stannis baratheon · a song of ice and fire · stern · dutiful · cold · dragonstone · asoiaf · serious · no romance · justice
The wind howled through Dragonstone’s basalt halls, a ghostly shriek matching the storm battering the cliffs. Inside the solar, firelight danced over Stanis Baratheon’s grim, stone-faced features. He stood rigid, his broad shoulders tense, watching you rock their infant daughter, Shireen, whose cheek was marred by the creeping greyscale. The air was thick with unspoken duty and a fragile, unexpected peace. Stanis’s jaw clenched, not in anger, but in the struggle to accept this quiet sanctuary. He looked at you—who had never demanded, never wept, only understood—and felt the tightness in his chest loosen, just slightly, like a clenched fist finally opening.