Different Stannis (Asoiaf/GoT SI)

Third pov

The castle's corridors were dim, the torchlight flickering against the cold stone walls as Elia glided toward Stannis's chambers. Her silk dress clung to her curves, each step a deliberate tease, her hips swaying with a boldness fueled by the wine still pulsing through her veins. The memory of his lips, firm and hungry, lingered on her skin, and the heat of their interrupted moment earlier made her pulse race. The heavy wooden door to his chambers stood slightly open, guards gone, a silent invitation she couldn't resist.

Inside, the room was bathed in the soft glow of firelight, its flames casting dancing shadows across the walls. Stannis stood by the hearth, his broad frame traced by the fire's warmth. He'd discarded his tunic, his shirt clinging to his muscled chest. He turned at the sound of her entrance, his dark eyes locking onto hers, raw desire burning in their depths.

"Princess," he growled, his voice low and rough, laced with a hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. His gaze raked over her, lingering on the way her dress hugged her hips, the flush of her cheeks betraying her own need. "You kept me waiting."

Elia smirked, letting the door click shut behind her.

"Not for long, Your Grace," she purred, her voice dripping as she walked closer. The air between them crackled, thick with the tension of what they both craved.

Stannis closed the distance in a heartbeat, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb grazing her lips with a roughness that made her gasp.

"I've been thinking about you," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, his restraint crumbling.

"About this." His hand slid to her neck, pulling her into a burning kiss, his lips claiming hers with a fierce passion that left her breathless.

She melted into him, her fingers clawing at his shirt, tugging it open to reveal his bare chest. His tongue slipped into her mouth, hot and demanding, and she moaned, pressing her body against his, feeling the growing hardness in his trousers. His hands roamed her curves, gripping her hips and pulling her flush against him.

The kiss deepened, all control gone, replaced by a primal need. Stannis's hands found the ties of her dress, yanking them loose with a roughness that made her pulse spike. The silk slid down her shoulders, pooling at her waist, baring her full breasts to the cool air. His eyes darkened as he took her in, and without a word, he dropped his head, his mouth locking onto one nipple, sucking hard. Elia gasped, her head tipping back, her fingers twisting in his hair as he teased the sensitive peak with his tongue, his teeth grazing just enough to make her squirm.

"Stannis," she moaned, her voice thick with want, her hands fumbling with his trousers, desperate to feel him. She tugged them down, freeing his thick length, and her fingers wrapped around him, stroking slowly, enjoying the low groan that rumbled from his throat. He was hard, pulsing in her hand, and the sight of him made her core ache with need.

He growled against her skin, his hands gripping her thighs and lifting her onto the edge of the heavy oak table behind them. Her dress bunched higher, exposing her completely, and his eyes burned as they roamed her body.

"You're fucking perfect," he rasped, his voice raw as he pushed her thighs apart, stepping between them. His fingers found her slick heat, stroking her folds with a deliberate slowness that made her whimper, her hips bucking toward his touch.

"More," she begged, her voice a desperate plea, and he obliged, sliding one finger inside her, then another, curling them just right to hit that spot that made her cry out. His thumb circled her clit, relentless, and she writhed against him, her nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tight in her core. His mouth claimed hers again, swallowing her moans as he worked her, pushing her closer to the edge with every stroke.

She reached for him, stroking his cock again, guiding him closer.

"I need you," she whispered, her voice hoarse, her legs wrapping around his waist. He didn't hesitate, lifting her with ease and carrying her to the bed, and he laid her down. He tore the rest of her dress away, leaving her bare, her skin flushed and exposed under his gaze.

He climbed over her, his lips crashing against hers, his hands roaming her body, squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples until she moaned into his mouth. He kissed his way down her neck, her collarbone, pausing to suck hard at her breasts, leaving marks she'd feel for days. His mouth travelled lower until he reached her thighs. He spread them wide, his breath hot against her core, and she tensed, anticipation and a hint of nervousness mingling within her.

