DAVOS

The port was crowded as Ser Davos Seaworth had ever known it. Every dock teemed with sailors loading provisions, and every inn was packed with soldiers dicing or drinking or looking for a whore… a vain search, since Stannis permitted none on his island. Ships lined the strand; war galleys and fishing vessels, stout carracks and fat-bottomed cogs. The best berths had been taken by the largest vessels; Stannis's flagship Fury rocking between Lord Steffon and Stag of the Sea, Lord Velaryon's silver-hulled Pride of Driftmark and her three sisters, Lord Celtigar's ornate Red Claw, the ponderous Swordfish with her long iron prow. Out to sea at anchor rode Salladhor Saan's great Valyrian amongst the striped hulls of two dozen smaller Lysene galleys.

A weathered little inn sat on the end of the stone pier where Black Betha, Wraith, and Lady Marya shared mooring space with a half-dozen other galleys of one hundred oars or less. Davos had a thirst. He took his leave of his sons and turned his steps towards the inn. Out front squatted a waist-high gargoyle, so eroded by rain and salt that his features were all but obliterated. He and Davos were old friends, though. He gave a pat to the stone head as he went in. "Luck," he murmured.

Across the noisy common room, Salladhor Saan sat eating grapes from a wooden bowl. When he spied Davos, he beckoned him closer. "Ser knight, come sit with me. Eat a grape. Eat two. They are marvellously sweet." The Lyseni was a sleek, smiling man whose flamboyance was a byword on both sides of the Narrow Sea. Today he wore flashing cloth-of-silver, with dagged sleeves so long the edges of them pooled on the floor. His buttons were carved jade monkeys, and atop his wispy white curls perched a jaunty green cap decorated with a fan of peacock feathers.

Davos threaded his way through the tables to a chair. In the days before his knighthood, he had often bought cargoes from Salladhor Saan. The Lyseni was a smuggler himself, as well as a trader, a banker, a notorious pirate, and the self-styled Prince of the Narrow Sea. When a pirate grows rich enough, they make him a prince. It had been Davos who had made the journey to Lys to recruit the old rogue to Lord Stannis's cause.

"Did you hear the word about Ser Axell Florent, my lord?" he asked.

"I did. Seven-hundred gold dragons to the Conqueror's Sept and suddenly a heretic cultist of a red demon is a man of good standing in the true faith." He seemed utterly unconcerned that someone might overhear him, eating his grapes and dribbling the seeds out onto his lip, flicking them off with a finger.

Davos would not speak in defence of Ser Axell. Uncle to Lady Selyse—no, Queen Selyse, I must remember that—and long-serving castellan of Dragonstone he may be, but he was not a good man. A thick, heavyset man with protruding ears covered with hair, he had risen high on Dragonstone as the highest partisan of the queen's men, that group of lords and knights who had deserted the faith of their fathers to bow to the red demon worshipped by Melisandre of Asshai, the so-called Lord of Light. Now that Melisandre and the king's hope in what she had to offer were as dead as each other, the king had lost interest in the Lord of Light and the queen's men had fallen from his favour. Septon Barre, Keeper of the Conqueror's Sept and highest of the Faith of the Seven in Lord Stannis's dominions, had mercilessly leveraged their desertion to gain new funds for the sept's coffers in return for restoring them to good standing in the Faith. It was said Lady Selyse still worshipped the Lord of Light, but few of her former followers had been so zealous. Septon Barre's embrace of her uncle, and the highborn-ransom-sized gift that preceded it, were the talk of the island for a reason; it meant that the religious struggle that had begun when Melisandre had first gained Lord Stannis's ear was drawing to a close.

"My Bird of a Thousand Colours came in yesterday, good ser. She is not a warship, no, but a trader, and she paid a call on King's Landing. Are you sure you will not have a grape? Children go hungry in the city, it is said." He dangled the grapes before Davos and smiled.

"It's ale I need, and news."

"The men of Westeros are ever rushing," complained Salladhor Saan. What good is this, I ask you? He who hurries through life hurries to his grave." He belched. "The Lord of Casterly Rock has sent his dwarf to see to King's Landing. Perhaps he hopes tht his ugly face will frighten off attackers, eh? Or that we will laugh ourselves dead when the Imp capers on the battlements, who can say? The dwarf has chased off the lout who ruled the gold cloaks and put in his place a knight with an iron hand." He plucked a grape, and squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger until the skin burst. Juice ran down between his fingers.

