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Third Pov
The small council chamber hummed with quiet tension, its heavy wooden doors shut tight against the unrest outside. Once adorned with Targaryen banners displaying the three headed dragon, the room now bore the black and yellow stags of House Baratheon, signalling the power shift. The long, polished oak table dominated the space. At its head sat Stannis Baratheon, dressed in new attire fitting his new station. His tunic was black, embroidered with silver stags along the collar and sleeves, the fabric rich yet restrained, suiting his nature. His dark hair was neatly trimmed, and his sharp blue eyes, bright with youth, scanned the room with authority.
To his left sat Lord Jon Arryn, his weathered face marked by wisdom, his thinning grey hair framing a still-proud posture. Beside him was Lord Hoster Tull, wearing a dark blue tunic with a Tully sigil. To Stannis's right sat Lord Tywin Lannister, his green eyes cold and piercing, his crimson doublet with golden patterns. Stark wasn't in here. He had already departed to search for his sister.
Stannis began, his voice clear and commanding. "Lords, I've gathered you here to choose members for the small council. I want your opinions on this, and we'll address other matters too."
He paused, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the pin of the Hand of the King, crafted from heavy metal in an aged gold color for an authentic look, a symbol of the most powerful appointed position in the Seven Kingdoms. Holding it up, he turned to Jon Arryn.
"First, Lord Arryn, I offer you the position of Hand of the King. I'm certain Robert would have done the same. With your experience and wisdom, I know you'll manage this role well." He extended the pin toward Jon.
Jon's aged hand took the badge, his eyes reflecting gratitude.
"Thank you, Your Grace. I am honored to serve."
Stannis nodded and pressed on.
"I want every rebel kingdom to have a representative in this new small council. Lord Tully, I want you to name a candidate for Master of Laws. Lord Lannister, suggest someone for Master of Coin. As for the North, when Lord Stark returns, he will choose Master of the ships. I think he will probably choose someone from House Manderly."
He leaned back, inviting their input with a glance.
Hoster Tully spoke first, his tone gruff but pleased. "I'm glad you want to involve the lords in ruling the realm, not many kings have done that. For the Master of Laws, I think my brother would be suitable for the position. You've likely heard of him."
Stannis's lips curved into a faint smile, as he thought, "As I thought, he named Bryden Tully, he was a cool old man in the show, I can't wait to meet him," then said, "Of course, I've heard of the Famous Blackfish. An excellent candidate. I am sure he will make a great master of the law."
"He will, your grace," said the hoster as he nodded.
Tywin Lannister leaned forward, his voice measured. "Master of Coin is an important position. I propose to my brother, Kevan Lannister. When I was Hand, he governed Casterly Rock with skill, and I'm confident he'll succeed here too."
Stannis inclined his head. "Very well, Ser Kevan is a strong choice, too. For other members of the councils, Lord Varys hasn't been found yet, but if he appears, he'll remain Master of Whispers. Maester Pycelle will serve too, he's a Grand Master, after all." He paused, a thought flickering. "I need to figure out how to replace the Grand Master so Cressen can take the role."
Tywin's voice interrupted. "That leaves the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."
Jon Arryn nodded. "At the Trident, we captured Ser Barristan Selmy. I think he might wish to remain as lord commander."
Tywin added smoothly, "Ser Barristan is a famed knight. His experience is valuable, but he may decide to stay loyal to Targaryens."
Stannis raised a hand. "I'll handle that. I'll speak with Ser Barristan myself."
Jon Arryn spoke up again. "We also need to appoint a new Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing. The gold cloaks were nearly wiped out." He glanced at Tywin, continuing, "Without them, chaos will take hold. We must hire new men."
Stannis responded firmly. "I'm disbanding the gold cloaks."
The lords look at him in surprise. He continued,
"My Stormguards will take their place to ensure the city's safety and order. I've already sent ravens, and my Stormguard from Fellwood in the Stormlands will return soon."
The lords nodded in agreement.
Stannis went on. "As for the coronation, it shall take place within the turn of a moon. I'll use that time to consult with the lords, including the Tyrells and Martells."
