While the Red Wedding was taking place, a sudden storm also broke out in the Stormlands.
The sky was overcast. Several miles outside the walls of Storm's End, two groups of riders faced each other.
Each side had more than a dozen horsen. One flew the blue stag banner of House Baratheon of Storm's End, the other the red stag banner of House Baratheon of Dragonstone.
Renly wore a crown, flanked by the Knight of Flowers Loras and the Rainbow Guard Beauty Brienne. He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.
"Is it really you? When I first saw that banner, I wasn't sure."
The bald Stannis replied calmly, "If not , then who?"
Renly jerked his chin toward the red banners behind Stannis. "Whose banners are those?"
Stannis nodded modestly. "My own."
Renly couldn't help laughing. "Good thing you changed your banners. Otherwise, two sides with the sa flag fighting each other would have been a ss! Why is your stag on fire?"
The red-robed woman lisandre, wearing a red hood, answered for Stannis: "His Grace's sigil is the fiery red heart of the true Lord of Light."
Renly raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so you're that fire priestess I've heard so much about. I wonder who is stronger — you or that charlatan on the south shore of the God's Eye?"
He looked back at Stannis and scoffed. "My brother, no wonder you've turned to religion at your age."
Stannis narrowed his eyes. "You'd best be careful, Renly."
"I'm very careful, no need for you to worry. I'm quite relaxed." Renly's smile grew even more arrogant. "I have a hundred thousand elite soldiers under my command, the full might of the Stormlands and the Reach combined. I never thought you'd beco a believer. You really are boring, rigid, and annoying, but you were never pious."
The Red Woman couldn't help but advise, "You should kneel and submit to your brother. He is the chosen of destiny, reborn in smoke and salt."
Renly looked amused. "Smoke and salt? Is he a smoked sausage?"
Stannis finally lost his temper and shouted, "I am the rightful heir to the Iron Throne! Anyone who denies this is my enemy!"
Renly sneered, "From Dorne to the Wall, everyone denies you! Even old n nearing death and babies still in their mothers' wombs disagree. No one wants you as their king, brother. You've never wanted friends, but without friends, you have no power."
Stannis took a deep breath, suppressing his rage. "For the sake of us sharing the sa mother, I'll give you one night to reconsider. Lower your rebel banners and swear fealty to before dawn, and I will keep your seat on the Small Council. I will even na you my heir until my wife gives birth to a boy. Otherwise… I will destroy you!"
Renly couldn't hold back his laughter.
He raised his hand and pointed toward the distant plain.
"Brother, look at that plain. Do you see those banners? The Reach and the Stormlands all support !"
There lay the camp of Renly's great army. There were too many n — Storm's End couldn't hold them all, so they had set up camp outside the city. Dense tents and layered banners covered the entire field of view.
Stannis looked at the banners expressionlessly, then spoke slowly:
"We shall see, Renly. You still have a chance before dawn."
With that, he turned his horse and rode away.
Before leaving, lisandre looked at Renly and gave a aningful smile.
"Beware of your sins, Lord Renly. The night is dark and full of terrors."
That night.
The night was as dark as ink. There was no moon over the waters of Blackwater Bay.
Davos Seaworth stood at the prow, gazing at the dark silhouette of Storm's End in the distance. He knew that castle too well. Twenty years ago, he had sailed a small boat loaded with onions and salted fish, breaking through the Redwyne fleet's blockade to save the besieged Stannis.
That ship of onions had made him a knight, and it had cost him the tips of four fingers on his left hand.
Tonight he had co again.
The sa secret smuggler's channel only he knew, the sa shallow-draft boat, the sa night so dark that even seabirds couldn't see their shadows. But this ti, his cargo was not food.
It was that woman.
"Bring the boat closer to that wall," lisandre's voice ca from behind, light as a falling leaf.
Davos didn't turn around. He didn't want to look at her. During the voyage from Dragonstone, he had deliberately kept his distance. He didn't believe in her god, didn't believe in her magic, and certainly didn't believe in those eyes that always seed to burn with fla.
"There," she pointed to the seaward side of Storm's End. "Right beneath that wall. There is a water gate, long ago sealed, but it can be accessed from below."
Davos frowned. Even he hadn't known about that water gate.
He steered the boat into the shadows, hugging the rock face as he slowly approached. Waves crashed against the reefs, their spray hiding the boat's outline.
