been impressed by her control.

“I am glad to see you safe, my lord,” she said blandly.

“It seems I’ve been a bigger fool than I realised. You must excuse me, I have much to do. There is to be a wedding in a few days.”

“Y/n- “ he tried, pathetically.

“Good day, lord Stannis.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A fortnight later, Stannis found Y/n sitting on a small pier beneath the cliffs of the Keep, waves hitting the wood as though they had better things to do, watching the sunrise.

He stood for a while at the end of the pier, grinding his teeth. The paper he held in his hands seemed frail, stupid even, when he was confronted with her. The rays from the rising sun made her braid shine golden, and though she wore only breeches and a shirt, she seemed a vision, or some such nonsense the bards always spewed at the sight of her.

All Stannis knew was that his stomach was twisted in knots, and though he had dressed in a fine doublet he still felt exposed, and she had not spoken to her since Robert's wedding.

Before he could lose his nerve, he cleared his throat.

She started, jumping to her feet and turning toward him as though she was ready for a fight. He was somewhat gratified to see the tension leave her when their eyes met, though not entirely.

“Stannis?” She asked, and he was ashamed to hear suspicion in her voice as she did. She raised her chin in that way of hers, standing in such a way he knew made her seem taller. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, however, that he was aware matched his own, and she was still too thin.

As he was. He was aware he looked emaciated, but if he did not do this, he thought he would die from... from whatever this was that had been aching in his chest since she had left his rooms.

"Y/n."

It was out of his mouth before he could decide otherwise. At her raised eyebrow, he cleared his throat once more.

"Lady Stark," he said instead, the paper in his hand felt more flimsy than ever, and he felt his treacherous fingers tremble slightly as he read what he had prepared to say over the past week.

“I’ve spoken to the king, to your lord brother, as well as to Maester Cressen at Dragonstone, asking for advice. I know that I cannot offer you Storm’s End as is my right by birth,” he saw her open her mouth but carried on, heedless, knowing that if he stopped now, he would never start again, “But all of them seem to agree that the match would be favourable for both parties as well as our households. So, Lady Stark, would you...” he took a deep breath, bracing for the worst, “Will you be my wife?”

She looked at him. There were a few moments of tense silence.

“You spoke to Ned and Robert?” She asked softly. He nodded.

“And they both agree the match would be favourable?”

Again, he nodded. His heart was beating somewhere in the region of his neck. It had been the only way he could think of to convince her. If he had to go longer pretending to feel only friendship, his nerves would fray to their ends, but he would be an idiot to think she felt anything of the sort for him.

So, he had written to Ned, and spoken with Robert, and even asked Maester Cressen, who had always counselled him well. It had almost come to blows between him and Robert, the king unwilling to forsake his fabricated claim on the Starks, but Stannis had won out eventually, after three of the kingsguard had come to stand between them.

“There is no...” she was frowning, searching his face for something, “Other reason?”

“No,” he said simply. None that matter.

She frowned, her grey eyes turning dark.

“Then no.”

His breath left him.

“What?” He asked.

“No. Not like this,” she said, and he was shocked to hear her voice shake, not from laughter but from anger.

She turned away from him, toward the sea, and seemed to take a deep breath. When she turned around again her fists were clenched and her jaw was set.

“I waited for you!” She all but hissed at him. “I gave up Winterfell, my home, my brothers! Do you know how the ships in the harbour call to me? But I didn’t board one, because I couldn’t leave you! Do you have any idea how many offers of marriage I’ve had in the past week alone! But I turned them all down, even Robert, even the godsforsaken Iron Throne, because I thought you saw more in me than just a trophy! Because I thought you...” suddenly it was as if a fire had been extinguished. Her shoulders slumped and she seemed so tired.

“My answer is no,” she said icily, and turned from him.

He caught her hand before she could.

“Because you thought I what?” He asked. He had to know, because hope had just started sprouting in his chest, like a flickering candle flame, and he had to extinguish it before it consumed him.

She frowned, and didn’t look him in the eyes.

“Because I thought you loved me,” she said quietly.

She looked up into his eyes, and he could hardly breathe. They shone in the early dawn light.

She was looking at him with something like defiance, as if she was daring him to say something.

He stared at her.

Because I thought you loved me.

He kept staring at her.

She... thought I...

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His thoughts seemed to be moving too slowly.

Finally, she seemed to lose patience with him.

“Never mind,” she said, starting to walk back toward the Keep.

“Wait. No,” he tried to stop her. “I wasn’t- I never meant- “

“Let me go, Stannis.”

“I did not think you could love me,” he blurted. “I did not dare hope you could love me.”

She stopped struggling and finally turned around. To his horror, she looked amused.

He clenched his teeth and let go of her arm.

“Once, when you were visiting Storm’s End when I was seventeen, there was a storm, and Shipbreaker Bay was as wild as I’d ever seen it. You held on to my arm as we watched it through the window,” he said quickly. “I’ve been in love with you since that day, perhaps before, even. But you- “, he stopped, not knowing how to make sense of the feelings swimming around in his head, in his chest. He hated that she did that to him.

You are too beautiful to trifle with me, and too kind and too strong and I never thought you could love me. I thought if we married, I might convince myself eventually, but to presume...

She tilted her head to the side as she regarded him for a long while, frowning. His heart had decided to make a home somewhere in his stomach.

“You’re a simpleton,” she said eventually. Still frowning.

“What?” He asked, perplexed.

“I said,” she walked forward and took his hand, entwining their fingers, “You’re a simpleton, Stannis Baratheon. A fool. An idiot. A...” she looked to the side, thinking. “A halfwit.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, my lady,” he said coolly. Now she was insulting him? On top of refusing him?

She shook her head, smiling slightly, and he was about to snap back at her for being an idiot, but she spoke over him.

“Stannis,” she said softly, looking up at him, “I’ve loved you since we were children. Since the first day you showed me Proudwing, do you remember? The sun hadn’t even come up properly yet.”

He did remember, he’d thought she was strange, with her twinkling grey eyes and bare feet, running around Storm’s End on her own. Perhaps he had loved her since that day as well.

“But I was too young to know it was love,” she said softly, “Too young to see the truth.”

“I thought you were strange,” he said, then wanted to kick himself. But instead of being angry, she laughed, and her hand found his arm. A warmth spread through him, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. That was what she was, sunlight after rain.

“I thought you were strange too,” she said softly. “A strange, lanky little boy who frowned too much and had dark blue eyes just like the ocean. I wanted to try and make you laugh.”

He smiled despite himself, despite the emotions roiling his stomach around, despite the thoughts he could not seem to get in order. Despite everything. Such an immense feeling of love welled up in him that he felt he would die from it.

She smiled too, and her eyes twinkled in that familiar way. Starlight and sunlight and flickering firelight all came together in those grey eyes when she laughed.

Then she stood on her toes and brushed her lips against his, barely more than a touch, barely a second, but fire raced through him. Fire and lightning and ice and everything at once.

“Ask me again,” she said, still standing close to him, hand in hand, her breath tickling his lips. “Correctly.”

“Be my wife,” he said, almost in a trance, “Be mine, please.”

She kissed him again, and again it was like a storm in his chest.

“Alright. For you.”

#honestly i cant tell if this is bad or not lolllll #its been like eight years since i started writing this haha and now its done #sorrows sorrows prayers #stannis baratheon #stannis baratheon fic #stannis baratheon x reader #game of thrones x reader #asoiaf fic #game of thrones fic #my writing

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