Davos
One wrong word and this lot would gladly tear me limb-from-limb before my guards had a chance to abandon their post. I'd wager half of them are already looking for any excuse they can find to stick a knife in my belly, the Onion Lord decided as he studied the sea of angry, desperate faces that had surrounded his party the moment it left the Red Keep. The smallfolk may not have known that King Stannis was dead, but in truth, it was hard to imagine that very many of them would've shed a tear for their late King even if it weren't still a secret. Between the corruption of the Small Council, the Red Woman's ever-growing influence, and the rumors – completely accurate ones, at that – that His Grace was planning to burn down the Sept of Baelor, the city's smallfolk had already grown to hate their rightful King near as much as they did the pretender he defeated at the Blackwater...and that was before the ReachLords began attempting to prevent any additional foodstuffs from entering the city. After that, Davos started hearing occasional shouts of "Long Live King Tommen" amidst the desperate roars of the starving masses.
Ordinarily, the Onion Lord would have declined to meet with this so-called High Sparrow...at least outside of the Red Keep, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And what were these if not desperate times? In truth, there were other reasons Davos had made such a dangerous concession to the mysterious fanatic whom the late King Stannis oft seemed to despise near as much as the baseborn usurper who sat on the Iron Throne before him. For one thing, such negotiations were far too important to entrust to greedy cravens like Lord Florent. Davos had learned that lesson the hard way when the late Lord Axell traveled to the Eyrie with his betrothed. The result was the abduction of Lady Sansa and the death of everyone who had been sent to negotiate with the knights of the Vale. Despite the rumors that had somehow escaped the Eyrie, there was no doubt in the Onion Lord's mind that it had been one of Lord Axell's men who was responsible for that disaster. Mayhaps even the late Lord Axell himself... House Arryn's words were "As high as honor," after all; hardly the sort one would expect to break the guest right.
More importantly, it had become increasingly plain that it was folly to try to conceal the late King Stannis' death and yet what other choice was there? Her Grace needed allies within King's Landing and was hardly in a position to reject overtures...even if those of senile fanatics. The last thing the poor little girl sitting on the Iron Throne needed when the world learned of her father's death was a fresh round of riots in the capitol. If meeting with some fanatic would reduce the chances of such a disaster and make it even the least bit more likely that the Queen would survive the year, so be it. Whatever else happens, I will not let Queen Shireen come to a violent end. I owe her father that much, at least. Her Grace may not believe it anymore after I kept her from exiling The Red Woman, but I would never betray her father's memory...no more than I would ever betray the Queen herself. The Red Woman may've been wrong about most things, but she was right when she said King Stannis would not burn and that means she might be right about... The Others...if they are truly coming then we'll need to know just what we're going to be facing and I can't think of anyone in King's Landing who knows more about the Others than the Red Woman. Shireen will understand someday...
...
The moment the Onion Lord saw where the so-called High Sparrow wished to meet, it became clear that none of the late King's men – not the Goldcloaks, not the the knights of the Kingsguard, and not the sellswords who'd doubtless come from all across Westeros with the hope of winning their King's favor simply by killing some nameless old man – would've ever found the man who'd quickly become one of the Crown's most dangerous enemies...not even that'd had a thousand lifetimes. If the High Sparrow – or whatever the man calls himself – meets with members of the Small Council in Flea Bottom, I imagine he spends much and more of his time simply living amongst the smallfolk; some of them see it as proof that the man truly cares for them, most like. A Goldcloak would take one look at him and see only another old beggar to poor to afford so much as a pair of shoes. And it would never even occur to a highborn Lord that such a powerful man would choose to live amongst the smallfolk with precious few of life's comforts in one of the poorest parts of the capitol besides. But if the High Sparrow is truly so well loved by the smallfolk that they could be relied upon to hide him rather than revealing his location in exchange for some titles or a bit of gold...
"Seven blessings, my Lord," exclaimed a wise, gentle voice. Davos looked to his left and eventually noticed a barefooted old man slowly hobbling toward him. Although he had never met or even seen the man before, somehow the Onion Lord knew exactly to whom he was speaking. The man looked as old as the trees and a man could've been forgiven for thinking him ordinary in every way – except mayhaps his exceptionally unremarkable appearance – and yet there was something else lurking beneath the man's warm, unassuming features. Most men wouldn't have noticed, but Davos' years as a smuggler had taught him a great many things about those who make such an effort to appear ordinary, namely that they seldom are and that those who underestimate outwardly unassuming adversaries tend not to live very long. This man is not what he appears, that much is certain. The High Sparrow can dress however he pleases, but only a highborn, or mayhaps an exceptionally learned man would say "my Lord" instead of "m'Lord." Her Grace is always correctin' me whenever I say it.
