The Wizard of Fury Chapter 19

The broken sun awoke Stannis from his nightmare. Harry was still alive, sleeping silently in a chair to his left. It reflected well upon him that he still watched over Stannis every night, despite Stannis ordering him not to. Evidently, the many lessons of duty that Stannis had tried to impart onto him hadn’t been lost.

Perhaps this visit to King’s Landing hadn’t been for nought after all. Harry seemed to be coming into his own in a way that seemed impossible back on Dragonstone. Grand Maester Pycelle, Varys, Baelish, and even Renly seemed to approve of the way that Harry operated upon the throne. Evidently, he’d cowed them all into submission to his will. Good. They would either do their duties or be punished for it.

Still, it hadn’t fled his mind that any one of those members upon the small council could be the one behind the attack on his life, but there was little he could do to investigate the matter until his wounds had healed. He would have to rely on the onion knight, Ser Davos, and whatever reports Harry gave him until he could take a more active role.

Speaking of which, he noted that he felt much less pain when he sat up in bed this morning. The shallow cuts along his torso were healing nicely, though the deeper ones would linger for some time. He was lucky that infections had been minimal thus far. Each time Pycelle returned with boiling wine, Stannis had to grip the bed sheets to prevent a scream from escaping his lips. It was only thanks to milk of the poppy that he made it through those challenges.

“Lay back down,” his son’s voice said. He shifted in the chair, letting thin rays of sunlight roll across his cheeks.

“The less active I am the worse the scars will become,” Stannis replied as he continued his movements. He twisted himself at the waist, cringing as he felt the skin over his belly pull taunt. The edges of his wounds screeched with agony, and it was only then that he straightened back out. Then, he repeated the movement on the other side.

Harry’s disapproval was plain to see in the dark look in his eyes, but he brokered no further complaint as Stannis stretched. Had he done so, Stannis would have been ready to chastise him yet again. He’d gone through war. He’d seen the grievous injuries that could befall a man, and he’d learnt how to treat them as effectively as was possible. Pain was unavoidable, but it merely hardened his constitution and reinforced his resolve. He would not let himself be bested by his body’s ails.

As he continued to stretch, his son decided that there were more productive ways of spending their time.

“We received word that the King has reached Winterfell,” Harry told Stannis. “Given the time it took for the raven to reach us, it is likely that they will be returning in a little more than a month’s time.”

“That is if my brother doesn’t deign to rest and help himself to Winterfell’s stores of foodstuffs and wine,” Stannis replied darkly. He wished his words could actually be a joke. “Any word if Lord Stark accepted the King’s proposal to become his new hand?”

“None,” Harry replied reluctantly. “The letter was scant with details.”

“Why would the capital need to be apprised of the King’s activities?” Stannis grumbled rhetorically. “Leave it, then. We can assume that if there are any issues on the road that we will hear of them from one of Varys’ little birds. Speaking of which, how goes the search for the banditry plaguing the crownlands?”

“Poor,” Harry admitted. “Ser Gladden was struck in the thigh by an arrow. His men were unable to capture the attacker, who quickly fled down a nearby river and into the hills. Ser Tallad’s men have come down with the bloody flux. They sent back a rider who claims that it must’ve been caused by sabotage from the outlaws they’re tracking down, but they offered no evidence to support this.”

Rampant speculation and conspiracy was inevitable in any campaign, but to have it begin too soon on what was supposed to be a simple mission seemed entirely out of place. These were missions being led by knights. They ought to be able to track down a single attacker and ensure that their food and water is free from contaminants that could cause this. Either there truly was sabotage or the knights’ egos were leading them astray.

“Ser Justin has been the only one to report back with any degree of success,” Harry continued. “He happened to come upon a small village who was being harassed by these outlaws. He and his men hid their horses at a small camp they established nearby and snuck into the town at night and hid inside of the homes of the villagers alongside them. When the outlaws came, Ser Justin and his men cut down all but a few stragglers, who quickly fled when the bloodshed began.”

“Cowards will always flee at the first sign of pushback,” Stannis said dismissively. “Whoever is coordinating these efforts to harass travellers and smallfolk within the crownlands clearly hasn’t chosen his men as well as he should have.”

“It seems too coordinated to be entirely random, but Ser Justin’s raven said that the men they found carried no banner, although they were all wearing brown-and-yellow dyed clothes,” Harry told Stannis. “There doesn’t appear to be any known active groups of outlaws wearing those colours. It could be a new organised group, but their actions have me questioning that.”

“Whatever the case is, they’ve certainly picked a fine time to stir up trouble,” Stannis said. “The King is gone from the throne and we have a tourney to prepare for.”

Harry perked up a bit at that, something he often did when he had better news to share. “Lord Baelish has managed to secure three-hundred-thousand gold dragons from Lord Tywin, and he expects to receive another three hundred thousand from a Tyroshi trade cartel with whom he’s had dealings with in the past.”

“And how is it that Littlefinger has managed to acquire such generous funds?” Stannis asked, fearing the answer.

