If he could choose, Davos Seaworth would have avoided seeing the towering walls of Storm's End altogether. Even from a distance, they loomed like the iron will of an immovable giant, wrapped in dark clouds, exuding an aura that could instill fear in the hearts of even the bravest men. Rumor held that these walls had some ancient and mysterious power—so enduring that not even lightning could scar them. Yet, for his king, Davos had no choice but to step repeatedly within those massive fortifications, whose thickness exceeded ten meters.
After the formal announcements concluded, his son, now an attendant to the King, approached and guided him to the meeting room. Davos carried the information he had painstakingly gathered across the surrounding regions near King's Landing, ready to report.
Inside the meeting hall, richly adorned lords sat around a vast, circular wooden table. The lamplight flickered across their opulent clothing, reflecting gold threads and precious gems. Against this display of wealth, Stannis Baratheon's appearance was stark in its simplicity. He wore a plain black woolen tunic, over which hung a thick, practical cloak of the same color. No silver, no gold, no jewels adorned his clothes. Only the simple golden crown on his head marked him as king. To an outsider, he might have resembled a hardened sailor or a stern commander rather than the sovereign of the Seven Kingdoms.
The Lord of the Crowned Stag sat silently, grinding his teeth beneath the lamplight. His quiet demeanor only highlighted the tension in the room.
"Your Grace, we cannot delay any longer," said the handsome Earl of Tidewood Island, his long golden hair catching the firelight. "The autumn storms are approaching. Soon, boundless winds, heavy rains, and ferocious thunder will sweep the seas. When that time comes, neither the fleet commanded from Dragonstone nor the longships from Lys will be able to deliver soldiers to King's Landing."
"Yes, it is time to strike," he continued, his voice laced with urgency. "If we wait for Redwyne's fleet to reach King's Landing, we risk losing all initiative."
Earl Florent, tall and dignified in shining silver plate armor, also spoke passionately. The red-and-gold fox emblazoned on his chest gleamed beneath the lamplight, surrounded by intricate azurite floral designs. Though once loyal to Renly Baratheon, he had abandoned his past allegiance after the Peach King's untimely death, pledging himself entirely to Stannis. His faith had shifted as completely as his loyalty. "Your Grace," he said, "the Lord of Light, R'hllor, will surely guide you to seize the Iron Throne at the earliest opportunity."
A few younger knights nodded in agreement, eager for the chance to prove themselves in battle.
Davos entered the hall at that moment, observing the scene. Some lords ignored him entirely; others offered polite nods. A few muttered under their breath, "Onion Knight," their tone heavy with derision. The sound was faint, yet Davos heard it clearly. He paid no mind. He had earned his current station through smuggling onions, rising from a lowly origin where contempt from the nobility was commonplace.
Stannis did not interrupt the debate. He merely gestured toward an empty seat, signaling for Davos to sit.
"Lord Florent," said Eldon Estermont, the venerable Earl of Greenstone, his voice firm despite his seventy-odd years. His thick white beard and lined face betrayed his age, but his sharp eyes and commanding tone remained intact. "The false king Joffrey now commands the allegiance of House Tyrell. Reports suggest at least fifty thousand troops are stationed throughout the Crownlands."
He leaned forward. "Your forces, even with the five thousand sailors on Dragonstone, do not match them in number. Storming King's Landing under these conditions seems reckless."
He continued, concern etched across his face. "Moreover, the Dornish are amassing their armies in the Marches, eyeing the Stormlands. If we leave the region undefended, our homeland could fall under their shadow."
Earl Florent snorted, dismissive. "Robb Stark has declared himself King in the North. Shall we wait for this rebel to settle disputes before we act? Heedless of the past, my King, we could have assaulted King's Landing long ago, if not for your caution."
"Your plan is just to wait!" countered Estermont. "Waiting is better than risking an outright assault and losing countless men. When Tywin had retreated with ten thousand Westerland troops, we only had twenty thousand. To force those walls would have been folly. Facts justify my counsel then, and your prudence saved lives."
