THE SEA ONION
The sight of Rook's Rest was familiar by now, its green fields to the west and rolling forested hills to the north, the castle on the coast where the two met.
Its rulers in House Staunton had been a rich house made poor by the Dance of Dragons. In compensation, their small port had facilitated smuggling for quite a while after that. Lord Stannis had stamped it out with more tact than many would credit him; a simple regular patrol from Dragonstone had discouraged the practice, and they had moved further up the coast to Whispers, the men of Cracklaw Point far more stubborn in their attitudes.
Davos watched from the prow of Black Betha, drinking in the sight. It was strange to be there in the circumstances. The last time he had visited he had been just another smuggler, bringing in silks, spices and rare liquors for King's Landing. Now he was a king's envoy, an envoy of justice.
The raven from the Stauntons' hold had arrived quite unexpectedly, as Davos understood the events of the early morning. King Stannis had consulted with his maester and then the red seer witch, and the result of these councils was an order dispatching him to the shore to pick up three men.
The little harbour was already full of cogs, merchant ships hired to help transport King Stannis' sellswords from Essos. They had yet to be dispatched, though the contracts were already signed. It left Black Betha barely able to make port. Davos had to shout commands to the oars directly to guide it in, a task he put all his concentration on, not noticing the scene waiting.
The banners with black checkers and black wings on them drew his eye first, and he followed the spears they were flying from to the group of figures staring at him.
The three dozen guards were greybeards and young boys; the Staunton levies were already on Dragonstone, part of the fleet. They were led by the steward of the castle, a stern man with a face carved by sea winds in a long checkered robe standing at the fore. In the ships laying by the long pier, the sailors were ignoring the stench of rotting fish and the fullers, watching as the ropes were flung to war galley creeping in among them, the Black Betha pulled in.
And the three men kneeling with their hands bound, their heads hung so low their chins touched the top of their long red tabards, the golden lion of Lannister stitched into them. Their beards were long and scraggly, hanging off sunken cheeks. They haven't been hurt, Davos thought, But they've been starved and left in their own filth.
The gangplank clanked down onto the wooden pier, calling for him. Clutching the bag of his fingerbones hanging from his neck, Davos set his jaw and strode from the prow to it and off of his ship. He felt the stare of every pair of eyes following him. His sailors were right behind him, to take the prisoners.
The steward did not bow, nor did he avert his eyes. Even a minor noble with no land is better bred than an old dog from Flea Bottom. "Ser Davos," the man said shortly, "The Lannister men, as promised."
"They look to have been mistreated," Davos stated, "The King will not be pleased to know it."
The steward was not cowed by the threat. "The men were held as common bandits, Lannisters or no," he said, "It was only when one of them piped up with their story that we knew they had information the King might want, and it was only when the raven came from Dragonstone that we received instructions about their treatment. They were moved to better quarters as soon as it did, but alas, they only spent a few hours in it."
"They did not have time to wash?" Davos asked.
The steward's nose wrinkled. "The fair-haired one made trouble with the servants who were pouring a bath for them," he said, "For the safety of the castle, they were returned to their quarters."
That must have been quite a story, Davos thought, But it matters not. "We must away," he said, "Thank you. I'll tell the king you followed his command."
Only now did the steward bow, and not very low for that, before he gave a single sharp gesture to his guards. The whole lot departed as one group, back up the hill towards the castle, their banners fluttering in the wind.
Glad to see the back of them, Davos watched them go for only a moment, before he turned to the prisoners. His sailors moved in to surround them, pulling the dirty men to their feet. Finally, he met their eyes. The fair-haired one had the same glowing green eyes said to be the hallmark of Lannister blood. A bastard of some kind, or spawned from one.
"Well lads, you have a journey ahead," Davos said to them, "The king will want to speak with you."
"And then we'll be let go?" the fair-haired one asked.
Davos very much doubted it. But the red woman had seeded an interest in the King's mind, and that could be worth something. "That'll be up to the King," he replied, "So speak true, and answer his questions directly."
"We're going to speak to Lord Stannis?" the oldest prisoner said, his own wrinkles and grey wisps of hair matching Davos' own. Lives by the Sunset sea, must do.
"King Stannis," Davos corrected, "Best remember that. And you can look forward to being dunked in the sea before you meet him too. It'd do no good for your smell to offend him either."
The voyage back to to the King lasted into the night. In normal times, such sailing was dangerous for those without Davos' skill and knowledge of the waters. However, that night, the red woman's pyres were burning all around Dragonstone, a ring of fire that got brighter the closer the ship moved.
