Cold autumn wind swept across the terrace.
Queen Selyse's body lay still on the ground. Stannis unfastened his cloak and draped it over her, hiding his wife's face from view.
The man who had caused all of it—Davos Seaworth—knelt a few steps away, pinned down by two royal knights. His gray hair whipped in the wind. He stared at the stone floor, eyes empty, weathered face more haggard than ever. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
"Kill him!"
"I always knew that honorless bastard took Lannister gold!"
"Execute the traitor! Avenge the queen!"
The knights roared. Several tried to rush forward, only to be dragged back by their comrades.
Stannis stood between Selyse's body and Davos, silent for a long time.
"Shut your mouths!" he finally snapped, voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
He stepped closer and looked down at the face he knew better than any other. "Why?" His voice was hoarse, every word soaked in betrayal. He pointed at Selyse's still-warm body, finger trembling. "Why her, Davos? What the hell were you trying to do?"
"Why did you come after my queen?"
Every eye locked on Davos. Swords slid from scabbards. The circle around him tightened.
Davos slowly lifted his head. His empty gaze finally found focus on Stannis. He tried to speak, but only a broken sound escaped. He looked at his bloodstained hands, guilt and pain threatening to drown him.
"Speak!" Stannis's voice grew harsher. "We all know you're not mute. In front of me you always had endless counsel, endless loyalty. Now tell me—what grudge did my queen ever have with you that made you break out of prison just to kill her?"
Davos closed his eyes. Two muddy tears cut tracks through the blood and grime on his face. When he opened them again, the dead look had cracked.
"Your Grace…" he choked. "I never meant to harm the queen. My target was never her."
He turned his head, gaze sliding past everyone until it fixed on Melisandre—the red woman who looked untouched by any of the blood around her.
"It was her!" Davos's voice cracked high. "That red-robed witch!"
He struggled violently; the guards slammed him back down.
"I broke out of the dungeon for one reason, Your Grace. On the road I heard them say the true king's blood had to be fed to the Lord of Light's flames. That Princess Shireen's sacrifice was the only way to victory. I couldn't watch you be blinded anymore."
"I followed you because you stood for law and justice. You rose to bring order back to this land—not to hand it to some witch who rules with living blood and empty prophecies! She'll destroy you! She'll drag this kingdom into something worse than the Long Night!"
"She twisted you with visions until you forgot why you started. How many of your own people have we burned? And now she wants your only child. This isn't salvation—it's madness. I won't let you become another Aerys Targaryen!"
"Blasphemer!" the rear-party knights roared. Some tried to break through to beat him, but their own men held them back.
Melisandre didn't even glance at Davos. Her voice was calm, almost bored. "Ignorance cannot stop the Lord of Light. The flames purify all falsehood."
Davos stared straight at Stannis, eyes wild with final desperation. "Look at her, Your Grace. Look into her eyes. Do you see any reverence for life there? As long as she stands beside you, your bloodline will never be safe. This kingdom will always teeter on the cliff's edge."
He lowered his head, voice dropping to a broken whisper. "I only wanted to remove the poison… I never meant for the queen to… I'm guilty. I have sinned."
He went limp. No more fighting, no more words. Just silent tears falling onto the stone.
A heavy quiet settled over the terrace.
Then the knights' rage surged again, louder than before.
"Queen-slayer dies!"
"Kill him!"
"Avenge Queen Selyse!"
"Traitor! Murderer! A thousand cuts!"
Guards forced Davos's head down, baring his neck. Blades hovered. All eyes turned to Stannis.
The king looked at the man who had once been his most trusted voice—the smuggler who had risked everything to feed a starving Storm's End, the only one bold enough to tell him the truth after the Blackwater. Davos's missing fingers, his gray hair, that stubborn jaw… all of it was the price of loyalty.
Stannis's hand tightened on his sword. Law demanded death. Anything less would shatter the image of justice he had built.
He raised his arm.
And then the world exploded.
A roar of battle cries erupted just outside the terrace doors—close, too close. Everyone spun toward the sound.
"Protect the king!" Gerald Gower bellowed.
The royal guards tightened around Stannis and Melisandre, swords bristling outward. Every man knew the only way up to this highest point was a single narrow stair. If the enemy had reached the door, the entire castle had already fallen.
A young knight edged toward the heavy iron door, hand shaking. Fighting and screams echoed just beyond it. He reached for the latch—
BOOM!
The door burst inward in a spray of splinters and stone. The young knight took the full force of the swinging panel to the chest and flew backward, blood and viscera spraying as he slammed into the battlements and slid lifeless over the edge.
