Chapter Text
Dragonstone was exactly the same as when Jon has last left it. No, that was incorrect. The island itself looked exactly the same, and the castle with its ferocious stone dragons was as dark and forbidding as ever. It was the mood that had changed. Along with Ser Davos and Maester Cressen, those close and unquestionably loyal to Stannis were told the truth of the royal children. Everyone else was simply informed that a threat to King Robert and the realm had been discovered, and that naval involvement was likely to occur sooner rather than later. Potential spies were sniffed out, and no ship that landed on Dragonstone was allowed to leave without Stannis’ personal permission. Lady Selyse spent even more time in the sept, lighting candles in groups of seven and urging her husband to join her. He never did.
During the week that Jon returned, he noticed Stannis spending an unusual amount of time in the armory conversing with the castle smith. Jon wondered if Stannis was taking stock of weapons or something of the sort, but when asked he only glared and refused to say a word. Soon, though, the reason for Stannis’ secrecy became clear.
On an afternoon that was unremarkable in all other ways, Jon made his way to Stannis’ solar to find him pacing back and forth behind his desk, hands behind his back and jaw clenched. For some reason he had chosen to wear his fine black and cloth of gold cloak, which Jon only saw when Stannis was trying to impress someone of his status. Jon was directed to the usual chair in front of the desk. Ghost silently followed.
“I have something for you,” announced Stannis without any preamble. He reached down and placed a sword sheathed in a black metal scabbard on the middle of the desk. The scabbard was plain with no kind of adornment, but the sword’s pommel was a different story. A wolf carved out of white marble adorned it, and its eyes were the same red as Ghost’s. Jon looked between the pommel and Ghost and then back to Stannis.
“May I?”
Stannis waved a hand, and Jon carefully drew the sword. It was exceptionally well made, sharper and lighter than the kind of weapon an ordinary man-at-arms would carry. It fit well in his hands, and only then did Jon catch that this one was a hand-and-a-halfer, a bastard sword. Jon wondered if Stannis was aware of the irony in that. Knowing Stannis, he likely was.
“This sword once belonged to my father, and it has seen many a fight. It’s not Valyrian steel, but you’ll be hard pressed to find finer workmanship in all of the Seven Kingdoms. The blade is tapered to cut as well as thrust, and while it’s longer than the swords you’re accustomed to using, you should grow into it over the next few years.”
“Does the sword have a name, my lord?”
“Clash. It’s what one calls a group of stags, or perhaps the sound of two stags fighting with their antlers. There used to be a golden stag on the pommel, but I thought a white wolf would be more appropriate for you. Regardless, it’s likely a poor name for a direwolf sword.” Stannis paused, looking Jon up and down, his eyes moving toward Ghost. “Or a direwolf with a sword.”
“Clash is a fine name. Wolves have teeth and claws that can make such a sound.”
Stannis seemed mildly pleased by that.
“You wouldn’t keep such a sword for yourself?”
“I have my own sword as you well know, forged to match my height and reach. Robert always preferred fighting with war hammers, and Renly is drawn to gaudier things. Jewel encrusted pommels, gold-plated scabbards, things of the like. I had hoped one day to pass this sword on to one of my sons, but…” Stannis fell silent, looking at the sword with a strange expression on his face. “Such an opportunity has not yet occurred.”
He’s giving me his son’s sword. Or a sword that he wishes he could give to a son.
“Why?”
“Why what?” asked Stannis sharply.
Jon rephrased his question. “What have I done to deserve such a magnificent sword, my lord?”
“Every knight in my service should have a proper sword.” Jon stilled, and his hands clenched around the pommel as Stannis continued in the same, dry tone. “Or whatever tools best fit his talents, which is why Ser Davos has a ship of his own.”
“A knight in your service? But I’m not a knight,” said Jon, taken aback.
Stannis now looked irritated. “You’re capable of kneeling, aren’t you?”
Jon gawked at him, an incredulous expression on his face. Perhaps many years from now, when you’ve proven yourself worthy, Lord Stannis will grant you a knighthood. Father had told him that at Winterfell, and while Jon had always hoped that such a thing would come to pass, he never expected it to happen so soon or with so little…ceremony.
“I haven’t done anything worthy of such an honor. I’ve never killed a man or performed great deeds in battle.”
“Do you think being a knight is only about battles and fighting?”
Jon was silent.
“Do you?” insisted Stannis, his voice becoming hard. Jon shook his head. “Every knight takes vows to defend the innocent, protect the weak, and stay loyal to his liege lord. Bloodshed need not enter into the equation, though it usually does. Gifting a barrel of onions and salt fish to a starving man is just as chivalrous as defeating the man who kidnapped and raped your betrothed. Or perhaps as chivalrous as saving your lord from drowning during a terrible storm.”
“You already thanked me for that,” stated Jon quietly. Stannis acted like he hadn’t heard him.
