Fic: Hold Strong
I wrote this for trickortreatex.
Title: Hold Strong
Rating: G
Characters: Stannis, Renly, Maester Cressen
Word Count: 800
Summary: Stannis Baratheon tries to comfort his young brother Renly while they withstand the siege of Storm's End.
Storm’s End was built in defiance of the old gods of sky and sea, and this castle could withstand the worst of their fury. Or so it was said. Stannis knew better than to believe the tales. But it was his duty as an elder brother and a man grown to offer comfort and reassurance to his six year old brother Renly.
“Peasants say the god of the sea and the goddess of the sky swore to destroy Durran, but he escaped their destruction of his previous strongholds unscathed. They could not touch him in this, his final castle. The maesters say he died of old age in this tower, and you and I might as well.”
“But I’m so hungry, Stannis! Boros said he could see Lord Tyrell feasting on meat and fruit. I want meat and fruit, not leaves!”
It was true that Mace Tyrell and his chief bannermen made a show of feasting within sight of Storm’s End each evening. Stannis did not need Maester Cressen’s counsel to know that it was a performance meant to entice his starving men into surrender.
Stannis would never surrender. He would starve to death before he surrendered. It was his duty as a castellan commanded to hold his lord’s castle, and his duty as the blood of Durran Godsgrief. He was no fool though. He knew not all men were as resolute as himself. Had not his foremother Argella been betrayed by her own cowardly garrison?
“Would you sooner be a well fed sheep, fattened for slaughter, or a proud stag who has bested all who would hunt him?”
“They’re both prey!” Renly cried. “Garrick says all animals, including men, are prey for the dragon.”
Stannis pinned his brother down to stop his wild thrashing. True, a tired Renly would sleep more quickly, but Stannis despised tantrums. He would find this Garrick and have him sharply disciplined for spreading unrest.
“The last dragon died a hundred years ago,” Stannis said sternly. “King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar are merely men. You will not remember meeting them, but you remember Robert, don’t you?”
“Ye-ye-yes,” Renly hiccuped. “Our lord brother, the lord of Storm’s End.”
Stannis suspected Renly did not truly remember Robert, that he was only repeating what he knew of Robert. It did not matter. If he could be told tales that made him fear the shadow of the dragon, then he could be told tales that made him proud to be a Baratheon.
“Robert is even taller than me and more muscled than our blacksmith, you will remember. No other man in the Seven Kingdoms can wield a warhammer like he does. He will win this war and slay the dragons, and then he’ll descend on Lord Tyrell and his army. What are our words?”
“Ours is the fury,” Renly recited.
“Ours is the fury,” Stannis echoed. “The roses of Highgarden will be flattened by our fury.”
“And we’ll be able to eat their food?”
Stannis could not lie. But his duty demanded he comfort Renly. Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana would want him to keep Renly from sadness. At last he deemed it acceptable to tell his brother, “We shall feast if Robert prevails.”
Renly accepted that and calmed and allowed sleep to take him. Stannis could not rest so easily. He walked the ramparts, circling the vast tower thrice before he found his path blocked by Maester Cressen.
“You should be abed, maester.”
“So should you, my lord.”
“I cannot rest.”
“Then I am glad I do not have to disturb your rest. A smuggler has found his way into the cove beneath the castle.”
“I saw no lights nor any ship!”
“He would not be a very good smuggler if he was spotted, would he?” Maester Cressen asked wryly.
“Smugglers are criminals.”
“This criminal has a hold full of onions and salted fish.”
Food. Real food. A bellyful of real food would make Renly smile and caper happily again. A bellyful of real food would postpone the day his men betrayed him. However, even now, his own belly aching with hunger, Stannis balked at the thought of resorting to consorting with criminals.
Then the aging maester got on his knees. “Please, my lord. You cannot surrender and I would not ask it of you. But you are presented with a gift from the gods in the form of this smuggler. Do not let your pride add to our suffering.”
Stannis hastened to pull the maester to his feet. Maester Cressen was second only to the memory of his parents, and it shamed him to see the old man thus humbled.
“For little Renly’s sake, for my sake, will you not meet with this smuggler, my lord?”
“For your sake, and for Renly’s sake, I shall,” Stannis pledged.