"I fear I've never been much of a Godly man, but the same to you," replied the Onion Lord once the old man had finally reached him after instructing his guards to stand down with a mere wave of his right hand. Davos Seaworth had held been a great many things oft reserved for Highborns: a landed knight, a Lord, Master of Ships, Hand of the King, and now Her Grace's Regent, but in truth he was still a worldweary lowborn at heart and had never quite grown comfortable making such casual displays of power. They always seemed to sit ill with him for some reason and this time was no exception.
"Mayhaps not and yet I trust The Seven will work their will through you just as they do the rest of us whether we realize it or not." First the Red Woman, then the Queen's Men, and now this one. Am I to spend the rest of my days feuding with fanatics?
"You said you could calm the mobs in King's Landing if His Grace or a member of the Small Council would –"
"His Grace, is it? My Lord, I have prayed to The Crone for wisdom and she blessed me with the knowledge that the King you once served is dead and that his daughter now sits on the Iron Throne." Thick beads of sweat formed on both sides of Davos Seaworth's head and a great fear swept over him – as much for Her Grace's safety as for his own – as he clutched the small pouch he always wore around his neck with his left hand. The Onion Lord could feel the joints clanging about almost as though they could sense the presence of the hand to which they'd once belonged and were being compelled by some strange force to claw through the fabric and re-attach themselves. Mayhaps it was inevitable that the truth would eventually come out, but for it to happen like this is nothing short of a disaster. The Gods alone know who else already knows...or how much they know, for that matter. And it would appear that there is at least one traitor amongst our ranks...
It would've been one thing to tell the Westrosi nobility that Stannis Baratheon had died of some invented natural cause. That would've been bad enough, but at least the worst details – such as the late King's suicidal sacrifice to a hated fire God from some distant, foreign land – could be kept secret, most like. If this fanatic truly knew everything that had happened, then it was only a question of when the slaughter began...assuming it wasn't about to begin in earnest with the Onion Lord's assassination. Davos' throat grew dry as he silently prayed that Her Grace would not suffer if the worst should happen.
"Meanin' no disrespect, but I fear you've heard wrong. I serve His Grace, King Stannis of House Baratheon as Hand of the King and –"
"Don't bother denying it, my Lord. Such foolishness is plainly beneath you and honest men make terrible liars besides. I have prayed to The Crone and she has been kind enough to bless me with the wisdom to see that the whispers I've heard about the late King's death – and the manner in which he died – are true. We are all sinners, Lord Davos, and I would never rejoice over the death of a man so lost as Stannis Baratheon plainly was when he burned himself alive. Of course, such tragedies are what comes of kneeling at the alter of a false God."
"I assure you –"
"Please, my Lord, let us speak to each other as two honest men. In truth, I'd hoped you would be the one sent to meet with me, did you know that?"
"And why might that be," muttered the Onion Lord, realizing a moment too late that his voice had not done half as good a job concealing his contempt for the ancient demagogue who held the fate of House Baratheon in his splotchy, shriveled hands.
"You and I have a great deal in common, Lord Davos. More than you would ever admit, most like."
"And you have more in common with the Red Woman than you would ever admit, most like."
"No doubt. We are all sinners, after all. In truth, that is the one thing all men and women have in common: from the richest King to the humblest carpenter, we are all vain, arrogant, and spiteful creatures. The only thing a man can do is try his best to follow the path The Seven have chosen for him wherever it may lead and hope that one day his soul will float as lightly as a feather in the wind. Oh yes, I too have sinned, my Lord. Like all men...like the Red Woman, I have sinned and will no doubt do so again in the future, most like. Man's nature is a base and wicked thing, is it not? As for the Red Woman, I do not hate her as so many in this city do...regardless of whether or not she whispered in the late King's ear until he turned away from The Faith of the Seven. Hate is just one of the many sins that afflicts mankind all too often. No, I pray that The Crone will bless the Red Woman with the wisdom to turn away from her false God and accept The Mother's love after a proper atonement. I pray that The Crone will bless you and Her Grace with the same wisdom, my Lord."
"I thank you kindly for your prayer, but you needn't bother. I never worshiped the Red Woman's fire God; Stannis Baratheon was the only God that I ever saw fit to serve."
