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Game of Thrones White Dragon Rising
Game of Thrones The Sun Dragon Descends
"Where is His Grace?"
"To answer the Lord Hand, His Grace is currently dining with Ser Davos."
Hearing the guard's words, Alester's mood darkened further than the overcast sky above. As the dignified Hand of the King, Stannis had barely eaten with him a handful of times. Yet Davos, a commoner straight out of Flea Bottom, always seemed to get the chance to share dinner with Stannis. It seriously rubbed him the wrong way.
The Queen was from his own house, so why couldn't the Florents secure the same standing that the Lannisters enjoyed in Robert's court?
Stannis had held the Iron Throne for over half a year now. By all rights, the Kingsguard roster should have been finalized, giving the Florents a perfect opportunity to slip a few of their own men into the ranks.
But Stannis kept putting it off, insisting that his personal guard was more than enough. It was a blatant snub against House Florent!
Still, Alester quickly let out a sigh. Selyse and Stannis had been married for over a decade, and all they had to show for it was a daughter who had been sickly since she was in the womb.
If only they could produce a healthy son, Stannis probably wouldn't be so distant from Selyse.
There were, of course, his own faults to consider as well. Who could have predicted that Jon would descend from the Riverlands like he was riding a dragon, leading the Northern army to breach King's Landing and completely turn the tide?
If he had just kept his cool a bit more back then, Stannis wouldn't be looking at him with such suspicion now.
Or if he had stayed calm when the Tyrell army ambushed them in the Kingswood, buying Stannis a little more time to siege the city, things might have ended differently.
Most importantly, there was his idiot nephew, Orell. The fool actually sailed the fleet right into the narrow bottleneck of the Blackwater Rush without even sending scouts ahead. All in all, House Florent had been dealt a winning hand and completely blew it.
They paid the price in blood but reaped none of the rewards, letting a bastard like Jon pluck the sweetest fruit for himself.
As the head of House Florent, Alester knew he had to figure out a way to turn this situation around immediately.
Before long, the guards escorted him into Maegor's Holdfast.
Inside the Holdfast, Stannis and Davos were deep in conversation about Jon's wedding. After all, the groom's mother-in-law getting snatched by thugs was a shockingly scandalous affair.
Davos was seated to Stannis's left, a plate of salt-baked snails resting in front of him. Davos really couldn't stomach the stuff; as far as he was concerned, tearing into a massive pork chop or venison steak was far more satisfying.
Hell, he'd even settle for dried salted fish.
Stannis, however, was in relatively good spirits and clearly enjoyed the meal.
He washed down every bite of snail meat with a sip of wine, eating with genuine relish.
Of course, what really put him in a good mood wasn't the food on his plate, but the chaos that had unfolded at Jon's wedding.
Jon had steamrolled through the Westerlands much faster than Stannis ever anticipated, completely ruining his plan to bleed the Tyrell forces dry in a drawn-out conflict.
With the Westerlands failing to wear the Tyrells down, a quick look around the map revealed only one viable target left: the Iron Islands.
The tricky part, though, was figuring out how to push them into attacking the Ironborn.
As it turned out, Euron Greyjoy had the sheer audacity to kidnap Mace's wife right out of Highgarden. Stannis didn't even have to lift a finger now; the Tyrells would be frothing at the mouth, practically begging to tear the Iron Islands apart.
"Davos, I plan to lead the army myself and bring Balon Greyjoy to heel."
Stannis took a sip of wine, laying out his plan to his most trusted advisor.
Davos shot a knowing glance at the young cupbearer standing behind Stannis, a boy of no more than eight.
The cupbearer was also named Stannis. This "Little Stannis" was Davos's youngest son.
He originally had seven sons. Four of his grown boys died in the Battle of the Blackwater, leaving him with only three.
The two older ones had been sent off to gain experience in the army, while this youngest boy was kept at Stannis's side to be mentored. For a loyal subject, this was an unparalleled honor.
"Little Stannis" refilled the King's goblet. Davos set down his knife and fork.
"Your Grace, you've crushed the Iron Fleet before, and I have no doubt you'll do it again. But have you decided who will hold King's Landing while you're away?"
The excitement in Stannis's blue eyes vanished the moment he heard Davos's question.
"You've changed, Davos. In the old days, if you thought I was making a mistake, you would have just told it to me straight to my face."
Caught red-handed, Davos let out a sheepish smile.
Originally, the three Baratheon brothers had split the power: Robert ruled from King's Landing, Stannis locked down Dragonstone, and Renly inherited the Stormlands.
But now, the weight of all three regions rested squarely on Stannis's shoulders, and he had very few people he could truly trust.
He had won the Iron Throne, but the Iron Throne had also completely chained him down.
"You're right. I don't have anyone I can trust to watch over King's Landing. But I can't just sit here and let Jon fight every single battle, can I? If I do that, this throne really will be nothing more than a charity handout from him."
