The death of a king was rarely a good omen. Smallfolk grew worried, the maesters hemmed and hawed over the potential implications, and the highborn did what they did best: scheme.
From the very first moment that Stannis heard of his brother’s death after the maester’s were unable to prevent his wounds from festering, he acted quickly and resolutely. The deaths of Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen meant that the next in line to the throne was himself. But for all of the clearly-outlined rules and practices around the line of succession, it wasn’t always followed.
It was quite ironic then that his worst enemy in House Tyrell was the first to back him. Mace, Olenna, and Willas were all quick to make public declarations of support and added their men to his own to help him secure the Red Keep and King’s Landing. And despite their historical animosity with the Tyrells, House Martell similarly followed suit and declared for Stannis.
With those two houses backing him and Eddard Stark as the Hand of the King, a man known for just dealings, any hopes that anyone else had of making a claim for the throne themselves were swiftly dashed.
Of course, he’d still heard the murmurings. Lord Tywin was incensed at the death of his daughter, Queen Cersei, and her children. There was talk of him being willing to support another claimant to the throne should they take one of his nieces to wife, but those were mere rumblings. Stannis would be surprised if the news of the events at King’s Landing had even reached him back at Casterly Rock by now.
Others claimed that Stannis’ younger brother, Renly, should be made king instead. That rumour he could believe at least. Renly was well beloved here in the capital thanks to his lavish lifestyle and charming personality. There were many even among his own supporters who would much rather have Renly on the throne than him… but there was one snag that kept them from trying anything.
As popular as Renly was, Harry seemed to be just as celebrated these days. Between his performance in the tourney, all of the heroic tales spreading as to how he valiantly fought off the invading bandits—a story that was undoubtedly being spread and embellished by House Tyrell—and the extravagant gifts that House Tyrell was donating to various taverns, guilds, and orphanages around the capital, the smallfolk were clamouring for his attention. He’d heard it said that they lined up along the King’s Way to celebrate Harry the first time he left the Red Keep. Stannis found it quite convenient that they somehow knew that Harry was going to be heading back to the tourney ground given the fact that the tourney had ended early.
Schemes and half-truths. That was all this place was.
There was a firm knock at the door to his chamber.
“My lord?” Ser Barristan’s voice rang out. “Ser Harry is here to see you, along with Lady Margaery.”
Stannis glanced over his black doublet again in the mirror. It bore golden stitching and a small sigil of House Baratheon over his heart. The first fool they’d sent to clothe him had insisted on something far grander than this. It took until the fourth fool before they acquiesced.
“Send them in,” Stannis called back.
The door opened just wide enough for his son to step in alongside his betrothed.
“Harry, Lady Margaery,” Stannis said in acknowledgement, staring at their forms within the mirror.
“You called for us, father?” Harry bowed his head in deference.
Stannis didn’t say anything for several seconds. In fact, he spent most of his time staring at Margaery. She was looking especially pretty today with her hair done up elegantly and a rich, embroidered, golden gown. Although she wasn’t looking back at him, he knew that he was well within her periphery. He’d always suspected her to be a clever woman, but he feared that he’d underestimated her. She’d aligned herself and her family so closely to House Baratheon that there was no doubting that House Tyrell was suddenly the second-most powerful house in Westeros.
“I apologise for the delay in your wedding arrangements, my lady,” Stannis told her.
Finally, she looked at his eyes in the mirror and put on a cheerful smile. “There are no apologies necessary, my lord. Times being what they are, it is quite understandable that other matters must take priority.”
And thus they came to the crux of the day. It was by far the more important of the two big events he had to contend with.
Stannis had long been ruminating over how to begin this discussion. It was of the utmost importance that it was done without the presence of Margaery’s family and with powerful warriors like Ser Barristan within arm’s reach.
Today was the day that Stannis was to be named King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. And yet it felt utterly meaningless compared to what needed to be handled first. He needed to protect his son.
“This delay may prove to be indefinite,” Stannis stated firmly as he turned to face them directly. It took a moment before realisation dawned in his son’s eyes, and then they were filled with nothing but uncertain frustration. “Margaery is not a fit wife for you.”
“Margaery and I will be wed,” Harry replied, his voice holding a warning of danger. “The matter has already been settled. Even you agreed—”
“I did before I learnt what she was,” Stannis interjected, laying his piercing gaze upon Margaery. “Do not think that I am such a fool to forget everything that occurred only a few days ago. I witnessed something beyond comprehension. Vines and roots larger than any I’ve seen rose from the ground at her command. Whether she is a sorcerer, bloodmage, or a witch, it matters not. What she practices is dangerous.”
It upset Stannis to see that there was no worry or fear in his son’s eyes. He seemed perfectly at ease, as though he knew the matter already. And Margaery was merely shooting Harry uncertain, pleading looks. Had she gotten to him already?
