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The Crowned Stag at the Heart of Fire blazed like a flame caught in a fierce wind.
Yet this fire seemed to burn only for itself. The soldiers atop the castle walls felt a chill creep down their spines, sinking into their very hearts. It was as if a shadow had fallen over Storm's End, darkening both sky and spirit.
Morale was a strange thing.
When high, it filled men with fire, making them feel as though victory was within reach. But when low, the world seemed bleak, and even the mightiest fortress felt like a tomb.
That decay spread from top to bottom.
In stark contrast, Renly's army beyond the walls was thriving. In a single day, they had launched three assaults, even managing to scale Storm's End once.
It was Stannis himself who had led the defense, rushing from point to point, dousing flames and holding the line.
After a brief lull, envoys arrived at the base of the walls, urging surrender. Stannis answered with arrows.
Once silence fell again, he returned to his chambers to rest.
Night had barely settled when the horns began to sound outside the city—an unrelenting torment that had echoed for the past two nights. The city suffered attacks by day, and by night, sleep was stolen from them.
The moment he heard it, Stannis felt a surge of fury.
He pushed himself up and called out, "Dale."
No answer.
He called again, louder this time. Moments later, he heard a dull thud outside the door, as if armor had struck stone.
A young servant stumbled in, helmet in hand, exhaustion etched on his face. He had been at Stannis's side all day, running back and forth without pause.
"Your Grace, what do you need?"
"Where is your father?"
Dale shook his head. "I haven't seen him. But I think he's resting in his chambers."
Stannis gave a curt nod. "Go find him. Tell him his king has need of him."
The boy ran off.
Time passed. When he returned, he was alone.
"Your Grace, I… I couldn't find him."
Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight, had vanished without a trace.
By dawn, there was still no sign of him.
Stannis sat in his study, his expression dark. A voice in his mind whispered doubts—had Davos fled? Had he betrayed him?
Before he could dwell on the thought, the horns sounded again.
He ordered his attendants to armor him quickly. Dale's face was hollow with the same doubt that gnawed at Stannis. The rumors had already spread through the castle.
The Onion Knight had escaped.
If even Davos had abandoned them, was there any point in continuing the fight?
Stannis finished donning his armor and strode toward the hall.
As he passed, Maester Pylos approached. "Your Grace."
Stannis barely acknowledged him with a nod before continuing on.
The battle that followed was brutal. Several times, Renly's men reached the walls. The defenders managed to repel them, but at a cost.
For Stannis, who was already outnumbered, every fallen soldier was irreplaceable.
When the fighting finally ceased, he returned to his chamber, peeling off his armor with gritted teeth.
"I will never forgive a traitor. Never."
Dale did not know whom he was cursing. But unease settled in his chest like a stone.
Moments later, a figure with a cane approached the King's Tower.
At his side, a striking woman with red hair walked beside him, guiding his steps.
The Starks had arrived.
Eddard's condition had improved enough that he could now get out of bed and walk. Though Catelyn remained deeply worried about their eldest son, Robb, she couldn't bring herself to leave her recovering husband alone at Storm's End. Instead, she sent the captain of the guard, Ser Moran Harris, to sail north and deliver news to Robb while she stayed behind to care for Eddard.
Stannis Baratheon met with Lord Eddard Stark.
He gestured for his servant, Dale, to bring a chair so Eddard could sit.
"This is the only good news I've heard in some time, Lord Stark. I trust my maester has done well in healing your leg."
Eddard attempted to rise in greeting, but his weakened body failed him, so he simply nodded in gratitude.
"Thank you, Lord Stannis. Maester Pylos is a skilled healer. My leg is much better now."
"I've come to bid you farewell," Eddard continued. "I ask that you provide a small boat to take my wife and me to White Harbor. Once I return to Winterfell and rally my forces, I will march south at once."
Yet even as he spoke, doubt gnawed at him. Would Storm's End be able to hold out until his return? He couldn't help but recall the last siege of this fortress. Back then, Robert had been wounded at the Trident, leaving Eddard to lead the army. He had planned to take King's Landing first, but Tywin Lannister had already seized it without a fight. With the capital lost, Eddard had turned south, leading the march on Storm's End.
Now, history seemed poised to repeat itself.
"Lord Stark, you and I both know that the Iron Throne is mine by right," Stannis said.
"Yes," Eddard agreed. "By law and tradition, you are Robert's rightful heir."
Stannis studied him intently. "Our bond is not the same as the one you shared with my brother, but if you bring the North's strength to my cause, I swear that once I reclaim the throne, you will have a place on my council."
Eddard inclined his head. "I appreciate your trust, my lord. But winter is coming, and my duty is to my people. The Starks have safeguarded the North for generations. I must return home."
He had no desire to linger in the South any longer. The winds here unsettled him. The North may be cold, but it was his home. The Starks had ruled there for thousands of years, and he longed to stand once more beneath the gray skies of Winterfell.
Stannis's expression remained unreadable. "My daughter, Shireen, is of an age with your own. I will send a ship to take you to Dragonstone first. I would ask that your daughter stay behind to keep Shireen company."
Leave Arya behind? The thought was unthinkable. Eddard dismissed it immediately—he knew how much Arya longed to return to Winterfell.
Before he could refuse, Catelyn spoke up. "Then let me stay, my lord. I will remain with your lady."
Stannis considered this for a moment, then gave a short nod. "You have a wise wife, Lord Stark."
As the Starks stepped out of the tower, Eddard reflected on their conversation. It had not been as cordial as he had hoped. Stannis remained wary, ever watchful.
Once they had gone, another visitor arrived at Stannis's tower.
She needed passage out of Storm's End.
Stannis had intended for Davos to take her by sea, but the Onion Knight had vanished without a trace.
For the past two days, Melisandre had sought answers in the flames, searching for a vision of Davos. Had she misread the signs? She had asked herself the question countless times.
"Dale," Stannis called, "bring me Salladhor Saan."
The servant departed, and after a short while, there was a knock at the door.
"Your Grace," came the voice of Maester Pylos from outside.