Davos Seaworth learned quickly—not just on the waves.
On the King of the Narrow Sea's lands, a man had to move carefully. The same skill was just as deadly on land. One mistake and it was the gallows, the headsman's block, or a knife in a dark alley.
He had to learn to walk without sound, speak without drawing attention, and blend into any crowd.
Davos was clearly a master at it. Otherwise he wouldn't have lived this long.
That was exactly why the king had chosen him.
Proud lords wouldn't do. Shiny knights wouldn't do. Only he—the lowborn Onion Knight who knew every secret—could carry out this most secret mission.
"Go, Ser Davos. The gods be with you," Stannis said in the darkness, sending his messenger on his way.
But the gods who had once walked with him were the true ones.
Davos had never been pious. A smuggler's life and true piety didn't mix.
The gods had seen every sin a man could commit. But watching the statues of the Seven burn, swinging between the red woman's prophecies and the old septon's curses—that was something else.
What did an Onion Knight know of divine will or destiny?
The only thing that gave him peace was that his king had not been completely bewitched by Melisandre.
Stannis attended her rituals and allowed the burning of the statues, but he remained cold, stubborn, and untouched by private sentiment.
The king had told him privately that he could never trust a priestess who served an eastern heresy and still acknowledged Targaryen rule.
After the rumors of the dragon's rebirth spread, the red priestess had fallen from favor. She had almost been left behind on Dragonstone. Even when she traveled with the army, she no longer shaped the king's decisions.
Davos, as always, trusted Stannis.
A king's command had been given. He would walk through fire if he had to.
Slipping into the enemy camp was the most dangerous part.
The old sailor's eyes were sharp as a hawk in the dark. Luckily, the sentries were sloppy beyond belief.
Step by step he moved closer to the campfires and torches, heart pounding like a drum, face calm. He slipped between two tents and into the heart of the camp.
"Who goes there?" a guard called lazily.
"Gray Ben of First Mouse Village," Davos answered with the name of a distant royal kin's village. "I need to see Lord Florent. Urgent military news!"
"Oh, that old fox. Go on," the soldier waved him through. "Don't dawdle. You know the way?"
"Of course." He didn't know the way, but he knew the queen's sigil, and he knew exactly who he was looking for.
He passed the careless guards and moved deeper into the camp.
Horses neighed. Squires hurried about. Tired soldiers sat around fires, drinking, singing, trading rumors. No one paid attention to one more unremarkable scout.
After the forced march from the Reach, everyone was exhausted.
"Tomorrow we'll have a real fight!"
"To the Rainbow Guard!"
"Renly's whole plan went to shit!"
In the noise, no one knew a deadly trap had already been set.
Stannis had sailed south from Dragonstone and used Storm's End as bait to force Renly to turn back.
The self-proclaimed king had taken the bait and rushed home with his main army. The rest of his forces had been driven west by the Lannisters.
Stannis didn't waste time besieging the castle. He left Salladhor Saan to pin down the garrison and took his main force to seize the Storm Hills.
This was the same ground where Oris Baratheon had once defeated the Storm King in legend.
Now, though Stannis had no dragons, he held every advantage in terrain and cunning. Renly had never been a commander who could match his ancestors.
The talks had ended in anger. The Baratheon brothers were equally stubborn.
But one sentence from Lady Alerie Florent of the Reach had shown Stannis the way to break the deadlock.
"The Florent fox knows who he should serve."
That single line had sent Davos into the night on his mission of betrayal.
Stannis's promise was one the old fox could not refuse.
Following the Florent banners, Davos stopped before a richly decorated tent. The red fox and blue flowers stood out clearly. Three knights stood guard—only a great lord rated that kind of protection.
"Gray Ben of First Mouse Village, reporting enemy movements," he said again.
The knights glanced at each other and let him pass without question.
Davos understood at once. They had been waiting.
Inside the tent, Alerie Florent sat in the center, eyes glittering with fox-like greed.
