DAVOS

"And Aegon said to him, "I will not judge you by your lateness, Lord Stark, for I always meant to come to you last. Men will remember you as 'the King Who Knelt', but your house will be spared the fate of the Durrandons and the Gardeners and the Hoares." To that, King Torrhen nodded and said, "there are worse ways to be remembered."" Shireen laid the book down on her lap. Davos tried to make out the title: The Tale of Three Dragons.

"He was right," Rickon said. "There was King Brandon the Burner, who set all of the Stark ships afire after his father was lost at sea, and King Daryn the Wicked, who tore down Greycastle and raped the womenfolk of the Sisters, and King Gerren, who…"

"I'm sure there have been good lords of Winterfell as well," said Shireen.

Rickon rolled over. He was still muddy from the yard, and his cheeks were flushed red from the earlier exertion. Shaggydog sprawled by his side. The young lord was still dressed in his training clothes and he stank of the yard, but Shireen was either too polite to mention it or did not particularly care. "My father was a good lord," said the boy.

Shireen raised a hand to her greyscaled cheek. "There have been lots of good Baratheons as well… and lots of bad ones, I suppose. Our house isn't as old as yours, though. We only became lords of the Stormlands after Aegon's Conquest."

Rickon sat cross-legged on the bed. "What happened before that?" he asked.

"I just read that," Shireen said, plainly annoyed. "Ser Davos, tell Rickon how it happened."

Davos sighed. "I fear that all this history is going right over my head, princess."

His lie did not fool her. "If you don't listen, you'll never learn."

"Apologies, my lady. I never was very good at listening. It doesn't come naturally to me."

"You can't serve as King's Hand if you don't listen to Father."

Your father is not here, child. The last he'd heard of Stannis, the Baratheon soldiers had taken a score of castles on the Westerlands border and were besieging Wayfarer's Rest, the last remaining stronghold, but that had been nearly a week ago. He could have gone another hundred miles by now. Perhaps he was already through the Tooth and marching on Lannisport. Lady Melisandre had seen Stannis at the city's gates, but she hadn't been sure whether her visions showed the present or the future.

Shireen was still glaring at him, displeased. "Well?"

She must have asked him another question while his mind was wandering. So much for listening, Davos thought. He was about to make his excuses when the door opened and made an excuse for him. It came in the form of Tywin Frey, the squire that Stannis had forced upon him. "My lord," the lad said. "They're here, at the gate. Lady Marya and your sons."

Davos rose quickly. "Princess," he said, "please excuse me."

"Where are you going?" Rickon asked. "Can we come with you?"

Shireen nodded. "Please, Ser Davos."

The onion knight hesitated. He had always intended for this to be a private affair, for the four of them to reunite quietly and without any fuss. The Seaworth way. But Shireen was a daughter to him in everything but name, and he found Rickon strangely endearing too. "Very well," he said, "just don't do anything stupid."

"It's only Rickon who does stupid things," said Shireen.

"I do not!" Rickon replied as he passed through the door. "Your father said that I was mature." He stuck his tongue out at her.

Today the air was chilly, touched by the suggestion of frost. The wind made a high whistling noise as it sneaked through the gaps in the newly mortared stone. Davos pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders. Marya is here, and with her everything will seem a little less cold.

It had been two years since Davos Seaworth had last seen his wife and their two youngest sons, and it was only due to King Stannis's early thinking that they had made it out of Cape Wrath before the Targaryens had descended upon them. But Stannis could not save Dale or Allard or Matthos or Maric on the Blackwater, and neither could the Seven, nor the red woman's Lord of Light.

They were waiting for him in the lower bailey, beside the ox-cart which had brought them from Maidenpool. Steffon and Stannis had never seen a castle even a tenth of Riverrun's size before. They seemed so entranced by it that they scarce noticed their father until he was right beside them.

