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The same kind of soft arrest played out very differently depending on who you were. Alester Florent had run his mouth one too many times and ended up in a damp, freezing cell. Davos Seaworth, on the other hand, had a bright, warm room and decent food brought to him three times a day.
He had no appetite for any of it. The Onion Knight stood at the window, lips cracked and bleeding, looking gaunt and worn. For four or five days now he had barely eaten, only accepting the water and broth they forced on him. He was using hunger as his last weapon, a way to show Jon his resolve and his loyalty to Stannis.
Only a few days had passed, but Davos already knew the realm must be in chaos. How had things come to this?
He stared out at the sea and muttered to himself, genuinely marveling at the absurdity of it all. The Blackwater had haunted his dreams for the past year and more. Without Jon's sudden strike that turned the tide, he could not imagine where the Seven Kingdoms would stand now—or where he and his king would even be.
"Thank the gods for Jon."
That was the phrase Davos kept repeating in the middle of the night. He had truly believed Jon was the gods' gift to Stannis. He had never expected that the same man who placed the crown on Stannis's head would become its greatest threat. He could not understand why the gods would play such a cruel joke.
The door opened behind him. Davos turned, irritable. "Either let me go or I'll starve to death in here."
His voice was weak; he no longer had the strength to shout.
"Davos, Ser." The familiar voice made him turn fully. Jon stood in the doorway.
When Davos saw the infant in Jon's arms, he went still.
"Davos, Ser," Jon said quietly. "I'd like you to meet my son."
Davos studied Jon for a long moment before he finally spoke. "Jon… are you truly a Targaryen?"
"Do you want me to be?"
Davos had no answer. Stannis's pressure had been growing unbearable, and this child's birth had only made everything move faster.
After a while Davos stood and walked over. The much older knight leaned in to study the baby. To his surprise, Jon simply placed the child into his arms, the gesture easy and familiar, as if they were old friends.
Davos took the baby carefully. He looked at the small face, then at Jon's, and saw the resemblance. The swaddling hid the silver hair, softening the most obvious difference.
"Davos, Ser," Jon said, "if this boy had looked like a Stark or a Tyrell, I would not have done this. Not yet. Not until we survive the Long Night and defeat the Others. Even with you here in Casterly Rock, even with Alester and Melisandre present, I could have hidden it longer. A wig, a quiet story… at least until winter passed. But fate rarely cooperates, does it?"
Davos looked down at the sleeping infant, his expression complicated. "But you are the White Wolf Knight. Your titles, your lands, the honors Stannis gave you—"
"Why didn't he give them to someone else?" Jon's tone stayed calm. Davos had no reply.
After a moment Davos asked, "Are we really going to war?"
"War isn't my choice. It's Stannis's. I came to you because I want you to carry a message. The Others are stirring beyond the Wall. Wights are already moving. Winter is coming. Tell Stannis I want to set the war between Targaryen and Baratheon aside until the real enemy is dealt with. That is my honest offer."
Davos studied Jon's face for a long time. Then he nodded. Everything he had seen of Jon before—the concern for the Wall, the warnings about what was coming—made him believe the young man was telling the truth.
He would eat. He would return to King's Landing.
Just as Jon turned to leave, Davos spoke again. "Shireen is innocent. Fate has already been cruel enough to her."
"Don't worry," Jon said. "If Stannis defeats me one day, I won't be able to protect anyone. But if he forces this war and I win, I will do everything I can to keep Shireen safe."
Davos accepted the promise. Deep down he already doubted Stannis could win. Jon's words gave him the only comfort he was likely to find.
After Davos left, Jon went to find Melisandre.
The red priestess stood on the battlements, staring at the three-headed dragon banner snapping in the wind. The sea breeze tugged at her robes, making her look like a living flame. She looked troubled.
"Are you here to explain yourself?" she asked without turning.
"Melisandre," Jon said, stepping closer, "if I told you I was the savior the prophecy speaks of, would you believe me?"
"You? The savior is born amidst smoke and salt—"
"Yes. Born amidst smoke and salt. Stannis holds Dragonstone, which fits. But Storm's End? Is that smoke and salt?"
Melisandre fell silent. She had made a mistake and she knew it.
"My mother Lyanna gave birth to me in the Tower of Joy," Jon continued. "That place earns the name. My aunt Daenerys was born on Dragonstone. Both are smoke and salt. Why did you choose Stannis?"
Melisandre found her voice. "The savior's birth is not only of the body. It is also a rebirth of the spirit. Stannis realized on Dragonstone who he was meant to be."
"Then what of Daenerys?" Jon asked. "She chose to burn with her husband. Her tears were salt. The flames that consumed them were smoke. She rose from that fire, hatched dragons, and freed slaves. Does that not fit the prophecy better than a change of mind?"
Melisandre had no answer.
Jon moved closer still. "I'm not asking you to swear to me tonight. The situation is still unclear. Neither Stannis nor I look like the perfect savior. You know better than anyone what Lightbringer truly is. The prophecy says it burns with light and heat. In this world, what burns brighter or hotter than dragonfire?"
"Then what do you want from me?" Melisandre asked.
Jon clapped his hands. Bronn appeared, looking as sharp and unshaven as ever.
"This is Ser Bronn," Jon said. "I'm sending a ship to Slaver's Bay. I want you to go to Daenerys and help her."
Jon already knew Young Griff and his companions had reached Slaver's Bay earlier than expected. In his view, hearts were flesh and blood. If Young Griff went there seeking dragons through marriage, then Jon would send someone with no demands at all—only help. When the time came, Daenerys would know where her real allies stood.
If his own son could not hatch a dragon, then Daenerys would become someone worth winning over. For now, his only requirement was that she stay quiet and cause no trouble in Slaver's Bay.
Melisandre accepted the task with surprising calm. She would sail east.
Asha Greyjoy was resting in Margaeryport. Jon hired her and fifty mountain clansmen to escort Melisandre as quickly as possible. Even with good winds it would take two or three months.
To show his sincerity, Jon also wrote Daenerys a letter offering counsel on how to rule. She had made the slave masters her open enemies but had not yet created a new class to support her. Jon suggested she build a class of free farmers and new landowners who would owe their rise to her. They would become her shield against future rebellions instead of another source of unrest.
Margaery understood Daenerys's importance as well. Until her own son could hatch a dragon, their claim still needed every advantage. She offered her own swan ships—the Rose of Highgarden and the White Wolf Knight—to carry Melisandre and her escort across the narrow sea. Swan ships were built for long voyages. They would reach Slaver's Bay faster.
Jon watched the preparations from the battlements as the red priestess prepared to leave. The game was shifting again, and this time the pieces were moving farther than anyone had expected.