FIC: Red Riding Hood and the Wolf 1/2 (Shireen) for sternflammenden
Recipient: sternflammenden
Title: Red Riding Hood and the Wolf
Author: coaldustcanary
Rating: All Ages
Characters: Davos Seaworth, Stanis Baratheon, Shireen Baratheon, Dickon Tarly, Sansa Stark, Rickon Stark, Edric Dayne; Pairings - Shireen/Dickon Tarly, Shireen/Rickon, (implied) Stannis/Davos
Word Count: 18,192
Summary: The Lord of Rainwood tells the tale of a princess and her noble knight. And a wolf.
Warning: Off-screen violence against children
Author's Note: Many thanks to our gracious mod who was patient with my extremely late story. I was taken-in by a request to write a Shireen-focused fic, and also inspired a little by my recipient's delightful fill on the fandom kinkmeme that drew on the story of Bluebeard. This draws on a slightly different legend...
The Lord of Rainwood had long ago found he enjoyed the storms that gave his lands their name, to his surprise. No sailor loved storms, not truly, though often enough a smuggler had given his thanks for the arrival of a sudden squall - rarely was the determination of a pursuing ship’s captain as strong as the will of a smuggling vessel’s crew to survive. Smugglers would oft press on where king’s men would falter, the desperation to save their own skins driving them into danger more swiftly than any lash could propel an oarsman. The cover of storms, like the cover of night or fog, had saved his hide many times while also putting it at great risk. He and the Storm God had a fine and mutually respectful understanding. But that was not why he welcomed the storms that washed down on his lands, sometimes seemingly without pause during the autumn torrents that would precede winter’s arrival.
It was the echo of driving rain on the stone of his keep, a rushing roar that reminded him forcefully of the sea itself, which would steadily drown out his turmoil-wrought thoughts on nights such as these. It would take time. The waking dreams of old men were uneasy - never had he dreamed fretfully while swinging in a net hammock in the belly of the Cobblecat, nor during scant hours slept in the captain’s berth on Black Betha. But now, on this night, settled in his stout keep, surrounded by his kin, and having passed on the burdens of his responsibilities long ago, he was a minor lord of minor lands with too many memories. Some few were sweet, to be sure, but altogether too many were colored with uneasiness and regret. He wondered, briefly, if other men who had served as Hand of the King were plagued with such memories, until he remembered that they were all dead men - Kevan and Tywin Lannister, Ned Stark, Jon Arryn, and the last Dragon King’s castoffs all had perished, either in service or not long after. It put his long years of service in a strange light, to be compared to those men. None of them enjoyed the respite he did now - the time to watch another generation pick up the reins of rule.
In the darkness behind his eyelids, a silent voice mocked the gift. And yet, what reward was it, to outlive his king? The question tightened his chest and he prayed silently for the steady fall of the rain to conjure a better remembrance. By all rights he should have died first - on the Blackwater, perhaps, or on the block in White Harbor, or washed on the shores of Skagos, or, gods be good, at the Wall. He was older than Stannis, certainly, but it was his king who went on to the gods’ reward first - even after twenty-seven years of honorable, strong rule, His Grace had gone to his end unsatisfied with all that he had accomplished, always expecting more of himself, and unwilling to pass on the burden of the crown he had taken up out of duty to anyone, least of all one he loved.
Davos opened his eyes, the dimness of his thoughts pushed back by the glow of candles that banished shadows from his sanctuary. As the keep was raised, years ago, he had directed that this room be built - a private place as small and snug as his cabin berth had once been, not at all like a high lord’s fine solar. In truth, there was rarely sunshine to light such a room in the Rainwood, so this room had only one small glazed window, and it remained carefully lit with candles cunningly designed to protect the contents of the room from the drip of wax or the touch of smoke. A sturdy chair, a small desk, and shelves lined with books, scrolls and maps were the only things he kept safe here. And letters, all the correspondence, of great importance and the most minor observances, from all the years he had been in His Grace’s service.
He ran his fingers lightly over the folded letter on the desk, the most recent of all, brought on raven’s wings from Devan. It never ceased to amaze him how much pleasure reading brought him. He had been dubious about those first lessons, painstakingly deciphering each quill-scratch with the patient help of the maester, but now, when his strength and his mind’s quickness were not what they once were, his eyes still could see. Even at a distance, Devan’s letters kept him abreast of what went on in King’s Landing. Maester Garreth’s ravens brought news of great happenings and major events across Westeros, but Devan shared much of court, all the whispers and politics he both loathed and missed.
The first soft taps at his door were so faint that he nearly missed them in the rushing current of the rainfall. But…ah, there, again - a faltering, erratic rapping.
“Come on then,” he called out, pitching his voice just loud enough to hear beyond the room. “And be quick, or she’ll catch you.” Nearly before the first syllable left his lips, the door latch clicked and the three small figures slipped inside the door, shutting it behind them in haste.
“We won’t be caught. Septa Neryssa doesn’t like the stairs,” protested their leader with a confident smile. Rolland was Steffon’s eldest boy, though he had his Northern mother’s dark hair and eyes, ever-gleaming with barely-suppressed mischief. His sister, Alys, was close on his heels, but she looked over her shoulder warily, not having Rolland’s confidence that they would not be found out by the long-suffering septa. Their cousin, his own son Stannis’s daughter, Dalla, was the last to appear, her fair hair mostly slipped loose from its braids, her solemn expression suggesting some doubt regarding Rolland’s casual assurances as well.
“Septa Neryssa’s knees pain her, just like your grandfather’s do, from time to time,” he chided them, though he found himself unable to put much heat in it. They had won a victory when he had let them enter and hide, and it was beyond him to deny them much of anything, including stolen moments before they were to be put to bed. It was late, but they were restless - Rolland peered at the heavy books of history stacked on the shelves along the walls, while Alys walked small fingers across the stretch of the map half-unfurled on another shelf, her little hands flitting across the entirety of the Wall in moments. Dalla, though, came to his knee and pulled herself into his lap, her expression still serious, as sober as any priest’s. He gently tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and then gave the ear a gentle tug.
“What are you worrying about, hmm? Caught spinning about in a current, my little skiff?” he asked her, tapping the little furrow in her brow with an index finger. She smiled, a little, and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Can you tell us a story, grandfather?” she asked suddenly. Rolland and Alys, perhaps having only thought to hide away from the septa for a few stolen moments, widened their eyes and turned matching looks of pleading in his direction.
“A story about knights, and battles!” demanded Rolland. “When King Stannis crushed the wildlings at the Wall! Tell us that story, about how they fought, and arrows rained down on them, and they fought until their swords broke in two!”
“No, a story,” Dalla said scornfully over her cousin’s excitement. “A story about a noble lady. Or a queen.” Rolland made a horrible sort of choking sound, which Davos correctly interpreted to be a strenuous objection to the promise of queenly stories.
“That’s not a good story. That’s dull stuff. There are no battles in stories about ladies,” he sulked.
“Oh, aren’t there?” He looked to Alys.
“What about you, sweetling - what sort of story do you want to hear tonight?” he asked gently. She glanced sidelong at her brother, before replying hastily, almost as if she could hear Rolland’s objection before he could voice it.
“A story about a lady…and her knight. A noble, true knight who loves her,” she implored. Dalla nodded her fervent agreement while Rolland looked pained and groaned. Davos let out his breath in a long, thoughtful sigh, and leaned back into his chair. Some memories were both painful and sweet, all at once. But this would be a better distraction than even the rain.
“A lady and her knight. Her noble, true knight. I think I know such a story. There may even be a battle in it, if certain listeners can contain their complaints, hmm?” For all his quick brashness, Rolland was a clever boy. His jaw snapped shut on his protests immediately, and he leaned on the desk eagerly, his eyes alight, while Alys perched on the arm of his chair with a shy smile.
“Once, a long time ago, there lived a wise and just king, who had only one child, a sweet, clever daughter…”
*****
“My Lord Davos, I need your aid.”
The woman strode into the room draped in an elegant red gown and cloak of the same color, the rich fabric trailing behind her as she approached him, confidence in her every step. Her hair hung heavy and loose to her waist, and her eyes boasted of every assurance she possessed that he would accede to her wishes. In a sense, she held his loyalty as much as the King’s, and so she had no reason to doubt. He rose to his feet from behind his heavy desk, inlaid with the Hand’s symbol at each corner, to receive her.
“Princess Shireen, every ship I can muster is at your disposal, as always,” he said, bowing, the action never quite as smooth as he wished. Her expressions were often uncannily like those of her father, though not the gentle, crooked smile she granted him as she gestured for him to dispense with the formalities. Her features were strong and perhaps uncommonly hard for a woman, even one as tall and broad of shoulder as she. The grayscale’s ravages were impossible to hide, and she made no effort to try - even the fair side of her face could not honestly mark her as a beauty. But only a true detractor could claim her smile wasn’t charming, rarely bestowed as it was.
“His Grace is very wroth with me, I am afraid,” she began, shaking her head, loose waves of black hair rippling over her shoulders.
“I can hardly believe that, Princess. Wroth, I can believe well enough. With you, never.”
“And yet, he is very angry, and I am afraid I am the cause,” she said, lacing her fingers together at her waist.
“I have begged him to allow me to go with him on his Progress to the Wall. It is only right that I be there with him when he honors Lord Commander Snow for his loyal service to the realm. You know how the smallfolk still cannot seem to bring themselves to love him, and Mother is no help in such matters, even if she did not keep to her chambers all night and day. You know I can be, though - I can hold myself a little less distant, and smooth the way with the smallfolk and the small lords alike. He needs me,” she said firmly. Davos held up both hands and dipped his head, acknowledging the truth of it.
“And I have advised him to allow you to come, Princess, but he is adamant that you stay here in King’s Landing - you are his only heir, and he sees the trip as a potential risk. If the realm should lose you both…”
“It is not like to happen with the small army he has arranged for this journey. Not to mention the entirety of the Kingsguard surrounding us - or do you not trust your own son to protect us?” she asked with contrived innocence.
“My Devan - Sir Devan - I am certain protects you as well or better than any of his sworn brothers, but there is still the risk to be considered,” he said, shaking his head.
