On Dragonstone Island, the Red Comet was clearly visible even in daylight, weeping blood above the island's sheer cliffs like a wound torn through the purple-red sky.
The Red Comet carried the terrifying colors of blood, flame, and sunset, while pale gray steam rose endlessly from the geothermal vents of Dragonmont behind Dragonstone Castle. This was a rare volcanic landscape, a place where Dragons had once soared through the vast sky.
Stannis's domain was nothing more than a lonely island in the open sea. After the Dragons vanished, Dragonstone returned to its barren, desolate face.
"The gargoyles never change. Only the masters of Dragonstone change again and again." "Shorthand" Davos Seaworth looked at the black gargoyles crouched atop the high walls of the ancient Valyrian fortress. Some were Hellhounds, some were Wyverns, and some were sphinxes. There were more than a thousand of them, and they seemed to give off the smell and stench of ancient Valyrian sorcery. Dragonstone had originally been the westernmost outpost of the Valyrian Freehold.
Davos had served Great Lord Stannis on Dragonstone for a long time, and he had grown used to these hideous statues. He walked straight through the lane, then heard a jingling sound.
"It's Lady Shireen." The moment Davos heard it, he knew it was Stannis's only daughter, Shireen, and her fool, Patchface. A sorrowful little girl and her ridiculous jester.
"It's me, old knight. Are you going to see my father?" Lady Shireen was as shy as ever. The child had innocent blue eyes, but the gods had not granted her beauty to match them. She was unlike the handsome children of her generation, Gendry, Edric Storm, and the others. Stannis himself could hardly be called handsome, and his wife's looks were nothing remarkable either.
A daze of sadness passed through Davos. Perhaps the gods had been too cruel to Stannis. He and his wife had little affection between them, and their only child was a sickly, lonely girl.
Shireen not only had her father's jutting square jaw, she had also unfortunately inherited her mother's ears, the protruding ears of House Florent. Worse still, she had caught grayscale as a child and nearly died from it. Though she survived, it left her with a terrible disfigurement. From half her cheek down below her neck, the skin was stiff and dead, cracked and peeling in layers, mottled with black and gray patches, and felt like hard stone to the touch. It was the ancient curse of the Rhoynar, grayscale.
"Yes," Davos nodded.
"I wanted to see the old Maester, but the old Maester is gone now. He used to take me and Patches to see the white ravens," Shireen said.
Pain stirred in Davos's heart. Shireen was the saddest child he knew. Her father plotted grand ambitions, while her mother had become a devout believer in the Red God. As for the red priestess, that woman had enchanted Dragonstone into unrest, and the old Maester had died because of her strange magic.
Davos looked at the little girl. Renly had once offered tempting terms, a marriage between Shireen and Edric, but Stannis had never been willing to compromise on such matters.
Trailing behind Shireen, hopping and shuffling along in his strange crooked way, was her fool, Patchface. From scalp to neck, Patchface was marked in red-and-green checks, the sign of a Volantene fool. He wore a toy helm made from an old tin bucket, with two antlers tied to the top. Cowbells hung from them, sounding differently with each of his staggering steps: clang-a-lang, thump-dong, ring-ring, clatter-clang.
"Under the sea, birds grow scales instead of feathers," Patchface cried, his bells ringing with his movements. Clang-clang-clang. "I know, I know, oh, oh, oh."
Davos felt a chill. Patchface was the stupidest fool he had ever seen, yet there seemed to be some strange magic about him.
Long ago, perhaps he could once have brought a hall roaring with laughter, but the sea had taken that gift from him, along with most of his wits and all of his memories. He was soft and flabby, sometimes twitching and trembling for no reason, sometimes unable even to speak clearly. This little girl was the only person left who still laughed at him, and likely the only one who cared whether he lived or died.
"I had another nightmare, old Ser. I dreamed a dragon wanted to eat me," Shireen said to Davos.
Davos knew the Princess had long been troubled by nightmares, so he comforted the child. "Dragons died out long ago, and they cannot come back to life. Those are only stone carvings, nothing more than the clever hands of the Valyrians and their lost ancient craft. They shaped their fortress into strange forms to frighten the world. So you need not be afraid."
"But the thing in the sky. The woman in red said it is dragon's breath, a messenger of the Red God," Shireen said.