A serving girl pushed her way through, swatting at the hands that groped her as she passed. Davos ordered a tankard of ale, turned back to Saan, and said, "How well is the city defended?"

The other shrugged. "The walls are high and strong, but who will man them? They are building scorpions and spitfires, oh yes, but the men in the golden cloaks are too few and too green, and there are no others. A swift strike, like a hawk plummetting at a hare, and the great city will be ours. Grant us wind to fill our sails, and your king could sit upon his Iron Throne by evenfall on the morrow. We could dress the dwarf in motley and prick his little cheeks with the points of our spears to make him dance for us, and mayhaps your goodly king would make me a gift of the beautiful Queen Cersei to warm my bed for a night. I have been too long away from my wives, and all in his service."

"Pirate," said Davos. "You have no wives, only concubines, and you have been well paid for every day and every ship."

"Only in promises," said Salladhor Saan mournfully. "Good ser, it is gold I crave, not words on papers." He popped a grape into his mouth.

"You'll have your gold when we take the treasury in King's Landing. No man in the Seven Kingdoms is more honourable than Stannis Baratheon. He will keep his word." Even as Davos spoke, he thought, This world is twisted beyond hope, when lowborn smugglers must vouch for the honour of kings.

"So he has said and said. And so I say, let us do this thing. Even these grapes could be no more ripe than that city, my old friend."

The serving girl returned with his ale. Davos gave her a copper. "Might be we could take King's Landing, as you say," he said as he lifted the tankard, "but how long would we hold it? Tywin Lannister is known to be at Harrenhal with a great host, and Lord Renly…"

"Ah, yes, the young brother," said Salladhor Saan. "That part is not so good, my friend. King Renly bestirs himself. No, here he is Lord Renly, my pardons. So many kings, my tongue grows weary of the word. The brother Renly has left Highgarden with his fair young queen, his flowered lords and shining knights, and a mighty host of foot. He marches up your road of roses toward the very same great city we were speaking of."

"He takes his bride?"

The other shrugged. "He did not tell me why. Perhaps he is loath to part with the warm burrow between her thighs, even for a night. Or perhaps he is that certain of his victory."

"The king must be told."

"I have attended to it, good ser. Though His Grace frowns so whenever he does see me that I tremble to come before him. Do you think he would like me better if I wore a hair shirt and never smiled? Well, I will not do it. I am an honest man, he must suffer me in silk and samite. Or else I shall take my ships where I am better loved. With his great bounty this Septon Barre has built no grand new manses. He is of the breed of men that love gold not to use it but for the mere joy of having it, methinks."

The sudden shift in subject left Davos uneasy. Nevertheless, he said, "You tell of the septon too poorly. He's of the sort that give food to beggar children." As I was, he thought, though he had his pride and would never tell it aloud to such a man as this. "He hasn't spent his gold because he knows he will need it. There are always fields burnt, children orphaned, towns and villages sacked in wars. Who but the Faith will lift a finger for them? It profits the Faith nothing to stir the smallfolk's wrath against Ser Axell Florent, and profits it much to have the money it needs for the war."

"You speak like a holy man," Saan said with a laugh.

That startled Davos. "I'm no septon. But yes, when it's called for I say a word or light a candle to one of the true gods, and I cannot deny I'm glad this whole sorry affair with the red woman and her foreign god is ending."

"I will remember." Salladhor Saan got to his feet. "My pardons. These grapes have given me a hunger, and dinner awaits on my Valyrian. Minced lamb with pepper and roasted gull stuffed with mushrooms and fennel and onion. Soon we shall eat together in King's Landing, yes? In the Red Keep we shall feast, while the dwarf sings us a jolly tune. When you speak to King Stannis, mention if you would that he will owe me another thirty thousand dragons come the black of the moon." The Lyseni clapped Davos on the back, and swaggered from the inn as if he owned it.

Davos finished his ale, pushed away the tankard, and left the inn. On the way out he patted the gargoyle on the head and muttered, "Luck." They would all need it.

It was well after dark when Devan came down to Black Betha, leading a snow white palfrey. "My lord father," he annnounced, "His Grace commands you to attend him in the Chamber of the Painted Table. You are to ride the horse and come at once."

