THIRD POV
Stannis Baratheon stood ready, his four Stormguards lined up behind him. Lyonel and Borremund gripped their bows, while Richard and Lorent held their spears tight. Stannis raised his two-handed sword, the Valyrian blade steady in his hands, his blue eyes burning with fury. The Monstrous Knight was close, and they had to fight hard to survive.
"Shoot him!" Stannis barked. Lyonel and Borremund pulled their bowstrings and let the arrows fly. The first arrow sped toward the chest, the second aimed straight for the throat. But Clegane's armor was too strong. The arrows hit with a sharp clang, breaking apart against the steel. A rough, mocking laugh rolled through the air as Clegane lifted the greatsword, ready to strike.
Richard was the first to move. He charged forward, shouting "For the storm!" with all his might. He thrust his spear hard, aiming for a weak spot in the armor. But the greatsword swung up fast, catching the spear with a loud crack. The pole snapped in two, and Richard lost his balance. Before he could step back, the Mountain brought the blade down with a heavy swing. It sliced through Richard's armor, cutting him in half at the waist. Blood sprayed everywhere as his body hit the ground, his scream turning into a choked gasp before he went still.
"Keep shooting!" Stannis yelled, his voice cutting through the shock. Lyonel and Borremund fired again, sending arrows toward the joints, hoping to find a gap. The shots pinged off the armor, doing no harm. Lorent rushed, stabbing his spear at the thigh to slow the enemy down. The greatsword slashed back in a quick backhand, grazing Lorent's shoulder. Blood poured out, but he gritted his teeth, stepping back and holding his spear with his good hand, ready to try again.
The Clegane stomped closer, the greatsword swinging in wide, deadly arcs. Stannis stepped up, raising his sword to meet the attack. He swung it in a high arc, blocking the first blow with a loud clash that sent sparks flying. He ducked low as the next swing came, feeling the air rush past his head. Then he lunged forward, stabbing at the side where the armor met, but the steel turned the thrust aside with a spark. The clegane roared and swung down hard. Stannis rolled to the side, using the wall to push himself up, the greatsword smashing into the floor with a deep thud.
Lyonel and Borremund kept shooting, their arrows flying one after another, but the armor held strong. Lorent attacked again, jabbing his spear at the legs to trip him. He darted to the side, trying a second thrust at the knee. The enemy kicked out, bruising Lorent's side and knocking him off his feet. His spear clattered away. Lorent rolled to avoid a stomping boot, his breath coming in gasps, but he stayed focused, looking for another weapon. Borremund, angry and desperate, dropped his bow and pulled out a dagger. He charged, yelling loudly, and aimed for the helm. But the clegane's hand shot out, grabbing Borremund's throat. With a hard twist, the neck snapped with a sharp crack. Borremund's body slumped against the wall, blood dripping from his mouth, his eyes empty.
Stannis felt the weight of each loss, but his resolve grew stronger.
"Get up, Lorent!" he shouted, his voice hoarse from the strain of battle. Lorent, bruised but still moving, crawled to his knees and picked up a fallen dagger, his face tight with pain, his hands shaking but steady with purpose. The enemy charged again, greatsword raised high, his steps thundering closer. Stannis met the blow with a strong upward swing, the blades locking with a deafening clang that echoed through the fight. He pushed hard, his muscles burning from the effort, his arms trembling under the Mountain's strength, then sidestepped, slashing at the arm with a quick cut. The mounatin blocked it, swinging a low sweep in return. Stannis jumped back, landing on his feet, then thrust forward with a sharp jab, aiming for the chest. The armor stopped it, but the force made the enemy step back, allowing Stannis to catch his breath.
Lyonel fired another arrow, hitting a hem, but it did not hurt the mountain. The greatsword swung in a wide circle, forcing Stannis to duck and roll again. He bounced up, swinging his two-handed sword in a powerful cross-cut aimed at the shoulder. The blow glanced off, but it made the clegane shake. Stannis pressed on, delivering a fast jab to the side, then an overhead chop that the enemy barely avoided. He didn't let up, swinging a quick side slash to the left, then a diagonal cut to the right, trying to find any weak spot. The mounatin blocked each strike, but the attacks kept him on the defensive, his movements slowing.
