The first time Davos made his way up the steps of the Stone Drum of Dragonstone, to the very top where the Chamber of the Painted Table was located, Maester Cressen was by his side. The maester looked grave and unhappy, whether at the prospect of climbing the treacherous stairs which seemed daunting enough for a man half his age, or at the thought of the angry and brooding lord waiting for them at the top of those steps, Davos was not certain.
"He met the various lords of Dragonstone upon arriving three days ago, and has refused to leave the castle or to see anyone else since," Cressen confided to Davos. "That is most unwise in my opinion. The people need to see their new Lord of Dragonstone in the flesh."
Dragonstone had been a Targaryen stronghold before the war, the seat given to the heir to the throne. The queen, the old queen that was, had taken refuge here during the war, along with her younger son, and she had died here giving birth to her daughter. Davos, newly knighted at the time, had sailed with Stannis to Dragonstone to capture the last Targaryen stronghold and to apprehend the last two Targaryen souls living, but they had arrived too late, after the children were already smuggled away by still-faithful servants.
Stannis' fury had been palpable and terrible to behold, but secretly, Davos had breathed a sigh of relief, for he feared for the fate of those two children, one a babe still, in the hands of King Robert Baratheon. Rhaegar Targaryen's two children had been brutally slayed during the sacking of King's Landing, and while it was not Robert Baratheon's men who were directly responsible for the act, the new king had not meted out any punishment to the men who had done the deed, or the lord commanding those men. Instead, he had deigned to wed the daughter of that lord, making Cersei Lannister his queen.
According to Stannis, the king had meted out his punishment to his own brother, for failing to bring him Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen, the dual threats to his throne. "Why else would Robert steal my birthright to give to Renly, and banish me to Dragonstone? Renly, a mere boy too young to know his own mind, let alone rule the stormlands."
"Your brother needed a strong lord to hold Dragonstone," Cressen had replied, in an attempt to soothe Stannis' anger, but he succeeded only in inflaming it further.
"But not a strong lord to rule the stormlands? We have driven away all of the Targaryen loyalists from Dragonstone when it was captured. The ones remaining have no stomach for more war and more bloodshed. They will be loyal to whomever Robert appointed as their lord. The stormlands is the source of Robert's strength. His hold on the throne is still fragile and disputed. One would have thought he would wish to ensure that Storm's End is ruled by a strong lord."
"Robert is trying to do his best," Cressen replied. "It is not easy being king."
The frown deepened on Stannis' forehead. "Perhaps you would much prefer to stay in King's Landing with your beloved Robert, Maester," Stannis thundered. "There is no reason why you should be forced to follow me to Dragonstone."
The look on Stannis' face, the hurt in his voice that even fury could not completely conceal – they reminded Davos of his second son Allard, when Allard had been convinced that his brother Dale as the firstborn was Davos' favorite. Allard had been the son troubling Davos the most, the wildest and the most unruly among his boys. Had Davos stayed a smuggler, without the land and the knighthood that would provide a new life for his sons, he feared that Allard would end up at the Wall, or worse.
Cressen sighed. "My place is by your side," he said to Stannis, his voice full of sorrow.
That had been the first crack Davos had observed in the Stannis-Cressen relationship. It saddened him to see the two men at odds with each other. Stannis had given Davos his knighthood and his land, a fresh start and a new beginning for his family. Cressen had been kind and solicitous since the first day Davos set foot in Storm's End. When Stannis chopped off his fingers, Cressen had treated the wound personally, sitting up with Davos the whole night, watching for signs of fever.
Davos' thought turned to his own predicament when his sons were at odds with each other, how hard he tried not to take sides, unless one of the boys was obviously at fault. How hard it must be for Maester Cressen as well, who had raised the three Baratheon brothers since the death of their parents, to watch them squabbling and fighting, to be accused of favoring one brother over another, when all he was trying to do was to keep the peace between the brothers, as a true father would.
Now as they were nearing the top of the Stone Drum, Cressen confided in Davos further. "He scarcely listens to my counsel these days. Stannis seems to think that I am on his brother's side. It grieves me that he suspects that, but it grieves me more that he thinks there are sides to choose from, when the brothers should be working as one. Perhaps he will listen to you, Davos. He will be less likely to suspect that your loyalty is divided."
