Dawn on this, the sixth day of the siege, found him in the same place it had found him the previous five days, upon the battlements preparing his defenses for the comming battle. Yesterday, the outer wall had nearly fallen. His men along one section of the wall had been overwhelmed and the Lannister and Tyrell men had swarmed up ladders and through siege towers and onto his battlements. Only his arrival with fresh men had staved off disaster. But how many more times could he do so? He only had so many men to begin with and each day that number grew smaller. Eventually, he would be unable to stop them and the castle would fall, bit by by, wall by wall. Perhaps he should abandon the outer wall and pull his men back to the inner wall? He could shorten the distance that had to be defended by doing that and he could use the now spare men to form a fresh reserve. But pulling back like that could be seen as a sign of his impending defeat by his men.
Whatever else a man might say about him, Stannis was above all a realist. He knew that his Lords, Knights and men loved him not, with the possible exception of Lord Seaworth. They followed him only out of fear, or duty, or because they had nowhere else to go. Salladhor Saan had proven that when he turned his cloak and fled at the start of the battle. If the men remaining within Dragonstone with him so much as began to sense that he was defeated, they too would quickly turn their cloaks and they would run to the boy out there leading the host arrayed against him and swear their undying fealty to Tommen quicker than he could spit. No, he would hold the outer wall and to the Others with the damn Lannisters.
While he was surveying his defenses and making his plans, his nose caught the scent of the many cookfires that were burning below him. Even now the Tyrells mocked him with their indulgences. Every man in their army broke his fast on thickly cut bacon, fresh bread baked in the ovens that had been built around the camp, fried or roasted fish bought from his own smallfolk and washed down with small beer and weak ale. This all while his own men were forced to subsist on porridge, bread made with sawdust mixed in with the flower to stretch it, and maybe a bit of fish if they were lucky. He had expected a lengthier siege than this and had already reduced the rations his men received to prolong their food supplies. Given the events of the previous day, that looked more and more like a foolish decision on his part. At the rate the battle was going, Dragonstone would fall within a month, possibly less. Unless the Red Woman could pull another miracle out of her fires.
He had gone to her last night, asking her to give him another son to kill the Tyrell boy and Lord Redwyne. But she had rebuffed him and told him that he was too weak and not yet recovered from giving her his last son. That more time was needed for him to recover. But time was the one thing he no longer had. Perhaps it was time for more drastic measures. Melisandre had certainly seemed to think so. She had suggested that a sacrifice to R'hllor might be what was needed. His eyes had flashed at that, but he had said nothing. He knew what she was implying, but he had already refused her and saw no need to restate it. Instead he had done something that he had not done since Shireen was a babe dying of greyscale, he had prayed half the night away trying to find the clarity to make the right decision. But so far, it had eluded him.
Finally he had given up and tried to get some sleep. But his dreams were troubled and sleep evaded him. When he did close his eyes, he saw only death and destruction around him. The Seven Kingdoms were blanketed in snow and ice, the rivers and lakes had frozen solid. And what was not frozen was on fire. From the Wall to Dorne the land was by turns frozen and burning. The Great Houses of the land melted away and their banners turned to ash while their castles, keeps and holdfasts disappeared from the land either in a blaze of fire or when they were buried under a mountain of ice. While across the land, the dead marched ever southward, spreading more and more death everywhere they went. And above it all, Aegon's dragons soared, screaming their rage and spewing fire among the living and dead alike. When he finally gave up on sleep, he was more troubled than when he had gone to bed. Stannis had never been one to place much, if any, faith in omens or dreams. But the Red Priestess had shown him that there was power buried in this world and that it seemed to flow from her God. Could it be possible that this dream had been sent from him, however unlikely that may seem? Perhaps he would mention it to her later should the bastards camped below his walls give him a long enough respite to do so. Though that seemed more and more unlikely every day. He had a feeling that this day was to prove no different from any of the last.
The first attacks of the day came from the enemy right, their trebuchets and scorpions flinging great stones and arrows at the walls and his men. Under their covering fire, a force in Lannister crimson marched steadily forward, carrying tall ladders on their shoulders while freshly built siege towers trundled forward, pushed by scores of levies arrayed along their flanks. Pulling every third man from the part of the wall he was currently on, Stannis began moving to meet the coming attack. His left had already been weakened over the previous days with many of the carved dragons, griffins and gargoyles that served for merlons along the wall having been destroyed by the Lannister trebuchets, depriving his men of sorely needed protection. They would need every man he could get over there.
