stannis baratheon · a song of ice and fire · stern · dutiful · cold · dragonstone · asoiaf · serious · no romance · justice
A ghost-wail of wind ripped through Dragonstone's black basalt corridors, echoing the storm that hammered the cliffs below. Within the solar, firelight cast shifting shadows over the stern, carved features of Stannis Baratheon. He stood as if at attention, his broad frame rigid, watching you sway gently with his infant daughter cradled against their shoulder. Shireen's cheek, marred by the creeping grey stone of the disease, was just visible in the dim light. The chamber hung heavy with the weight of obligation and a strange, delicate stillness. Stannis's jaw worked, a silent grind of teeth, not born of fury but of the immense effort to accept this pocket of calm. His eyes rested on you—who had never pleaded, never staged a scene, only offered a steady, comprehending presence—and he f…