"We all need prayer, my Lord. Or do you think yourself above it? And a King is no less a false God than the one which inspired the Red Woman to burn godly men, women, and children alive."
"I meant no offense."
"And you gave none. Tell me, does the Queen share her father's love of foreign idols?"
"I'm quite certain you'll have no issue with Her Grace on that score. She hasn't been too keen on fire Gods after what happened to her father...not that I'd ever expect her to consent to trading one set of fanatics for another either. I'm quite certain Her Grace has more sense than that. In any case, I fear I don't see what a man o' the faith and a lowly smuggler could have in common...meanin' no disrespect." The High Sparrow let out a sigh of frustration although whether it was with the Onion Lord's remarks or his secularism, Davos could not say.
"We are both men of humble origins whom The Seven have seen fit to rise to positions of great power and influence despite our sinful natures. You do realize that, don't you, my Lord? The Seven have brought both of us here during a critical juncture and mayhaps some good can yet come from this meeting. Few men know the details of the King's fate although I can assure you that this will change should I become acquainted with The Stranger due to some sort of peculiar accident. Such threats are sinful to be sure and yet I fear one must sometimes take one step away from The Seven in order to take two steps towards them. Just as I thank The Warrior for blessing me with the strength to do so when necessary, so to do I pray to The Mother for her mercy...unworthy as I am." No doubt countless High Septons said the same thing as they wore jeweled crowns and grew fat as hogs while the smallfolk starved.
"Is that so?"
"Oh yes, my Lord. I have already added it to the long list of sins for which I must atone. I fear I am a weak man who will forever find himself in need of The Mother's mercy. In any case, I would prefer to let the Small Council announce Stannis' death and while I would never encourage dishonesty, I imagine there are some details that Her Grace would prefer remain a secret. I said that I could calm the Godly men who have been slowly but surely overpowering the Gold Cloaks and indeed I can...provided Her Grace can sufficiently demonstrate that she has seen the error of her father's ways although even then some small atonement would be necessary."
"Atonement?"
"Oh yes; we all have much and more to atone for, my Lord. Of course, there will be time enough for that later. In any case, you must needs understand that we may all become well-acquainted with The Stranger within the near future if Her Grace chooses to follow in the wicked footsteps of her father."
"Stannis Baratheon was an honorable man and a just one besides. You must needs understand that if swords are drawn, you'll doubtless be among the first to meet The Stranger you're so fond of talkin' about."
"You are quite right; I would not survive for long, most like. Of course, I am just one man...one man of no more consequence than any other. In the end, whether I live or die, your Gold Cloaks are the few and we are the many. I'm sure you know better than most what can happen if The Warrior grants the many the strength to strip the few of all their finery..."
"What is it you want?"
"What I want is unimportant. The only thing that matters is what The Seven want."
"And what might that be," asked Davos, already having more than a few notions about the sort of answer he was likely to receive...none of them good.
"For now, only a simple gesture from Her Grace to show that she has seen the light, so to speak."
"As I recall, Her Grace has already legalized the worship of The Seven and hasn't burned a soul, godly or otherwise."
"And that was a step in the right direction. Of course, the Crown owes a considerable debt to The Faith although even that could be forgiven should the Crown demonstrate a truly sincere devotion to enacting the will of The Seven. If Her Grace would permit me to restore the Faith Militant...well...no man in Westeros could ever doubt that she is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And more importantly, it would be plain that Her Grace is a just and blessed child who was chosen by The Seven themselves to sit on the Iron Throne."
"The Faith Militant?"
"An ancient and holy order whose return has been prayed for ever since the days of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. They would – as they did many years ago – put a stop to the looting and lawlessness that has plagued the capitol."
"Mayhaps...I shall have to consider this further."
"Of course, I would never expect you to make such a decision without speaking to Her Grace. I'm quite certain The Crone will grant you her wisdom when you explain the situation to Queen Shireen. Now I fear you'll have to excuse me; just as you must needs pray to your idol sitting upon the Iron Throne, I must pray to The Seven at the Sept of Baelor."
...
"NO!"
"Your Grace –"
"Nuh-No muh...no me-means...it muh-muh-MEANS nuh-no!"
