290 AC – Interlude: Stannis Baratheon

Robert is set to arrive imminently, once again to treat my domain as his personal retreat of leisure. I am expected to keep my seat stocked with fine foods, finer wines as well as cater to the personal tastes of my brother's boisterous pack of scoundrels that endlessly follow him around. For the greater part of a decade I have kept Dragonstone orderly, loyal and most importantly; free of the stench of corruption and vice of the nearby capital.

In less than a year Robert has connived to reopen the brothels, screamed at me until I let his whores into my halls and drained Dragonstone of anything resembling proper virtue and adherence to our duties. Where once my Great Hall was filled with solemn conversation suited to leaving my domain, and those of my bannermen, greater than we had found it...now there is nothing but empty merriment and pointless gossip.

Robert pays lip service to my suzerainty over Dragonstone, but in practice I rule nothing anymore. My bannermen openly court the attention of our sovereign, my knights prance around for a taste of my brother's frivolous so called generosity and half of King's Landing crowds my pointless dominion. That last, more than anything, chafes at my very being.

My lands may be cold and dreary, but they afforded me peace when my disgust with my brother's illustrious capital threatens to spill over into ill considered actions. Now even that solace has been taken away from me. When I complain to Robert he exhorts me to visit Storm's End if I dislike his company so terribly... As if there is any peace to be found in my ancestral home, for me.

Is it any wonder I consistently spend my time enjoying the last vestiges of my authority?

On the top deck of my flagship Fury I oversaw my sailors tending to their tasks. Four hundred men called it theirs and I only allowed the very best of my Navy to staff it, common born though the majority might be. They were disciplined – in times of peace and strife alike – brave and a damned sight more loyal than any other men I have the pleasure of nominally holding their fealty. From the flurry of activity on deck you might be forgiven for mistaking it for chaos, but every last man was stepping with purpose.

While the other vessels in our fleet did not exhibit the same discipline as on my flagship, they were up to task to deal with our adversaries. Our orders were to see to the dispersal of the pirates that had taken advantage of the distraction of my fleet. By the time we returned from the Iron Islands after Balon's ill considered rebellion they were more than settled in. Cursory patrols simply were not sufficient to push them out of the Step Stones, and more than once suspicions have been raised that the Tyroshi were not holding up their end of our most recent treaty.

Rather than dissuading the pirates away from the Step Stones they seem to have taken up their cause. Or perhaps it is simply the reverse, we shall likely not find out until Lord Varys deigns to inform us.

My first mate, Nathan Waters screeched in that grating high pitched voice of his, "Crossbowmen at the ready!"

Echoed by a hundred voices came a roaring sound, "Aye!"

It was to be the last loud sound until the assault on the docks.

Though the weather was bright and clear we sailed headfirst into a menacing fog that surrounding the port on the smallest of the Grey Gallows. Port Niri Sar Mell they used to call, in days gone past. Now they simply whisper of it as Port Plunder. One of the many Port Plunders around. It was comforting in a way, to have that continuity in a sense. From the Basillisk Isles, to the Cinnamon Straights and even now in the Step Stones they are all the same.

A vile cesspit of unnatural vices, chaotic overindulging and a ruthless disregard for propriety that might put even King's Landing to shame. Like most other temporary locations known as Port Plunder it was mostly defended by its obscurity. If you did not have...acquaintances with a reputation for seafaring avarice you could sail the entire world without so much as a glance of the port. A network among the pirates themselves kept them and all those interested in the spoils of their service aware, but outsiders were carefully kept in the dark.

I took light and shallow breaths – the warm steam was not pleasant to breath in – and further considered the goal ahead of me to take my mind off of the discomfort.

Port Plunder and its many duplicates have been a thorn – and for the various Free Cities, occasionally allies – in the side of everyone plying their trade on the seas. Merchants are quick to bitterly proclaim their contentions with the seafaring scum, but when push comes to shove are equally as quick to hand over their gold in tribute to them. These payments and thefts, on top of funds pouring in from the Free Cities ensure that there is always a Port Plunder.

Those same merchants, when confronted with their ties to various pirates – when such tenuous matters occasionally manage to dart past the near perfect shield of corruption surrounding Robert's Court – exclaim that they do nothing their fathers have not done. Or even as their grandfathers and their grandfathers have since the Dawn, but that is simply not true.

Pirates have always roamed the seas, granted, but they only became such an organized scourge in the past four centuries. In times of old, the Valyrian Freehold guaranteed any trade to and from their various colonies. In those times even the wiliest of the pirates could not hope to keep even an transient holdfast for very long. Aegon the Conqueror and his kin after him should have continued that tradition, even if only in the Step Stones and along the shores of the Narrow Sea.

They did not.

Thankfully, Robert proved eager to best the Targaryens in yet another field and gave me permission to scour the pirates from the Narrow Sea. By fire and blood if need be.