“Do you not think it odd that you fell for her charms so quickly upon being reunited?” Stannis pressed on, fearing for his son. There were tales of crones who made young, handsome men fall in love with them. While Margaery was certainly no old crone, she could have other powers than merely the ones he witnessed. “That she seduced you and—”
“Stop it.”
Harry took an aggressive step towards his father, subtly placing himself in front of Margaery. “She did no such thing, and if you continue to besmirch her good name, I’ll—”
“Strike me? Kill me?” Stannis asked rhetorically. He knew his son would never do such a thing, though if he were truly under Margaery’s control…
Try as he might, the arcane arts were an oddity in Westeros. Most of the stories of it were old legends or reports on woods witches, all of whom appeared to be nothing more than charlatans and thieves. He didn’t know what Margaery was capable of, but he had assurances in place. If she had done anything to influence his son, she and her entire family would pay for it.
Taking a couple of steps over to the table with the dagger hidden underneath it, Stannis glared at Margaery. “Would you deny that you have performed magic?”
“I…”
Again, she looked to his son for support.
“For years now, House Tyrell has been my enemy,” he told his son as he’d told him many times over the years. “This is just another way that they are attempting to disrupt our lives. You must understand—”
“No, you need to understand something!” Harry snapped as he stuck his hand out to the side. With just the gesture of a single finger, an empty cup came flying across the room and into his empty hand.
Stannis froze, his blood running cold in his veins as his heart beat faster and faster. The cup then floated back to the table it’d been sat on, and then the table suddenly lifted off of the ground.
Stannis took an uncertain step back, his hands feeling along the edge of the table for the dagger strapped beneath it. He found the leather handle and curled his fingers around it.
“I have magic too,” Harry told him with an awkward half-smile.
What followed was one of the most deeply strange conversations of Stannis’ life. Even after it all, he still wasn’t sure that he believed everything that his son said. It seemed so impossible, but he’d seen it all with his own eyes.
All of the strangeness he had as a child, his desire to hide amongst the stone gargoyles at Dragonstone, the way he would sequester himself away from everyone else; it was all done to teach himself magic.
Harry explained how he’d used magic to escape his cell on Pyke back when he’d been taken captive by the ironborn and how he’d used it to fight off the bandits at the Red Keep. Apparently, Oberyn Martell had seen him use it. And Margaery and Arianne Martell were both aware of his abilities… and of their own now.
Magic…
It was the type of thing maesters told to children to excite their imagination and bring joy into their lives. Stannis could still remember the weeks after his parents deaths just off the coast of Storm’s End and how Maester Cressen had tried anything in his power to make Stannis smile, including telling him wild tales of men who could inhabit the flesh of animals and the sorcerers who could control the winds in Asshai. It’d all sounded ridiculous to him back then. His death in the belief of gods had similarly resulted in the death of belief of oddities and curiosities the world over. Everything could be explained by the natural world being cruel and uncaring, but none of that could explain what he’d witnessed with his very eyes.
Magic wasn’t looked down upon in Westeros necessarily. Its supposed practitioners were widely regarded as charlatans, except among some of the smallfolk, but the Targaryens had proved that they were capable of feats that no other man or woman could do. In fact, Stannis’ own grandmother was a Targaryen, and many of the greatest families in Westeros had Targaryen blood in them.
Could that be the source of his son’s powers? But if so, what had suddenly changed to allow him to unlock them instead of anyone else?
It was a mystery, and he doubted that even the Maesters would be capable of resolving it.
By the time Harry and Margaery finished explaining everything to Stannis, he was left with a deeply uncomfortable uncertainty. Magic wasn’t inherently dangerous—it was a part of this living world, after all—but Stannis still refused to trust House Tyrell. Their behaviour in these past few days had proved their subterfuge and machinations were as effective as he remembered. Even if she wasn’t controlling his son through magic, she may be influencing him through other means.
But what could he do about it right now? Should he forbid his son to marry Margaery, he may simply go off and do it anyways with any septon willing to officiate the marriage. House Tyrell could bring about a tremendous number of problems for Stannis’ rule, and he couldn’t dismiss the idea that they wouldn’t try to assassinate him in order to instill his son and Margaery as the new king and queen. Harry would indeed be much more sympathetic to them, having not been old enough to recognise everything that he lived through when the Tyrells besieged Storm’s End.
Stannis let his grip fall away from the dagger.
“Are you certain that you aren’t being controlled?” Stannis asked Harry sincerely.
Harry looked like he was ready to laugh at the idea. “I’m certain; I would sense any such influences upon my mind and end them. If I was under her control, would I not have attempted to aid Margaery and her family’s position long before now?”
“Perhaps not if they were waiting for the right moment to strike,” Stannis retorted. He didn’t doubt his son… not entirely, anyways. The more he spoke, the more of his son’s subtle mannerisms that he recognised. He didn’t seem addled, as some who claimed to be controlled by sorcerers were.
“If I was, it would’ve been easy to kill you while you were still injured from the assassins,” Harry pointed out. “There are plenty of poisons to be found in King’s Landing, and I could’ve made it look like you died from your wounds.”