“And if Father and I were both to die, I know very well that you have a document ready, sealed in secret, to legitimize my cousin Edric and make him a Baratheon in truth and my heir,” she replied tartly. “The realm would hardly suffer for it. He’s a fine man, and would make a fair king if need be. Besides, it will not happen. We will be as safe as we are in the Red Keep. The North holds my father in great esteem, even if they do not love him. What is it they say? They remember.” Shireen fixed him with a steady stare.
“You need to advise him once again, my lord. He has always needed your advice, and once he has moved on from his anger, he will see the sense of what I have done,” she continued. For the first time in many moons, Davos felt a twinge of an ache where his fingers had once been, quite certain he was not entirely about to agree with whatever the princess had done to force her father’s hand in this matter. He gazed at her across the wide oaken desk.
“And what have you done, Princess?” he forced himself to ask.
“I have been to the High Priest of the Lord of Light and asked for his blessing and prayers for our journey. Very public prayers, a great night of bonfires, that sort of thing,” she said easily, smiling slightly once again. “I will be attending all of the services, of course.” Davos grimaced. It would be difficult for Stannis to gainsay her presence on the trip after a very public display of piety and preparation. And if she had planned as well as he expected she had…
“And then, of course, I went to the High Septon, and invoked his blessing, as well,” she continued, holding up the edge of her vivid cloak to show him that the scarlet garment was fully lined - in white silk, bordered in a rainbow embroidery. “There will also be a seven-day of public prayers for the safe travel, continued reign, and glory of the King and his heir. I will attend those as well.” She clasped both her hands together in front of her chest and affected a meek expression.
“I will be quite well known for my devotions, soon enough. And to cancel it would be to offend the gods. All of them,” she said, tutting softy as if it was truly unfortunate.
Davos sighed. His Grace would not be pleased.
*****
“She can’t do that! Everyone has to listen to the King,” Rolland interjected, dismayed by the princess’s audacity.
“Oh, and do you always listen to your father, Rolly?” Dalla shot back before Davos could even collect his thoughts enough to reply.
“But he’s not the King!” Rolland cried. Davos struggled not to laugh, smiling faintly.
“Sometimes kings are fathers, too.”
*****
His Grace was, in fact, quite dismayed by his daughter. Davos stood next to the princess as Stannis stalked back and forth across the ornate sitting room of his chambers like a caged animal, not deigning to look at either of them as he paced.
“When have I ever cared for making decisions to please lesser men?” Stannis asked sharply. Shireen opened her mouth to make a retort but Davos managed to silence her with a sharp look before Stannis looked in her direction. It was just as well. The king was not yet finished speaking.
“I honor the gods enough for propriety’s sake and give my respect to the men who claim to speak for them, but never will I let their edicts or expectations dictate my life, yours, or the fate of these kingdoms! Let them have their fires and their prayers; I am touched by their concern for my well-being. You will remain here, within the Red Keep.” Finally, Stannis looked to his daughter, his weathered face set in hard lines. “This is foolishness, Shireen.”
“It is not. My lady mother’s poor health will keep her in King’s Landing, but I am neither fragile nor foolish, and I ought to go with you. How will the people know me for their future queen when you hide me away? How will they think to trust you when you act as though you must protect me from them? Some men aspire to the brains given to chickens, but others are not so stupid.” She lifted her chin, and then looked at Davos. The Hand of the King looked back impassively.
“You agree with me, Lord Davos, do you not? You must see the sense in my words. I know you have spies among the the smallfolk and lords alike. I do not doubt that the whispers will rise anew, if they ever died down to begin with. That somehow the grayscale has disfigured me more than ever, and I am turning all-over the color of the Iron Throne. If they do not trust me now, when the time comes they will try to put Edric in my place, or Ser Gendry.” Shireen’s mouth set in a thin line as she spoke the words, and Davos could not deny the truth of it, though he remained silent in the face of the king’s immediate displeasure. Stannis would have none of it.
“Bastards, both of them - you are my trueborn heir.” The king’s teeth were grinding hard in his jaw. Davos could hear it from halfway across the room.
“Yes, father, but they are both men, and even if some doubt Ser Gendry is Robert’s son, Edric’s blood is hardly in question. Even if he would never want it, there are lords enough to put him in my place if they chose. If I was lucky, they would only force us to wed, but he would be the king in every way. The power would be in his hands, not mine. What have you been raising me for, if not to take on the responsibility of all Seven Kingdoms in due time? I will not wed my cousin for any reason,” she said.
“If I ordered it, you would. That would be your reason,” Stannis retorted. He was not a man given to dramatic gestures or posturing, but Davos saw his king’s fisted hand come down deliberately, slowly on the back of a fragile chair which creaked slightly under the pressure.
“But you would not, Your Grace,” Davos interjected abruptly. “The Princess’s cousins, while good men, are, as you say, bastard-born. Their legitimacy always would rest on a piece of paper. Besides, Edric has a touch too much of Robert’s careless nature to make a strong king, and Ser Gendry Waters is, I am told, lately married himself.” He did not mention to whom, and luckily Stannis did not ask. That would be a distraction this discussion hardly needed. He plowed on ahead.
“As your man, your Hand, and one you have always asked to speak plainly, I must say, Your Grace - I agree with the Princess Shireen. I believe she ought to come on the Progress to the Wall, for all of the reasons she’s said and more besides, especially one.” He paused long enough to see the look of elation on Shireen’s face and wistfully hope she might turn a pleasant look on him someday again.
“Your Grace should, upon his return to King’s Landing, announce the Princess’s betrothal.” Both sets of royal blue eyes, normally impenetrable in their reserve, turned on him in perplexity.
“Bethrothed? To whom am I betrothed?” Shireen cried.
“Speak plainly, Davos. What have you planned?” the king asked, his gray brows drawn down like dangerously-edged blades across his face. Davos tightened his shortened fingers in a fist restlessly, choosing his words with care.
“The Princess is one and twenty, long past the age when she should have been betrothed, if not wedded and blessed with children. Because Princess Shireen is going to be ruling long and well as a woman for the first time in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, her choice of royal consort will be of great importance. Truth be told, Your Grace - most kings only need only choose a fertile wife who makes a strong alliance for their sons’ marriages. You and your heir need to choose somewhat more carefully,” Davos said. It was a topic that had been too easily put aside for too long, now. If His Grace had a weakness, it was that his surety wavered when it came to Shireen, and her alone.
“Use this trip. Whispers would deafen us all if you entertained potential marriage partners here in King’s Landing, but if you invite various young lords and knights to attend you on the Progress, no one will wonder at the reason as you honor trusted allies. Use the time to not only honor the North and the Night’s Watch, but to make a decision for the future of the realm.” He held himself as upright and still as possible, willing both Stannis and Shireen to agree. They would lock horns like a pair of stubborn goats over this without his involvement, but interfering introduced the very real risk of having them both turn on him together. In the space of a few heartbeats, he hardly dared breathe, letting the silence hang, before he realized it needed sealing, and he turned his gaze on the princess alone.
“If you insist it’s so important for you to be on this trip, and be the heir, then take this responsibility to heart, as well. It is no less important, and likely it is more.”
When he saw her jaw set, in the same way her father would when he spoke of the burden of a crown, he knew he had her.
*****
“So the princess got to pick out her husband?” Alys demanded, looking dubious.
“That’s what the king agreed to, within reason,” Davos said.
“Sometimes it’s the best way. Your parents had the choice of one another and I thought that was just fine. And yours, Dalla, too,” he added.
“Will we get to choose who we marry?” Dalla asked, inevitably. The other two children looked quite concerned about the matter as well, and Davos could not help but wonder if his sons would be less than pleased about this story being told.
“That will be up to your mother and father, of course,” he said sternly. “But you are all very small to be worrying about that quite yet.” It wasn’t an entirely truthful statement, but it would do for now.
“I’m don’t want a wife,” Rolland declared. “I’m just going to be a knight, like Ser-Uncle Devan. Or maybe I’ll serve the realm at the Wall!” Davos could not help but marvel at the boy’s wish. In living memory, the Wall had once been the home of the cursed and the criminal, with just a tiny fraction of noble members. Now younger sons of many houses served at the Wall with great honor. The Black Brothers had changed, and he shook his head a bit as he reached out and tapped the boy between the eyes with a forefinger.
“Perhaps you will, but that will be a story for children when you are my age, my boy, so listen. The princess had quite a lot of decisions to make.”
*****
In the King’s war room, Davos stood with Stannis and Shireen with all the grimness and determination he had mustered over a decade ago as they planned to retake Westeros from the various pretender-Kings. This time, they planned to make a new king, of a sort. The massive table wrought in the shape of the Seven Kingdoms stretched out before them, foreboding in its expansive emptiness.
“Dorne,” Davos said, to begin the discussion. It was enough to strike sparks to the tinder.
“No,” grated Stannis. “We have no need to consider any Dornish suitor. They still chafe at my rule and dream of dragons. We need not adopt the Targaryen custom of wedding the Dornish. Besides, the Martell boy is already wed.” Unspoken but unforgettable, too, was the fact that the girl born of Lannister incest, once princess of the Seven Kingdoms, remained in Sunspear as the boy’s paramour. The situation was a sour one, but the persuasion of Davos and others whom the king trusted had convinced him to let the situation be nearly a decade past, but it still rankled. Still, the Dornish had once tried, and failed, to raise her as Queen. Now they would never try it again, nor let another make the attempt. She was safe enough, whelping little Sandcats for Trystane Martell.
“What about the Daynes?” Shireen pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Ned Dayne is still unwed, is he not?” Davos could not see that anything about this made her eager or excited, but she had a good head for both history and had near memorized the living families of every noble house and a number of knightly houses by the time she was fifteen years old. To be certain, after the wars this was not so much of a feat as it had once been, but the memories served her well now. She looked to Davos for confirmation of her assertion. He had been to Dorne only two years past to treat with Princess Arianne, and ought to know.
“Unless he has wed very recently, or in secret, you are right. He holds Dawn, now, and is called the Sword of the Morning,” he confirmed. Personally, Davos thought the house’s obsession and self-stylings regarding the star-made sword rather too affected, even for one as old in blood and tradition as the Daynes, but it was hard to find a man who would speak poorly of Edric Dayne. Both he and Shireen looked to Stannis, who inclined his head slightly.
