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Storm's End and Dragonstone
Lightning flashed, illuminating the entire tower, followed by thunder rumbling through the stone. The statues of pterosaurs, hellhounds, and gargoyles seemed to come to life, their eyes sparkling with expressions that mocked his failure.
Stannis sat silently in the Chamber of the Painted Table, listening to the thunder echoing from the Stone Drum Tower. In this wretched weather, rain poured endlessly outside the window as if the sky itself had opened.
He hated thunderstorms. They always reminded him of the storm that claimed his parents during their boat journey.
"Devan! Devan? Damn boy," he cursed, forgetting that the child had just lost his father and four brothers.
The little squire arrived with red eyes. He opened the door and apologized, but the king, deep in his depression, merely muttered a few curses.
Stannis had lost nearly as much as this boy. His hair had turned gray and his face aged beyond his years. Though only in his thirties, he looked like an old man at death's door. It seemed Robert and Renly were just a few steps ahead of him. Soon they would all meet in the Seven Hells. Stannis scoffed at the thought—he didn't even believe in the Seven Gods. There was no place for him except the Seven Hells, and Renly and Robert were no better.
And Joffrey, Tywin, Cersei. They were all bound for hell, every last one of them.
As the squire knelt trembling at the door, Stannis said, "Go see if Melisandre is awake."
When the boy left the hall, Stannis tapped his fingers on the table and stared at the map of Westeros, lost in thought.
"Your Grace?" Not long after the squire departed, another figure entered the chamber.
The bandaged King of the Narrow Sea looked up to see Maester Pylos at the door. This maester always worked quietly. Compared to those who chirped all day long, Stannis rather liked his character.
As expected, his vassals and lords were as fickle as wine. They dreamed only of their own rights and honor. He would never forgive them for this.
"Maester, what do you want?" the king asked.
"Your Grace, I heard you haven't slept for two days. That won't help your wound heal," the maester said, concerned about Stannis's condition. He was the one who had bandaged the king.
It was a shallow cut that wouldn't heal properly. In the end, he had sewn the wound with needle and thread.
Though no one saw the king struck by a sword, a long scar remained on his back.
"I can make poppy milk for you if you need it," the maester offered.
Stannis shook his head. "I don't need poppy milk. I've been hurt worse than this, maester."
Seeing the king wouldn't listen, the maester handed him a parchment. "News from Storm's End, Your Grace."
Had Storm's End also surrendered to Joffrey? Stannis opened the letter.
Pylos heard the king laugh, the sound mixing with the thunderstorm until he couldn't tell whether it was thunder or the king's laughter.
"Do you know what this says?" The king asked, but the maester shook his head solemnly.
"The Lord of Summerhall has brought us good news. He has never let me down. I truly regret not taking him to King's Landing with me. His ability to lead an army is unmatched in my lifetime. Even stationed at the rear, he has brought us victory."
Defeating Highgarden's army and capturing Mace Tyrell was undoubtedly a great triumph.
"He is a sharp sword, maester," the king muttered. "I gave him the hilt, but it became increasingly difficult to hold. That's why I didn't take him with me. He couldn't be controlled anymore." If you don't wield a sword properly, you'll cut yourself. "Are the soldiers charging for him or for me?"
Of course, Melisandre had also seen in her flames that Jon Snow would prevent her from marching to King's Landing. His continuous victories had made his reputation even greater than the king's.
"He's barely half my age, perhaps even less," the king said melancholically.
The king handed the letter to Pylos. "Give this to Alester Florent."
Ser Alester Florent was his new Hand. With Stannis secluded, Alester now managed the entire castle.
When the busy Hand received the letter, he smiled instantly. This was good news, especially for Dragonstone, where morale had fallen so low. This victory was desperately needed.
He hurried back to his chamber and wrote a letter.
The message instructed Jon Snow to bring Mace Tyrell to Dragonstone quickly.
Alester thought Duke Mace Tyrell could fetch a large ransom from the Tyrell family, perhaps even enough to secure the return of his own Brightwater Keep.
King's Landing received news of Lord Mace Tyrell's defeat at Storm's End before Dragonstone did.
At this time, King's Landing still celebrated their victory, with Lord Tywin, Hand of the King, rewarding deserving officials in the Red Keep.
Ser Garlan Tyrell was granted the title, lands, and taxes of Brightwater, becoming a new earl of the realm.
Ser Philip Foote was awarded Nightsong for his service in killing Lord Bryce Caron of Nightsong.
Bronn was knighted as Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.
Lord Petyr Baelish was granted Harrenhal, becoming its lord and ruler of the Riverlands.
This war had created many upstarts throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
The celebrations lasted only a few days before a thunderbolt brought dark clouds over the Red Keep.
Tyrion still lay in bed. When he had led his troops out to meet the enemy, his face had been slashed from cheek to chin. He had been unconscious for four days.
"Your little friend did something incredible while you were asleep," said Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, standing before Tyrion's velvet bed.
"Who?" Tyrion looked at him. Bronn's washed hair was combed back. He wore a fine leather coat with silver edging on the collar and buckle, and silver chains hanging from his belt.
Noticing the dwarf examining him, Bronn pointed to his shirt. "Look, the burning chain, my knightly emblem. How does it compare to the fire-breathing white bird?"
"The chain and the white bird are both mediocre," Tyrion said dismissively.
"You mean Jon Snow? What did he do?"
"He defeated the Highgarden army besieging Storm's End. Now Lord Mace Tyrell is a prisoner there. No one knows if he's dead or alive."
Tyrion frowned, feeling pain across his wounded face.
"What did my father do?" he asked.
"Nothing yet, but the new Lord of Brightwater has led cavalry southward."
"The Lord of Brightwater?"
"Seems to be the brother of the Knight of Flowers."