I heard the leather beating, and rustling of metal on metal long before Orys landed roughly on the deck of Fury. When he came into sight through the thick, and rather well heated considering how we produced them, mists the first thing I noticed were the new scratches on his armor. His wings were covered in thick leather, highly fine chain mess covered the rest of his frame and on his tail hung a handful of leather ropes, tipped with morning stars. Around his oversized head laid a circlet of gold layered metal from which hung a similar exceedingly fine mesh that fit perfectly around the eye guards that – hopefully – kept arrows out of them.

All in all, Orys made for an impressive sight. It's been a year since my little fearsome beast hatched and it wouldn't be fair to keep referring to him as such. Even though it occasionally gives me great pleasure to do so. My Dragon weighed as much as a healthy sized bull and when he moved on the wrists of his wings he came up to my head.

And I was not a small man.

I cleared my throat and spoke, "Report, if you would Orys."

My worry for him can wait until after we take the impromptu port. For now I needed to know how their defenses were arrayed and if any significant alterations needed to be made to our plan for attack. I certainly wasn't about to leave anything to chance and the notion of having to explain to Robert why a bunch of ill disciplined pirates were able to see me off is unimaginable.

Orys flashed me his impressive set of teeth in a mockery of a smile and bellowed out, "The pirates have surrendered to me, Stannis! They gave me all their gold and all I had to give them was a Baratheon banner I stole from Cassana's Grief!" My Dragon cocked his head sideways when he continued onward, "But it's not really stealing if its for our War on Pirate Scum and I did it because Captain Velaryon did not wish to part from it, right Stannis?"

What...

290 AC – Interlude: Renly Baratheon

I was struggling to keep my excitement contained as I strode towards the Dragon Den. Just this morning Stannis declared the Eastwinds passed and the risks of storms with it, at least for the next three moons. Early this morning he sailed off with his fleet – just as Robert was set to arrive, coincidentally I'm sure – which meant that just for this morning and afternoon there is nobody around to gainsay me. Maester Cressen is busy with his duties, courtesy of a little gold and a small boy willing to jump the last few steps of the stairs leading to the Great Hall. Septon Bartlet way working himself into a stupor over the short, but fairly blasphemous, essay I wrote on his behest. My contingent of guards were drinking in anticipation of Robert and nobody else truly cared where I was.

It was all perfect.

The Dragon Den came into sight as soon as I cleared the hills obscuring it. A large walled enclave, built in sturdy stone and with enough space for the Dragons to fly around in was covered by a wooden sunscreen that doubled as cover against the rain. Pits were dug inside the enclosure covered with large – truly massive – slabs of rock with enough space underneath them for a spectacular forge. The heat produced was apparently rather comforting to the Dragons and Orys loudly insisted its inclusion. Of course, they could only be heated properly when Orys was around to safeguard the Den's servants.

Dragonfire tends to melt the structure...

We know that because both Argillac and Brightwind had gotten rather frustrated at times.

Brightwing and Argillac didn't go out of their way to hurt the servants, but accidents had happened and Stannis was only willing to accept them for so long. Currently Maester Cressen was charged to find a way to heat the pits at a safe distance. Another 'request' made by Orys, on behalf of Argillac and Brightwing as well I'm told, was the attachment of a large wooden shed filled with panicked goats and sheep right next to the Dragon Den. The scents, and sounds, of the Dragons would drive the poor animals wild with fear. Our Dragons claimed that the extended campaign of minimum effort terror would turn their meals into delicacies fit for their august selves.

For some reason the whole ordeal surprised me not.

A screech that would have been terrifying if I had not known its origins so well greeted me just as I cleared the gates to the Den. Brightwing generally was rather excitable and I'm sure my own state wasn't really helping matters. While Argillac – that monstrously large beast – lazily opened an eye, and then closed it again, only to roll over on top of the still cooling slab of stone.

Brightwing on the other hand flew to me as close as chains allowed. As always I took in the sight of my magnificent pet. Incredibly bright yellow colored his wings while the rest of his body took a slight more dulled yellow tint. His wings were spread in excitement and a surge of pride hit me. He was growing so fast.

Only a few months ago we grieved for the day he could no longer fit through the windows in my room.

Still, Argillac outpaced him in matters of size. Robert's beast was huge, but in a rather sleek way. I mentally shrugged and considered that was likely only true in relation to Orys. That particular talking monstrosity might well weigh as much as Argillac and Brightwing combined. From tail to snout Argillac was about the size of a large war mount, excepting his wings which looked like they could function as sails on a small sloop.

Orys was thick. As in, roughly as thick as two cows standing next to each other, but otherwise resembled the others. Two large wings which he uses the wrists of to move around while grounded, a large body to facilitate the wings and the bulkiest tail by far. It didn't make him seem unwieldy, but there was little of grace that Brightwing exuded or even much of the arrogant gait of Robert's black monstrosity.

Brightwing somehow fell in the middle of those two, not as bulky as Orys or large as Argillac, but more than made up for it with his boundless energy. No lazying about for my Dragon, or spending long boring hours getting lectures from Stannis.

"Good morning, my Dragon."

