Fic: It's the Man Who Makes the Lord 2/3

[emynithilien]

For Part 1, http://emynithilien.livejournal.com/2140.html#cutid1

“Why not?  Is there anything wrong with them?  I thought the council,” Stannis paused to make sure he had his council’s undivided attention, “and you in particular were in favor of my making a match with Sansa Stark and all of the political ramifications of a strong alliance with the North, not to mention her ties by blood to the Lords of the Riverlands and the Eyrie.”
I see nothing wrong with the politics of the match, but the last thing Sansa wants to be right now is a political tool.  You need to convince her that you want her to be more than that.  “Sansa knows all of that already and has been trained to do her duty since she was born; you would be insulting her to phrase any words to her like that.  Sire, try and think of things from her perspective.  King’s Landing has only brought death and destruction to her-to my family.  Can you offer her anything different?”

“I can protect her,” said Stannis indignantly.

“Then say that.  And add that you look forward to getting to know her personally, and to making King’s Landing as happy a home as Winterfell was to her in her youth.  Above all, don’t make it sound like you’re trying to order her to do anything.”

“Are you suggesting I write a love letter like the fool Florian would write to his lady love Jonquil?”

Jon couldn’t tell if his king was trying to joke with him or not.  Likely not.  “No.  I have a feeling Sansa would see right through something like that.”

Stannis was silent, and a thoughtful expression slowly began to appear on his face.

“I will consider your advice, Lord Snow.  Council dismissed.”

DAVOS

After all the council members had filed out of the room, Davos found himself relaxing with his king on one of the many balconies of the Red Keep over a glass of lemon water.  Davos remembered with a chuckle when Stannis announced to his small council that he would allow no alcohol of any sort to be drunk when matters of state were being discussed, as he wished his advisors to have clear heads and not to have their words influenced by drink.  When Wylis Manderly had objected, Stannis had shrewdly replied that another Master of Coin who could perform all the responsibilities required of the office could surely be found in a fortnight.

Davos rather enjoyed having young Lord Snow on the small council, for he was another man like himself who wasn’t afraid to tell Stannis the truths he needed to hear rather than those he wanted to hear.  As well, Jon seemed secure enough in his position to be willing to openly risk Stannis’ displeasure from time to time, whereas most all the other lords Davos had met were constantly trying to curry the king’s favor in one way or another.  Not that they gained any more favor by that tactic.

Davos would have been interested to see how Jon and Stannis had interacted as the Not-Quite-King-of-all-Westeros and Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, when they were more like adversaries from what Davos had heard.  But Jon had ended up supporting Stannis, at a risk to the neutrality clearly stated in the vows he had previously sworn.  Jon was bolder with Stannis than anyone Davos had known-including himself, likely because Jon had been raised among lords and knew how to command and how not to be daunted by any other man.

“Were you ever that impudent with me, Davos?” said Stannis, referring to Jon’s closing remarks from council.

“Oh, I can think of a few occasions.  You didn’t take kindly to hearing a smuggler remind his king about where a king’s duty should lie.”

His king glowered at him, but chose not to respond.  “But by what right does the boy think he can lecture me on how to properly...what’s the word?  Court.  On how to properly court a woman?”

“To be perfectly honest, your Grace,” he began.

“You always say that when you think you’re going to anger me, Onion Knight,” said Stannis with a snort.

“It is not my wont to speak ill of others, but your former Lady wife brought you no joy and was indifferent to you, which caused you undue grief and frustration.”

Stannis considered this.  “I find no fault with that statement.”  His face betrayed nothing.

“If you hope to win Lady Sansa, not simply her hand but her heart, then I would do as Lord Jon suggests.  And before you ask, I would care about winning her heart, for I doubt you wish to have a repeat of your last marriage.  As well, I personally wouldn’t want to face the Lord Commander or his direwolf should Lady Sansa become unhappy.”

His king didn’t reply, but instead went to lean on the balcony ledge and to stare forlornly out at the sea, as he often did when some matter was angering or distressing him.

“You only have good things to gain,” assured Davos.