"I'm sure Lord Stannis knows how much you care for him, Maester. How much you love him."
The maester looked stricken. "It is not a maester's right to love, only to serve his lord to the best of his ability," Cressen said, his voice shaky.
But you do love him. Like the son you never had, Davos thought.
Stannis was standing at the window staring out to sea. Searching for a glimpse of Storm's End? A glimpse of home? He must have heard their steps coming up the stairs, for before Davos and Cressen could announce themselves, he said, "Leave us, Cressen. I have no need of you."
Cressen looked as if he had been slapped. But the maester quickly recovered. "I will be waiting outside, if you have need of me later," he said.
Stannis was grinding his teeth. "Better for you to rest, old man."
"I will rest when my lord is resting," Cressen said at the door. He shuffled out of the room unsteadily, closing the door softly.
"Cressen is as stubborn as a mule," Stannis grumbled.
Davos gathered his courage. "He reminds me of someone else, sire."
"Robert, you mean?" Stannis scoffed. "Robert is both stubborn and foolish."
"I do not mean your brother," Davos replied, looking Stannis in the eyes. In the few weeks that they had been separated while Davos went to visit his wife and sons at Cape Wrath, he had almost forgotten how young Stannis was. Barely one-and-twenty, with so much resting on his shoulders. He had not yet gained back the weight he had lost during the year-long siege of Storm's End. The bones danced across his face, the flesh looking as if they had melted away. Would that his father and mother were still living. They would know better how to speak words of comfort and reassurance to this young lord.
But Davos would have to do, for now. Davos owed too much to this young man not to at least try.
"I am not stubborn," Stannis said, sulking. "And I am not brooding or sulking in the Stone Drum, whatever drivel Cressen might have been telling you."
"Maester Cressen only has your best interest at heart, my lord."
"He wants me to lavish Robert with gratitude for bestowing me Dragonstone. Why should I?"
"The maester is only trying to prevent an irreversible quarrel between you and your brothers, sire. King Robert would have much need for his brothers now that he has ascended to the throne. He is surrounded by foes and enemies pretending to be his friends and his loyal subjects, you yourself told me that, my lord."
Stannis scoffed again. "Robert has no need of me. Why should he, when he has Ned Stark, his champion, his chosen brother? Did he thank me for holding Storm's End while I watched good men starve and die? No, not a word of gratitude passed his lips, but he thanked Ned Stark lavishly enough for lifting the siege. He cursed and swore loudly enough for the whole realm to hear when I came back from Dragonstone without the Targaryen babes, and then he had the temerity to say that making me Lord of Dragonstone is a great honor he is bestowing on his brother."
"It is a great honor," Davos said. "Dragonstone is the seat of the Crown Prince, of the heir to the throne itself."
"In the Targaryen days," Stannis snapped. "This is now the Baratheon reign."
"But you are your brother's heir, until a son is born to him."
"Heir-presumptive, ser. And I'm sure my brother will plant his seeds in his wife soon enough, if he has not done so already. Robert has never had any trouble planting his seeds in any woman. I suppose I have that to look forward to. Once Robert's true heir is born, Dragonstone will be given to the boy, and I will no longer have to play a part in this ghastly mummer's farce of pretending to be Lord of Dragonstone."
Davos was aghast. "I'm sure King Robert has no intention of taking away what he has given you, sire."
"You do not know my brother, Davos. He is perfectly capable of doing that. Indeed, it might please him to do so, to pile further humiliation upon me."
"Even so, my lord, you are the Lord of Dragonstone at this moment. No matter how temporary the position might be, it does not exempt you from your duty."
"Do you presume to teach me about my duty, smuggler?" Stannis had not raised his voice this time, but it was all the more terrifying for the calm manner in which the words were spoken.
Stannis had not called Davos by that name since the day he brought down the cleaver on Davos' hand. Davos grasped the pouch on his neck, silently praying to the Warrior for courage, and to the Crone for wisdom. He prayed to the Mother too, prayed to the Mother to keep safe this fatherless and motherless young lord standing in front of him.
Stannis noticed the motion. "What is that you are fingering, Davos? Some kind of potion from a woods witch? A charm from some septon?"
"Finger-bones, my lord," Davos replied truthfully.