"I've been expecting you," the lord's voice dripped with open contempt.
"The king sent me with terms," Davos said quietly. "After tomorrow's battle: Hand of the King, Warden of the South, and High Lord of the Reach—hereditary, for all time."
Gold couldn't move this wealthy lord. Vanity and power could.
The Florents had lived in the shadow of the Tyrells for generations. Their hatred for Highgarden ran deep. The offer hit exactly where it hurt.
"I am thinking of my family. Returning to my true kin is only right," Alerie nodded. "When do we strike?"
"The moment I give the signal."
Florent immediately summoned his nephews Erren and Imry and ordered them to quietly contact every Florent in the camp and prepare to turn their cloaks.
Davos left the camp under Florent escort, a great weight lifting from his chest. He had completed his mission.
Stannis's six thousand picked men were already assembled. Sailors had come ashore from the ships. Cavalry waited in the flanking woods. Campfires burned high to make the camp look full, but the real army moved silently through the night.
In the moonlight the king stood like black stone.
"Your Grace, House Florent has come over!" Erren reported loudly.
"Well done," Stannis said flatly. "Ser Davos, you have earned great honor."
At the king's command, the attack began.
Six hundred cavalry thundered into Renly's camp, cutting down men and setting fires to sow chaos. At the same moment the Florents turned their cloaks and began killing their former allies.
Panic swept through the army like wildfire. Shouts, screams, and the screams of horses shattered the night, drowning out the sound of Stannis's main force approaching.
"Betrayal!"
"Fight for the true king!"
"Protect the king!"
Renly's army was caught completely off guard. Most men hadn't even put on armor. They had no chance to resist.
Davos gripped his sword. He had never been a warrior, but tonight the king needed every blade.
He charged with the army, sword rising and falling. Enemies fell like grass. The betrayal and surprise attack turned the battle into a one-sided slaughter.
Imry Florent waved his sword and shouted, "The Lord of the Waters supports Stannis!"
The enemy line collapsed. Victory was never in doubt.
When the noise finally died, Davos dropped to one knee, filled with relief.
The king had won. All four of his sons were still alive. This was the most important step Stannis had ever taken toward the Iron Throne.
Renly was captured alive inside his own tent. Most of the Stormlands lords surrendered.
Stannis began handing out rewards. The first went to the lowborn Davos.
"Ser Davos Seaworth, your service has been great. From this day you are Lord of the Rainwood, hereditary."
Davos trembled from head to toe. The orphan from Flea Bottom had become a lord.
His sons stared in shock. The door to a better future had opened for House Seaworth.
Next came Alerie Florent.
A cloak of ermine and diamonds stood in sharp contrast to Davos's rough wool.
"Alerie Florent, for returning to the true king, you are named Hand of the King, Warden of the South, and High Lord of the Reach—hereditary forever."
"Traitor! Shameless dog!"
A furious shout broke the quiet. Orton Merryweather dragged the bound Loras Tyrell forward.
The Knight of Flowers was covered in wounds, eyes blazing with rage as he cursed the Florents for their betrayal.
"You swore before the Father to serve Renly!"
"He couldn't give me what I wanted," Florent sneered. "House Florent will no longer bow to those upstart Tyrells!"
Orton punched Loras hard in the stomach. The whole camp laughed.
Stannis remained expressionless. He knighted Orton Merryweather for his service and named Rolland Storm commander of the Rainbow Guard.
The prisoners were brought forward one by one and given the choice.
Swear fealty… or die.
Renly was brought before his brother, still dressed in fine clothes but without his crown.
"Last night you could have been my Hand," Stannis said. "Now you have only one choice—bend the knee or die."
After a long silence, Renly slowly knelt.
"I, Renly Baratheon, swear fealty to Stannis the First, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm."
Night fell over Storm's End. The great stag banner changed hands. The bloody curtain fell on a betrayal that would decide the fate of the realm.
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