When the hull gently bumped into sothing, he looked down. It was a section of stone steps almost subrged by seawater, leading all the way to the base of the wall.
"This is the place." lisandre stood up.
Davos finally turned to look at her. There was no firelight around her, yet her eyes were still frighteningly bright, like two burning coals.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
She didn't answer. She simply lifted the hem of her red robe and stepped onto the slippery stone steps. After a few steps, she stopped and looked back at him.
"Aren't you coming, Onion Knight?"
Davos hesitated. He should stay here, wait for her to finish, and then take her back. But so indefinable feeling made him follow — perhaps curiosity, perhaps his loyalty to Stannis compelled him to witness it all.
He took one step.
Then another.
It was as if he had passed through an invisible door.
Deep beneath Storm's End lay a forgotten cave.
Seawater seeped in from sowhere, leaving salt marks on the stone walls. The air slled damp and rusty. lisandre stood in the center of the cave, her back to him, her red robe strikingly vivid in the dim light.
Just as Davos was about to speak, she turned around.
He saw.
She was smiling at him. Then she began to remove her clothes. Piece by piece, the red robe slipped off, revealing…
A perfect, flawless, seductive body!
But Davos's eyes did not linger on those curves. He stared at her abdon.
Beneath that robe, sothing was moving.
It wasn't pregnancy! He had seen his wife pregnant with seven children; he knew what pregnancy looked like.
But this was not that. It was sothing deeper, sothing writhing and surging from within, as if sothing was about to break out of her body.
There was no pain on lisandre's face. She slowly sat down, right there on the damp, filthy ground.
She closed her eyes, her lips still moving silently. Her hands cradled her own belly, as if holding an invisible chalice.
Then she opened her eyes and looked at him.
"Stannis's fla burns too weakly," she said, her voice hoarse yet calm. "He can give no more. But Onion Knight, your fla still burns."
Davos took a step back. He wanted to run. But his legs wouldn't obey.
"If you are willing to serve your king," she continued, stepping closer, "co visit my chamber at night. I will give you pleasure like you have never known, and with your life's fire, I will create…"
"No." Davos cut her off. His voice was trembling.
She looked at him. There was no disappointnt or anger in her eyes — only a deep, unfathomable calm.
"You fear ," she said. "You fear my god, you fear my magic. But what you fear most is yourself."
As she spoke, her face began to twist, as if enduring great pain.
She was giving birth.
She was actually giving birth!
Stannis was terrified when he saw her "amniotic fluid" flowing out…
Beneath her robe, black liquid dripped down her legs.
Drop by drop.
The liquid fell onto the stone floor without dispersing. Instead, it gathered into a small pool, writhing slowly like a living thing. Then, from that pool of black liquid, a hand erged.
It was not the hand of an infant.
It was the hand of an adult.
The fingers were long and slender, the knuckles distinct, the nails neatly trimd. The hand grabbed lisandre's thigh and pushed hard…
A body erged from nowhere, as if rising from the black liquid on the ground, or crawling out of lisandre's womb.
Davos saw the face.
It was Stannis's face.
Not similar — it was Stannis Baratheon! The sa square jaw, the sa thick brows, the sa perpetually furrowed, unsmiling face.
But this was not Stannis.
It was a shadow ford from darkness, a soulless shell.
The shell stood up.
It was naked, its skin smooth like lted wax, without hair, without pores, even without any sign of gender.
But it had eyes — two eyes, yet not Stannis's blue-grey. They were bottomless black, like two wells, like two doors leading to nothingness.
It stood there, motionless.
lisandre had already collapsed to the ground, her face deathly pale, gasping heavily, sweat soaking her hair and robe.
She forced out two words with difficulty:
"My lord… go."
The shadow slowly walked out of the cave.
Renly Baratheon's Camp at Storm's End.
Renly Baratheon had just finished a war council with his vassals. Accompanied by Brienne, he returned to his private tent.
Inside the tent, the Little Rose was waiting for him.
She wore a seductive gauze dress, her alluring curves faintly visible. Any normal man seeing this scene should have had his heart racing.
Yet there was not a trace of desire in Renly's eyes when he looked at Margaery. Not infatuation, not even the curiosity a newlywed husband might have toward his wife.
There was nothing there.
Renly looked at her again. In that gaze, sothing seed to flash by… guilt? Or sothing else?
