Early the next morning, the salty sea breeze from Shipbreaker Bay swept across the coast once again. The humid air felt even heavier than it had the previous day.
The negotiations were to take place on a hill overlooking Storm's End. The grassy hillside was dotted with gray-white mushrooms, while freshly cut tree stumps appeared to bleed crimson sap from their exposed surfaces.
The first banner to arrive was that of House Stark. The gray direwolf on its white field snapped loudly in the howling wind.
"I only hope this doesn't end in the worst possible way," Eddard Stark said quietly to Ser Barristan Selmy.
Concern was evident in the Hand of the King's voice.
Barristan glanced toward Storm's End before adjusting the spear that carried House Stark's banner.
This time, he was present not only as a witness but also as Lord Eddard's standard-bearer.
Soon afterward, Renly Baratheon's banner appeared, the crowned black stag upon a field of gold fluttering proudly outside Storm's End.
The opposite camp, however, remained silent.
"Prepare for the worst," Barristan said calmly. "The letter you sent to King Karl received no reply. It seems His Majesty intends for you to settle this matter yourself."
His hand rested upon the hilt of his sword.
The words only increased Eddard's burden.
"If Stannis refuses to yield, I'll settle this before the king arrives. Renly has already abandoned his ambitions, and the lords who once supported Stannis have also withdrawn."
He sighed heavily.
"If I cannot resolve even this matter, I will have no right to wear the Hand's pin any longer. I'll resign my office and return to the North."
Barristan looked at him in surprise.
After a moment of thought, he realized Lord Stark had likely already made up his mind.
Once this crisis ended, the Lord of Winterfell would probably leave the South forever.
He belonged in the North.
Barristan understood, but remained silent. Such matters were beyond the concern of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
Not long afterward, Renly Baratheon arrived alongside Ser Loras Tyrell.
Their escorts remained well behind them. As agreed, only two representatives from each side, together with the mediators, would participate in the negotiations.
After exchanging greetings with Eddard and Barristan, Renly looked toward the small camp outside Storm's End.
"He's still playing this childish game of kings," he scoffed.
Unlike the exhausted and unshaven man Eddard had seen the day before, Renly now looked refreshed. His beard had been neatly shaved, and his hair carefully combed.
Seeing him so composed reassured Eddard that Renly had truly abandoned his claim to the throne.
Just then, two riders emerged from the distant camp.
Stannis Baratheon had arrived.
The negotiations officially began.
Everyone's attention was immediately drawn to the crown upon Stannis's head and the banner flying beside him.
His crown was forged from red gold, its points shaped like rising flames.
His belt glittered with garnets and topazes, while a large square ruby adorned the hilt of his sword.
Apart from these royal ornaments, however, his clothing remained plain: a simple cotton tunic, a studded leather vest, worn boots, and coarse brown breeches.
Renly couldn't help comparing their appearances.
He himself wore a rich green velvet tunic beneath a silk cloak trimmed with squirrel fur.
His gaze then shifted toward Stannis's banner.
The crowned stag remained, but now it rested within a blazing red heart surrounded by orange flames.
The Baratheon sigil had become secondary to the fiery heart.
Renly smiled faintly.
"Brother, is that truly your banner? I don't remember House Baratheon ever using another symbol."
As he spoke, his eyes settled upon Stannis's standard-bearer.
It was a woman entirely dressed in crimson robes, her face hidden beneath a deep hood.
A Red Priestess.
A servant of R'hllor, the Lord of Light.
Renly was familiar with followers of the faith, particularly Thoros of Myr, who had once tried—and failed—to convert King Aerys II.
After Robert's Rebellion, Thoros had remained at court, famous for igniting his sword with wildfire during tournaments.
As if sensing Renly's gaze, the hooded woman looked toward him.
Before she could speak, Stannis answered coldly.
"Whose banner should it be? Karl Baratheon's?"
Renly shrugged.
"I wasn't certain from a distance."
"So whose banner are you really carrying?"
"As for Karl's banner..."
"I know it quite well. After all, he is the champion of the Martial Games."
His tone remained light and teasing.
Before Stannis could reply, the Red Priestess spoke.
"His Majesty's true banner bears the flaming heart of the Lord of Light."
Immediately, Eddard interrupted her.
"His Majesty?"
