Chapter 132: Flame and the Warrior
On the wind-lashed terrace, the chill of late autumn cut like a blade.
The body of Queen Selyse Florent lay still upon the stone.
Stannis Baratheon removed his cloak and gently covered her face, hiding what remained of his wife from the world.
A few steps away, the man responsible—Davos Seaworth—was forced to his knees, pinned down by two royal knights. His greying hair whipped wildly in the wind. His head hung low, eyes dull, fixed on the stone beneath him. His lips trembled, but no words came.
"Kill him!"
"I knew that wretch had no honor—he must have taken Lannister gold!"
"Execute the traitor! Avenge the queen!"
The knights roared in fury. Several tried to rush forward, only to be restrained by their comrades.
Yet Stannis stood between the corpse of his queen and the kneeling Davos, silent.
"Enough!"
At last, his voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
He stepped forward and stared down at that all-too-familiar face. "Why?"
His voice was hoarse, every word soaked in pain and betrayal. His trembling finger pointed at Selyse's still-warm body.
"Why her, Davos…? What were you trying to do?"
"Why did you raise your hand against my queen?!"
All eyes turned to Davos.
Blades were drawn. Steel encircled him. At a single command, he would be cut to pieces.
Davos slowly lifted his head. His hollow gaze finally found focus—locking onto Stannis.
His lips moved. His throat worked. At last, a broken voice emerged.
"I… I never meant to harm the queen… She was never my target."
He turned his head, eyes burning as they fixed on Melisandre.
"It was her!" he suddenly shouted.
He struggled violently, forcing the guards to press him down harder.
"I escaped the dungeon for one reason, Your Grace! I heard them—your blood, the blood of a true king, must be offered to the flames! Princess Shireen Baratheon—her death is the 'price of victory!'"
"I couldn't stand by any longer and watch you be deceived!"
"I followed you because you stood for law and justice! Because you fought to restore order—not to hand the realm over to some witch who rules with blood and lies!"
"She will destroy you, Your Grace!"
His voice cracked as he shouted, more fiercely than he ever had before Stannis.
"She'll drag this kingdom into a darkness worse than the Long Night!"
"She feeds you visions, leads you astray—how many have we burned already? Those were your people!"
"And now she wants your own daughter—this isn't salvation, it's madness! I will not watch you become another Aerys II Targaryen!!!"
"Blasphemer!" the zealots roared.
Some surged forward, barely held back.
But Melisandre remained calm. Her red eyes flickered faintly, like flames stirred by wind.
"Ignorance does not halt the Lord of Light," she said evenly. "Fire will cleanse all falsehood."
"Look at her!" Davos cried, desperation turning his voice raw. "Look into her eyes! Do you see any reverence for life there?"
"As long as she stands beside you, your blood will never be safe! This kingdom stands on the edge of a cliff!"
His strength failed him. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I meant… to remove the danger… I never thought… the queen would—"
"I… am guilty…"
The last word drained everything from him. His body sagged. He no longer resisted, no longer spoke—only wept silently.
For a moment, the terrace fell into silence.
Then the fury returned, louder than before.
"No matter the reason—regicide demands death!"
"Execute him!"
"Avenge the queen!"
"Traitor! Murderer!"
"Your Grace—justice must be done!"
The knights clamored for blood.
They tore open Davos's collar, exposing his neck. Steel hovered, waiting.
All eyes turned to Stannis.
Davos closed his eyes. He made no defense. No plea. His back remained straight despite his kneeling posture. He had accepted his fate.
Stannis looked at him—at the man he had once trusted above all others.
At the weathered face. The missing fingers. The scars of loyalty and punishment intertwined.
Rage burned within him.
Davos had shattered his authority. Caused Selyse's death. Brought chaos at the worst possible moment.
But something else stirred beneath the anger.
A memory.
Storm's End, starving, surrounded.
A smuggler who risked everything to bring food—and save lives.
That same stubborn, foolish honesty. No politics. No calculation. Only a simple belief in what was right.
This time, however, the cost had been unbearable.
Execute him?
By law—there was no question.
Yet Stannis hesitated.
That same unyielding conviction in Davos's eyes—it was the voice that once reminded him why he fought at all.
To kill him… would be to silence that voice forever.
Especially now—his queen dead, his castle falling, his path shrouded in darkness.
Time stretched.
The shouting faded.
Even the knights began to falter.
…The king was hesitating?
Melisandre watched in silence.
At last, Stannis closed his eyes.
His hand began to rise—
And then—
"Kill!!!"
A sudden roar of battle erupted just beyond the terrace doors.
Too close.
Every man froze.
"Protect the king!" Ser Gerald Gower roared.
The knights tightened formation instantly, blades raised.
If the enemy had reached this place…
Then everything below had already fallen.
"Go see!" Gower barked.
A young knight swallowed hard and crept toward the door, sword trembling in his hand.
The sounds outside were unmistakable—clashing steel, dying screams.
He reached for the iron door—
BOOM!!!
The entire door exploded inward.
The young knight was struck full in the chest, hurled backward through the air, blood and fragments spilling from his mouth before he hit the ground—dead before he landed.
The doorway stood open.
Through the smoke, figures surged in—armored in gleaming crimson, carrying a battering ram.
Behind them, more soldiers poured in, disciplined and swift. Crossbows leveled. Spears bristling.
They formed a killing semicircle in seconds.
Then—
A man stepped through.
Tall. Composed. Clad in ornate red plate, a golden seven-pointed star blazing on his chest.
He removed his helm, revealing golden hair and a neatly trimmed beard.