Margaery did not press him.
She already knew.
She had known even before she married him.
Lady Olenna would never let her granddaughter enter the bridal chamber blindfolded. Before the wedding, she had told Margaery: "Renly does not like won. He never will. But he is the king, and House Tyrell needs his bloodline."
"He only needs an heir," her grandmother had said. "You only need to conceive a child. As for how that child cos to be, that is your business."
At the ti, Margaery thought she understood.
Now she realized she had misunderstood.
It turned out Renly did not like won — he only loved n.
Her brother, the Knight of Flowers Loras… was actually her "rival."
This was sowhat hard to accept!
My brother is my rival?!
She gently stroked his chest and shoulders, helping him undress.
"Why don't we call Loras over too?" Her voice was soft, carrying a hint of helplessness. "As long as the seed is finally spilled inside . I need a child from Your Grace the King."
Upon hearing this, Renly was extrely embarrassed.
He quickly found an excuse to postpone the Little Rose's suggestion: "We'll discuss this… at a later ti."
The Little Rose looked sowhat disappointed. She bid him goodnight and returned to her own tent next door.
It was hard to imagine that the king and queen actually slept in separate rooms.
Renly felt sowhat irritated.
The wine in the room had run out. He called out, "Brienne!"
Brienne entered at once.
"Go fetch so wine," Renly said. "And have the guards invite Ser Loras over."
Brienne obeyed and left.
When she returned with a jar of fine wine, she knew what was about to happen. She placed the wine on the table and prepared to leave.
The next second, her eyes widened.
Behind Renly, a pitch-black figure suddenly appeared.
Before she could react, a black blade pierced straight through Renly's chest from behind!
Renly's eyes bulged. He coughed up a large mouthful of blood.
He looked down at the black sword tip protruding from his chest. His lips moved twice.
Then his body went limp.
Brienne let out a heart-wrenching cry: "No!"
She rushed forward and caught Renly's falling body. Blood stained her arms, her armor, and her face.
Renly was dead! The king who had been full of vigor and confidence just that day was gone!
She held the king's corpse and wept bitterly.
The tent flap was lifted.
Loras Tyrell walked in.
He saw the scene: Brienne holding Renly's body, covered in blood.
"You!" Loras's eyes instantly turned red. "You killed him!"
He drew his sword and charged.
Brienne had no ti to explain. She laid down Renly's body, drew her sword to block. The two blades clashed, sparks flying.
She didn't want to hurt Loras… he was the one Renly loved. But she had to avenge Renly.
She feinted, and when Loras blocked, she struck the back of his neck with her palm.
Loras collapsed limply.
Brienne stood in the tent, looking at Renly's corpse, at the unconscious Loras, listening to the growing commotion outside.
She took a deep breath, turned, and rushed out of the tent.
She disappeared into the night.
Renly was dead!
The news spread like wildfire across the plains outside Storm's End.
Just yesterday, that Stag King had still been riding along the edge of the camp, smiling brightly and waving to the soldiers!
Today, his corpse lay on the carpet in the center of the tent, blood still seeping from the wound in his chest.
No one knew who had killed him.
So said it was an assassin sent by Stannis. So said it was the sorcery of the Red Woman. Others said it was the punishnt of the Seven Gods… after all, Renly was a usurper, right?
But everyone understood one thing clearly: the king was dead. This army was finished.
The first chaos broke out in the supply camp. A few soldiers began looting supplies, then more joined in. A tent was toppled, a fire pit was kicked over, sparks landed on a nearby pile of dry grass, and flas shot up.
Soone shouted "Fire!", but no one went to put it out.
More people were shouting "Scatter! Everyone go ho!"
Margaery Tyrell knelt beside Renly's body, her face pale, with no tears.
She held Renly's hand, which had already begun to grow cold. There were scratches on her fingers from the last mont he had gripped her.
These past days she had been thinking about how to get Renly's "seed."
He wouldn't even touch her. Now he was dead. What was House Tyrell to do?
"My lady," a voice ca from behind — it was her guard. "We must leave this place."
Margaery did not move.
"Stannis's army is marching this way," the guard said in a low voice. "The Stormlands lords have already begun defecting. House Florent has packed up their camp and gone over to Stannis."
House Florent.
