#i hope no one is reading this expecting a great cohesive narrative its shaky at best

[ode-to-fury]

Winter Thorns and Iron Crowns Pt. 6

Summary: I was supposed to be studying for finals so of course I wrote this instead. This is self indulgence at its f i n e s t I hope you enjoy!

Pairings: Stannis Baratheon x reader (eventual)

Disclaimer: part of this fic was inspired by this post because I’m soft and it made me have all sorts of feelings. Also by now you may have noticed most of these could be read as oneshots that sort of come together to form a narrative, and also this is just some fun, so I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it.

“Let’s go hawking!” Y/n said suddenly, jumping up from the small couch in Stannis’ rooms.

He groaned, and leant back in his chair.

“Riding, then?” She asked, looking at him pleadingly.

He looked back at her, but made no move to get up from the chair.

“Please, Stannis!” She said, folding her hands together. “I’m bored.”

“Then go and fetch another book from the library,” he said, “I told you no one uses my father’s study any more, and all the books are- “

“But we’ve been inside all day,” she said, “and the weather’s wonderful outside, and I want to go hawking, and you can’t possibly mean to sit and do sums all day- “

“Alright!” He interrupted her pleading. “Alright. Stop yammering.”

She smiled despite his curtness. She was used to it, with him. What other fifteen year old boy would use the word yammering?

Everyone always said she had too much energy. Rhaegar even went as far as to say it was positively unladylike, though he always said it with a smile.

“I came to visit you, not sit and watch you do work.”

He rolled his eyes, but finally, reluctantly, stood up from the desk.

She’d always liked his rooms. They were built more toward the center of the towerlike structure that was Storm’s End, so they had no windows, unlike her rooms in Meagor’s Holdfast, but the walls were a light sandy colour, and they were spacious enough that she hardly noticed the lack of windows. She’d only visited him a few times since coming to King’s Landing, though she wished she could come more. It wasn’t really proper for either of them to visit each other alone.

“Besides,” she grinned sideways at him as they started toward the outer courtyard, “I wasn’t yammering, I was just making my point.”

“Loudly,” came the short reply, “Repeatedly.”

She smiled again.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, though with Stannis it was always a comfortable silence. She’d grown about three inches since the last time she had seen him, but as always, he towered over her. He was just as lanky as the last time she’d seen him too, however, and just as uncomfortable. She tried not to think too much about that last visit, about a year before. The hardness in his deep blue eyes had eased slightly since the funeral, but he still frowned too much. Robert was still nowehere to be found. She hadn’t ever really minded Robert. Sure, he was crass and loud, but he reminded her of Brandon, in a way. He had left, however, after lord Steffon and lady Cassana had died, and Y/n would never forgive him for that.

Renly was in the castle currently, probably being tended to by Maester Cressen or one of his doting nurses. Y/n would be lying if she said she did not dote on the little toddler as well, but he was such a happy child. It was good to hear someone in the keep laughing.

She hoped that he would help Stannis, perhaps make him feel less alone, though she knew he would also be a reminder to him, always. Not for the first time, she secretly wished that lady Cassana had sent her letter to Winterfell before the queen had sent hers.

In the courtyard between the seaward wall and the tower, a mews, smithy and stables all nestled, safely tucked away from the storms that ravaged the coast of Shipbreaker Bay.

She dashed ahead of Stannis when she saw the bird cages, eagerly looking for one who seemed like a good hunting bird.

Her eyes landed on a falcon with white feathers under its wings.

“I don’t like hawking,” Stannis said from behind her, walking up to the cages much more slowly.

“You don’t like anything,” she said sourly, frowning as she turned back to him.

He scowled back just as hard, but she was used to it from him by now.

“Besides,” she continued, not giving him a chance to object further, “That’s a blatant lie. Now saddle your horse.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I should leave her to die,” Stannis said, dejectedly.

Vermithor frisked beneath her. He’d never liked being cooped up for more than a day or two, and he’d been confined to the stables at Storm’s End for three now.

The falcon on her shoulder was sitting serenely as the two of them rode with their escort to the open fields south of the Kingswood.

Stannis had his teeth clenched on his roan gelding, Proudwing perched on his shoulder. She did not need a hood to stay still, and clung to him like a child.

“Don’t say such things,” Y/n scolded gently. “She’s wonderful.”

“She still will not fly properly, or hunt,” he said sourly, yet he still chose her out of all the birds in the cage. “It has been almost six years now.”

She frowned.

