As Stannis finished speaking, two guards immediately moved. They closed in from both sides, seizing Corleone's shoulders, while the knight who had led the way drew his longsword, its point steady against Corleone's chest to prevent any resistance or escape.
However, Corleone stood his ground without struggling, his face showing no sign of fear.
He simply looked at Stannis, shaking his head in disappointment, his voice filled with regret: "So that's how it is."
"Before coming to Dragonstone, I heard many things about you, my lord."
"People say Stannis Baratheon is the most just and law-abiding liege in the Seven Kingdoms."
"But now it seems your actions are far from 'just'; on the contrary, you decide things based entirely on your personal whims!"
At these words, Stannis's expression grew even gloomier, and he stared intently at Corleone.
To his surprise, this fellow seemed completely unafraid of being burned at the stake; there was even a hint of... pity in his eyes?
Restrained by the two guards, Corleone remained calm and composed.
After all, in his view, Stannis Baratheon was essentially a tragic character alienated by his own circumstances and choices.
First, he was born the second son of House Baratheon.
He was not Robert, who was born with the legal right to Storm's End, unique charisma, and an extraordinary talent for battle.
Nor was he Renly, who possessed a refreshing charm and diplomatic skill.
Being taciturn, Stannis was never favored by his parents since childhood, existing like a blurry shadow; even his looks were not as handsome as those of his elder and younger brothers.
His parents' gazes passed over him, falling instead on Robert and Renly.
Since ancient times, the second son has often been the most overlooked; lacking sufficient attention, he could only seek validation from within, using absolute rules, harsh laws, and a meticulous sense of duty to construct his own value and boundaries.
He had to be the most "correct" and "just" one, for that was the only field where he could potentially surpass his brothers—on the level of morality and rules.
At first, he might have consciously or unconsciously built this persona for himself, like a chef from his past life who couldn't even cook a simple dish of beans properly.
But as he grew day by day, and as all of Westeros began to speak of him this way, and as he lived within this setting day after day, the line between truth and fiction blurred long ago.
Perhaps he truly was such a person, or perhaps he simply succeeded in deceiving himself and the world.
Regardless, "justice and integrity" had become the foundation of his existence, the source of his pride, and the only capital that allowed him to hold his head high against Robert's gallantry and Renly's charm.
Over time, this survival strategy internalized into his personality.
He began to believe he was the embodiment of "justice" and the spokesperson for the law.
Therefore, Corleone knew very well that before Stannis, begging for mercy was weakness that would earn his disdain, while a defiant death was a provocation that would make him feel he must execute the man to maintain authority.
The only way was to directly shake and question the "just" persona he relied on, forcing him to stop and defend this carefully crafted image that had now become fully integrated into his being.
This wasn't a conspiracy; it was a precise manipulation of human nature.
Sure enough!
Corleone's phrase "decide things based entirely on personal whims" stabbed ruthlessly into Stannis's most sensitive spot.
He abruptly stood up from his chair, a storm nearly erupting from his deep blue eyes.
"Release him."
Stannis's voice was colder than before as he raised his arm, pointing a finger at the two guards.
The guards were stunned, looking first at the King and then at Melisandre before finally hesitatingly releasing their grip on Corleone, though they remained standing alertly at his sides.
Having regained his freedom, Corleone stretched his arms, the smile on his face seemingly unchanged since he entered the hall, as if his life hadn't just been hanging by a thread.
But this composure, in Stannis's eyes, looked more like a silent mockery.
"You say I am not just enough," Stannis spoke coldly, walking around the stone table toward Corleone, his stern eyes fixed on him.
"Does a dog serving a usurper even deserve to speak of 'justice' in my hall?"
Seeing his indignant manner, Corleone didn't speak immediately but merely raised an eyebrow, the meaning behind it being self-evident.
Seeing this, Stannis placed his right hand on the hilt of his sword, making a move to draw it.
Just then, the sound of dragging chains came from the side door of the hall, and two guards entered escorting a man.
The man was about fifty years old, with disheveled hair and a pale face, his hands and feet bound by heavy shackles.
It was Stannis's former hand of the king, Lord Allister Florent.
He looked up, and upon seeing Stannis's grim face, a flash of terror and confusion appeared in his eyes.
