Chapter 21 (Different Stannis)

Third Pov

“Prince Doran,” a voice called from the side, cutting through the noise of the coronation feast.

Doran Martell, seated at his table, his calm gaze fixed on the swirling dancers in the throne room, turned his head. Standing before him was Stannis Baratheon, the newly crowned King of Westeros, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men , and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms

“Your Grace,” Doran said, rising smoothly from his chair and offering a respectful bow.

Stannis inclined his head, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “I hope you’re enjoying the feast, Prince Doran. I’m glad we have the chance to meet in person. The coronation allowed little time for such courtesies."

Doran’s expression remained composed, his dark eyes steady. "The feast is splendid, Your Grace. A worthy celebration for a new reign. I’m equally glad to meet you and offer my congratulations on your ascension in person." His voice was warm, measured, carrying the weight of a man who chose his words with care.

Stannis gave a curt nod, then continued. "I’d intended to speak with you tomorrow, but when I saw you alone, I thought it best to seize the moment." He pulled out a chair one space from Doran and settled into it, both men now facing the dancers. Stannis placed a goblet of wine before him. His gaze swept the hall briefly before returning to Doran. "I noticed that I haven’t seen Princess Elia among the dancers or at your table. Where is she?”

"She’s gone to see Aegon," Doran replied simply, his tone even.

Stannis gave a small nod, unsurprised. He took a sip of his wine, then shifted the topic of their conversation.“I wish to discuss our agreement, Prince Doran. I presume Elia has written to you about the terms we’ve proposed.”

Doran’s expression didn’t waver, though his eyes sharpened with interest. “She has. Her letter spoke of Princess Rhaenys’s betrothal to your heir, as well as your actions in saving her and her children from the Lannister men. For that, Your Grace, you have my deepest gratitude.” His voice carried genuine appreciation, though his tone remained even, as if weighing every word.

Stannis acknowledged the gratitude with a slight dip of his chin, then fixed Doran with a steady gaze, testing him. "It must pain you, though, to know Aegon will never sit the Iron Throne."

Doran’s expression remained serene, unshaken. “Of course it pains me,” he said, his voice steady. “What man wouldn’t wish for his nephew to be king? But I am a realist, Your Grace. My family fought and lost. You are the victor, and victors set the terms. And truthfully, your terms could have been far harsher.”

Stannis’s lips quirked into a small smile, pleased by Doran’s reasoning. “True, the terms could have been harsher. Some might even say they favor you more than me. Six kingdoms already support my rule, and Rhaenys’s marriage to my heir adds little to my position.” He paused, letting the words settle. “Which is why I believe it’s only fair to add one more condition to our agreement.”

Doran’s eyes met Stannis’s, attentive but composed, waiting.“And what condition would that be, Your Grace?”

Stannis leaned back slightly, his eyes drifting to the dance floor where his younger brother, Renly, spun with Arianne Martell, Rhaenys, and Oberyn’s daughters, their laughter ringing out. “You may have heard that Dragonstone is no longer the seat of the crown prince. That title now belongs to Storm’s End. As my heir, Renly is Prince of Storm’s End—for now. But when I have a son, Renly will lose that title and seat.” Stannis looked back at Doran, who watched him silently. “I could grant him lands and a keep, but I’d rather not see my brother reduced to a mere lord. He deserves a higher station. Perhaps… Prince Consort of Dorne.”

Doran’s gaze drifted to his daughter, Arianne, her movements fluid and assured among the dancers. Quietly, he said, “So you propose a match between Renly and my heir, Arianne.”

Stannis’s smile returned, sharp and calculated. “Right. Renly is a prince, Arianne a princess, and only two years separate them. They’re well-suited. The Targaryens bound Dorne to the realm in much the same way—a Martell queen, a Targaryen wed to Dorne’s ruler. What say you, Prince Doran? It’s a fair offer.”

Doran’s gaze lingered on Arianne for a moment before returning to Stannis. “I think it’s a fine idea, Your Grace. A union to further strengthen our houses.”

