The dungeons beneath Dragonstone stayed damp year-round.
Torches flickered in iron rings along the walls, their weak yellow light barely pushing back the dark. It brought no warmth to the prisoners locked inside.
Davos Seaworth sat against the cold stone, wrists and ankles chained. He didn't fight the restraints. He just sat there like a man at home.
Footsteps echoed down the steps—heavy, steady, unmistakable. Even without looking up, Davos knew who it was.
He stood anyway, straightened his robe, and faced the bars.
Stannis Baratheon came down alone. No guards. No red priestess. Just the king. He stopped outside the cell, those deep blue eyes studying Davos the same way he had years ago when the smuggler first sailed into the besieged Storm's End with onions and salted fish.
"Your Grace," Davos said, voice steady.
"What should I call you now, Davos?" Stannis's tone was hard. "The twice-traitor? Or just a fool who thinks he knows better?"
"I did what I thought was right."
The Onion Knight met the king's stare without flinching. "That boy shouldn't pay for a war that isn't his. He doesn't even understand what it's really about."
"Victory shouldn't be bought with innocent blood."
"Innocent?" Stannis's jaw tightened. "This is war. There are no innocents in war."
"My brother took the throne with a warhammer and lost it to wine and whores. Now the law says I take it back and restore order. I never wanted this crown. It's cold and heavy. But while I wear it, I have a duty."
"Some sacrifices are necessary."
"Like the Mad King burning anyone who wouldn't kneel?"
Davos's voice rose. "Your Grace, while you had me locked up I learned to read. I read about Aerys Targaryen and his wildfire. He thought burning people purified the realm. He thought pain gave power."
"When you lit those pyres and listened to men scream, did you believe the same thing?"
Stannis's face shifted in the torchlight. The question cut deep. The war was going badly. He leaned harder on Melisandre's fire and blood, yet the old hunger for justice still clawed at him.
"Those men wavered. They betrayed Dragonstone. They betrayed their king."
Davos didn't back down. "Hungry fishermen hiding one fish? Soldiers crying for their families? That's not betrayal."
He stepped closer to the bars. "I've followed you since the beginning. All four of my sons died at the Blackwater for you. I never complained because I believed in you. But now we're trapped here, eating hope one day at a time. People are terrified—not of the enemy, but of waking up branded a heretic for one wrong word or prayer and thrown on the pyre."
"Is that the kingdom you want? A throne built on fear and ashes?"
The words landed like a hammer. Stannis turned his back, shoulders rigid under an invisible weight.
After a long silence he spoke, voice low. "Don't compare me to the Mad King, Ser Davos. I am the only true heir to the Iron Throne. I must sit on it. I must protect my people."
He turned and climbed the steps quickly, footsteps fading into the dark.
Davos watched him go, eyes empty in the firelight.
From the next cell came a short, bitter laugh.
Gendry leaned his head against the stone wall, staring into the darkness above. "True heir… Iron Throne… pretty words. Like church bells. But the guy ringing them never asks what the starving bastards below think."
He turned toward Davos even though he couldn't see him. "Right, Onion Knight?"
"When I was a kid in Flea Bottom I heard your story. Smuggler becomes knight because of onions. Nice fairy tale."
Davos dropped onto the floor with a grunt. "I grew up in Flea Bottom too, boy."
"Then you know we're just mud that won't stick to noble boots."
Gendry bumped his head against the wall. "I saw lords' carriages roll over the alleys and snap Old Sick Tom's other leg. Never even slowed down. Later I worked the forge. Good iron takes a thousand hammer blows. The hammer never asks if the iron hurts."
"We're the iron on the anvil. If we're useful they beat us into swords. If we're in the way they toss us in the scrap pile… or straight into the fire."
Davos stayed quiet. He understood every word.
"Stannis is different," he said finally. "He's strict. He's made mistakes. But he believes in law and duty. He's the only legitimate heir. Only he can bring real peace."
Gendry laughed again, low and tired. "I actually believed that red bitch for a while. Stupid. She smiled, said I had clever hands. I thought she liked me. She just wanted my blood."
"A bastard from Flea Bottom dreaming like that… I really was hungry."
The dungeon went quiet.
"Self-awareness is good," a calm voice said from the shadows. "But you don't have to sell yourself short, Gendry."
Both men jerked toward the sound.
A figure stepped out of the darkness across from their cells. Firelight cut his face in half. He walked slowly, boots steady on the stone.
"For a virgin, your performance was solid," the man continued. "At least you believed. Most people never even try."
"It's you!" Gendry shouted. "The one who brought us here—Vito Corleone!"
Corleone nodded. "You can call me Ser Corleone now. Still getting used to the title."
His eyes flicked over Davos, then settled on Gendry.
"Your take on nobles is close," he said. "They're blacksmiths with hammers. We're just iron on the anvil. They make the rules. We're the numbers they can spend."