Stannis didn't look back immediately, his gaze remaining on Corleone; after a moment, he pointed to the escorted Alester and said coldly, "This man was once my hand of the king, and he is a relative of my wife."
"He suggested I abandon my legal rights and compromise with thieves and practitioners of incest. This is betrayal, an act that undermines morale and is unpardonable. According to the law, he should be executed."
Saying this, Stannis took a small step forward: "Now, I give you a chance."
"You say I act unjustly and only by whim; then, convince me."
"If your reasoning does not gain my approval, I will tie you to the pyre along with this traitor and burn you to ashes."
"Let the flames judge who truly deserves to be purified!"
Upon hearing he was to be burned, Allister Florent's legs gave way, and he nearly collapsed if not for the guards holding him up.
His terrified gaze darted between Stannis and Corleone, his mouth opening, but no proper sound came out due to extreme fear.
Hearing this, Corleone glanced at Alester beside him, and the smile on his face gradually faded.
"Very well, my lord," he took a deep breath and said solemnly, "it seems you are not yet that muddled."
This was another quite transgressive remark, but perhaps because Corleone's previous words and actions had an effect, Stannis remained motionless and did not fly into a rage as before.
He just watched quietly, seemingly wanting to hear what kind of unique insight this fellow had.
"First."
Seeing this, Corleone raised his hand and began to speak calmly: "According to the guest right and traditions of immunity long followed by the Seven Kingdoms, I stepped onto your territory as an envoy, unarmed, and my first words expressed sufficient respect to you."
"But you swear fealty to a false king and work for a usurper."
Hearing nothing new in Corleone's words, Stannis immediately interrupted, his voice hard and cold: "According to the laws of the kingdom, the punishment for betrayal and oath-breaking... is death!"
"Fealty to a false king?"
Corleone raised an eyebrow slightly, his tone carrying a well-timed hint of confusion: "My lord, by your words, besides yourself, Joffrey Baratheon sitting on the Iron Throne is a false king, the late Robb Stark was a false king, and Balon of the Iron Islands is also a false king."
"Then, when King Robert raised his banners, in the eyes of Aerys Targaryen, weren't he and all his followers also rebels loyal to a false king?"
"That's different...
"
"How is it different?"
Corleone took a half-step forward, staring straight at Stannis. [Majesty Iv3] suddenly unfolded, not only adding a hint of presence but also making his words more persuasive: "With all due respect, Lord Stannis."
"If merely'serving one's master' and serving a lord you do not currently recognize is an unpardonable capital offense."
"Then looking at the Seven Kingdoms today, from dukes and earls down to knights and soldiers, and even many lords serving you now—how many of their fathers and brothers stood on the 'wrong' side in past conflicts?"
"Is it that one day, when your stag banner is truly planted on the walls of the Red Keep, the first thing you will do is dig up old accounts and send everyone who once served the Lannisters, the Tyrells, or even any other family that opposed you, to the gallows?"
Corleone's voice didn't rise, but the aura around him seemed to grow stronger as he looked at Stannis with a candid gaze and spoke bluntly: "If that were the case, my lord...
"
"What you would gain would not be a kingdom, but a ruin soaked in blood and shrouded in fear where everyone is in constant danger!"
"Such a rule is definitely not the work of a just and upright monarch; instead, it's more like... the style of the The Mad King."
At the mention of the "The Mad King," the muscles in Stannis's cheek twitched visibly.
This fellow actually dared to compare him to Aerys Targaryen!
He had prided himself on law and duty his entire life; what he despised most was that kind of capricious, power-abusing madness.
After a moment of silence, Stannis finally spoke again.
"You have some points, but for those who have lost their way, I will naturally give them a chance to reform, just like Ser Davos Seaworth."
"Although I cut off three of his fingers, I also granted him lands and a title."
"Just as... I am giving you a chance now."
Saying this, Stannis said sternly, "Now, kneel and swear an oath to renounce your fealty to the false king and uphold the true king. If you do, I may consider pardoning your past crimes!"
He spoke with absolute finality, as if he would burn Corleone the next second if he didn't agree.
However, under the warning gazes of the guards, Corleone shook his head and gave a contemptuous smile.
"Crimes?"
"You keep speaking of my 'crimes,' my lord."
His voice lowered, sounding somewhat self-deprecating yet possessing a strange power.
