Davos V
Back to where it all began, Davos thought as he glimpsed the walls of King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, in the distance. Maybe I should never have left Flea Bottom; I've come too far. I started as a smuggler, and now I return as a conqueror.
Davos tried to shake off his doubts, but without success. In moments like these, he always felt out of place, as if he shouldn't be there, among the key commanders of that army, but rather across the way, in Flea Bottom, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the enemy army and praying to the Seven that they wouldn't sack his house if King Renly was defeated. His was a generation that had only known war.
First, it was Tywin Lannister, then Renly, and now it's our turn. The surprising thing is that this city is anything more than abandoned ruins. He remembered the years after marrying Marya, how he had wanted to move to a house outside the walls. "It'll be more spacious", he had told his wife, "perfect for raising children, with streets and buildings much healthier than those of Flea Bottom". But Marya had adamantly refused; she felt safer within the city walls. Surveying the ashes and debris of the extramural districts, so similar to what he had seen almost two decades ago when he returned to the city with a knighthood, Davos increasingly understood his wife's old fears. But he didn't deceive himself either; within the walls, the situation wouldn't be much better, but he was convinced that most would have been spared, despite everything. Or rather, he was trying to convince himself. He didn't know what lay behind those walls, but given what he had seen, he feared the worst.
Well, it can't be worse than Harrenhal.
He shuddered at the mere thought of it, and it would take several years for him to stop having nightmares about it. Renly's army had devoured itself in that accursed castle, and those who survived that internal strife had experienced something even worse. Roose Bolton's army, reconstituted after its defeat at the hands of Lord Tywin in the early stages of the war, had seized the opportunity to take the place, with disastrous consequences for those still camped there. They had arrived with the rest of the army from Riverrun just a week later, but by then, Bolton's troops had had enough time to commit all kinds of crimes. Women were raped, limbs were amputated, even men were flayed, like the infamous sigil of House Bolton. And corpses, many corpses. Nobles or commoners, none had escaped the cruelty of the northerners. A true massacre, one of many that had occurred in that dark place. The only positive thing that could be salvaged from all of that was that those who had fled Harrenhal before Bolton's men arrived had not run into Renly's arms, and for now, they contented themselves with staying behind the walls of their respective castles.
Bolton had apologized to Lord Stark and King Stannis and had ordered the guilty men to be hanged. His men had been fighting for a long time without achieving victory, and they had gone too far, he had said, trying to excuse their actions. He had used a very convincing tone, but Davos hadn't bought his arguments. Something like that could only have been ordered from above or showed very poor leadership on Bolton's part, and Roose Bolton didn't strike him as a fool.
"What was I supposed to do, Davos? Cut off his head? Northerners, Riverlanders, Dornishmen, men of the Reach, and now men from the Westerlands. That's my army, and they all have reasons to hate each other. If I have Bolton executed, much as he deserves it, everything we've achieved could crumble in an instant. I have to keep this army together until the war is over," the king had confessed when Davos expressed his concerns.
"Not punishing him would be a disgrace. Those men had surrendered without fighting," Davos had insisted. "Many of their heirs will swear loyalty to Storm's End; they will be your direct subjects when this is over, or your daughter's. If you don't punish Bolton, they'll resent you, like the Dornish with Robert."
"They should be grateful if I don't cut off their heads or send them to the Wall," Stannis had replied, shutting down any further discussion.
Nevertheless, the king had placed Bolton and his men in the rearguard, so it was highly unlikely that his troops would participate in the imminent assault on the city. Although that wouldn't be of much help to the city's inhabitants either. The longer the men stayed away from their homes, the more easily they tended to behave like monsters, and these soldiers had been battling for months.
"They're terrified, Onion Knight," Sir Gerold Dayne whispered, mounted on his black steed. "Once we loose the first arrow, the city will surrender."
That would be too late. If they don't surrender now, the city will burn.
"I'd rather be with the fleet, Sir Gerold. An admiral on land is of little use," Davos replied.
