The next morning, Lo Jun awoke alone.
Of course, she was always alone within the confines of her small, drab room, but when she peeked out of the door Ser Berin, her usual portly shadow, was nowhere to be found. A quick glance down both directions of the hallway confirmed the absence of any guards. She quickly squashed the feeling of elated freedom as she made her way down to the kitchens for her morning meal. It would be premature to get her hopes up just yet. Until she heard otherwise, she figured she had best assume this was a mistake on Berin's part, or on the part of his replacement. It would not be the first time in the world that guards fell ill or shirked their duties.
It was early enough that the kitchens were still largely quiet save for the head cook and one of her assistants, who manhandled sacks of flour out of the storage room with alarming strength. The head cook noticed Lo Jun's arrival out of the corner of her eye and grunted a greeting, by now used to the foreign woman's coming and going while the rest of the keep still slept. She and Lo Jun had never spoken more than a handful of words to each other and did not know each other's names, but the cook cared less about who was in her kitchen than she did about the mess they made, and Lo Jun was more fastidious than the many other visitors.
The cook pointed to a table in the far corner where linens covered a few baskets filled with day-old rolls and dried meats. Lo Jun nodded in thanks. While the rest of Stannis Baratheon's household seemed to eat heartily, the food on Dragonstone sat heavily like river stones in Lo Jun's stomach. It was too rich in butter and milk, which made her feel queasy—YiTish food was lighter, and her body still resisted the adjustment to the new cuisine. If the food in the rest of the Seven Kingdoms was as dense as what she ate here, Lo Jun was half convinced she would be better off boarding the next ship back to Essos.
As she sat and selected her choice of bread, the door to the kitchens opened again and a sleepy-eyed Emma crept in. Lo Jun smiled welcomingly when the girl spotted her.
"Good morning, Emma," she said, offering the girl the basket of bread. Emma grabbed a piece without looking, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. Her cheek still sported a purple bruise from where Selyse struck her, though it was beginning to heal and fade around the edges into a mottled green and yellow.
"Good morning," the young maid answered with a sigh.
"You are awake early today," Lo Jun observed. Emma nodded morosely, stifling a yawn.
"Mistress Delia wants some more girls to clean out Ser Davos Seaworth's rooms." Her eyes lit up despite her sleepiness. "Have you heard? Do you think this means His Grace will pardon Ser Davos?"
Lo Jun did not miss the fact that Emma now referred to Stannis as 'His Grace.' During their earlier encounter, the girl had only addressed Stannis as 'Lord,' which Lo Jun had learned certainly did not match what one would call a king in these lands. Lo Jun glanced up at the head cook, who was just then passing by bearing an enormous wheel of yellow cheese on one shoulder. She laughed to herself—so, Emma was not quite as careless as Lo Jun would have thought. Pity. The less cautious a spy, the easier to follow. But of course, if Emma truly worked for the spymaster in King's Landing, she would naturally have had some instruction.
"I do not know," the historian told the girl, lying with ease. "Wasn't Ser Davos one of King Stannis' closest advisors? Perhaps the king misses Davos' counsel."
"I don't think he's ever really listened to Ser Davos," muttered Emma darkly, wrinkling her nose. She lowered her voice to a murmur. "Just the Red Woman. We'd prob'ly all be calling her 'Queen' if it weren't for Lady Selyse."
Gods forbid, thought Lo Jun, and suppressed a grimace. Selyse was bad enough.
"Have you ever met Lady Melisandre?" Emma shook her head, her mouth full of bread.
"Only the head housekeeper gets to clean the Red Priestess' quarters," she said after swallowing. "And I hear no one is allowed into her inner rooms. I bet that's where she keeps her sorceries, like demons and lizard tails and human hearts."
Lo Jun didn't think it was very fair to lump lizards in with demons and human body parts, but she shuddered anyway. Who knew what monsters the priestess kept locked up? It made her light-headed just to imagine.
"Have you ever encountered someone like the Red Priestess before?" Emma shook her head again. "Not even in your former employer's household? I am sure such a powerful man would have sorcerers at hand, no?"
"Oh no," Emma replied confidently, smiling like a cat with a secret. "My Lord Varys would not approve, not at all."
Interesting. Lo Jun wondered if the Red Woman's presence in Stannis' household had anything to do with the Spider sending spies. Keeping tabs on the enemy was certainly to be expected, but if this Varys indeed had such an aversion to the use of magic, perhaps there was more to his secret watch over the island. At least she felt comforted knowing that perhaps the Red Woman was the only shadowbinder in the Seven Kingdoms.