Stannis's tone grew increasingly dark.
"With respect, Your Grace, that's stretching the truth a bit. When King Robert rebelled, it was Tywin who sacked King's Landing. Does that mean Robert's crown was a handout from Tywin? Besides, during the Battle of King's Landing, if our fleet hadn't drawn Tyrion's attention and worn down his forces, there's no way Jon could have breached the city so easily."
Davos tried to soothe the King. He still hadn't touched the snails on his plate—much like his argument to Stannis, it felt incredibly weak and hard to swallow.
King's Landing was, of course, well aware of Jon's back-to-back victories.
Beheading Joffrey to force the Lion-Rose alliance to retreat; riding alone to Riverrun to make Robb give up his crown; and breaking the Westerlands to take Casterly Rock in just three months. If a reigning monarch had accomplished all that, it would be par for the course. But for a mere subject to hold that much glory? It was dangerously blinding.
Stannis was a man of immense pride. If he couldn't deliver a decisive victory of his own soon, he wouldn't just be living in Robert's shadow forever—he'd be forced to live under the deafening cheers and praise meant for someone else.
That was something Stannis simply could not stomach. He downed another cup of wine.
"Jon... will he always stay loyal to me?"
"Of course, Your Grace. Jon didn't even support Robb declaring himself King. Instead, he marched a thousand miles just to back your claim. He's loyal to the bone."
Davos replied quickly.
"That was only because of Ned Stark!"
Stannis muttered with a deep frown.
Little Stannis stepped forward to pour more wine, but Davos shooed him away with a sharp look.
"Is this about the dragon egg, Your Grace?"
Davos asked carefully. He could feel Stannis's simmering resentment. The King looked exactly like he did on the day he found out Robert had given Storm's End to Renly, leaving him to hold down a barren rock like Dragonstone.
"Melisandre told me she might be able to hatch the dragon inside that stone..."
Stannis began.
"But Your Grace, that egg is Margaery's dowry! And besides, how could a rock possibly hatch a dragon? We can't just—"
"That's not what I care about!"
Stannis snapped, finally voicing his true fears.
"Jon said he earned his rewards through his own merit in battle. I think he's getting arrogant. Sure, it might be fine for the next few years, but what happens when he matures? What happens when his grip on the Westerlands tightens and his children are born? I dread to think what he might do. By the time Jon is my age, I'll be an old man. Tell me, Davos—who in the Seven Kingdoms will be left to keep him in check?"
The average lifespan for nobility in the Seven Kingdoms was only fifty or sixty years. Stannis was already past thirty, while Jon was barely sixteen.
Even if Selyse miraculously gave him a son tomorrow, the timing would still be painfully tight.
He could always pass the throne to Robert's bastard, but what man would willingly hand over the crown he fought so bitterly to win to another man's bloodline?
And even Stannis was beginning to realize just how terrifying Jon's potential truly was.
In the North, Jon had avenged Ned and rescued his two daughters. Down South, he had single-handedly saved Alerie.
The Starks and the Tyrells had quietly become his die-hard allies—a variable that was completely absent from Stannis's grand plan.
Just as the King and his advisor sat in heavy silence, a voice called out from beyond the doors:
"The Hand of the King, Lord Alester Florent, has arrived!"
Seeing Alester enter, Davos pushed his chair back and stood up to greet him, but Stannis completely ignored the man, casually dissecting his next snail.
"Your Grace."
Alester offered a respectful bow before Stannis.
"Sit."
Stannis said dismissively. Little Stannis stepped up to pour Alester some tea.
As the Hand of the King, Alester had a pretty good idea of what was eating at Stannis.
He carefully weighed his words before speaking.
"Your Grace, I would like to lead the campaign against the Iron Islands in your name."
This was exactly the opportunity he needed to secure for House Florent. If he could crush the Ironborn, it would massively boost his family's standing with Stannis and make up for all their past blunders.
Yet Stannis didn't even pause his eating. Only Davos looked on, ready to listen.
It suddenly dawned on Davos that this was actually a brilliant solution. Letting Alester take command meant King's Landing wouldn't be left defenseless, and it would prevent Jon from amassing even more power and glory—the exact thing Stannis was so paranoid about.
He stole a quiet glance at Stannis. The King reached for his goblet, only to find it empty.
"How many men do you plan to take?"
"It won't cost Your Grace a single soldier. We only need to utilize the armies of the Westerlands and Highgarden."
Alester quickly replied.
"Hmph. Do you think the Tyrells are completely brainless?"
Stannis sneered, making no attempt to hide his contempt.
Alester's face flushed bright red. After a moment's hesitation, he added:
"Brightwater Keep can still call up over a thousand men, along with a few ships."
Stannis mulled it over. He had to admit that, right now, there really weren't any better options on the table.
"I'll give you five thousand more men, and I'll hand over the remaining thirty-odd ships to your command. If you can't take the Iron Islands with that, then you can pack up and retire."