The monsterous knight roared again, stepping back to catch his breath, then lunged with a fierce overhead strike. Stannis blocked it with both hands, the impact shaking his arms. He twisted to the side, slashing at the legs with a low sweep, cutting a shallow gash. The monster stumbled, his roar turning to a growl of pain and rage. Stannis didn't stop. He swung a diagonal slash toward the hip, forcing the enemy to raise the greatsword to block. Then he spun around, delivering a heavy downward strike that the opponent deflected just in time, the blades scraping with a screech. Stannis stepped back, then charged again, aiming a powerful thrust at the stomach. The armor held, but the blow pushed the opponent further off balance.
Lorent, still on the ground, watched Stannis fight. He dragged himself closer, gripping the dagger tightly, waiting for the right moment. Stannis dodged another wild swing, the greatsword narrowly missing his shoulder, and countered with a quick thrust to the knee. Gregor grunted, favoring the leg, and Stannis seized the moment, his mind racing with the need to end this fight. He swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming for the other arm, but the grgor parried, pushing back with a powerful shove. Stannis stumbled, his boots slipping on the blood-slicked floor, but he recovered quickly, raising his sword for another strike. He feinted left, then slashed right, cutting a thin line across the chest plate, though it didn't break through. He gritted his teeth, determined to keep going, knowing he couldn't stop now.
The enemy grew angrier, his movements wilder as he swung the greatsword in a furious flurry. Stannis blocked a high chop, the force jarring his shoulders, then ducked under a horizontal slash, the blade whistling past his ear. He countered with a spinning attack, aiming for the back, but the opponent turned just in time, blocking with the flat of the blade. Stannis stepped back, breathing hard, then charged forward with a two-handed thrust, aiming for the stomach again. The armor held, but the force pushed the Clegane back another step. Stannis followed with a quick upward slash, aiming for the armpit, then a downward chop, forcing the enemy to block again. He swung left, then right, his attacks relentless, trying to wear the Mountain down. The Mountain grunted, his blocks growing slower, his strength fading.
Lorent kept moving, inching closer, his eyes locked on the gap between the helm and gorget. His side ached with every movement, but he pushed through the pain, knowing this was their last chance. Stannis distracted the Clegane with a series of rapid swings, left, right, then up, each strike forcing the enemy to defend. The opponent's arm rose to block a high slash, leaving the neck exposed. Lorent lunged forward, ignoring the pain in his side, and stabbed the dagger into the neck with all his strength. He twisted the blade for good measure, making sure it went deep. Blood gushed out in a red flood, and the enemy screamed, dropping the greatsword to clutch at the wound. His body swayed, his strength fading as blood poured down his armor.
Stannis saw the opening and acted fast. He raised his sword high, charging with a full run. The enemy tried to raise his arm to block, but he was too weak. Stannis swung the blade in a powerful arc, striking the neck with a wet crunch. The head flew off, rolling across the floor with a dull thud, the body collapsing with a heavy crash. Blood poured out, pooling around the fallen foe, staining the ground red. The fight was over, the air falling silent except for Stannis's heavy breathing and Lorent's faint gasps.
Stannis stood over the fallen enemy, his chest heaving, his sword dripping with blood. He looked down at the headless body, his grip tight on the sword, ready for any new threat. Lorent collapsed, a weak smile on his face, the dagger still stuck in his neck, his hand trembling from the effort. Lyonel, Richard, and Borremund lay dead around them, their bodies still where they fell. Stannis wiped his blade clean on the Clegane's cloak.