"It is only an ordinary comet. It means the weather is changing and autumn has come," Davos said, gathering his courage to encourage the child, though even he had never seen such a dreadful sight in the heavens. A man who had made his life at sea had more than ordinary resolve.
"Well, after autumn comes winter. I have never seen winter."
Patchface shook his bells. "Under the sea, every day is summer!" he sang. "The mermaids have seaweed in their hair, and silver seaweed woven into gowns. I know, I know, oh, oh, oh!"
Shireen could not help laughing. "I want a dress woven from silver seaweed too."
"Under the sea, the snow falls upward," the fool said again. "The rain is dry as bones. I know, I know, oh, oh, oh!"
Patchface shook his bells as he spoke, and the sound made Davos's heart ache even more.
Davos looked at the two of them. He was a powerful vassal at Stannis's side, and he had no time to spend singing with a child and a fool. So Davos cleared his throat, ready to take his leave of the Princess.
"Some birds can talk. I want a bird that can sing too, so it can keep me company through the winter. A bird even cleverer than a white raven," the girl said, her mouth opening wide.
"Clever birds, clever men, clever foolish jesters," Patchface said, bells jingling. "Oh, clever, clever, clever foolish jesters!" He began to sing. "Shadows come to dance, my lord, dance, my lord, dance, my lord!" As he sang, he stood on one foot, then switched to the other. "Shadows come to dwell, my lord, dwell, my lord, dwell, my lord!" With every line, he twisted his head, and the bells on his antlers rang without stopping.
The sound startled both Davos and the little girl. Shireen trembled slightly. "He sings that all day. I told him not to, but Patches won't listen. I'm so frightened."
Davos looked at Patchface. Perhaps death would have been kinder to the fool. He had heard that the old Maester had insisted on saving this foolish jester, and now Patchface sang these strange songs.
"Lady Shireen, your father and I have matters to discuss." With that, they parted. The little girl hurried off in the other direction, and Patchface followed close behind her, the cowbells on his head clanging wildly.
Davos went straight to the Chamber of the Painted Table in the Drum Tower, the place where Great Lord Stannis spent most of his time. The Drum Tower was the main keep of Dragonstone, worn by wind and storm. Whenever a tempest approached, the ancient walls would rumble from within.
Davos strode down the long corridor, passing a row of tall arched windows. Through them, his gaze swept over the outer yard, the outer walls, and the fishing village beyond. In the courtyard, guards patrolled between the stone gargoyles on the walls, archers practiced their shooting, and several thousand soldiers were stationed near the castle. This was Stannis's greatest strength.
But we have the advantage at sea, Davos reassured himself. Stannis had served as Master of Ships for many years and controlled the royal fleet. Dragonstone now possessed one of the strongest fleets in the Seven Kingdoms. More than that, Stannis had seized many vessels that strayed within sight of Dragonstone, armed merchant ships, cargo ships, and the like.
Davos was thin and plain, his humble origins obvious at a glance. A green cloak, eaten by salt and sea wind and long faded by the sun, hung from his shoulders. Beneath it, he wore a brown tunic and trousers that matched his brown eyes and brown hair. Around his neck, a worn little leather pouch hung from a leather cord. His small beard was thick with white now, and his maimed left hand was covered by a leather glove.
But the guards outside Stone Drum waved Davos through as soon as they saw him. Everyone knew he was a man Great Lord Stannis valued.
"Is he inside?" Davos asked after a brief hesitation.
The guard nodded, and Davos had no choice but to climb the tower and enter the Chamber of the Painted Table. True to its name, the chamber was a vast round room. Its walls were made of black stone and left bare of ornament, with four tall, narrow windows facing east, south, west, and north, open to wind and rain.
The most famous thing in the hall was the huge carved wooden table, commissioned by Aegon the Conqueror before the War of Conquest. Every time Davos saw it, his heart stirred, as if the realm itself lay before his eyes. The table shone with the polished patina of nearly three hundred years. The Painted Table was more than fifty feet long, about half that at its widest, and less than four feet at its narrowest. Aegon's carpenters had shaped it after the continent of Westeros, sawing out every bay and peninsula, leaving not a single straight edge.