Hoster Tully shifted, his tone turning serious. "What about Elia Martell and her children? What fate awaits them?"
Before Stannis could answer, Tywin cut in, his voice cold. "Keeping them alive is risky. As long as the Aegon lives, Targaryen loyalists will cling to the hope of the return of the Targaryens to the throne."
Stannis met Tywin's gaze, his expression hardening. "As for the Targaryens…"
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The godswood of the Red Keep was a quiet, forgotten corner of the castle, an acre of green tucked behind thick stone walls, where nature breathed softly despite the weight of the fortress around it.
Elms reached high into the sky, their leaves whispering with every breeze, while alders and black cottonwoods mingled overhead in a tangle of green and silver. At the centre stood an old brown oak, its bark rough with age, limbs twisted and heavy as if sagging under the weight of memory. Smokeberry vines curled around it, hanging like dusky ribbons, and near its roots, dragon's breath flowers clustered in soft purples, their petals catching what little light filtered through the canopy.
It was a beautiful place, but not holy. Not in the way the other godswoods were. There was no heart tree here, no tree with a carved face to pray. Just the old oak, mute and impartial
Near the oak, Stannis sat at a small wooden table, its surface adorned with a simple breakfast of bread, cheese, and fruit, a pitcher of wine, and a jug of juice beside it. Everything about the setting felt modest, deliberate. He hadn't eaten much, only enough to keep hunger from distracting him.
Stannis's sharp blue eyes drifted to the trees as he wondered.
"Why the Targaryens built a godswood here," he thought. "They never followed the old gods, and I doubt it was out of respect for the Northern religion."
As Stannis was thinking, A soft voice interrupted him.
"Your Grace," it called, gentle as the rustling leaves. Stannis turned to see Elia Martell approaching, her steps graceful despite the uneven ground. She wore flowing silks in the vibrant red and orange of House Martell, her dark hair adorned with a thin gold circlet that caught the sunlight. She looked beautiful, and Stannis noted, with a flicker of surprise, the absence of visible grief for her late husband, Rhaegar.
He offered a small smile.
"Everyone calls me Your Grace, though my coronation is yet to come. Please, princess, sit. I've been waiting for you." He gestured to a chair beside him, his hand steady as he pulled it out for her. "Would you prefer wine or orange juice?"
Elia settled into the seat with effortless elegance, her silks pooling around her.
"Juice, please," she replied, her voice soft but clear. Stannis poured the amber liquid, sparkling as it filled her glass.
"How are your children?" he asked, his tone measured but not unkind.
"They're both well," Elia said, a faint warmth in her eyes. "Rhaenys was playing with Aegon when I left them."
Stannis nodded. "Good."
A shadow crossed Elia's face, her fingers tightening around the glass. "Your Grace," she began hesitantly, "I am sorry for your loss. Losing a brother must weigh heavily."
Stannis met her gaze, her deep, expressive eyes holding a quiet strength that stirred something in him. He leaned back slightly.
"My brother and I were never close. He spent most of his time in the Vale with Jon Arryn. But he was still my brother…" His voice trailed off.
He noticed Elia's nervous fidgeting, her hands twisting in her lap, her breath uneven as if she braced to ask something difficult. Finally, she gathered her courage.
"Your Grace, I beg you, grant me and my children leave to return to Dorne. Aegon will not challenge your claim. After Rhaegar's death, King Aerys named Viserys his heir. Aegon poses no threat to you." Her voice broke, tears welling in her eyes. "He's just a child. He shouldn't pay for his father's foolishness."
Stannis exhaled, watching a single tear trace down her cheek. He leaned forward, his thumb brushing it away with surprising gentleness.
"Please, princess, don't cry. Sorrow doesn't suit your beautiful face." Her cheeks flushed, and she lowered her gaze, a mix of modesty and vulnerability.
Stannis continued his a firm voice. "I've already decided for you and your children. I spoke with the other rebel great lords, and they agreed it's wise for Princess Rhaenys to marry my future son, strengthening the Baratheon claim to the Iron Throne."
He paused, watching Elia's reaction. Her expression tightened with worry, her thoughts shifting to Aegon. She swallowed hard. "And my son? What fate awaits Aegon?"
