Storm's End

”A good man.” Davos echoed with a nod. Everyone in the city who wasn’t noble born still spoke highly of King Aegon. Though no student of history, Seaworth was aware that he had been good to the Smallfolk. He frowned. ”Why isn’t Lord Tywin the King, if he was so good at ruling? I would not re-hire a poor carpenter to replace my rigging when the new one did a better job for half the pay.”

”So they let him sit the throne and do the job, but he doesn’t wear the crown?” Davos’ incredulous tone indicated his sympathies lay with Tywin, and that the Lord of the Rock was getting a poor deal out of this.

”A bad king who is lawful, against a good king who is not.” Davos grumbled. He paused in thought for a moment. ”I make no claim to be a worldly man, but in the east I know they don’t bother with kings and the like.” Pentos had been a dizzying place, full of strange folk with stranger customs. Rich men ruled there, and it didn’t matter what bed they were born in either.

Davos nodded. ”Aye. Pentos and Lys, which I liked well enough.” He had been a younger man, then.

”I am not certain you would like Lys, milord. A city of whores, if you pardon my tongue.” To his shame, he had indulged. That wildness was in him no longer. ”There they let merchants and pirates rule. A haven for smugglers and criminals if I ever knew one.” That was where Davos had gotten most of his goods, after all.

"Perhaps I will show you one day, Lord. There are wonders there that I do not understand myself. Giant beasts being led by the collar, fanged cats and spotted horses. The men and women wear dyes in their beards and hair, and dress in more gold than a man could ever dream of seeing."

Davos smiled a little at how enraptured the young lord was. It was difficult to remember that Baratheon was barely a man, scarcely older than his own sons.

"And other men and women, shaved and branded. Not a pretty sight. I once saw a boy stabbed in the street for no cause, and nobody even looked at him." The body had stayed there for days, until the stink demanded it be moved. Involuntarily, he shuddered at the memory of the stench entering his nostrils, the flesh cooking like bacon in the midday sun.

A party of riders, bearing the colors of Estermont, approached Storm's End on one of the few days that the torrential and rather fierce weather wasn't as bad as other days. Lord Eldon and his son, Aemon, had come to meet with their kin, for the uncle of Stannis desired to see, for himself, what his nephew had planned for the Stormlands. A new era was approaching and Estermont certainly wanted to be a part of it.

Eldon and Aemon approached their kin, bowing their heads to the stern and serious Stannis Baratheon.

Would have come sooner, nephew, but your grandfather left some debts that had to be settled.

A strange one was noted with a Lyseni musician. Took some time to settle that one.

I had to come and see with my own eyes though. To see my sister's second son become Lord of the Stormlands.

Eldon places his hands on his hips, taking a good look at Stannis. A grin appearing in his thick beard.

I bet you have big plans for the Stormlords, with the hope that peace will be returning... Seven's blessings of course.

Lord Estermont had seen the horrors of the war and the many Stormlanders that now would not be returning. Robert had been bold, but Stannis was... one wouldn't say cautious, perhaps reserved? Well, he still had a mind and that mind would certainly go to work, rebuilding the Stormlands and ensuring a bright future for them. Eldon was already past fifty. He certainly didn't want to go into his old age becoming fat.

Eldon was certainly noticing the presence of Seaworth. The Stormlords were becoming familiar with this smuggler-turned-noble, the Onion Knight, who preserved the food of Storm's End, during the siege, with well... onions. Lord Estermont nods his head to Allard before turning to Andrew, giving the young boy a grin.

His father, Lomas, was certainly relieved to hear he endured the siege. But doubly proud for the experience he earned.

Lord Estermont raises a cup to his nephew's honor before drinking from it. At the mention of the former loyalists, Eldon sighs some. Unlike the North, who were unanimous in their support of Lord Stark, the Stormlands were divided, just so like the Riverlands and the Vale of Arryn. Eldon had fought at the battles that involved Stormlords being on the opposing side.

Ah yes... Fell, Grandison, Cafferen... and Connington. Two of those houses have had their lord's bodies smashed by the warhammer of your brother.

Lord Fell at Summerhall and Jon Connington at the Trident.

Next in line for Griffin's Roost, I hear, is a cousin of Jon's. Ronald, I think?

Eldon contemplates for a moment, drinking once more from his cup before chewing on a bit of salted pork.

Robert forgave them, but you are the Lord of Stormlands now. You are justice now, Stannis. Cassana always said you were like your royal great-great-grandfather, Maekar I.

Targaryen blood had flowed into House Baratheon through the marriage of Rhaella and Ormund, the grandparents of the current Baratheons. The Princess being a daughter of Aegon V was thus a granddaughter of Maekar.

And Maekar never forgot a slight against him, his family, or the realm. He made sure each cut, however shallow, was repaid in turn, reminding all who he was, what he represented, and why one shouldn't betray him in any degree. It was never a good idea to test or provoke a response from him.

Eldon looks at his nephew, knowing full well that Stannis wasn't going to just let them slip by.