Davos saw his liege lord, Great Lord Stannis of Dragonstone, a man who had never understood what it meant to bend or yield, and so was not much loved. Stannis sat on the raised platform corresponding to Dragonstone's place beyond the sea, the only seat remaining in the Chamber of the Painted Table. The red priestess stood to one side of the hall.
"I had hoped you would bring good news, but I know you have not," Great Lord Stannis Baratheon said, raising his head to look at Davos. Stannis wore a close-fitting leather jerkin and coarse brown wool trousers. He had always lived plainly. In both appearance and temperament, Great Lord Stannis differed greatly from his brothers. He was known for his iron resolve, cared nothing for luxury, rarely smiled, and was hard for others to approach.
Stannis had broad shoulders and strong limbs, a taut face, and skin hardened like iron by years beneath the sun. Yet he lacked Robert and Renly's handsomeness, looking instead like cold iron. Though he was not yet thirty-five, only a thin ring of black hair remained on his head, circling behind his ears like the shadow of a crown. He kept his beard short and even as well, a blue-black shadow covering his square jaw and hollow cheekbones, as if in answer to them.
"I am not much of an envoy," Davos said with a bitter face.
"Then I should cut off your tongue and fingers," Great Lord Stannis said. He had never cared for the feelings of others. He disliked pretty words and never spoke them himself.
Beneath Stannis's heavy brows, his eyes were like two wounds, deep blue as the sea at night. The funniest fool in the world would be helpless before that mouth, a mouth born for frowns, anger, and harsh commands. Pale, thin, and tight, it had long forgotten how to smile, let alone how to laugh. The Great Lord also ground his teeth at night, which was a sign of unease.
"The lords of Storm's End remain unmoved and refuse to raise their banners for me. Many are waiting to see which way the wind blows, and many are under Renly. They believe that, for me, choosing Renly or choosing the bastard would both be acceptable."
Stannis spoke with bitterness and anger.
"He is a bastard, but your brother legitimized him. From what I see, many lords are still watching and waiting. Even Renly cannot rally everyone, because Highgarden has begun to wait as well, unless Renly can win some decisive victory. That is why Lord Renly is eager to ally with us. He needs the support of the royal fleet," Davos said.
"So the throne belongs to Renly, or to that lucky bastard Gendry? That blacksmith's boy?" Stannis's voice was hard and cold. "I never asked for Dragonstone, but by all rights, Storm's End should have been mine. Robert gave no thought to my loyalty. I built his fleet and defeated his enemies. Did he thank me? He did not. It was Robert who ordered me to take Dragonstone. And now? Thanks to the king's generosity and gratitude, I must live at others' mercy, guarding my rocks and sea."
"You know the situation now. Dragonstone has few people, and the outlying islands are rocky, rugged, and sparsely populated. Besides, ever since those lords heard that the Targaryen girl may soon return, I have seen something wrong in the way they look at me. This place has always stunk of dragons, and I have held it for barely more than ten years. What can I rely on? Sellswords from across the Narrow Sea, and even they are the scraps others left behind."
Davos knew these old grievances had wounded Stannis too deeply, but this was no time to keep dwelling on them. He said calmly, "At least in the eyes of many lords, your brother Renly would be in grave danger without Highgarden's support. The Stormlands have never had the strength to stand alone. As for your nephew, he already commands a great army and fleet, and he has the will in Lord Eddard's possession."
"Robert treated me unjustly enough, and then he left me this rotten mess. Because of his generosity, Renly now means to steal the throne while no one is looking. As for that bastard, a few words from Robert before his death have erased decades of my loyalty, and the line of succession recognized by the gods." Stannis's furious voice rang through the hall.
Davos said nothing for a moment. Renly was indeed a thief coveting the throne. But when it came to a legitimized bastard and the rights of an uncle, the matter was not so simple.
"Lord, our true enemy is the Lannisters. And right now, everyone opposes the Lannisters."
"I will not ally with Renly, no matter how well he speaks. He is a rebel, and I do not believe he would ever set down his crown."
"Then your nephew? He has already lifted the siege of Riverrun, and now the forces of Winterfell and Riverrun are willing to support him," Davos suggested.
"He is nothing but a green boy. Besides, is there any place for me in that will?" Stannis's face was iron-gray. "Robert wounded me deeply. I see his son is no different."
"But it is your brother's will," Davos urged. "If you had warned him earlier, perhaps Lord Eddard could have been saved."