“Send for him. But what of the Reach? You ought to consider your cousin Ser Merrell Florent,” Stannis began. Davos hesitated in replying, but Shireen did not.
“He’s a dolt, father. Foxes are supposed to be cunning, but he’s thick. Besides, he has two bastard children already…”
“Three,” Davos muttered under his breath, just loud enough to hear. “He bedded a Cider Hall Fossoway girl he’s like to be forced to marry if her father Lord Tanton has anything to say about it. I’m sure the old lord could thrash him personally, if it came to it.” Shireen looked slightly triumphant and a touch nauseated at the same time. Stannis scowled at the map darkly.
“This would be how the Florents would repay me for being raised as overlords of the Reach. Idiocy. Well, they will have to content themselves with Highgarden and Brightwater Keep,” Stannis said coolly.
“I have another cousin who might be a better choice,” Shireen mused, chewing the edge of her thumb. When both of the men looked her way - Davos expectantly, Stannis with his customary impatience - she continued briskly.
“Lord Tarly. His mother was a Florent, too.”
“And his father never did bend the knee to me. He served Renly, then the Tyrells, then the Lannisters. He probably served every pretender there was. A hard man, though. A capable commander until the end, I am told. I remember little about his son, he was just another boy pledging his fealty. But Tarly is an old, strong house. What do you know of the boy?” Stannis asked Davos pointedly.
“Dickon Tarly. A knight, but he was too young to have fought in the wars. Capable, as his father was, it is said, and just as straightforward. He was wedded and widowed to a Riverlands girl four years past. The woman died in childbed, and the babe.” Davos closed his eyes, drawing on older memories. This part of his position had not come so easily to him as it had to little Shireen. “His elder brother is a chained maester, who serves Lord Commander Snow at the wall.” At that, Stannis snorted.
“The fat boy who stole off with the old Targaryen. Him, I remember.” Davos nodded.
“There are no living lesser branches of the Tarly tree, besides the brother at the Wall. The boy needs an heir badly.”
“I like Maester Samwell,” Shireen said. “I am sure his brother is a good man.” She smiled a little, Davos noticed. Perhaps she was not so disinterested in this process as he had thought.
*****
“That’s who the princess wanted to marry, right grandfather? She already knew in her heart that he was a good, brave knight,” Dalla said dreamily, her eyes shining. Davos gave her a hug - sliding her over to his other, less aching knee in the process while hiding a grimace. She had gotten heavier than he remembered, or perhaps he had been talking for longer than he realized.
“It might be so,” he said mildly. Shireen had ever kept the wishes of her heart close, having seen her father encase his own in iron and her mother set hers aflame only for the Lord of Light.
“These stories all go the same,” Rolland complained. “The princess and the noble knight meet and fall in love. Some terrible villain will try to keep them apart, but the knight will vanquish him to protect the lady, all while wearing her favor.” His delivery was flat, though edged with a whine.
“Girls like such boring stories.” Dalla and Alys both shot him matching looks of disdain, and Davos sighed.
“Rolly, what did I say about the potential for a battle to be part of this story? If you keep at this, there won’t be a single blade making an appearance, nor even one drop of blood,” Davos said ominously. The girls looked smug as Rolly sighed dramatically and put his face down on the desk, making a muffled noise.
“What was that?”
“I-said’m-sorry.”
“Mmm, very well. Now, where were we? Yes, the King and his trusted Hand and the Princess were choosing lords and knights for the Princess to take as her consort. They chose a star-and-sword lord, a huntsman lord, a knight of the golden tree, a turtle knight, a broken-wheel knight, and a raven-and-tree knight. Each man had a good reputation, and had kept the King’s peace. Their families were old in honor and regard, and the King and the Princess bade the King’s Hand send word to each of these men, and some others whom the King regarded well, inviting each to join them before the Progress would begin in three moons’ time…”
*****
“And what of the North, Your Grace, Princess?” Davos lifted his eyes to the top of the great map table, the vastest of the kingdoms that dwarfed the others in some respects.
“Inviting men of the North to King’s Landing just to turn around again seems foolish,” Shireen observed. “A Manderly could take ship here and then ride with us, but I do not think Lady Wynafryd has any male relatives to spare.”
“Winterfell will host us on our journey to the Wall, of course. What strength remains in the North will certainly be a part of those who welcome us,” Stannis said.
“When we leave, Davos, you will send word to the boy and let him know when we will arrive. Any Northman worth considering will be there to meet us, and might continue with us to the Wall, if we so choose.” Davos nodded his assent to the king’s command.
“Of course, Your Grace. The boy…the Lord of Winterfell is himself unwed,” he felt compelled to add. Shireen’s brow furrowed.
“But he is just a boy, and so strange, besides. I know you care for him, Lord Davos, but even I hear the whispers. The stories that he is a skinchanger or sorceror are mere fantasy, of course, but everyone speaks of him as if he is a feral dog. Lady Sansa rebuilt Winterfell while he ran like a savage with his direwolf in the Wolfswood, they say,” the Princess said, with a sort of distant curiosity coloring her voice.
“They say many things, Princess. Not all of them are entirely true.”
*****
“A warg sorcerer skinchanger direwolf? Bloody brilliant!” Rolland was enthralled. At his outburst, Alys gasped, Dalla indignantly warned him to mind his language, and Davos growled in exasperation.
“That is enough, Rolly!”
*****
The princess had left them to attend to her mother for the afternoon hour that she grudgingly granted the other woman, and only the king and Davos remained, standing over the expansive table in silence. Davos could not call it companionable silence, as much as he might wish it was, though it felt comfortable, after all of these years.
“Speak,” Stannis said abruptly. “I know you wish to. Spit it out.” He did not look up from the map table, his eyes hooded and dark. He was not a man prone to doubts, but Davos could see them lurking.
“It was the right decision, Your Grace. Shireen must learn to deal with these matters, and considering what she will face, the question of her marriage ought to have her input.” He hesitated half a moment. “In all things, she is your daughter. She will not choose frivolously.”
“I should have chosen for her, long ago,” the king said, unusually quiet. “There was a time I thought your Devan would make her a good husband, perhaps. He has always served with such faithfulness. I have had you. I could wish no less for my own daughter.”
“You honor me, Your Grace. And Devan. I am sure he will serve the princess by protecting her father and king for many years to come.” Davos bowed his head, not wanting Stannis to see how much the words had affected him. That he had risen so high in the king’s esteem astounded him still; that the king considered his servant’s son worthy of his own daughter humbled him. Yet Devan had chosen a different way to serve. It wasn’t to be. His own son Stannis was wed, and his youngest still a boy. It was not to be. But the king only nodded, almost absently, as if his mind, usually sharp to its task, was wandering
“It may be he will serve her better by that. What will I leave her, Davos? She has no siblings to rely upon - and even if she did, I have reason to know that is no guarantee of anything. No close cousins, either, save a small pack of bastard boys. I have few loyal servants to this day. So many opportunists surround us. Every court is full of opportunists. The Iron Throne draws them like forge-scrap to a lodestone. But they do not care what ass sits on it, as long as the royal ass is attached to a royal fist that will keep them in line. Will they respect her when I am gone, or just cast her aside? I have done everything for this cursed realm and it may not be enough for them.”
“There are no assurances in this world, Your Grace. But I do not think the gods would put you on the throne only to have your daughter be denied it.”
“The gods are capricious creatures, designed by capricious men.”
“But you are not, Your Grace. I do not think that will be forgotten or discounted, ever.”
The two men stood together in silence for a long time.
*****
“…and the King took heart from the counsel of his loyal Hand, and together they…” Davos caught himself then, marveling at how deeply he had immersed himself in memory, while the children looked up at him with wide-eyed, engrossed expressions.
“…prayed. They prayed together, yes.”
*****
“Which today?” he asked abruptly as the quiet, watchful presence of the servant girl drew his mind away from the parchments strewn across his desk.
Though the preparations for the Royal Progress to the Wall weighed heavily on Davos’s mind, the day to day needs of the realm did not change. The responsibility for planning the journey was balanced precariously atop the mountain of other duties he dare not shirk or delegate. Constantly juggling the details that half threatened to bury him at the best of times, his opportunities to observe the princess and her slowly growing pool of unknowing suitors were infrequent. But that did not mean that he lacked a view entirely.
“Ser Alyn Blackwood, my Lord Hand,” the girl said quickly. “He came with a score of men, two knights, and a squire.” Davos nodded absently, settling a raven quill into the pot on the desk and leaning back in his chair. A reasonable cavalcade for any young knight issued such an honorable invitation.
“And?” he prompted her. She was clever, this one, and did not need overmuch direction.
“He cuts a fine figure, m’lord, in his cloak with its raven feathers, with dark hair and gray eyes. He has a strong face. I would call him handsome. Lenna flirted a bit with one of his men, and he said only good things about his lord, even when she teased him. Another of his men called him “serious” as if it were a slight, but that don’t say much about him,” she added, her tone doubtful. Davos found himself in agreement. A serious man could be a voracious reader, a religious ascetic, a harsh taskmaster, or simply a man without much of a sense of humor. The chances of religious fervor struck him as unlikely, coming from one who presumably followed the Old Gods, but one could never be certain.
“Is there aught else?” he asked. When the young woman shook her head, he dismissed her with a nod. No one would ever claim that he managed spies to rival the old Spider’s intrigues. But he did have a knack for fishing the clever ones out of Flea Bottom and other less savory parts of the realm and putting them to use as eyes. As a precaution, he gave each man or woman in his service only very specific tasks. None of those individual tasks, should the spy choose to betray him, were important enough to be of use to any enemy. At least, that was what he hoped.
As if anyone would find it useful or surprising that young men are being considered to be Shireen’s consort. The news is as expected as the Stark words or buttered turnips for supper. With Blackwood’s arrival, it meant only Edric Dayne had yet to arrive in King’s Landing among the possible suitors, and his ship was expected within days, unless the winds were unusually unfavorable. And yet, already Shireen had begun to show her preferences, and they were inclined toward the Lord of Horn Hill. He had arrived a fortnight previously, and though all of the men had socialized with the court, dined in positions of honor at the king’s own table, and been favored with conversation with the princess, her pleasure at the company of Lord Tarly was subtly evident to Davos, and most likely the king, along with the most practiced sort of court hangers-on.
