Heroes of Man

by Wake the Wind

Chaldea has fallen. Ritsuka is fighting for his life after a black key nearly rips out his heart. And a dozen Servants disappear when encountering a strange power. Emiya deploys on a mission to recover those Servants, and restore the defenders of human history to full power. But it will take him to a history that was never recorded. With many dangers that he cannot forsee.

37. The Smuggler

The Smuggler I

'There's a storm coming,' Davos thought to himself, holding himself next to one of the entrances of the Round Hall, watching the high-born about him rush to-and-fro. Two men, both in blue silk doublets with buttons with golden flowers, were lifting a great banner up along the walls. It was mostly deep blue, with red mud on the bottom, with a gray trout kicking up a ripple or silt behind it that mixed with the azure water. Across from that, right above Davos's head, two men with hives on their black tunics had risen a golden banner, with bucking black stag charging forward. As a dozen or more lasses, mostly with the same red and blue on their gowns of the trout's tapestry, were placing plates and knives and spoons along the eight tables that were to hold the coming feast. And along each entrance, including right next to Davos himself, men with stag adorned surcoats, cheeks thin and eyes sunken, stared out at the mass of movement with grinding teeth, hands tightly wound around their blades and spears. He looked over at the nearest man, who for a moment had his eyes seem to loosen and gave a short nod, before returning his focus back to the hall and the throng of activity, and Davos could only conclude, 'And gods, what I would give to not be here for when it arrives.'

Some smugglers would brag about the storms they conquered. In Flea Bottom, men of all ages would regale in tales of how they cut through waves twice as high as any sail, repaired the masts as the winds knocked them down, and sailed junks half filled with the sea. These, of course, were only half-true at most, and more than likely something they came up with after two or three too many drinks of wine or ale.

A smuggler, a good one at least, would never willingly point their ship into a real storm. A small rain was certainly manageable, even a small amount of lighting could be dealt with by an experienced captain. But a great gale, one with winds that could blow a man off his feet, rain as thick as a river, and so much lightning that it could light up the sky more than the stars themselves…no…no a smuggler would know in their bones to never try to sail through that.

Davos Seaworth was…had been a good smuggler. That his left hand was missing the furthest joints of each digit was proof enough of that. Now every instinct of that history of carrying spices or ivory was screaming that he needed to leave Storm's End. That he should have already left the castle he had worked so hard to sneak into not a full two months back.

'But,' Davos inwardly sighed, his fingers gripping the small bag around his neck, the feeling of decomposing flesh around his old joints somehow reducing the shiver around his spine, 'I am no longer a smuggler,' he could not help but feel a smile crawl up his face, 'I am a knight.'

Ser Davos Seaworth would act the part of the knight. And that meant staying with these mad men and women.

"Oh, there you are," Davos twisted his head to his right, as the door next to him had been opened slightly. An older man, the Maester Cressen, had stuck his head through, and was looking about. The shaking man looked up at the Tully Banner, and nodded his head, "I see you have finished this ahead of schedule," the old man could not seem to keep himself from forming a smile, "You certainly are a man of wonders, aren't you Ser Seaworth."

"Miracles are for far holier men than me," he said, and Cressen, almost despite himself, snorted. The old man looked over, and saw the men of Grassy Vale slip by the Stag men who continued to glare down at them as they did so, fists tightening further around the halberds they held. Cressen could only shake his head, before looking at Davos, who could only do the same. Not wishing to have to speak on the details, Davos continued, "Is Lord Stannis," Davos stopped, and considered his next words carefully, before finally arriving at, "Ready to be married?"

"As perhaps he could be expected to be," Cressen's voice was not as down as the words themselves, "Stannis has always been a closed young man, but I think he is prepared for this, even if he really questions the need for a bedding," he stopped, and looked at Davos for a moment, before grabbing Davos, and pulling him out of the hall, and into a corridor with fewer people. Now, with fewer people, the older man, closer to his seventieth name day than his sixtieth, leaned closer, "He's nervous."

"As most boys his age are," Davos whispered back. Cressen was a man in the know, and Davos wasn't about to step in a sinkhole if he had a guide around these sorts of conversations.