Despite being appointed Master of Ships by the king, the fleet's involvement had been minimal. Aye, he had captained the fleet in the taking of the Shield Islands to aid in the siege of Highgarden, but the campaign had been prolonged in large part because of him. He had preferred to act cautiously and take the islands one by one, despite the delay that might entail, and by the time he had succeeded, the Tyrells had already surrendered to King Stannis' army. Since then, the royal fleet had remained in reserve, scattered between the Shields, Oldtown, and Highgarden, although the king had ordered Salladhor Saan and his men to sail to the Bay of Crabs and Cape Wrath to draw the attention of Renly and his lords. And he had stayed with the king, away from the sea.
"I would have preferred that too. Better the fleet under the command of a smuggler than a Lannister," replied the Darkstar. The jab was obvious, though Davos wasn't offended. It wasn't the worst that had been thrown at him, and lately, few nobles still bothered. But Darkstar had always had a slithery tongue.
Now I'm the Master of Ships and the lord of Oldtown. I should probably try to command more respect. Well, each thing in its time. Respect wasn't something he cared much about as long as he continued to have the kings' confidence.
"Now they are our allies, Sir. Like it or not, it's the king's decision. Besides, from what the rumors say, Lord Stafford led the fleet during the Battle of King's Landing admirably. Lord Renly was close to falling into the Kingslayer's trap."
"Well, it didn't serve him much, did it? Renly's sits his ass on the Iron Throne, and the Kingslayer is six feet under. With a bit of luck, they'll serve as a distraction, and who knows, maybe Renly will take one or two of those ships down. It would be the best for everyone, don't you think?" said Starfall.
"Well, no, actually, I don't," replied Davos. He was getting tired of the conversation, and he hadn't come there to please Sir Gerold. If he wanted to be offended, so be it. "We've made the realm bleed enough, so it's better to end this as soon as possible, and without shedding blood if possible. That's what their Majesties want, and I couldn't agree more."
"Heh. You have a soft heart, Onion Knight, and unfortunately, you're mistaken. There will be a battle, like it or not. Besides..." Whatever Starfall was going to say had to wait because at that moment, the Dragon Gate opened wide, allowing a group of riders to trot down the Kingsroad toward their camp. They were far from his position, but Davos could make out that one of them carried a huge banner with the crowned stag of House Baratheon. Renly.
So, he has come. Perhaps I can still dare to hope.
"I suppose the king expects me to go with him. If you'll excuse me, Sir Gerold," Davos said, not giving the Dornish knight time to respond, and trotted towards where the king and his generals were preparing to meet Lord Renly. The clearing where the meeting was to take place had been a small forest not long ago, but Renly's troops had cut down every last tree. Something similar had happened in Stokeworth, Rosby, and the Duskendale. Renly had left nothing that could be of the slightest use to them in the impending siege. What they couldn't take into the city, they had burned. Seeing the number of riders, more numerous than it had seemed from a distance, Davos sensed that the king intended to intimidate his brother with his might. He doubted that tactic would work, however.
"Ah, Lord Davos, I didn't know the king had sent for you," Lady Nymeria said when he reached the group. "You've arrived ahead of time, as usual."
"You know me. The king commands, and I serve, Lady Nym. Is there any news on what Renly wants?" Davos asked.
"No idea. I still find it hard to believe he wanted to arrenge this meeting, but the king insisted that a messenger be sent to attempt negotiation. I'm surprised he agreed, given the precedents, although I think it's just a farce," Lady Nym replied.
"And what does His Grace think?"
"Heh. Tell me. As much as he loves to talk, I don't think anyone knows except you and my cousin, at most."
"It might be, though when it comes to his brother, even we are in the dark. Anyway, I'll see if I can find out something."
Stannis Baratheon and his cohort of great lords didn't look regal at all. The king wore hardened leather armor with a chainmail underneath, and the only ornament covering him was the crown on his head. Prince Oberyn, as well as his daughters Lady Obara and Lady Nymeria, wore similar attire, as did a few other Dornishmen whose names he didn't remember.