When it finally landed, the attack was no less fierce than each and every one that had preceded it. If anything, it was pressed him with even more vigor than the others. It was almost as if the men fighting him could sense his defeat was only days away and they wanted to get it over and done with. Well, to hell with them! He'd throw them back again and again and charge the faithless traitors that opposed him such a high price in blood that Tywin fucking Lannister and Mace fucking Tyrell would recall his name in reverence and in awe. He may not have Robert's warhammer or the righteous fury he fought with at the Trident, but he would show the world that House Baratheon lived up to their words. Ours is the Fury, indeed. The men scaling his walls would soon taste that fury firsthand. Drawing Lightbringer from its sheath, he barreled into the men in Lannister Crimson. Such was the force of his charge that when he struck one of the men with his shield, he was flung from the battlements to land in a bloody pulp in the courtyard below. Another tasted his steel when he drove Lightbringer through the man's mouth and out through the back of his head. He fought with a fury that even Robert would have been hard pressed to match.
He was in the midst of fighting, smashing his shield into the men who crowded the battlements, shoving them back to give him the space needed to drive his sword into them, when young Addam, his page, ran up to him. The boy was ducking and dodging, doing his best to not be seen by the men fighting along the wall. Addam was yelling, "Your Grace! Your Grace! It's your daughter! The Queen's Men are trying to take her. One of them attacked Devan! Devan sent me to find you. He's trying to hold them off but he's outnumbered."
Stannis froze for the briefest moment as the clarity he had sought last night suddenly descended on him. He knew now why Melisandre had refused him last night. He knew as well what his silence at her suggestion might cost him. And he knew the decision that he must make. Melisandre was forcing him to make the choice that he had refused to even consider. His daughter, or his crown. He made his choice. He had always believed that he would do whatever it took to secure the Throne that was rightfully his. Only now did he realize that there was one line he was not willing to cross. Roaring to his men to follow him, despite knowing what it would do to his defenses along the wall, Stannis ran from the battlements on the outer wall and onto the inner wall before charging across the high bridge linking Sea Dragon Tower and the Stone Drum Tower. Behind him, he heard his men break as they saw their King to all outward appearances fleeing the battle. The singers and story tellers would damn him as a coward who fled when the battle was on the verge of being lost in a desperate attempt to save his own neck, but he knew well that something more was at stake here today. He silently begged the gods for their forgiveness for abandoning them. R'hllor would get no more prayers from him. A moment later and said another prayer to the Seven to forgive him for leaving his men to die when they needed him most, but he finally knew what was most important to him. And a crown was not it.
Stannis ran as fast as his legs could carry him to Aegon's Garden with fifty of his men still with him. There had been more with him when he had left the wall, but some had stayed behind to try and hold off the army that was now pouring over the walls and into the castle. They would attempt to buy him time with their lives. While racing down the steps of the Stone Drum Tower, he saw young Devan sprawled near the second to last landing where he had been cut down, the remains of his shattered shield were still strapped to his left arm and his poleaxe, which was still dripping the blood of those he had fought, gripped tightly in his right. The boy's chest rose and fell in small movements as he took shallow breaths while he fought to stay alive. It pained him to leave the boy there, but to stop was to condemn Shireen to death. Stannis instead pointed at the boy as he passed and yelled, "Get him to the Maester!" With some luck, Pylos would be able to save the boy's life. Without it, he could at least ease his suffering with milk of the poppy.
When he reached the gardens, he saw Selyse and Melisandre beside the great stone dragon that was the centerpiece of the garden. And chained to it atop a massive pyre was his daughter. Her voice was shrill and sharp as she was begged and pleaded with them not to burn her. But her cries moved not a single man, and all that were present looked on at the scene impassively. To them, R'hllor demanded a sacrifice of King's Blood and a sacrifice he would have. Gods, what a fool he had been. He had seen only the advantages that the Lord of Light's power could give him and had ignored all the warning signs of what it may cost him. Cressen, may the Seven give him rest, had tried to warn him. Davos had tried as well. But he had been too stubborn to listen. Well, he was listening now.
Crashing into Ser Perkin Follard who stood at the rear of the assembled men, Stannis drove him to the ground with his shield as he caught the Knight off guard. He next drove his sword into Lord Sweet, who had been standing beside the knight, and watched the man's guts spill from his stomach into the dust at his feet. Beside him, his men likewise crashed into the knights and lords that made up the Queen's Men. But these were all battle seasoned men and they were overcoming their shock even as the first blow landed. In moments, their swords were out and they were ready to defend the pyre with their lives. Stannis roared at them to cease what they were doing, but the men just jeered and shouted back that the Lord of Light had given them commands that overrode those of a mere King. The Lord must have his due.
As he fought through the knot of traitorous knights, he saw Melisandre look up to the heavens and declare loudly, "Lord of Light, cast your light upon us! Lord of Light, show us the way!"