Margaery closed her eyes. Stannis's wife Selyse was a Florent. Of course they would go. Now that Renly was dead, Stannis was the last male Baratheon… unless one counted Robert's bastards in King's Landing, but no one would.
She released Renly's hand, stood up, and took one last look at him. That handso face was now ashen as paper. The perpetual smile that had always lingered at the corner of his mouth had finally disappeared.
"Let's go."
The camp had already descended into complete chaos.
Banners lay toppled, tents were knocked over and trampled, supplies scattered everywhere.
Soldiers gathered in small groups arguing. So were still trying to maintain order, but more had begun packing their things to leave.
Loras Tyrell rode through the chaos, with Margaery sitting in front of him, clutching his arm tightly.
"Brother."
"Don't speak." Loras's voice was tight, like a bowstring stretched to its limit.
He saw them. Those Stormlands lords who had bowed and scraped before Renly were now leading their personal guards northward. Stannis's army had not yet arrived, but they were already eager to greet their new master.
Ser Erton Florent, Ser Symon Florent, and more than a dozen minor Stormlands lords — who had nodded and bowed before Renly — now left without looking back.
"Those bastards," Loras said through gritted teeth.
Margaery said nothing. She simply watched their departing backs with no expression on her face. She knew this was the ga of thrones.
Renly was dead. They needed a new master. Stannis had Dragonstone, lisandre's prophecies, "kingsblood," and the protection of the fire god.
He looked like a winner.
At least better than a dead king.
When the Stormlands lords ca before Stannis, the sky had already turned completely dark.
Ser Erton Florent knelt on one knee, his head bowed very low. "King Stannis," he said, "House Florent swears fealty to you. Always has, always will."
Stannis stood before the hastily built command platform. The firelight stretched his shadow long.
He looked down at these n, at their kneeling postures, at their bowed heads.
He knew in his heart that they were not kneeling to him. They were kneeling to the possibility of victory. If they knelt to the wrong side today, they would kneel again without hesitation tomorrow.
"Rise," he said.
Over ten thousand n.
Together with his own army, he now had more than twenty thousand under his command.
Perhaps even more… more would co after dawn.
The Stormlands was the ancestral ho of House Baratheon. The people here were used to swearing fealty to the stag.
Since Renly was dead, it could only be him.
lisandre stood behind him, her red robe fluttering slightly in the night wind. Her eyes looked south, toward the camp that was still in chaos.
"There are still fifty thousand n there," she said softly. "The army of Highgarden. At Bitterbridge."
Stannis did not answer. Of course he knew there were still fifty thousand n there. It was House Tyrell's army, personally commanded by Lord Mace Tyrell.
Now that Renly was dead, what would that army do? Would they turn back ho? Or would they…
"They will side with the Lannisters," Stannis said.
lisandre looked at him.
"That girl. Margaery. She is the only daughter of House Tyrell. She married Renly to beco queen," Stannis's voice was flat. "Now Renly is dead. She cannot be queen. But Joffrey is still unmarried."
"Do you think they will go to King's Landing?"
"If that old woman is still alive, yes."
lisandre nodded gently. Of course she knew who he ant… Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns.
That woman would not let her granddaughter remain a widow for nothing. She would find a new target, a new crown.
"We can stop them," lisandre said.
Stannis shook his head.
"It's too late. We must take King's Landing while Tywin is entangled with the North! Ravens have brought urgent news — Robb Stark is dead, and Tywin is pursuing the Northern army…"
The gates of Storm's End opened at dawn.
When Stannis walked into Storm's End, the sun had just risen from the sea horizon. He stood on the battlents of the main keep, looking down at the courtyard, at the soldiers kneeling in rows, at the army marching in from afar. His army.
He should have felt joy. This was his castle. It had always been his. Robert had given it to Renly like a slap in the face. Now that slap had finally been returned.
But he simply stood there, watching the sunrise dye the castle gold.
"Congratulations, Your Grace," soone said behind him.
Stannis did not turn around. He knew it was Davos, the smuggler, the man he was never sure whether to trust.
"My brother is dead," Stannis said. "I stand in his castle, taking his army. Should I be happy?"
Davos was silent for a mont.
"I don't know what you should do," he said. "But you should know that from today onward, you are one step closer to the Iron Throne."
Stannis finally turned around and looked at him.
"Yes," he said. "One step closer. But there is still such a long road ahead."
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