Did I care that my Dragon wasn't as imposing as theirs? Or that he couldn't talk?

Not in the slightest, he was mine. All mine...

Another ear rending screech was returned to me. Brightwing only calmed down when I closed in with him and the two of us could greet properly. According to Brightwing that means lightly touching my nose, thrice most days, with his own. It started as an adorable ritual that he insisted upon as hatchling, but it had someone stuck around while other of his idiosyncrasies disappeared.

The servants usually pale right around now, but today I could not spare any thought to them. Had there been anyone of note around I would not have been caught cooing to my pet, "Are you ready to what we discussed, my Dragon?"

A soft – a matter of perspective that – cooing was my only answer, but I knew that to be a vague confirmation. I would never claim to truly understand any of the Dragons, not even Orys, but there were some gestures and sounds that we all managed to agree on.

I looked around for any errant onlookers and puffed up my chest. In return Brightwing roared back and flared his wings once again. I puffed up my chest even further, exposed my neck by staring at my Dragon and was careful not to show any teeth while I smirked. A slight, ever so slight, upturn of Brightwing's lips followed another soft cooing.

Good.

If I didn't get that confirmation for our traditional ritual of trust I knew something was wrong and I'd have to be exceedingly careful. Sometimes I even had to get Orys to mediate – on occasion...what's 'wrong' was only an appetite for additional fish -, but thankfully today all was well.

I quickly darted behind my Dragon towards the sheds inside the enclosure, rooted around in his maintenance shed for his saddle and went through the lengthy process of securing it. It was something I practiced at length with Stannis, with even Robert attending every single impromptu lessons, as Orys talked us through the process of keeping our airborne mounts calm. A nifty combination of soft sounds, a few comforting touches here and there would keep them content enough to be harnessed.

By us Baratheons at least...

We'd lost more than a few good people figuring that out.

At least it forces Robert into a pleasant pattern.

I smiled quietly at the thought. Argillac especially let none other than Robert touch him, which made Robert's absences rather dreadful for the poor beast. When our liege returns he has more than a little catching up to do.

And more than a fair bit of washing his pet...

With everything secured there was only one thing remaining. A last showing of trust, and one that Stannis repeated attempted to beat into my mind. By now I'd learned enough to grant him such abeyance without question, at least regarding our Dragons. On other matters though..

Well, lets just say that Stannis might benefit from being tutored in turn.

Mournfully – only moderately exaggerated – I told Brightwing, "I'm going to the top of Dragonstone Keep, my Dragon." I added with a whispers, "Please show up..."

I walked around Brightwing, slipped off the chains securing him in the enclosure – and ruthlessly ignored attentions of Argillac, I knew better than to let him out with Robert around – and quietly made my way back to Dragonstone. My brightly colored Dragon followed me for short moment, but before long he sped off into the distance. I wasn't worried about him – he always came back –, but he might not come find me on top of the keep.

I pushed those intrusive thoughts out of my mind and soon I found myself on top of the keep, nearly being swept away by the unopposed winds. Long moments passed where I could find hide nor hair from my Dragon. The sun slowly moved along his arc and deep disappointment set in when Brightwing still hadn't appeared.

In frustration I just screamed, "Where are you!", at nobody in particular.

For some reason that seemed to do the trick as I suddenly heard the tell tale flapping of leathery wings. Moments later Brightwing gracefully landed next to me and I knew I couldn't afford to waste much time. Robert would appear at the docks any moment now and I was hoping to catch him before that. I strode over to my Dragon with purpose, Brightwing actually bent over which was beyond exciting and as my heart thudded in mad frenzy in my chest I climbed on top. I secured my feet, then my legs and finally my waist.

And then...

A mockery of a Draconic screech, "Heeyaaaaaa!"

At first it wasn't comfortable. The way Brightwing moved shook me around like a rag in the wind, but once we cleared the edge of the keep and only hung in the air by the strength of my Dragon...

Amazing.

I let out all the nerves and anxiety within me with loud scream and then, "Hahaha! Look at me! I AM RENLY BARATHEON AND I'M FLYING!"

My Dragon sensed my mood, or perhaps he simply responded to the light tugs, but he turned exactly the way I wanted to. We went up and then down, turning hard sideways and exploring just how we could move around. I could do this forever...The noise of the wind was incredible and I learned rapidly why Orys had Stannis prepare some sort of eye-guard.

A concern for another day.

We flew for...ever it seemed, until a ship appeared at the horizon. I tugged at the harness and soon Brightwing had turned himself towards the oncoming vessel. When we got close enough that I could make out the people on the deck.

That was Robert's ship.

I directed Brightwing to come in low and dart across the ship bow as I screamed once again, "OURS IS THE FURY!" When we turned around for another go I added cheekily, "MINE IN PARTICULAR. ALL HAIL THE STAG OF STORM'S END!"

How about this for a coming of age ceremony at ten and three? I'd like to see Robert brag about his tedious hunts now.

AN: Feedback and commentary is always appreciated. Please let me know what you think!