Chapter 44
Ser Davos arrived with a heavy heart back at Dragonstone. Part of him was thankful that his lord had not asked him to accompany him to the Wall. Other knights had joined Stannis in taking the Black, but they were few. No, he had been tasked with something else altogether, and he did not know what would be its end.
Davos was to be Shireen Baratheon’s sworn shield. And if Robert never remarried and sired no trueborn children of his own, it would fall to him to raise the banners and press Queen Shireen’s claim. That thought was laughable. What hope was there in doing such an act? Shireen herself had not been raised to rule, nor would there be those who would rally around her.
Did I raise any objection? Did I beg my lord to give this charge to another? No, I just bowed my head and never revealed that I might come to ignore the task given to me.
For what purpose was there to risk Shireen’s life with such a gesture? Davos had no ability to influence such matters, but he hoped that the king did remarry. If it came to that, Stannis would no doubt think honor would demand Shireen and Davos back the trueborn son’s claim over the pretender Tommen. But who could say? There were too many ifs for Davos to truly consider that sort of scenario. For now, he would do as he was bid, protect and care for Shireen.
Arriving at Dragonstone already filled him with some dread. The smoky vapors of the waters mixed with the salty air in a way that always made the stone statues shaped into the rock seem almost alive.
The words of that red woman still haunt me.
That had been the great mystery. Where had she gone? How had she departed King’s Landing when the entire city had been an uproar to find her? All had come to ruin listening to her counsel, and now his lord was sworn to the Night’s Watch and the woman responsible had escaped justice.
Shireen was not alone, but paid little heed to the fool named Patchface, who was softly singing at a wall. The only child of Stannis Baratheon was a solemn little girl, thin and shy. She had her lord father's blue eyes and black Baratheon hair. Greyscale had left its mark upon the left side of her face and neck, pale and cracked where the flesh had hardened years before.
Many say my lord has only been full of bitterness and never knew love, but that is a grievous falsehood. I saw the lengths he took to try to save his daughter’s life and the anguish he felt at being unable to do more.
She was a sad child, for very few wished to be near her. Children would shudder at her sight and most adults shied away from her, though if they were noble, they could mostly mask their expressions. Davos knew that children could be perceptive and even the more restrained highborn left clues for the timid girl to understand she was feared and ugly.
That was why the fool had become her constant companion. Patchface was almost as pitiful as she was. He had washed up ashore, thought dead of drowning, but the waters had only taken his wits, not his life. Beneath his antlered helm with its jangling bells, his round face was painted and tattooed with faded red and green squares. He spent his days singing nonsense to walls, waves, and empty halls, yet he was gentle with Shireen in a way few others ever were. Davos doubted that the poor, oft trembling fool even realized Shireen’s scarred features.
“Lady Shireen,” he bowed. “Has anyone told you?”
Her eyes left her window and she looked at him.
“I’ve been told my father took the vows to the Night’s Watch and that my mother is returning to the Reach. That I will one day rule over Dragonstone, or my husband will, I’m not sure.” She wiped at her eye and gave a sniffle. “I won’t ever see Father again, will I?”
His throat closed around him for a moment, but Davos found his words as he moved to Shireen. Propriety said that he, as a landed knight, should not embrace a child like Shireen, but he was to act as her father for the remainder of her childhood, and he hated the sight of children suffering.
He embraced her and then stepped away. “You will see him again, it just might be in a place that is very cold. I wish it could be soon, but I will not tell you any lies.”
The fool giggled behind him.
“Under the sea, the lies, the lies, the wolves bleed white. The free ones feast, oh, oh, oh, but not on fish.”
Davos ignored the words. “You are to come with me to King’s Landing. Your cousin Myrcella told me herself that she is eager to see you.”
That was true. Myrcella had looked a bit nervous when she told him that, no doubt because she knew about Shireen’s affliction. Davos had found it strange that the royal princess, her white shadow close at hand, had gone out of her way to speak to Davos about Shireen before he set off for Dragonstone. He held it as a good sign that Shireen might be less lonely in King’s Landing.
