Chapter 20 (Different Stannis)

Third Pov

The grand feast following the coronation had moved to the vast throne room, far larger than the Sept and capable of housing a thousand guests. Hall roared with laughter, the clatter of goblets, and the hum of music. Lords and ladies sat at endless rows of tables stretching the width and length of the room. Only the centre space remained clear, reserved for dancing.

Toward the great doors sat the minor lords and merchants. s was tradition, the lesser lords and landed knights were seated nearer the doors, while the great lords and principal bannermen sat closer to the Iron Throne itself. Beneath the throne itself was a single separate royal table where newly crowned King Stannis sat, Crown Prince Renly at his side. Besides them at the table, sat the Starks, Arryns, and Tullys, families who were the main force of rebellion, along with the Baratheons.

Most guests were still seated, eating and drinking heartily, while a smaller number twirled and stepped to the music upon the cleared floor.

Sitting at the high table, Stannis watched the dancers with a detached gaze. He turned to Renly, who was fidgeting with his goblet. “Why aren’t you dancing, Renly? I thought you liked to dance.”

Renly pouted and sighed. “There’s no one my age out there,” he muttered.

Stannis chuckled softly, turning his gaze back to the floor. Indeed, Renly was right—among the swirling couples, not one seemed near his age or height. A spark of mischief lit his eyes. He leaned closer, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Do you see the Martell table?” He tilted his head subtly towards where Martells were seated. Renly’s eyes followed. “Prince Doran’s daughter is about your age. Why not ask her to dance with you?"

Renly’s gaze settled on Arianne Martell. Her raven hair cascaded in waves, and her olive skin glowed under the light. She laughed with the girls around her, the sight of her flushed Renly’s cheeks. He’d never asked anyone to dance before, and the thought sent a nervous jolt through him.

Stannis noticed the blush and grinned, his tone teasing. “What’s this? Shy, are we? You’re the Crown Prince, Renly, and she’s a princess of Dorne. You’re a perfect match.”

Stannis noticed his blush. "What’s this? Are you nervous?" he teased lightly, a grin tugging his lips. "You are the Crown Prince. She is a Princess of Dorne. You suit each other well."

Renly’s face reddened further, and he mumbled, “Why aren't you dancing yourself? Are you also embarrassed to ask a girl to dance?

Stannis chuckled. “Alright, how about this? We both rise and ask the ladies to dance. Together.”

Renly shot him a suspicious look. “You first.”

"Very well," Stannis said, his smile widening. "But if after I find Lady and ask her to dance, you don't go to Arianne, I will go to the Martell table myself and ask her to dance with you myself.”

Renly groaned in defeat. "Fine. I will go... after you."

Rising, Stannis already knew where he would go. He strode toward the Lannister table, eyes fixed on Cersei. The golden lioness met his gaze, a sly smile curling her lips — bold, inviting.

‘That one is always thinking of seduction,’ Stannis mused, amused.

But then, unexpectedly, before Stannis could reach her, a figure stepped gracefully into his path—a woman of rare beauty, Radiant in lavender silk.

"Your Grace," said Ashara Dayne, stopping before him with a soft smile. She bowed lightly, her violet eyes shining.

"Would you do me the honor of this dance?" She held out a slender hand.

Stannis blinked, surprised at her boldness, then chuckled.

"My lady," he murmured, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "It would be my pleasure."

As he led her to the dance floor, he glanced back. Cersei’s smile had vanished, replaced by fury. She glared daggers at Ashara.

'Thinking of murder already, are you?' Stannis thought with wry amusement.

He spun Ashara gently as the music swelled, but his gaze flicked toward Renly, who was watching him anxiously. Stannis gave a small nod. 'Your turn, little brother.'

‘Unfair,’ Renly thought. ‘He didn’t even have to ask. She asked him.'

Renly stood, his heart pounding as he smoothed his velvet doublet.

The Martell table was only a few paces away, but it felt like crossing a battlefield.

Arianne sat with four other girls, one of whom he recognized as Rhaenys. The others, he assumed, were Oberyn Martell’s daughters—Rhaenys had mentioned her uncle Oberyn had three daughters. Renly’s palms grew sweaty as he approached. Arianne’s eyes flicked up, catching him, and a curious smile curved her lips. The other girls noticed, their chatter quieting, and Renly felt their gazes like daggers.

He stopped before the table, swallowing hard.

"Princess Arianne," he said, his voice cracking slightly, bowing to the dark-eyed girl, "may I have this dance?"

Arianne’s smile widened, her dark eyes twinkling with amusement. She glanced at her companions, who exchanged knowing smirks, then rose gracefully, her silken dress shimmering.