"Stannis," she gasped, her voice uncertain but trusting. He looked up, his eyes dark and intense, and then his tongue flicked against her clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. She cried out, her hands gripping the sheets as he devoured her, his tongue lapping and circling, relentless in its pursuit of her pleasure. It was new, overwhelming, and she arched into him, her hips rocking as he sucked her clit, his fingers sliding back inside her, curling in time with his tongue.

When she came, it was explosive, her cry echoing in the room, her body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Stannis didn't stop, licking her through it until she was oversensitive, whimpering his name. He moved back up, kissing her hard, letting her taste herself on his lips, and she pulled him closer, desperate for more.

He positioned himself at her entrance, teasing her with the tip of his cock before thrusting inside, slow and deep. She moaned, her nails raking his back as he filled her, the stretch intense and perfect. He moved with purpose, each thrust deliberate, his eyes locked on hers as he watched her reactions. Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, her moans growing louder with every movement.

"Harder," she gasped, and he obliged, his thrusts growing faster, deeper, the bed creaking beneath them. He shifted, pulling her up to straddle his lap, his hands gripping her hips as she rode him, her breasts bouncing with each movement. His mouth found her nipple again, sucking hard, his teeth grazing as she moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders for leverage.

They moved together, the rhythm frantic, her walls tightening around him as another orgasm built. When she came again, it was with a scream, her body shaking, and he followed, his groan low and guttural as he spilled his seed inside her, his hands gripping her tightly.

They collapsed onto the bed, breathless, but the fire between them wasn't satisfied. Stannis kissed her neck, his teeth teasing her skin, his hand sliding to her breast, squeezing it roughly. She moaned, her body already responding, and he sat up, pulling her with him. He grabbed a pillow, sliding it under her hips, lifting her slightly, and entered her again, the new angle making her gasp. His thrusts were slower this time, savoring every sensation, his eyes never leaving hers.

After a time, he flipped her onto her knees, her hands braced against the bed. He entered her from behind, his cock hitting deeper, making her moan with every thrust. One hand gripped her hip, the other slid around to her clit, rubbing in tight circles as he fucked her, his lips kissing and biting her neck. She came again, her cry sharp, her body trembling, and he followed soon after, pulling her back against his chest as he groaned, his release shuddering through him.

They collapsed together, her body pressed against his, their breaths heavy. Elia turned, resting her head on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. But the hunger wasn't gone. Her hand drifted lower, stroking him until he hardened again, and she straddled him, guiding him inside her. She rode him slowly, her hips rolling, her hands braced on his chest as he gripped her thighs, his eyes dark with desire. They moved together, building to one final peak, her cry mingling with his groan as they came together, collapsing in messy sheets.

They lay there, spent, the firelight casting soft shadows over their bodies. Elia nestled against him, her head on his chest, the heat of their passion lingering in the air.

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The night was deep and star-strewn, half a league from King's Landing. A carriage rumbled along, its wheels creaking. Ten mounted knights flanked it, their violet cloaks bearing the white sword and falling star of House Dayne, glinting faintly under torchlight.

Inside, two figures sat opposite each other.

Vorian Dayne, a man in his late twenties, stared out the window with his purple eyes, his pale blond hair catching the moonlight.

Across from him sat his sister, Ashara Dayne, a vision of haunting beauty. Her long, dark hair spilled over her shoulders, framing a face that could break hearts, though her violet eyes held a weariness that spoke of loss.

Ashara gazed out through the carriage's window, her eyes tracing the twinkling stars in the sky. Bored and tired from the long journey, she drew the curtain shut with a sigh and turned to her brother. Vorian stared out his window, his jaw clenched, the lines of anger carved deep into his features.

"Are you still angry?" She broke the silence, her voice soft but tinged with concern. Vorian's head snapped toward her, his eyes blazing.

"Angry?" he said, his tone sharp but low, as if restraining a shout. "Why would I be angry, Ashara? Because my sister lost her maidenhead to some northern savage and bore a bastard? Or because our brother, for his foolishness, rots in some dungeon with rats for company and no word of the sword that's been our family's relic for ten thousand years? Which should I rage over first?"

Ashara's shoulders slumped, her gaze dropping to her lap as a wave of grief washed over her. The memory of her stillborn daughter pierced her heart, a girl she'd planned to name Dyana.

