Game of Thrones: StormBorn

289AC

The Fury's return to Dragonstone was a thing of small fanfare. Most of the fleet had already split off back to Kings landing for repair and resupply. Or else to other ports along the coast from Tarth north to Cracklaw point. Still, despite the lack of fanfare, or perhaps because of it, Stannis was glad to be back to his own holding. It would never be Storm's End, but his family was here, even if they had been strangely silent for some time. To his growing fear.

His fears were relieved somewhat when he saw that Maester Cressen and his wife both had come down to the port to see him in, the small delegation cast into shadow by the Enormity of the Galley as it came into port. He was surprised to see Selyse, but he supposes it was her duty, and perhaps she wanted him to perform his own as she often did when he made it to Dragonstone.

"Can you take care of the men Davos?"

The Knight nodded and he returned the favor, stepping down the gangplank to go meet with the two.

"My Lord, it is good to see you returned in good health. We were rather thrilled to hear of your victory."

Stannis felt his spirits drop as he heard the tightness in the old man's voice. He glanced sharply to his wife, but her face betrayed nothing of the problem either, save a look of worry that he had scarcely seen her wear.

"What is wrong Maester?" He asked his almost-glad countenance from a moment before turning on its head.

"Ah, well, many things have happened recently, but here is not the place to discuss it. Let's return to the keep."

Stannis blinked at the words but then nodded. If it was serious enough that Cressen feared spies then he could certainly afford to speak in a more secure location.

"give me a moment to make Sir Davos aware," he said quickly, waving the man down and letting him know he was going to the keep.

He noticed the whole town seemed to be on edge as they moved through it, and the castle had guards posted at a full watch.

when the gate shut behind them with a heavy *thud* he turned to his Master with a questioning look, and the man simply gestured him on into the great hall.

"Good enough." The old man said, sitting down and bidding he do the same. After a moment Selyse sat next to him, her eyes staring straight forward as if she was trying to contain herself. "First and foremost. Your Son found the Valyrian vault he was looking for and a truly spectacular hoard inside."

Stannis raised an eyebrow at that. "Spectacular enough that you all have decided to shut the castle off as if it is under siege?"

"There were no less than forty Valyrian Steel weapons in the vault."

Stannis looked at the man for a moment, the words taking time to settle in. "Forty…"

You could have heard a pin drop in the hall despite its size.

"Wait.. did you just say Forty?!?" for the first time in a very long time, Stannis Baratheon found himself caught flat-footed. House Baratheon had only ever had one such weapon, and that was lost with his father's ship, sunken deep in the Bay of Storms. "That's… that's more than the Targaryens ever had."

"The Vault predates their coming here, by what I estimate to be around one hundred and thirty years. It was built before the doom, and the rest of its treasure is just as worthy as the weapons. All of it was somehow preserved against the cold and damp. Which brings us to the second problem."

Before he could ask Cressen what he meant, his wife blurted out the answer. Her face finally breaking into a mass of worry.

"Arthur has contracted Greyscale." She said matter-of-factly. "My son got Greyscale pulling treasures for you out of that damned vault."

Stannis wasn't quite sure how to respond to his life, normally she was simple enough to deal with, but now, with tears welling in her eyes and the news of his son's…

'Arthur might die.'

That was unacceptable.

Stannis stood to his feet.

"Where is he?"

"He's shut himself in his room at the moment. He let me in to see him once, to verify that it was truly Greyscale, but otherwise, he has denied all contact but to have men pass water and food through the door. He says he doesn't want to infect others."

Stannis could see the logic in that, the duty his son took on, but he just couldn't find it in himself to care. He turned to Selyse, who had dabbed up the tears of her outburst with a kerchief. "Take me there, I can't navigate this blasted castle."

Maester Cressen made a valiant attempt to stand, trying to block them. "Now Stannis, I will tell you now, he has only contracted the scale, not the plague, he should be fine given adequate care, which he seems capable of giving himself well enough. I would not have left him alone had I thought he would not-" Stannis cut him off, marching past the man with Selyse. Contagion or no, lethal or no, he would not fail his son the one time he actually seemed to need him.

It was duty, and also more than that.

His wife guided him down the paths of the castle swiftly to the shut door of his son's quarters. They may have disliked each other in many ways, but at this moment they acted as one.

His support was evidently all she needed to override Cressen.

He knocked three times, sharply, and perhaps a bit harder than he needed too.

"... I'm going to guess that that's Mother?" he heard from the other side of the door. His son's voice sounding clear despite the sickness.

"Close, but incorrect," Stannis spoke clearly, turning the knob which was surprisingly unlocked.

"Father? Come in if you feel you must, but know that you risk your own health doing so."

He pushed open the door, the quarters were large, though not so much as his own princely quarters, and his son sat at the table scribbling notes down without a shirt, his pale chest and back exposed along with the grey splotches that formed high on his right shoulder. His son quickly closed the notebook, turning to face him.

Stannis felt the wind go out of him at the sight.

"It's true then?"

"That I managed to pick up Greyscale in the ancient dragon-vault? Yes. The disease loves the damp and cold, I should have known some might reside there."

"Is that why you have the fire burning in summer?" he asked, noting the small bellows next to the blazing fireplace in the corner of the room, which flickered a pale orange.

"partially that, and also because scalding water is supposed to slow down its spread, amongst other things." the boy shut the book before him, instead gesturing to a shelf full to the side. "I have become quite the expert on idiotic methods for combating Greyscale over the last two days, and all that I can speak to in order to relieve you is that this does not seem to be a deadly case. The Grey plague is reported to start at the extremities, and my fingers and toes work fine as of yet."

"But-" His mother started, but Arthur simply pointed towards his shoulder.

"This is going to spread somewhat, I cannot stop it, but I am currently doing everything reasonable to slow it's spread that does not include removing my own collarbone. I do intend to live through this mother."

"Oh… Arthur…"Stannis was rather taken aback when the woman flung herself at their son, only for the boy to push his chair into her and rebuff her attempt to embrace him.

"Mother please, you cannot hug me. If you got infected your own case might not be this mild."

Stannis felt a chill as his son turned to him, a pleading look in his eyes. He already knew what the boy wanted. He wanted Stannis to do his duty, to look past his own feelings on the matter.

It felt like a punch in the gut, but one for his own sake, like replacing a dislocated joint.

"We need to go," he said, finally, his hand clamping down around his wife's shoulder. "If anything changes. If you think you are going to die, tell me or Maester Cressen," he said simply. Taking his wife out of the room. He knew that his son would suffer, that he very well might still die. The whole thing felt like a blade being pressed against Stannis' heart.

Nonetheless, he would endure it rather than risk himself pointlessly.

For that was what duty meant. Even in pain, sorrow or heartbreak, he would soldier on.

He was a Baratheon damn it.

He had to.