“Will Maester Cressen join us? He’s very old, but he’s nice.”
Davos shook his head. “No, child, he’ll remain here on Dragonstone. But you’ll have me and your royal cousins. There are other highborn children there who you might like as well. You can bring Patchface, and whatever you need, I will provide.”
She gave a frail smile. “I will miss Father, but I will not miss this place. I’ve always had nightmares here.”
Davos nodded. Dragonstone was a place that could make grown men uncertain, let alone lonely little girls.
“There are no dragons, stone or otherwise, in King’s Landing, my lady.”
Patchface’s trembling wet laughter reached a crescendo at that moment. He almost wished Shireen wasn’t as attached to the poor man.
***
“I will honor a banner of peace, wildlings or not,” Ned said firmly.
The brothers of the Night’s Watch looked uneasily at each other. Qhorin had come back from the ranging and said wildling bands were waving strips of cloth that might mean they were looking for a truce.
“Might mean it was meant for another wildling band,” Ser Rodrik commented.
The rangers doubted it, but they also didn’t want to treat with the wildlings. At least most of them.
“We need information. If the wildlings are willing to give us the truth, perhaps even details on who is raising wights, then I would be willing to return back to the Wall when our task is done. I will even consider providing them gifts of wine, furs, and perhaps more, anything so long as it does not aid them in fighting against the Night’s Watch in the future.”
That was met with a lot of grumbling, but he was firm. He would give the wildlings a chance to share what they knew before trying to force the information from them. That his former friend, the king, now fully believed the threat was real was a relief. The latest rider had brought a batch of letters, including the horrid news that the Manderlys and the Stormlander contingent had been struck a grievous blow in the east. An entire excursion near completely wiped out in the night.
By the sound of it, were it not for one brave noble from Tarth, no one would have escaped back to the ships. Most like it would have then been blamed on wildlings.
The two most important pieces of news were King Robert’s open request, asking what his Warden of the North needed. Men? Ships? Supplies? Name it and he would consider it strongly. It was not a guarantee that it would be provided, but his letter made it clear Robert was willing to call the banners to lend aid.
The trouble was that he had no true sense of scale of the threat. That the dead were dangerous, was clear. But the camp that had been assaulted numbered only a bit more than a hundred. They had been wiped out, but could his three thousand have done better? Could the full might of the North easily crush any concentration their mysterious foe could muster? He just didn’t know.
The cost of keeping a full muster in the field was high, especially without being able to live off the land. Worse was the truth of their words. Winter was coming. The last important harvest needed men to gather it, and that was why he had not put all the able-bodied men he could to this task. Lord Bolton was bringing another thousand, though they were mostly there to reinforce the Wall and continue to guard the train of supplies. Before he committed more than that he needed more information.
After considering it carefully, he wrote back that additional food supplies could be gathered at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and White Harbor from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. A mixed force of Vale, Stormlands, and Crownlands knights could winter in White Harbor and be ready to assist should it prove necessary.
The other letter had also surprised him. Kevan Lannister was proposing a match between Rickon and Janei Lannister. They were far too young to wed, and it would be more than a decade before they were able to, but it represented a great shift. Ned knew that his enemy had been the Lannisters when he was in King’s Landing. Later events after he had left had proven it. Now that Jaime and Cersei were dead, it seemed that Tywin sought to put past slights and grievances aside.
Is this another trick? A betrothal is not simply cast aside on a whim, but there are many reasons one can be broken. Kevan is a second son and Janei has three older brothers. Rickon stands to have his line inherit Winterfell if tragedy struck down my eldest. Maester Luwin has stated that Bran will never father children.
Letting the lion in close would not be his preference, and yet, it would strengthen the realm and be a sign that the lion and wolf were no longer at odds. The Reach and the Westerlands had quarreled, but the accuser dead, and the mustered men returning home, it seemed that there was no true ill will between the two wealthy kingdoms.
He would feel much better if Robb had children of his own long before Rickon married. In truth, there was plenty of time, but it seemed like it would be best to find a match for Robb, and soon. He wished Catelyn was here with him so that he could discuss it with her.