Steffon was eleven, of an age with Rickon and old enough to be a squire, while Stannis was thirteen, and almost as tall as his father. Both boys had their father's dark brown hair and their mother's blue eyes. "You've grown," Davos told them both, holding back laughter.

"We have," Steffon announced proudly. "So have you."

"How so?"

"More grey hair."

Davos could not help but laugh. "I suppose you are right." Then he moved to his wife's side and sketched a little bow. "My lady."

"Don't you 'my lady' me, Davos Seaworth," Marya said as they hugged. "I should slap you; I thought that ship was going to kill us half our journey. You know how I hate ships."

"You've married the wrong man, then." He remembered his two followers. "May I present Princess Shireen, of House Baratheon, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne," he said. Marya sketched the world's clumsiest curtsey and his boys made uncertain bows, "and Lord Rickon Stark, of Winterfell."

"I'm not really a lord, though," Rickon said, "not while Bran is alive. But—" Whatever else he might have said disappeared when he started to stare at something behind them. Or rather, someone.

Steffon also got there before Davos could say a word. "You're the red woman." He pointed an accusing finger.

For a moment the awkward silence bloomed. "Yes," Melisandre said, a little terse, "men have been known to call me that."

"Lady Melisandre of Asshai," Davos introduced.

Melisandre shrugged. "The red woman will suffice." She raised a hand to Steffon's cheek, her eyes glowing brightly as candle flames. "You are your father's sons," she said, and ruffled Stannis's hair. "You should be thankful for Ser Davos. He is a good man, flawed as he may be." Her eyes moved to Davos's side. "And you must be Lady Seaworth."

"Marya is fine," said his wife, wary.

The red woman smiled. "Might I have a moment alone with your lord husband? My knights will be all too happy to show you to your chambers." Ser Benethon Scales and Ser Patrek of King's Mountain stood behind her. When Marya and the boys moved to follow the knights, Shireen and Rickon went off in the other direction, and he and Melisandre were alone. "It will start snowing soon," she said.

"What do you want?"

"I want a great many things, Ser Davos. Most of all, though, I want to keep the realms of men safe from the Dark One and his servants. Winter is coming, the cold winds are rising, and my watch has begun."

"Forgive me, my lady, but I do not share your love of riddles."

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't share my love of anything, Ser Davos. But we serve the same cause, and so we must work together rather than stand as enemies."

"What do you want from me?"

"In Stannis's last letter to you, he mentioned that he had taken the western Riverlands and means to march upon Wayfarer's Rest, no?"

"Did the flames tell you that?"

"No, ser. Stannis sent me a letter as well." She smiled at him. "His Grace will break Wayfarer's Rest. I saw that in the flames. He will prevail at the Golden Tooth and Oxcross, as Robb Stark did before him. Beyond that, though… it is your actions that will change the course of this war, Ser Davos, not your king's."

"What do you mean?"

"Come now, ser, there is nothing cryptic in that. For R'hllor to give Stannis a great victory in the West, certain costs are demanded of him. A price, if you will."

"A blood price?" With the Lord of Light, everything came down to blood. The leeches, Edric Storm, that shadow…

She shrugged. "The ignorant would call it that."

"And what would you call it, my lady?"

"Why, an act of necessity, Ser Davos."

"I will not condone sacrifices," he told her. "And neither will King Stannis…" I hope.

Melisandre only smiled at him. She went without another word. Davos watched her go, then turned and stomped back up the steps to his own chambers, crunching snow beneath his boots.

That evening, Davos found himself sitting at Lord Edmure Tully's high table in the Great Hall of Riverrun, between Brynden Blackfish and Marya. Further down the table his boys sat with Rickon and Shireen. "If you come to the yard tomorrow, I'll show you Shaggydog," Rickon told them, spraying breadcrumbs from his mouth.

"I've never seen a direwolf before," Steffon said. "Are they just big wolves?"

"They've got bigger ears," Shireen told them, "but yes, Shaggydog is almost as big as a horse. They have bigger heads, too."