The Black Betha put into the harbour without incident. Davos ignored the ominous signs of the fire worshippers around the port and brought his prisoners up to the gates. Being expected, he and his party were admitted at once.
Instructions had been left to bring the Lannister men to the Chamber of the Painted Table, where the king awaited. Baratheon men-at-arms joined the procession in force, nearly fifteen for each of the prisoners. There was a scuffle as two of them tried to object, realising just how much danger they might be in. It was the fair-haired one that calmed them down.
Entrance to the chamber was permitted soon, and Davos found it almost empty save for candles atop the great table shaped like Westeros itself. Stannis was sitting in a kingly chair by Blackwater Bay in a doublet of black and gold, and Melisandre of Asshai in a red dress revealing much standing to his side. Some Baratheon men were there too, though the sigils on their chests and shields had been altered. The Baratheon stag was now wreathed in a flaming heart. What has he done…
Davos didn't hesitate, despite the presence of the witch or men more loyal to her than to the King. The whole procession followed him along the other side, until he came to stand by Lannisport, the prisoners shoved up against the coast of the Westerlands. Appropriate. And at least they smell like sea salt now instead of filth.
"Leave us," the King commanded to the guards, "Shut the door."
Both the Dragonstone guards and Davos' sailors did as they were told, though only the guards bowed to the king first. The loud bang of the doors closing announced the King rising to his feet. Blue eyes flashing, he towered over the prisoners, Davos and the Flaming Stag men. The Lady Melisandre appeared larger even if she was not quite so. Yet the prisoners did not seem to notice her. What other magicks can she use?
"Did they give you any trouble, Ser Davos?" the King asked, as he examined each one. His gaze came to a rest of the fair-haired man, undoubtedly drawing the same conclusion Davos himself had.
"None," he replied, "They are throwing themselves upon your mercy, your Grace."
"Aye, that we are," said the older prisoner.
Stannis' brow creased, his doubts apparent. "Very well. I have heard your tale in brief from Lord Staunton's steward. Tell it to me now, or I'll consider it a meagre attempt to avoid the headman's axe and send you meet it sooner than you thought."
The prisoners looked at each other in panic, and stumbled over each other to speak. The elder one got his words out first.
"We are… were free riders of the Westerlands," he said, leaning over the table, "Granted mounts and arms to be sworn to Casterly Rock. We only fought because we swore an oath, you see."
Stannis' black eyebrow nudged upwards. "Yes, it was your duty."
But so was following the true king. Davos kept his mouth closed.
"We followed Lord Tywin through the riverlands," the older prisoner continued, "Beat the riverlords to a pulp then turned north to face the Stark men. But soon Tywin's outriders were getting killed all down the King's Road, and we turned around, our lords thinking the Stark host was larger than they'd thought."
"There was all sorts of mad talk of wildlings then too," the third prisoner said, tugging his brown beard, "Ten thousand of them, all riding great shaggy beasts."
The young fair-haired man nodded rapidly. "But when Lord Tywin found out there were less than five hundred wildlings and the Starks had only half or so as many as he did, we turned right around and rode to fight them. Thought it was going to be a slaughter."
"Aye, 'twas," the older man concluded, "We were the ones slaughtered."
The King grit his teeth and slammed his fist onto the table, shaking every candle on it. "Every dog in the village knows these things," he said, "You were brought here to describe how! Tell me how the foreigners and wildlings shattered the host of the West!"
The men flinched back as Davos winced. The King had been greatly disturbed by the reports of the war coming in. He still had loyal supporters all over the Crownlands, men long disgusted by the usurpation of his brother's rule.
Tales of Lord Lannister's defeat had come in waves since the day it had occurred. Two days before the raven from Rook's Rest had arrived, word had come that the foreigners were storming down the King's Road once more, capturing three castles in a single day.
A host is moving towards King's Landing with nothing to stop them, tidings to sour the mood of any king. Stannis did not have the men yet to intervene either.
"We were with the cavalry that rode against the foreigners and wildlings!" the old prisoner hurried to say, hands wringing the red tabard in front of him, "Ser Gregor and Lord Tyrion went in first behind a loose wall of upright logs, we got caught outside it. Then the air and earth burst through us."
That was so strange a thing to say, Davos couldn't help himself. "Burst?"
The prisoners looked over their shoulders at him. "Aye," the fair-haired man replied, "The air simply burst. It shattered thousands of men and horses in the blink of an eye. We three were blown clear of our saddles and into the river, which saved our lives. Our ears rang for days."