I'm a lord now; I shouldn't forget these things. Perhaps it was time he hired some kind of steward, or perhaps take on a squire, although he doubted any noble would want to leave his son in the care of the Onion Knight. Not that he was a great example of nobility.
Near them, the Kingsguard, Lord Stark, and the northern and river lords wore heavy steel armor covering them from head to toe, in stark contrast to the Dornish. He couldn't identify among them Sir Garth Tyrell or Edmure Tully, only the Blackfish by the sigil on his armor. And if it hadn't been for the gigantic gray wolf at Stark's horse's feet, he wouldn't have even recognized the young wolf. Besides Davos, the only one who stood out in that group of heavily armed people was the queen, majestic on her mare, with brightly colored silk garments that seemed glued to her dusky skin. But when she approached, he could see that even she had a couple of daggers sheathed at her belt.
And I can't even handle a sword well... He felt a phantom tingle in the missing fingers, but four more fingers wouldn't have made him much more skilled in a duel, if it came to that. Davos trusted that Renly wouldn't attempt something that risky and dishonorable, but given how desperate his situation seemed, few would dare to rule it out. Certainly, no one among those present.
"If this goes wrong, Arianne..." he heard the king say to his wife.
"It will turn out well, you'll see. And the war will finally be over," comforted the Princess of Dorne. "We just need to make sure that—oh. Sir Davos, we didn't expect you." If Stannis Baratheon had been disturbed by his presence, he didn't show it, but his young queen had indeed been startled. Maybe he shouldn't have left Sir Gerold's cynical company so hastily.
"I didn't summon you, Davos," the king said after an awkward silence.
"Oh, my sincere apologies, Your Grace," Davos replied. You overstepped, idiot. How could I've been so foolish? The king had included him in his war councils, but that didn't mean he would involve him in everything. And certainly not in this meeting where the fate of the war could be decided. "I made a mistake; I'll return to the troops, and—"
"It doesn't matter, dear Davos, come along. I'm sure your advice will be helpful," the queen intervened.
"This is not what we had decided, Arianne," Stannis reproached.
"Your brother would find it odd not to see you with your Onion Knight, dear. Besides, I don't think his intervention will be necessary at any point."
The king eventually agreed, though during the minutes that passed since they left the troops behind and reached the meeting point, Davos's old concerns surged back. He shouldn't be there; it wasn't his place. The king had explicitly told him so this time.
Unfortunately, Lord Renly took longer than expected, and by the time he arrived, nerves were already on edge. The king's brother looked very different from the image Davos had in his memory. He still seemed majestic, and his shining golden armor adorned with emeralds only enhanced that image, but Davos could observe the cracks in that facade. The coal-colored Baratheon hair that once flowed in splendid locks was now frayed, and Davos could even glimpse a few grays among his strands. He had bags under his eyes and a neglected beard that was starting to resemble that of the late King Robert.
His companions didn't look much better. They had cleaned their armors, but it only served to highlight the dents in them, although Davos thought the same might be said of his group. Three of the companions stood out, with a rainbow-colored cloak draped over their shoulders. So, these are the famous Rainbow Guard. Shouldn't there be seven of them too? Surely the rest were still in the Red Keep guarding Margaery Tyrell, Renly's queen, or worse, preparing an ambush. Though in this barren wasteland, that seemed complicated.
"Did you really need to bring so many men, brother? Or do you not trust your own guards to protect you?" Renly Baratheon said as he approached. The king ground his teeth, and Davos understood that this negotiation was not going to be easy.
"There are many because these are the territories that support me, Renly. The great lords of Dorne, the North, the Riverlands, and now also the Stormlands and the Westerlands. The false king Joffrey has been defeated, and now only one usurper remains in this kingdom. Surrender," the king said, his words revealing a chilling anger.