He slumped against the wall, his body heavy with exhaustion. His sword rested beside him, still stained with blood. He breathed hard, his chest rising and falling, his face pale and sweaty. The air smelled of blood and death. Around him, the bodies of his fallen Stormguards, Lyonel, Borremund, and Richard, lay motionless, their blood staining the floor. Lorent sat nearby, clutching his bruised side, his dagger still red from the fight.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor. Stannis lifted his head, his hand tightening on his sword, but he relaxed when he saw Boris, Devan and his other men. In Boris's arms was a child, Princess Rhaenys, just three years old. Her black hair, pale skin, and brown eyes made her look just like her mother, Elia. In her arms, she held a black cat, its green eyes flashing in the dim light.
Boris and the others froze when they saw the scene, dead bodies scattered around, Stannis sitting against the wall, and blood everywhere. They rushed to check the fallen Stormguards, kneeling beside Lyonel, then Borremund, then Richard. Their faces grew grim as they realised none were alive. Lorent gave them a weak nod, showing he was still breathing.
Boris walked to Stannis, holding Rhaenys in his arms.
"How are you, Lord Stannis?" he asked, his voice low with worry.
Stannis, head bowed, looked up slowly. He saw Boris's concerned face, then Rhaenys. Her small face showed fear, she held her black cat tightly, her tiny hands gripping its fur. She looked adorable. Looking at her, Stannis managed a tired smile.
"Did Uncle Boris scare you?" he asked gently.
Rhaenys shook her head, her eyes big and serious. Stannis glanced at the cat.
"That's a pretty cat. What's its name?" Rhaenys mumbled softly,
"Balerion. My father gave it to me." Her voice trembled as she mentioned her father, her face growing sad.
Stannis noticed her sadness. He looked at Boris.
"Take her to her mother," he said quietly. Boris nodded and turned to leave with Rhaenys, who clutched Balerion tighter as they walked away.
Stannis turned to Devan and the others, who had finished checking the bodies. They stood now, their faces heavy with grief, looking at him. Stannis spoke his a firm voice despite his exhaustion.
"When we get home, remind me to reward their families."
The men nodded silently, their heads bowing in respect. Stannis closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. He tried to rest, his body aching, his mind heavy. But then, footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor. Stannis and his men snapped their heads toward the sound, hands reaching for weapons.
A Targaryen guard appeared one they had left at the drawbridge. He hurried to Stannis, his face tense.
"Lord Stannis," he said quickly, "Lannisters are at the gate. They want to meet you."
Stannis stood, his body protesting, but his will was strong. The others.
"Stay here. Watch Elia and her children, try to find a measter or maid to take care of Lorent's wounds," he ordered. They nodded, gripping their weapons tighter.
Stannis followed the Guard. After a few minutes of walking, they reached the entrance of Meagor's holdfast. Two of Stannis's Stormguards stood there, along with other Targaryen guards. Stannis spoke to them.
"Lower the bridge. Raise it after I leave. Don't lower it again without my order."
The Guardsobeyed, lowering the drawbridge with a loud creak. as bridge was lowered, Stannis saw Ser Kevan Lannister waiting with Lannister soldiers, their golden armor shining in the torchlight. Stannis turned to his two Stormguards.
"Come with me," he said, and they followed as he walked toward Kevan.
The drawbridge clanged shut behind them. Stannis reached Kevan, his face tired but stern. Kevan spoke first.
"Lord Stannis, I'm ordered to escort you to the throne room."
Stannis looked at him, his mind racing.
"So, Robert is already here," he thought. Then he nodded to lord kevan. "Then let's head towards the throne room."
Kevan hesitated, then asked, "Did you find Princess Martell and her children?"
Stannis met his eyes. "Yes, they're safe. Now let's not waste time. Lead the way."
Kevan turned, and Stannis followed, his Stormguards at his side, heading toward the throne room.
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The door of the Thorne Room was opened in front of Stannis Baratheon. The Great Hall, the largest hall in the Seven Kingdoms, filled with skulls of dragons, stretched long and dim, its walls of red stone cold under the flickering torchlight, the air heavy with the scent of smoke and steel.