"Are there many smallfolk from King's Landing here on Dragonstone?" Lo Jun asked.
"No," Emma said, a bit sadly. "Most folk are from the island. They keep to themselves."
"I hope you have made friends here, though, yes?" Lo Jun spoke kindly. While she was more interested in the people Emma interacted with, she also could not help but feel sorry for the girl. From experience, Lo Jun knew it was hard to be so distant from everything familiar. Memories of Yi Ti bubbled up unbidden in her mind and for a moment, she could almost smell the incense that always wafted through the God-Emperor's palace. Irritated with herself, she bit the inside of her cheek to stop the ridiculous tears that prickled behind her eyes.
Emma giggled. "Yes, of course," she said, rolling her eyes a bit. "You don't have to mother me." Lo Jun smiled back at the maid. "Byron the kennel master is very kind, and Gwyn and Roslin. And obviously Wynna is the best cook's assistant in the kitchens!" Her voice rose at the end, loud enough for the cook's only present assistant to hear from the storeroom. The assistant poked her head out from around the storeroom door, her nose dusted with flour.
"Oh, Emma! I didn't know you were here!" This was Wynna, Lo Jun assumed. The dark-haired girl was perhaps a year older than Emma, no more. Dusting her hands off on her apron, she emerged from the storeroom and came to the table where the maid and the historian already sat, peering curiously at Lo Jun.
"Wynna, this is Jun. She's His Grace's official historian. Jun, this is Wynna." Lo Jun was somewhat aghast to be introduced in such an informal manner—without her family name, of all things! Did the rest of the household staff know her simply as Jun as well?—but nodded in friendly greeting to the cook's assistant. It was probably better that the servants thought of her less as a lady and more as one of them—a commoner who did not threaten their established hierarchy or otherwise hold some power of nobility over them. The conversation quickly turned to the latest household gossip—who was courting whom, whose advances had been spurned, and what practical jokes had backfired. Lo Jun listened with half an ear, happy to let the two girls talk.
Ser Berin found them just as Lo Jun was finishing a piece of dried meat tucked between half a stale roll. Her heart sank, but she stood and greeted him with a polite bow. She watched, somewhat amused, as Emma and Wynna scrambled to their feet and curtseyed, stammering a surprised, "good morning, ser." In her haste, Emma dropped her food onto the floor. Berin nodded in acknowledgement, overlooking the half-eaten bread that bounced and came to rest against his boots.
"His Grace sent for you," Berin told Lo Jun gruffly. She blinked in surprise. Making her excuses to Emma and Wynna, she followed Berin out of the kitchens, concerned that something was amiss. The guard said nothing as he clanked along.
"Is everything well, Ser Berin?" she finally inquired. "I did not see you this morning."
Berin grunted. "Aye. And you won't tomorrow. His Grace has decided you no longer need an active guard to keep you out of trouble."
Lo Jun thought she might burst from delight, but she ducked her head out of sight until she mastered the grin that threatened to split her cheeks in two.
"I shall miss your company," she told him gravely. The knight chortled.
"I shan't. No offense milady, but following you around wasn't exactly interesting, or helping my waistline." He patted his bulging stomach in emphasis. Lo Jun raised her eyebrows at him and snorted when he winked roguishly in response.
Berin left her atop the Stone Drum. Ignoring the way her heart began to race uncontrollably in her chest, she pushed open the door to see Stannis standing at the head of the Painted Table, facing a tired-looking Davos. The old smuggler seemed decidedly worse for the wear, his hair and beard long and unkempt. He looked startled to see her, and she gave him a small, warm smile in greeting as if to say, yes, I have indeed survived.
"You're late." The king did not look at her as he spoke.
"So sorry, Your Grace." Even though she knew he didn't care for her bowing to him, she deliberately did not do so now in a private show of defiance. His curt tone offended her. If he wanted her here earlier he should have sent someone to fetch her earlier—someone a little less portly than Ser Berin.
"You wanted a decision. You shall get one." Stannis motioned for her to take a seat. "Sit. At the table." Reluctantly, she pulled out one of the high-backed chairs and sat, shifting uneasily as the too-large dress she wore bunched under her legs. Although Stannis still stood, she felt excruciatingly uncomfortable perched on a level equal to the other chairs. In Yi Ti, no one could sit at or above where the emperor and the other nobles sat.
"Ser Davos." Stannis now directly addressed his knight. "The historian believes you will counsel me wisely. I have need of honest advice from someone whose word I trust as being in my best interests alone. But first, you must swear never to raise a hand against the Lady Melisandre again."