The old prisoner bared his teeth, his eyes full of water. "Then great gouts of fire shot from the ground in all directions, spraying fire like dragon's breath onto everyone. I saw two cousins coated in flames that stuck to their flesh and armour, helpless!"
Melisandre stepped towards the table, but her footsteps were completely silent. The sight of the unnaturally beautiful woman drew gasps from the men. "Fear not, men of Westeros," she said in a melodious tone that sent every hair on Davos' skin to stand on end with strange pleasure, "To die by fire is a holy death. They are embraced by the Lord of Light."
They died in agony, burned and broken, Davos thought, the horror of her ideals returning his senses to him.
The prisoners were agape. "A-as you say, m'lady," the brown-bearded prisoner said unevenly.
The King frowned, not impressed with the talk of the Lord of Light. There may be hope yet. "And the foreigners," Stannis insisted, "They were responsible?"
"Aye, your Grace," the older prisoner confirmed, "And we saw 'em afterwards, as we were crawling along the river to escape. A great wagon moved out of the woods without horses or oxen. We knew then if they had those magicks, it could only have been them that sundered the air and spewed the fire. We watched as three got out as one stayed atop it, before buggering off."
The brown-bearded man nodded. "They wore mottled green clothes and armour, carried sorcerer's staves made of dark metal. One was a woman or I'm a monkey!"
A smile danced on Melisandre of Asshai's red lips, which she turned upon the king. "Four," she said, "Four who came from the far north with the power to conquer great walls and great armies. As I saw. Twice I have proven the Lord of Light's power of foresight for you, o Prince."
Davos realised what she was referring to at once; the crowned lion, firebird atop a harp, the dragon under a white sun and the snowbear among golden lilies that had broken the Wall with fire and smoke. What other visions has she had?
Stannis' frown deepened. "The man described no banners, Lady Melisandre," he said warily, "Though I must admit, your word grows in weight. Everything else you described was brought to bear on the Old Lion. And your vision of my brother had proven true."
Melisandre bowed her head slightly, her smile widening to reveal her perfect white teeth. Davos cocked his head in confusion, not knowing what tidings of Renly had been brought since he had departed on his task. Stannis spotted the movement and raised a hand in promise to tell later, before he looked to the men.
"You survived the battle and fled to the coast," the King stated, "Seeking some passage to Essos, as I understand it?"
The fair-haired man's green eyes shone with hope, twisting up Davos' gut. I know the King's justice better than to share such hope, and from the tales from the Riverlands, these men deserve it. "Aye, your Grace," the man said, "We cannot return home. We want no part in the wars here any longer, if magicks are thrown around. It means dark times."
Melisandre's eyes narrowed, examining the man. "You should embrace the Lord of Light, and join the faithful against the darkness."
None of the prisoners replied to that, scorning such advice but clearly not wanting to offend the King. Davos watched Stannis and saw no offence in his cool gaze. He had calmed, which meant he had made a decision or two.
"And your bargain was to provide this information," the King stated to the prisoners, "In return for your passage to Essos?"
"Aye, your Grace!" the fair-haired man half-shouted with joy, "All said you were a man of justice!"
Stannis' jaw tensed in place at that, though the younger prisoners took no heed, grabbing each other's arms in jubilation. The older prisoner did not join in and cleared his throat.
"Your Grace, we would also be happy to march with you instead. No doubt you have need of skilled men-at-arms in times like these." His comrades grew silent, not sure why the man had made such an offer. They held their breath for the answer to it.
This one sees the danger, Davos thought, But he's full of deceit. He'll desert at the first opportunity.
And the King was not fooled for a moment. He gestured to his personal guards, all but two of whom moved to round the long table, their sabatons clicking with each step so that it sounded like metal crickets had infested the room.
Here it comes.
"I have no need of your services," the King said, "You abandoned one lord, you might abandon me."
"Never, your Grace," the older prisoner lied. The guards arrived behind and pulled all three to their feet to await their judgment.
"Your bargain shall be respected," Stannis said, "You shall be sent to the shores of Essos."
The breath the prisoners had been holding expelled loudly in relief. But the penny had yet to fall.
"However, you are also deserters," Stannis continued, the prisoners goggling wildly at his words, "You abandoned your liege lord simply because he was defeated, fled to save yourselves, and engaged in banditry to survive from what the steward of Rook's Rest tells me. Had you come to join me from the start, I might have pardoned you, but you did not."
His blue eyes became Valyrian steel as he spoke the next words.
