Chapter 374: Duty
Dragonstone, the Black Cells.
Dim firelight filtered through the rusted iron bars of the ancient prison, casting flickering shadows into the cell. The back of the chamber remained shrouded in darkness.
"Onion Knight" Davos Seaworth curled up in the shadows, his expression calm and resigned. He had no complaints.
He knew he deserved this.
Smuggling Princess Shireen Baratheon out of Dragonstone had been an act of treason, and the fact that King Stannis hadn't immediately ordered his execution was a mercy he did not take lightly.
Davos suspected that somewhere, deep down, Stannis was grateful to him for saving Shireen. But gratitude alone wasn't enough to spare him the punishment of imprisonment.
The sea wind whistled through the rocky tunnels leading to his cell, carrying with it a briny dampness. Despite this, Davos didn't feel cold.
The stones of Dragonstone radiated warmth.
Leaning against the heated walls, Davos couldn't help but reflect on the old legends. Perhaps the tales were true—perhaps the island's rocks held slumbering dragons within, their fiery blood keeping the earth warm.
But their heat brought no light.
In the oppressive darkness, time had lost all meaning. He had no idea how many days had passed or how much longer Stannis intended to keep him imprisoned.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The echoes grew louder until a gaoler appeared, keys jangling at his side.
"Smuggler," the man grunted, unlocking the cell door. The rusty hinges screeched in protest as it swung open. "The King wants to see you. Get out."
Davos brushed the straw off his clothes, stood up, and followed the guards down the corridor.
The air grew fresher as they emerged from the rock-hewn tunnels into the open sky. It was night, and a crescent moon hung amidst scattered clouds. Torchlight flickered across the stone dragons perched atop the castle walls, their wings casting vast, menacing shadows.
Davos reminded himself they were only statues—cold, lifeless, and inert.
The ancient Targaryens had ruled this island, their blood and dragons steeped in history and legend. But those days were long gone. The dragons were dead, and no king's blood could awaken them now.
Ascending a steep staircase carved into the stone, Davos entered the Stone Drum Tower and made his way to the Chamber of the Painted Table.
Stannis Baratheon stood by the fireplace, dressed in simple woolen garments, his gaze fixed on the night sky outside the window.
Red Priest Thoros stood to one side, while Queen Selyse Florent and her cousin, Ser Alekyne Florent, were also present. Alekyne knelt before the king, his head bowed low.
"Traitor," Selyse hissed, her voice brimming with venom.
Davos stepped forward and knelt beside Alekyne.
"Your Grace," Davos said, his voice steady. "It was my idea to smuggle Princess Shireen away. Ser Alekyne knew nothing of her true identity. I disguised her to protect her."
"Did you?" Stannis said coldly. "Then why did Ser Alekyne deliver this 'stranger girl' to Caesar?"
Davos froze, staring at Alekyne in shock.
"Ser Alekyne, you… handed Shireen to Caesar?"
Alekyne nodded, meeting Stannis's furious gaze without flinching.
"Yes, Your Grace. Caesar promised to protect Princess Shireen. In return, he only asked for the ban on dragon glass to be lifted. He also swore that if you march to the Wall, he will not attack Dragonstone."
"Should I thank you for brokering such a deal on my behalf?" Stannis's voice was laced with sarcasm, his teeth clenched.
Alekyne bowed his head, remaining silent.
"Caesar is forcing you to defend the Wall," Selyse interjected, her tone sharp and disdainful. "And if you go north, it will mark the end of your political ambitions. It's an admission of defeat—of surrendering your claim to the Iron Throne."
"Your Grace is not joining the Night's Watch," Davos countered, his voice firm. "There is no question of surrender."
"Traitor!" Selyse snapped. "You have no right to speak!"
Stannis's weary gaze fell on Davos, more tired than angry.
"Davos, why did you betray me? Is loyalty truly such a difficult thing?"
"Your Grace, my actions were an act of loyalty," Davos said, raising his head.
"Smuggling my daughter away is loyalty?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Davos declared. "As the knight you knighted, it is my duty to protect your honor. And I could not stand by and watch you burn your own child. That would destroy your honor—and your soul."
"You don't understand what you've done!" Selysor interjected angrily. "You think you saved Shireen? You're wrong! When winter comes, Shireen Baratheon will die like everyone else. Darkness and cold will consume the world, and your sons will die too. You have meddled in forces far beyond your comprehension!"
"Lies!" Alekyne shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at the Red Priest. "You're a charlatan, a deceiver! What kind of god demands a father sacrifice his own child? Is your R'hllor a god or a devil?"
Thoros's bald head glinted in the firelight as he shook it solemnly.
"Mortals cannot understand the divine. Sacrifice is never easy—that is why it is called sacrifice. One child's death could save countless lives."
"And yet, if His Grace burns his daughter," Alekyne said coldly, "he will lose the loyalty of every knight and soldier with a shred of conscience."
"Yes, Your Grace," Davos added. "When you wore the crown, you swore to protect the realm and its people. Is Shireen Baratheon not one of your people? If you cannot protect your own flesh and blood, how can you protect the rest of your subjects?"
Stannis's face darkened.
"Ser Alekyne, Davos," he said icily. "Are you mocking me? Or teaching me about the duties of a king?"
"Your Grace should execute these traitors!" Selyse shouted.
"Enough! Woman, Leave!" Stannis roared, his voice echoing through the chamber.
In that moment, he resembled his late brother, Robert Baratheon.
Selyse's face turned pale, but she left without another word. Thoros hesitated but followed shortly after.
Once they were alone, Stannis unsheathed his sword—Lightbringer, as the Red Priests called it. Its eerie orange-red glow illuminated the room.
Davos braced himself, closing his eyes. He did not flinch.
The blade fell, but it stopped at his shoulder.
"Davos Seaworth," Stannis said, his voice cold as iron. "Will you become my Hand of the King, pledging your life to serve me with honesty, loyalty, and courage? Will you protect my honor, even from myself?"
Davos opened his eyes, stunned.
"Yes, Your Grace. I swear it!"
But he hesitated. "I am unworthy. I am but a smuggler—"
"All the better," Stannis interrupted. "I am a broken king. Together, we are well-matched."
Turning to Alekyne, Stannis rested the blade on his shoulder as well.
"Ser Alekyne Florent, will you lead my armies, standing with me through every hardship, protecting the people, and punishing our foes?"
Ser Alekyne wavered, his thoughts racing. But in the end, he nodded.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Then rise," Stannis commanded, sheathing his sword. "Both of you, prepare the troops. In seven days, we march north to the Wall. This is the duty of a king."
"Yes, Your Grace!"
(End of Chapter)