“But what would she find in me to love?” said Stannis is a low, bitter voice.  “Why would she see me any differently than Selyse did, or how most of the people in this realm do?  Aye, they might respect me, but they will never come to love me like they did my brothers.  Why would Sansa be any different?”

Ah.  So that’s what was eating at him.  Davos should have anticipated this.  He could think of a number of reasons why Lady Sansa could come to love his king, similar to the reasons why he had stayed at Stannis’ side for nearly half of his life.  You’re just, fair, and show kindness, respect, and mercy where it’s due.  You have courage that few can match.  You have faults like any other man, but they are inconsequential in comparison to the amount of good things you’ve done for the realm.  He longed to tell Stannis this, to grab him by the shoulders and look him in the eyes and reassure him, but when he opened his mouth to speak, his tongue refused to form any words.

Stannis took Davos’ silence as confirmation of his fears, and didn’t prompt him to speak further like he usually did when Davos hesitated.  He went back to staring out at the sea.

Davos could not let the conversation end like this, could not let Stannis brood himself into oblivion like some men did with drink.  If I tell him the truth how I see it, he might just think me biased and dismiss it.  Who else could assure him of this matter, that there are those that do more than merely respect him, if not me?  And suddenly he thought back to a time not too long ago when his king bent down to pet a white wolf, and the dark haired young man whose jovial laughs were able to bring a rare smile to Stannis’ face then.

“You have the respect and admiration of her older brother, whom she trusts above anyone else in Westeros.  Why else would Jon be so supportive of the match, if he didn’t see you differently?  That’s got to count for something.”

Stannis was silent for a long while, and then his blank, brooding glare seemed to soften and change into a thoughtful-and dare Davos say pleased?-expression.

“It does,” said Stannis, turning to look at Davos.  And Davos felt no fear in giving a sincere smile back in return.

JON

Much to Jon’s surprise, Stannis did more than simply consider his advice concerning how to write a pleasing letter to Sansa.  Stannis took the advice to heart and prepared himself like a commander preparing for battle, except this was a battle of correspondence.  As fast as ravens could fly between King’s Landing and Winterfell, Stannis was sending a new missive to the North and receiving one back from Sansa in return.  News spread like wildfire around the Red Keep about how the king was slowly winning Lady Stark to him through words, though no person was foolish enough to say that within his earshot.  Even Jon dared to do no more than smile when he saw a new roll of parchment with a white direwolf wax seal on Stannis’ desk, for he did not care to risk his king’s wrath on a matter as delicate as this.

So Jon did the next best thing to figure out what was going on between Stannis and his sister: Wait for Sansa to divulge something in her letters to him and ask innocent questions in return.  After all, he did correspond with her regularly to ask how the restoration of Winterfell was going, and how Bran and Rickon were faring.  Her replies were always along the following lines:

“The king is proving to be a rather agreeable correspondent, if rather blunt with his words at times.”

or

“ ‘What ever does he talk about?’ You ask me?  Why, brother, that’s a rather unchivalrous thing to ask of me!  But if you must know, he asks me about myself and writes a good deal of his mother and father and any occasions when he had met my mother and our father.”

Jon’s interest was piqued.  He wondered what Stannis would say of Eddard Stark, as Stannis respected the man but had never liked him.  I guess Stannis is capable of endearing himself to a beautiful young woman after all, he just had to want to do it.

One day, when Stannis chose to lock himself in his solar after receiving another letter with a direwolf seal, Jon sought out Lord Davos to figure out exactly how the Hand-it had to be him, for who else could talk sense to the king?-had convinced Stannis to do something contrary to his nature but sensible at the same time.

“Lord Davos.”

“Hello, Jon,” said Davos kindly, “How may I be of service to you?”

“How in seven hells did you convince King Stannis to start corresponding with my sister, much like how knights write letters to their loves in the songs?”

Davos’ eyes brightened.  “Oh, I doubt our king is writing love letters.  He would never stand for such frivolity, even if he was capable of writing them.”

Jon sensed that Davos was avoiding his question.  “Yes, but what did you say to him?”

Davos smiled knowingly at Jon.  “My dear Lord Commander, think back to what you said to him.  You deserve the credit for talking sense to our king this time.”

