1Arthur 1 289 AC

The Battlements of Dragonstone are grotesque, disgusting things, carved into the faces of the dragons that my great grandmother's family loved so much.

Personally, I find the statues closer to demons, not that I can't see the appeal in their living kin.

Still, it was here that even in my youth I found it easiest to speak to my father. As always, his eyes were cool and blue, and filled with an honesty that put to lie his intimidating size.

"Father…" I approached him from behind, making my intention to actually hold a conversation clear, as he had taught me.

"Arthur." His reply was curt, but let me know I was welcome here.

"You are going to fight the Ironborn." It wasn't a question, but my father could take the implied meaning.

"You cannot come with me, you are still too young, though I know that you chafe for more, much as I did at your age." I had no idea if he had actually 'chafed for more' at nine years old, but he had little time to talk, as always, he was only here to gather the fleet anyhow. I was lucky enough that he had even come to talk.

"I know. You still won't accept the cannons?"

"No, you were right that the Wisdom has value, but from what the men say they are still too dangerous and imperfect. We will rely on steel at this venture. When you are lord of Dragonstone you may use them if you wish. Until then I have a duty to those under me to not put them at risk."

I nodded at that, it had been what I expected, Alchemists were distrusted, and my use of Wisdom Frey to introduce them had brought with him the order's reputation. At least the man was properly pliable, and not a moron besides. If only we could get the damnable forges to work properly.

"Have you seen Shireen yet? She is still too young to miss you but…" It was a sore subject with father, the lack of time he could spend with us all due to his role as master of ships, and secondary Hand of the King for that matter. Still, it would do him good to see my baby sister.

"No," My father paused for a moment, breathing deeply of the salty blast before sighing, softer eyes than he was known for turning towards me. "I hadn't thought to, the cost of duty on my mind. Oh, don't give me that look, I will see your sister before I leave, and your mother besides, much as she dislikes me."

"Mother doesn't dislike you." I hurriedly said though I knew it was closer to the truth than I would like. "She just… wishes you could be home more."

"And leave the capital to Roberts foolishness? Unlikely, no, you don't have to lie to me, your mother and I have never truly loved each other, the best things to come of out marriage are you and your sister. We do our duty."

I moved up to hug him. I was sure that I was perhaps the only person in the Seven Kingdoms other than King Robert and perhaps Renly who could get away with doing so, and even then only when he was in the right mood, but I took the opportunity when I got it.

Perhaps, along with my sister, I was the only one amongst ant of those who got to feel my father's strong arms around my back.

"I know it is your duty father, just think of us when you can."

My father, implacable as he always seemed to be, froze for a second at that, before relaxing. "I always do, Arthur, I always do." My father brushed his hand through my hair, another rare sign of affection.

'He must be worried about the war.' I concluded internally. It made sense, the Ironborn were devils at sea, and fearless to boot.

"Come, you can lead me to your sister's cradle can't you?"

"Yes," I said, keeping the worry from my own voice. "I can do that."

I led my father down off of the battlements and into the courtyard through the gatehouse tower. The castle for its part was full of movement, even so early in the morning. Men moving wagons of supplies to and fro, taskmaster barking orders as the whole place thumped with excitement for the war to come, though the undercurrent of dread was ever-present as always within the former Targaryen Bastion.

We were greeted in the courtyard by Sir Seaworth, who was directing some of the men in moving supplies "My Lord." he greeted as he saw my father approach. "Arthur."

"Hello, Ser Davos," I replied cheerfully while my father made a sound of acknowledgment. "Is the stocking going well?"

"Well as can be expected, I suspect." Davos I knew had always found me a bit creepy, the odd maturity I always showed was likely as off-putting for him as it was appealing to my mother. Still, I had met him in person more than I had my father, and he had gradually grown accustomed to me enough that he treated me with more respect than a boy my age was due. "We will likely still have to restock in Dorne or the Westerlands."

My father ground his teeth at that, a habit that I would dearly like him to break. If for his dental health more than anything else. "And be overcharged for it as well no doubt."

"Aye Milord." Davos nodded, turning back to me. "Are you off to see your sister then?"

"Yes." I nodded, putting a smile back on my face. "Father is coming too."

"That'll be good for you my lord," Davos said, his eyes brightening. "A man fights better when he has more to fight for."

Father looked a bit caught off guard by that, but nodded sharply towards the smuggler. "Yes."

My smile got a bit bigger at that, and soon I was leading my father through the corridors of the keep proper to my sister's chamber.

When we reached the door, however, we did run into one last obstacle. "Husband, Arthur, here to see your sister are you?"

Selyse Baratheon, my mother, was a Visage of stern coldness to most people, including my father, and my sister, though she favored me to some extent, the son she wished for. Still, even towards me, her tongue was often a whip.

It was odd seeing the two of my parents together, both tall and dour, and utterly without love for the other, only a measured sort of respect.

"Selyse." My father said his eyes matching her own. "I am here to see our daughter."

"It would be the first time." Mother said, bitterness creeping into her voice. "You were absent for her birth after all."

"I have my duties, Wife."

"And duties to your wife as well. Lest you forget."

My father's eyes narrowed. "Duties that I will see to later, for now, I will see my daughter."

"Very well then." My mother stepped aside. "If you wish to do your duty then I shall be waiting in the chamber of the painted table."

My father watched her go from the corner of his eye, a quiet servant I hadn't even noticed hurrying after her.

After a moment, he turned to me, some small amount of warmth returning to his gaze. "Should you ever find yourself caught between two duties son, ensure that the greater is seen to first." He waited for my response, and I nodded sharply, even if I did not agree entirely. "Good, now let's see your sister."

Shireen had a mid-sized chamber on the north side of the drum that had a small window at its top and was otherwise lit by a small brazier, my own crib had once occupied the same room. My father moved quickly to her side and looked down at her as if restraining himself.

I had no such pride and scooped her up, tickling down her swaddled belly and gently rocking her. "Hey there Shireen, I've brought Father to see you."I said quietly, and I could swear a trace of a smile appeared on my father's face as she giggled."

"Here, you hold her," I said, pushing her into his arms and internally laughing at the dumbstruck look on his face. He was not at all used to this, and to my knowledge had picked me up only once in his life. Faced with a baby that giggled and burbled in his arms, Stannis Baratheon simply froze up.

I couldn't help it anymore, I broke out giggling a little, grabbing father's big hand and moving it to her belly. "just rub her a little bit, let her know you're there."

For a moment he had stared harshly at me, but then he remembered precisely where he was and his face softened correspondingly. Nervously he took to copying my actions, and for a little while, I managed to see a genuine smile on my father's face, a rare thing throughout my life.

He looked so much younger when he smiled, it reminded me that even now he was only twenty-five, and yet he had what seemed like the whole world on his shoulders.

I moved up and hugged him, and his shoulders sagged above me. Exhausted from his "duty" I had little doubt.

We stayed like that for a long while, the three of us Baratheons.

Finally, he let out a long sigh, handing Shireen back down to me. "See after your sister while I am gone, I must go see to your mother," he said, the grim mask that had slipped for but a moment slipping back over his brow.

I knew not whether he meant to see after her for the afternoon, or for the duration of the campaign, but either way, I would do so.

I was a Baratheon after all, and it was my duty