(no subject)
Nobody knew the shorelines of Westeros better than Davos Shorthand. He had spent forty years of his life sailing the narrow sea and he knew every nook and cranny of the coastline by heart. Which is why he found it so disconcerting to look around and realise he had no idea where he was.
The last thing Davos remembered was the storm. It had hit Saan’s fleet ten days after they had left Eastwatch and scattered it like tenpins. He recalled the sailors struggling to keep the ship on course while Salla railed at them from his cabin. Had the Valyrian sunk perhaps and the waves washed him unconscious onto the shore once again? No, he thought as he looked around him again, this was not Skagos or indeed anywhere in the North. It was too hot and too sandy, it reminded him of Dorne or the tales he’d heard of the Summer Isles far too the south. Surely he had not traveled so far?
He rose fully to his feet and began to walk forward when it occurred to him that he was dry. Too dry, he realised, even in this weather if he had just emerged from the sea he should not be so warm. He felt a sudden jab of fear then and reached automatically for his neck and the luck that was no longer there. Had the Gods taken him here and if so which ones and for what purpose? Had the Seven saved him like they had after the Blackwater or punished him for letting them burn unavenged? Or was it R’hllor’s hand at work, had Melisandre got herself another sacrifice and called up a fresh storm to rid herself of a jumped-up smuggler who had meddled once too often in matters he did not fully understand?
He kept himself walking and tried to remain calm, a man at sea couldn’t panic or he would die, concentrating on moving each leg as he turned away from an unfamiliar sea in the hope of finding someone to give him answers. He hoped they would not be hostile, he had no weapon on him and he was a poor fighter anyway. His hand tightened against the letter he had been bidden to bring to Lord Manderly and he told himself that he was a Lord now and the King’s Hand and he should feel no fear. It was a poor shield in truth, as likely to buy him death as mercy but it was all he had and Davos needed something to comfort him. He still had a duty to perform for his King and he could not die before it was completed.
“Mother have mercy,” he prayed as he walked “And may the Father judge me justly.”
(OOC: First tag gets to explain the Island, everyone else gets him wandering around the beach looking worried.)
The last thing Davos remembered was the storm. It had hit Saan’s fleet ten days after they had left Eastwatch and scattered it like tenpins. He recalled the sailors struggling to keep the ship on course while Salla railed at them from his cabin. Had the Valyrian sunk perhaps and the waves washed him unconscious onto the shore once again? No, he thought as he looked around him again, this was not Skagos or indeed anywhere in the North. It was too hot and too sandy, it reminded him of Dorne or the tales he’d heard of the Summer Isles far too the south. Surely he had not traveled so far?
He rose fully to his feet and began to walk forward when it occurred to him that he was dry. Too dry, he realised, even in this weather if he had just emerged from the sea he should not be so warm. He felt a sudden jab of fear then and reached automatically for his neck and the luck that was no longer there. Had the Gods taken him here and if so which ones and for what purpose? Had the Seven saved him like they had after the Blackwater or punished him for letting them burn unavenged? Or was it R’hllor’s hand at work, had Melisandre got herself another sacrifice and called up a fresh storm to rid herself of a jumped-up smuggler who had meddled once too often in matters he did not fully understand?
He kept himself walking and tried to remain calm, a man at sea couldn’t panic or he would die, concentrating on moving each leg as he turned away from an unfamiliar sea in the hope of finding someone to give him answers. He hoped they would not be hostile, he had no weapon on him and he was a poor fighter anyway. His hand tightened against the letter he had been bidden to bring to Lord Manderly and he told himself that he was a Lord now and the King’s Hand and he should feel no fear. It was a poor shield in truth, as likely to buy him death as mercy but it was all he had and Davos needed something to comfort him. He still had a duty to perform for his King and he could not die before it was completed.
“Mother have mercy,” he prayed as he walked “And may the Father judge me justly.”
(OOC: First tag gets to explain the Island, everyone else gets him wandering around the beach looking worried.)