"I duh-duh-don't c-care what any-anyone s-s-said to you, Dah-Davos. The Fth-Fay-FAITH Mili-Mill-Militant cuh-can't come buh-buh-back." The Onion Lord frowned...not at the Queen's words so much as at the realization that the severe stutter Her Grace developed after her father's death had plainly gone from a nervous tick to a full-blown speech impediment. The poor girl doesn't deserve any of this. She should be happily reading one of her books or singing songs, not dealing with angry mobs of fanatics. And to add a speech impediment after all the cruelty she's already endured simply because of her face... If the Seven do exist then they're a cruel lot, that much is certain.
"Your Grace, the Faith Militant are a blessed order of the one true faith. They will carry out the will of The Seven," added Lord Florent. I recall a time not to long ago when you and your kin would've burned a man for saying as much. It is remarkable how many men in the Red Keep were blessed with The Crone's wisdom after Her Grace converted to The Faith of the Seven. I suppose it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise. Shireen was never terribly fond of The Red Woman or that bloody fire God and Her Grace plainly blames her for Stannis' death besides. Shireen may be as innocent a child as you could ever hope to meet and yet I fear she's never quite looked at me the same way since I convinced her not to banish The Red Woman from Westeros.
The Queen still seemed to consider her Regent a dear friend and yet it was plain that at some fundamental level Shireen felt as though she'd been betrayed by him. She oft challenged and questioned his advice...just as she was doing right now and would shoot accusing glares at the Onion Lord whenever anyone mentioned The Red Woman. It had been the right decision – letting The Red Woman remain in the Red Keep – and yet how do you tell a young child to be merciful to someone they hold responsible for the death of one of their parents. Both parents, so far as the Queen was concerned. After all, Selyse had slipped into a near-catatonic state the day after her husband's death. It was a miracle that Her Grace was even able to feed her mother; that alone was far more than any of the servants had been able to accomplish.
"Your Grace, we need the support of the sparrows."
"I...I...I don't cuh-care. I've ruh-ruh-read about the Fay-Fay...the Fay...about those pee-pee-PEOPLE. They when...they went around killing pee-people who didn't buh-bell-belee-BELIEVE what they duh-did. They're just like the Red...the...the Ruh-Red Wuh-Wuh-Woman. I am the Quh-Quh-Quh-QUEEN and I for-forbide it! They can...they can't...can't...can't come buh-buh...CAN'T come buh-back, no m-matt-matter what! Nuh-Never! The Sss-Ssspar...the Ssss...the Ssssp-Spuh-SPARROWS can have...have their gold dra-drah-draguh-DRAGONS though. And I...I pruh-prommuh-puh-puh-PROMISE no one will ever get bbbuh-buh-burned ever aguh-guh...ever aguh-AGAIN. Is it sss-safe here, Lord Duh-Davos? Shhh-Shhh-SHOULD we go buh-buh...go buh...go BACK to Duh-Duh-Drag...to Draguh...to duh-duh-DRAGONS-sss-ssstohh-sss-STONE with the...with...with the uh-uh-uh-OTHERS?"
"If you have decided to reject the High Sparrow's proposal then I'd say we'd be far safer in Dragonstone, Your Grace."
"I have dee-dee-decided to re-rejehh-rejehhh-REJECT it. Th-Th-Thank you."
"Your Grace, someone should remain in the Red Keep to oversee King's Landing in your absence. If you'll permit me to be so bold, I can think of no one better suited for the task than Lord Florent."
"ME?"
"You are Hand of the Queen and I'm sure the High Sparrow would be far more willing to negotiate with a godly man such as yourself than some lowly smuggler."
"Are you shh-shh-sure," asked the Queen, as if dimly aware that there was something else buried beneath the suggestion which she did not understand. The Onion Lord grimly nodded his head.
"Okay. I...I still truh-truh-TRUST you...even if you did...even if...if you...you...you didn't let me puh-puh-puh-PUNISH the Red Wuh-Woman for muh-muh-merd-merdur-MURDERING my puh-parents. You pro-pro-pro-pro-PROTECTED her even...even after shh-shh-shh-shh-SHE muh-muh-muh-merd-merd...she merd-merdur...SHE GOT THEM...got them kill-killed. It was her fuh-fault and...and...and you still pro-pro-protected her anywuh-wuh-ANYWAY, but I'm truh-trying to for-for-for-FORGIVE you be-be-becaww-becawww-BECAUSE you were...are...were always my fruh-fruh-friend." This comment would've ordinarily given Davos Seaworth considerable pause, but in truth his mind was elsewhere. In that moment it was consumed by a single glorious thought: Mayhaps now I'll finally be rid of those bloody Florents...