Game of Thrones: Oath of Iron and Fire-Chapter 69: The Orphan of Dragonstone

Dragonstone is a lonely fortress in the sea, its terrain a damp and cold wasteland, surrounded year-round by violent storms and treacherous waters, with the shadow of volcanoes looming behind, adding to its gloom.

The castle walls of Dragonstone are adorned with thousands of grotesques in the ancient Valyrian style—stone gargoyles, hellhounds, and long-winged dragons.

When Stannis first arrived here, he was displeased by the menacing stone creatures that seemed to leer from every corner of the city. Time, however, has done little to soothe his irritation.

In the roundtable hall atop the Stone Drum, Stannis sits with only his confidant, Ser Davos Seaworth, by his side.

The hall is famous for its map table, crafted by the Conqueror himself. The table is fifty feet long, twenty-five feet wide at its broadest point, and narrows to less than four feet at its thinnest.

Not a single surface is flat; the table depicts the Seven Kingdoms as they were in Aegon's time, with all their rivers and mountains, castles and cities, lakes and forests. It has accumulated nearly three centuries of high gloss.

Near the spot representing Dragonstone on the map table, there is a raised chair that offers a view of the entire surface. It is here that Stannis sits.

"Any word from King's Landing, Davos?" Stannis asks.

Stannis is dressed in a fitted leather jerkin and coarse brown woolen trousers. He is a man of broad shoulders and sturdy limbs, with a face taut from years of stern living. His skin, hardened by long exposure to the sun, is as tough as iron.

Though not yet thirty-five, he has but a thin crown of black hair, like a shadow, encircling his ears. His beard is short and neat, a blue shadow covering his square jaw and the hollows of his cheekbones.

"No," Davos shakes his head.

"I knew it. I've served my brother Robert for fifteen years, helped Jon Arryn run the realm so Robert could feast and whore. Old Jon should have retired to the Vale years ago, but he clung to his position. And now that he's dead, Robert didn't even consider me for the Hand!"

Stannis's words are devoid of emotion, as always.

"I suppose he'll bestow that honor on Eddard Stark. His true brother is not me, but Ned Stark."

"My lord, this is not the time for grievances," Ser Davos advises. "Moreover, King's Landing is no place for good. With Jon Arryn dead, the city reeks of Lannister."

"True enough. King's Landing is far from ideal, but what about Dragonstone? To be honest, I don't want this place at all. It's a cursed spot. I took it because Robert's enemies were here, and I defeated them, fulfilling my duty as a brother. But how did Robert thank me? He made me Lord of Dragonstone and gave Storm's End, with all its lands and taxes, to Renly!"

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

This old wound still rankles Stannis deeply. He cannot escape the hurt it caused.

Dragonstone's former greatness was built on dragons. Without them, it is now barren and weak. Stannis has only a few minor lords under his command, and the outer islands are rocky and sparsely populated, yielding few soldiers.

"Never mind!" Stannis reflects. "The key is that I have no soldiers, no taxes, and I can't even protect myself!"

Davos sighs inwardly. Stannis's sternness is his defining trait, but he lacks charm and charisma. Few people truly like Stannis. The lords of Storm's End are loyal to Renly, and now they might still be waiting to see what a bastard across the Narrow Sea will do.

"My lord, our real enemy is the Lannisters, no doubt about it! Suppose you could fight alongside your brothers and kin!"

"I will never compromise, unless they first acknowledge my rightful place in the line of succession and fulfill their duties as younger brothers."

"Renly is out of the question! We will surely need to recruit mercenaries and sailors from across the Narrow Sea in the future, but you know, many of those mercenaries rely on Gendry's influence! Some have fled to Tyrosh to make a living, or have directly surrendered to the Free Army."

"He's just a young whippersnapper, my brother's bastard!" Stannis says.

"Though he hasn't yet claimed the throne, I can see it in his eyes. He treasures that Targaryen girl, the last of the dragons, because he wants that crown! Compromise with him would only lead to the kingdom's further fragmentation!"

"Even so, Commander Gendry is currently busy governing Myr and preparing for future wars with the slave cities! At least for now, we might still have time to talk things over."

"Talk things over? I think it's rather futile. That boy is as ambitious as the Blackfyre Pretenders. I can only rely on you; you have connections in Lys and Myr!" Stannis looks at Davos. "Ser Axell, Lord Velaryon, and Lord Bar Emmon—none of them are particularly capable, but they're all my brother left me."

"I will do my best! Though I'm getting on in years, my skills with the black ships haven't faded!" the Onion Knight promises. Compared to the courtiers of Storm's End, he still believes mercenaries who value money are more reliable. The vassals are unwilling to fight for Stannis's rights because they don't truly love him.

Maester Cressen, the old maester of Dragonstone, enters the Roundtable Hall at this moment. He is so old that climbing the stairs is a torment.

"Old man, I knew you'd come, whether I called for you or not," Stannis says, looking up.

"In the past, you would have woken me," the old man says.

"In the past, you were younger. Now you're old and sick, and you need your sleep," Stannis, who never learned to speak softly or flatter, says bluntly. He speaks his mind without regard for others' feelings.

"As the Lord Admiral, wasn't your return to Dragonstone without permission rather discourteous, and you haven't apologized to the king either!"

"Apologize! When Robert granted me Dragonstone, he didn't explain himself. When he was looking for a Hand out of thin air, he didn't explain himself either. By rights, when he became king, Storm's End should have been mine!"

"Robert was indeed unfair to you," Maester Cressen answers cautiously, "but back then, he had his reasons. Dragonstone has always been the stronghold of House Targaryen. He needed a strong man to rule here, and Renly was just a child at the time."

"He still is a child!" Stannis said. "A vain, arrogant child who disrespects his elder brother! I've fulfilled my duty to Robert, what about Renly?"

Maester Cressen was far too old, and Stannis no longer wished to hear his counsel.

Though Maester Cressen often felt like a father to them, ever since the Narrow Sea had claimed the life of Lord Steffon, Robert, Stannis, and Renly... had been like his three sons, raised by his hand.

"Come now, old maester, let the lord have his peace," Ser Davos suggested.

Stannis stood alone before the round table, his shadow covering the mouth of Blackwater Bay and King's Landing.

"Stannis, my child, you are not an orphan, there are those who love you!" the old maester thought, determined to prevent the brothers' strife.

Ser Davos and the old maester descended the stairs, only to encounter Shireen and her fool, Patchface, in the courtyard.

Young Shireen was as shy as ever. Trailing behind her, hopping and skipping peculiarly, was her fool, Patchface. He wore a toy helmet made from an old tin bucket, with two deer antlers tied to the top and cowbells hanging from them, making various noises with his awkward steps: clang, thump, jingle, clatter.

Encountering the child made the old maester's heart ache even more. This was Stannis's second tragedy. Poor, melancholic my son!

The little girl had contracted greyscale in her early years, nearly losing her life. Though she had survived, the disease left terrible scars: half her cheek down to her neck was hardened and dead, with skin cracked and peeling, mottled with black and gray patches, feeling like stone to the touch.

"Have you seen my father, maester?" Shireen asked.

"Yes," the old man replied. "The lord is busy with some matters."

At that moment, Patchface suddenly shouted. The fool shook his bells. "Beneath the sea, it's summer all the time!" he chanted. "Mermaids have seaweed in their hair, silver seaweed for gowns, I know, I know, oh oh oh!"