"And he's mine," Rickon added.

At Davos's end of the table, Lady Roslin Frey was looking tremulous, her fingers digging into her husband's wrist. Her face was pale. "Are you expecting, my lady?" Marya asked.

"Yes," Roslin said quietly, "I am, lady… ah…"

Marya shook her head. "I'm no lady… but I was a midwife once, and I have birthed seven sons of my own. I expect that you'll be just fine."

Roslin gave her a weak smile. "I'm nervous," she admitted. "Especially after Jeyne nearly—"

The Blackfish let out a loud hacking cough, but he was too late. Jeyne, Davos thought, Jeyne Westerling, the Young Wolf's widow. Wait…

Lady Roslin quickly looked down at her plate, but that only made her guilt more obvious. "Jeyne Westerling?" Davos asked. "Robb Stark's wife?" Stannis will not like this, not at all.

Davos did not miss the sideways glance between Lord Edmure and the Blackfish. At the word Robb, Rickon's eyes rose from his plate and he said, "Has she had her baby yet?"

"I told you—," the Blackfish started.

"Would somebody please explain this?" Davos asked. "Pardon me, my lords, but there is far too much mistrust at this table for my liking."

Lord Edmure chewed his lip. "Ah, the truth of the matter is—"

"The truth of the matter is that we have not told you the truth of the matter, Ser Davos," Brynden Tully said. "My nephew Robb's widow, the Lady Jeyne Westerling, has… and there is no easy way to put this… she has given birth. A boy, healthy and hale. He is named Robb, after his father. He has the Tully colouring."

"I'm sorry," Roslin said quietly.

"You have nothing to apologise for," the Blackfish said. "I expect you'll want to know more, ser?"

"I will," said Davos, "such as why you chose to kept this a secret from the king."

No one spoke. On the tables the candles flickered, and the basket of bread sat untouched. "Lady Melisandre," Shireen said at last, "she wanted to burn Edric, for his king's blood, so why not young Robb?"

Davos stared at her. "You knew, my princess?"

"I thought Father knew as well," Shireen said with a shrug, "and you."

Edmure Tully was quick to agree. "Yes, we thought that you knew."

A shame, my lord, when a fifteen-year old girl makes for a better liar than you. "I see," Davos replied. "And where is Lady Jeyne now? I have not seen her at Riverrun."

The two Tullys glanced at one another. "At Raventree Hall, with Lady Blackwood," the Blackfish said.

Edmure added, "We thought to keep her and the babe separate from the rest of us, in case the Lannisters should come marching."

"They'll have to cross the mountains first," Marya said, "won't they?"

"Fear not, my lady," said Ser Brynden. "They would be hard-pressed to pass this way."

Marya nodded. "Thank you for the comfort, ser. Still, I am no lady."

"I'm afraid I cannot stop the habit," the old grizzled knight said, with a sad chuckle. "All these lords and ladies…" He got up and moved away, down the table to where the children said talking, and began to tell a story about the War of the Ninepenny Kings.

"Well," Marya said to Roslin, "I'm sure that you'll get through it all just fine, my lady. You have the hips for it, and the strength too, I think. And I assure you, the rewards of childbirth far outweigh its costs."

Lord Edmure started to talk about outlaws ranging to the south of Stoney Sept. "Brave Companions, perhaps," he said, "and maybe a few of the Mountain's Men along with them. You never know with these sorts."

Later, when the boys had been put to bed and the castle had quietened from its evening clamour, Davos and Marya sat on the edge of their bed together, neither speaking a word, for both knew exactly what the other was thinking. "Twenty-six years," Marya said at last, "it's been twenty-six years."

"And yet I remember it as though it were yesterday."

"As do I. You aren't very good at proposals, Davos."

Davos smiled. "Ever the romantic," he said, "as you liked to tell me."

