Roads to Power

288AC

The cold of Dragonstone's halls seemed alive, a creeping chill that gnawed at the bones. The wind howled beyond the stone walls, carrying the scent of brine and the faint, bitter tang of ash from the looming volcano. The flickering torches in the chamber fought valiantly against the gloom, their light casting erratic shadows over the high, vaulted ceilings. Stannis Baratheon stood by the war table, his gaunt face illuminated by the wavering glow.

The map before him bore the scars of countless campaigns: frayed edges, ink-stained corners, and hastily added notations. His dark blue eyes lingered on the jagged coastlines of the Stormlands and the Reach, areas where reports of Ironborn raids had grown more frequent. Fishing villages were left in smoldering ruins, their inhabitants slaughtered or dragged off as captives. It was not the work of a handful of rogue reavers. It was a pattern. And patterns had meaning.

A low knock at the chamber door interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter," Stannis commanded, his voice like iron scraping stone.

The door creaked open to reveal Ser Davos Seaworth. His weathered face was grim as he stepped inside, rainwater dripping from the hem of his cloak. "My lord," he began, his tone hushed but firm. "The lords have gathered as you ordered. They await you in the council chamber."

Stannis nodded, though his gaze did not leave the map. "Let them wait a moment longer." His hands gripped the edge of the table. "Tell me, Davos, do you trust in chance?"

Davos hesitated, the question unexpected. "No, my lord. Chance favors the prepared, or so I've learned."

Stannis glanced up, his expression as unyielding as the stone walls around them. "Then you understand why we must act. The Ironborn do not raid out of hunger or desperation; they raid because they scent weakness. Balon Greyjoy plots rebellion. He tests the waters now, probing the coasts. Soon, he will reveal his hand."

Davos tilted his head, his brow furrowed. "Balon Greyjoy crowns himself with every raid, my lord, but rebellion? Are you certain?"

"Certain?" Stannis repeated, his voice sharpening. "The only certainty is that men like Balon live for the sound of their own name shouted in defiance. My brother's reign is young, and Robert grows careless. He drinks, he hunts, and he plays at being king while the realm rots. If I wait for certainty, we will be caught unprepared when Balon strikes openly."

There was a pause, filled only by the muffled roar of the storm outside. Finally, Davos said, "You'll have the lords' swords, my lord. They'll follow your command."

Stannis exhaled through his nose. "They'll follow because they fear the alternative," he said, echoing a thought he'd voiced many times. "Loyalty bought with kindness is as brittle as glass. Fear... fear is enduring."

With that, he straightened and strode from the room. Davos fell into step behind him, their boots clicking against the cold stone floors as they made their way to the council chamber.

The council chamber was a stark and austere space, only adorning a few battered banners hanging from the walls and a single iron brazier in the center, sputtering weakly against the chill. Around the long table sat the gathered lords of Dragonstone's domain: Lord Celtigar of Claw Isle, his crimson cloak catching the firelight; Lord Sunglass, gaunt and pale, his fingers tapping nervously on the arm of his chair; and Lord Velaryon, his weathered face impassive.

The storm's fury outside was a constant backdrop, the wind rattling the windows and the waves crashing against the rocks below. The lords turned their eyes to Stannis as he entered, rising briefly in deference. Stannis motioned for them to sit and took his place at the head of the table, his presence dominating the room despite the austerity of his surroundings.

"My lords," he began without preamble, "we face a threat greater than any storm." He gestured to the map, where pins and markers denoted the recent Ironborn raids. "The Greyjoys test our resolve. They strike our villages, burn our ships, and leave death in their wake. These are not the actions of common reavers. This is the prelude to rebellion."

Lord Celtigar raised a skeptical brow. "Rebellion? My lord, the Greyjoys have always been marauders. Balon Greyjoy is a fool, but even he must know he cannot stand against the might of the Iron Throne."

"The Iron Throne is not here," Stannis snapped. "Robert is a thousand leagues away, too distracted to notice the noose tightening around his neck. If Balon rises, it will be because he believes the realm too fractured to stop him. And he will be right—unless we act."

Lord Velaryon leaned forward, his voice measured. "And what would you have us do, my lord? Preemptive action against the Greyjoys would be considered provocation, especially with no open declaration of rebellion."

"Provocation?" Stannis repeated, his voice low and icy. "The Greyjoys provoke us with every raid. And when Balon finally moves and declares himself King of the Iron Islands, it will be too late. We must prepare now. Lord Velaryon, your fleet will patrol the Narrow Sea. No Ironborn ship is to pass unchallenged."

Velaryon nodded. "It will be done."

Stannis turned his gaze to Lord Sunglass. "The coastal villages must be fortified. Archers are stationed in every watchtower. Supplies stockpiled. Let the Ironborn find no easy prey."

Sunglass hesitated, his thin lips pressing into a line. "And if we are wrong, my lord? If the Ironborn do not rise, we will have spent resources and manpower for nothing."

"And if we are right?" Stannis countered, his voice rising slightly. "If we are right, your preparations will save lives. Duty is not contingent on certainty, Sunglass. It demands vigilance."

The room fell silent. Stannis's gaze swept over the assembled lords, his presence as cold and unyielding as the storm outside. "You will do as I command," he said. "Not for my sake, but for the realm. The Ironborn thrive on chaos and fear; deny them both, and they will falter."

The lords murmured their assent, though their expressions were guarded. Stannis knew they doubted him. Doubt was their privilege. It would not alter the outcome.

Later, as the lords departed, Davos lingered by the brazier, his expression thoughtful. Stannis stood alone by the map, his jaw clenched as he stared at the markers.

"You see the doubts in their eyes," Davos said quietly. "Do they trouble you?"

Stannis did not look up. "Their doubts trouble only themselves. To fear its weight, a man does not need to believe in the hammer."

Davos allowed himself a faint smile. "You wield it well, my lord. But what of your doubts?"

Stannis's gaze flicked up, sharp and piercing. "I have none."

Davos tilted his head slightly, studying the man before him. "None at all?"

"None worth the name," Stannis said, returning to the map. "There is no room for doubt in duty. The moment I waver and falter, the enemy gains ground. I will not allow it."

The storm outside raged on, a deafening cacophony of wind and waves. It was a fitting backdrop, Davos thought, for the man who stood before him—unyielding, relentless, and utterly alone.

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Power Stones !!!!!!