The Best is Yet to Be

By littlelights

Disclaimer: I am not making any money, blah, blah, blah.

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Chapter 2

Dinner had been a non-fussy affair, with soup and bread consumed in equal pacing. His dinner companion was a quiet one, Ser Davos thought, Medda seemed more interested in hearing him speak than sharing her own thoughts. She asked questions, ones which invited him to do most of the talking. What she asked wasn't secretive of compromising, just a way to expound on his recent journey to the west.

She didn't talk about herself, but rather she spoke about the needs and tasks of others. Her voice lilted with a quiet calm which could be mistaken for coldness. But her eyes. Those were a different story. Her lovely brown eyes reminded him of the look he'd seen in Lady Brianne when her giant ruffian of a husband was needling her.

Patient, open, and watchful. But there was a subtle warmth there which made his lips twitch.

If only he was fifteen years younger and an infinitely better man. She would have been quite the challenge to claim if he'd been in his prime.

Those days were well behind him. Now on the other side of the hill of life, there was little Ser Davos could offer the lovely Stewardess of Winterfell but friendship. A woman of her beauty and skills deserved someone stand beside her for years to come.

He'd made her smile at one point while he was telling her of the tug of war games at the Dreadfort. One man had fell near the coals and his beard had caught fire. All he'd done was laugh and drink more mead. Three stout women had been the anchor of another team, yelling insults and threats at the others until they'd pulled their way to victory.

"They sound quite formidable." Medda spooned the last of her soup into her mouth. She dipped the last of the bread into her bowl and wiped it clean. "I've never seen a group of women do something like that."

"They could mop the floor with any man of their equal." Davos chuckled. "The north is better for having them as neighbors at the Dreadfort. One of the women as pregnant, although, not far along. She kept yelling to Lady Brianne to join their team. She said their line could use two more."

"What did Lady Brianne say?"

"She said she was saving herself for childbirth. Heard it was worse than hot coals. Tormund Giantsbane laughed and said it wouldn't be so bad, as he'd be there to distract her. Brianne said he should be the one to endure childbirth, and the hot coals on the tug-of-war floor would be like walking on the ground on a warm day."

"I'll send her maester some nettle tea for her lying in." Medda noted to herself.

"There's still some time. She has awhile yet." Davos drank deeply from his ale tankard.

Medda shot him a mocking look. "Months seem like days to an expectant mother. It goes by fast. And after a babe is born, the days go by even faster."

"Sounds like the voice of experience. Do you have children?"

"Had," Medda's voice pitched low. "Two boys. Nine and eight." She looked as if she couldn't believe what she'd shared. Her hand shook as she reached for her tankard. Her hand shook a little. "And you?"

It was innocent enough question, one that Ser Davos had no problems answering. But he found his own voice couldn't block out a weight of sadness. "One son. Matthos. He was grown. He died in the Battle of Blackwater Bay."

Medda nodded, sipping from her tankard again. Her eyes were awash with grief. Grief for him. Grief for herself. "I'm sorry for your loss. A parent should never have to outlive their child."

Davos nodded. There wasn't anything much to say after that.

"I have to go," Medda said abruptly. "I have things to attend to." She stacked his empty bowl and hers into a tidy pile and gathered up the spoons and cloths. She reached for his tankard, but Davos shook his head.

"I have a bit more to finish. Thank you for supper."

Medda nodded, she didn't smile, but she seemed relieved their previous conversation was over. "Thank you for your company."

Davos gave her small smile as she walked away, her brisk steps carrying her quickly to the privacy of the kitchens. As far as dinner went, it hadn't been a bad one. Their conversation near the end had made him feel hollow inside, the old pain of losing his wife and son suddenly felt fresh again.

If he were a lesser man, he'd visit the brothel tonight and bury his frustrations into the arms of a willing woman. But that had never been his way, even in his wilder younger years. It was sleep he needed now, and as much as he missed his wife it had been years since he'd slept at her side.

Nothing fucked a man harder than time.

Climbing the stairs to his rooms, Ser Davos walked through the semi-dark corridors. There were sounds emitting from each chamber as he swept past. Woman's soft moan floated from the king's chamber. Further down, muted laughter echoed through the door of Lord and Lady Baratheon. Nearby, the wilding nursemaid was singing to her charges. The almost other worldly voice of Brandon Stark echoed from his chambers, where his lady wife was helping him prepare for bed. There was an edge to his tone, one Ser Davos hadn't heard in a long time. Something was brewing and Lady Meera was pressing her husband to rest and leave it for the morrow.

When Davos had shed his garments and sank beneath the welcoming furs of his bed, part of him sighed in relief. The feather mattress and frame were too large, far bigger than anything he'd slept in before he lived in Winterfell. It was a far better situation than he'd ever known, and with the fire crackling merrily on his hearth, the place seemed empty with just him rattling around in a too-big bed and a room of his own.

Ever the practical man, Davos rolled over and closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the castle lull him to sleep. But in dreams, he relived the vision he'd seen when death had almost claimed him at the Wall. The dark haired woman was sitting next to a cradle again. Her voice eased his mind and pushed him into a deeper sleep, and when she turned her head to smile at him, it tugged the name 'Medda' from his lips.

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