And then she dropped the burning brand into the pyre. At once, the dry brush and sticks gathered together as kindling caught fire and began to spread their deadly flames towards his daughter. Stannis redoubled his efforts to reach her before the flames did, but the men opposing him fought like men possesed. And perhaps they were. Davos had told him of what he saw the night Ser Courtney Penrose was killed. Perhaps that was not the only power Melisandre possesed. Perhaps she really did have the power to enchant men. But Stannis would not be denied. He fought like a demon to break through the men fighting him. He would reach Shireen and save her or he would die alongside her.
By the time he reached the pyre, the flames had started to lick at Shireen's feet and she was screaming in terror as the heat and flames began to caress her skin. From behind, he heard a man shout, "Your Grace!" And as Stannis turned he saw a heavy warhammer fly through the air towards him. Dropping his sword into the fire, Stannis caught the hammer with both hands and leapt into the flames, determined to free Shireen from the chains she had been bound with.
Heedless of his own safety, Stannis ran through the fire as the flames scorched his armor and burned away his silks and linens. The heat from the blaze was intense. It was a miracle that Shireen still lived, but she did as her screams could attest. Just as he reached his only child, a burst of flame shot up from around her feet and Stannis could only watch in horror as the skin along her cheek and neck blistered and blackend before bursting open and finally turning to ash. Her clothing too began to burn as the flames reached her. Gripping the war hammer in his strong hands, he brought it down with all his might on the bolt that had been hastily hammered into the statue to hang the chains from. Gods be good, it shattered at the first blow and Shireen's arms were freed from the chains that would have condemned her to death.
Abandoning the hammer to lie among the flames with his sword, he swept his hysterically crying daughter into his arms and carried her back through the searing fires. More than once, he felt the flames sear along his flesh and he was starting to feel as if he was roasting alive in his armor. Gods, this must be close to what Rickard Stark felt when the Mad King burned him alive. But still he fought through the fire to reach safety and save Shireen. Finally he made it through the flames. As he and Shireen exited the flames, his daughter went limp in his arms. He prayed she had only passed out and was not dead. Around the pyre, the Queen's Men that had tried to burn his daughter all lay dead before him and both Selyse and Melisandre had swords at their throats and strong men gripping their arms firmly to keep them from escaping.
Coughing and hacking at all the smoke he had breathed in, Stannis lay Shireen down on the cool grasses of the garden and worriedly began to look to see if she still lived and how badly she had been burned. But as he looked his anger at what had been done to his daughter gave way to shock. For where the greyscale scars had been along her neck and cheek, there was only fresh, pink skin to be seen. Skin that was unmarred by the scars that had plagued her all her life. Looking at Melisandre, she only told him, "Fire is the purest death, My King. It cleanses all that it touches. The Lord of Light restored your daughter's features to show his acceptance of her sacrifice. A sacrifice to the Lord must be unblemished, so he healed her before her death."
Stannis stood at hearing that and glowered at the Red Witch and his wife. He said, "She's my daughter and you attempted to have her burned alive. How dare you defy me in this? Both of you knew this was against my will. Yet you did it anyway. This I will not stand for."
Looking at Ser Rolland Storm who held Melisandre in his grasp, Stannis said, "Bind her tightly, then throw her into the flames that she so loves. If she wishes to offer a sacrifice to the Lord of Light, then let it be herself." Turning towards his Lady Wife, he continued, "And as for you, you stood there and did nothing. You would allow our daughter to be burned alive. No crown is worth that. I divorce you. You are no longer my wife, no longer a part of House Baratheon."
Before him, Selyse sobbed and screamed and pleaded with him to let Melisandre go. That she only did what the Lord of Light commanded of her. Couldn't he see that Shireen's death was a necessity? That there was no other way? That the castle would fall without a powerful show of devotion to R'hllor?
For the first time in his life, Stannis slapped his wife across her face. He growled to her, "Silence, woman. Or you will join her in the flames. This will be my last act as King of the Seven Kingdoms. Selyse Florent you are hereby charged with the attempted murder of Shireen Baratheon, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the Iron Throne. I Stannis, of the House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, find you guilty as charged. The sentence for this crime is death. However, I offer you once chance to spare your life. Join the Silent Sister and live a life of service for the rest of your days, or meet the Gods here and now. Your decision?"
Selyse seemed not to even hear him. She sobbed and cursed him and pleaded for him to give Shireen to R'hllor. Finally, he had enough. Looking to Ser Triston Tally who held his wife, he told him while holding out his hand, "Ser Triston, your sword if you please." Once it was in his hand, he told Selyse, "Kneel, My Lady."