“I’m aware that part of his promise to the Tyroshi trade cartel is an expedited process to allow their goods to flow inland into Westeros through the ports in King’s Landing,” Harry said slowly, like he was repeating the words from memory. “Apparently, it will allow them to reach towns that they haven’t been easily able to before.”

This sounded more like smuggling goods past the tax collectors at the ports to Stannis. Perhaps he needed to have a talk with Baelish about this himself once he was better. As competent as Harry was, he was still new to ruling on such a large scale. Dragonstone had little trade due to the lack of resources upon the island that they could use to trade back with, so the lessons Harry had been taught in managing Dragonstone’s gold were less detailed than what was likely necessary for a lord of a major port city who had to deal with the realities of smuggling.

Perhaps Ser Davos could help educate Harry on the matter, but not until this mess with his attackers had been dealt with.

“Father?” Harry prompted him. Evidently, he’d drifted too far away in his thoughts.

“I’m pleased with how well you’ve been managing the kingdom thus far,” Stannis said in a rare show of praise. Too rare, he wondered, given the look of surprise on Harry’s face.

“I… thank you,” Harry replied.

“But I will sit the throne again soon,” Stannis reminded him.

Countless other men would have expressed frustration and outrage at being removed from such an important position, but his son didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

“I know,” Harry said with a small smile. “But not until you’re healthy again.”

“I cannot wait until I am of perfect health,” Stannis stated firmly. “I aim to sit the throne in a week’s time, if not sooner.”

“You haven’t even left your bed for more than a couple of minutes at a time,” Harry pointed out, more out of concern than a genuine attempt to argue with Stannis.

“Which is why I’ll be heading down to the yard right now for a brief walk,” Stannis told him.

The look on his son’s face was almost comical in how his eyebrows shot up so quickly. “You could hurt yourself.”

“I cannot languish here forever,” Stannis argued. “There is merit in testing my limits. Pycelle will be back soon enough to change my dressings. Now, I’m going with or without you. Which will it be?”

Harry couldn’t hide the sigh that left his lips. Stannis didn’t chastise him for it. Instead, he slowly shifted his legs over to the edge of the bed and waited as Harry brought over some clothes for him to put on as well as a finely-crafted cane.

After he dressed and rose unsteadily to his feet, Harry hovered around him like one would an infant who was just beginning to learn how to walk. Had it not been for the very real possibility that he could fall and reopen several of his wounds, Stannis would’ve told him off. He needed to be able to portray strength even when he was injured.

Stannis allowed most of his weight to rest against the cane in his hands. It did not tremble as he walked, no matter how pained he felt as he walked further than he had since this incident had occurred.

The doors leading out of his rooms were opened by Ser Erren at Stannis and Harry’s approach. A score of men-at-arms stood out in the corridors, a sight that was bound to ward off any undesirables from attempting such another heinous act upon his life.

“Take me down to the yard,” Stannis ordered Harry.

“Why don’t we walk around this level instead?” Harry suggested quietly into his ear so that the other men couldn’t hear it. “The stairs—”

“Will be just fine for me,” Stannis interrupted, forcing himself on ahead.

Harry signalled for half of the men-at-arms to follow them, and so they did, slowly, matching the painful pace at which Stannis had to walk.

Each step down felt like another knife was being grazed across his torso. A deep red heat had settled into his breast and stayed there, but so long as he wasn’t dripping blood from his poultices, then Stannis would continue down. These animals had tried to kill him in his own quarters. Let them see him standing strong in the yard well before any man had the right to do so.

Harry’s frown felt like it was burning a hole into the back of Stannis’ head. Perhaps he was being wilful and overzealous with his ambitions, but that was his choice to make. He’d heard his son’s council and made his decision.

Even only a few months ago, Stannis knew that he would’ve taken Harry’s behaviour as that of a disobedient son, but things were different now. Harry was a man grown, and his actions atop the iron throne had proved that he was a capable and intelligent leader. He was everything any lord could’ve hoped for in an heir, but if he lacked the cunning and subtlety necessary in King’s Landing, he may end up dead.

Stannis almost snorted in sardonic amusement. Here he was mentally chastising his son when Stannis was the one to be attacked already. Perhaps he was being too hard on Harry.

But if he wasn’t hard on his son, then how would he ever be able to survive this cruel, vindictive world?

When his feet reached the solid floor once again, Stannis let out a long sigh. He paused for a moment, well aware of the fact that his men were all still stuck on the staircase behind him. The reprieve was wonderful yet short-lived as he pushed himself forward.

Two men-at-arms rushed ahead to open the doors to the yard. As expected, Lannister men were out practising. It took several seconds before any of them noticed the new arrivals. It was sloppy work really. Stannis, Harry, and nearly all of their men were already outside before word got round the group of a dozen and a half Lannisters.

The sunlight felt good upon Stannis’ skin, and even the foul stench from the city carried in on the breeze wasn’t enough to damper his mood. Stannis’ men flanked outward, taking space to protect their lord if anything were to happen. If an assassin was still waiting to finish off Stannis, this would be the time and place to do it. Yet, the Lannisters clearly took it as a threatening sign towards them. Their men began shifting around uncomfortably, sending wary looks all about.