It was good to see Devan looking so splendid in his squire's raiment, but the summons made Davos uneasy. Will he bid us sail? he wondered. Salladhor Saan was not the only captain who felt that King's Landing was ripe for an attack, but a smuggler must learn patience. We have no hope of victory. I said as much to Maester Cressen, the day I returned to Dragonstone, and nothing has changed. We are too few, the foes too many. If we dip our oars, we die. Nonetheless, he climbed onto the horse.

Stannis sat at his Painted Table with Maester Pylos at his shoulder, an untidy pile of papers before them. "Ser," the king said when Davos entered, "come have a look at this letter."

Obediently, he selected a paper at random. "It looks handsome enough, Your Grace, but I fear I cannot read the words." Davos could decipher maps and charts as well as any, but letters and other writings were beyond his powers. But my Devan has learnt his letters, and young Steffon and Stannis as well.

"I'd forgotten." A furrow of irritation showed between the king's brows. "Pylos, read it to him."

"Your Grace." The maester took up one of the parchments and cleared his throat. "All men know me for the trueborn son of Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, by his lady wife Cassana of House Estermont. I declare upon the honour of my House that my beloved brother Robert, our late king, left no trueborn issue of his body, the boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella being abominations born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother Jaime the Kingslayer. By right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty. Done in the sight of gods and men, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms." The parchment rustled softly as Pylos laid it down.

"Make it Ser Jaime the Kingslayer henceforth," Stannis said, frowning. "Whatever else the man may be, he remains a knight. I don't know that we ought to call Robert my beloved brother either. He loved me no more than he had to, nor I him."

"A harmless courtesy, Your Grace," Pylos said.

"A lie. Take it out." Stannis turned to Davos. "The maester tells me that we have one hundred seventeen ravens on hand. I mean to use them all. One hundred seventeen ravens will carry one hundred seventeen copies of my letter to every corner of the realm, from the Arbour to the Wall. Perhaps a hundred will win through against storm and hawk and arrow. If so, a hundred maesters will read my words to as many lords in as many solars and bedchambers… and then the letters will like as not be consigned to the fire, and lips pledged to silence. These great lords love Joffrey, or Renly, or Robb Stark. I am their rightful king, but they will deny me if they can. So I have need of you."

"I am yours to command, my king. As ever."

Stannis nodded. "I mean for you to sail Black Betha north, to Gulltown, the Fingers, the Three Sisters, even White Harbour. Your son Dale will go south in the Wraith, past Cape Wrath and the Broken Arm, all along the coast of Dorne as far as the Arbour. Each of you will carry a chest of letters, and you will deliver one to every port and holdfast and fishing village. Nail them to the doors of septs and inns for every man to read who can."

Davos said, "That will be few enough."

"Ser Davos speaks truly, Your Grace," said Maester Pylos. "It would be better to have the letters read aloud."

"Better, but more dangerous," said Stannis. "These words will not be kindly received."

"Give me knights to do the reading," Davos said. "That will carry more weight than anything I might say."

Stannis seemed well satisfied with that. "I can give you such men, yes. I have a hundred knights who would sooner read than fight. Be open where you can and stealthy where you must. Use every smuggler's trick you know, the black sails, the hidden coves, whatever it requires. If you run short of letters, capture a few septons and set them to copying out more. I mean to use your second son as well. He will take Lady Marya across the Narrow Sea, to Braavos and the other Free Cities, to deliver other letters to the men who rule there. The world will know of my claim, and of Cersei's infamy."

You can tell them, Davos thought, but will they believe? He glanced thoughtfully at Maester Pylos. The king caught the look. "Maester, perhaps you ought get to your writing. We will need a great many letters, and soon."

"As you will." Pylos bowed, and took his leave.

The king waited until he was gone before he said, "What is it you would not say in the presence of my maester, Davos?"

"My liege, Pylos is pleasant enough, but I cannot see the chain about his neck without mourning for Maester Cressen."

"Is it his fault the old man died?" Stannis glanced into the fire. "That was his own doing, and a great nuisance it has been too. Melisandre promised me much; if she delivered but a quarter of it, she would have been a useful tool indeed. And do you know that self-righteous old fool Barre and his pawn Sunglass are telling everyone who will listen that he was a martyr for the Faith, sacrificing himself to destroy an evil witch who was seducing me, while they themselves fleece my uncle for gold? The gall of it!"