"Stannis hates it in a way most others don't," the old maester's eyes went down to his hand, "To Stannis, he feels that he should not be nervous after managing to hold out until," Cressen had just a short pause, but Davos could see something of a creased brow on his forehead, "His good father arrived. He keeps saying that getting married is far less of a trial to take up, far much less chance of death."

"But it is the establishment of what the rest of his life is," Davos remembered the deep blue eyes staring at Davos as he opened the barrel of salted fish, "Likely it's his own concentration that's weighing on him. The thought of all the ways it may go wrong," he thought of the slip of a girl that the Lord of Storm's End was to marry, whose eyes were nearly as red as her auburn hair, "And with a girl he's never met…for a wedding he had no say in," and then Marya appeared to him, in her barely patched together dress, "I dare say I was worried as well, and I knew my wife for years."

"But Stannis is a man who sees himself defined by his commitment to his duty."

"That," Davos couldn't help but shiver, "Is no way to go into a marriage."

"No," despite the oath of celibacy, Davos could see that Cressen was wise enough to the way of marriage to understand the truth of Davos's words, "No, it is not," he then shook his head, "Though, it is a good match," he looked out one of the windows, towards the grounds, and like his Lord and so many of his soldiers, Davos could see Cressen grind his teeth, "Though I know that having all these dragons around only make the whole business worse," Davos could only nod. Cressen shook his head one last time, before gripping Davos by the shoulder, "Now, we need to send out the matter of who sits where to the lords outside the walls," and Davos felt his mood fall even further, "Considering you are the only man sworn to our Lord who hasn't been being starved by Mace Tyrell…"

There was a storm coming, and it was mostly Hoster Tully's fault.

That was all that Davos could think as he marched through the camp. Only days before now, this was the camp of the enemy. Now, it was a place for pavilions before the first royal wedding of the new Baratheon Dynasty. The change in circumstance made Davos sicker than any churning wave, and as he marched past the few men at arms who still remained to guard the nobles of the Reach, he focused his eyes on the largest of these great tents, where a green banner with flowers sat alongside a red banner with a trout.

The guards at the front were all Riverlanders, a blessing for Davos, who looked on the former smuggler with suspicion. He still had a face for his old profession, it seemed. But he pulled out the message, with the great Stag seal upon it, and they both nodded, allowing him through.

Inside the tent, Davos could not help but feel as though he did not belong. There were carpets from the Free Cities, some of which he almost thought he had smuggled to King's Landing itself, with tables and chairs made of light foreign wood, but crafted as nice as anything he had in his home in Flea Bottom. There were several tapestries, all coming together to show the life of a plant, from seed to planting to harvesting to seed again. There were also several couches, with fine cushions, and upon two of these couches were an older man with graying hair, and a plump younger man, with still fresh brown hair.

"Lord Tully," Davos made sure to bow as low as he could, gaining the attention of the older man, who gave Davos a curt shrug. Davos then forced himself to add, "Lord Tyrell," and at that the plump man's smile nearly consumed his face, the small brown mustache and a short cropped beard that ended in a sharp point sticking directly down from his chin. Davos sighed, before holding out the message from Lord Stannis, "My lord wishes for me to give you both this."

"Very good," Hoster Tully held out his hand, and Davos reached over with the paper. Hoster then snatched it out from the Onion Knight's hand, and began opening it, before looking at Davos, "You may go now."

"Now Hoster," Mace spoke up, his belly slightly jiggling from doing so, "I am sure it would be best if we have some message to send back to Lord Baratheon, that we keep his man so he can give it to him for his return up to the castle," Davos could see his enemy of not a month before staring at him, his eyes seeming to catch the light from outside the tent, "He's better getting inside there than I was."

'Is…is he trying to bait me?' Davos thought. He'd seen this man actually sit out at a table, eating roasted boar while Stannis had been forced to ration out the fish and onions Davos had managed to sneak inside Storm's end. It had been as though the whole war had been a game to Mace, at least from where Davos had been standing. Davos could suppose that Mace had been simply carrying over his attitude toward the new peace, but that had not seemed quite right.