It was not the princess’s fault. Her attentions to Tarly were not improper or untoward, nor did she favor him in any unusual way, but Davos knew how rare were her genuine smiles and laughter, and could hear the smallest differences between her honest pleasure and practiced pleasantries. He did not have a daughter himself, only his sons, whom he loved beyond all else, but he fancied that he felt a little of a father’s sensibilities when it came to Shireen. He had not considered her a child for some time, but it was unsettling enough to him that there was evidence of the princess’s role as a woman grown in her manner these days. Davos could hardly imagine how Stannis felt.
What was both relief and frustration to both of the men who looked out for her was that Tarly seemed to be worthy of her favor. He was courteous, clever, and handsome by any maid’s reckoning, so Davos’s inquiries among the female staff of the keep had confirmed. He was hard on his men, but not cruel. He was active and devil-may-care with his person, and had gone on vigorous hunting parties in the Kingswood three times since his arrival at the capital. Shireen had observed him riding, once, while hawking, and Davos had heard her compliment his horsemanship to her ladies-in-waiting, who had all tittered at the comment as if it meant something more than an evaluation of his equitation. The whole situation made him uneasy, but of course it was necessary.
It was not that any of the other men were entirely unsuitable, though each had flaws. Addam Estermont was as deliberate and plodding in his thoughts as his house’s sigil, but had an honest kindness about him. Wallace Waynwood had the most practiced courtesies of any man Davos had seen, even among those who made it their life’s work to perfect the courtier’s games, but was prideful, even arrogant. Randyll Rowan was quick-witted and had made the princess laugh several times, but he was as vain as a peacock, and fair glittered with jewels, with each of his court costumes more garish than the last. Davos had warned Shireen to try to hold her judgment for the long months of travel ahead, given the chance to see each man outside the strictures of the court, but he had doubts that the presence of either the newly-arrived Blackwood or Ned Dayne would turn her eyes from Lord Tarly.
*****
“I knew it!” Dalla whispered.
“There’s still another lord, yet. The last one might be the best of them all,” Alys countered, wise in the way of such stories. Rolly was beginning to look somewhat aggrieved at the liberties the girls were taking with their interruptions, though he remained silent.
“Do you want to find out if the star-and-sword lord was as great a knight as they all said? Hmm? Hush, then!”
*****
Not three days after the arrival of the Dornish retinue, the great mass of heavy-laden wagons and restive horses were being readied in the pre-dawn darkness for the long journey to the North. Great fires blazed across the courtyard to give servants, grooms and men at arms the light to see by, and Davos stood above the swarming masses atop a hastily-erected platform atop several barrels. A snaking line of travelers was beginning to take shape - at the fore, a contingent of the Queen’s Men in their god-blessed raiment to lead the way, followed by King Stannis and Princess Shireen, guarded by six of the seven Kingsguard - Ser Richard Horpe would remain with Queen Selyse - as well as a number of the king’s own sworn knights and men at arms. Behind them would come the great wheelhouse to which the royal family and honored guests might retire, should they desire. Then would come the parties of various honored lords and knights and their own small retinues, and then the train of wagons laden with supplies - food, coin, medicine, as well as certain gifts and honors for the men of the Night’s Watch.
It would be a candlemark yet until sunrise, and even longer still before he expected the noble members of the party would join them and the party would begin its crawl northwards. Such expectations very nearly blinded him to the stir of surprise that rippled across the courtyard as a small party of noblemen strode into the courtyard and came to a halt just next to him, observing the proceedings in silence. He peered down and found himself meeting the shadowed purple eyes of Ser Edric Dayne. He was a young man, hardly older than Shireen, but with an air of the haunted about him. It was not entirely uncommon to see that expression on a great number of men, even a decade past the wars that had tortured the realm, not least of all the War at the Wall, but unusual for one as young as this. He carried the great sword Dawn slung across his back, below the round shield blazoned with the star-and-sword of his house, but was only lightly armored for the day’s travels.
“Ser, good morning to you. It will be some candlemarks before we are on our way,” Davos said. “The preparations for the beasts as well as the men take time, particularly for one as inexperienced in these matters as I.” It was no matter to him, these self-depreciating moments. It was generally what the lords expected of him, particularly those from the purest old houses.
“Oh, I very much doubt that, my Lord Hand. You are hardly inexperienced in these matters, and I daresay that this great ant-hive of activity will have sorted itself out in the next very little while,” Edric said dryly.
“You are too generous, ser. I regret that you have had so little time to enjoy King’s Landing and the invitation of His Grace and the princess, or even time to rest,” Davos replied, unable to resist choosing words to probe this young man, who appeared half a shadow in the dim light, dressed in the subtle colors of his house. Behind him stood two knights, one in pale yellow, his sigil a black and white bird that Davos did not recognize - a personal coat of arms, he guessed - and the other wore a shield across his back of green-on-green chequy, and a silver quill. A golden quill was the sigil of House Jordayne, but silver? Amidst all of the chaos, he could not recall its meaning, until Edric’s reply.
“No need to worry. My companions and I half expected to have to ride hard to catch you, the way the winds turned on us. I ride fast, and I need men who can keep pace. Ser Myles Corwin and Ser Bryan Sand,” he said, indicating first the yellow knight and then the quill knight with nods as he introduced them to Davos. At that, the strange sigil made sense. A bastard of House Jordayne, then, probably one of the late Lord Trebor’s sons, to keep his blazon so similar with impunity, and to be a companion of the Lord of Starfall. Both men made small bows toward Davos, their mien respectful as they silently watched their lord as well as the tableau of preparations unfolding across the bailey.
“Three days is fine. Our horses rested as well on the ship as we did, and I am eager to see the North and the Wall. Lord Commander Snow and I were milk-brothers as children. It will be good to see him as a man grown,” said Edric, his eyes distant, as if lost in memories. The comment startled Davos, even as he recalled the old tales that Jon Snow was the son of Ashara Dayne. If they had shared a wetnurse, that might not be at all far-fetched. But Edric spoke on, his eyes refocusing to study Davos nearly as intently as Davos watched him.
“I do regret that I have not been able to speak with the king and the Princess Shireen as much as I might have wished. Tell me, my Lord Hand, why was I honored with this invitation? I dared not, and did not desire to refuse it, but it seems passing strange. You know how the rest of Westeros is viewed in Dorne in these days, and I am certain the feeling is generally mutual. Is this supposed to please Arianne, or Dorne more generally? You ought to know it will do neither,” he warned, his voice low, pitched precisely for only Davos and his men to hear.
“I told you, Ned,” drawled Bryan Sands before Davos could form a reply, the words barely audible under his breath. “They want the Princess safely wedded, bedded and producing an heir as soon as possible, and you’re on the block.” Davos controlled his expression and only feigned a look of mild distaste at the accusation.
“Ser, you would do well to guard your tongue and speak respectfully of the princess. You shame yourself, and your lord.” The bastard only smiled faintly and bowed low to Davos.
“You are quite right, my Lord Hand. I spoke very ill.” But he exchanged a look with Edric Dayne as something passed between them, and Davos did not think it was a silent reprimand. It far more resembled a certain understanding.
“I will chastise him appropriately, my lord, have no fear. But I think we both know that he is right in the main, and only appallingly frank in his declarations,” Edric said smoothly.
“Certainly, as any father might, the king considers his daughter’s future of the utmost importance, and she is of an age to be wed.”
“She is somewhat past the age for a maid to be wed, but let us not quibble. I’ll tell you now, Lord Hand, I am pleased to accept His Grace’s invitation and hospitality. But I will not wed his daughter. I spent much of my youth away from Starfall, seeing the worst travesties of the wars a decade past, seeing the knight I served, the best of men, die and die and die again, seeing the dead walk, talk, and kill, and being perforated by steel a dozen times over. I finally returned to Dorne as a knight, only to have to track down my cursed bandit cousin Ser Gerold and see him executed and feel the burden and curse only a kinslayer bears. I am well done with matters outside my remaining kin and the welfare of Starfall. If Stannis thinks I will abandon my home and House without an heir and come to this vile nest of snakes that he keeps controlled only with the threat of a bared blade in order to take his daughter as a bride, he is a fool.” His voice eased only slightly as he continued to speak.
“Besides, even I can see she has chosen already. Her partiality for Tarly has barely escaped being open gossip, but it appears the other prospective horses being tested with a turns around the riding ring think they have a chance. They are welcome to it. I will be party to these travels gladly, but never to such a farce.” His dark eyes met Davos’s squarely, and he inclined his head and shoulders in a small bow.
“I think your preparations are nearly done, Davos. My men and I will see to our needs. See that you tell His Grace what I have said.” Without a backward glance, the Lord of Starfall and his knights strode across the courtyard to the stables, where their graceful sandsteeds and entourage waited. As dawn crept over the walls of the Red Keep, turning them from gray to rose in the pale light, Davos began to wonder if this had been all a very great mistake.
*****
“He’s not a very good knight,” Alys objected.
“Good enough to know that princesses are boring,” Rolland countered.
“You don’t know anything about it, Rolly,” said Dalla, while Alys huffed her displeasure at her brother’s pronouncements.
“The sword-and-star knight was good, and brave, but he had obligations to his home and family. He would be no noble knight to abandon them, would he?” Davos asked them pointedly.
“But the princess needs a knight!” Dalla was certain, and it made Davos repress a sigh. The septa was something of a romantic, despite her devotion to the Faith, and it seemed to pervade her stories, at least to the girls.
“There are already a bunch of knights in this story for her to pick from - at least this one is too smart to be caught!” said Rolland.
“You’re just saying that because no lady would be caught dead picking you to marry,” Alys scoffed.
“Does Septa Neryssa tolerate all of this arguing during her stories, or will I have to call her to put you to bed?” Davos cut them off once again, his voice stern, before being rewarded once again with silence.