From a strategic perspective, a match between Robb and Myrcella had uses because it would allow Sansa not to marry Tommen. His eldest daughter vexed him for a number of reasons, but the idea of knowingly entering a betrothal with the idea of breaking it appalled him. He had much to thank her for, for who knows what would be happening right now were it not for her and Visha’s efforts in King’s Landing, but her callous disregard of propriety and willingness to engage in deceitful and dishonorable behavior made him uncomfortable.
I have done so as well with Jon, but there are many differences.
Old memories of the Tower of Joy troubled his nights. Were he to accept Sansa’s plan, the position with Robert, the volatile and ill-tempered king, would be difficult. However, if the man’s daughter was already wed to Robb, then there was little danger at all. Myrcella was too young to wed, but a strong betrothal and Myrcella finishing her raising in Winterfell would further head off any troubles.
She might also be a bastard, a product of incest. Sansa swears it is not the case, but she could always be fooling herself. Or us.
That was what alarmed him so much. Ned had known dissemblers and their ability to charm and fool others. He knew he had difficult discerning it at times, for the people of the North were rarely so convoluted in their schemes. But his daughter? She seemed to thrive and he could well believe that she could lie to him without him being the wiser.
It was a tricky subject, but since the truth of the matter was now impossible to confirm what more could be done? A match with the royal princess would also assuage the North’s anger over his family’s earlier treatment.
Other options for Robb included a bride from the North such as Wynafryd or Wylla Manderly. It was a match the Lord of White Harbor would readily agree to. He could also cast his search wider, to include a possible match from the Vale or even, if Robb would take up the potential burden of marrying someone physically scarred, a match with Shireen Baratheon. Ensuring the daughter of the disgraced Stannis Baratheon was safely married to his son, who would never betray his oaths, would be another way to keep the realm secure.
Robb is nearly a man grown, my raven to Winterfell will ask my wife her thoughts as well as his.
Returning his attention to the wildling matter, he wondered what would come of this attempted parley. Qhorin had said there was no sign that the vast host of wildlings was on the move, just small bands. It should be safe enough. Wildlings did not wield castle-forged steel, and were not disciplined. Ned well knew that it was often the better equipped soldier that won a battle, not the most skilled. Being able to charge or hold a line to the beat of a commander’s will was more important than individual martial prowess.
War is not a song.
What would come would come, the Night’s Watch warned of wildling lies, but even if there was a chance they knew something, he had to take it.
***
“That is why there is probably some element of physicalness required to enforce someone’s will over another. Otherwise, what would be the purpose of such a construct? There must also be some form of limitation, otherwise Melisandre could have simply bewitched everyone. No, it would be foolish to underestimate the power of sorcery, my lord, but just as foolish to overestimate it. If we are to give proper counsel to the king we must test its capabilities and its limits.”
“We?” Tyrion teased. “Are you officially part of my staff, Sansa?”
He watched as her lips quirked. “Unofficially, yes, but I have no wish for more tales to be spread about me.”
Tyrion nodded easily enough, he had no wish to cause problems for Sansa. Becoming the master of mysteries was her doing. That she trusted him, warmed his core, but he still had doubts as to how much his office would be of use to the crown. They had already examined locals in King's Landing who had claimed some ability or another, but they had been proven to either be mad or charlatans seeking employ via ruse.
If sorcery exists, it must be rare. Probably for the best.
“His Grace did come through and paid a visit to Hallyne,” Sansa said with more than a hint of satisfaction in her voice.
Tyrion grinned. He knew his grin sat strangely upon his broad, misshapen face. More than once in the towns around Winterfell, it had sent children running to their mothers, convinced a snark had come for them. Sansa, though, never seemed inclined to stare as others did.
“Oh, I have heard. I believe our king told the Wisdom that he could either report to me, or he could report to Lord Commander Denys Mallister of the Night’s Watch. He pleaded the need for secrecy, and he might not be wrong about that.”