"Bones? I never took you for a pirate, ser, only a smuggler. Was I too lenient in my punishment? Should I have taken your head as well as your fingers?"
"These are my own bones, sire. From the fingers you took."
Stannis was annoyed, and he showed a flash of anger. "Do you keep the bones on your person to flaunt them to me, Davos? Look what you have done to me, Lord Stannis."
"The thought never crossed my mind," Davos replied gravely. "I keep them to remind me of your justice, my lord. A good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad the good. Each –"
" - should have its own reward and punishment," Stannis continued. "Yes, I did say that. And I still believe in those words. You were a hero and a smuggler, Davos, and you were rewarded and punished accordingly."
Davos hesitated, before saying, "Will you indulge me with some words of my own, sire?"
"What have you been saying all this time if not words? Have you been spouting wine instead?" Stannis scorned impatiently.
"An ill beginning does not have to herald a bad end, my lord," Davos said softly.
"I do not have time for childish riddles, Davos!"
"It is not a riddle. It is something my wife used to say."
"To your sons, no doubt." The anger had left Stannis' voice. There was something mournful about his countenance, as if he was remembering his own mother and the things she had taught her sons.
"Regardless of how you got here, how you became Lord of Dragonstone in the first place, the path is now yours to chart. How it ends, it is in your hands, sire."
"That's what Cressen has been trying to tell me," Stannis said, more to himself than to Davos.
But you have not been listening, Davos thought, blinded as you were by thoughts of Cressen favoring your brother Robert.
"Tell Cressen to come in," Stannis said.
"At once, my lord," Davos replied with relief.
"It is my brother's face I see every time we tried. Robert's stinking drunk face, on our bed. Our marital bed."
There was no need for Davos to ask what Stannis had meant by 'tried.'
"It is only the first night, sire. There are many more nights after this."
Plenty of time to set things right. Plenty of opportunities to rise above the ill beginning.
"But you're the one who told me the importance of the wedding night, the importance of the first time for a married couple," Stannis said.
Davos blushed recalling that. That Stannis had asked his counsel about the matter was still unfathomable to him. Stannis had been blunt and to the point. "I would have asked Cressen, but he has never wed, never fathered a child, and I'm almost certain has never lain with a woman. You, on the other hand, have managed to father five sons with your lady wife, Davos."
"The first night is important, yes, but it is not the be all and end all. Our wedding night, mine and Marya's, was not without its … complications."
"Why, did one of your brothers soil your marriage bed with a cousin of Lady Marya?"
"No, it was nothing like that, but Marya's father was taken ill that night, after the wedding feast. It was not exactly a feast, we could not have afforded that. Only a small gathering of friends and family at a tavern." Davos paused, not certain if Stannis was interested in the story.
"Go on," Stannis nodded.
Marya's father had been in ill-health for quite some time. The old man had had too much to drink, and perhaps combined with the strain of the long day, that caused his collapse before Marya and Davos had retired to their marriage bed. Not that there was an actual bed, only a thin mattress on the hard floor. But Davos had tried it beforehand, lying on the mattress, thinking of Marya, thinking of her lying next to him. The thin, hard mattress felt as soft as a featherbed to him.
But instead, it was Marya's father spending the night on that mattress, while Marya and Davos sat on the floor beside him, sleepless, watching over the old man. There was no maester to attend to the sick man, for even if they could have afforded it, what maester would come to Flea Bottom? Only an old, wizened woman with herbs and potions, who left quickly to tend to a childbirth gone wrong in the house next door. Davos and Marya could hear the woman screaming in pain, while Marya's father groaned softly in his sleep. Marya was wiping her father's brows with a wet cloth to bring down the fever. The screams from next door continued. The mother was crying out in agony. "Take it out of me. Please, I beg you."
"Will she die? Will the babe die too?" Marya asked, her voice a soft whisper.
Davos thought of lying at first, to give his wife some measure of comfort. But he knew that there was no true comfort in a lie. "I don't know, my love. It is a breech birth, that old woman said. That does not bode well for the mother or the babe."
Marya looked stricken. "We should pray for them," she said.
"And for your father too," Davos said.
So they spent the night praying to the Mother for mercy, holding hands tightly.
Stannis was staring at Davos as if he was a stranger Stannis had just met and did not know at all.
Davos looked away, embarrassed. "I have said too much, my lord. You have no interest in any of that."