“And the king and princess and court left the castle, and began their journey…”
Part 2/2
Title: Red Riding Hood and the Wolf
Author: coaldustcanary
Rating: All Ages
Characters: Davos Seaworth, Stanis Baratheon, Shireen Baratheon, Dickon Tarly, Sansa Stark, Rickon Stark, Edric Dayne; Pairings - Shireen/Dickon Tarly, Shireen/Rickon, (implied) Stannis/Davos
Word Count: 18,192
Summary: The Lord of Rainwood tells the tale of a princess and her noble knight. And a wolf.
Warning: Off-screen violence against children
Author's Note: Many thanks to our gracious mod who was patient with my extremely late story. I was taken-in by a request to write a Shireen-focused fic, and also inspired a little by my recipient's delightful fill on the fandom kinkmeme that drew on the story of Bluebeard. This draws on a slightly different legend...
The Lord of Rainwood had long ago found he enjoyed the storms that gave his lands their name, to his surprise. No sailor loved storms, not truly, though often enough a smuggler had given his thanks for the arrival of a sudden squall - rarely was the determination of a pursuing ship’s captain as strong as the will of a smuggling vessel’s crew to survive. Smugglers would oft press on where king’s men would falter, the desperation to save their own skins driving them into danger more swiftly than any lash could propel an oarsman. The cover of storms, like the cover of night or fog, had saved his hide many times while also putting it at great risk. He and the Storm God had a fine and mutually respectful understanding. But that was not why he welcomed the storms that washed down on his lands, sometimes seemingly without pause during the autumn torrents that would precede winter’s arrival.
It was the echo of driving rain on the stone of his keep, a rushing roar that reminded him forcefully of the sea itself, which would steadily drown out his turmoil-wrought thoughts on nights such as these. It would take time. The waking dreams of old men were uneasy - never had he dreamed fretfully while swinging in a net hammock in the belly of the Cobblecat, nor during scant hours slept in the captain’s berth on Black Betha. But now, on this night, settled in his stout keep, surrounded by his kin, and having passed on the burdens of his responsibilities long ago, he was a minor lord of minor lands with too many memories. Some few were sweet, to be sure, but altogether too many were colored with uneasiness and regret. He wondered, briefly, if other men who had served as Hand of the King were plagued with such memories, until he remembered that they were all dead men - Kevan and Tywin Lannister, Ned Stark, Jon Arryn, and the last Dragon King’s castoffs all had perished, either in service or not long after. It put his long years of service in a strange light, to be compared to those men. None of them enjoyed the respite he did now - the time to watch another generation pick up the reins of rule.
In the darkness behind his eyelids, a silent voice mocked the gift. And yet, what reward was it, to outlive his king? The question tightened his chest and he prayed silently for the steady fall of the rain to conjure a better remembrance. By all rights he should have died first - on the Blackwater, perhaps, or on the block in White Harbor, or washed on the shores of Skagos, or, gods be good, at the Wall. He was older than Stannis, certainly, but it was his king who went on to the gods’ reward first - even after twenty-seven years of honorable, strong rule, His Grace had gone to his end unsatisfied with all that he had accomplished, always expecting more of himself, and unwilling to pass on the burden of the crown he had taken up out of duty to anyone, least of all one he loved.
Davos opened his eyes, the dimness of his thoughts pushed back by the glow of candles that banished shadows from his sanctuary. As the keep was raised, years ago, he had directed that this room be built - a private place as small and snug as his cabin berth had once been, not at all like a high lord’s fine solar. In truth, there was rarely sunshine to light such a room in the Rainwood, so this room had only one small glazed window, and it remained carefully lit with candles cunningly designed to protect the contents of the room from the drip of wax or the touch of smoke. A sturdy chair, a small desk, and shelves lined with books, scrolls and maps were the only things he kept safe here. And letters, all the correspondence, of great importance and the most minor observances, from all the years he had been in His Grace’s service.
He ran his fingers lightly over the folded letter on the desk, the most recent of all, brought on raven’s wings from Devan. It never ceased to amaze him how much pleasure reading brought him. He had been dubious about those first lessons, painstakingly deciphering each quill-scratch with the patient help of the maester, but now, when his strength and his mind’s quickness were not what they once were, his eyes still could see. Even at a distance, Devan’s letters kept him abreast of what went on in King’s Landing. Maester Garreth’s ravens brought news of great happenings and major events across Westeros, but Devan shared much of court, all the whispers and politics he both loathed and missed.
The first soft taps at his door were so faint that he nearly missed them in the rushing current of the rainfall. But…ah, there, again - a faltering, erratic rapping.
“Come on then,” he called out, pitching his voice just loud enough to hear beyond the room. “And be quick, or she’ll catch you.” Nearly before the first syllable left his lips, the door latch clicked and the three small figures slipped inside the door, shutting it behind them in haste.
“We won’t be caught. Septa Neryssa doesn’t like the stairs,” protested their leader with a confident smile. Rolland was Steffon’s eldest boy, though he had his Northern mother’s dark hair and eyes, ever-gleaming with barely-suppressed mischief. His sister, Alys, was close on his heels, but she looked over her shoulder warily, not having Rolland’s confidence that they would not be found out by the long-suffering septa. Their cousin, his own son Stannis’s daughter, Dalla, was the last to appear, her fair hair mostly slipped loose from its braids, her solemn expression suggesting some doubt regarding Rolland’s casual assurances as well.
“Septa Neryssa’s knees pain her, just like your grandfather’s do, from time to time,” he chided them, though he found himself unable to put much heat in it. They had won a victory when he had let them enter and hide, and it was beyond him to deny them much of anything, including stolen moments before they were to be put to bed. It was late, but they were restless - Rolland peered at the heavy books of history stacked on the shelves along the walls, while Alys walked small fingers across the stretch of the map half-unfurled on another shelf, her little hands flitting across the entirety of the Wall in moments. Dalla, though, came to his knee and pulled herself into his lap, her expression still serious, as sober as any priest’s. He gently tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and then gave the ear a gentle tug.
“What are you worrying about, hmm? Caught spinning about in a current, my little skiff?” he asked her, tapping the little furrow in her brow with an index finger. She smiled, a little, and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Can you tell us a story, grandfather?” she asked suddenly. Rolland and Alys, perhaps having only thought to hide away from the septa for a few stolen moments, widened their eyes and turned matching looks of pleading in his direction.
“A story about knights, and battles!” demanded Rolland. “When King Stannis crushed the wildlings at the Wall! Tell us that story, about how they fought, and arrows rained down on them, and they fought until their swords broke in two!”
“No, a story,” Dalla said scornfully over her cousin’s excitement. “A story about a noble lady. Or a queen.” Rolland made a horrible sort of choking sound, which Davos correctly interpreted to be a strenuous objection to the promise of queenly stories.
“That’s not a good story. That’s dull stuff. There are no battles in stories about ladies,” he sulked.
“Oh, aren’t there?” He looked to Alys.
“What about you, sweetling - what sort of story do you want to hear tonight?” he asked gently. She glanced sidelong at her brother, before replying hastily, almost as if she could hear Rolland’s objection before he could voice it.
“A story about a lady…and her knight. A noble, true knight who loves her,” she implored. Dalla nodded her fervent agreement while Rolland looked pained and groaned. Davos let out his breath in a long, thoughtful sigh, and leaned back into his chair. Some memories were both painful and sweet, all at once. But this would be a better distraction than even the rain.
“A lady and her knight. Her noble, true knight. I think I know such a story. There may even be a battle in it, if certain listeners can contain their complaints, hmm?” For all his quick brashness, Rolland was a clever boy. His jaw snapped shut on his protests immediately, and he leaned on the desk eagerly, his eyes alight, while Alys perched on the arm of his chair with a shy smile.
“Once, a long time ago, there lived a wise and just king, who had only one child, a sweet, clever daughter…”
*****
“My Lord Davos, I need your aid.”
The woman strode into the room draped in an elegant red gown and cloak of the same color, the rich fabric trailing behind her as she approached him, confidence in her every step. Her hair hung heavy and loose to her waist, and her eyes boasted of every assurance she possessed that he would accede to her wishes. In a sense, she held his loyalty as much as the King’s, and so she had no reason to doubt. He rose to his feet from behind his heavy desk, inlaid with the Hand’s symbol at each corner, to receive her.
“Princess Shireen, every ship I can muster is at your disposal, as always,” he said, bowing, the action never quite as smooth as he wished. Her expressions were often uncannily like those of her father, though not the gentle, crooked smile she granted him as she gestured for him to dispense with the formalities. Her features were strong and perhaps uncommonly hard for a woman, even one as tall and broad of shoulder as she. The grayscale’s ravages were impossible to hide, and she made no effort to try - even the fair side of her face could not honestly mark her as a beauty. But only a true detractor could claim her smile wasn’t charming, rarely bestowed as it was.
“His Grace is very wroth with me, I am afraid,” she began, shaking her head, loose waves of black hair rippling over her shoulders.
“I can hardly believe that, Princess. Wroth, I can believe well enough. With you, never.”
“And yet, he is very angry, and I am afraid I am the cause,” she said, lacing her fingers together at her waist.
“I have begged him to allow me to go with him on his Progress to the Wall. It is only right that I be there with him when he honors Lord Commander Snow for his loyal service to the realm. You know how the smallfolk still cannot seem to bring themselves to love him, and Mother is no help in such matters, even if she did not keep to her chambers all night and day. You know I can be, though - I can hold myself a little less distant, and smooth the way with the smallfolk and the small lords alike. He needs me,” she said firmly. Davos held up both hands and dipped his head, acknowledging the truth of it.
“And I have advised him to allow you to come, Princess, but he is adamant that you stay here in King’s Landing - you are his only heir, and he sees the trip as a potential risk. If the realm should lose you both…”
“It is not like to happen with the small army he has arranged for this journey. Not to mention the entirety of the Kingsguard surrounding us - or do you not trust your own son to protect us?” she asked with contrived innocence.
“My Devan - Sir Devan - I am certain protects you as well or better than any of his sworn brothers, but there is still the risk to be considered,” he said, shaking his head.