"I still like to tell you that." She shrugged a little closer to him, and he put an arm round her. "Salla drank two whole flagons of rum, I remember. And a third when he wished us a happy marriage, and an abundance of sons and daughters…" Her smile softened. "Davos… when the news came from the Blackwater, of Dale dead, and Allard, and Matthos and Maric… and we thought that you were lost as well, Davos. For a time. I… I felt lost too."

"You did not give up, though." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You didn't give up, Marya."

"No," she said sadly, "but haven't we lost enough to Stannis Baratheon already?"

He could feel the ghosts of his missing fingerbones. "Our seven sons only had the life they had because of Stannis," Davos reminded her, "we have a duty to be Stannis's men. Now and always. The words I chose for our house when Stannis knighted me – service and sacrifice – yes, they are our suffering… but they are also our strength."

They had not slept together since Davos left Cape Wrath two-and-a-half years ago. And that night, feeling his wife's head on his shoulder, listening to the sound of her soft breathing against his neck… well, if the night was dark and full of terrors, he supposed that they must have all gone away for now.

Come morning, he woke before her, and dressed in darkness. Downstairs on his desk, a new letter from King Stannis sat untouched, the wax seal unbroken. Davos cracked it open, poured himself a cup of weak red wine, and read:

Ser Davos,

Wayfarer's Rest has fallen. The road is clear to the Golden Tooth. We had to stage a siege of the Rest for Karyl Vance's sake so that the Lannisters would not kill his sons for his cowardice. I only agreed in the hope that it will better secure his loyalty.

I have sent Tytos Blackwood south to circumvent Deep Den, though Jonos Bracken was rather aggrieved to be passed over for command, as I suspected. Blackwood has seven thousand, I have fourteen.

Once we get through the mountains we will have – I hope – good conditions to face this Lannister host. The Northmen are better suited to fighting in snow than these Westermen. If we break them once in the field, the lords of the West will come to my banners.

I have had word – doubtless coming your way as well – that Yohn Royce is at Pinkmaiden, laying siege to Lord Piper. It is time. You should tell Ser Brynden and Lord Mallister that the time is ripe for the march on Harrenhal.

Send my regards to Selyse, Shireen and the Lady Melisandre. Tell her that the rituals will be observed, Ser Davos. A false king's blood is better than none.

Below, it was signed:

Done in the Light of the Lord,

Stannis Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Dragonstone and Storm's End

The letter was no more and no less than he had expected, brusque and to the point like the man who'd written it. Davos sighed and leant back in his chair. Outside in the yard, he could hear the faint sounds of sticks and swords clacking together, the sounds of morning sparring. He went to the window and looked out. Sure enough, Ser Malegorn of Redpool and Ser Brus Buckler were at their combat, and fast Ser Malegorn looked to be winning… but it was the other fight in the corner of the yard that caught Davos's eye. He could make out the figures of two small boys fighting with sticks. One was Rickon, who fought with a ferocity that bordered on savagery, and the other… Steffon? Beside them, a weatherbeaten-looking Ser Brynden Tully stood watching.

As he descended the steps, Davos wondered whether the Blackfish would be taking his great-nephew with him when the Tully host left Riverrun for Harrenhal. It might be for the best, a much-needed opportunity to let Rickon simmer off some of his anger. The boy was accustomed to beating his opponents in the yard even after they had yielded, until the other boys came away with bloody bruises on their arms and legs, broken noses and worse. On second thoughts, Steffon shouldn't be-

"Ser Davos?" The voice came from one of the cloisters. Turning, he found Princess Shireen sitting on a stone bench with a heavy book in her hands. Shaggydog was sprawled across her feet, his coal-black fur spotted with frost. When he saw Davos he glared at him with bright amber eyes.

"My lady." Davos inclined his head. "Perchance you came down with Lord Rickon and my sons?"

