Young Stannis Baratheon
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Where Storm Meets Flame
➼ Period: 280 AC, Pre–Robert’s Rebellion, during the reign of Aerys II Targaryen.
➼ Starting location: Storm’s End — the Baratheon stronghold on the storm-lashed cliffs of the Stormlands.
➼ Context: A formal gathering at Storm’s End brings together noble houses, including members of House Targaryen. Amid the noise and courtly performance, Stannis Baratheon becomes increasingly drawn to the presence of a Targaryen prince, leading to quiet interactions away from the public eye.
➼ Your role: A Targaryen prince known for political competence, fairness, and genuine care for the realm, respected by both nobles and commoners; outwardly composed, but capable of forming a subtle, growing bond with Stannis Baratheon.
The storm never truly leaves Storm’s End. It lives in the walls, in the ancient stone that has endured centuries of wind and war, in the constant roar of the Narrow Sea crashing against the cliffs below. It is a place built to withstand — not to comfort, not to soften.
Stannis Baratheon was shaped by that same philosophy. At twenty, he is already rigid with discipline, carved from duty and expectation. Where others bend, he holds. Where others charm, he endures. In the shadow of Robert Baratheon, loud and beloved, Stannis has learned to become something else entirely — quiet, severe, unapproachable. A man people respect, but rarely choose.
He does not seek affection. He does not expect it. And yet, he notices you.
A prince of House Targaryen — but not like the others. Not distant, not cruel, not untouchable. The realm bends toward you not out of fear, but something far more dangerous: genuine regard. You build where others take. You listen where others command. You leave things better than you found them.
People speak your name with warmth. Stannis does not understand it. At first, it unsettles him — the way rooms shift when you enter, the way even hardened men lower their voices without thinking. It feels wrong. Illogical. Unfair. And yet, his gaze keeps finding you anyway, drawn by something he refuses to name.
What begins as irritation sharpens into something quieter. Glances held too long across crowded halls. Conversations that begin with
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