Title: Hold Strong
Rating: G
Characters: Stannis, Renly, Maester Cressen
Word Count: 800
Summary: Stannis Baratheon tries to comfort his young brother Renly while they withstand the siege of Storm's End.
Storm’s End was built in defiance of the old gods of sky and sea, and this castle could withstand the worst of their fury. Or so it was said. Stannis knew better than to believe the tales. But it was his duty as an elder brother and a man grown to offer comfort and reassurance to his six year old brother Renly.
“Peasants say the god of the sea and the goddess of the sky swore to destroy Durran, but he escaped their destruction of his previous strongholds unscathed. They could not touch him in this, his final castle. The maesters say he died of old age in this tower, and you and I might as well.”
“But I’m so hungry, Stannis! Boros said he could see Lord Tyrell feasting on meat and fruit. I want meat and fruit, not leaves!”
It was true that Mace Tyrell and his chief bannermen made a show of feasting within sight of Storm’s End each evening. Stannis did not need Maester Cressen’s counsel to know that it was a performance meant to entice his starving men into surrender.
Stannis would never surrender. He would starve to death before he surrendered. It was his duty as a castellan commanded to hold his lord’s castle, and his duty as the blood of Durran Godsgrief. He was no fool though. He knew not all men were as resolute as himself. Had not his foremother Argella been betrayed by her own cowardly garrison?
“Would you sooner be a well fed sheep, fattened for slaughter, or a proud stag who has bested all who would hunt him?”
“They’re both prey!” Renly cried. “Garrick says all animals, including men, are prey for the dragon.”
Stannis pinned his brother down to stop his wild thrashing. True, a tired Renly would sleep more quickly, but Stannis despised tantrums. He would find this Garrick and have him sharply disciplined for spreading unrest.
“The last dragon died a hundred years ago,” Stannis said sternly. “King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar are merely men. You will not remember meeting them, but you remember Robert, don’t you?”
“Ye-ye-yes,” Renly hiccuped. “Our lord brother, the lord of Storm’s End.”
Stannis suspected Renly did not truly remember Robert, that he was only repeating what he knew of Robert. It did not matter. If he could be told tales that made him fear the shadow of the dragon, then he could be told tales that made him proud to be a Baratheon.
“Robert is even taller than me and more muscled than our blacksmith, you will remember. No other man in the Seven Kingdoms can wield a warhammer like he does. He will win this war and slay the dragons, and then he’ll descend on Lord Tyrell and his army. What are our words?”
“Ours is the fury,” Renly recited.
“Ours is the fury,” Stannis echoed. “The roses of Highgarden will be flattened by our fury.”
“And we’ll be able to eat their food?”
Stannis could not lie. But his duty demanded he comfort Renly. Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana would want him to keep Renly from sadness. At last he deemed it acceptable to tell his brother, “We shall feast if Robert prevails.”
Renly accepted that and calmed and allowed sleep to take him. Stannis could not rest so easily. He walked the ramparts, circling the vast tower thrice before he found his path blocked by Maester Cressen.
“You should be abed, maester.”
“So should you, my lord.”
“I cannot rest.”
“Then I am glad I do not have to disturb your rest. A smuggler has found his way into the cove beneath the castle.”
“I saw no lights nor any ship!”
“He would not be a very good smuggler if he was spotted, would he?” Maester Cressen asked wryly.
“Smugglers are criminals.”
“This criminal has a hold full of onions and salted fish.”
Food. Real food. A bellyful of real food would make Renly smile and caper happily again. A bellyful of real food would postpone the day his men betrayed him. However, even now, his own belly aching with hunger, Stannis balked at the thought of resorting to consorting with criminals.
Then the aging maester got on his knees. “Please, my lord. You cannot surrender and I would not ask it of you. But you are presented with a gift from the gods in the form of this smuggler. Do not let your pride add to our suffering.”
Stannis hastened to pull the maester to his feet. Maester Cressen was second only to the memory of his parents, and it shamed him to see the old man thus humbled.
“For little Renly’s sake, for my sake, will you not meet with this smuggler, my lord?”
“For your sake, and for Renly’s sake, I shall,” Stannis pledged.