"The history of House Baratheon can be traced from the male line to Orys Baratheon, one of Aegon Targaryen's fiercest commanders, and from the female line to Argella Durrendon, the daughter of the last Storm King, Argilac the Arrogant. Orys -"
"But Grandfather, we don't want you to read it to us," Cassana complained.
Her twin brother Henry backed her up. "We want you to tell us the story."
"The real story. With all the bits not included in the history books," Cassana continued. She lowered her voice and whispered conspiratorially. "Is it true that Orys Baratheon was King Aegon's half-brother?"
Davos sighed, and tried to put on a stern expression on his face. He was failing, he knew, because the twins were giggling instead of looking chastised.
"This is history, not merely a story," Davos said firmly. Or as firmly as he could ever manage with Henry and Cassana. "You are far too indulgent with those children," the king had said to Davos, more than once.
"Do you know what is the difference between the two?" Davos asked them.
"History is about things that happened in the past," Henry replied. "Things that really happened, things that are true." He glanced at his sister.
"A story can be true, or not true," Cassana continued after her brother. "And they don't have to be about the past. They can be about the future too."
"Or the present," Henry said.
Davos smiled. They were bright children, these grandchildren of his.
"There is not much difference between a story and history when it comes to the past. History is what they call a story when it's written down in a maester's fancy handwriting and bounded with thick leather. Truth has nothing to do with it at all," a harsh voice interrupted.
"Your Grace," Davos said, surprised to find the king in the children's playroom. They were usually summoned to the king's study if he wished to see them.
"Grandfather," the twins greeted the king. Cassana curtsied, and Henry bowed his head.
"There is a letter from your mother and father," Stannis said, his hand holding out the letter. Princess Shireen and Devan were visiting Dorne to attend the wedding of Trystane Martell.
Henry and Cassana exchanged nervous glances. You go. No, you, Davos saw them silently mouthing to each other. In the end, they both stepped forward and slowly walked to where Stannis was standing, close to the door. Henry held out both his hands, and Stannis passed him the letter.
"Thank you, Grandfather," the children said in unison. Stannis nodded, but he made no move to leave the room.
"Well, aren't you going to read it? You don't seem very happy to receive a letter from your mother and father," the king said, as he watched the twins standing silently at attention, making no move to open the letter. Davos could see that the children were actually bursting with excitement, but they knew better than to show it in front of the king.
"We will read it later, Grandfather. Grandfather Davos is reading us the history of House Baratheon," Henry replied.
Stannis frowned. "But surely you have learned that in your lessons with Maester Pylos?"
The children squirmed. It was Cassana who finally replied. "Yes, we have, Grandfather. But we like hearing Grandfather Davos read," she smiled uncertainly.
"Do you? I wonder. Is that why you were asking him to tell you the story, instead of reading it?" Stannis was smiling, but his smile only made the children more nervous. They stared at each other, and finally at Davos, with eyes as big as saucers, pleading for help.
"You know what a poor reader I am, Your Grace. It will take me a long time to read it. Telling the story would take less time," Davos said with a grin. The twins gave him a grateful look.
"A poor reader? You have not been one for a long time, my lord Hand," Stannis replied. He returned to the children, his eyes staring intently at them. "You should be very honored to have him read to you. Your grandfather did not learn to read and write until he was a grown man, older than your father and mother now. That is not an easy task, I can assure you."
Henry nodded. "Yes, we know, Grandfather. Mother told us that."
"And Father said that Grandfather Davos learned to read and write because he wanted to serve his king better," Cassana said. "To serve you better. Because the Hand of the King should know how to read and write. But why … why did you ..." she hesitated, looking at Henry, who was shaking his head vigorously.
"Why did I what? Speak up, child," Stannis said impatiently, scowling.
Cassana looked down, shifting her feet, one after the other. Henry was doing the same, unconsciously, Davos knew. They often mirrored each other's action without realizing it.
"Well? What do you want to know?" Stannis asked, his tone gentler this time.