Stannis held her gaze, unflinching. "When Aegon reaches his fourteenth name day, he will take the black and join the Night's Watch."
Elia's composure shattered. She fell to her knees before him, tears streaming down her face as she clutched at his hands. "Please, Your Grace, have mercy on Aegon! Don't send him to the Wall!"
Stannis rose swiftly, gently but firmly guiding her back to her seat. As he settled her, he placed a calming hand on her shoulder.
"This is the most mercy I can offer," he said quietly.
Elia's sobs continued, her voice trembling with desperation. "Please, spare my son. I swear he'll cause no trouble for you or your children."
Stannis's patience frayed, his tone sharpening. "Enough, Elia. Be grateful he lives at all." He returned to his chair, taking a long sip of wine, his blue eyes now cold with bitterness.
Elia's tears slowed, stunned by his stern voice. She looked into his face, seeing the shift from kindness to bitterness.
"Forgive me, Your Grace," she whispered, her voice quivering. "I only wish to protect my son."
Stannis's gaze remained stern. "I understand you're a mother, and it's natural to worry for your child. But remember, if not for me, you'd be dead now. Don't forget who stopped the killers sent to kill you and the children."
Elia bowed her head, memories of that night flooding back. She'd heard the noise of a fight from outside the nursery. The sharp ring of steel, the muffled cries of men locked in combat. She had been cradling her infant son, Aegon, her pulse racing with every sound, when the door burst open with a jarring thud.
Then Boris, Stannis's guard, who was tasked to bring back her daughter, entered in nursery with rahenys in his hands.
The sight of her daughter alive sent a wave of relief crashing through Elia, though her pulse still raced.
Boris's weathered gaze met hers, steady despite the chaos he'd emerged from. "She's safe, Princess," he said, his gruff voice a lifeline in the storm of her dread. Gently, he lowered Rhaenys to the floor, and the girl ran to Elia, burying herself in her mother's embrace.
Rhaenys's trembling voice followed, barely above a whisper. "Mama, there was a bad man. He had a knife. I hid under Papa's bed, and then Uncle Boris came and saved me."
Elia suspected that Tywin Lannister was behind it, still bitter that Aerys had betrothed Rhaegar to her instead of his daughter Cersei.
She looked up again, her voice soft. "Your Grace, perhaps instead of the Wall, send him to the Citadel to become a maester. Measters vow to forsake their House name, hold no lands, and remain celibate. That way, He'd pose no threat to you."
In her mind, the Citadel seemed far better than the Wall, where Aegon would face a life of cold, surrounded by thieves and outcasts sent for their crimes, not to mention the wildling threat.
Stannis's irritation faded into thoughtfulness. "I'll consider it, but I can't promise anything," he said evenly.
Elia nodded, gratitude flickering in her eyes. "Thank you, Your Grace."
Stannis leaned forward slightly. "I want you to send a raven to your brother. Write to him, I await him and his family in the capital. My coronation is in turn of a moon, and I want them to attend it."
"I will, Your Grace," Elia replied softly.
Silence settled over the godswood, broken only by the rustle of leaves. Elia sat with her hands clasped, her plate untouched, her face a blend of grace and lingering worry. Stannis studied her, her dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears, her olive skin glowing in the dappled light, her lips trembling with quiet resilience. To him, she was a vision of strength tempered by vulnerability.
Breaking the silence, Stannis asked, "Did you know about your husband's plans? What was his purpose?"
Elia looked up from her plate. "No. When he returned to the capital after vanishing with Lyanna Stark, the only thing he told me was that the dragon needed three heads. Aegon and Rhaenys are two, and the third would be his daughter with Lyanna."
Stannis's brow furrowed. "Rhaegar must have been mad to turn from such a beautiful wife to another."
Elia offered a small, grateful smile. "Thank you for the praise, Your Grace. With your leave, I'll return to my children. Aegon needs his meal."
Stannis returned her smile, a warmth in his expression. "You may go."
Elia rose, bowing slightly before departing, her figure disappearing into the shadows of the godswood.