“Prince Renly,” she said, her voice warm and teasing, “I’d be delighted.” She took his offered hand.

Taking her hand, Renly led her toward the floor.

Stannis watched as they joined the dance. Ashara followed his gaze, her violet eyes softening.

"They are sweet, aren’t they?" she murmured.

“Indeed,” Stannis agreed. He turned his attention to Ashara, and his blue eyes met her purple eyes. “Lady Ashara, your face betrays you. You have something to say. Speak plainly—formalities bore me.”

Ashara hesitated, then sighed. “It’s about my brother, Your Grace.”

Stannis was not surprised. He expected this. Eddard Stark had already spoken to him before the feast, requesting the release of Ser Arthur Dayne.

"Lord Stark asked on your behalf, did he not?" Stannis said. His voice was neutral.

Hope flared in Ashara’s gaze. “Ned’s spoken to you already?

Stannis’s lips twitched to smile. “Ned, is it? You and Lord Eddard seem close, calling him by his Nickname.”

Ashara’s gaze hardened slightly, but she kept her tone polite. “We share a history, Your Grace, but that’s unimportant now. Will you free my brother?”

Stannis sighed. “Ser Arthur’s release is no simple matter. Lord Stark did ask, but what guarantee do I have that your brother won’t do something foolish? Like rallying support for Rhaegar’s son, Aegon, or his bastard, Jaehaerys? Ser Arthur’s skill with a blade is unmatched in Westeros. A man like that could cause me great trouble.”

Ashara’s face fell, desperation creeping into her voice. "I give you my word, Your Grace, Arthur will not trouble you. I swear it."

Stannis studied her, noting the genuine worry in her eyes. '

She truly fears for her brother’s fate,' he thought. “Your word alone isn’t enough, my lady. But I have thought of a solution."

She leaned forward. "What solution?"

“Ser Arthur must join my Kingsguard and swear a public oath to me,” Stannis said, his tone firm.

Ashara’s eyes widened, clearly unprepared for the offer. She knew Arthur’s unyielding sense of duty—his loyalty to Rhaegar might make him refuse. He might well choose death over such a proposition. But she nodded slowly.

"May I speak to him, Your Grace?" she asked quietly. "I will persuade him to accept your terms."

"Of course," Stannis nodded. "You may see him. But Arthur’s oath alone is not enough. I require another guarantee... from you."

Her heart quickened. "What guarantee?"

"To ensure Ser Arthur’s loyalty, you’ll remain in King’s Landing for at least five years, and if he steps out of line, you’ll answer for it with your life,” said Stannis.

Ashara’s breath caught, her eyes widening further. The idea of being a hostage hadn’t crossed her mind, though she’d planned to stay in the capital to support Elia Martell. Five years—or more—was a steep price.

"I accept," she said at last. "For my brother, I will do whatever you require."

Stannis smiled faintly at her resolve. "And if you and your brother behave well... I may even return the sword of House Dayne."

Ashara’s heart raced. Dawn, the ancestral blade of House Dayne, was a symbol of their house. It's loss had haunted her brother Voryan, and she knew Arthur felt the same. She stared at Stannis, suspicion stirring.

'I wonder if ‘behaving well’ includes warming his bed,' she wondered, aware of the effect her beauty had on men. She had seen his stare at the coronation. Had felt his eyes upon her during the feast. Still, she would endure that if it meant saving Arthur.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, smiling carefully. “Dawn means everything to our house. If you allow it, I’ll go to Arthur now.”

Stannis motions with his hand for his Stormguard, who is standing a few paces behind his table, to come to him. The Stormguard comes and bows to him, "Your grace," he says to his king.

“Take Lady Ashara Dayne to see her brother,” Stannis ordered.

Ashara bowed, casting Stannis one last look—half wary, half grateful—and followed the guard out of the hall.

'Arthur Dayne in my Kingsguard... sounds great,' Stannis mused as he watched her leave. 'And the promise of Dawn was clever bait indeed.'

"Your Grace," came a voice at his side.

Stannis turned to see Cersei Lannister, her smile forced, her green eyes blazing with barely suppressed fury.

“Lady Cersei,” he said, offering his hand with a wry smile. “Shall we dance?”

Cersei’s smile stiffened, but she accepted. As they circled the floor, Stannis noted she was as tall as Ashara. 'They must both be near 5'8,' he mused.

“Has someone upset you, my lady?” he asked, his tone laced with amusement.

Cersei’s lips curled into a slight snarl. “I can’t stand Dornish women. They’re rude, sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”

Stannis chuckled. “Don’t be angry with Lady Ashara. She’s merely worried about her brother and wished to discuss his fate with me.”