~

Jon was broken out of his reverie by the sound of footsteps entering the grove.  He looked behind him, wondering who else in the Red Keep would care about visiting the godswood.  Since he had taken his vows as a member of the Kingsguard, Jon had never run into another soul wishing to seek solace in the trees, which suited him well enough.  He blinked when he saw his king tentatively walk into the godswood, as if he was child entering a room he wasn’t sure if he belonged in or not.

“Your Grace,” said Jon in greeting.

Stannis stopped next to where Jon was sitting, on a log in front of the heart tree.  His hands were folded behind his back.

“What makes you visit this grove?  You always seem so at peace here.”

So he’s made note of the time I spend here?  Does this make me a religious fanatic in his eyes?  Jon’s gut told him that no, Stannis likely didn’t care what higher power Jon might believe in as long as he kept to himself.

“It reminds me of Winterfell, I guess, of my family in happy times before the war.  So many of the defining moments of my life have happened in front of the heart trees-my father telling me that he would always love me as much as my trueborn siblings, taking my Night’s Watch vows, taking my Kingsguard vows, being brought back after I was killed.” Being brought back by the trees.

Stannis made no comment.  Instead of turning around and walking out of the godswood like Jon expected him to, Stannis took a seat on the log next to him-a shade closer than Jon would have expected.  Jon was utterly surprised, but said not a word as Stannis sat in silence for a long while, his eyes closed.  Jon could acutely hear the wind whistling through the red leaves of the trees and the birds rustling in the bushes; smell the scent of rotting leaves and the faint sweetness of the weirwood sap; feel the echo of all those before him who had visited this grove looking for guidance or simply peace.  He wondered how much of that Stannis picked up on, whether he could really grasp what the godswoods throughout the realm meant to people, meant to him.

After a long while, Stannis began to speak, in a soft voice that Jon had rarely ever heard him use: “I told Lord Davos that I could never believe in the seven gods that let my parents drown before my eyes.  I felt the horrors that the Lord of Light worked, yet I saw him defeated when the King of the White Walkers extinguished the last of Lady Melisandre’s red flames.  And the old gods, the gods of the First Men…”

Jon waited, curious to hear to hear what he would say.

“They sheltered one Lord Stark, and saved the life of another Lord who I would be lost without.”

Jon had a feeling that Stannis didn’t mean Lord Davos, the only other man that Jon had ever seen Stannis show any measure of affection or reliance towards.  He didn’t know quite know if he should feel pleased, touched, or honored by the sentiment.  Or maybe I could get advice from Davos on how to interpret Stannis’ moods and words.

Ghost chose this moment to walk out from behind the heart tree, and after brushing past Jon he came to sit next to the King.  Stannis was a bit startled from having the wolf in such close proximity to him.

“He won’t hurt you…well, unless you try to hurt me,” said Jon with a shy smile.

Stannis hesitantly extended a hand toward Ghost, who sniffed it and gave it a lick.  Stannis then patted Ghost’s head, lightly running his fingers through the wolf’s snow white fur, scratching behind his ears, and stroking his neck.

As Jon watched Stannis pet Ghost, he realized that he could suddenly feel Stannis’ large, calloused fingers running through his hair, and move lower to caress the base of his neck.  It was a feeling akin to that he got when he could taste blood in his mouth after Ghost went hunting, or when he had felt Orell’s eagle claw into the fur on Ghost’s neck.  But he had never felt anyone pet his direwolf before, especially when he was sitting not but a few feet away from him.  He could feel a blush creep up his face, for it was a quite intimate touch that made him remember how Ygritte would lace her hands together behind his neck and bring him down for a kiss.  Jon determinedly stared at the ground, hoping that Stannis would stop petting Ghost and not look his way, for how would he explain himself?  Luckily, Ghost must have sensed his wishes and gave Stannis’ hand one last lick before coming to sit by his master’s side, allowing Jon to bury his face in Ghost’s fur, so Stannis couldn’t see how flushed his face was.