Smoke and dust billowed. Dozens of soldiers in bright crimson armor poured through the shattered doorway, carrying a small battering ram. They moved like professionals—crossbows cocked, spears leveled—quickly boxing Stannis's remaining men against the cliff edge.
Last through the breach came a tall figure in ornate red plate, gold seven-star sigil gleaming on his chest. He carried his helmet under one arm, revealing a sharp face, neatly trimmed golden beard, and cold, satisfied eyes.
He looked at Selyse's covered body and smiled—the smile of a man tasting long-awaited vengeance.
"Seems I missed quite the show."
"Leo Sangglass!" Gerald Gower shouted, voice thick with shock and fury.
The other knights froze, faces draining of color.
Ser Leo Sangglass—Lord of Sweetport Sound, head of one of Dragonstone's oldest houses, a knight once famous for his devotion to the Seven. After Stannis turned to the Lord of Light, the Sangglass family had quietly withdrawn. No one expected them to appear now, wearing Lannister colors.
"Traitor!" Gerald snarled. "How dare you set foot here in that armor? What happened to your oaths?"
Leo's smile never wavered. "Oh, Ser Gerald… still so quick to anger. My hair wasn't always this color, was it? And this beard—Casterly Rock style. Clean. Sharp. The way Lord Tywin prefers his men."
He patted the shoulder of a knight beside him. "I serve Tywin Lannister now."
At his signal, bags were upended. Gold dragons spilled across the stone in a glittering, mocking flood.
"Lay down your weapons and the Lannisters will pay you more than you've ever seen. His Grace's gift."
The offer was met with curses, not greed.
Leo's smile vanished. He pointed at Selyse's body, hand shaking with rage. "Because of that whore. Because of that poisonous bitch driven mad by her false flames. She ordered my brother—Gunther Sangglass, a knight who served the Seven his whole life—burned alive in the square. And you—" he turned on Stannis "—you let it happen. You chose her and that red witch over your own sworn men."
"From that day, Sangglass loyalty died with my brother's ashes. So I brought Tywin's best and came straight up the secret way while your front lines collapsed. Today I collect the blood debt for my house."
Dozens of crimson-armored elites stepped forward, weapons raised, forcing Stannis's group to the very edge of the cliff. Below them the castle burned. Behind them—nothing but a hundred-foot drop and raging sea.
A true dead end.
Stannis looked around once. Betrayal, death, ruin. Everything he had built crumbling in fire and blood.
He said nothing. No pleas. No curses. He simply drew his sword, let the scabbard fall, and stepped into the light.
"Kill them all!"
Steel met steel. The terrace became a slaughterhouse.
Gerald Gower fought like a man possessed, broadsword carving through red armor, but the numbers were overwhelming. One by one the royal guards fell—speared, axed, hammered. Stannis himself bled from a dozen cuts, visor dented, breath ragged, yet he never stopped swinging.
At the far side of the platform Leo Sangglass carved straight toward Melisandre. Her fanatical followers formed a shrinking circle around her, but the red-armored tide kept coming. Leo himself fought like a demon, shoulder-checking one man while running another through the throat.
Finally he smashed a bronze brazier across the ground in front of her, scattering burning coals and oil. Flames leapt between them.
"Bitch! Look at me! You stood beside these same flames when you burned my brother. Now it's your turn. Let's see if your god protects you!"
He waited, arms spread, laughing when nothing happened.
"Don't worry—I won't kill you quick. My men will take turns with you first. Then I'll watch your head burn in this fire until it's nothing but charred meat!"
A flicker of fear crossed Melisandre's face for the first time. Not of death—of something else. Her eyes lost focus, staring deep into the flames as if seeing beyond them.
"I see…" she whispered. "A warrior… born from fire… antler helm… warhammer… you will die beneath it."
Leo roared with laughter. "Robert Baratheon's been dead two years, you stupid whore! Is that the best your god can show you?"
He never finished the sentence.
A terrible tearing sound ripped through the air behind him. Pure battle instinct saved his life—he dove sideways just as a massive warhammer slammed into the exact spot where he had stood. The black stone exploded in a spiderweb of cracks. The hammerhead vibrated in the crater.
Leo rolled to his feet, bleeding, and looked up.
A huge figure stood in the shattered doorway, antlered helm silhouetted against fire and smoke. The warrior slowly lifted the warhammer onto one shoulder. Behind him poured dozens of soldiers shouting "Long live King Robert Baratheon!"
The tide of battle turned in a heartbeat.
The antlered warrior's gaze swept the carnage, lingered briefly on Melisandre, then fixed on Leo Sangglass. His voice boomed through the visor, calm and deadly:
"You… what exactly were you planning to do to my woman?"