Cersei’s interest piqued. She’d heard of Arthur Dayne, the man who knighted her brother Jaime, the youngest ever to receive the honor. Rumors swirled about his fate—execution or exile to the Wall. She cared little for Arthur himself, but Stannis’s conversation with Ashara intrigued her. If he freed Arthur at her request, it might mean he favored her, perhaps even desired her. Cersei saw Ashara as a rival, a threat to her ambitions of becoming queen. She wouldn’t let that stand.

In a curious, honeyed tone, she asked, “If it’s not a secret, Your Grace, what’s to become of Ser Arthur Dayne?”

Stannis’s eyes gleamed with knowing. “His sentence was to be sent to the Wall, but that may change if the Daynes meet my terms.”

Cersei leaned closer, intrigued. “And what are those terms?”

He smiled, deflecting. “You’ll know if they agree.” He sensed her displeasure and pressed on, still smiling. “Speaking of terms, I believe you owe me an answer today regarding my proposal.”

Cersei stiffened, though she’d planned to accept. The topic still unnerved her. Forcing a calm tone, she said, “Your Grace, I’ve considered your offer, and I accept. I will be your loyal queen and meet all your expectations."

Stannis’s smile widened. “Excellent.” The music stopped, and the dancers paused. “We’ll continue this another time. For now, farewell.” He kissed her hand and walked away.

Stannis returned to his table, taking a sip of wine as he observed the feast. The minstrels began a new, lively tune, more suited for group dances, and the floor filled with more guests. His eyes found Renly, laughing and dancing with Arianne, Rhaenys, and Oberyn’s daughters.

Nearby, Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand danced with equal passion, their laughter ringing out. Stannis’s gaze shifted to Ned Stark, who danced stiffly with Catelyn, Lysa, and Edmure Tully. Ned’s forced smile betrayed his discomfort, while his wife and in-laws radiated genuine joy.

Stannis glanced at the Martell table, hoping to spot Elia, but saw only Prince Doran, watching the dancers with a calm expression.

'Time to meet Prince Doran,' Stannis thought, setting down his goblet and striding toward the Dornish prince.

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Ashara Dayne followed the Stormguard, his black armor gleaming faintly under the torchlight, the yellow cloak emblazoned with the Baratheon stag fluttering with each step. They descended several staircases, the air growing cooler and heavier with each level.

At last, they reached a dimly lit corridor, where two more Stormguards stood sentinel before a heavy wooden door.

'This must be the dungeon where they’re holding Arthur,' Ashara thought, her heart quickening with unease. She had no idea what state she’d find her brother in beyond those doors.

The guard escorting her addressed the others. “His Grace has granted Lady Ashara permission to see her brother, Ser Arthur.” The guards nodded, one stepping forward to unlock and open the door. Ashara’s escort took a torch from the wall and led her inside.

The dungeon was less grim than she’d feared. The small chamber had stone walls and a stone floor, with a narrow bed and thin mattress tucked against one side. Across from the door, Arthur sat slumped against the wall, his head bowed.

“Arthur!” Ashara cried, her voice brimming with relief as she rushed toward him.

At the sound of her voice, Arthur’s head snapped up, his eyes lighting with recognition. He sprang to his feet, and the siblings embraced tightly, clinging to each other as if the world might pull them apart again. The Stormguard placed the torch in a sconce on the wall and said, “I’ll leave you alone” before stepping outside and closing the door, leaving the siblings in privacy.

Ashara pulled back from the embrace, her hands cupping Arthur’s face as she studied him. “I was so worried about you,” she said, her voice trembling.

Arthur managed a faint smile, though his eyes carried the weight of his captivity. “I was worried, too. I missed you, little sister.”

Tears welled in Ashara’s violet eyes as she took in his appearance. “I heard you were wounded and then captured. Are you healed?” Her gaze swept the cell, its stark simplicity jarring. “How can anyone be healed in a place like this?”

Arthur’s expression darkened as he recalled his capture, but he forced a lighter tone to ease her worry. “Those cowards couldn’t face me blade-to-blade. They shot me with arrows and snared me in a net-like some beast.” He gestured vaguely at the cell. “This dungeon’s not so bad. I’ve seen worse in the Red Keep. You could say I’m in the royal dungeon.” His attempt at humor fell flat, his voice strained.

“Where were you hurt?” Ashara asked, her eyes scanning him. She noticed bandages on his shoulder and left leg, the fabric stained but neatly wrapped. “Are your wounds tended?”

