Chapter 370: The Sacrifice

Dragonstone, the Painted Table Room

Davos Seaworth, the "Onion Knight," pushed open the door to find Stannis Baratheon standing behind the massive carved table.

The king wore a gray wool coat and the crown of red gold shaped like flames. But compared to the man he once was, Stannis now appeared to have aged a decade overnight. His hair was streaked with gray, his eyes were sunken into hollow blue sockets, and his gaunt features revealed the contours of his skull beneath.

Davos sighed inwardly. The inferno that had been the Battle of Blackwater Bay had all but destroyed this man.

For more than a year, Stannis had secluded himself in his tower, seeing no one and issuing no orders—except one: to imprison Alester Florent, the Hand of the King, in the dungeons.

Lord Florent had suggested Stannis offer his daughter, Princess Shireen, in marriage to Tommen Lannister as a means of brokering peace. Stannis's furious reaction had made one thing clear: no matter how dire his situation, surrender was not an option he entertained.

But that hadn't stopped his followers from abandoning him.

"Davos," Stannis said, his voice gravelly. "They're all leaving me. Why are you still here on Dragonstone?"

"Because of my oath—and because you raised a lowly smuggler to knighthood," Davos answered without hesitation.

Stannis nodded, his expression impassive.

"If every man kept his vows as you do, perhaps there would be no war. But alas…"

He paused, his jaw tightening as though he were biting back bile, and then he continued in a bitter tone:

"Do you know that Lord Celtigar of Claw Isle has also turned to the Lannisters?"

Davos nodded in silence.

Stannis's voice grew colder.

"Some have advised me to attack Claw Isle, to execute Celtigar and burn his castle to the ground as a warning to the traitors. What do you think of that plan?"

"It's a foolish idea," Davos said bluntly.

"Why? Do you think I cannot take Claw Isle?"

"Of course not," Davos replied, knowing that despite the heavy losses at Blackwater, Stannis still commanded over a thousand soldiers. "Claw Isle can hardly muster a hundred men at arms. Taking it would be easy. But may I ask, why is Claw Isle in such a state?"

Stannis did not answer. His teeth ground audibly.

Undeterred by the king's rising anger, Davos pressed on:

"Because when you called your banners, Lord Celtigar brought his fleet and men to fight for you without hesitation. At Blackwater Bay, they bled for you. They died for you."

"And now they've betrayed me!" Stannis barked, his voice rising in fury.

"Men are not all the same, my lord," Davos replied calmly. "Some are strong; others are weak. Lord Celtigar is an old man who has lost nearly everything. Even if you cannot forgive his weakness, killing him will only…"

"Will only what?" Stannis snapped.

"…make you look like a tyrant," Davos said, his voice low but unwavering. "Loyalty to the rightful king is a lord's duty. But tell me, my lord, when your brother Robert rebelled, why did you not remain loyal to the rightful king, Aerys Targaryen?"

A chilling silence fell over the room.

A vein bulged visibly on Stannis's temple, and his teeth ground louder than before.

"Smuggler, I could shorten your tongue for that."

"My tongue is yours to do with as you please, Your Grace," Davos said steadily. "But I must speak the truth, bitter as it may be."

Stannis calmed slightly, though his anger still simmered in his piercing gaze. He stared at Davos for a long moment before finally growling,

"Speak."

"Yes, Your Grace," Davos said, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. "No matter how angry you are, the truth remains: we suffered grievous losses at Blackwater. We lack the strength to challenge the Lannisters—or any other usurpers. Killing Lord Celtigar and burning Claw Isle will not change that."

"Then what should I do? Surrender to the Lannisters?"

"No. The Lannisters are nothing more than clowns who stole the throne."

"What about Caesar? They say he has returned to Westeros with a Targaryen girl of true dragon blood."

"True dragon blood is filled with madness and cruelty," Davos replied, shaking his head. "In my eyes, only you are worthy to rule the Seven Kingdoms."

Stannis let out a bitter laugh.

"But with what? How can I fight the Lannisters and Caesar with the handful of men still loyal to me?"

"With the hearts of the people."

"People?" Stannis sneered. "I can't even hold onto my own men."

"That's because they can't see your resolve and courage," Davos said firmly. "Your Grace, you cannot continue to wither away on this island. You must act."

"What can I do? You just told me not to attack Claw Isle."

"You can go to the Wall."

"The Wall?" Stannis's brow furrowed. "You believe in these Others?"

"Whether or not the Others are real, the wildlings are certainly real. If they breach the Wall, the North—and all of Westeros—will suffer greatly. You must march north and save this kingdom."

Stannis was silent, considering.

Davos continued,

"Your Grace, relying on winning the Iron Throne to save the realm is as foolish as putting the cart before the horse. You must save the kingdom first. Only then can you win the throne."

"Well said, Ser Davos!" boomed a voice from the doorway.

Davos turned to see the red priest Thoros of Myr entering the room, accompanied by Queen Selyse Florent.

"Your Grace," Thoros said, "compared to the true war to come, this fight for the Iron Throne is but a child's squabble. An ancient god gathers power beyond the Wall. With the winds of winter, unimaginable horrors will descend upon us."

Selyse stepped forward and took her husband's arm.

"My lord, Thoros speaks the truth. The Others are coming. Westeros must unite under its one true king—you, the prince who was promised, chosen by R'hllor, the Lord of Dragonstone."

Stannis's expression darkened with pain.

"If I am chosen by the true god, why did he let my fleet burn at Blackwater? I have only thirteen hundred men left. How can I stop the Others with that?"

"Three hundred years ago, Aegon the Conqueror had just as many men," Thoros said.

"But he had dragons."

"And so can you."

Stannis's eyes narrowed.

"Where would I get dragons?"

Thoros spread his arms.

"Your Grace, the prophecy is clear: you will awaken the sleeping dragons from stone. They are all around you, hidden in plain sight."

Indeed, Dragonstone was filled with dragon statues—nothing more than lifeless stone.

But Thoros continued with fervor:

"Only the blood of kings can awaken them. Sacrifice is required. Your Grace, you must offer one with the blood of kings to R'hllor. It is the only way. This is what Caesar did in Skyreach."

"Who do you mean?" Stannis asked icily.

"Your daughter. Shireen."

"You're mad!" Davos shouted.

Stannis turned sharply to his wife.

"Did you know about this?"

Selyse's lips trembled, but she nodded resolutely.

"Redemption requires sacrifice! Azor Ahai tempered Lightbringer with his wife's heart. My lord, if you wish to awaken the dragons, you must do the same."

"Shireen is my only child," Stannis said coldly. "And yours!"

"Shireen's bloodline is tainted by greyscale!" Selyse clung to him desperately. "I can give you more children!"

"Your Grace," Davos pleaded, "the gods curse kinslayers! You cannot harm your own flesh and blood!"

"Winter is coming," Thoros intoned. "If you cannot stop the Others, your daughter—and everyone else in Westeros—will die in darkness and cold."

"Enough!" Stannis roared. "Leave me! All of you!"

The three withdrew.

Alone in the room, Stannis removed his crown and tossed it onto the table. Then he walked to the large north-facing window.

Beyond lay the starlit sky and the deep, unyielding sea.

Stannis stood there for a long time, silent and still, like a statue of stone.

(End of Chapter)