"Then let me carefully count for you exactly what kind of evils an unpardonable fellow like me has committed!"
At this, Corleone took a deep breath, his gaze becoming distant: "My 'crimes' began in the The Riverlands, where I was tending a few apple trees for a lord like you."
"One day, I counted how many fruits were on the trees because I wanted to know how much ration my labor could earn."
"Because of that, I was treated as having 'intent to steal' by patrolling soldiers and was hung from a tree and whipped half to death without a word."
"That time, my crime was wanting to know how many apples I could harvest."
His tone was terrifyingly calm, not emotional, just stating facts.
"Later, I became a prisoner and used my medical skills to earn a slim chance at life, but because of the Brave Companions' leader's own mistake, an infection set in."
"So he wanted to kill me."
"That time, my crime was being unable to cure a man who was already dying."
"Later still, I arrived at King's Landing."
"Just after entering the city, I had the good luck to win some money at the Colosseum, only to run into a Gold Cloaks captain who was friends with the casino owner, and he threw me into a dungeon without a word."
"That time, my crime was winning money."
He suddenly looked up, and in those pitch-black eyes, what burned now was neither fear nor anger.
It was just an emotion that was calm to the extreme, yet seemed to contain immense power.
"Step by step, I crawled through the cracks of conspiracy, violence, and betrayal."
"I danced on the edge of a blade countless times, finally managing to trade my life for a knight's title from being a commoner who didn't even deserve a surname, and a piece of land where I could barely find shelter without worrying about being hanged or beheaded at any moment."
"But because of a single word from you, I must give up everything I fought for with my life, or else I become a rebel, a person guilty of a capital offense!"
"I would like to ask, Lord Stannis Baratheon...
"
By the end, a hint of questioning actually appeared in Corleone's voice for the first time.
"I am only twenty years old. I just want to live well. What crime have I committed!"
As Corleone's voice fell, the hall suddenly became dead silent.
He didn't scream, yet his words were more powerful than any scream.
Stannis stood there silently, his deep blue eyes still stern, but upon closer inspection, there was a hint of softening deep within them.
As a son of House Baratheon, although he wasn't as wealthy as a Lannister, he was born a noble and never had to worry about survival; naturally, he couldn't empathize with the experiences of a commoner.
But Corleone's words didn't directly attack his laws; instead, from the more fundamental perspective of "humanity" and the "right to survive," they raised a silent yet sharp challenge to the "absolute justice" he upheld.
More importantly, the story Corleone described...
From a commoner beaten for no reason, to a bottom-dweller struggling to survive, to obtaining a title through his own abilities.
This "self-struggle" narrative even coincided with what Melisandre often emphasized: that those "chosen by fate" must undergo hardships.
"Your experiences have been harsh... Ser."
AI Model: gemini-2.5-flash
After a long while, Stannis's stiff voice rang out again: "But that is not a reason for you to serve the Lannisters."
"You have said much, but you have not explained what Tywin Lannister truly intends by sending you here.
"Now, I will give you one last chance to state your true purpose."
He still held to his opinion, but he also gave Ser Corleone a chance to speak.
Hearing Stannis's reply, Ser Corleone knew that the first round of defense had temporarily stabilized the situation, buying him a reprieve from immediate execution.
Now, he had to present something truly substantial.
"My intention is simple, my lord."
He slowly exhaled, no longer beating around the bush: "Lord Tywin sent me to persuade you and your army to surrender. He guarantees to preserve your title as Lord of Dragonstone and will hand Storms End over to Tommen Baratheon as his inheritance."
"Indeed."
Hearing this, Stannis sneered, feeling only a sense of boredom at having wasted so much of his time, and commanded his guards: "Burn him and that fellow together...
"
"But!"
Before Stannis could finish, Ser Corleone interrupted loudly: "I, Vito Corleone, intend to offer you a choice."
"Are you willing to remain trapped on this stone island, waiting for your food to run out, your army to disperse, and ultimately be forgotten by history?
"Or are you willing to do business with me...?"
"Business?"
Stannis's deep blue eyes locked onto Ser Corleone, filled with wariness.
This young common knight had, with a single opening remark, precisely hit upon his predicament of food shortages.
Was it a guess, or had someone leaked military intelligence?
Davos?
No, Davos wouldn't.
Was there another traitor within?