Oblivious to what was going on in Jon’s mind, Stannis continued speaking.  “Take that as you will, but you have my word that you will never suffer any insults to your heart trees or see another weirwood grove burned while I am king.  The destroyed grove at Storm’s End will be replanted; I was foolish to let Lady Melisandre have her way with it.”

“So do you believe in them then, the old gods?  Or in any gods, for that matter?”  Jon didn’t know what drove him to ask that, or how Stannis would react to being asked such a personal question.

Stannis gave him a long look, and Jon was acutely aware of the intensity of the dark blue eyes that stared back at him.  Jon suspected that a blush was creeping up anew on his face.  “Once I might have told you, Lord Snow, that no, I don’t believe in any higher power.  Or that I will go through the motions to follow any god that will have the power to instill fear into my subjects and enemies alike.  But now, with you sitting next to me alive when hundreds confirmed your death…”

He paused, as if some great internal struggle was going on inside of him, before saying simply:

“I don’t know.”

And that was one of the first truly unguarded and honest things that Stannis Baratheon ever said to him.

DAVOS

The council was arguing again over the fate of Ser Jaime.  Wylis Manderly, Master of Coin, was urging Stannis to let the Kingslayer take the black for the sake of the Crown’s coffers.  An “accident” could always be arranged for Ser Jaime on the road up to the Wall if it pleased the king, as his father Lord Manderly had arranged for a number of Freys traveling out of White Harbor.  Stannis was not pleased, replying that the Freys were deserving of such a duplicitous act, but that the Imp was too clever to swallow a ploy like that.  Lord Royce, Master of Laws, urged Stannis to simply behead the man and damn the consequences, for Stannis had a big enough army to subdue any objectors and the new spring harvests would surely help erase the debt given time.  The rest of the council members were split on the matter, their decisions based emotionally on how much their families and lands had been hurt by the Lannisters in the war, rather than any law or oath that Ser Jaime had broken.

Davos personally felt that this was a situation where justice could be served without bloodshed.  It was punishment enough for any man to be sent to the Wall to freeze for life.  Davos shuddered at the memory of his time spent at Eastwatch and Castle Black during the worst of winter, and even with spring the place still wouldn’t be warm.  As well, Ser Jaime had recently suffered the death of his father, sister, and all of his children, and if he wasn’t living in one of the seven hells by now, it was only a matter of time before his conscience ate him alive.  Yes, Davos concluded, keep the man alive and the Crown gets rid of most all its debt and becomes friends with Casterly Rock, and the only one who suffers directly from Ser Jaime being kept alive is him himself.

Jon was of a mind to keep Ser Jaime alive to see how long he would survive on the Wall-though he hadn’t said that directly, simply saying that a life of misery on the Wall for an unprepared southerner was more just than beheading.  Davos still had a hard time comprehending exactly why the young Lord Commander had voluntarily wished to spend his whole life at the 700 foot block of ice, but he suspected that the Starks had held and would always hold the view that that a life of service at the Wall was a life of honor, very different from what the prominent families in the South thought.  I was not made for that kind of honor.

“Lord Snow, you are so sure that Ser Jaime will be miserable at the Wall.  What if your former brothers lose their senses and elect him their Lord Commander when Lord Commander Mallister passes away?” pointedly asked Stannis.

“Well, if the Kingslayer gets elected to the position, that will mean that he will have regained enough honor to get the black brothers to trust him.  And as you recall, the king is obligated not to interfere with any decisions that the Night’s Watch makes.”

“Spare me another lecture about the Night’s Watch, Snow, for you no longer serve them by your own choice.  Don’t make me regret bringing you down from the Wall.”

Jon chose to ignore that.  “As many have said, justice can be served in Ser Jaime’s case without killing him.  I know of another criminal who did you a noble deed, and in that case you were wise enough to reward him with his just deserves rather than behead him.”

Davos was wondering when his past would be brought up in this discussion, though he hadn’t thought Jon would be the one to do it; even with Stannis on the throne, lords still occasionally insulted and laughed at him behind his back.  Nevertheless, though Davos doubted that Jon meant him any ill will, he had a feeling that Stannis would not be pleased.  Speaking of which…

King Stannis’ eyes were boring into Jon’s, and Davos was willing to bet that the whole council could hear him grinding his teeth.