That he could’ve.
“Simply because you did not kill me immediately does not mean that you are exonerated from potential corruption,” Stannis argued back.
“Father, listen to yourself,” Harry said, his smile turning sour. “This conspiracy you’re imagining in your mind is far grander than anything reasonable. I have done nothing to make you distrust me.”
No, he hadn’t. But Margaery…
Was this his old anger towards Mace Tyrell clouding his judgement? Or his paranoia over what living in King’s Landing could do to anyone?
Stannis had to shake his mind clear of the idea that Margaery was controlling him. Perhaps she was as unique as his son was; if any of her parents or relatives had magical powers, it was more than likely that word of their abilities would’ve spread throughout the realm, even if it was only through rumours.
“I know that you may not trust me right now, but I love your son,” Margaery told Stannis sincerely. “And the day of the attack on the Red Keep was the first time that I ever performed magic. I didn’t even know that I was capable of it until then, but I knew of Harry’s magic long before then, and I never said a word to anyone about it.”
Stannis could see the love she had for Harry in her eyes. It had always appeared genuine to him, but his eyes could’ve been deceiving him. Or… his mind could be deceiving him right now with all of this paranoia. Was there truly nothing to be concerned about?
“Do you trust Margaery?” Stannis asked Harry. “Would you trust her with your life? With your mother’s? Your sister’s? Mine? Would you trust her with the fate of the entire Seven Kingdoms?”
To his credit, his son didn’t respond immediately. He allowed Stannis’ words to sink in before he carefully formulated an answer.
“Yes.”
In the end, Stannis knew that it came down to trust. His son’s words did not sound wrong to his ears. He saw the genuine conviction and resolve in them and knew him to be of sane mind and body. There was perhaps no one else he trusted more in this world than his son.
“Then I owe Lady Margaery an apology,” he replied, more for his son’s sake than anything else.
“No such thing is needed,” Margaery replied kindly.
“No, one is,” Harry insisted. “But that can be kept for a later time.”
“Indeed, as can your apology for keeping this news about your magical abilities a secret from me for so many years,” Stannis said with a pointed look. “But now it is time to claim what is mine by right.”
Together, they left the room. The moment they exited, Ser Barristan and several of Stannis’ household guards fell into step all around them. They walked down the long corridors of the Red Keep, which were conspicuously absent of any servants or labourers or anyone else.
A long, circuitous route brought them out around to a long, wide staircase. Lined down the stairs were hundreds of highborn lords and ladies, and they all erupted into applause and cheers as Stannis started down the stairs with Harry and Margaery walking close behind him. The grand doors to the Throne Room were thrown open the second Stannis’ feet cleared the final step down.
“Lord Stannis of House Baratheon,” a man bellowed, announcing him to the room.
The applause redoubled as the noise echoed around the enormous hall. Hundreds of knights lined the central aisle with their blades raised, forming an archway for Stannis to walk through. It was ostentatious in a way that made Stannis annoyed. He knew not of most of these men or their deeds, if they were even worthy of being here. Yet, he kept his mouth closed and walked his path regardless.
Looming over everyone was the Iron Throne. The monstrous creation was to be his now, and unlike Robert, he would sit upon it every day as was his duty.
As he reached the base of the Iron Throne, the room fell silent. The knights sheathed their blades and turned to face him at the front of the hall along with the highborns lords and ladies. He saw familiar faces within and watched his son and Margaery step over to stand with the Tyrells and his wife, Selyse, and daughter, Shireen. Old Olenna Tyrell had a mocking smile on her face, as though she knew how tedious and infuriating he found this entire procession.
Eddard, as the current Hand of the King, stood before what remained of the small council with Stannis’ crown sat atop a plush cushion. The golden crown was a simple band dotted with black diamonds and yellow sapphires with several golden antlers protruding upwards along the front and sides of the crown. Even that was almost too much for Stannis to bear. He’d made a mistake in delegating many of these tedious tasks to others.
Turning to face the crowds with his back to the Iron Throne, he waited as Eddard lifted the crown and carried it over to Stannis’ side.
“Today, we witness the dawn of a new day for our realm as a new king is crowned!” Eddard declared to the room. Carefully, he lowered the crown onto Stannis’ head, ensuring it was placed just right before he took a step back and bowed his head. “All hail his Grace, Stannis Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!”
As the applause returned, Stannis turned his back to the room and ascended the Iron Throne. When he sat upon the cold, hard metal seat, he found the first thing that he appreciated about this ceremony. A king should never feel comfortable ruling over his subjects.
At least the Iron Throne understood that when so many below him did not.
Schemes and half-truths were what he’d have to contend with now. The gallant pageantry that disguised truth.
He would not go along with such things quietly. He would serve as a king should: with duty, honour, and justice.
He would not engender love amongst his subjects, but he would be the one thing the realm needed most.
A good king.