"By law, the Iron Throne belongs to Karl Baratheon."
His voice was firm.
Then he turned his cold gaze toward the priestess.
"Witch, you have already caused enough chaos."
"I advise you to leave Westeros and take your faith with you."
"Attempting to divide the kingdom is treason."
"The punishment is death."
Melisandre merely smiled.
"Death?"
"What a terrible threat."
"The servants of the Lord of Light do not fear death."
She looked directly into Eddard's eyes.
"As for you..."
"You should already be dead."
"A twist of fate allowed you to survive, but destiny has not forgotten you."
"I saw your head impaled upon a spear atop the walls of King's Landing."
"You should be grateful it still rests upon your shoulders."
Her words caused everyone present except Stannis to frown.
Eddard's face darkened.
"Are you threatening me?"
"Do you understand the seriousness of your words?"
Melisandre remained calm.
"I am neither threatening nor cursing you."
"I am simply speaking the truth."
She knew none of them believed her.
She did not care.
Seeing the negotiations collapsing before they had even begun, Stannis finally lost his patience.
"Enough!"
"I didn't come here to waste time."
He fixed his gaze upon Renly.
"The purpose of this meeting was clearly explained in my letter."
"Give me your answer."
Then he turned toward Eddard and Barristan.
"And let me remind you both."
"By law, I am the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."
"I will tolerate no further insults regarding my claim."
"Anyone who persists will answer according to the law."
"The punishment is death."
Silence fell over the hill.
Only the roar of the sea breeze remained.
Finally, Eddard spoke.
"Stannis."
"Enough of this foolishness."
"Karl is better suited to rule than you in every possible way."
"And if you wish to argue by bloodline..."
"Nothing speaks louder than a dragon."
The mention of dragons caused Stannis's eyes to narrow.
He knew exactly what had happened at Highgarden.
It was one of the reasons he had hurried here.
Renly nodded.
"I couldn't agree more."
"I deeply regret my own ambitions."
"It's time for you to wake up, brother."
"Enough!"
Stannis suddenly roared.
He drew the sword from his waist and raised it high.
Under the pale morning sun, the blade shimmered with strange colors—red, gold, and brilliant white.
Heat radiated from the weapon, causing the surrounding air to ripple.
His horse reared nervously.
Barristan Selmy and Ser Loras Tyrell immediately drew their own swords, stepping protectively before Eddard and Renly.
"Lower your sword, Stannis!" Barristan commanded.
Even in old age, his voice carried unquestionable authority.
Stannis ignored him completely.
He pointed the blazing sword directly at Renly.
"You have abandoned your own blood."
"You have disgraced House Baratheon."
"You would rather kneel before a bastard than support your rightful king."
"If you've truly lost your courage, lower your banners and surrender everything that belongs to House Baratheon."
"I am not a cruel man."
"I have no desire to stain Lightbringer with the blood of my own brother."
"In the name of our mother, I offer you one final chance."
"Surrender now."
"You will remain Lord of Storm's End."
"You will keep your seat on the Small Council."
"Until my own son is born, you shall remain my heir."
"But if you refuse..."
"Do not blame me for what follows."
Eddard's expression darkened.
"Stannis Baratheon."
"Robert's will was perfectly clear."
"Before his death, Karl was formally recognized as his lawful heir."
"Only Karl Baratheon is the true king."
"If you continue this madness, we will have no choice but to stop you."
"The king has already shown you more patience than you deserve."
Stannis ignored him entirely.
His eyes never left Renly.
Renly sighed before looking once more toward Melisandre.
Then he laughed.
"Stannis..."
"Your sword is certainly impressive."
"But I wonder whether its light has blinded your eyes—or your mind."
"The Targaryens ruled Westeros for centuries."
"Dragonfire carries far more authority than a flaming banner."
"I don't know what spell this woman has cast over you, or whether she's enchanted you in your bed."
"But becoming king requires more than simply declaring yourself one."
"House Tyrell once tempted me with dreams of the throne."
"And where did that lead?"
"Now I'm standing here hoping for mercy from the 'bastard' you despise."
Stannis slowly lowered his sword and slid it back into its scabbard.
"Very well."
"We shall see."
He turned his horse without another word.
As he rode away, only a single sentence drifted back on the wind.
"Until sunrise tomorrow..."
"This is the last mercy I will ever show."
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