“Wildfire, or the substance as they call it, is indeed dangerous and preventing the proliferation of it would be good. However, it is time we tested their statement that their spells are what gives wildfire its potency or if it is merely a chemical concoction. It is either sorcery or it is like cooking a dangerous broth, one with set ingredients that anyone can create with the proper knowledge.”
Tyrion saw sense in that. “How do you propose we test that?”
“Assure him that we do not wish to have their secrets spread, but that we will have documentation of every stop of the process. Then they will demonstrate said process, spells and all. We will then test their product. Then we will have them repeat the process without their spells and then test the product. If they are alike, well, then there is no sorcery, if the potency is different, then we will know it truly is sorcery that is at play.”
“I’d rather not be near them while they test those things,” Tyrion said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His dreams of fire of late had unmanned him in that regard.
Sansa gave an elegant shrug. “I’ve more of an interest, and they know I have the king’s favor, so they will be extra cautious. And I'll ensure I am well away from any sort of expected blast radius in the worst circumstance.
He felt a bit of a craven at that moment. He had thought someone else, one of their staff could do it, not Sansa herself. But she seemed to hold a certain fascination with the mixing of different substances and had talked vaguely about another project like with her ‘reading glasses’ that they had worked on together. Her mind was an enthralling place, and her instincts for what may be possible had already proven themselves.
“As you say, just be careful.”
“Always, and Visha will be there too.”
Tyrion glanced at the loyal beast. The direwolf seemed to have finally stopped growing by leaps and bounds, but who was to say if it had fully reached the apex of its kind. Already if Visha were to stand on her hind legs, she would be taller than the Mountain.
As normal, thoughts of one of the Clegane brothers soured his mood. The way the Hound had manhandled him still galled him. It also still worried him that the Hound and whoever he worked for, Varys or someone else, still knew that he had a hand in the plots against the king.
If I ever am able to lay hands on him, I’ll remind him that a Lannister always pays their debts. Fire will be how I end him.
He knew he would take immense pleasure in the tortured death cries of Sandor Clegane, but he knew those dreams would most like merely be just that. Dreams. He had no idea where that man might be, and taking him alive with Lannister guardsmen would not just prove difficult, it would work counter to his purpose if he managed to speak of Tyrion’s treacheries against Robert.
Sansa was giving him a curious glance and he chuckled.
“Sorry, was lost in thought for the moment. In other news, we received agreement from a Warlock of Qarth to pay a visit personally. It will take some time, but we’ll be able to see what power of foresight and illusion they have. The king’s summons to Lord Hightower has remained unanswered, and his son pleads forgiveness for a daft old man.”
“Interesting, the stories of Old Leyton Hightower spending time reading ‘magic texts’ only sound mad if sorcery doesn’t exist. And since we know it does…”
Tyrion gave a small sigh.
“I can’t be convinced without seeing something myself, Sansa. I don’t doubt your powers of observation or what you experienced, only that there may be a less fantastical reason for it. However, even though I may not personally believe, I can set aside my own preconceived notions and allow for the testing of sorcery through a more measured perspective. I tell you true; my goal is not to convince the king that magic isn’t real.”
“As you say, and in truth, a skeptic is precisely the kind of person I want in your role. All things should be measured based on simple empiricism. Study, analyze, test, and re-test. We confirm our beliefs through rigorous testing. That is how we determine what is true and what is false. It may be the work of generations, but removing the foggy edges of the map of human knowledge is important work.”
It was Tyrion’s turn to shrug. “Perhaps, but there is a certain sense of wonder and delight that comes from not knowing everything. What is past Asshai, what is in the ruins of Old Valyria, the possibility of something new and exciting existing is not a bad thing.”
“No,” Sansa said plainly, “ignorance is never a positive.” Her face twisted as if she had bitten a lemon. “No, that isn’t quite right either. There are advantages to strategic uncertainty, but when it comes to the general knowledge of the world and what magic can or cannot do, I don’t see it.”
“Strategic uncertainty?”
“The concept that if an opponent isn’t quite sure of your capabilities or what your response will be, it will lead them to not acting because they cannot adequately prepare. But our own knowledge, that of the crown’s and its servants, should be as complete as possible.”