"I, Stannis of the House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm order you to be taken to Essos and hung for the crimes of desertion and banditry."
The prisoners writhed in the grip of their captors, the younger ones calling out for the gods and their mothers to save them.
"What of a trial!" the older prisoner roared and spat, "This is not justice!"
Stannis remained totally calm. "You admitted desertion to the King himself in the presence of witnesses," he said, "And when Lord Staunton's men captured you, you had property that could not possibly be yours on your person. You are guilty."
"I demand a trial by combat!" the fair-haired prisoner shouted, tears streaming down his face as the whites of his eyes went red with grief for himself.
Stannis had the answer to that too. "A trial by combat is required only when the guilt of a person is not known for certain," he said, "As I said, you confessed to deserting your liege lord. There is no question of your guilt."
The guards began to drag them away, kicking and screaming. Their shouts echoed off the dark stone all around, creating a cacophony with the sounds of armour movements.
One part of Davos felt like he should have pity for them, for they had a long and unusual journey ahead of them to the hanging tree. That terrible wait would not be helped by taking ship across the Narrow Sea.
But ultimately, Davos could not truly pity these men.
They had likely raped and robbed their way across the Riverlands, on the orders of Lord Tywin himself. Refugees from the violence had streamed towards the coast, so much so that all those sworn to Dragonstone had complained about a lack of places to put them and food to give them. And I remember what King's Landing was like the first time I visited after the Lannisters had sacked it.
"They should be burned, your Grace," Melisandre said, "Especially the green-eyed one. The blood of kings flows in him, however weakly. There is power in giving him to the flames."
"They should not," Davos countered at once, "Your Grace, you cannot be seen to burn men. Not after what the Mad King did. Many would call you just as mad for it, or worse, provoke the Faith to move against you."
The King sighed deeply, like this was a common argument. Maester Cressen, you are sorely needed. The older, wiser man was not present, which spoke of how greatly his influence had diminished in favour of the red woman. "The punishment for both desertion and banditry is hanging," Stannis ruled without energy, "Until the law changes, it shall remain so."
The lady in red spoke no reply to this, though to Davos' eye, didn't accept it either. The doors to the chamber opened to allow the passage of the guards and prisoners, and closed again loudly, leaving the room in silence for a moment. The rustling of paper drew Davos' attention, and he found the King throwing a raven scroll his way.
"My brother has made claim to the Iron Throne with the support of Highgarden," Stannis intoned gravely, "Lady Melisandre saw two stags, their antlers locked in duel. Joffrey is no stag, so it could only have meant Renly. He did not even bother to send a raven here, Lord Velayron relayed it."
The King's calm despite the news his own blood had betrayed him was strange. Davos' mind raced. The power of the Reach was now arrayed against Stannis, and most of the Stormlands besides. But it was not the King who was in the most immediate danger. "The foreigners and Starks from the north, Renly from the south," he said, "The Lannisters cannot possibly hold King's Landing."
Stannis nodded. "Lord Stark's household was murdered, he and his daughters imprisoned for supporting my claim," he said, "His son will beat my brother to the city. We must go at once to join the siege, to strengthen the resolve of the Northmen to fight when their lord is hostage, and to assure the city is taken before Renly arrives."
"Your Grace means to sail to the capital?" Davos asked, "But we have fewer than two thousand who can fight on land. Most of the sellswords have not arrived, some of the ships to bring them have not even sailed yet."
Stannis sat down in his seat once more, arms on both rests. "I must be there when the city falls or yields, Ser Davos. It cannot do so to foreigners without my presence, even if my own supporters are present too. So I must go, even if it's just with you and a dozen picked men. I shall order preparations to sail on the first good tide. With luck the sellswords will join us before Renly arrives."
Davos bowed to the King, unable to gainsay what was now a command.
"And I must go too, my Prince," Melisandre insisted, "The visions around these foreigners swirl and move as if they are in many places at once. You will have need of the Lord's counsels in the days to come."
Davos could think of nothing that would offend the Faith more.
Stannis scowled at her. "Very well," he said, "But you will not enter the city with me. My subjects are faithful men, we shall not offend them unduly."
Lady Melisandre bowed her head low, drawing the eye to her chest. "I shall prove my worth," she said, "You shall see that the chosen of the Lord of Light need fear no servants of darkness, no matter how they cloak themselves. Their offence shall mean nothing."
Davos did not know what she meant by such words, but they sounded like purest folly. She has not seen a King's Landing riot, never mind one stirred up by street septons or the High Septon himself.
No matter what, strife was on the horizon.