“And if Father and I were both to die, I know very well that you have a document ready, sealed in secret, to legitimize my cousin Edric and make him a Baratheon in truth and my heir,” she replied tartly. “The realm would hardly suffer for it. He’s a fine man, and would make a fair king if need be. Besides, it will not happen. We will be as safe as we are in the Red Keep. The North holds my father in great esteem, even if they do not love him. What is it they say? They remember.” Shireen fixed him with a steady stare.
“You need to advise him once again, my lord. He has always needed your advice, and once he has moved on from his anger, he will see the sense of what I have done,” she continued. For the first time in many moons, Davos felt a twinge of an ache where his fingers had once been, quite certain he was not entirely about to agree with whatever the princess had done to force her father’s hand in this matter. He gazed at her across the wide oaken desk.
“And what have you done, Princess?” he forced himself to ask.
“I have been to the High Priest of the Lord of Light and asked for his blessing and prayers for our journey. Very public prayers, a great night of bonfires, that sort of thing,” she said easily, smiling slightly once again. “I will be attending all of the services, of course.” Davos grimaced. It would be difficult for Stannis to gainsay her presence on the trip after a very public display of piety and preparation. And if she had planned as well as he expected she had…
“And then, of course, I went to the High Septon, and invoked his blessing, as well,” she continued, holding up the edge of her vivid cloak to show him that the scarlet garment was fully lined - in white silk, bordered in a rainbow embroidery. “There will also be a seven-day of public prayers for the safe travel, continued reign, and glory of the King and his heir. I will attend those as well.” She clasped both her hands together in front of her chest and affected a meek expression.
“I will be quite well known for my devotions, soon enough. And to cancel it would be to offend the gods. All of them,” she said, tutting softy as if it was truly unfortunate.
Davos sighed. His Grace would not be pleased.
*****
“She can’t do that! Everyone has to listen to the King,” Rolland interjected, dismayed by the princess’s audacity.
“Oh, and do you always listen to your father, Rolly?” Dalla shot back before Davos could even collect his thoughts enough to reply.
“But he’s not the King!” Rolland cried. Davos struggled not to laugh, smiling faintly.
“Sometimes kings are fathers, too.”
*****
His Grace was, in fact, quite dismayed by his daughter. Davos stood next to the princess as Stannis stalked back and forth across the ornate sitting room of his chambers like a caged animal, not deigning to look at either of them as he paced.
“When have I ever cared for making decisions to please lesser men?” Stannis asked sharply. Shireen opened her mouth to make a retort but Davos managed to silence her with a sharp look before Stannis looked in her direction. It was just as well. The king was not yet finished speaking.
“I honor the gods enough for propriety’s sake and give my respect to the men who claim to speak for them, but never will I let their edicts or expectations dictate my life, yours, or the fate of these kingdoms! Let them have their fires and their prayers; I am touched by their concern for my well-being. You will remain here, within the Red Keep.” Finally, Stannis looked to his daughter, his weathered face set in hard lines. “This is foolishness, Shireen.”
“It is not. My lady mother’s poor health will keep her in King’s Landing, but I am neither fragile nor foolish, and I ought to go with you. How will the people know me for their future queen when you hide me away? How will they think to trust you when you act as though you must protect me from them? Some men aspire to the brains given to chickens, but others are not so stupid.” She lifted her chin, and then looked at Davos. The Hand of the King looked back impassively.
“You agree with me, Lord Davos, do you not? You must see the sense in my words. I know you have spies among the the smallfolk and lords alike. I do not doubt that the whispers will rise anew, if they ever died down to begin with. That somehow the grayscale has disfigured me more than ever, and I am turning all-over the color of the Iron Throne. If they do not trust me now, when the time comes they will try to put Edric in my place, or Ser Gendry.” Shireen’s mouth set in a thin line as she spoke the words, and Davos could not deny the truth of it, though he remained silent in the face of the king’s immediate displeasure. Stannis would have none of it.
“Bastards, both of them - you are my trueborn heir.” The king’s teeth were grinding hard in his jaw. Davos could hear it from halfway across the room.
“Yes, father, but they are both men, and even if some doubt Ser Gendry is Robert’s son, Edric’s blood is hardly in question. Even if he would never want it, there are lords enough to put him in my place if they chose. If I was lucky, they would only force us to wed, but he would be the king in every way. The power would be in his hands, not mine. What have you been raising me for, if not to take on the responsibility of all Seven Kingdoms in due time? I will not wed my cousin for any reason,” she said.
“If I ordered it, you would. That would be your reason,” Stannis retorted. He was not a man given to dramatic gestures or posturing, but Davos saw his king’s fisted hand come down deliberately, slowly on the back of a fragile chair which creaked slightly under the pressure.
“But you would not, Your Grace,” Davos interjected abruptly. “The Princess’s cousins, while good men, are, as you say, bastard-born. Their legitimacy always would rest on a piece of paper. Besides, Edric has a touch too much of Robert’s careless nature to make a strong king, and Ser Gendry Waters is, I am told, lately married himself.” He did not mention to whom, and luckily Stannis did not ask. That would be a distraction this discussion hardly needed. He plowed on ahead.
“As your man, your Hand, and one you have always asked to speak plainly, I must say, Your Grace - I agree with the Princess Shireen. I believe she ought to come on the Progress to the Wall, for all of the reasons she’s said and more besides, especially one.” He paused long enough to see the look of elation on Shireen’s face and wistfully hope she might turn a pleasant look on him someday again.
“Your Grace should, upon his return to King’s Landing, announce the Princess’s betrothal.” Both sets of royal blue eyes, normally impenetrable in their reserve, turned on him in perplexity.
“Bethrothed? To whom am I betrothed?” Shireen cried.
“Speak plainly, Davos. What have you planned?” the king asked, his gray brows drawn down like dangerously-edged blades across his face. Davos tightened his shortened fingers in a fist restlessly, choosing his words with care.
“The Princess is one and twenty, long past the age when she should have been betrothed, if not wedded and blessed with children. Because Princess Shireen is going to be ruling long and well as a woman for the first time in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, her choice of royal consort will be of great importance. Truth be told, Your Grace - most kings only need only choose a fertile wife who makes a strong alliance for their sons’ marriages. You and your heir need to choose somewhat more carefully,” Davos said. It was a topic that had been too easily put aside for too long, now. If His Grace had a weakness, it was that his surety wavered when it came to Shireen, and her alone.
“Use this trip. Whispers would deafen us all if you entertained potential marriage partners here in King’s Landing, but if you invite various young lords and knights to attend you on the Progress, no one will wonder at the reason as you honor trusted allies. Use the time to not only honor the North and the Night’s Watch, but to make a decision for the future of the realm.” He held himself as upright and still as possible, willing both Stannis and Shireen to agree. They would lock horns like a pair of stubborn goats over this without his involvement, but interfering introduced the very real risk of having them both turn on him together. In the space of a few heartbeats, he hardly dared breathe, letting the silence hang, before he realized it needed sealing, and he turned his gaze on the princess alone.
“If you insist it’s so important for you to be on this trip, and be the heir, then take this responsibility to heart, as well. It is no less important, and likely it is more.”
When he saw her jaw set, in the same way her father would when he spoke of the burden of a crown, he knew he had her.
*****
“So the princess got to pick out her husband?” Alys demanded, looking dubious.
“That’s what the king agreed to, within reason,” Davos said.
“Sometimes it’s the best way. Your parents had the choice of one another and I thought that was just fine. And yours, Dalla, too,” he added.
“Will we get to choose who we marry?” Dalla asked, inevitably. The other two children looked quite concerned about the matter as well, and Davos could not help but wonder if his sons would be less than pleased about this story being told.
“That will be up to your mother and father, of course,” he said sternly. “But you are all very small to be worrying about that quite yet.” It wasn’t an entirely truthful statement, but it would do for now.
“I’m don’t want a wife,” Rolland declared. “I’m just going to be a knight, like Ser-Uncle Devan. Or maybe I’ll serve the realm at the Wall!” Davos could not help but marvel at the boy’s wish. In living memory, the Wall had once been the home of the cursed and the criminal, with just a tiny fraction of noble members. Now younger sons of many houses served at the Wall with great honor. The Black Brothers had changed, and he shook his head a bit as he reached out and tapped the boy between the eyes with a forefinger.
“Perhaps you will, but that will be a story for children when you are my age, my boy, so listen. The princess had quite a lot of decisions to make.”
*****
In the King’s war room, Davos stood with Stannis and Shireen with all the grimness and determination he had mustered over a decade ago as they planned to retake Westeros from the various pretender-Kings. This time, they planned to make a new king, of a sort. The massive table wrought in the shape of the Seven Kingdoms stretched out before them, foreboding in its expansive emptiness.
“Dorne,” Davos said, to begin the discussion. It was enough to strike sparks to the tinder.
“No,” grated Stannis. “We have no need to consider any Dornish suitor. They still chafe at my rule and dream of dragons. We need not adopt the Targaryen custom of wedding the Dornish. Besides, the Martell boy is already wed.” Unspoken but unforgettable, too, was the fact that the girl born of Lannister incest, once princess of the Seven Kingdoms, remained in Sunspear as the boy’s paramour. The situation was a sour one, but the persuasion of Davos and others whom the king trusted had convinced him to let the situation be nearly a decade past, but it still rankled. Still, the Dornish had once tried, and failed, to raise her as Queen. Now they would never try it again, nor let another make the attempt. She was safe enough, whelping little Sandcats for Trystane Martell.
“What about the Daynes?” Shireen pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Ned Dayne is still unwed, is he not?” Davos could not see that anything about this made her eager or excited, but she had a good head for both history and had near memorized the living families of every noble house and a number of knightly houses by the time she was fifteen years old. To be certain, after the wars this was not so much of a feat as it had once been, but the memories served her well now. She looked to Davos for confirmation of her assertion. He had been to Dorne only two years past to treat with Princess Arianne, and ought to know.
“Unless he has wed very recently, or in secret, you are right. He holds Dawn, now, and is called the Sword of the Morning,” he confirmed. Personally, Davos thought the house’s obsession and self-stylings regarding the star-made sword rather too affected, even for one as old in blood and tradition as the Daynes, but it was hard to find a man who would speak poorly of Edric Dayne. Both he and Shireen looked to Stannis, who inclined his head slightly.