“She will,” she said, surprised at the conviction in her own voice. “You’ll see. And even if she does not, you can’t just leave her. It isn’t right.”

He looked over at her, but only grunted.

“It isn’t, Stannis,” she said again, trying to get him to see sense. She couldn’t explain why, but she knew it was important.

“She’s worthless,” he said.

“She is not worthless!” She said, nearly turning in her saddle to face him.

“It’s what everyone says. Robert, my uncle, everyone.”

She frowned again.

“My uncle says I should stop coddling her. Then perhaps she’d learn to fly properly.”

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop the tightness in her chest. Why wouldn’t he just understand?

“I don’t think you are coddling her,” she tried, but Stannis was not listening. He was staring at the reigns in his hands like he wanted to set them on fire.

“My father and my uncle used to tell my mother to stop coddling me as well” he said then, softly. She hastly looked around to make sure that none of the guards were close enough to hear, but most of them left the two of them to their devices, and rode too far away to hear conversations. It was the first time he’d spoken to her of his parents, the first time he had even mentioned them in a year.

“My uncle says it’s why I can’t fight as well as Robert, or ride, or hawk,” as he spoke, the words became angrier, until Proudwing gave a small squawk from his shoulder, and he gave a start like he had forgotten where he was.

Immediately his ears turned bright red, and he avoided Y/n’s eyes.

She hastily cast around for something to say that would comfort him. Normally words came easy with him, but this... this was something else.

“My father used to say I couldn’t ride as well as Lyanna either,” she finally said. “Or dance, or swim, or hawk. At least yours wanted you.”

She smiled sheepishly at him. “Mine sent me half a world away.”

His dark blue eyes lightened slightly. It wasn’t much, but it felt easier to breathe nonetheless.

“You ride like you were born in a saddle,” he said, “It isn’t the same.”

“It isn’t that hard, only you’re too tense.”

He frowned at her again, but this time it was a familiar frown, a special one he kept just for her.

Proudwing squawked on his shoulder again, and he cast a glance at her.

“You’re right,” he said to her, curtly, “I am smarter than Robert, at least.”

Y/n laughed, the tight feeling leaving her chest again.

For a second, Stannis looked over at her like he wanted to say something, but he frowned and looked away quickly enough that she thought she had imagined it.

“I’ll race you to the hawking spot,” she said suddenly, feeling like she had to do something or burst out of her skin. She kicked Vermithor, and the stallion sprang away with a fury. She heard Stannis curse quietly behind her, but to her surprise, hoofbeats started after her. She laughed into the wind, alive, free.

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

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

“You know, letters are supposed to be legible, I’ve heard.”

“You know, letters are supposed to be private, I’ve heard.”

“It isn’t my fault you write your little love letters where everyone can see. Is that how they taught you to do it in the North?”

Y/n but her tongue. If she did not, she would start yelling, and she’d gotten in trouble enough over Cersei as it was.

“It isn’t a love letter,” she snapped. “I’m writing to my sister. Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?”

Cersei smirked.

“I suppose you have to, don’t you?” She said. “It must be so awfully boring up in the North, any sort of news must be welcome.”

Like Lannisport is so much better, she wanted to snap. She kept herself in check, however. Arthur would have been proud, if he was there. He and Rhaegar had ridden off to Summerhall. Again.

She wondered what they did there. Arthur said that Rhaegar just went there to play his harp and walk amongst the ruins, but she didn’t believe it. That sounded much too boring for Rhaegar Targaryen.

“My father told me the only reason you’re even here is because the queen felt bad for you,” Cersei continued, jerking Y/n out of her thoughts. She’d almost forgotten where she was for a moment.

“Truly?” She asked, finishing her letter. She didn’t deign to reply to Cersei, because she knew the other girl was wrong. The reason Y/n was in King’s Landing was that king Aerys had heard lady Cassana was going to offer her a wardship, and it would not do to have the Starks and Baratheons joined in marriage, oh no. She wondered for perhaps the thousandth time if anyone would ever see her as anything more than a potential wife.

She sighed. Queen Rhaella had mentioned something about her visiting home soon, but she doubted it would happen. Winterfell was simply too far away. Lyanna’s last letter had included a message from Brandon, describing to her in great detail how green the Wolfswood was at the moment, and how wonderful the hunting and hawking was, how easily he was finding quarries. Bastard. She missed him so much it was a physical ache.

She glanced up at Cersei suddenly. She had arrived at King’s Landing whilst Y/n was away at Storm’s End for the funeral. It had been almost a year since then. She wondered if Cersei ever missed Jaime. Surely she must? They were twins as well.