'Dyana Stark. No, Dyana Sand,' she thought, the correction bitter.

The father of her stillborn daughter was Ned Stark, a shy young man she'd met at the Harrenhal tourney. He hadn't dared ask her to dance; his bold brother Brandon had done it for him. Unlike others, Ned saw beyond her beauty, listened to her heart, and won it. She'd given herself to him willingly, her choice, not his seduction. He'd vowed to wed her, to ask for her hand properly, but fate had twisted their path.

'Oh, Ned,' she whispered in her mind, a pain of sorrow tightening her throat.

Her thoughts shifted to her brother Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, an extremely principled and dutiful knight, the finest in Westeros.

When the raven arrived at Starfall, summoning them to the new king's coronation, Ashara, who was grieving her daughter and lost love, had no wish to go. Yet the news that Elia and her children were in the capital had urged her to go. A faint smile touched her lips at the thought of little Rhaenys's bright face.

They'd stopped at the castle of Nightsong to rest and spend a night, where they learned that Ned Stark and his men had passed through days earlier, heading toward King's Landing with Lyanna Stark's body, her child, and a captured Arthur.

"Arthur isn't to blame," Ashara said, her voice firm, breaking the silence. "He was only doing his duty."

Vorian let out a heavy breath, his anger giving way to weary sorrow. He loved his siblings, despite his fury.

"Duty," he muttered, shaking his head. "Kidnapping a girl was not his duty."

"What do you think will happen to him?" Ashara asked, her eyes searching his.

Vorian met her gaze, his voice flat and unembellished. "Likely the Wall or worse, Execution."

Ashara's eyes widened, her breath catching. "Execution?"

He nodded, his voice flat. "I doubt Ned Stark will forgive him easily. Arthur aided Rhaegar to kidnap his sister, after all."

Ashara shook her head, a flicker of hope in her voice. "Ned won't do that."

Vorian's lips curled in a sardonic smile. "Oh, sweet sister, you were certain he'd wed you, too. And yet here we are."

Her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and hurt. "That's different. I'll speak to Ned. I'll beg him to spare Arthur if I must."

Vorian sighed, his sarcasm fading to pity. "Oh, my sweet sister, you still see life as a fairy tale."

Stung by his words, Ashara fell silent, turning back to the window. Her mind raced with determination.

'I won't let Arthur die,' she vowed silently. 'I'll speak to Ned, to the king himself if need be. I'll plead, I'll beg, whatever it takes.'

Outside, the Dayne banners fluttered in the night breeze as the carriage carried them towards the capital.

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The ship rocked gently on the black waters of Blackwater Bay, its sails snapping in the night wind as it carved a path toward King's Landing. The deck creaked under the boots of Dornish guards, their spears glinting under lamp light. Below, in a cabin lit by swaying oil lamps, four figures sat near a small table, the air heavy with salt, wine, and damp wood.

"How much longer?" Arianne Martell asked, a girl of seven, her olive skin glowing faintly in the lamp's light. Her large, dark eyes showed exhaustion, and her long, thick black hair spilled messily over her shoulders.

She crossed her arms and huffed.

Her father, Prince Doran Martell, looked up from his goblet. Like his daughter, he had black hair, olive skin, and dark eyes.

"By dawn, we'll be in the capital," he said, his tone soothing but firm.

Arianne groaned, throwing her head back. "I'm exhausted! Why aren't we there yet?"

"You should sleep, little one," said her uncle, Prince Oberyn Martell, from across the table. Tall, slender, and graceful, he lounged with a predator's ease, his lined, gloomy face framed by thin eyebrows and black "viper" eyes that gleamed with mischief. "It's late, and you ought to be dreaming, like your cousins."

Beside him sat Ellaria Sand, Oberyn's paramour and a bastard of Lord Uller. Her dark hair and black eyes matched her companions', and she wore a low-cut gown of orange silk. She sipped her wine, her lips curving in amusement.

"I can't sleep!" Arianne huffed, her small hands flailing. "This ship keeps swaying, and last night I fell out of bed three times! And Obara snores so loud she wakes every fish in the sea!"