“Send for him. But what of the Reach? You ought to consider your cousin Ser Merrell Florent,” Stannis began. Davos hesitated in replying, but Shireen did not.
“He’s a dolt, father. Foxes are supposed to be cunning, but he’s thick. Besides, he has two bastard children already…”
“Three,” Davos muttered under his breath, just loud enough to hear. “He bedded a Cider Hall Fossoway girl he’s like to be forced to marry if her father Lord Tanton has anything to say about it. I’m sure the old lord could thrash him personally, if it came to it.” Shireen looked slightly triumphant and a touch nauseated at the same time. Stannis scowled at the map darkly.
“This would be how the Florents would repay me for being raised as overlords of the Reach. Idiocy. Well, they will have to content themselves with Highgarden and Brightwater Keep,” Stannis said coolly.
“I have another cousin who might be a better choice,” Shireen mused, chewing the edge of her thumb. When both of the men looked her way - Davos expectantly, Stannis with his customary impatience - she continued briskly.
“Lord Tarly. His mother was a Florent, too.”
“And his father never did bend the knee to me. He served Renly, then the Tyrells, then the Lannisters. He probably served every pretender there was. A hard man, though. A capable commander until the end, I am told. I remember little about his son, he was just another boy pledging his fealty. But Tarly is an old, strong house. What do you know of the boy?” Stannis asked Davos pointedly.
“Dickon Tarly. A knight, but he was too young to have fought in the wars. Capable, as his father was, it is said, and just as straightforward. He was wedded and widowed to a Riverlands girl four years past. The woman died in childbed, and the babe.” Davos closed his eyes, drawing on older memories. This part of his position had not come so easily to him as it had to little Shireen. “His elder brother is a chained maester, who serves Lord Commander Snow at the wall.” At that, Stannis snorted.
“The fat boy who stole off with the old Targaryen. Him, I remember.” Davos nodded.
“There are no living lesser branches of the Tarly tree, besides the brother at the Wall. The boy needs an heir badly.”
“I like Maester Samwell,” Shireen said. “I am sure his brother is a good man.” She smiled a little, Davos noticed. Perhaps she was not so disinterested in this process as he had thought.
*****
“That’s who the princess wanted to marry, right grandfather? She already knew in her heart that he was a good, brave knight,” Dalla said dreamily, her eyes shining. Davos gave her a hug - sliding her over to his other, less aching knee in the process while hiding a grimace. She had gotten heavier than he remembered, or perhaps he had been talking for longer than he realized.
“It might be so,” he said mildly. Shireen had ever kept the wishes of her heart close, having seen her father encase his own in iron and her mother set hers aflame only for the Lord of Light.
“These stories all go the same,” Rolland complained. “The princess and the noble knight meet and fall in love. Some terrible villain will try to keep them apart, but the knight will vanquish him to protect the lady, all while wearing her favor.” His delivery was flat, though edged with a whine.
“Girls like such boring stories.” Dalla and Alys both shot him matching looks of disdain, and Davos sighed.
“Rolly, what did I say about the potential for a battle to be part of this story? If you keep at this, there won’t be a single blade making an appearance, nor even one drop of blood,” Davos said ominously. The girls looked smug as Rolly sighed dramatically and put his face down on the desk, making a muffled noise.
“What was that?”
“I-said’m-sorry.”
“Mmm, very well. Now, where were we? Yes, the King and his trusted Hand and the Princess were choosing lords and knights for the Princess to take as her consort. They chose a star-and-sword lord, a huntsman lord, a knight of the golden tree, a turtle knight, a broken-wheel knight, and a raven-and-tree knight. Each man had a good reputation, and had kept the King’s peace. Their families were old in honor and regard, and the King and the Princess bade the King’s Hand send word to each of these men, and some others whom the King regarded well, inviting each to join them before the Progress would begin in three moons’ time…”
*****
“And what of the North, Your Grace, Princess?” Davos lifted his eyes to the top of the great map table, the vastest of the kingdoms that dwarfed the others in some respects.
“Inviting men of the North to King’s Landing just to turn around again seems foolish,” Shireen observed. “A Manderly could take ship here and then ride with us, but I do not think Lady Wynafryd has any male relatives to spare.”
“Winterfell will host us on our journey to the Wall, of course. What strength remains in the North will certainly be a part of those who welcome us,” Stannis said.
“When we leave, Davos, you will send word to the boy and let him know when we will arrive. Any Northman worth considering will be there to meet us, and might continue with us to the Wall, if we so choose.” Davos nodded his assent to the king’s command.
“Of course, Your Grace. The boy…the Lord of Winterfell is himself unwed,” he felt compelled to add. Shireen’s brow furrowed.
“But he is just a boy, and so strange, besides. I know you care for him, Lord Davos, but even I hear the whispers. The stories that he is a skinchanger or sorceror are mere fantasy, of course, but everyone speaks of him as if he is a feral dog. Lady Sansa rebuilt Winterfell while he ran like a savage with his direwolf in the Wolfswood, they say,” the Princess said, with a sort of distant curiosity coloring her voice.
“They say many things, Princess. Not all of them are entirely true.”
*****
“A warg sorcerer skinchanger direwolf? Bloody brilliant!” Rolland was enthralled. At his outburst, Alys gasped, Dalla indignantly warned him to mind his language, and Davos growled in exasperation.
“That is enough, Rolly!”
*****
The princess had left them to attend to her mother for the afternoon hour that she grudgingly granted the other woman, and only the king and Davos remained, standing over the expansive table in silence. Davos could not call it companionable silence, as much as he might wish it was, though it felt comfortable, after all of these years.
“Speak,” Stannis said abruptly. “I know you wish to. Spit it out.” He did not look up from the map table, his eyes hooded and dark. He was not a man prone to doubts, but Davos could see them lurking.
“It was the right decision, Your Grace. Shireen must learn to deal with these matters, and considering what she will face, the question of her marriage ought to have her input.” He hesitated half a moment. “In all things, she is your daughter. She will not choose frivolously.”
“I should have chosen for her, long ago,” the king said, unusually quiet. “There was a time I thought your Devan would make her a good husband, perhaps. He has always served with such faithfulness. I have had you. I could wish no less for my own daughter.”
“You honor me, Your Grace. And Devan. I am sure he will serve the princess by protecting her father and king for many years to come.” Davos bowed his head, not wanting Stannis to see how much the words had affected him. That he had risen so high in the king’s esteem astounded him still; that the king considered his servant’s son worthy of his own daughter humbled him. Yet Devan had chosen a different way to serve. It wasn’t to be. His own son Stannis was wed, and his youngest still a boy. It was not to be. But the king only nodded, almost absently, as if his mind, usually sharp to its task, was wandering
“It may be he will serve her better by that. What will I leave her, Davos? She has no siblings to rely upon - and even if she did, I have reason to know that is no guarantee of anything. No close cousins, either, save a small pack of bastard boys. I have few loyal servants to this day. So many opportunists surround us. Every court is full of opportunists. The Iron Throne draws them like forge-scrap to a lodestone. But they do not care what ass sits on it, as long as the royal ass is attached to a royal fist that will keep them in line. Will they respect her when I am gone, or just cast her aside? I have done everything for this cursed realm and it may not be enough for them.”
“There are no assurances in this world, Your Grace. But I do not think the gods would put you on the throne only to have your daughter be denied it.”
“The gods are capricious creatures, designed by capricious men.”
“But you are not, Your Grace. I do not think that will be forgotten or discounted, ever.”
The two men stood together in silence for a long time.
*****
“…and the King took heart from the counsel of his loyal Hand, and together they…” Davos caught himself then, marveling at how deeply he had immersed himself in memory, while the children looked up at him with wide-eyed, engrossed expressions.
“…prayed. They prayed together, yes.”
*****
“Which today?” he asked abruptly as the quiet, watchful presence of the servant girl drew his mind away from the parchments strewn across his desk.
Though the preparations for the Royal Progress to the Wall weighed heavily on Davos’s mind, the day to day needs of the realm did not change. The responsibility for planning the journey was balanced precariously atop the mountain of other duties he dare not shirk or delegate. Constantly juggling the details that half threatened to bury him at the best of times, his opportunities to observe the princess and her slowly growing pool of unknowing suitors were infrequent. But that did not mean that he lacked a view entirely.
“Ser Alyn Blackwood, my Lord Hand,” the girl said quickly. “He came with a score of men, two knights, and a squire.” Davos nodded absently, settling a raven quill into the pot on the desk and leaning back in his chair. A reasonable cavalcade for any young knight issued such an honorable invitation.
“And?” he prompted her. She was clever, this one, and did not need overmuch direction.
“He cuts a fine figure, m’lord, in his cloak with its raven feathers, with dark hair and gray eyes. He has a strong face. I would call him handsome. Lenna flirted a bit with one of his men, and he said only good things about his lord, even when she teased him. Another of his men called him “serious” as if it were a slight, but that don’t say much about him,” she added, her tone doubtful. Davos found himself in agreement. A serious man could be a voracious reader, a religious ascetic, a harsh taskmaster, or simply a man without much of a sense of humor. The chances of religious fervor struck him as unlikely, coming from one who presumably followed the Old Gods, but one could never be certain.
“Is there aught else?” he asked. When the young woman shook her head, he dismissed her with a nod. No one would ever claim that he managed spies to rival the old Spider’s intrigues. But he did have a knack for fishing the clever ones out of Flea Bottom and other less savory parts of the realm and putting them to use as eyes. As a precaution, he gave each man or woman in his service only very specific tasks. None of those individual tasks, should the spy choose to betray him, were important enough to be of use to any enemy. At least, that was what he hoped.
As if anyone would find it useful or surprising that young men are being considered to be Shireen’s consort. The news is as expected as the Stark words or buttered turnips for supper. With Blackwood’s arrival, it meant only Edric Dayne had yet to arrive in King’s Landing among the possible suitors, and his ship was expected within days, unless the winds were unusually unfavorable. And yet, already Shireen had begun to show her preferences, and they were inclined toward the Lord of Horn Hill. He had arrived a fortnight previously, and though all of the men had socialized with the court, dined in positions of honor at the king’s own table, and been favored with conversation with the princess, her pleasure at the company of Lord Tarly was subtly evident to Davos, and most likely the king, along with the most practiced sort of court hangers-on.
