Stannis gave a derisive snort.  “It glimmers prettily, I’ll grant you, but on the Blackwater this magic sword served me no better than common steel.  A dragon would have turned that battle.  Aegon once stood here as I do, looking down on this table.  Do you think we would name him Aegon the Conqueror today if he had not had dragons?”
“Your Grace,” said Davos, “the cost…”
”I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well.  I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning… burning, Davos.  His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash.  Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means?  Or you?”  The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing.  “If Joffrey should die… what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”
“Everything,” said Davos, softly.
Stannis looked at him, jaw clenched.  “Go,” the king said at last, “before you talk yourself back into the dungeon.”
Sometimes the storm winds blow so strong a man has no choice but to furl his sails.  “Aye, Your Grace.” Davos bowed, but Stannis had seemingly forgotten him already.
It was chilly in the yard when he left the Stone Drum.  A wind blew briskly from the east, making the banners snap and flap noisily along the walls.  Davos could smell salt in the air.  The sea.  He loved that smell.  It made him want to walk a deck again, to raise his canvas and sail off south to Marya and his two small ones.  He thought of them most every day now, and even more at night.  Part of him wanted nothing so much as to take Devan and go home.  I cannot.  Not yet.  I am a lord now, and the King’s Hand, I must not fail him.