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got ficlet: a siege lifted
a siege lifted
Ned, Stannis | gen | ~600 words
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starkfish, who prompted anything with Ned and Stannis interacting. Originally posted at my Tumblr.
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"And what of Tyrell?" Stannis asked quietly, the first words he had spoken since he ordered the gates open.
Ned hesitated, exhausted in a way he could feel in his hands and feet. A dull ache thrummed behind his eyes, and the muscles of his back felt twisted into knots. There had been no battle -- Tyrell had surrendered the moment Ned's banners appeared on the horizon -- but Ned had ridden hard and slept little in the last fortnight, determined to arrive at Storm's End before even one of Stannis' men starved to death.
"Lord Tyrell will present himself in King's Landing," Ned said finally.
Stannis frowned. "King's Landing." The siege had whittled him down to skin and bone, and the gaunt, sharp-angled set of his face made him seem older than his years. We are none of us young men anymore, and perhaps Stannis least of all. Ned had seen blood and butchery in the last year, but he had never lacked for water or food, not for more than a handful of hours. "Where he will swear fealty to Robert, and all will be forgiven."
"Yes," Ned admitted. His anger at Robert still simmered under the surface, stoked by nightmares of Elia's children, of tiny bodies wrapped in Lannister cloaks, but he would not speak ill of Robert's decisions -- not publicly, and not when Robert had sat the throne less than a full turn. "Robert is anxious to avoid a rebellion from the Reach."
"And I am anxious to see Tyrell's head on a pike," Stannis countered. "He feasted to excess within the sight of my walls, while my own men -- good men -- squabbled over roots and rats. He tossed us his scraps, and said if we hurried we could suck the marrow from the bones before it rotted away."
"Robert," Ned began, pausing as two Baratheon men in dirty, loose-fitting surcoats came down the hallway. They were chewing yellow cheese and salt pork, taken from the food stores Ned had forced Tyrell to forfeit; he had yet to see Stannis eat anything. "Robert cannot afford a Rebellion from the Reach." Too much of Robert's victory had rested on Lannister treachery, and on Jaime's personal treason against Aerys. "He is not yet in a position to push the Tyrells too far."
Stannis scoffed. "He can't believe Tyrell's men would declare for Viserys."
"I don't know what Robert believes. He ordered me to take Tyrell's surrender and send him to King's Landing."
Stannis' thin mouth twisted sharply, his narrowed eyes boring into Ned like blue augurs. Jon Arryn had once said he thought Stannis more dangerous than Robert; Ned had not believed it then, but he saw it now. Robert was short-tempered to a fault, but he laughed as easily as he raged, and he rarely stayed angry longer than turning around. Stannis was a creature of calculation and cold fury. He would never forgive, and he would never forget.
"Of course," Stannis said. His voice could have been carved from stone. "It will be as the king commands."
"Were it up to me, Tyrell would he headed for the Night's Watch." And it is not up to me. I had that chance and I refused it, and already I do not regret it.
Stannis was silent for a moment, then said, "Food is still scarce, despite what you pried away from Tyrell's camp, but your men are welcome to rest here as long as they require."
Ned, Stannis | gen | ~600 words
For
--
"And what of Tyrell?" Stannis asked quietly, the first words he had spoken since he ordered the gates open.
Ned hesitated, exhausted in a way he could feel in his hands and feet. A dull ache thrummed behind his eyes, and the muscles of his back felt twisted into knots. There had been no battle -- Tyrell had surrendered the moment Ned's banners appeared on the horizon -- but Ned had ridden hard and slept little in the last fortnight, determined to arrive at Storm's End before even one of Stannis' men starved to death.
"Lord Tyrell will present himself in King's Landing," Ned said finally.
Stannis frowned. "King's Landing." The siege had whittled him down to skin and bone, and the gaunt, sharp-angled set of his face made him seem older than his years. We are none of us young men anymore, and perhaps Stannis least of all. Ned had seen blood and butchery in the last year, but he had never lacked for water or food, not for more than a handful of hours. "Where he will swear fealty to Robert, and all will be forgiven."
"Yes," Ned admitted. His anger at Robert still simmered under the surface, stoked by nightmares of Elia's children, of tiny bodies wrapped in Lannister cloaks, but he would not speak ill of Robert's decisions -- not publicly, and not when Robert had sat the throne less than a full turn. "Robert is anxious to avoid a rebellion from the Reach."
"And I am anxious to see Tyrell's head on a pike," Stannis countered. "He feasted to excess within the sight of my walls, while my own men -- good men -- squabbled over roots and rats. He tossed us his scraps, and said if we hurried we could suck the marrow from the bones before it rotted away."
"Robert," Ned began, pausing as two Baratheon men in dirty, loose-fitting surcoats came down the hallway. They were chewing yellow cheese and salt pork, taken from the food stores Ned had forced Tyrell to forfeit; he had yet to see Stannis eat anything. "Robert cannot afford a Rebellion from the Reach." Too much of Robert's victory had rested on Lannister treachery, and on Jaime's personal treason against Aerys. "He is not yet in a position to push the Tyrells too far."
Stannis scoffed. "He can't believe Tyrell's men would declare for Viserys."
"I don't know what Robert believes. He ordered me to take Tyrell's surrender and send him to King's Landing."
Stannis' thin mouth twisted sharply, his narrowed eyes boring into Ned like blue augurs. Jon Arryn had once said he thought Stannis more dangerous than Robert; Ned had not believed it then, but he saw it now. Robert was short-tempered to a fault, but he laughed as easily as he raged, and he rarely stayed angry longer than turning around. Stannis was a creature of calculation and cold fury. He would never forgive, and he would never forget.
"Of course," Stannis said. His voice could have been carved from stone. "It will be as the king commands."
"Were it up to me, Tyrell would he headed for the Night's Watch." And it is not up to me. I had that chance and I refused it, and already I do not regret it.
Stannis was silent for a moment, then said, "Food is still scarce, despite what you pried away from Tyrell's camp, but your men are welcome to rest here as long as they require."