The old smuggler was quiet for a long moment.
"If that is Your Grace's will, then I will abide by it. I give you my word." He paused. "I can't swear I'll never speak against her."
Stannis glanced briefly at Lo Jun, his expression unreadable. His jaw bunched—whether in anger or annoyance, she could not tell. She hoped he remembered—and maybe even took to heart—her words from the night before. She had spoken boldly, if not also recklessly, and it surprised her that Stannis was so indulging. Perhaps he was even more desperate for honest words from impartial sources than she originally thought.
"Axell Florent has proposed I attack Claw Isle as retribution for Ardrian Celtigar bending the knee to Joffrey Lannister," the king finally ground out. "What say you?"
Davos looked confused. "There are no men left on Claw Isle."
"No," Stannis responded matter-of-factly. "They either died on the ships at Blackwater Bay, or remained hostage with Ardrian Celtigar in King's Landing."
"Then why attack the island? It holds no strategic importance, no advantage."
Stannis frowned. "To send a message. To let Celtigar and the others who might consider bending the knee to that incest-born Lannister know what will happen once I am crossed."
"No, Your Grace." Davos looked horrified. "There are only women and children left on Claw Isle—and the old and sick. This plan, this idea, is evil. The smallfolk have no say in what their lord does or to whom he submits. They are not traitors. To harm them thus would be a crime." When Stannis did not respond, Davos shook his head. "I believe you already know what I say is true. You are not a man who believes in slaughtering the innocent. If you want to take the Iron Throne, this is not the way to do it."
Stannis looked down at the map of the Seven Kingdoms that stretched before him on the table. Someone had placed a lone Baratheon figurine on Claw Isle. Now, the king reached out and toppled the little carving, sending it clattering a few inches across the wood.
"It is my duty to take the Iron Throne," he said harshly, leaning down to brace his palms on the table. "It matters not what I want. My duty demands it, and I must obey." Stannis glanced back up at Davos, who stared stony-faced back at his king. "I agree with you, Ser Davos. Claw Isle is a distraction, and fear of reprisals will sway no more men to my cause." He barked a short, wry laugh. "Not that I have enough men to persuade anyone by force, anyway."
Davos seemed relieved, his shoulders relaxing as he let out a deep breath. But Stannis wasn't done.
"I hereby restore you as Hand of the King." Now Davos looked a bit stunned, his eyes glassy. "You have the courage to tell your king the truth, even when it is not well-received. I ought to reward you for that."
Stannis pointed to Lo Jun and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She thought he had forgotten she was there. His serious gray eyes reminded her of a raging, stormy sea, and for some inexplicable reason, her mouth went dry.
What, you think the dour king is handsome now that he's actually done something? Get a hold of yourself, woman.
"Record this, historian. This is how I treat good counsel."
"Yes, Your Grace," she said, laboring to raise her voice above a cracked whisper.
"You may go, both of you." Davos struggled to his feet and led the way out of the room as Lo Jun meticulously avoided looking directly at Stannis. It was easy to do—the king was already busy unrolling a pile of scrolls stacked messily before him.
Once outside, she found she could breathe again. She gave her head a slight shake like a wet dog, trying to clear the strange fog that clouded her mind. Davos, on the other hand, seemed very lost, and she cleared her throat quietly.
"Would you care to accompany me, Ser Davos?" she asked. "Princess Shireen takes lessons in the mornings, and I am headed there now. I am sure she would be most delighted if you came to see her as well." The newly reappointed Hand of the King hesitated, unsure, and she ducked her head with an understanding smile. "Or perhaps you may join us in a few hours, after most of Shireen's lessons are done and you have had a chance to wash up."
Davos nodded gratefully. "Aye, that would be best." She bowed low to him in response, as one would to a noble. He made a pained noise.
"No need for that." The man seemed embarrassed. "Hard to accept a bow once you've done your business in an open cell." She gave him a wry look. They'd never actually addressed the awkwardness of having to perform their normal bodily functions within plain view of one another during the days they'd spent locked up in their cells, but he did have a point—it was certainly an equalizing experience, of sorts.
Lo Jun paused at the top of the stairs leading down and cast a fond glance back at the old smuggler.
"It is good to see you again, Ser Davos."
A/N: KioshiUshima: that's the plan! Unfortunately Stannis' story puts him in an awkward position where for once the only solution to his problem is mo' money. So he's gotta go on his field trip first. And maybe a feels trip. Thanks for reading!