“A knighthood’s a small payment for a life. You’re young and still have many things yet to learn, but you didn’t hesitate to act when the need arose. You’ve proven to me that you can think sensibly, and unlike other young knights you’ve met, you realize that there are more important things than fancy armor. Perhaps if my parents had such a man in their service the day the Windproud sank, they would be alive today.”
Jon knew that he still must be gawking at Stannis, though from a completely different reason than before. Stannis Baratheon thinks that I’m worthy of a knighthood. Sure, he also said that I’m young and inexperienced in the same breath, but that’s not entirely untrue. Over the past year he had tried his best to be dutiful and obey Stannis as father had instructed him, but along the way Jon realized that Stannis’ opinion of him mattered just as much. He had come to value Stannis’ rare nods of approval just as much as father’s rare moments of praise. Stannis was like father in many ways, but in many ways he wasn’t. Including the way he speaks to me. We both know that he is and will always be the lord in this relationship, but he trusts me and respects what I have to say, almost as if we’re equals.
“Will you kneel, Jon Snow? Or will you continue to question my judgment?”
Stannis’ eyes were still on him, and Jon understood that there was only one answer that he could give. But this time it was truly his choice. Clash was still in Jon’s hands as he walked over to Stannis and placed the sword at his lord’s feet. Ghost padded over and sat before the sword, his head bowed respectfully. There was nothing left for Jon to do but to follow suit, getting down on one knee and inclining his head.
~
When Jon closed the door behind him and his wolf, Stannis opened a raven from Robert that had just arrived that morning. That in and of itself was odd, for usually Robert left all business concerning the running of the kingdom to his Lord Hand and the other members of the Small Council. Stannis broke the seal and scanned the short letter. It was written in Robert’s hand, that was certain. The words Storm’s End, Renly, and Ned Stark immediately jumped out at him. So he knew about Stannis travelling to Storm’s End, and the business about Stark…
Is your wife with child again yet? We discussed the matter at Winterfell.
When had Stannis ever shared such personal matters with Robert? And at Ned Stark’s castle especially? Stannis racked his brain, finally remembering Robert’s inane conversation during the hunt…
Besides, Stannis doesn’t have any sons of his own. Perhaps the presence of a young man on his miserable island will finally show him the way to his wife’s bed!
Robert’s letter immediately found itself crumpled in Stannis’ hands. He had many things he would like to say to Robert about the begetting of children, and Robert was in no position to lecture him about trueborn heirs. Stannis glanced around his desk, noting a stack of recent correspondence. A parchment with a white direwolf seal was on top, bearing Stark’s latest well wishes to Jon. He looked back and forth between that and the ball in his hands.
With a sigh, Stannis threw Robert’s letter into the fireplace and shoved Stark’s letter to the bottom of its pile.
~
Jon immediately knew what his first act as a knight, a true knight should be: tell Shireen and show her his sword. At Winterfell he would’ve gone to Arya first, even before Robb, for there was no sense of competition with her. And Arya never failed to make him smile.
Shireen was on her favorite stretch of beach, skipping stones into the water. She had become quite good at it, and her blue eyes screwed up in concentration every time she let a stone fly. Her black hair was neatly tied back in a long braid, which unfortunately emphasized the grey, dead patches of skin on her right cheek and neck. Ghost loped toward her, tugging at the hem of her dress and demanding attention.
“Have you come to show it to me?” asked Shireen, ruffling Ghost’s fur and not looking at Jon.
“The sword?”
“Of course! What else would I be asking about?” Shireen met his eyes, a mischievous grin slowly forming on her face.
“You knew,” Jon accused her.
“Father doesn’t tell you everything, Ser Jon.”
I’m certainly aware of that. But in most cases Stannis has a right to his secrets, just as I do mine.
Jon drew Clash from its scabbard, admiring the way the sun reflected off the blade and made the red garnets of the direwolf eyes shine.
“May I hold it?”
“I doubt you could lift Clash, my lady, let alone swing it.”
“Can I try?”
Jon shrugged, deciding to humor her. Lady Selyse would be horrified by such a thing, and Stannis would likely frown but not entirely disapprove. While it might not be proper for a lady to wield swords, the reality of how heavy and deadly they were was important to know. Jon stood behind Shireen and placed Clash in her hands, positioning them on the hilt and telling her how to hold her arms and arrange her feet.
“I’m Visenya Targaryen, with Dark Sister!”
“Well,” said Jon, moving away from her and picking up a long piece of driftwood, “I’m Torrhen Stark, with Ice!”
“Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen, not Visenya. You should be Sharra Arryn, and she didn’t wield a famous sword.”
Jon groaned. “I thought your father was the only one who cared about historical accuracy!”