“Council dismissed.  Please stay, Lord Davos.  Lord Commander.”

“Lord Snow,” Stannis began in an icy voice, once the rest of the members had filed out.  “While I do value your opinions, I will not suffer for you to insult the other members of my council.  You might be able to beat them all bloody with a sword, but you should still give each the respect that he deserves.”

“I only meant to bring attention to…” began Jon.

“I know what you were trying to do, but the deeds of Lord Davos and Ser Jaime are of entirely different natures, both the good and the bad.  I did not forget that you called my Hand a smuggler once, I will not have you call him a criminal as well.”

“Then why do you call him a smuggler, Sire?”

Stannis seemed even more incensed by this comment, and Davos could wager a guess why.  Stannis often had Jon guard his private chambers in the evening, when he was wont to unwind and have long conversations and with Davos over glasses lemon water.  Calling the king out over that particular word choice meant admitting that he was hearing and remembering the King’s private discussions, however innocuous they were.  Aye, he calls me a smuggler, but only in jest-and when others aren’t around.  I don’t think you quite understand our curious relationship, Jon.  And no matter how true, there are things that you simply don’t tell Stannis.

“How one speaks in private with a loyal friend of nearly two decades is entirely different to how one speaks in public or before a council meeting.  And you will do well not to talk of my personal affairs unless I give you permission, for part of the duty of the Kingsguard is to not betray the king’s secrets.”

Jon looked rather hurt, but Davos could tell that he was doing his best to hide it.  Like his King, the young Lord Commander was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and he was very good at schooling his features into an expressionless mask that wouldn’t betray his true feelings.  Davos wondered if that was a trick Jon had picked up during his time leading the Night’s Watch, or something inherited from his father.  He recalled a time years ago during the Greyjoy Rebellion, when he had captained one of Stannis’ warships.  King Robert, Ned Stark, and Stannis were discussing battle plans over wine with their lords and commanders, and Robert remarked that the cold North must have frozen Stark’s face because it never revealed anything, except that he was more still more agreeable and jovial than his brother.  All the men within earshot had laughed along with the king, and the rest of the evening saw Stannis in a particularly foul mood.

Jon finally nodded, and asked his king’s permission to leave room, which Stannis granted.  When Jon’s footsteps had faded, Davos turned to Stannis.

“I think you’re being rather unfair to the boy, your Grace.  He was only trying to emphasize that how you dealt with me following the siege of Storm’s End might not be so different from how you should deal with Ser Jaime.

Stannis glared at him, but Davos could sense that there was no true anger behind it.

“I’ve had enough of this conversation for today, Davos.  I will have the council revisit it sometime soon to give some of those fools a chance to reconsider their position, though in all likelihood they’ll just come up with new words to say the same thing.”  His tone changed.  “Spend the rest of the day with your sons; no doubt they’ve discovered some new secret passage in the castle.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” replied Davos, “No doubt they have, once their tutor has dismissed them from their lessons.”  And he left his king sitting alone at the council table, sorting through and studying stacks of official documents.

JON

One evening, as Jon was preparing himself for sleep, he searched for his wolf in his stark white chambers in the White Sword Tower.

“Ghost!”  Jon whistled.  “Where are you, you dratted wolf?”

When no beast came bounding towards him, he sighed and settled into his bed and opened and closed his sword hand; wondering where Ghost had gotten off to…

And suddenly he was padding down a long stone corridor and approaching a door guarded by four guards.  The guards inclined their heads to him and opened the door, which led to a circular staircase.  At the top of the staircase stood another door, guarded by a man all in white.  By his smell, this man must be the one who liked to pat his head and call him “little wolf.”

“Hello little wolf,” said Ser Rolland, bending down to ruffle the fur on his head.  “Is your master behind you?”  When no other figure appeared on the staircase, Ser Rolland frowned.  “I’m taking you still want to see the king, though?  There can’t be any harm in that.”

Ser Rolland knocked on the door.  An irritated grumble could be heard from behind it.

“Your Grace, you have a visitor.”

“What in the gods’ names do they want at this hour?”

