2
DAVOS
Last night, little Shireen came to me in a dream, and I knew she, like all of my sons, was dead. For years, I had rarely dreamt, but when I did, it was of my boys. It was always my boys, til now. "Ser Davos," she whispered, "go let out Ghost. Go, now!"
When I finally managed to awaken - getting older meant the journey from sleep was a longer and longer road - I felt lower, less hopeful, than anything I'd ever felt back on Gin Alley. My crushing sense of grief, my ire at Stannis and the red woman, guilt for having left the princess behind when I knew her father was sending me away for a very explicit reason - all would have to be saved for later, as the dream lingered on with a strange sense of urgency I could not ignore. Speaking a few gentle words to my horse, I collected what had comprised the meager camp of the previous night and closed the distance between me and the Wall. Though I did not know what had befallen the lovely little princess, I was certain of three things: her life had been cruelly been cut short, it was surely been concocted by Lady Melisandre, and her father, my King, had not stopped it.
Lord Snow didn't greet me when the gate was raised. Where's his direwolf? I wondered, scanning the cold, hardened, unfathomable faces of the men of the Night's Watch as they huddled together underneath the rafter of a makeshift fire. There weren't many of them left, but I did spot Alliser Thorne, whose shifty eyes probed me for information of the siege of Winterfell, no doubt. Around us, without announcement, snow began to fall.
"Ser Davos," he began, his voice a harsh rasp. The yard, which had been filled with activity, preparations and swordplay the last time I'd stood in it, was eerily quiet. No crashing of metal against metal, no playful taunts - and, perhaps most strange of all - no wind. "You alone?"
Yes, I was about to say, but something in the man's face was wrong, and the words died on my lips. I knew I had to lie. "I've a small retinue comin' up behind me, about quarter of a mile or so. King Stannis ordered us back to collect supplies. We're a tad tired of eatin' horses," I added with half a smile.
Thorne didn't return the favor, but grunted his response. "We've not much to spare around here." He turned and walked away, heavy black boots squelching in the snow. His men stood there, shifting from one foot to the other. One brother of the Night's Watch, who looked to be a very young boy, had long, clean streaks down his face - clearly, he'd been crying, but was trying his absolute best to look stalwart.
Following Thorne across the yard, I tried to articulate my sense of disquiet. I didn't wish to tell Thorne that Stannis had sent me away for a different reason, nor did I desire to deliver the grave news that the Baratheon forces were depleting rapidly, not only in morale but in number as well. My eyes darted back to the men of the Night's Watch and I realized that there were not one, but two familiar figures missing from their ranks. "Where's Tarly? Wanted to ask him something ... about dreams."
"Dreams?" Thorne demanded, spinning to face me, the black fur of his crow's suit fluttering as he spun. "Tarly's gone to the Citadel. Taken that inbred Wildling bitch and her child with him." I wish I could admit that the venom in his voice startled me, but it didn't. Initial glances at Alliser Thorne had told me everything I needed to know. After a moment of silence, he once again turned his back on me and continued his way across the yard. I split paths with him and moved slowly towards the metal cage in which I once spotted Ghost, frantically chewing on the bars, a fierce glow of determination in his face, which almost seemed noble. Just like his owner, I felt.
The cage was empty, which made my stomach feel just like it did as I watched Matthios, my eldest son, fade into the distance and onto death on Blackwater Bay. Suddenly I knew. The dream. The dried tears on the little lad's face. The horrifying quiet in the yard.
"Thorne," I called, feeling the men of the Night's Watch behind me. "Thorne! Where is Lord Commander Snow?"
Thorne turned and looked at me for a long moment, as if deciding whether I was fit to trust. I blinked back at him through the snow, feeling the flakes on my brow. "The Bastard Snow is dead, Onion Knight. He betrayed all of us, and now his watch has ended. He ..."
He might have said more, but an unearthly, miserable howl pierced the silence, and all of us shivered. Even Thorne, I thought, looked uneasy. "He's comin' for us," one of the Night's Watch whimpered, cowardice coming off him like a fever. "Ghost." Thorne muttered a curse in response.
Words escaped me. I had liked, respected, admired Jon Snow. He was an honorable man, much like Ned Stark, and much like I imagined myself to be, on my good days at least. Uniting the Night's Watch with the Wildlings seemed to be, as he and Tarly had said, our best chance against what loomed beyond the Wall - if one were to believe in the White Walkers. I wasn't sure if I did or not - I have a hard time believing in things that aren't in front of me - but what was in front of me was absolute treason, and by that I could not abide.
"You have somethin' to say, Ser Davos?" Another brother of the Night's Watch appeared at my side, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his broadsword. "Because if you do, one thing you should know is that there isn't nobody outside of the Watch whose opinion means fooking anything."
"You were his friend," I said, steeling myself for a fight. "He trusted you. He trusted all of you," I added, raising my voice. The men of the Watch and I stared at each other for so long I thought the moment might never end.
"Sometimes, we put our trust in the wrong people," a voice said, and I looked over to see Lady Melisandre, red cloaked and hooded, gliding towards us, and instantly my thoughts turned bloody. "Sometimes, we think we have entrusted ourselves, our lives, to the right person. But sometimes the flames show us lies. And sometimes, the flames merely show us what we want to see."
My hands closed into fists, and I forgot all about the Night's Watch, Snow, and Ghost. All I could hear and see was Shireen. As I approached, I could almost hear the princess's voice, urging me to read on, Ser Davos, keep trying, you've got it! Forget Stannis, forget honor, it would have to come to this. My hands curled around her throat.
"Sometimes, we are wrong."
I paused.
"What?"
"I said," she spoke clearly, her eyes wide but without fear, "that sometimes, we are wrong, Ser Davos. About many things."