"Great lords? You have a strange way of calling them. Or perhaps the Dornish sun has fried your brain? Look at them, Stannis, beside you, I see only Dornish raiders, traitors, Northern savages, and pirates whom you've named knights. You just need to bring the Imp, and you could start a circus," Lord Renly laughed. Davos wasn't offended by the comment, but he observed how much of the king's entourage had placed their hands on the hilts of their swords at Renly's remarks.
If this continues, it will end in bloodshed.
"I didn't come here to hear your insult, Renlys. For the love of the mother who bore us both, stop this madness. You're alone, you have no men left, and even your former allies have turned their backs on you. Surrender now, and I'll let you keep Storm's End. I'll even forgive those treacherous lords who still support you, though they will have to pay a price," Stannis said.
"How generous of you. And what will that price be? A hand, perhaps two?"
"Renly..."
"Those are generous terms, dearest Renly. Even more so, given the circumstances. Gold, hostages, certain lands... But if you force us to take the city, be assured that only the Wall or the executioner await you," Arianne Martell intervened. The war seemed to have infected the young queen with her husband's tight seriousness.
"Ah, greetings, sister-in-law. You look as radiant as ever. And are these your cousins? Well, I'm not short of warrior women either." Renly pointed to one of his guards, a giant clad in a sky-blue armor with a rainbow-colored cloak. "This is Brienne of Tarth, and she's as skilled as the Kingslayer. Brienne, if things go wrong, I want you to kill those Dornish whores and then bring me the head of my brother's wife."
"How dare you!" the king roared, unable to contain his anger. Lady Obara and Lady Nymeria had drawn their weapons, but the Red Viper calmed them before they did something rash. The giant knight didn't make a move to unsheathe her weapon, unlike the Knight of Flowers, whose sword was already drawn, but her sheer size seemed threatening.
"Your Grace, perhaps we should discuss his terms," one of Renly's lords intervened. The old Lord Estermont, the maternal grandfather of the Baratheon brothers. He had been quick to declare for Renly, even knowing what that entailed.
"I don't think so. If the rumors are true, Lord Tywin also made a deal with you. And I imagine Lord Tarly did the same. Tell me, brother, where are they now?" Renly asked.
"Dead. Lord Tyrion confessed that his father planned to attack Robb Stark and Edmure Tully's troops from behind, taking advantage of the deal. If you're concerned about guarantees, brother, ask Lord Willas Tyrell or Lord Tyrion himself if you wish. I keep my promises," Stannis Baratheon replied.
"How convenient that they're not here to question, right Stannis? So, we can only rely on your word. And what about Randyll Tarly?"
"No idea, he was already dead when we arrived. Betrayed by his own men, from what Roose Bolton told me."
"Well, we have another dead man we can't question."
"Stop it. Did you come here just to criticize and threaten me? To laugh at me? State your terms, if you have any. If not, you'll leave me no choice but to destroy you," the king roared. His accumulated anger seemed endless.
"My terms? Very simple, kneel. I have the throne, Stannis, I got it just like Robert did. Kneel, you and those lords who follow you, and I'll be generous, very generous. Yes, I know about that little story of yours about Robert's bastards, but we all here know it's just a farce to justify your claim."
"Have you gone mad, Renly? Your defeat is inevitable now. How long do you think the city can hold? A day, two, maybe a week?"
"You'd be surprised, Stannis. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. You've asked me many questions; let me ask you one. How long will your men last before they desert and turn against each other when they see that you can't take the city?"
"He's truly lost his mind," Queen Arianne whispered beside him. "I hoped he'd try to get better terms, but this... well, I guess there's no choice."
"There will be thousands dead. Gods forgive us," Davos replied in a low, mournful voice, while both brothers continued their argument. The city will die. By the Mother above, I think I'll leave this world before I see it rebuilt after all this madness.
"Thousands? No, dear Onion Knight. If all goes well, a dozen will be enough," Arianne Martell whispered. Davos watched as the Princess of Dorne raised a hand and made some gestures toward her uncle Oberyn, who was watching attentively. Not even a couple of seconds passed before he spurred his horse, along with a handful of his men, towards the rear of Renly's forces. The next moments unfolded like a lightning strike.