From behind him, he heard of burst of crackling as Melisandre was thrown onto the pyre. At first, she struggled not to scream. But as the flames ate away at her flesh, the screams were torn from her throat. As the Red Woman burned, he watched in amazement as she seemed to age rapidly from a young and virile woman to an old hag before his very eyes. As the flames eagerly searched her out, the ruby at her throat glowed brighter and brighter and until it seemed as if it would burst. Finally, the intense heat cracked the stone as the gold around it melted. With a rush, a strong wind seemed to blow out of the ruined gem before the rest of Melisandre's body was consumed by flames, silencing her screaming for all eternity.
The death of Melisandre seemed to break something in Selyse. She screamed and tried to rush the pyre as if she wished to pull the body free of the flames. Instead, Ser Triston grabbed her harshly and spun her back to face his King. Stannis looked at the woman who had been his wife with cold eyes. Nodding to Ser Triston, the Knight forced Selyse to her knees and pushed her forward while wrenching her arms behind her back. When her neck was as extended as it could be, Stannis stepped forward and swung the blade with a swift, powerful stroke that cleanly removed her head from her shoulders. He hadn't wanted to do that, but she had left him no choice. Looking at his men, he told them, "Move the body in case Shireen wakes up. I don't want the first thing she sees to be her mother's body."
As the pyre died and the roaring of the fire eased, Stannis could begin to hear men from around the castle throwing down their arms and begging for quarter. From the way many of the pleas were quickly and abruptly silenced, none were being given it. Turning away from the pyre and its column of greasy black smoke, he looked at what remained of his men and told them, "Prepare to defend the Princess. I will go and treat with the Tyrell boy. Should he refuse to listen and I fall, defend her with your lives. See that she takes her rightful place on the Iron Throne or die trying to put her there. I so charge you all."
Every man there replied with one voice, "Yes, Your Grace. I swear it on my life and honor."
Nodding at them, Stannis turned and walked away. He walked proudly and resolutely towards his fate. He knew what was likely to happen to him when he met Loras Tyrell. The boy had loved Renly. And he had killed him. The time for games and denial was over. Deep down, he knew that he alone was responsible for Renly's death. He had known it from the moment Ser Davos had told him what happened to Ser Courtney. No matter how often he denied it, he had known. Ser Loras would never excuse that sin, nor would Stannis want him too. They had been at war yes, but it was one thing to kill a relative in open battle on the field. It was another entirely to have him slain with black magic in the dead of night. Kinslayer. The name tasted like ash in his mouth, yet he knew it to be true. And now the gods had come to collect their due and demand that he answer for his sins. He wondered which of the Seven Hells he would be condemned to and if he would find Robert and Renly already there?
Gods, but he was hurting now. His arms and legs had been scorched by the flames of the pyre, leaving his flesh raw and bloody. His skin, where it hadn't burned completely away, was blistered and seared. His chest and back were painful as well. The heat from the flames had turned his armor into an oven and much as it had on his arms and legs, the skin on his chest, stomach and back was likely red and blistered. Every time his undergarments so much as rubbed against him he wanted to cry out in agony. Should he be called on to fight now, he would make a fool of himself and die quickly. Stannis made up his mind. He had one chance and one chance only to save Shireen's life for the second time this day. He must surrender the castle and himself. If he continued to fight, he doubted if any man, woman or child in the castle would live out the day. After reaching that decision, he started to hurry as much as he was able, ignoring the growing pain he was suffering. The pain would only be temporary, after all he knew what fate awaited him. It's not like he could make his injuries much worse at this point.
By the time Stannis reached the bridge arcing over the gallery between the Stone Drum Tower and Sea Dragon Tower, he saw that the far end had already fallen. And in the middle of the bridge stood Ser Loras. His green shield with the three golden roses on it had been scared and broken in places, and his sword was drenched in so much blood it ran down over his hand and arm to drip down onto and pool on the cool stones below him. Stannis walked towards the man at a measured pace, one calculated not to trigger an attack. And as he closed the distance between them, he could see the battle lust raging in Ser Loras's eyes. Reaching for his belt with painful limbs, Stannis slowly unbuckled his sword belt and let it fall to the stones behind him. With his hands raised, Stannis said, "Ser Loras, I am here to ask for terms."
Loras slowly stood upright from the crouch that he had been in and began to grin. His helm hid most of it, but the flash of white teeth was unmistakable. The man had won, and he knew it. Enjoy your victory while it lasts, Stannis thought to himself. In the end it would only be temporary. For if his dream of the night before had been anything to go by, winter was coming for them all. And may the gods save them when it did. For the hundredth time today, he cursed himself for a fool. He should have sailed North when he had the chance. When Stannis stopped walking, he was no more than five or six feet from the blood soaked knight and there he waited for a reply. It was not long in coming.
Ser Loras took two steps closer as he sheathed his sword and said, "Very well, these are my terms." And before Stannis could blink, the gauntleted fist of Ser Loras slammed squarely into his jutting chin and the world went dark.