Or had King's Landing's intelligence network already infiltrated Dragonstone?
"Why should I conduct business with someone loyal to a false king?"
Stannis's voice was cold and hard as iron, filled with undisguised disgust and suspicion: "Lannister gold might buy turncoats, but it will never buy my kneeling, nor the betrayal of law and justice."
"Certainly not for betrayal, my lord," Ser Corleone responded swiftly, his tone steady, as if he had already anticipated the other's reaction.
"Quite the opposite, it is for salvation."
"To save the soldiers under your command who are loyal to you but trapped on the island and forced to starve, and even, in the long run, to save the possibility of your return to King's Landing to ascend the Iron Throne and re-establish law and justice."
"Salvation?" Stannis scoffed: "Salvation through the grace of Tywin Lannister?"
He said disdainfully, "I have my own channels, Vito Corleone. Braavos's grain fleet will soon arrive, and Dragonstone's predicament is only temporary."
Hearing this, Ser Corleone shook his head slightly, a perfectly measured look of worry on his face: "My lord, forgive my frankness, but the Narrow Sea is wide, and rough seas are common for ships.
"From Braavos to Dragonstone, the long voyage is fraught with pirates and storms. Who can guarantee one hundred percent that that fleet will safely deliver the grain into your hands?"
"To entrust the lives of thousands and the future of your cause to an oceanic transport full of variables is hardly the act of a wise commander."
He paused, then dropped an even more impactful piece of information: "Moreover, I recently heard some news from across the Narrow Sea."
"It is said that a young queen, flowing with Targaryen blood and possessing three living dragons, is rising."
"She views all current rulers of Westeros, including you, my lord, as usurpers. Forgive me for saying so, but given her stance and growing influence, would she sit by and watch large quantities of strategic supplies flow across the sea into Westeros?"
At these words, a flicker of wavering for the first time appeared in Stannis's deep blue pupils.
He was not entirely ignorant of this news; in fact, word had already come two years ago that the Targaryen remnant across the Narrow Sea had hatched three dragons.
What made Stannis even more anxious was that the individual in question had escaped with her life from Dragonstone, which he had been besieging at the time.
At this very moment, it was precisely like that moment.
Seeing the fleeting shadow in Stannis's eyes, Ser Corleone knew the time was right.
He changed the subject and quickly struck while the iron was hot: "In contrast, my lord, the sea route from Dragonstone to King's Landing has been well-established over centuries.
"Your captains are more familiar with the tides and winds of Blackwater Bay than I am; a grain fleet can reach Dragonstone in just three days."
"Moreover, you don't have to worry about legal issues, because my fleet is by no means smuggling; it is a legitimate merchant convoy with proper documentation!"
Listening to Ser Corleone's confident assurances, Stannis fell silent, his fingers unconsciously continuing to tap the table.
He was weighing his options.
Even though Melisandre had repeatedly assured him that the grain fleet had broken through the waves and mist and was on its way, Ser Corleone also made a very valid point: no one could guarantee that nothing would go wrong in the vast sea.
If Dragonstone's food ran out and the supplies from Braavos had not yet arrived, then in the face of hunger, even the most loyal soldiers would become beasts.
During the war that helped Robert's Rebellion, he had endured the bitter hardship of running out of provisions while holding Storms End for half a year.
"How can I trust you."
After a long silence, Stannis finally spoke again.
He looked at Ser Corleone, his gaze full of scrutiny.
Hearing this, Ser Corleone's back straightened further, and he spoke calmly and seriously: "You can send someone to King's Landing to inquire; I, Vito Corleone, am never stingy with my friendship."
He spoke so confidently that even Stannis couldn't help but start to wonder.
But this would take time to verify, and as an extremely cautious commander, he could not fully trust the other party.
Seeing this, Ser Corleone continued to coax him: "Of course, my lord, it is extremely rude to arrive empty-handed when first meeting a distinguished guest in my hometown."
"Therefore, before we decide whether to begin trade, please allow me to first present you with a welcoming gift. They will prove that my arrival carries sincerity and the ability to solve your practical problems."
"Gifts?" Stannis's brows furrowed even deeper, his suspicion undiminished.
Ser Corleone said no more. He turned, faced the entrance of the hall, raised his hand, and clapped three times forcefully.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
A momen
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