The first to realize what was happening wasn't even him but the old Lord Estermont, who looked in astonishment and distrust at the riders before sounding the alarm.
"What are you doing?! Stannis, tell your men to withdraw!" Lord Estermont roared.
But the king did no such thing. On the contrary, the rest of the escort swiftly descended upon Renly's party, swords drawn, while the Kingsguard surrounded Stannis Baratheon and led him away from the impending combat.
"Don't forget! Capture Ser Loras alive!" the queen shouted, beside whom some soldiers were also gathering, although Davos didn't know if her orders had reached their addressees or had been lost amid the clangor of steel. He hadn't even unsheathed his weapon, nor did he know exactly what he should do, completely stunned as he was. "Stay with me, Ser Davos; there's no need for you to go. It will all be over soon," Arianne Martell said when his hand finally responded. Unconsciously, he had brought it to his neck, where the pouch containing the phalanges of his amputated fingers hung.
"Your Grace? What will be over?"
"The war, my good knight. The war."
Davos turned his gaze to where the combat was unfolding. They were still close, much closer than he would have liked, but the queen seemed confident in their safety even at this distance. His eyes could see how the Knight of Flowers swung his sword from side to side, impaling the chests of two nearby riders trying to capture him. One of them wore the immaculate cloak of the Kingsguard of King Stannis. It almost seemed like he might break free from the encirclement and charge towards them, but Stark's enormous beast blurred into view and sank its teeth into the neck of Ser Loras' horse. Rider and mount collapsed, and the dust that had risen around them concealed them from his view.
"Treason! You have no honor! You have no—!" The shouts gradually died away as the seconds passed, and the sound of steel against steel also seemed to gradually diminish. By the Seven, maybe the city hasn't even realized what's happening. If they send reinforcements, it will be too late. He looked back at the queen. She had a satisfied smile from ear to ear as she calmly watched the events unfolding before them. That's when all the gears clicked into place in his head. How had he not realized before? How had he been so blind?
"Your Grace... Wasn't there another way?" Davos asked as Renly's knights fell one by one just a few steps away from him.
"What do you mean, Ser Davos?" the queen asked without averting her gaze.
"This... this isn't right. People will talk, rumors will spread..."
"That's right," Arianne Martell interrupted. "They'll say that Renly, desperate in the face of imminent defeat, tried to attack us in the midst of negotiations. We had no choice but to defend ourselves."
"Lord Stark—
"He knew exactly what we were going to do. Ha, in fact, he helped plan it. Everyone here will say the same, won't you, good knight?"
"I... yes, of course." What was he supposed to answer? This wasn't honest, quite the opposite, and it set a very dangerous precedent. But what else could he do? Keep that tongue still for once. The only thing you'll achieve is losing your head. Your and of your boys. "And the survivors?"
"Ser Loras will keep his mouth shut if he knows what's good for him. He should be glad to be alive. Still, we might as well send him to the Wall, much as Lord Tyrell and the old harpy may complain. As for the rest... we'll see." If there are any left. Seeing that slaughter, it seemed very unlikely.
"It seems they're finishing up. Shall we approach?" the queen asked when the silence left by the sound of swords began to be filled with moans and pleas for mercy.
"It would be prudent to wait a bit, Your Grace," one of the guards informed them. "The fighting may still continue."
"Nonsense, I want to see the end of this. Come on, before reinforcements are sent from the city," the queen said. Davos followed her, although he would have given anything to be able to immediately return behind the army's lines.
Corpses lay at the horses' hooves. Old Estermont, Stannis's grandfather, looked unseeingly at the sky with a spear through his side. The corpses of other lords and knights he didn't know were not far from his, and Dornish riders were taking care of finishing off the few who still clung to life, even if they begged for mercy. There were also men from his army among the dead, but they were very few, considerably fewer than Renly's. He tried to force himself to look forward and avert his eyes from that slaughter, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't.