Y/n doubted it, however. Cersei’s father, lord Tywin Lannister, looked nothing like her. She was beautiful, truly, everyone said so. He was cold and mean and his hair was starting to recede. There was one thing they had in common, however, and that was their eyes. Brilliant emerald eyes under golden hair. And both lord Tywin and his daughter’s eyes were as hard and cold as actual emeralds.

She had disliked lord Tywin since the first day she had seen him, and would have even without her father’s warning to be careful around him. She had never seen him smile, not once. Stannis did not smile often either, but his eyes always gave him away. Lord Tywin was cold stone, through and through.

Cersei was something else entirely.

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

~~~~~~~~~~<~~<~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stannis coughed again. Then sneezed.

“My lord- “ Maester Cressen’s long suffering voice came from across the table. Stannis stubbornly refused to look up at him or stop working.

“Cressen if you tell me once more that I need to rest, I will have you hung from the parapets,” he snapped. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

His statement was rather rudely undercut by a sneeze.

Betrayed by my own damn body, he thought scathingly. Of course he would get sick. Of course the one day he had had to inspect the fleet, a storm would roll in over the bay.

His head had been aching the whole morning, in fact his whole body was aching, and the cloak around his shoulders was as much to hold off his chills as for neatness.

But there were things to do, and despite Cressen’s incessant mothering, he would not go to bed before he had to.

“My lord,” the Maester started again, tentatively, “Lady Stark will arrive on the morrow. Surely you would not meet her in poor health?”

Stannis clenched his jaw.

The queen is allowing me to visit again. I would ask if you would like me to, but we both know you do. I wil arrive in a week’s time.

He hesitated. Y/n would want to be busy the whole time. Hawking, riding, walking. He could not dissapoint her, it would never do for him to be a bad host.

“Perhaps...” he said slowly. “Perhaps it would not be fair of me to deprive her of a host if I am... if I am out of sorts.”

He bristled when Maester Cressen had to hide a smile. The man had never been good at being discreet.

“Yet there is still a lot of work to do- “ he started, and noted with some satisfaction that the smile vanished.

“I will see to it, my lord, if you would but rest.”

Stannis sniffed, but reluctantly stood up and left for his rooms. Sleep for a while, and on the morrow he would be perfectly capable of being a good host.

He savagely pushed down the familiar nervousness that crowded his chest at the thought of her coming as he got ready for bed, his body aching as he lay down. By now he should be used to her presence, it had been years since anyone else had made him nervous.

Vaguely, he heard Renly yelling something in the hallway outside his rooms, but his eyelids were heavy and he fell asleep quickly.

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

Vermithor reared dramatically in the courtyard of Storm’s End, making Y/n laugh even as she had to clutch at the saddle to stay seated.

She jumped off of his back and he wickered happily at the stablemaster who came forward to take him. It was raining lightly and had been for the past hour. Y/n was soaked through.

“Lady Stark,” the man said as Vermithor nuzzled him. “We were under the impression you would be arriving tomorrow.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said sweetly to him, “since my presence is such a gift.”

She nodded to Donal Noye as she passed him at the armoury, and he favoured her with a crooked smile and a salute.

She had not been inside for a second before something careened hard into the bottom of her legs.

“You back! You back!” Renly yelled, laughing as he held on to her legs. She laughed too, and reached down to pick him up into a hug. Immediately he clambered up onto her shoulders, holding on to her neck like a monkey, surprisingly spry for a two-year-old. He wore a little parchment crown that she had no doubt Maester Cressen had made for him.

“I haven’t seen you in ages!” He said.

“I was just here a few months past, little Renly,” she said. He held on tighter. Only when he had situated to his taste did she turn to the older man who had accompanied him.

“Lady Stark,” Maester Cressen said, bowing slightly. He smiled his fatherly smile at her that so infuriated Stannis.

“Maester,” she said, smiling. “I would curtsy but I fear little Renly would be dislodged.”

Renly laughed again, the infectious laughter of all children.

“The letter you sent informed us you would only be arriving on the morrow, my lady,” the maester said.

“I know,” she smiled, “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

She looked around, suddenly realising Stannis was absent.

Cressen answered her question before she could ask.

“My lord has come down with a cold,” he said, “and is resting.”

She gaped at him.

“You got him into bed?” She asked, amazed.

“On threat of being a bad host, my lady, yes.”

Gently she reached up and dislodged Renly from his seat on her shoulders, ignoring his cries of protest.

“He must be near death, then,” she said as she set him down on the ground. “Can I see him?”

