The wind whistled through the empty night, chilling the floor of the library. Stannis pulled the coat closer to his narrow frame, trying to ignore the fact that he was frozen to the core. Regardless of the temperature, he needed to keep working. The quiet late hours were all the time he had for this important work, which could end up being necessary to fulfill the task given to him by Lord Baratheon; his duty was to protect Lady Joreen. While his mother Marya did the day-to-day saving necessary for a not-even-a-year-old child, like removing things that shouldn't be eaten from the lady's grabby hands and making sure she didn't walk-train down the tower stairs, Stannis was more concerned with threats from beyond the castle. The Dornish fleet was still out there, having perhaps at this point licked their wounds from the loss at Cape Wrath, and the capital wasn't far enough for them to discount an attack by the Royal fleet.

As the assigned warden of the castle, it fell on Stannis' teenage shoulders to ensure that Storm's End stood strong in the case of such an attack. It was his duty and he was determined to perform that duty to the best of his abilities.

Stannis Seaworth may not have the battle skills of Bastian Storm, the swagger of his brother Devan, or the burning fury of Lord Baratheon. He definitely didn't have the authority of his namesake, whom his father had served past the point of madness. But what he did have was a mind made for reading. Stannis could easily finish a book in mere hours and retain the knowledge for later usage. That skill was his weapon and he intended to use it to defend Storm's End if need be. After many late nights scouring through the books of the ancient library, he thought he knew how. On frayed pages written centuries ago, by a guild dedicated to dark arts, a formula took shape before his eyes. A formula that could defend the castle.

But the recipe hadn't been easy to decipher. The amounts of the ingredients weren't specified and their names had changed in the years that had passed. So Stannis had been forced to experiment.

That's why he spent his nights in the library, where a makeshift setup of vials and tubes set the stage for his tests. If something went wrong--which wasn't entirely unlikely considering how volatile the substance he tried to create was--he was far away enough that hopefully everyone else in the castle would be safe. But Stannis hoped it wouldn't come to that. Not that he was particularly concerned about his own safety but because if he perished in a fog of green, the plan to defend the castle was also annihilated.

Green drops fell into vials lit by flame. He was so close now.

Fascinated, Stannis peered at the colorful drops. In the dark library, it appeared like they burned from within rather than from the flame beneath. Which seemed promising. Perhaps he, a mere boy with no maester training, had somehow unlocked the secrets of the past.

It was time for the final step. Stannis moved the ancient book closer, letting his fingertips trace the words of yore. There was no turning back once the incantation was spoken. If the library burned he could do nothing but burn with it.

Written in High Valyrian, the words were foreign on his tongue. He didn't know what they meant and barely even how they were supposed to sound. He was not the one who was supposed to speak them. But who cared about who was supposed to do what at this point? Bastards from Fleabottom weren't supposed to make claims on the throne either, and Stannis stood wholeheartedly behind that campaign. He believed in a world where the knowledge of old was retained but the rules of the past were questioned.

"Dracarys," Stannis finished the spell. While he hadn't known the other words, he did know what that one meant. It was what the Dragon Queen had spoken before burning the capital.

Perhaps more cities would burn on account of Stannis' creation. The flame wouldn't come from the mouth of a dragon but it was told it burned just as hot.

Nothing happened upon speaking the words. Maybe nothing was supposed to occur right away. What would tell Stannis if he'd succeeded or not was the final test.

He took a deep breath before moving toward the fireplace. The flames lit in the evening had gone out long ago and he had been too wrapped up in his work to notice. But embers still remained. With a fire poker, he picked up a glowing piece of wood. Surely, it would do.

Holding the still-hot ember above the jar that held a few drops of green substance, Stannis held his breath and closed his eyes when he dropped it.

A swoosh filled the library as if someone had suddenly opened all doors, sucking all air out. Stannis opened his eyes to see a green flame burn in front of him. Intense heat hit him, causing him to take a few steps back.

The fire kept burning, hotter and brighter with each moment.

He'd done it. He'd created wildfire.

The realization both excited and scared Stannis. Of course, he was happy about the prospect of being able to defend Storm's End but the power of this discovery was probably too much for a sixteen-year-old boy to wield. If this actually worked. He couldn't be sure until it was tried in battle.

Mesmerized by the flame of his creation, Stannis' thoughts traveled to his older brother. Not Devan, who was far away but still alive, but Mathos, who died as Blackwater Bay burned in green. Stannis wondered if this had been the last thing Mathos saw, as he gasped for air in a burning sea before sinking beneath the waves and never returning to the surface.

"What's that, Stann?"

