Tywin Lannister said coldly, "You still haven't understood what it means to be a Lannister."
He turned his sharp golden gaze toward Kevan. "Write to Cersei in my name. Tell her it was my idea."
Ser Kevan Lannister bowed his head slightly. "Yes, Lord Tywin. I'll see to it at once."
As the two Lannisters stood beside the map table discussing strategy, the muffled voice of a guard captain called from outside the tent.
"My lord, Ser Harys Swyft requests an audience!"
Ser Harys Swyft—Kevan's father-in-law—was known throughout the Westerlands for his shameless flattery. The lesser lords whispered that his greatest achievement in life had been marrying his daughter into House Lannister.
"Let him in."
Moments later, the aging knight entered the tent. He first glanced nervously at his son-in-law, then bowed deeply before the Lion of Casterly Rock.
"Lord Tywin, a raven from Stannis Baratheon has arrived."
At once, Tywin's gaze sharpened like drawn steel. Ser Harys flinched beneath it.
Kevan asked, his tone grave, "Ser Harys, how could Stannis's raven find this place?"
The Lannister host had only just occupied Harrenhal, while Stannis remained far away on Dragonstone. For his raven to reach them here could mean only one thing—there was an eye of Stannis among them.
Kevan's expression hardened. "And why, may I ask, is it in your hands?"
Ser Harys hurried to explain. "One of my men shot a raven from the sky, my lord—that's the only reason I came into possession of it."
He paused, adding quickly, "Judging from its direction, it was bound for the Westerlands."
When he finished, Ser Harys exhaled in secret relief. Good thing he'd prepared his excuse on the way—otherwise, they might have learned he'd slipped away to go hunting.
Kevan approached, taking the tightly rolled parchment. He studied the seal—the new sigil of Stannis Baratheon.
"Read it," said Lord Tywin, settling back into his chair.
Kevan broke the wax and scanned the lines. "He proclaims himself Stannis the First of House Baratheon, rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, and commands all loyal men to swear fealty."
Ser Harys craned his neck to sneak a glance. "The Baratheon brothers both call themselves king now? Two kings?"
Kevan shot him a sidelong look, and the old knight quickly drew back.
Ignoring his father-in-law, Kevan turned to Tywin. "How shall we respond?"
Tywin was silent for a moment. Then he asked evenly, "What do you think Stannis will do next, Ser Harys?"
Ser Harys's heart leapt. Was Lord Tywin truly seeking his counsel? Recognition at last! His voice trembled with excitement.
"My lord, Stannis commands the Blackwater Bay—he will surely march on King's Landing next!"
He waited, eyes shining, for the praise that never came.
Tywin only regarded him coldly, then flicked his hand. "You may go."
When Ser Harys left, crestfallen, Tywin murmured, "That is what they will all think."
Kevan nodded. "But he is Stannis."
Tywin inclined his head. "Precisely. We need more time, so Stannis must believe that whoever triumphs between him and Renly will stand as King of the Seven Kingdoms. Let them fight until one remains. That victor will be our true enemy."
Kevan said solemnly, "Our agents on Dragonstone can spread rumors, but they're too lowly to reach Stannis directly."
Tywin unrolled a sheet of blank parchment. "Rumors are enough. Words only take root when men wish to hear them—and Stannis will wish to hear these. We'll be doing him a favor."
Kevan caught his meaning and continued, "You're right. The forces on Dragonstone could never take King's Landing. Even should he win by miracle, the battle would bleed him white, and when Renly's great host marches afterward, Stannis will have nothing left to resist with.
"Of course, Stannis knows this—but knowing won't save him. His few thousand men cannot match Renly's hundred thousand, and the storm lords will not rally to his banner."
Tywin's voice was ice. "And since when has that mattered to Stannis? He is Stannis."
A contemptuous snort. "He follows the law of blood and right, and despises that graceless younger brother of his."
Kevan bowed. "Then he will welcome our help."
Tywin dipped his quill. "May the gods—"
He stopped, lips curling. "No. May his new god bless him instead."
Then he began to write: To His Grace, Balon Greyjoy…
The quill hovered a moment before he added the word King.
Dragonstone – Chamber of the Painted Table
Stannis Baratheon stood before the tall, narrow window, staring out at the raging sea. His jaw worked soundlessly.
Behind him waited Ser Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight, hands folded across his chest.
"This time," said Stannis at length, "we've run out of ravens."
He turned toward Davos. "I am the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms, yet their lords play deaf because they love Joffrey, or Renly, or Robb Stark. Even when we send letters enough to blot out the sun, their maesters deliver them, read them aloud—and then, as before, the letters are burned or the words buried in silence."
Davos bowed. "Your Grace, Davos is ever at your service."
Stannis nodded curtly. "You will sail the Black Betha north, stopping at Gulltown, the Fingers, the Sisters—even as far as White Harbor.
