Part V: Catelyn
“Announcing the Lord Stannis, Lord of the Stormlands, who styles himself King of the Seven Kingdoms, Lord of the Andals and the First Men, the Chosen One of R’hllor, Azor Azai, Lord of Dragonstone.”
To Cat’s left, Queen Roslin yawned. “Send him in,” she said. Eager as she was, she was still just a young girl, Lady Stark noted, and was greener even than her younger son Bran when it came to governing. The light from the stained glass windows was rapidly dimming; they had been there since they broke their fast early that morning, with only an hour’s recess for their midday meal. Tiring work it was – for the most part, not difficult, only tedious. Until now, of course. Of course Stannis would come in the evening, when the day – and their patience – was at its end.
The Lord of Storm’s End and Dragonstone entered, flanked by the Red Priestess and the Onion Knight. “I’ve come for my throne, thank you very much. Would you please get out of it?” He glared at Roslin, who shifted in her seat and looked at Catelyn.
Ser Davos stepped forward. “My apologies, Queen Roslin, Lady Catelyn; I hope both of you are well, and King Stannis and I congratulate Robb Stark on his victories against the pretender and bastard-born Joffrey Lannister, who falsely styled himself Baratheon. It was a great sight to see the heads of all traitors atop spikes above the Red Keep.”
As smooth with words as he is with ships, the former smuggler was. “Well, unfortunately my daughter Sansa’s head sat there before, where Ned’s once sat and Joffrey’s now stands; fittingly, they all sit on the same spike.”
“Where is the Tyrell girl, if I may ask? We did not see her head at the gates,” Davos noted.
Roslin shook her head. “No, you will not find it there; my husband has sent her head to Mace Tyrell her lord father, to warn him what happens to those who side with monsters.”
Stannis styled. “Yes…her ambition to be queen ultimately killed her. Now, back to the point, I am King of the Seven Kingdoms and demand you to hand the city – and rightfully the North – back to me.” The Red Priestess tapped him on the shoulder and whispered into his ear. “Well, yes, I know, you’re right.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I request that you hand over my capital city, and thank you for providing my faithful citizens with food and drink in their hour of greatest famine.”
Well, now, there’s the problem. Roslin sat forward in the throne. “Well, my lord – ”
“Your Grace,” interjected Ser Davos.
“Ser Davos, Lord Stannis, and Lady Melisandre,” Roslin continued. “My husband and I have no ambitions on the South and do not even desire to rule as King and Queen over all of Westeros. We are willing to recognize your claim as King on the Iron Throne, but nothing else. Both the people and the local lords native to King’s Landing and the lords of the Crownlands have declared for the direwolf and bent the knee to the King in the North. The Great Sept is yours, and we will grant you use of the throne room for coronations and major events, but beyond that, you may not take up residence and make your capital in King’s Landing.” She leaned back in the throne, crossed her legs, and looked down upon Stannis.
She already sits like a Queen, Cat thought. And thinks like one, too. Not many in the Seven Kingdoms have the audacity to speak up against a man like Stannis Baratheon. Still, it wasn’t an unfair deal for the brother of the dead king – his army was outnumbered even by the garrison left by Robb when he returned north to deal with Balon Greyjoy, thanks to his defeat at the Battle of the Blackwater at the hands of the now-dead Imp and Ser Loras Tyrell, no lords paramount as of yet recognized him as King, and his treasury was exhausted.
Stannis stepped forward. “This is an outrage!! No pretender and his whore shall – ”
Ser Davos clamped his hand over his lord’s mouth. “What His Grace means to say is that we deem your terms honest and fair, and as such we accept them.” He turned to Stannis and, meaning to whisper so that they could not hear, and failing, reprimanded him. “Do you want to see your head join the bastard’s on the spikes? They have literally every advantage over us!”
Roslin smiled. “Very well. Dearest mother-in-law, when shall we hold the coronation of our friend Stannis Baratheon, King of the Five Kingdoms, Lord of the Andals, and Protector of the Realm?”
“In a fortnight, I say, to give the cooks enough time to prepare a feast and for invitations to be sent. I must apologize to the King Stannis, however, that our Robb will not be in attendance. The King in the North and of the Trident and Lord of the First Men is returning to Winterfell with his army to engage the armies of King Balon Greyjoy, who falsely claims himself King in the North by right of conquest.”
With that, Queen Roslin motioned to the two of them and said. “You may go. Guards, bring in the next guest, and by the gods he better bet he last.” Obviously displeased, Stannis stormed out, followed closely by his companions.
The herald returned and announced that only one more supplicant was present – Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne, special envoy for Prince Doran Martell. Roslin ordered him in.
The Red Viper entered. “Ah, my Queen Stark, you do look especially beautiful today. Would you care for some wine?” He pulled a flask from his bag and offered it to her.
Catelyn did not trust him. “Do not play games with us, Prince Oberyn. What are you hear for?”
Oberyn looked at her. “Lady Catelyn, my greatest condolences for your deceased husband; never since the death of Rhaegar Targaryen have I met a man equal to Lord Stark in honor and justice.” He opened the flask and took a drink. “Do you not trust me, my lady? Haha, I would not trust me either if I were you.” He walked around the throne room, admiring the halls.
The two women shared a worried glance, unsure of where this was going.
“You want me to get to the point I am sure. Well, I thank you, and my brother thanks you. Why? Never before have we met anyone else who shares my love of dead Lannisters. And while justice has not been served in full for my dear, deceased sister, you have done us a great service.”
Cat smiled uneasily. “I am glad that you are happy, my lord.”
“We would like to seal the deal – you have a daughter, we have a son. My brother, in recognition of our gratitude, would like to unite our two families in marriage, Lady Sansa to Prince Trystane.”
Lady Stark cringed. “My daughter Sansa is dead, Prince Oberyn. As the city fell, Joffrey raped her, killed her, and put her head atop the Red Keep.”
Oberyn stopped in his tracks. “My deepest apologies, my lady, I did not know. I am glad that justice has been served for your daughter and that her death has been avenged.” He approached the widowed mother. “Remember, Dorne stands with you.”
The room stayed silent for a few seconds before Roslin spoke up. “Arya, however, is still unbetrothed, and is closer in age to your Prince Trystane. How is that for a match?”
“I do not have any objections to this, Your Grace. What do you say, Lady Catelyn?”
“She is not a proper lady, I fear. She is rude, despises etiquette and the duties of a lady, and prefers to play with swords and bows in the yard than working on her needlework or her studies.”
The Red Viper just smiled. “That is no object; I raise my daughters to be just like her. She will like Dorne greatly. And Trystane,” he laughed, “is the type of boy who could use a tough girl like her. Thank you, my beautiful ladies, and good night.”
Roslin stood. “Good. What’s for dinner? I’m famished!”