Ser Rolland opened the door for him, and the wolf walked through.

I’m having one of my wolf dreams again.  Why would Ghost want to visit the king…And what is Stannis still doing awake this late into the night?  Does the man ever sleep?

Stannis was seated at his desk in his solar, pouring over reams of documents that were likely as dry as the parchment they were written on.  Tall, thick candles were burning everywhere in the room.  When he saw the wolf, Stannis’ sour expression lightened.

“Lord Snow?” said Stannis as he tilted his head to look for someone behind Ser Rolland.

“That’s the thing, your Grace.  There’s just the wolf.  Maybe Lord Snow sent him to you?”

No, not tonight, at least.

Stannis regarded Ghost, who was sitting patiently in front of the desk.  “The wolf may stay.  If perchance he happens to eat me, have Lord Snow’s head put on a spike in the morning.”

Ser Rolland gave a startled nod and shut the door, which was the cue for Ghost to walk to Stannis’ side.  The king seemed at a loss for what to say or do, so Ghost nudged his hand.  He blinked and then tentatively began to pet him, and Ghost leaned into the touch.

Immediately, Jon could feel Stannis’ rough hands gently brush through his hair and travel lower to rub his neck, just like that day in the godswood.  Though he was a tower or two away, he could acutely feel it as Stannis continued to run his hand down Ghost’s back, feel him caressing his spine and hear him talk softly to the wolf.

Stannis examined the scar Ghost had on the back of his neck, where Orell’s eagle had attacked him.  “You know, Ghost,” said Stannis quietly to the wolf, “You master has a scar on his neck as well, except it’s on the front, and blood red like weirwood sap in color.”  And Stannis moved his hands to the front of Ghost’s neck, tracing the spot where the scar would be on Jon’s.

Jon could not help but let a moan escape him.  Stannis’ touches were making him dizzy, and he was already lying down.  He didn’t need a mirror to know that his face was completely flushed, and his breathing had not been steady for quite some time.

Stannis’ hands had moved to Ghost’s face, brushing along his jaw line.  “Your master also has a long scar around his right eye…” And the wolf put up no resistance as the king’s index finger ran lightly around the eye.

What in seven hells are you doing, Ghost?  Leave the king and come back to me!  But try as he might, Jon could neither get his wolf to move nor to get the wolf dream to stop.  So he fell asleep to the feel of Stannis’ hands on him, wondering if Stannis believed the rumors that were whispered about him walking at night as a wolf…

DAVOS

He broke his fast in the king’s solar that morning, as he often did.  Warm bread and a selection of fresh fruit were handsomely spread out before him.  Bushels of peaches had recently arrived from Highgarden, though Davos noticed that his king wasn’t touching the peaches that had been set on the table.

Lord Jon was guarding the king at the moment, and Stannis had invited him to dine with them.  Jon had dark circles under his eyes and looked exhausted this early in the morning, which Davos thought to be odd.

“Lord Snow,” Stannis addressed his Lord Commander.  “Your wolf has taken to visiting me at night this past week.”

Jon’s face was devoid of emotion, and his dark hair fell into his eyes.  “If Ghost is bothering you, your Grace, I can see to it that he is confined to my quarters when I’m asleep.”

Stannis spread some butter on a slice of bread.  “There’s no need for that.  The wolf always behaves himself and is quite a soothing presence.  In all honesty, I always feel safer when he’s around.”

Jon shot an astonished look at the king, and a faint blush appeared on his face when Stannis returned the gaze.

There’s something more going on between them, but it’s not right of me to pry, thought Davos as he helped himself to a peach.

JON

One day when Jon was training in the Red Keep’s practice yard, Lord Davos’ three sons approached him with wooden swords and asked, if it wouldn’t trouble the valiant Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, if he could practice with them.  Jon was happy to oblige; the boys were always as kind and polite as their father was to him.  Stanny and Steff’s energy reminded him of Bran and Rickon, whom they were of age with.

Jon was teaching the boys the proper way to start a fight when Ser Loras strutted onto the scene in his polished white armor.  His sigil should have been a peacock…

“Now,” instructed Jon, “before knights begin a fight it is customary for them to shout for their liege lord, family name, or their home; wherever it might be.”