"That we did." Shireen was not alone. In the shadows stood the wildling woman Osha, hunched beneath her cloak of thick grey-brown wool, and Patchface, the fool with bells in his hat. Patchface had been seen with Shireen infrequently since Stannis had left Winterfell, but the fool was still present among Selyse's court. No one seemed to enjoy his japes or his songs anymore, but he was still there.

"Lady Osha," said Davos.

She scowled. "Spare me, kneeler. I want none of your courtesies. You and your kings." Her voice was full of spite.

"My king. Stannis is but one man."

"Aye. And yet half your folk look on him as some sort of god. That red woman most of all. There are no gods this far south, kneeler." She retreated, a dark look in her eyes. Shaggydog turned and followed.

Patchface leapt across the cloister, the bells ringing loudly in his hat. The fool's eyes went wide as eggs as he suddenly launched into song.

"It's always summer under the sea," he sang. "I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.

The Grey King sits upon his seaweed throne, I know, I know,

And faceless limpets cling to hearts of stone,

I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.

Under the sea, the wind has wings, I know, I know,

and blows green fire, to take the black away, I know, I know,

The crows are ravens and the gales are crows, I know, I know, oh, oh, oh,

Under the sea, all this to see, I know, I know, oh, oh, oh."

Davos stared at him. That is an evil creature, he remembered Melisandre saying. For the first time, he could not help but wonder whether the red woman had been as deluded in thinking that. Those were dark words, even if they were nonsense. "Patches," Shireen said quietly, "go… go somewhere else. To the sept. To the kitchen. You like the bread, don't you?"

"The bread will burn, the bread will burn," Patchface sang merrily as he stumbled away, "three sheaves of barley, wheat and corn, burned, burned, burned bread, all, I know, I know…"

Shireen pressed a cautious hand to the greyscaled patch on her cheek. A flicker of worry crossed her face. "Ser Davos," she said, "I think… I think you have a question for me."

He nodded. "Last night, when we were at dinner—"

"I lied when I said I knew about Lady Jeyne's baby." Shireen closed her book. "I shouldn't have, I know, but I didn't want everyone to start shouting at each other."

"None of us do, child." But I do not think you are such a fool to believe one lie would solve all our conflicts. There remained the question of why the Tullys had chosen to keep their knowledge of Robb Stark's child a secret from Stannis. What harm could a babe at his mother's breast do to the king's claims? The Northmen will not follow a suckling babe over Stannis Baratheon… will they?

New footsteps echoed in the cloister. Davos turned to see Ser Axell Florent approaching. The self-proclaimed 'Queen's Hand' wore a cape of furs stitched with cloth-of-silver, and a pin shaped like a pair of antlers at his throat. "My princess, Ser Davos," he said, "I hope this morn finds you well."

"Have you come from the queen?" Davos asked.

"Aye, ser. She would have words with you."

He had been expecting Selyse's summons, oddly. The red woman will be there too, he knew. Go on, do your duty. Davos bowed again to the princess, and followed after the knight. Over the eastern ramparts, the sun was poking long slender fingers above the horizon. The frosty fields turned to milkglass in their glare, and the river shone like a ribbon of silver.

Queen Selyse's solar was lit by an abundance of faintly flickering candles, but the drapes and curtains were drawn so that everything behind the queen herself was shrouded in shadow. Melisandre hovered at Selyse's side like a fly clad in crimson, smirking at him. She knows something, the onion knight thought, unsettled. Something that I do not. A thick red shawl was thrown about her slender shoulders. Is she cold?

"Your Grace." He went to one knee before the queen.

"Rise," Selyse said. "This morning, I received a letter from my royal husband, Ser Davos. Lady Melisandre seems assured that His Grace will succeed in making it to the walls of Lannisport." Her mouth set in a hard line.

"Pardon me, Your Grace, but I fail to see how this concerns me."

"The walls of Lannisport are not Casterly Rock. Lady Melisandre warns me that your support will be required for my husband to prevail in the wars to come. And your obedience. The whole situation carries a certain irony, given that it was you who freed Robert's bastard in the first place."