The ceiling soared high, lost in darkness, held by thick pillars that stood like the ribs of some ancient beast. Polished marble floors stretched wide, streaked with red, reflecting the braziers' harsh glow.
His gaze locked on the Iron Throne at the far end, an asymmetric monstrous creation of twisted black metal, its jagged edges gleaming like teeth, forged from the swords of defeated foes. It loomed atop a raised dais, a seat of torment and dominion, its back a spiked ridge, its arms ending in cruel barbs. The sight stirred a cold knot in Stannis's gut.
"This doesn't look like an iron thorne I have seen on the internet," Stannis thought.
The hall wasn't empty. Stannis saw Lords standing near the iron throne, their voices low, their cloaks and armor marking their houses. The first one recognized by the Stannis was Tywin Lannister, his presence a silent command. Beside him stood a young boy in armor with a white cloak.
"this must be a sisterfucker jaime lannister," stannis thougt as he saw Jaime Lannister, his green eyes sharp, his hand resting on his sword, a younger echo of his father's authority.
Near the Iron Throne lay the corpse of Aerys II Targaryen, the Mad King. His body was sprawled on the cold floor, a dark pool of blood spreading from the fatal wound in his chest where Jaime Lannister had stabbed him. His robes were soaked in blood, and his violet eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling. His silver hair was matted and stained, his face frozen in a look of shock and madness.
The next one Stannis recognised was Jon Arryn, a man in his early sixties, with broad shoulders unbowed by age, blue eyes and an aquiline nose. Stannis had last seen him at his parents' burial when he accompanied Robert and he remembered him as a wise and kind old man.
Nearby stood a young man with a long face and dark grey eyes, his dark brown tied back, stannis recognised him, Stannis in this world had only heard of him through Robert's tales, a man of honor and quiet strength. but also know hi from his previous life, The man who was killed becouse of his honor, Ned stark.
And last man, Hoster Tully was easily recognisable for Stannis, because of his red hair and coat of arms on his armor, a fish.
Hoster's blue sharp eyes watched stannis as he aproached. he , Other lords and guards lingered, their faces tense, their hands close to their swords.
Stannis stopped in front of them, his Stormguards and Ser Kevan at his back, and raised his voice, firm but measured.
"My lords, I'm glad to see you all. Lord Arryn, it's been a long time since we last met, I'm pleased to see you still in good health."
He turned to Ned and Hoster, his tone steady. "Lord Stark, Lord Tully, I've heard much of you both. I'm glad you survived the battles unharmed."
Jon spoke first, a faint smile softening his old face, his voice deep and measured.
"Lord Stannis, it has truly been a long time since we last met. The last I saw of you, you were but a grieving young lad, now you stand before me a hardened warrior, forged by fire and steel."
Hoster nodded, his tone rough but warm, his words clipped in the manner of the Riverlands.
"Yes, Lord Stannis, we've heard a lot about you, especially about your battle with the Tyrells. Your victory was impressive. We thought you would remain at Storm's End and defend the castle from the siege."
Stannis offered a tight smile, the memory of Felwood Pass flashing in his mind, mud, blood, and the roar of the river.
"I couldn't hide behind walls and watch the Tyrells burn the Stormlands to ash," he said, his voice low but stubborn.
The thought of Robert hit him then, his absence a sudden void in the room. Stannis scanned the faces again, his voice sharpening.
"I don't see My brother. Where is Robert?"
The lords exchanged glances, their expressions darkening, a heavy silence falling over the hall. Ned Stark, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, his grey eyes heavy with grief, his voice low and steady, the accent of the North coloring his words.
"Lord Stannis, I bear ill News. Your brother Robert was heavily wounded in a duel with Rhaegar. He passed away two days ago."
The words struck Stannis like a blade, the air in the hall growing colder, heavier. His gaze lingered on Ned, then Jon, the weight of their words sinking deep, the Iron Throne's jagged shadow looming larger behind them.
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