Stannis was jolted from his fascination with the flame by a voice from the door, which he had not even noticed opening. For a moment, he thought it was Mathos standing there, eyes wild and hair on end. The boy in the doorway looked just like how he remembered his oldest brother before Mathos followed their father into battle at a way too young age.

The features may be the same but the name wasn't. "What are you doing here, Steffon?" Stannis asked his youngest brother while quenching the green flame with a handful of sand. He didn't want anyone to know what he'd discovered just yet.

"I saw something," his brother panted, too distracted by his own discovery to care about Stannis'. "On the sea, I mean."

"Where you up on the tower again?" Stannis sighed. "You know mother doesn't like you going up there at night. You should be in bed."

"But someone has to watch out for enemies!" Steffon retorted. "Father told me to protect Lady Joreen! It's my duty! So I need to look out for anyone who can hurt her. And I saw a light, out there! You have to believe me, Stann."

This had been a repeated cause of arguments during the weeks since Lord Baratheon and their father left. Stannis was the appointed warden of the castle but ten-year-old Steffon wouldn't back down in his steadfast resolve to always stand by Lady Joreen's side, seemingly not trusting his brother's efforts. And then there was their mother, who just sighed at their antics, telling them they were both too young for such tasks and that she would have the final call if there were hard decisions to be made.

But if Steffon was right and there was something out there on the waves, they needed to put up a united front.

"Show me what you saw, Steff," Stannis pulled on his cloak to follow Steffon.

Many steps later, an out-of-breath Stannis--whose talents lay in reading not running--stood on the top of Storm's End. Darkness surrounded them as the cloudy sky hid the moon and stars. Winds from all directions chilled him to the bone. He wondered how Steffon didn't freeze to death, coming here every night. Perhaps his younger brother was tougher than he gave him credit for.

"There!" Steffon pointed into the foggy distance. "That's where the light is!"

Stannis peered in the direction of Steffon's finger. He couldn't see anything. But his eyesight had never been the best. "Where?" he mumbled.

"Right there!" Steffon pulled Stannis by the sleeve toward the edge of the tower, where the winds were even chiller.

Suddenly, Stannis saw it. A faint sheen in the dark fog. Nothing but the sea should be out there.

Then, as the brothers observed the dark waves, there were more lights. They turned from one to two into a dozen within seconds. And they were coming closer.

The lights kept multiplying before the boys' eyes in concerning speed. It was clear what they saw were ships. But it was too many to be either the Dornish fleet or the Royal Army.

Stannis could only surmise it must be both of them, united. Unless another novel enemy had appeared from beyond the horizon.

His discovery in the library was meant to help them fight such a force but he didn't have enough yet. Only a few drops had been created. Against such a large armada, he needed barrels full of wildfire.

Perhaps he could make more before the enemy was at their door, but would it suffice against such an overwhelming power?

"Steff," he said, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Run down to mother and tell her we need to send a raven to Lord Baratheon. She'll know what to do. We may be able to keep those forces at bay for a while, but not forever. He needs to know we're under attack."

"We don't even know where Lord Baratheon is," Steffon protested. "So how would a raven know? We should send someone out to find him to deliver the message."

"We need all the men we have right here," Stannis countered. "We'll send the raven to where he was last seen, at Wendwater, and hopefully someone is there who can relay the message."

"But I--"

"Enough protest, Steff!" Stannis proclaimed as sternly as he could, hoping he'd picked up some cues from his mother.

Steffon sighed and turned to the stairs, ready to bolt down ahead of his brother.

"I'll meet you down in the Great Hall soon," Stannis called out behind him. "We'll need to gather everyone to make a plan."

But Stannis wouldn't meet Steffon again in the Great Hall. In fact, it would be many moons until he saw his brother again. By then, the war would be over and a new ruler would be crowned.

Because once Steffon had descended the stairs, he--apt climber as he was--scaled the high walls of Storm's End, jumping across to land in a shrubbery on the other side. Then, he ran. He ran to alert Lord Baratheon, wherever he may be, of the impending attack. While Steffon knew neither Stannis nor his mother would have agreed to let him go, he reasoned that while all men may be needed to defend the castle, he, still only a boy, was better used as a messenger. The only way he could save Lady Joreen right now was by leaving her, even if it pained him to do so.

Author's Note: I had to do some planning around which order to put the chapter in here, as events are happening in several places at once, which has resulted in me also having the next chapter ready already. That should be up later this week.

And dammit, I love my Seaworth brothers! Writing them in a way that fits into this already established world (where their father already is a loved character) has been such an enjoyable challenge and I hope I've managed to make them believable as Davos' sons (they are obviously very different but their personifications are in large part based on their reactions to Mathos dying where Devan runs, Stannis hides and Steffon confronts the threat)