It was not the princess’s fault. Her attentions to Tarly were not improper or untoward, nor did she favor him in any unusual way, but Davos knew how rare were her genuine smiles and laughter, and could hear the smallest differences between her honest pleasure and practiced pleasantries. He did not have a daughter himself, only his sons, whom he loved beyond all else, but he fancied that he felt a little of a father’s sensibilities when it came to Shireen. He had not considered her a child for some time, but it was unsettling enough to him that there was evidence of the princess’s role as a woman grown in her manner these days. Davos could hardly imagine how Stannis felt.
What was both relief and frustration to both of the men who looked out for her was that Tarly seemed to be worthy of her favor. He was courteous, clever, and handsome by any maid’s reckoning, so Davos’s inquiries among the female staff of the keep had confirmed. He was hard on his men, but not cruel. He was active and devil-may-care with his person, and had gone on vigorous hunting parties in the Kingswood three times since his arrival at the capital. Shireen had observed him riding, once, while hawking, and Davos had heard her compliment his horsemanship to her ladies-in-waiting, who had all tittered at the comment as if it meant something more than an evaluation of his equitation. The whole situation made him uneasy, but of course it was necessary.
It was not that any of the other men were entirely unsuitable, though each had flaws. Addam Estermont was as deliberate and plodding in his thoughts as his house’s sigil, but had an honest kindness about him. Wallace Waynwood had the most practiced courtesies of any man Davos had seen, even among those who made it their life’s work to perfect the courtier’s games, but was prideful, even arrogant. Randyll Rowan was quick-witted and had made the princess laugh several times, but he was as vain as a peacock, and fair glittered with jewels, with each of his court costumes more garish than the last. Davos had warned Shireen to try to hold her judgment for the long months of travel ahead, given the chance to see each man outside the strictures of the court, but he had doubts that the presence of either the newly-arrived Blackwood or Ned Dayne would turn her eyes from Lord Tarly.
*****
“I knew it!” Dalla whispered.
“There’s still another lord, yet. The last one might be the best of them all,” Alys countered, wise in the way of such stories. Rolly was beginning to look somewhat aggrieved at the liberties the girls were taking with their interruptions, though he remained silent.
“Do you want to find out if the star-and-sword lord was as great a knight as they all said? Hmm? Hush, then!”
*****
Not three days after the arrival of the Dornish retinue, the great mass of heavy-laden wagons and restive horses were being readied in the pre-dawn darkness for the long journey to the North. Great fires blazed across the courtyard to give servants, grooms and men at arms the light to see by, and Davos stood above the swarming masses atop a hastily-erected platform atop several barrels. A snaking line of travelers was beginning to take shape - at the fore, a contingent of the Queen’s Men in their god-blessed raiment to lead the way, followed by King Stannis and Princess Shireen, guarded by six of the seven Kingsguard - Ser Richard Horpe would remain with Queen Selyse - as well as a number of the king’s own sworn knights and men at arms. Behind them would come the great wheelhouse to which the royal family and honored guests might retire, should they desire. Then would come the parties of various honored lords and knights and their own small retinues, and then the train of wagons laden with supplies - food, coin, medicine, as well as certain gifts and honors for the men of the Night’s Watch.
It would be a candlemark yet until sunrise, and even longer still before he expected the noble members of the party would join them and the party would begin its crawl northwards. Such expectations very nearly blinded him to the stir of surprise that rippled across the courtyard as a small party of noblemen strode into the courtyard and came to a halt just next to him, observing the proceedings in silence. He peered down and found himself meeting the shadowed purple eyes of Ser Edric Dayne. He was a young man, hardly older than Shireen, but with an air of the haunted about him. It was not entirely uncommon to see that expression on a great number of men, even a decade past the wars that had tortured the realm, not least of all the War at the Wall, but unusual for one as young as this. He carried the great sword Dawn slung across his back, below the round shield blazoned with the star-and-sword of his house, but was only lightly armored for the day’s travels.
“Ser, good morning to you. It will be some candlemarks before we are on our way,” Davos said. “The preparations for the beasts as well as the men take time, particularly for one as inexperienced in these matters as I.” It was no matter to him, these self-depreciating moments. It was generally what the lords expected of him, particularly those from the purest old houses.
“Oh, I very much doubt that, my Lord Hand. You are hardly inexperienced in these matters, and I daresay that this great ant-hive of activity will have sorted itself out in the next very little while,” Edric said dryly.
“You are too generous, ser. I regret that you have had so little time to enjoy King’s Landing and the invitation of His Grace and the princess, or even time to rest,” Davos replied, unable to resist choosing words to probe this young man, who appeared half a shadow in the dim light, dressed in the subtle colors of his house. Behind him stood two knights, one in pale yellow, his sigil a black and white bird that Davos did not recognize - a personal coat of arms, he guessed - and the other wore a shield across his back of green-on-green chequy, and a silver quill. A golden quill was the sigil of House Jordayne, but silver? Amidst all of the chaos, he could not recall its meaning, until Edric’s reply.
“No need to worry. My companions and I half expected to have to ride hard to catch you, the way the winds turned on us. I ride fast, and I need men who can keep pace. Ser Myles Corwin and Ser Bryan Sand,” he said, indicating first the yellow knight and then the quill knight with nods as he introduced them to Davos. At that, the strange sigil made sense. A bastard of House Jordayne, then, probably one of the late Lord Trebor’s sons, to keep his blazon so similar with impunity, and to be a companion of the Lord of Starfall. Both men made small bows toward Davos, their mien respectful as they silently watched their lord as well as the tableau of preparations unfolding across the bailey.
“Three days is fine. Our horses rested as well on the ship as we did, and I am eager to see the North and the Wall. Lord Commander Snow and I were milk-brothers as children. It will be good to see him as a man grown,” said Edric, his eyes distant, as if lost in memories. The comment startled Davos, even as he recalled the old tales that Jon Snow was the son of Ashara Dayne. If they had shared a wetnurse, that might not be at all far-fetched. But Edric spoke on, his eyes refocusing to study Davos nearly as intently as Davos watched him.
“I do regret that I have not been able to speak with the king and the Princess Shireen as much as I might have wished. Tell me, my Lord Hand, why was I honored with this invitation? I dared not, and did not desire to refuse it, but it seems passing strange. You know how the rest of Westeros is viewed in Dorne in these days, and I am certain the feeling is generally mutual. Is this supposed to please Arianne, or Dorne more generally? You ought to know it will do neither,” he warned, his voice low, pitched precisely for only Davos and his men to hear.
“I told you, Ned,” drawled Bryan Sands before Davos could form a reply, the words barely audible under his breath. “They want the Princess safely wedded, bedded and producing an heir as soon as possible, and you’re on the block.” Davos controlled his expression and only feigned a look of mild distaste at the accusation.
“Ser, you would do well to guard your tongue and speak respectfully of the princess. You shame yourself, and your lord.” The bastard only smiled faintly and bowed low to Davos.
“You are quite right, my Lord Hand. I spoke very ill.” But he exchanged a look with Edric Dayne as something passed between them, and Davos did not think it was a silent reprimand. It far more resembled a certain understanding.
“I will chastise him appropriately, my lord, have no fear. But I think we both know that he is right in the main, and only appallingly frank in his declarations,” Edric said smoothly.
“Certainly, as any father might, the king considers his daughter’s future of the utmost importance, and she is of an age to be wed.”
“She is somewhat past the age for a maid to be wed, but let us not quibble. I’ll tell you now, Lord Hand, I am pleased to accept His Grace’s invitation and hospitality. But I will not wed his daughter. I spent much of my youth away from Starfall, seeing the worst travesties of the wars a decade past, seeing the knight I served, the best of men, die and die and die again, seeing the dead walk, talk, and kill, and being perforated by steel a dozen times over. I finally returned to Dorne as a knight, only to have to track down my cursed bandit cousin Ser Gerold and see him executed and feel the burden and curse only a kinslayer bears. I am well done with matters outside my remaining kin and the welfare of Starfall. If Stannis thinks I will abandon my home and House without an heir and come to this vile nest of snakes that he keeps controlled only with the threat of a bared blade in order to take his daughter as a bride, he is a fool.” His voice eased only slightly as he continued to speak.
“Besides, even I can see she has chosen already. Her partiality for Tarly has barely escaped being open gossip, but it appears the other prospective horses being tested with a turns around the riding ring think they have a chance. They are welcome to it. I will be party to these travels gladly, but never to such a farce.” His dark eyes met Davos’s squarely, and he inclined his head and shoulders in a small bow.
“I think your preparations are nearly done, Davos. My men and I will see to our needs. See that you tell His Grace what I have said.” Without a backward glance, the Lord of Starfall and his knights strode across the courtyard to the stables, where their graceful sandsteeds and entourage waited. As dawn crept over the walls of the Red Keep, turning them from gray to rose in the pale light, Davos began to wonder if this had been all a very great mistake.
*****
“He’s not a very good knight,” Alys objected.
“Good enough to know that princesses are boring,” Rolland countered.
“You don’t know anything about it, Rolly,” said Dalla, while Alys huffed her displeasure at her brother’s pronouncements.
“The sword-and-star knight was good, and brave, but he had obligations to his home and family. He would be no noble knight to abandon them, would he?” Davos asked them pointedly.
“But the princess needs a knight!” Dalla was certain, and it made Davos repress a sigh. The septa was something of a romantic, despite her devotion to the Faith, and it seemed to pervade her stories, at least to the girls.
“There are already a bunch of knights in this story for her to pick from - at least this one is too smart to be caught!” said Rolland.
“You’re just saying that because no lady would be caught dead picking you to marry,” Alys scoffed.
“Does Septa Neryssa tolerate all of this arguing during her stories, or will I have to call her to put you to bed?” Davos cut them off once again, his voice stern, before being rewarded once again with silence.
“And the king and princess and court left the castle, and began their journey…”
Part 2/2