One of Davos's attendants supported him by the shoulder.
The other cradled his severed arm.
The agony had drained every trace of color from Davos's face.
He was as pale as paper. Yet he gritted his teeth without uttering a single cry.
He clenched so hard that blood seeped between his teeth.
As they left the command pavilion that resembled a castle, many soldiers rushed over to watch and laugh.
But Loras, who had been assigned to escort Davos out, found no humor in the scene.
When Davos had arrived, Loras had led him inside. Now, it was also his duty to see him safely out.
The young noble's attitude had completely changed.
At first, he had regarded Davos with open contempt.
Now...
He felt nothing but respect.
Many in the camp quietly believed Robert had handled the matter poorly.
The king had hoped to undermine Targaryen morale by reducing Davos to nothing more than a common smuggler.
Instead, Davos had answered with a loyalty more precious than gold, shaking the confidence of the allied army itself.
Already, complaints about Robert's rashness were beginning to spread among the ranks.
Blood continued to pour from Davos's severed arm, soaking his clothing.
He knew he had little time left.
"Ser Davos."
"If you wish, I can have a wagon brought for you."
Loras spoke with an unusually solemn expression.
Davos said nothing.
Step by painful step, he forced himself toward the camp's entrance.
At the gate, he looked toward the distant black banners fluttering on the horizon.
Because of the distance—and because his strength was fading—he could no longer make out the three-headed dragon embroidered upon them.
Fragments of memory flashed before his eyes.
"Why?"
"Why what? You're my prisoner. Work hard. Otherwise I'll kill your whole family."
"Ser Davos, I managed to get these from Freygo for you. See if they fit."
"Ser Davos, the fleet is yours."
"Don't say that. You're more important to me than the fleet."
Davos had once believed he would spend his entire life surviving like a rat.
Merely existing.
But meeting Viserys...
That alone had made his life worthwhile.
He looked toward the Goose Mountains, lying across the land like some enormous sleeping beast.
Then he spoke.
"When you return...
Please... Tell His Grace...
I have never... Never once led the charge for him.
So this time... I shall be the vanguard."
After speaking those words, an unhealthy flush spread across his pale face.
His breathing quickened.
"And tell Dale...
When His Grace reclaims the Iron Throne...
Make sure... Make sure someone tells me."
"My lord?" The attendant was completely overwhelmed.
Judging by Davos's tone...
He was leaving his final instructions.
Before either attendant could react, Davos shoved one of them away with his remaining arm.
The young man stumbled backward and fell to the ground.
After all, it was the arm of a man who had handled reins since the age of ten.
Even at the very end, its strength was remarkable.
Loras frowned, instinctively resting a hand upon his sword. He had no idea what Davos intended.
Then...
Before everyone present—
Davos lowered his head and hurled himself straight into the massive wooden gatepost of the allied camp.
Thud!
The heavy impact echoed across the entrance.
Loras could have sworn the ground itself trembled beneath his feet.
Davos's body collapsed limply to the earth. The light faded rapidly from his eyes... Until nothing remained.
Loras stood frozen.
He could not utter a single word.
Davos's attendants, however, finally came back to themselves.
Working frantically, they lifted their lord's still-warm body onto his horse.
One of them glared furiously at the vast camp behind him before bringing his whip down hard.
The horse bolted like the wind, racing toward Viserys's army.
"What?"
"He killed himself?"
When Loras reported what had happened outside the camp, every noble present immediately realized the gravity of the situation.
Brynden shot to his feet, his voice filled with both shock and admiration.
"How far have they gone?"
"Bring them back!"
Tywin reacted first.
If Davos's attendants reached the Targaryen camp... The enemy's morale would soar.
"They rode very fast..."
"By now... They've probably already made it back."
Loras answered absentmindedly.
His thoughts were still trapped at the image of Davos dying against the camp gate.
Stannis remained silent after hearing the news.
His lips tightened.
He kept replaying Davos's words.
"A man becomes a king only after fulfilling a king's duty."
He had no idea what kind of relationship Davos had shared with Viserys over the past decade.
For years, Stannis had assumed Viserys controlled Davos by threatening his family.
Now...
It was painfully obvious that assumption had been wrong.
Almost unconsciously, Stannis turned toward Robert.
The king's face was twisted with anger.
But...
What exactly was Robert angry about?
The truth was, Stannis had never particularly liked his elder brother.
Nor had he ever considered him a worthy king.
Just as in the original course of history, Dragonstone had become Stannis's seat.
Only this Dragonstone was even poorer than the one he had inherited in another life.
Viserys had stripped the island clean before leaving.
Every person worth moving... Every animal... Every useful possession...
Had been taken away.
Even the castle's candlesticks had vanished.
Yet Robert had never granted him the slightest compensation.
Had Robert not eventually sent officials to inspect Dragonstone for themselves...
Stannis might still have been expected to pay taxes on the empty island.
As for Davos...
Stannis had understood that such a grievous wound, combined with Davos's age, meant survival was unlikely.
Still...
He should at least have been able to return to Viserys's camp before dying.
Instead... He had chosen to die before the gates of the allied camp.
He had died by his own hand.
A death so resolute it bordered on martyrdom.
That made everything far worse.
Everyone now understood they had to launch their offensive as quickly as possible.
They needed to crush Viserys's fifty thousand men in one decisive blow.
If they allowed time for this story to spread through the armies... No one could predict what effect it might have upon morale.
Gradually, every eye turned toward Robert.
Robert looked across the gathered lords and commanders.
His gaze swept over Stannis...
Renly...
Tywin...
Then briefly passed over Eddard.
He almost seemed unwilling to meet Ned's eyes.
Perhaps it was guilt.
Robert had the uneasy feeling that something between them had already broken.
He had been the one who eagerly proposed Joffrey's betrothal to Sansa.
He had also been the one who broke that promise.
Eddard was a good lord.
But Robert...
Robert was not a good king.
He suddenly remembered his ancestor, the Laughing Storm.
When House Targaryen had failed to honor a marriage pact, the Laughing Storm had openly threatened the king, declaring that Storm's End itself would become his bride price.
For a fleeting moment, Robert wondered whether Eddard might one day treat him the same way.
He was wrong about that.
Eddard himself had no such intention.
But among the northern lords... Resentment over the broken betrothal had already begun to grow.
___________
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