“I am descended from the Targaryens. Perhaps one day I’ll have a dragon just like you have a direwolf, and it will eat all the stone dragons on Dragonstone for me!” With that, Shireen tried to swing the sword, but the tip just plummeted into the sand. She wrenched it free and tried again with the same success. Disappointment showed on her face, but Shireen didn’t seem too upset as Jon took Clash from her and resheathed it—a far cry from the sad little girl he had met well over a year ago. Jon liked to think that he and Ghost had played some role in her transformation, for she was noticeably less shy and relied less on her fool.
“Not your weapon of choice, my lady,” professed Jon. He wondered if Arya had made any progress with Needle. Her short messages to him had made mention of dancing lessons, but Jon had a hard time imagining his wild little sister enjoying the same courtly dances that Sansa did.
“That’s okay,” replied Shireen with a shrug. “Will you stay here? On Dragonstone?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, now that you’re a knight, wouldn’t you rather travel Westeros and have adventures? Or go back to Winterfell?”
My life’s been quite an adventure since leaving Winterfell. Sure, not everything had been easy, but Jon didn’t regret anything that he had done since coming South. It had been good for him to see the world outside of the forested North, from the Bite to Dragonstone to the Crownlands to Storm’s End. And the freezing waters of Shipbreaker Bay. I’ll always have a place at the Wall, if I want it, thought Jon. And at Winterfell, for I have the blood of the Starks running through my veins. But I’ve earned my place with Stannis Baratheon, and that’s not something to be taken lightly. As he said, I still have much to learn. And gods did Jon look forward to that.
“I’m here to stay, as long as Lord Stannis will have me.”
~
Stannis was losing patience with Davos, though there was no logical reason for him to. Ser Davos was doing what a loyal knight should always do—tell his lord hard truths, no matter how bitter. If only Cersei and Jaime Lannister hadn’t been so utterly foolish, they would’ve saved the realm many needless deaths. Before Davos had started speaking with him, Stannis had been calmly watching Jon and Shireen from the window of his solar, drinking a glass of lemon water. He had always been able to see that particular beach from his rooms, though he’d never told them. Stannis had no regrets about knighting Jon, and he knew that the new title would not get to the young man’s head but rather serve to make him stronger and shrewder.
“What about the children? Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen?” Davos’ voice continued. “The Lannister twins are guilty of treason of the highest order, but their children are not to blame.”
“I wish they could disappear.”
“How? With the help of a Faceless man?”
Stannis sighed. “I would never stoop so low as to hire an assassin.” Jon was now placing Clash in Shireen’s hands, causing Stannis to frown.
“We know what Tywin Lannister did to cement King Robert’s rule. Will you do the same?” asked Davos pointedly.
Stannis had heard the tales. Little Rhaenys Targaryen had been stabbed half a hundred times, and Aegon had barely been recognizable with his head smashed in. And both of Prince Rhaegar’s children had been presented to Robert by Tywin Lannister in red cloaks, all the better to hide the blood. Would Robert have loved me better if I had captured Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen and presented them to him in the same way? Would he have granted me Storm’s End? “Do you think me capable of murdering innocent children, Davos?”
“Absolute justice doesn’t always protect the innocent.”
He didn’t say no. What does that say about him, about me? Shireen had surrendered the sword back to Jon, deciding that it wasn’t worth the effort. And it shouldn’t be, as long as she has loyal knights around to protect her. Davos was staring at him, waiting for a reply.
“I know I must face such hard questions in the future, hard questions with men who do not think and you and I do. But not today.”
Davos easily guessed the source of Stannis’ distraction. Not like that was hard. He joined him at the window, and his face softened as he watched Jon and Shireen. Shireen was throwing pieces of driftwood for Ghost to fetch, which he immediately went after. However, whenever Jon threw something, the direwolf just sat and stared at him.
“Was it wise to knight him? When he’s seen only sixteen namedays?”
“I’ve only knighted one other man in my life, Ser Davos. I hope you agree that that was a wise decision.”
Davos looked down at the maimed fingers on his left hand, running his thumb across the nail-less tips.
“Yes. Yes it was.”
“I see much potential in him, as I did and still do in you.”
“You have my loyalty, my lord, always,” said Davos without hesitation. There was no need for him to say anything more.
The two of them stood in silence for some time. Down below, Jon and Shireen had sat down in the sand, with the direwolf curled up faithfully by his master. As Jon reached out a hand to ruffle Shireen’s hair, something deep within Stannis stirred, a feeling that he didn’t quite know what to call or how to describe.
“Davos, would you think any less of me if I wished that Jon was my…” No, I don’t wish that Jon was my son. Jon wouldn’t be who he is if he wasn’t raised in the North with Eddard Stark as his father, and sometimes I see him as more than a son—if that makes any sense. “That I had a son like Jon?”
Davos simply smiled and shook his head, placing his maimed hand on Stannis’ shoulder. There were many trials ahead, wars and arguments and suffering, and likely betrayals that would take him unawares despite all of his deliberate planning. As well, winter was always near. But for now, and for one of the first times in his life, Stannis Baratheon was content.
END