Chapter 592

Ironborn?

But wasn’t Blackwater Bay under blockade by Daenerys’s fleet stationed at Dragonstone? How did they get in?

The same doubt flashed through the minds of both Stannis and Davos, but neither voiced it. The reason was simple: their very acquaintance stemmed from Davos’s daring feat during the darkest days of the Siege of Storm’s End. Under the cover of night, Davos had navigated a small, black-sailed boat laden with onions and salted fish past the Redwyne fleet’s blockade, delivering crucial supplies that kept the defenders alive until the siege was lifted.

The seas were vast, and no fleet could form an impenetrable line. With a small enough boat, a swift enough vessel, and a sailor brave and skilled enough, slipping through a blockade was entirely possible—especially for seasoned pirates.

“Bring him to me.”

The man was already outside the Red Keep, so it wasn’t long before he was escorted into the council chamber. He was a wiry, short, middle-aged man whose entire demeanor radiated a kind of oily wretchedness. With a pointed chin, beady eyes, a face full of pustules, and a mouth full of yellowed teeth that gleamed when he grinned, he was the kind of man who repulsed at first sight. Stannis began to suspect that Euron or Daenerys had sent him solely to disgust him.

Fortunately, the man’s speech was clear and to the point.

“The King of the Iron Islands greets the King of King’s Landing and the Stormlands, wishing His Grace good fortune and health.”

“Bastard!” Davos burst into fury. As if the king’s mood wasn’t foul enough, even the self-proclaimed King of the Iron Islands dared to mock him with such an address? The Onion Knight, though not tall, still loomed over the scrawny messenger by a full head as he stepped forward, his face twisted in anger. “His Grace is the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm! You—”

“Enough,” Stannis cut him off, waving a hand dismissively. His tone was weary but firm.

The “King of King’s Landing and the Stormlands”? The title was clearly meant as an insult, but under current circumstances, even such a shabby designation was a stretch. Four of the Seven Kingdoms had rebelled, two remained neutral, and the one that still nominally supported him—the Stormlands—had been ravaged by the Golden Company and was in no condition to send aid.

Even if the scoundrel before him had called him the “King of King’s Landing,” what rebuttal could Stannis offer? His realm truly extended no further than the city’s walls.

“I don’t care to know your name, your origins, or your intentions,” Stannis said coldly, his icy demeanor as unyielding as the Wall. “Get to the point. State your master’s terms and be on your way before dawn.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the small man replied, his grin never faltering. Clearing his throat, he continued, his tone suddenly more solemn. “King Euron Greyjoy bids me inform you that the Iron Fleet is positioned near Blackwater Bay, ready to enter the fray at a moment’s notice to aid in defending King’s Landing. However, His Majesty has a small request in return: that Your Grace publicly recognize King Euron Greyjoy as the rightful ruler of the Iron Islands, the North, and the Riverlands. In exchange, King Euron will recognize you as the sovereign of the Crownlands, the Stormlands, the Reach, Dorne, and the Vale. Furthermore, he proposes an eternal alliance between your realms, sealed with a mutual non-aggression pact and, if necessary, a marriage alliance. What say you?”

Stannis’s face remained as unmoving as stone. In a flat, unaffected tone, he asked, “Let me get this straight. Euron’s offer is that if I cede a third of Westeros to him and agree to co-rule this continent, the Iron Fleet will assist in defending King’s Landing during the siege. Is that correct?”

“Heh… Your Grace is as sharp as they say,” the man chuckled, reverting to his greasy, mocking demeanor. “Yes, that’s about the gist of it.”

“Hmph.” Stannis’s attempt at a sneer came off as more menacing than sardonic. He stared at the envoy with unblinking, cold eyes until the man began to squirm under the weight of his gaze. Only then did Stannis speak, his voice low and deliberate.

“A traitor who steals my lands dares send an envoy to bargain with me in my own hall? Even if Daenerys’s forces stood at the gates of the Red Keep, even if my men were cut down to the last soldier, I would sooner die leaping from the top of the Tower of the Hand than surrender the unity of the Seven Kingdoms to a pirate king. Guards! Seize him!”

The doors burst open as soldiers stormed in, pinning the scrawny Ironborn to the ground.

“For Euron Greyjoy’s treachery in seceding from the Seven Kingdoms and his ambitions over the North and the Riverlands, cut off three of this man’s fingers and cast him back into the sea.”

“Mercy, Your Grace!” the envoy wailed, struggling against his captors. “It is forbidden to harm an envoy under the laws of war! I’ve done nothing but deliver a message—I haven’t plundered your lands or harmed your people!”

The guards, unfazed, pinned him down. One restrained his right hand, another planted a boot on his left, and a knife gleamed in the torchlight.

“Wait,” Stannis commanded, halting the punishment just as the blade was about to strike. The room fell silent, and the Ironborn looked up, hopeful for reprieve. Stannis’s tone remained chillingly even. “You rowed here, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes, Your Grace!” the man cried. “If you take my fingers, I won’t be able to row back and deliver your message to King Euron!”

“You make a fair point. Take his toes instead. That won’t affect his rowing.”

The guards exchanged the knife for an axe and dragged the stunned man out of the chamber. His screams soon echoed down the hall, accompanied by the dull thuds of steel against flesh.

Davos, visibly shaken, turned to Stannis. “Your Grace, even if Euron is a usurper, couldn’t you have humored him, at least until the siege is over? We wouldn’t need to let the Ironborn into the city—just use their fleet to keep Daenerys’s navy occupied! Why drive them away?”

Stannis’s expression hardened. “You think Euron sailed halfway around Westeros to offer his support out of goodwill? No, Davos. He isn’t here to help me. He’s here to prolong the chaos, to ensure that neither I, Daenerys, nor Aegon emerge as a clear victor. He wants this war to drag on endlessly, so he can continue raiding unopposed.”

“And as long as I remain on the brink of defeat,” Stannis continued, his eyes gleaming with cold clarity, “Euron has no choice but to keep me in the game. If I executed his envoy and sent back his severed limbs with a letter cursing his entire family, he’d still show up to attack the Targaryens when the time comes.”

Davos hesitated, then slowly nodded as the truth of Stannis’s words sank in. For the first time in days, a flicker of hope returned to his heart. Stannis, it seemed, had not lost his resolve after all.

Perhaps, against all odds, there was still a way forward.