"I fear I do not follow, Your Grace."

Selyse narrowed her lips. "For the Lord to answer our prayer, we must needs offer up a king's blood."

"Stannis is on the march, my lady – you could send him a raven, I am sure His Grace would be—"

"Lady Melisandre says that the, hmm, offering, must be performed here in Riverrun. She has seen it in the flames, a great pyre, a sign of the Lord's duty being carried out. Since you have hidden Robert's bastard from us—"

Is she still talking about Robert's bastard? "Your Grace, I—"

"Your complaints regarding the boy's welfare do not concern me, onion knight," Selyse spat, "But as it would happen, we have someone better than the bastard. And my royal husband's blood runs through her veins."

It was a moment before Davos realised what she meant. He heard himself take a sharp, involuntary intake of breath. She cannot mean it. But he knew that Selyse was sincere. Her face was not made to jest.

"Come now, Ser Davos," Melisandre said, still smirking. "It will only be leeches."

"For now," the queen muttered under her breath, "The child is stubborn, Ser Davos, and she will not listen to my commands, as her own mother."

And rightly so! You mean to use her blood in your magic. Davos took a breath. "Forgive me, but I… I do not think that His Grace would consent to this choice, Your Grace."

"He will. Stannis loves the Lord of Light just as fervently as I do, and he would tell us to do what needs to be done." She said the words which such self-assuredness that Davos almost believed her.

"My lady, Princess Shireen is a child."

"She is much more than that," Melisandre said in her silky smooth voice. "The king's blood runs through her veins, as the Lord's fire runs through the king's. I saw what I saw, Ser Davos, and…"

"If there are 'only leechings', then why have you seen 'a great pyre?'"

"A great tribute will require great spectacle," the red woman lied through her teeth, "And with an audience to bear witness to the offering, the queen's brave knights will be able to bathe in the Lord's light." She turned to Selyse. "I did warn you that this was useless. The Onion Knight will have no part in our plan. Not yet, at least."

I will never have a part in your plan. Already he was thinking about whether it would be safer to send Shireen away or to keep her close by. The first option seemed tempting, but then he remembered the suspicious looks between the Tullys at the dinner table the night before. If they are plotting against Stannis, best to keep his heir at my side. For now. "Perhaps there is hope for you yet, Onion Knight," Selyse said, frowning as she was wont to do. "If you will follow the Lady Melisandre's command and do the Lord of Light's work—"

"Begging your pardons, Your Grace," Davos interrupted, "but the Lord will do his work, and I'll do mine, and we'll keep our distance from each other. As King's Hand, I'll act upon my conscience and my instincts. I can do nothing more than that." He bowed his head and backed away.

"You would defy the Lord?" asked Melisandre.

"With respect, my lady, I've been defying him for years." And I'm not dead yet.

Author's Note:

There were a fair few developments here: the arrival of Davos's family, Melisandre's new plans, news of Stannis and Jeyne Westerling, but a lot of it (for me as the writer) was about tying up loose ends and putting minor characters back into play. Jeyne Westerling can hopefully play a part in the story in the Riverlands just as her brother and sister have their own parts to play in the Westerlands. And we saw Osha again, and Patchface - for only the second time in this series, I think. Honestly, I sort of forgot about him.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the lore behind Patchface, the basics are that he's the sole survivor of a shipwreck, seemingly insane, possibly a vampire and some of what he says is prophetic. That being said, I'd be interested to see if any reviewers have any thoughts as to what Patchface is predicting in this chapter.

On Melisandre - everyone has that character whom they love even though they are generally unpopular with the fandom. Honestly, I like Mel just as much as Davos; she is genuinely one of the most fascinating characters in the story. And, yes, if there are any Melisandre fans out there... well, let's just say that you may be getting a nice surprise later in the story.