“Nearly healed,” Arthur replied, touching his shoulder lightly. “A maester checks them daily. They want me alive, it seems.”

Ashara’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though her worry lingered. “I’m glad you’re alright,” she said, then offered a small smile. “The beard suits you.”

Arthur's usually clean-shaven face now bore a beard, and his dark hair, always shoulder-length, was now longer.

He chuckled, stroking his chin. "I was too busy to shave it. But if you like it, I'll keep it."

“No, shave it,” she teased, her smile fading as she took a deep breath, her tone turning serious. “Arthur, I’m here about your fate. The king will free you, but only if you join his Kingsguard."

Arthur’s eyes widened, his voice sharp with disbelief. “No. I won’t serve a usurper.”

“Please, Arthur,” Ashara pleaded, her voice urgent. “If you refuse, they’ll send you to the Wall. Don’t ruin your life.”

Arthur’s jaw set stubbornly. “I swore an oath to the Targaryens, Ashara. I won’t break it.”

Her frustration flared, her voice rising. “And what did your loyalty to the Targaryens bring? Rhaegar’s dead, Lyanna too—the girl you helped him kidnap!"

“We didn’t kidnap her,” Arthur snapped, his tone defensive. “That’s a lie. She came willingly.”

"Does it matter?'' Ashara shot back, her anger spilling over. “Rhaegar was married. He abandoned Elia, who nearly died birthing him two children, for some girl.”

“Targaryens have taken multiple wives before. Rhaegar never meant to abandon Elia or his children. He loved them and was worried about them; that's why he sent them to Dragonstone, where they would be far from the war and safe.

“Safe?” Ashara exclaimed, her voice trembling with anger. “Aerys brought them back to the Red Keep. Did you know that the killers attempted to kill Elia and her children? If it weren't for Stannis—the usurper you despise—they would be dead.”

Arthur's face turned pale, and he spoke barely above a whisper. “What? Who tried to kill them?”

“Lannister's bannermen, likely on Tywin’s orders,” Ashara said, her anger simmering. “Stannis and his men reached them first, thank the gods.”

“Treacherous Lannisters,” Arthur growled, his fists clenching. He looked at Ashara, his tone softening with concern. “Are Elia and the children safe now? What’s to become of them?”

“They’re well,” Ashara said, her voice calmer but still edged with frustration. “They’ll stay in the Red Keep as hostages. Rhaenys will marry Stannis’s heir, and Aegon will either go to the Wall or become a maester.” Her anger surged again. “This is what your and Rhaegar’s foolishness brought. Why did he need Lyanna? He already had Elia, Aegon, and Rhaenys.”

Arthur’s shoulders slumped, his voice heavy with regret. “Rhaegar believed he needed a third child—a daughter, Visenya—to fulfill a prophecy. I didn’t fully believe it, but I knew him. He’d never harm his family or the realm. My oath bound me to follow him.”

Ashara sighed, her anger ebbing. “There’s no point arguing about it now. It’s done.” She fixed him with a stern gaze. “Listen, Arthur. Elia and her children need protection; no one can do that better than you. I’m certain Rhaegar would have wanted you to guard them.” She paused, then added, “And our family’s sword, Dawn, which you lost, is with Stannis. He says if you serve him loyally, he might return it.”

Arthur’s eyes blazed with fury, his voice a low snarl. “That bastard stole a throne from a child and now our sword. He’s unworthy. I’d rather take the black.”

Ashara’s hand lashed out, slapping him hard across the face. Arthur reeled, stunned, staring at her furious expression. “Ashara?”

“You lost Dawn,” she shouted, her voice trembling with rage. “You’re obligated to take it back, or you’ll go down in history as the Dayne who lost our house’s symbol of ten thousand years. Listen to me, Arthur. I’m going to the king to tell him you agree to his terms. He’ll free you, you’ll serve him loyally, and then you’ll protect Rhaenys so she doesn’t suffer Rhaella’s fate. Understood?” Her voice shook with intensity. “If you refuse, I swear by all the gods, I’ll kill myself.”

Arthur saw the fire in her eyes, knowing she meant every word. Memories of Aerys’s cruelty to Rhaella flooded back, and the thought of Rhaenys enduring the same was unbearable. After a long, heavy pause, he said, “Fine. But only for you and Rhaegar’s children.”

Ashara, still seething at his stubbornness, nodded sharply. “Good. I’m going to the king now to tell him you agree.” She turned on her heel and stormed out of the cell, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts.

He whispered to the empty room, “Rhaegar, I failed to protect you. But I swear, whatever it costs, I’ll guard your children—and I won’t let anyone send Aegon to the Wall.”