Her companions laughed softly at her outburst. Doran leaned forward, his voice gentle.

"The stormy seas of the Stormlands are behind us, Arianne. Tonight will be calm, and you can sleep in peace. Besides, Obara's in another cabin, how can her snoring keep you up?"

"She snores like a bear!" Arianne shot back, undeterred. "I hear it through the walls!" Obara, Oberyn's eldest bastard daughter, was one of three Sand Snakes travelling with them. Tyene and Nymeria, other cousins of Arianne, slept soundly in their cabins.

Ellaria's laughter rang out, rich and teasing.

"Patience, Princess," she said, her voice like honey. "One more night, and you'll sleep in a royal bed at the Red Keep. But you must rest now, beauty demands good sleep. Look at me." She traced a hand along her flawless face, winking. "I slept well as a child, and see the result."

Ariane studied her thoughtfully. She dreamed of growing up stunning, the kind of woman who could bewitch with a glance. Ellaria was gorgeous, and she'd held Oberyn's attention for months, a rare feat for a man known to tire of lovers quickly.

"Fine," she muttered. Still, she wasn't fully convinced. "I'll try to sleep." Head bowed, she shuffled out of the cabin, leaving the adults alone.

Oberyn swirled his wine, his gaze sharpening. "What's our plan for tomorrow?"

Doran raised an eyebrow, his tone calm. What should we plan? We'll visit Elia and her children, meet the new king-"

"That's not what I mean," Oberyn cut in, his anger flashing. "We can't just surrender the Iron Throne so easily. Elia and her children must escape, and we must help Aegon claim his birthright."

Doran's gaze remained steady. "And with what army, Oberyn? A third of our forces were lost at the Trident. We can defend Dorne, but we can't march on other kingdoms. Nor can we hope for allies. The Reach won't aid us, their lord is Stannis's captive, as is Oldtown's heir."

Oberyn's jaw tightened, his breath hissing through his teeth. "So we sit, doing nothing while our family's rightful claim is stolen? Stannis is a usurper who robbed a babe of his throne. Aegon is the true king!"

Ellaria tilted her head, her voice low and suggestive. "Perhaps war isn't the only path. There are… other ways." She twirled her goblet, the word poison hanging unspoken in the air.

Oberyn's lips quirked, his eyes meeting hers with approval. Poison was no stranger to Dorne, least of all to him, a master of its craft. He turned to Doran, awaiting his response.

Doran's expression remained impassive, a mask of stone. He sipped his wine, then spoke, his voice cold and calculated.

"Killing Stannis solves nothing. He has an heir. Killing them both? That won't win us the throne either. Do you think the Starks, Arryns, or Tullys will stand by while we restore a Targaryens to the Iron Throne? And don't forget the Lannisters."

At the mention of Lannisters, Oberyn's fist clenched, his voice rising. "Treacherous lions! Elia wrote that Tywin's bannermen tried to murder her and her children. If we can't touch Stannis, we can at least make them pay for trying to murder them!"

"Enough," Doran snapped, his tone cutting like a blade. He rose, his dark eyes locking with Oberyn's.

"Elia and her children are safe for now. We'll do nothing to endanger them. Stannis's offer is generous; Rhaenys will be queen. I want Aegon on the throne as much as you, but Rhaenys's queenship is the best we can secure now." He paused, his voice softening but firm. "I'm going to rest. You should, too."

Doran left the cabin, the door clicking shut behind him. Oberyn glared at his goblet, then drained it in one swallow, the wine doing little to calm his fury. Ellaria watched him, a smile playing on her lips. She rose, gliding to his side, and straddled his lap, her hands sliding to his shoulders.

"Your brother's right," she murmured, kissing him as her fingers worked at his trousers.

"I know," Oberyn growled, his hands gripping her hips. "And that's what burns me most, that I can do nothing." He kissed her neck, his lips hungry, his anger seeking release.

Ellaria moaned softly, her voice a purr. "Let me ease your anger, at least for tonight." Her intent was clear, and the cabin grew warm with their shared heat as the ship sailed.