He looked at Davos. "Do you really think Stannis Baratheon is playing the same game as you, Onion Knight?"
"His Grace is just," Davos said firmly. "He carries a heavier burden."
"Burden, law, duty… I've heard it all before." Corleone's voice was tired, not mocking. "A man who harms his own brother and sucks his own nephew's blood for power—does he still get to wave the banner of justice and honor?"
Davos had no answer.
Gendry blinked. "Nephew? Who?"
Corleone smiled faintly at Davos. "You still haven't told him."
He turned back to Gendry. "Want to go back to Flea Bottom, kid?"
The name hit Gendry like a fist. The forge smell. The muddy alleys. The fights over half a copper star.
But he stayed wary. "I was already back in King's Landing! If it wasn't for you I'd be swinging a hammer right now instead of waiting to get bled dry!"
Corleone shook his head. "You really think Robert Baratheon's bastard would be safe walking around King's Landing alone?"
Gendry's eyes widened. Robert Baratheon. The pieces slammed together. The red woman. The blood magic. Eddard Stark coming to the forge. Everything made horrible sense.
"So those… rituals…"
"Blood magic needs the blood of a true king's son," Corleone said. "At least that's what she believes."
Gendry grabbed the bars and yelled at Davos. "Is it true? Tell me!"
Silence.
Davos didn't deny it.
Heat flooded Gendry's head—anger, shame, everything at once. All these years just another nameless bastard in the mud. Now he finds out his father was the king. And that blood only ever got him used, sold, and drained.
"So what?" he snarled at Corleone. "Even if I'm the king's bastard, why should I trust you? You kidnapped us!"
Corleone's smile stayed calm. "When I took you, yes—you were a gift for Stannis. Business. I'm a merchant."
He stepped closer. "The gift was delivered. The buyer inspected it. If the price isn't right, I take my goods back. Simple as that."
Gendry opened his mouth to curse him.
Corleone cut in first. "Don't you want to see Arya Stark again?"
The name hit like lightning.
Gendry lunged at the bars. "You know where she is? You've seen her?"
"Easy," Corleone said. "I don't know exactly where she is right now. But she owes me a favor. I helped her and her friends in the Riverlands. She'll come find me. A month, a year—doesn't matter. When she does, you two can talk."
Gendry's chest heaved. Two voices fought in his head. One screamed not to trust this man. The other kept whispering Arya's name—the fierce little girl who'd stood up for him when everyone else stayed silent.
He took a deep breath. "Fine. I'm in. Even if I die in King's Landing I'd rather that than rot here waiting to get bled."
"Smart choice."
From the next cell Davos spoke quietly. "You two planning to escape and just leaving me here?"
"You're talking awfully loud for a secret escape. Think I'll keep my mouth shut?"
Corleone turned. His expression didn't change. He drew his sword in one smooth motion and pointed it at Davos.
"Then I'll silence you first."
"No!" Gendry threw himself forward. "Please, Ser! He's a good man!"
"He heard everything," Corleone said, voice flat. "Soft hearts get people killed."
Davos looked at the blade and spread his arms. "Do it. I've betrayed my king twice. By law I should already be dead."
Corleone's mouth twitched. The sword flashed.
Gendry squeezed his eyes shut.
No scream. Just a soft tap-tap on the stone floor.
He opened his eyes. Corleone had already sheathed the blade. No blood.
Davos stared down. The leather cord around his neck had been sliced clean. Four blackened finger bones—his old smuggling price—lay scattered at his feet.
The sword had passed an inch from his throat. He was untouched.
"People have to look forward, Ser Davos Seaworth," Corleone said. "Clinging to the past is like holding onto a sinking ship. It drags you down with it."
He glanced at the bones. "Loyalty is fine. Blind loyalty to a man who's lost his own soul is just stupid."
Davos sat frozen, hand halfway to the bones he couldn't bring himself to pick up.
Corleone turned toward the dungeon door. "If you want to watch this boy die on Dragonstone… or stay here like livestock until they need more blood… go ahead and snitch."
He reached the heavy oak door.
A deafening roar of battle cries erupted from every direction.
Corleone's hand went to his sword—then he frowned. This wasn't a search party. This was hundreds, maybe thousands.
Bang!
The prison door exploded inward. A blood-soaked Dragonstone soldier staggered inside, helmet crooked, eyes wild.
"Enemy attack! Enemy warships are landing! Everyone who can still stand, with me—!"
He froze when he saw Corleone standing calmly behind the door.
Corleone smiled politely.
Then he drew, thrust, and withdrew in one clean motion.
The soldier dropped, throat opened, blood pouring down the doorframe.
Corleone stepped over the body, closed and barred the door, then crouched and searched the corpse with practiced efficiency. He found the right key, walked to Gendry's cell, and unlocked it.
"Change of plans," he said, calm as ever. "We're leaving now."
"Bastard."