Good, Stannis thought to himself, let their fears grow in their mind. Stannis needed to exude strength now more than ever. Even if he himself may appear weak, his house needed to look strong.

“Do you wish to use the yard for your men, my lord?” One Lannister soldier tentatively asked, calling out to Stannis.

Stannis ignored him, setting his gaze upon the man in the white suit of armour making his way down the steps from the Throne Room.

“You may continue your training,” Harry replied to the soldier. His words seemed to do little to ease the tension that’d built up.

Ser Barristan Selmy waited until he was close to Stannis to speak. “I’m surprised to see you on your feet, my lord.”

“Ser Barristan,” Stannis acknowledged him with a slight bow of his head. “Any developments in the search for who was behind the attempt on my life?”

“Regretfully not,” Ser Barristan replied, seeming genuinely remorseful over that fact.

“Regrets do little to comfort me,” Stannis replied curtly. “It seems awfully suspicious that two men could simply burst into my rooms with no one being the wiser.”

“I’ve set men about searching the tunnels beneath the Red Keep,” Ser Barristan said, as though his words could be any sort of consolation.

“Last I heard, those tunnels were unmapped and incredibly dangerous,” Stannis pointed out. “What makes you think that the attackers came from there?”

“Where else could they have come from?” Ser Barristan asked in reply. “The guards on watch all reported that no one snuck in through the main gates or over any of the walls.”

“These men could have been smuggled in by someone aboard a shipment of grain,” Stannis countered.

Ser Barristan looked aghast at the suggestion. “Certainly no one within the Red Keep would do such a thing, my lord. Everyone was incredibly surprised and saddened about the attack upon your life.”

As if that was supposed to confirm that they were all innocent. King’s Landing was full of snakes and liars. The best in Westeros congregated here. It would be all too easy to fool an honourable man like Ser Barristan.

“If they managed to reach all the way into my chambers without being noticed, I doubt that they’d have left a traceable path anywhere in the Red Keep. The best chance to figure out the cause is to uncover who it was that sent them here in the first place and for what motive. This was too precise to be the work of random cutthroats,” Stannis told him as he began to turn his body back towards the hall he came from. His torso was aching harder again, and he needed to climb the stairs back up to his rooms before his body gave out entirely.

“I can promise you that we will find justice for the attack on your life,” Ser Barristan said solemnly.

Justice? There was no justice in a nest of vipers, only the risk of death for those unprepared for the dangers within.

And Stannis would never be unprepared here again.

The tension fled the yard the moment that Stannis returned to his residence. Two of his men-at-arms hurried ahead of it to clear the way, just in case some danger had appeared in the few moments that they’d been outside. The clinking of his cane along the stone floor maintained a steady pace until he reached the stairs and the doors closed behind him.

Stannis came to a halt, breathing heavily through his nose. His legs were burning now. Days without much use had left them weak, weaker than they ought to be. He’d need to walk as well as stretch everyday to get back to his previous form.

Harry didn’t humiliate Stannis by asking if he required help getting back upstairs in front of all of his men. He simply came to a stop next to Stannis and waited until he managed to muster up the energy to continue on.

Each step brought upon greater agony than the last, but Stannis suffered through it with a brutal determination that wouldn’t see him fail.

It was only behind closed doors with his son that Stannis finally let out a pained gasp. Harry’s strong arm wrapped itself around his waist in an instant, and Stannis leaned heavily upon him.

“I could carry you,” Harry offered in a quiet suggestion.

Stannis’ glare was answer enough.

“Just help me to bed,” Stannis said a moment later as he started moving again.

The soft featherbed was delightful beneath his aching body. As he lifted up his shirt, he found his bandages on his chest with more blood on them than earlier. Everything came at a cost, but some were worth bearing.

Harry returned to his seat next to him with firm diligence. He’d have to leave to sit the throne soon, but until then, he maintained his vigil.

Once again, his son met his expectations, yet Stannis was still impressed by it nonetheless. He would be a great lord one day, but there was one thing that needed to come before then.

“When I sit the throne,” Stannis began, drawing Harry’s attention to him. “I want you to go out and track down the outlaws plaguing the King’s lands.”

“Me?” Harry said in surprise.

“Yes, you,” Stannis repeated bluntly. “You’ve done well here, but the knights you’ve sent out haven’t done enough. This problem needs to be dealt with before the King’s return and, ideally, before the other Great Houses begin to arrive.”

“I understand,” Harry nodded. “I’ll do as you bid.”

“Good. Power is a fragile thing. Lesser lords are always searching out weaknesses within their superiors, and they will pounce upon it. Westeros has been peaceful under Robert’s rule, but that could change greatly if the Crown fails in its duty to protect those within its lands. Deal with the villains as you see fit, and ensure the continued peace of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Knighthood would be quite becoming of his son. He had the handsome features that had long-since begun to attract the gaze of women, and his commanding presence upon the throne showed him to be a fit ruler. If he could prove his prowess in combat, he would be quite a well-rounded man.

He was getting older now, and a betrothal would be needed to secure their family’s future.

Stannis needed to begin looking for the right match. And what better time than this grand tourney? At least one good thing could come out of it.