Their debate escalated, noble pride clashing against religious zeal, strategy, and risk. House Velaryon aligned with Florent, supporting immediate action, while the majority of Stormlands lords sided with Estermont, advocating caution to safeguard their lands. Stannis observed in silence, his icy gaze unwavering, until the heated arguments dwindled into exhaustion.
"That is enough," Stannis said at last, his deep blue eyes cutting through the room like cold steel. "I need time to consider our next steps. Meeting dismissed."
As the lords filed out, only three remained: the King, Davos, and the red-clad Melisandre. The priestess, her skin smooth and pale beneath her crimson robe, resembled a quiet, smoldering flame. Stannis looked at her with measured calm, then turned to Davos.
"Onion Knight, report the information you gathered in King's Landing," Stannis commanded.
Davos rose, his tone respectful but steady. "Your Grace, in Maidenpool and surrounding taverns, rumors abound. The Tarly father and son have been defeated by a young man from House Karstark. They are now held prisoner in Twin River City. Earl Rowan of Goldengrove drowned after falling into the water. Numerous knights were killed or wounded, and nearly ten thousand Reach soldiers accompanying them were routed."
Stannis's fingers tapped the table, the crown atop his head gleaming like the point of a dagger. "Are these reports verified? Could they be Tywin Lannister's ruse, designed to lure us into a trap?"
Davos shook his head. "No, Your Grace. Many witnessed banners of Tarly and Rowan leaving through the Old Gate heading north. Saltpans and Sisterton remain untouched. Witnesses saw the Reach army cross the Ruby Ford. These reports are reliable."
Stannis's gaze lingered on Davos, then shifted to Melisandre. "Lady, I will summon you when needed," he said.
"As you command," she replied, bowing slightly before departing.
Only Davos and Stannis remained. The King, frowning, indicated for water. Two porcelain cups arrived, and he drank slowly, motioning for Davos to follow. Afterward, he looked at the knight. "Onion Knight, what is your counsel? Should we wait or strike now, while there is still an opportunity?"
Davos paused. "Your Grace, why do you seek my opinion? Lords Florent and Estermont each possess plans and reasons far more detailed than mine."
"Hmph," Stannis snorted. "Their counsel is for themselves, not for me. I require honesty, not flattering schemes."
Davos considered carefully, weighing the risks. "Neither plan seems sufficient," he said finally. "An assault on King's Landing holds no certainty. The sea is treacherous, storms are imminent, and the risk could wipe out our forces. Yet waiting too long risks unrest among the lords, exhaustion of our provisions, and loss of opportunity."
Stannis's jaw tightened. "Clever. And your solution?"
Davos met the king's gaze cautiously. "Your Grace, strike the Reach. With most southern forces defending King's Landing, the heartlands are vulnerable. With Tarly and other commanders defeated, resistance is scattered. Victory is achievable, and ransoms and spoils are legitimate rewards. Further, forcing the Tyrells to redirect their army back would weaken King's Landing's defenses, allowing us to strike with advantage from the sea. Three objectives could be accomplished with a single campaign."
The king leaned back, letting the words settle. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. That is what we shall do."
Rising from his chair, Stannis addressed Davos again. "Before your return, Melisandre foresaw Tarly's defeat but not the victor. I sent you to confirm the news. Your counsel aligns with her vision, yet remains your own. I acknowledge that. I know your feelings toward her are wary, but you see clearly, and I trust your judgment."
Davos felt the weight of Stannis's gaze, and even the aching reminders of his lost fingers seemed to pulse faintly. He fought the unease stirring within him, recalling the shadow born of blood that Melisandre had once conjured, sweeping across the waters toward Storm's End and claiming Ser Cortnay and King Renly in its wake.
He longed only to return to his ship, lie on the rocking deck, and surrender to the gentle lull of the waves, leaving the burdens of kings and priests far behind. Yet he remained, resolute, for his loyalty to Stannis demanded nothing less.
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