“Of course, my lady. And I doubt it would be much trouble if I were to task you with keeping him in bed?”

She grinned.

“None at all.”

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

Renly insisted on staying with her, and on threat of being dragged out by his ear, also promised to stay quiet so his brother could sleep.

He fell asleep after a while, and she obligingly carried him to his own rooms before returning to Stannis.

On the way back, she ran into Robert.

“Y/n?” He asked, obviously taken aback.

“Robert,” she nodded to him. She was supposed to curtsy, but she just could not stomach it.

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

Robert had grown since she’d last seen him. He towered over her now, though he’d always been taller, his shoulders had filled out and the beginnings of a scruffy blue-black beard was on his cheeks.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

He cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, grinning, “I do live here.”

She fought to keep a smile from her face, though she knew her dimple was giving her away. Damn him. She wanted to be angry at him, for leaving his brother, but he was so damn friendly.

It drove Stannis mad, she knew. A memory surfaced from years ago, on one of her first visits to Storm’s End, of Robert shoving her a tiny but too roughly, resulting in a fall, a seething Stannis dragging her away by the hand, his knuckles bruised, Robert holding the side of his face and cursing. It had been the first time she’d ever seen Stannis stand up to Robert.

She shook her head.

“I have to go,” she said, rather awkwardly. “Stannis is sick.”

“Yes,” Robert said, “I heard.”

They both nodded at each other again, and she walked past him and into Stannis’ rooms.

He looked different when he was asleep, she realised as she sat down next to his bed. The almost permanent frown since his parents’ death left his face, and he seemed to calm. He looked almost handsome like this.

She frowned at the thought, then pushed it down.

She reached forward and brushed the hair from his forehead, and made sure the blanket was tight around his shoulders before settling back in her chair to read.

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

Stannis woke to a dark room. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he had to supress a surge of irritation at himself when he realised he must have slept most of the day away.

“Good morning, lord Stannis.”

He sat bolt upright at the sound of her voice. Then immediately he blushed and drew the blankets up around his torso.

Y/n sat curled up on a large armchair next to his bed, a book open in her lap. The only light in the room came from the candle she was reading by.

“You were not supposed to be here until tomorrow,” he snapped at her, his headache slowly coming back. He was so flustered at her presence next to his bed he did not even think to be happy. He was shirtless, for the gods’ sake, had she no shame?

It nettled him even more when she merely smiled. The dimple in her left cheek showed deeply.

“It was supposed to be a surprise, and would have been a good one if you’d had the decency to stay healthy,” she said. Then, more softly, “Go back to sleep, Maester Cressen says you need rest.”

“What are you doing sitting next to my bed?” He asked instead. “And do not presume to tell me what to do.”

“I was told to keep you from getting up,” she smiled wider this time, and he suppressed the urge to smile along.

He grumbled, but despite his annoyance at both of them, he really was quite tired.

“Rest, Stannis,” she said again, more insistant this time.

Grudgingly he lay back.

“I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, you know,” he said to her. She lifted her eyes from the pages, and they twinkled slightly in the half light. She was not laughing outright at him, but those eyes told him something different.

“Of course,” she said, and turned back to her book, amusement radiating from her like heat from a fire.

His head ached even worse when he ground his teeth together.

“What are you reading?” He asked in an effort to get her to stop treating him like a child.

Immediately her eyes lit up with excitement, and a fit of coughing took him as he lay back.

“It’s a new account,” she said when he had finished, and he could tell she was barely keeping her enthusiasm in check, “All about Sothoryos and the monsters that live there. Most of it is embellishment and fancy, but the author really did travel there.”

Her eyes travelled up to the wall above his head, and he knew she was seeing the free cities there, and all the wild lands to the east of them.

“The adventurer has to resque his true love from an evil sorcerer, who can control chimeras and wyverns,” she stopped, and looked at him suddenly. “I could read to you, if you’d like?”

He hesitated. He’d never liked the same type of stories she did. The heroes always reminded him too much of Robert, and the princesses were vapid and shallow, without a lick of sense in them.

But her voice soothed him, and despite his embarassment at the thought, and the fact that he would never tell another living soul, he liked having her close, he liked listening to her speak. She always put on different accents and voices for the characters in books when she read aloud.

He nodded stiffly, and the smile he recieved in return made him all but forget his headache.