"Your eldest, Dale, shall take the Sea Lion south past Cape Wrath and the Broken Arm, along the Dornish coast to the Arbor.
"Each of you will carry a chest of my letters. In every port, every hall, and every fishing village, nail a copy to the doors of septs and inns—let all who can read see them.
"Proclaim that I am the lawful king—and expose the whore and her bastard whelps for what they are."
His teeth ground together. "Let us see how long the lords can feign ignorance after this."
Davos hesitated. "Your Grace, in many places… few can read."
He added cautiously, "Perhaps—if someone were to read the words aloud, it might serve you better."
Stannis considered. "Better, yes—but more dangerous. Hypocrites fear nothing so much as being unmasked."
Davos persisted. "Then, Your Grace, perhaps some knights could go with me—to read the letters aloud. It would make the task easier."
A rare glint of approval crossed Stannis's eyes. "Good. Dragonstone has no shortage of knights eager to preach rather than fight. You shall have them.
"Do it openly where it's safe. When it's not, use every smuggler's trick you know. If you run short of letters, seize a few septons along the way—make them copy more."
He paused, his voice lowering. "Your younger son, Allard, will have work as well. I'll send him across the Narrow Sea on the Lady Maria, to Braavos and the Free Cities. The world must know that Stannis Baratheon is the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms."
Davos bowed again.
Stannis studied him, then said, "Loyal Davos—you have something on your mind. Speak it."
Startled, Davos murmured, "Forgive me, Your Grace—I was thinking of the letters…"
Stannis's brow furrowed. "Say it."
Davos hesitated. "I was wondering if proof could be found—proof of the queen's sin. It would lend your claim more weight."
"There is proof," Stannis said grimly. "But the witness lies at Storm's End. Robert's bastard—the boy conceived in my marriage bed, with Delena Florent. Robert was forced to acknowledge him. They call him Edric Storm, and he looks exactly like his father. Let the realm see him beside Joffrey and Tommen, and the truth will speak for itself."
Davos frowned. "If he's at Storm's End, Renly won't hand him over. And you'll not have him displayed beside Joffrey to show the likeness."
Stannis's eyes fixed on King's Landing upon the map. "When I have the bastards in my grasp, the realm will see the lies for what they are. I'll judge them all by the laws of the realm—before every eye in Westeros."
He tapped Storm's End with one finger, then looked back. "Davos, if you have counsel, speak it. I knighted you not to make you another lordling with pretty words."
Davos bowed slightly. "Your Grace, about the letters' ending—the line 'May the light of the Lord of Light shine upon the realm'… You are the lawful heir to the Iron Throne; no one can deny that. But your people may not take kindly to those words.
"Perhaps you might say instead, 'In the name of the gods'—or, 'In the name of the old and the new.'"
Stannis's stare hardened. "My Davos, since when did a smuggler grow pious? You dislike my new god?"
Davos said honestly, "Your Grace, I know little of this Lord of Light, but most folk know the Seven whose idols we burned."
"They were wood," Stannis snapped.
"Perhaps," Davos answered quietly, "but your people will not see it so. They saw their gods destroyed, and another god forced upon them—a god whose name they can scarcely pronounce. That may cost you their love."
"R'hllor is so hard to say?" Stannis scoffed. "Their love? Tell me, Davos—when have they ever loved me? If they never did, what difference does it make now?
"When I was in King's Landing, the High Septon preached that all justice flows from the Seven, yet every 'justice' I ever saw was wrought by mortal hands."
His jaw clenched. "From the day I watched my parents drown, I swore I'd never pray to any god again."
Davos ventured, "Then why serve a new one?"
Stannis cut him off. "I've asked myself the same. I know little of gods—and care less—but I know this: the red woman holds power that no man does."
His eyes burned as he gazed over the map—Storm's End, King's Landing, the Neck. "By rights, the Iron Throne is mine. But how shall I take it? Three false kings—each richer, stronger than I. All I have are my ships… and her."
He looked to Davos. "Half my knights dare not even speak Melisandre's name. That alone makes her useful. Fear is a weapon—if soldiers quail before the battle, they're half-defeated already. That is my one advantage over the pretenders."
Finally he said, voice low and steady, "And if she truly commands darker powers—as I believe she does—then she will soon have a chance to prove her worth."
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
📯 Lords and Ladies of the Realm, heed the call! 📯
The saga burns ever brighter—30 chapters ahead now await, available only to those who swear their loyalty on Patreon. 🐉❄️🔥
Walk among dragons, defy the cold, and stake your claim in a world where crowns are won with fire and fury.
🔗 Claim your place: www.patreon.com/DrManhattanEN
👤 Known on Patreon as: DrManhattanEN
Your loyalty feeds the flame. And fire remembers.