Stannis’s smile widened, satisfied. He stood, reaching for his goblet and the flagon of wine on the table. He filled Doran’s cup, then his own, and raised his goblet. Doran rose as well, mirroring the gesture. “To a new era of friendship between House Martell and House Baratheon,” Stannis declared.

Doran lifted his goblet. “To friendship and alliance.” They clinked their cups and drank deeply.

With a final nod, Stannis said, “I’ll take my leave now, Prince Doran. Until tomorrow.” He turned and made his way back to the high table, his eyes sweeping the hall. The feast was winding down—many guests had departed, leaving only drunken men at the tables and a handful of youthful dancers still spinning to the minstrels’ tunes. Renly, Arianne, and their companions remained among them, their energy undimmed.

Stannis set his goblet down, his thoughts turning inward. Enough for one night, he decided. The weight of the crown and the day’s negotiations pressed on him. With a final glance at the hall, he strode toward his chambers, ready for rest.

0000000000000000

Stannis’s POV

After a few minutes of walking, I reached my chambers. I opened the door and stepped inside. I went to the table, removed the crown from my head, and placed it down. Then I sat in the armchair nearby, leaned back, and closed my eyes.

'I’m tired,' I thought, 'but not for nothing.' Everything went well—the coronation and the feast. My conversations, too.

I recalled my talk with Prince Doran and smiled.

'Renly and Arianne,' I thought. What an interesting pair. I wonder how their relationship will turn out. I remembered that Renly, in time, would likely be gay, unless that changed, like the time of Robert’s death changed. Arianne, as I recalled, would be bisexual, with many lovers, both men and women, in the original story. Oberyn was bisexual, so perhaps such things were more accepted in Dorne than elsewhere in Westeros. I hoped Renly and Arianne’s relationship would be normal.

'I wonder if Renly will have a child. Hopefully, they will figure out their relationship,' I decided.' I’m overthinking. I’ve given Renly a beautiful wife and a position. The rest is up to him. 'Then I remembered my conversation with Ashara Dayne.

'I wonder if her brother agreed to my offer,' I thought. Some might think offering Arthur Dayne a place in my Kingsguard is a mistake, but I believe it’s a good decision, risky but good. He’s the best knight in Westeros today, and he’ll be useful. Of course, I won’t fully trust him at first. I’ll watch him, test his loyalty. Also, I think giving Daynes hope of Dawn’s return was a good idea. It’ll make them try harder to prove their loyalty, and it’ll help Ashara convince Arthur.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. A Stormguard’s voice said, “Your Grace, Lady Ashara Dayne wishes to see you.”

I opened my eyes, stood from the chair, and said, “Let her in.”

Lady Ashara entered. I poured wine from a flagon on the table into two goblets, approached her, and offered one with a smile.

“Lady Ashara, I hope you found your brother in good condition and your conversation with him went well.”

Ashara took the goblet, her face taking on a smiling expression. “Your Grace, my brother is well. They’re taking good care of him, for which I thank you. As for your offer, he has agreed to accept it and become your Kingsguard.”

I smiled. “This is wonderful news. Knowing a knight like Arthur guards me will let me sleep better.” Then, with a curious look, I asked, “And what was his reaction when he learned you must stay in King’s Landing as a guarantee of his good behavior?”

Ashara’s smiling face changed, showing slight unease.

“I didn’t tell him that,” she said. “If I had, he might have gotten angry and refused. I ask you, Your Grace, not to tell him either, at least not yet.”

I looked into her eyes. “I’m amazed by your sacrifice, Lady Ashara. It’s clear you love your brother dearly and worry for him.”

She nodded. “I was still young when our parents died. I barely remember them. Arthur always did everything to ensure I never felt their absence.” A smile crossed her face, her voice soft and nostalgic. “He’d tell me stories before bed, read books to me, and even played with me.”

'The age difference between Ashara and Arthur must be about the same as between me and Renly,' I thought. I smiled and said, “It seems Ser Arthur was truly a good older brother. I hope he’ll be just as good a Kingsguard.”