Cassana finally looked up. "Why did you appoint Grandfather Davos as your Hand, when you knew he did not know how to read and write at the time?" She glanced at Henry, and nodded vigorously at him. Henry hesitated at first, but he finally spoke. "Is it … is it because he is your friend?"
Davos winced. The children should have asked him that question, instead of their other grandfather. He waited for the angry explosion from the king.
It never came. Instead, Stannis went to sit on the chair closest to the fireplace, and motioned for the children to come closer. "Sit," he commanded. The children obeyed immediately, taking the seats opposite him.
"You too, Lord Davos."
"Your Grace, I should leave. There is still the account for the additional men and weapon we sent to the Night's Watch to inspect," Davos replied.
"I have inspected the account myself. Sending men who are actually trained to fight to the Wall, instead of rapists and murderers, is costing the throne a lot of gold dragons, it seems. But it has to be done," Stannis said through gritted teeth.
"Yes, Your Grace," Davos replied. He sat down next to the king, who seemed to be lost in thoughts, pondering the throne's financial worries, possibly. The children waited in silence, staring at Stannis, sitting stiffly, not daring to move even an inch. Davos smiled at them. They smiled back, but only briefly, their eyes quickly fixed on Stannis again.
Davos cleared his throat. "Your Gra -"
"What did you ask me before?" Stannis asked the children abruptly.
They did not hesitate this time. "Why did you appoint Grandfather Davos as your Hand," Cassana began, "when you knew he did not know how to read and write at the time," and Henry ended the question.
"Certainly not because he is my friend," Stannis retorted.
It must be Princess Shireen and Devan filling Henry and Cassana's head with that strange notion of a friendship between the king and himself, Davos thought. Davos loved them both dearly, but he had to admit that his son and daughter-in-law had some inexplicable notions about things that mystified Davos at times. And the very idea that Stannis Baratheon would ever appoint anyone to a position because of a friendship! Davos was offended on the king's behalf. The children knew very little of their royal grandfather, it seemed, if they really believed that.
My fault, probably, the thought struck Davos suddenly. I am the one who should be telling them more about him. His Grace would never do it himself.
"Then why did you do it?" Henry asked. "Why did you appoint Grandfather Davos as your Hand?"
"Because he was the right man for the position. And the only one I trusted. You can teach a man to read and write easily enough, but trust, and loyalty, are much harder to come by. Those things cannot be taught, not by any maester," Stannis replied. He was not looking at the children, but staring at Davos. Davos struggled not to look away. He was the one squirming under the king's intent gaze now. The children was looking at him with commiseration, Davos saw through the corners of his eyes.
Davos had defied Stannis for the boy Edric Storm, but he had done it in the name of loyalty. Loyalty to the king's cause, and to the man that Davos knew Stannis still was, deep inside.
Stannis finally released Davos from his gaze, to his great relief. "The story about Orys Baratheon being a Targaryen bastard is only a rumor, there is no proof for it. Aegon Targaryen made Orys his Hand because he trusted his ability, not because Orys was his half-brother," Stannis was telling the children.
Davos flinched slightly hearing the word 'bastard' spoken in front of the children. That did not escape Stannis' notice. "Your other grandfather disapproves of me saying 'bastard' in front of your tender and innocent ears, it seems," he said, his mouth creasing into a half-smile.
"No, Your Grace. It's only that, well, it is not what I think that matters, but what their mother and father might think. They are the parents after all," Davos replied.
"And Shireen and Devan might disapprove of me corrupting their children with words like 'bastard'?" Stannis laughed. It was not a mirthless laugh or a harsh, bitter laugh - even if it did not sound too joyful either - but it still shocked the children. "My daughter knows me well enough to know that I do not mince my words. Devan too, he was my squire for years," Stannis continued. "What word should I have used instead, Lord Davos? Born on the wrong side of the blanket, perhaps?"
"We know what a bastard is, Grandfather," Henry said solemnly.
"You are not corrupting us," Cassana reassured her grandfather.
Davos and Stannis both laughed, long and hard. The children stared at their grandfathers, puzzled.