“Ah, so you’re teaching the Hand’s sons some of your tricks, aren’t you?” interrupted Loras in his self assured manner.  Even though his failed attempt at conquering Dragonstone under Queen Cersei’s command had left him with horrible scars on his face and neck, and his father’s failed attempt at getting a grandson on the Iron Throne had left the Tyrells with less wealth and influence than before the War of Five Kings, Loras still acted as arrogant as ever.  At least when he was wearing the white cloak, and he hardly ever took the thing off.  Jon didn’t think he would ever forget Loras’ conversation with Stannis about Renly, though.  That was a Loras that Jon was willing to bet few had ever seen.

“Would you like to help me, Ser Loras?”

“I think I will.”  Loras turned to Devan, Stanny, and Steff.  “I think this business of three against one is terribly unfair, don’t you think?”  Before the boys could answer, Loras undid his sword belt and picked up a wooden sword.  “Four against one would be more proper against Ser Jon, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”  He shot Jon a dazzling grin.

Oh you’re on, Loras.  “You’re going to regret this, Ser Loras!” Jon shot right back, his smile matching Loras’.  Though perhaps not as a dazzling.

“Highgarden!” exclaimed Loras, not to Jon’s surprise, as Lord Davos’ sons shouted “Seaworth!” and “Cape Wrath!”  With a cry of “King Stannis!” Jon joined the fray.

DAVOS

As Davos and his king were walking along the battlements of the Red Keep, they chanced upon Jon teaching his sons some of his sword fighting skills.  Then Ser Loras had swaggered onto the scene, and the real entertainment had begun.

Though his sons had run at Jon with Ser Loras, they quickly abandoned their swords to watch the two Kingsguard knights fight each other, which probably was a more enjoying prospect than being quickly beaten down.  Not that they weren’t progressing well with their sword fighting, as the Red Keep’s Master at Arms had told Davos, but an eight and eleven year old were no match for a true knight.  Devan, at fourteen, was as decent a fighter as any squire his age, though he was beginning to want to spend more time on the sea then land, which Davos was happy to accommodate, teaching him all his sailing tricks.

Beside him, Stannis was amused at the scene playing out on the courtyard below.  Jon and Loras were intricately dancing around each other, and Loras seemed to be throwing more insults than blows at his opponent.  Jon largely remained silent, save for the occasional biting reply.

“What did you tell your sister to convince her to marry him?” shouted Loras as he brushed aside Jon’s latest sword stroke.

“What?  She hasn’t made her decision yet.  I didn’t convince her.  Just told her.  The truth,” Jon shot back between breaths, bewildered.

“Well, if she’s anything like you, maybe our king will be happy with his bride,” said Loras with a leering smile while catching his breath, at which Jon promptly rushed at him, bringing their wooden sword hilts together.

Stannis’ eyebrows jumped at Loras last comment, then his eyes narrowed as he began to glare at the knight with disdain.  Davos was tempted to chuckle, for Loras was obviously resorting to anything and everything to get a rise out of Jon, but with Stannis offended by the offhand comment, he had to wonder.

It struck Davos as curious how quickly Stannis had come to respect and like Jon.  Oh, Stannis certainly respected other men, but it always took them a long while to truly earn that respect and trust.  And even then there was no guarantee that Stannis would like them, the most appropriate example being Ned Stark.  His king never had reason to fault the man or doubt his honor, but he could never find it in him to like Stark or enjoy his company.  He wondered if deep down Stannis was a bit jealous of Stark, for Robert’s favor, his loving wife and four fine sons, or his ability to command the unquestionable loyalty of men-even in death, as seen from the recent war.  Of course, Davos would never ask Stannis this, for there was a line even he was not willing to cross with his king.  We all have things that we brood upon; we all have things that we should be left in peace about.