No, I wouldn’t like that!
Strangely though, his offhand remark had Sansa far more animated than usual. Her fervent desire to know everything was charming. A true scholar, someone who might enjoy the life of a maester more than the life of a lady. He studied her for a moment and was sure he had the right of it.
The gods like to make us want for things we cannot have. I know that all too well.
***
“You know I only have eyes for you, Loras. You know my brother has commanded me to wed and have more little Baratheons running about. Where does this sudden concern come from?”
Ser Loras Tyrell, knight of the Kingsguard, looked away.
“Arianne is said to be beautiful, but I know where your appetites lay.” Loras smiled, it was a beautiful smile. “But I’ve heard stories of Dorne. They are more… open to things. If Arianne invites men to your bedchamber so that you can, ahem, perform for her so that she may get with child, will you tell your lady wife no?”
Renly looked at his lover with amusement.
“Come now, is that really your concern?”
Loras looked down. “It is not the whole of it. It is also the words you speak. Renly, with your brother given over to the Night’s Watch, I see you yearn for more. A lust that cannot be satisfied with my flesh.”
Renly’s smile left his features.
“My purpose was to remove the Lannisters and perhaps see your lovely sister be made the queen. Now, the Lannisters are weakened, the queen is removed, and I see the truth of it all. The Iron Throne, should my brother not wed, is now mine to inherit by right of blood. Things are different now.”
“Aye, that is the problem. You look for advantage and plot in earnest against your nephew. Arianne brings with her the fear that you will develop a taste for another, and concern over how far you will go now that you lust for rulership. You jest less, you conspire with your bannermen more, life is no longer a song, but something else.”
Life should be a song, but after I take the crown.
“What would you have me do? Truly, Loras. Should I press my brother to remarry and set aside Tommen? He won’t, not with how the Stark girl has her claws into him. If he doesn’t set Tommen aside, and his children, then it will complicate things and it will be that yet unmade son who raises the banners unless he is reared not to desire the crown. But how can he be, as he will be the heir until Tommen has children of his own.”
Loras frowned. The frown looked strangely out of place upon so fair a face, one better suited to smiles and tourney laurels than grim talk and petty worries.
“I’m not saying you need to push him one way or another. Why not let it be? If Tommen is the heir and is made king one day, what does it matter to you and me?”
Renly stared at him with a bewildered look.
“What does it matter? Would you have a bastard rule the Seven Kingdoms?”
“And why not? Who cares? You have your seat on the small council and you are the Lord of Storm’s End. You have me. Why do you need more? Why do you need to risk more? For the good of the realm? You cannot claim that moves you.”
Renly scowled. The way Loras spoke was just… just… foolhardy. Imagine not caring that your brother had been given horns and then a pretender would rule the Seven Kingdoms. It was a farce, not when he could be king instead. Renly knew he would be the best king Westeros had seen in centuries, if ever. His court would be one where songs would come to life. Where beautiful knights and fair maidens could hold grand tourneys, feast for days, and he could do as he will.
“What if it was your brother? Would you be content with Highgarden passing to someone not of Tyrell blood?”
Loras looked away. “That is different, that is our family seat. Storm’s End would remain Baratheon.”
“Different? So theft of the whole of the Seven Kingdoms is not as steep a price as just one of them? You always were slow with your sums.”
The jape clearly stung, a reminder of when Loras had first come to him as a boy to serve as his squire. Loras excelled in all things martial, from sword, lance, riding, and even lesser pursuits such as archery. By no means was he a simple lad, but he had little interest in the histories, beyond tales of great knights, or sums.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Renly said grabbing the offended knight’s shoulder. “You know I mean nothing by the jape; I hated Maester Cressen’s lessons when I was a boy as well.”
Loras allowed his anger to fade as Renly’s touch became amorous. Renly brushed a curl from Loras's brow, admiring once again the smoothness of his features. It was little wonder he made the ladies of the court swoon. Renly grinned as they soon lay in bed together, sweet Loras and his concerns forgotten. For the moment.