Chapter Text
Dragonstone Island
Post Robert’s Successful Rebellion - c 1811
“An urgent message came for you, m’lord” Cressen announced as he burst into the study, out of breath and soaked from the rain.
Stannis looked up to stare at the large folded letter the valet thrust at him, taking it slowly, “Thank you, Cressen” he gave a curt nod and the man scurried away, afraid invoking the wrath of the Duke should the letter contain bad news.
Breaking the seal he opened it to find another letter inside. Curious, he noted, reading the first letter;
To Stannis Baratheon, His Grace the Duke of Dragonstone;
Your Grace,
Please find in this letter a sealed missive from Lord Davos Seaworth, Viscount of Rainwood, verified by myself upon the finalization of his last will and testament.
Per my instruction I forward both the letter and these comments to you. On this occasion I am sorry to inform you that both Lord Rainwood and his lady wife have lost their lives to the sea. As you read this, Ser Davos’ seven sons are currently underway to your estate in Dragonstone. Dale (age 10), Allard (9), Matthos (8), Maric (7), Devon (5), Stannis (3) and Steffon (18 months), shall all be accompanied by their long standing governess and tutor, one Miss Alayne Stone.
They should arrive within the sennight and shall be entrusted into your custody until they reach their majority and come into their inheritances separately.
Please do not hesitate to ask any questions, but I should tell you now, this is quite binding.
Ser Jonas Wallingford. Attorney.
At some point during reading this Stannis had stood, glaring down at the offending paper as if it could grow teeth and bite him.
“The Devil…” he turned to the second letter, frowning deeply as he stared at the blood real wax seal with an onion in the middle. “No…”
Breaking the onion seal he opened it to find Davos’ familiar jerky handwriting.
Stannis,
Unfortunately if you are reading this then the worst has happened and Marya and I are no longer able to care for the boys. I never wanted this for them, to be alone in the world without us, but I know that I can entrust them to your care.
I have loved you as a brother, fought beside you, usurped kings beside you and nearly died beside you. And I ask you now brother, please protect my sons.
I send with them Miss. Alayne Stone, quite a find. The children love her, and Marya adores her as a daughter. She came originally from Miss. Mordane’s School of Governesses, highly educated and pure of heart. She is a good woman, Stannis, should you choose to see it.
I now thank you for standing by my side, saving me and elevating me far beyond what I deserve or was born to. Without you I would not have had the life I did.
Forever your brother,
Davos
Stannis tossed the letter to his desk, pacing to the fireplace as he felt the loss of Davos like a hot barb to his chest. He had known Davos since they were boys of 15, nearly 30 years, a man more brother to him than any born of his blood. Now his brother had been taken by the sea they fought so hard to elude.
He sighed, looking to the shelf where his bicorn now lay, a long forgotten icon of the horrors of first Targaryen Wars, then Robert’s. A life that haunted him to this day. He had joined the Navy a green boy and left decades later a salty man who wished nothing more than to be left alone. And he succeeded in that. Thanks to the volcanic, black Island that Robert had ‘rewarded’ him with. Except now…
Now a woman and seven children were on course to his secluded home. Seven bloody boys, running about….
“Cressen” he called and the valet appeared shortly after.
“Y-yes sir?”
“We shall need to prepare a room for seven young boys” Stannis sighed. “And their govereness.”
“Seven?” Cressen’s eyes widened.
“Under the age of 10” Stannis continued. “Perhaps it is best we clean the nursery…”
“N-Nursery….” Cressen swallowed.
“We are not going to get anything sorted if you continue to repeat everything I say” Stannis snapped. “Have the nursery sorted, I have reason to believe they are already on their way. I want the rooms prepared when they arrive, is that clear?”
“Y-yes sir” Cressen nodded and bolted away, leaving Stannis alone once more.
He paced to the desk then back to the fireplace, feeling the heat of it sooth his weary body. As he watched the flames, he could hardly determine which was worse, the death of his oldest friend, seven children or one, simpering governess.
Somewhere Between King’s Landing and Dragonstone Island -
Alayne held the boys as close as she could in the cramped carriage, all of them bundled against the cold as they and their belongings made their way to Dragonstone. She watched out the window as they rode across what she would guess were the Eastern Crown Lands, her heart aching for the seven boys who now found themselves at the mercy of Lord Stannis Baratheon.
In a past life, she had heard much about the Lord of Dragonstone, a man cold and calculating, more terrifying than any other at the helm of a ship. A man who had no heart to speak of, she’d once heard it said, stoic and unseducable. She had read articles on his victories, on his key siege of Storm’s End and him being instrumental in winning the war. In her experience, men so keen on waging war were hardly paternal.
She only hoped that whatever Davos’ last will and testament said, that it was ironclad and Stannis would be unable to push them into the cold. That would be unbearable, she knew. Young Stannis and Steffon were too young to survive in the cold, as they were they were bundled in her cloak to stay warm. She had been there to watch both of them come into this world, she would not watch them leave it. She would die if she had to, but the Seaworth boys would survive.
Steeling her spine, she could only wait and pray that whatever future waited for them at these boys would be safe. She had failed one family already and it had cost her dearly. Now, now she would fight. If the Gods, Old or New, would not help her then she would do it herself. She could face down Lord Baratheon, or she would die trying.
Her eyes drifted shut as the carriage bounced along the rocky roads, old familiar nightmares reaching her as she drifted off.