"Did they survive?" Stannis asked abruptly.
"Marya's father was better in the morning. The babe lived, but not the mother. She had lost too much blood."
Stannis winced. "That must have put off your lady wife."
Put her off what, Davos wondered? He finally understood, after seeing the look on Stannis' face. Put her off marital relations, seeing the possible consequences. Death in childbirth.
"Women are stronger than we are in these matters, my lord."
Stannis nodded. "I don't know that even the bravest knight could withstand the burden of childbirth."
There was a long, awkward pause as the two men took the measure of each other. Davos was not unfamiliar with this phenomenon; it often came to pass when two people suddenly shared too many confidences with one another. It was as if they had to erect a barrier, to push back a little, ashamed of the previous intimacy and shared confidences.
"In any case, the travails on your wedding night seemed to have brought you and your lady wife closer together," Stannis finally said.
Davos heard the unspoken words. The travails on their wedding night had not brought Stannis and his lady wife closer together. Quite the opposite, in fact.
"What kind of life would she have, with that face?"
"You have never cared for appearances before, my lord."
"The world cares. The world in its petty, frivolous, but still very cruel ways. Especially when it's a girl. A girl who will grow to be a woman. My daughter cannot escape the judgment of the world, no matter how much I will it."
"She is a highborn lady, the daughter of a lord, the niece of a king, sire."
"Yes, I know, her fate would be a hundred times better than the daughter of a fishwife, or even the bastard daughter of a lord. But those are not the people among which she will make her life. It is with people like her own uncle Renly, who spoke of gargoyles at Dragonstone when he spoke of my child. My child! And Renly dared speak of her in that manner. Or her cousin Joffrey, who dared laid his hand on Shireen's cheek to see 'if she truly does not feel a thing under that ugly puckered skin.' Were he not my brother's heir, I would wring Joffrey's neck myself. We should have never taken her to King's Landing."
"You cannot keep the lady Shireen in Dragonstone always."
"Why not? Dragonstone is her home. This is where my daughter was born. She is too young still to understand the mockery and the humiliation. But one day, she will be old enough to understand."
"She will have brothers. And sisters. Who will love her and protect her, my lord."
"Shireen will have to fend for herself. My daughter cannot count on her father to give her siblings."
Ser Davos,
This arrives in reply to your last letter. Yes, of course, you may stay a while longer in Cape Wrath. I am not such a cruel taskmaster ser, that I would force a father to part with his ailing newborn son, especially when there is no matter of urgency requiring your return to Dragonstone at the moment.
Your lady wife is recovering from her childbirth ordeal, you wrote. Or not wrote, as it were. It is high time for you to learn to read and write, Davos. You cannot hope to depend on one of your sons to write your letters forever. "We raise children to watch them grow and leave us, and that is how it should be," those were your own words, I believe.
The babe is not thriving, you say, and the maester you seek advice from could not tell you what the trouble is. I have written to Renly to allow the maester of Storm's End to pay a visit on your son. Maester Cressen of course is insisting on coming to Cape Wrath himself, but as I told him, it would have taken him so long to make the journey, if you were to wait for his arrival, your son could have already been in the ground by the time Cressen arrives. The maester of Storm's End is of course much closer to Cape Wrath, and he is a hale and hearty man too at that, unlike Cressen with his aches and his pains that he foolishly tries to hide from his lord.
You did not mention a name for the babe in your letter. Are you waiting to see if he would live or die before giving him a name? If the babe is truly fated to die, it would help with your lady wife's grief (and perhaps your own, ser), if he already has a name that she could call him by. My own lady mother lost a stillborn daughter a few years before Renly was born, and she had said that one of her great regrets was that she had not named this child of hers, before the babe was put in the ground. She would have named the babe Shireen, if she had it to do over again, she said.
If for whatever mysterious reason you still wish to name this sixth son of yours Stannis Seaworth, you may do so. My objections and misgivings as I related them to you before you left for Cape Wrath still stand, ser, but the babe has been through so much already in his young life that even such an ill-omen name as my own, and having such an unfortunate namesake as myself, would not be something he could not rise above, should he survive his current ordeal. I still say Robert is a far luckier name, as evidenced by my brother's charmed life.
Maester Cressen is praying for the babe, and for you and your lady wife.