His gaze swept the carnage… then settled on Selyse's covered corpse.
A slow, cold smile formed.
"Seems I missed quite the spectacle."
"Leo Sunglass…!"
Gerald Gower's voice trembled with fury.
The knights recoiled in shock.
A sworn bannerman of Dragonstone.
Now standing with the enemy.
"A traitor!" Gower roared.
Leo merely smiled faintly.
"I now serve Lord Tywin Lannister."
He clapped his hands.
Gold coins spilled across the stone, clattering loudly.
"Lay down your arms," he said lightly, "and more awaits."
No one moved.
Then his smile vanished.
His finger shot toward Selyse's body.
"My brother," he said, voice shaking with rage, "was burned alive—by her command."
(Guncer Sunglass: Queen Selyse had Guncer burned alive as a sacrifice to R'hllor.)
Silence.
The truth rippled through the knights.
"And you," he said, turning to Stannis, "let it happen."
His sword came free with a hiss.
"Today, I claim that debt."
Behind him, crimson-clad soldiers stepped forward.
Steel gleamed.
There was nowhere left to retreat.
Cliff behind.
Enemies before.
The castle below—already falling.
A true end.
Stannis said nothing.
He simply drew his sword… and let the scabbard fall.
If there was no way forward—
Then they would fight.
"Charge!!!"
The terrace erupted into chaos.
Steel met steel. Blood sprayed across ancient stone.
Gerald Gower fought like a beast, cutting down one foe after another.
But the enemy came in waves.
Endless.
Unstoppable.
Even Stannis himself was forced back, surrounded, bleeding, yet unyielding.
And elsewhere—
Leo Sunglass carved a path through the defenders, his eyes fixed only on one figure.
Step by step.
Closer.
Closer.
Toward Melisandre.
A feverish gleam of vengeance lit up Leo's face.
He snatched up a nearby bronze brazier—once used for lighting—and hurled its contents forward. Half-burnt coals and slick oil splashed across the ground before Melisandre, igniting into a writhing wall of fire.
Heat surged outward, distorting the air, casting both their faces into flickering light and shadow.
"Bitch! Look at me! LOOK AT ME!!"
Across the dancing flames, Sunglass stared at her like a madman.
"That day—you stood by flames just like these! You said the Seven did not protect my brother! You listened as his prayers turned into screams—watched his body burn to ash!!"
"Now—it's your turn to stand before the fire!"
His chest heaved violently, tears streaking through the grime and blood on his face.
"Let me see it… Let your god show a miracle!"
"Call down holy fire from the heavens—save yourself!"
"HAHAHAHA!!!"
He spread his arms, waiting.
Nothing happened.
"Don't worry," he sneered, laughter twisting into something cruel and vile. "I won't kill you so easily."
"I hate wasting things. My men—and every soldier who landed on Dragonstone tonight—will have their turn with you first."
"Then I'll cut off your head… and throw it into the fire—listen to it sizzle… watch it burn into blackened flesh!"
"HAHAHAHA!!!"
For the first time, a flicker crossed Melisandre's face.
Not fear of death.
She had long since offered body and soul to her god.
But this… this outcome did not match the visions she had seen.
"My king…"
Her lips moved soundlessly as she gazed into the flames, as if praying.
"Guide me…"
In that instant, her pupils dilated. Her focus slipped beyond the physical fire—into something unseen.
"I see it…"
Her voice was soft, yet clear enough for Sunglass to hear.
"What do you see, witch?!" he barked.
"Do you see me gutting you and hanging your entrails from a spear?! HAHAHA!!"
But Melisandre ignored him.
Her gaze remained fixed deep within the flames.
"I see… a warrior… emerging from fire…"
"He wears… a stag-antlered helm… carries a warhammer…"
"You… will die beneath that hammer."
"A stag helm?" Sunglass burst into laughter. "Are you joking? Robert Baratheon has been dead for two years!"
"Is this the grand vision your god shows you? What a joke! Is that your last—"
He never finished.
A terrifying tearing sound split the air from behind him—
Too fast.
Too sudden.
Pure killing intent.
Every instinct in Sunglass's body screamed.
He didn't think—he reacted.
Throwing himself sideways with all his strength, he rolled across the ground—
BOOM!!!
The spot where he had just stood exploded.
Stone shattered.
The black floor cracked like a spiderweb, a shallow crater blasted into it.
At its center—
A massive warhammer.
Buried deep in the stone, still trembling.
Sunglass scrambled up, half-kneeling, heart hammering.
Blood ran from a cut along his arm where flying debris had sliced him.
Slowly—he looked up.
A towering figure stood there.
He wrenched the warhammer free from the stone, fragments scattering as it rose.
And then—
The helmet.
A brutal, imposing helm crowned with stag antlers, spreading wide like the horns of some ancient beast. In the firelight, its silhouette loomed monstrous, almost mythic.
Flames bent and flickered around him, as though subdued by his presence, outlining his form in molten gold and crimson.
For a heartbeat—
He looked exactly as the prophecy had foretold.
A warrior born of fire and blood.
Behind him, soldiers surged in, shouting:
"Long live King Robert Baratheon!!!"
Weapons raised, they crashed into the red-armored knights.
The battle turned in an instant.
Victory—ripped away.
The antlered warrior swept his gaze across the ruined terrace.
For a fleeting moment, his eyes paused on Melisandre in the corner—something unreadable flickering within.
Then—
They locked onto Sunglass.
Slowly, he lifted the warhammer, resting it against his shoulder.
His voice, deep and commanding, echoed through the helm:
"You…"
"What exactly were you planning… to do to my woman?"