"Back! Back, I've said!" someone shouted, though Davos couldn't see who, amidst all those riders. "Your race, we shouldn't get closer. It seems they haven't—"
Another of the escorts tried to insist, but the queen cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Let's continue. Make way!"
They managed to move forward until they were almost in the middle of that turmoil. However, the last riders didn't let them through, despite the queen's insistence. Still, from that position, he could make out between the soldiers' helmets the figure of Renly Baratheon, sword in hand, on horseback and surrounded by spears pointing at him. Next to him, the imposing figure of Brienne of Tarth swung her sword in all directions, fending off the spears that dared to come close. Even though surrounded on all sides, no rider seemed to have the courage to face her.
"Take one step further, and you're dead men!" Brienne of Tarth shouted. "These were peace talks, how dare you?"
"Don't try to reason with them, fool," said Renly Baratheon. "This was their plan, to lure us out to kill us. Isn't that right, brother? Have you fallen so low that you have to do this? Show yourself!"
"Drop your weapon, Renly!" King Stannis's voice came from somewhere in the crowd. "It's over. Don't make me see you dead."
"So there you are. I guess you managed to fool me too with that 'I'm a just man' act. Brienne, kill him," Renly said.
"What? My lord, it would be suicidal. We could—"
"I don't care what you think. I ordered you to kill him, you disgusting monster."
"Renly, surrender," Arianne Martell intervened from a distance. "We'll send you to the Wall, with Ser Loras. It's the best you can hope for."
"What are you waiting for, you damn fool? Kill him now—"
The sword of the maiden from Tarth gleamed like a spark as it described the slash. But it wasn't towards them that she directed it, but towards the man behind her. The noise seemed to cease amid the shock of those present, and time seemed to stand still as Brienne of Tarth's sword pierced the neck of Renly Baratheon. The Lord of Storm's End dropped the sword and grabbed his neck, trying to stem the bleeding, but Davos knew instantly that it was already too late. Guttural sounds tried to escape from the mouth of the younger Baratheon brother as the rest watched, paralyzed.
"Renly! No!" someone shouted. Maybe it had been the king. He didn't hear it well because he was more focused on what his eyes saw. Renly Baratheon's body swayed on the back of his mount, about to fall at any moment, while the Maiden of Tarth looked at her trembling hands in bewilderment, as if she, too, couldn't comprehend what she had just done. What was she thinking? What might have been the last thoughts of that woman? Was she regretting what she had just done, or was she like Jaime Lannister, who took pride in it until his end? He could only imagine the answers to those questions because not a blink had passed when one of the riders approached and thrust his lance into the back of a shocked Brienne of Tarth. A couple more followed suit, and in a matter of seconds, Brienne the Blue followed the same fate as the king she had sworn to protect.
"Damn you Obara, always acting without thinking. Alive, that woman would have been a good scapegoat. What a waste. However, now... Well, everything went well, I suppose," the queen murmured beside him. "Let's go back to the camp. Rejoice, tonight we'll celebrate the end of the war in the Red Keep!"
Cheers were heard during the short journey back, and even more when they reunited with the rest of the army. Although they won't be having anything to loot, they were happy that they had achieved victory without having to fight, and that soon they would return home. But despite everything, a part of him couldn't help but feel they had lost.
Welcome back to another chapter of these story. This one has been really tricky to write. I feel like I've rewritten Renly's death like a dozen times but I quite like how it ended up being. I think it's quite a bitter end for him and Brienne and fits quite well with how the story has developed. I hope you enjoyed.
And also I'd like to anounce that next chapter will be from Arianne's POV and that it will be the epilogue of this story. It's been quite a journey and we are almost at it's end. You might wonder, wouldn't it be better to finish it at chapter 40? That was my idea at first but I think it would me more satisfying to finish it with Arianne, as she's one of the main characters of this fanfic. Instead, I think chapter 40 will feature some final thoughts from me about this work.
Thank you all for reading this and for your support. See you again in Christmas!