There was something about Stannis’ relationship with Jon that gave Davos pause.  It was as complicated as his own with the king, but on a different level.  Davos felt that Stannis regarded himself more like a brother and best friend than anything else; and Davos in turn gave Stannis respect not just because Stannis was his superior in rank, but because he understood his values and actions and the gods he truly served-honor and duty.  Jon was very similar in that sense, that no matter how often he visited the godswood to give thanks to whatever mysterious power that had restored his life, honor and duty were worshiped above all else.  When Davos saw the two interacting, whether formally in council or informally in Stannis’ chambers or walking through the halls together, they never struck him as brothers.  There was a friendship there, certainly, but it was a friendship more along the lines of a king and his advisor, or a father and his son.

Most intriguingly, Davos sometimes saw Stannis looking at his Lord Commander in such a way that couldn’t be attributed to familiarity or paternal affection; a look akin to a man who desired a woman, or in this case…another man.  These moments were always fleeting, as if his king was afraid to let himself dwell on such thoughts.  Davos didn’t know quite how to think about this, but it wasn’t up to him to judge where his king turned his affections.

But what ultimately amazed Davos most about the connection between king and Lord Commander was that Jon knew how to make Stannis laugh.  Or want to laugh, at any rate.

Davos was brought out of his musings by a sudden change in the duel.  Ser Loras seemed to have gotten the better of Ser Jon.

“Do you surrender, my Lord?”  Loras had his wooden sword point under Jon’s chin, a triumphant expression on his face.

“No,” replied Jon, and with that he grabbed the wooden sword from Loras, the force of which threw the Loras to the ground.

Davos began to laugh.  Though he lacked most of Loras’ fancy tricks, Jon had more brute strength than the Knight of Flowers and wasn’t afraid to use it.  His boys were cheering their Lord Commander, and Loras did his best to brush off the defeat when he got back to his feet, refusing Jon’s hand out of pride.  Though the two knights had grudging respect for each other, it still didn’t erase the subtle current of spite that seemed to run between them.  But at least both were smart enough not to let their personal feelings affect how they carried out their duty as members of the Kingsguard.

“You seem to be much enjoying yourself, Ser Davos,” said Stannis.  “Do you think you could upstage the young men down there?”

“Oh no, your Grace,” replied Davos, continuing to laugh.  “Even in my youth I was never properly taught how to wield a sword, though I reckon I could still steer a ship through Shipbreaker Bay with my eyes closed.”

“I would have been honored to have any of your older sons on my Kingsguard, if they desired to take that path in life.  I am truly sorry for your loss, Davos, and that of your wife as well; suffering the loss of sons has to be a crueler fate than not having any in the first place,” said Stannis matter-of-fact, rather oblivious to the effect the comment would have on Davos.

My poor boys, how your mother and I have grieved for you.  Has it really been over three years since Blackwater Bay burst into flames?

“You still saved them all, though,” answered Davos after a long moment.  “My elder boys would likely have ended up on the Wall for smuggling, or else they would’ve lost more than their fingers.  You gave them a future I could never have imagined…Aye, you gave me a future I could never have imagined.  That’s something that my king should be proud of.”

Stannis stiffened, and his hands seemed to grip the battlement wall more tightly than before.  “So you don’t regret any of it?  Bringing your onions to Storm’s End that night, following me from the fires of hell on the Blackwater to the frozen hell up on the Wall, being by my side all of these years?”

Never.  But how to put that into words so you can understand?

“I thought I would simply gain a few bags of gold for bringing you those onions all those years ago, and then continue with my smuggling ways.  But…” Davos paused.

Stannis was staring at him, as if everything depended on his answer.

“Instead I got the opportunity to change my life around and become a better man.  Smuggling those onions to your garrison-to you, was the best thing I ever did in my life.”

“Surely you don’t mean that,” replied Stannis bitterly.

“I would hope that after knowing me for over half your life, you would know that to you I have only ever spoken the truth.”

At that moment a look of such contentment, a look of such peace crossed Stannis’ face that Davos thought that he surely must be dreaming.  Stannis grabbed Davos’ maimed left hand-without permission, as always-and ran his thumb over the shortened fingers.  Davos’ breath left him as if he had just been crossing swords with Jon and Loras.

Stannis looked at him again, and simply said, “Thank you.”

Part 3: http://emynithilien.livejournal.com/2777.html#cutid1