Ashara smiled back, her beautiful smile lighting up her face. To keep our conversation going, I seized on the first topic that came to mind and asked with a smile, “If it’s not a secret, what did you and Arthur play? Don’t tell me Arthur, the world-famous knight, played with dolls as a child.”

Ashara laughed, shaking her head. “Our favorite game was Cyvasse. Arthur taught me how to play.”

“Cyvasse?” I repeated with a smile. Cyvasse is a popular game in this world, much like chess but with different pieces—rabble, spearmen, crossbowmen, light horse, heavy horse, trebuchet, catapult, dragon, elephant, king—and unlike chess, you can arrange the pieces however you like before the game starts. I learned it from Cressen, and it quickly became my favorite game. I said to Ashara, “What a coincidence. I’m teaching Renly to play Cyvasse too.”

Ashara smiled. “Really? That’s wonderful. Perhaps we could play together sometime. We have the next five years for it.”

I laughed. “At least five years, Lady Ashara, at least.” I added with a smile, “Maybe we should play now. I must have a board stored somewhere here. It’s a bit late, but if you’re not in a hurry, we could play.”

Ashara smiled back and said, “Alright, let’s play, but I can’t stay long.”

I smiled and started to look for the game board when I heard a knock at the door.

“Your Grace, Lady Cersei is here,” I heard the guard’s voice say.

'Seven hells,' I thought. 'Cersei, of all times.' I sighed and said to Ashara, “Lady Ashara, it seems our game won’t happen tonight. We’ll have to delay. As for your brother, I’ll send a servant to move him to better quarters, and tomorrow I’ll speak with him myself.”

Ashara nodded. “As you wish, Your Grace,” she said and moved toward the door.

I escorted her to the door and opened it. I saw Cersei, who smiled at me but then noticed Lady Ashara beside me, and her smile froze. I smiled at her reaction and said, ““Lady Cersei, come in. Lady Ashara was just leaving.”

Ashara stepped through the doorway, glancing at Cersei, who glared at her with furious eyes, looking as if she wanted to strangle her on the spot. Ashara seemed to sense what was happening and, as if to provoke Cersei further, turned back, bowed to me, and said,

“Your Grace, I wish you sweet dreams, and don’t forget you owe me a game.” Then she looked at Cersei, smiled, and said, “Lady Cersei,” before walking away.

Cersei watched her go and muttered under her breath, “Whore,” but I heard it anyway. Then she turned and entered the room with me. I closed the door and thought, 'Let’s see what the lioness wants.'

“Lady Cersei,” I said, my tone neutral but edged with curiosity. “What brings you here so late?”

Cersei, still visibly irritated by Ashara’s presence, fixed me with a sharp look. “Your Grace, I came to discuss the alliance between House Baratheon and House Lannister. I didn’t expect you to be… occupied.” Her emphasis on the word was pointed, her green eyes flashing.

I smirked, unfazed. “Lady Ashara and I were merely discussing her brother. As for the Baratheon-Lannister alliance, haven’t we already settled that?”

Cersei’s expression shifted, her irritation giving way to something more provocative.

“Indeed, we have,” she purred, her fingers trailing to the laces of her gown. “But I came to seal the agreement.” With a slow, deliberate motion, she began to undo the ties, letting the fabric slip from her shoulders. The gown fell to the floor, pooling around her feet, and she stood before me in all her glory, unashamed and radiant.

Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, loose and shimmering like spun gold in the firelight. Her breasts were full and perfect, the pink nipples hardening in the cool air, inviting touch. Her waist was narrow, her hips flared, and between her thighs, a small patch of golden hair framed her slit, glistening faintly in the dim light.

I felt a stir of desire, but my mind remained sharp, calculating. I stepped closer, my eyes locked on hers, not her body, though the sight of her was impossible to ignore.

“A bold move, Lady Cersei,” I said, my voice low, testing her intent. “What exactly do you hope to gain?”

She smiled, a predator’s smile, and stepped toward me, her hands reaching for my shirt. “Power, Your Grace,” she murmured, her fingers deftly undoing the laces. “And pleasure.” Her lips brushed mine, a teasing promise, and I felt the heat of her body as she pressed closer, her breasts grazing my chest.