Davos did. He judged it unwise to mention that he agreed. Melisandre may not have seduced the king to her bed, but she had been trying to seduce him to her way of thinking. He did not think Lord Stannis would have tolerated such mockery of Maester Cressen, who had been a trusted companion to him, before the red woman had sunk her claws into him, and he was very glad indeed that she was gone.

"Nevertheless," Stannis said, "what is done cannot be undone. For Cressen's religious passion, I am bereft of him and my red priestess alike. And Pylos serves me ably."

"Pylos is the least of it. The letter… what did your lords make of it, I wonder?"

Stannis snorted. "Celtigar pronounced it admirable. If I showed him the contents of my privy, he would declare that admirable as well. The others bobbed their heads up and down like a flock of geese, all but Velaryon, who said that steel would decide the matter, not words on parchment. As if I had never suspected. The Others take my lords, I'll hear your views."

"Your words were blunt and strong."

"And true."

"And true. Yet you have no proof. Of this incest. No more than you did a year ago."

"There's proof of a sorts at Storm's End. Robert's bastard. The one he fathered on my wedding night, in the very bed they'd made up for me and my bride. Delena was a Florent, and a maiden when he took her, so Robert acknowledged the babe. Edric Storm, they call him. He is said to be the very image of my brother. If men were to see him, and then look again at Joffrey and Tommen, they could not help but wonder, I would think."

"Yet how are men to see him, if he is at Storm's End?"

Stannis drummed his fingers on the Painted Table. "It is a difficulty. One of many." He raised his eyes. "You have more to say about the letter. Well, get on with it. I did not make you a knight so you could learn to mouth empty courtesies. I have my lords for that. Say what you would say, Davos."

Davos bowed his head. "It's not about the letter, Your Grace. It's about the war."

"I will not leap at King's Landing. I would take it, I have no doubt of that; but that would do me more harm than good. If I did so, the abominations born of incest would be sent to the silent sisters and the Wall, so Lord Tywin would have no grandchildren to place upon the throne his daughter's stolen. For that he would hate me as much as he did Aerys Targaryen, who deprived him of a similar ambition, and he would surely support Renly against me. I would destroy one usurper only to the reward of another. No. As long as Renly opposes my claim, he is beloved of the lords and commons as I never have been, so I needs must destroy him before moving against Joffrey."

"I do not argue that," Davos said. "It's about Lords Tully and Stark and Lady Arryn. Will you not—"

"I will."

Davos was too stunned to speak.

"Do you think I would so oft ask your advice if I were minded never to heed it? Stark would steal half my kingdom and his grandsire Tully would aid him; one who would be king will not toss aside his crown, so he is my certain enemy; but Lady Arryn may yet be persuaded to my cause. I do not have great hope of it, but it would be negligent were I not to try. I trusted in Maester Cressen's wisdom and your wiles, and they availed me nothing; I went to the stormlords a beggar and they laughed at me. But to Lady Arryn I will not beg. She has a son of the noblest blood, fit to wed a princess, and I have a daughter. Many a woman would leap at the chance of such a match, for her son to be king."

Davos found his voice. "I am glad."

"You should be," said Stannis. "'Twas good counsel. I expect Lady Arryn not to take it—if she were wise she would already have marched to war against Tywin Lannister, for if he triumphs he will find no mercy in his heart for her—but an appeal to her ambition may yet succeed where her honour and her wisdom failed. It is this that I would discuss. On the morrow I will call my lords bannermen to this chamber, and I will send a delegation by ship to Gulltown and thence to the Eyrie."

Davos had not anticipated such a triumph; he did not know what to say. "Who is fit for such a task?"

"I had little choice," answered Stannis. "Bar Emmon is a boy. Sunglass has been the ally of Barre; he is unworthy of my trust. My good-uncle I would rather retain here; he has served me long and well, and besides they would disdain me for that most of his House stands against me. All others here the haughty Valelords would judge to be too lowborn, so I have little choice but to send Celtigar and Velaryon. Their Houses are no longer as rich or as mighty as they were in olden days, but they are old and of ancient pedigree, boasting many marriages with House Targaryen. At the head of the delegation I will send my wife."

Lady Selyse? She is being sent to exile? Davos could scarcely believe his ears.

"I'd be a fool to place Velaryon above Celtigar, or Celtigar above Velaryon," Stannis explained, "and it would be a sign of seriousness as regards my intentions for my daughter. I expect Lady Arryn to be a fool, but we shall see."