"...I suppose you have a point," Hoster Tully nodded, before staring at Davos, "Though if I send a message, you are not to open it," he pointed directly into Davos's face, "If I hear any-"

"Hoster," Mace said, his smile never leaving "Any message you sent would probably be worth less than the paper you are going to write it upon," he then pointed at the message in Hoster's hand, "Now, let's read that, and see what old Iron Jaw," Davos could not tell if it was a word of praise or an insult to his new Lord, "has thought it so important to let us know."

The older man seemed to straighten. It was his whole body really, from his muscles to the tips of his thick beard. Finally, however, he gave a short nod, before beginning to cut open the Stag Seal. All the while, Davos could not help but wonder, how these two, sworn enemies for most of the war, were now sharing the same tent, and soon, to share a table at the upcoming wedding.

The gray headed warlord had appeared with his host not ten days earlier, when the army of the Reach still held Storm's End under siege. The Riverlanders were far less numerous than the men of Mace Tyrell, but they were fresh, and they arrived with news that revealed to all what Ravens had shared with Stannis and the rest of his council for the past few days. That Aerys, Rhaegar, and Rhaegar's children were all dead, King's Landing was held by the former rebels, and Robert, Stannis's brother, was now king. Hoster Tully had had this read aloud by a crier, and then demanded Mace Tyrell's sword for surrender.

Mace Tyrell had not immediately dropped his banners and his weapons. No, first, he had made something of a show of moving a good sized force to a hill right in front of Hoster Tully, while still leaving both enough men to encircle the whole of Storm's End. Then, he began to negotiate with Lord Tully. From inside the besieged castle, every moment that passed seemed like weeks, as the thought of their rescue seemed so close, and at the same time too far to truly grasp. Stannis himself had bristled both from the time that passed, and from the idea that Mace was only negotiating with Hoster Tully.

'And it seems,' Davos thought as he saw a small sneer crawl up the older man's nose, 'That Lord Stannis was not able to hide that contempt from his goodfather,' though Mace himself seemed to not change at all from reading the piece of paper.

"Insolent little," Hoster growled…before shaking his head, "Fine then, so I shall have only myself and my brother among the high table," he then glared at Davos, "I suppose find this quite humorous?"

"...humorous?"

"Oh, I highly doubt that this was something that this poor man helped plan," Mace Tyrell once again interjected, "I dare say, at least you will have your brother, I shall have to be on my own," he then shook his head, "Oh, to have be alone, the focus of all the ire of Iron Jaw," he raised his eyebrow at Davos, "Poor Paxter might have at least captured some of his fury."

Davos was about to speak up, before Hoster Tully spoke up, "I dare say I'd rather have Lord Blackwood or Lord Bracken or Lord Mallister with me before I'd have my brother," the River Lord folded his arms together, "Gods, that boy is already proving to be a sore of a goodson."

"Oh," Mace laughed, "I don't envy you," he then began to pull out his pen and paper, "Now, time to write a return letter don't yo-"

"Brother," at that moment, another face popped through one of the openings in the tent. The beard was browner, and the face was thinner, but looking on the two, one could tell that this was Hoster Tully's younger brother. But the appearance of Bryden Tully alone was enough to catch Davos's mind in the mud. Even in Flea Bottom they spoke of the Blackfish, and having this sort of knight just appear out of the air was enough to briefly slam Davos's thoughts to a halt.

"Speak of the hells," Hoster groaned, and Davos then saw the younger brother's brow crease, "What is it Bryden?"

"Hoster," there was a bite at the name, but he continued so swiftly that Davos could only imagine this was common when they spoke, "I came to inform you that the Lord Stark and his companions have arrived."

And that, as far as Davos could tell, was the final strange wind that was fueling this typhoon of a wedding.

After several hours of negotiations, Mace Tyrell had dipped his banners to Hoster Tully, and the Siege of Storm's End had been lifted. At first, the entire garrison that remained had let out a great cheer, and Davos had been among those to feel it. Even Stannis Bartheon, despite the apparent slight, had been glad enough of the victory, and as the first image of the footmen of the Reach marching away came over the visions of the men along the walls, it had seemed that there would only be smooth sailing.

As the first packages of food were being delivered into Storm's End by Riverman, who had told them that it would be a few hours before Hoster himself could make it, Davos had been called to Stannis in a private meeting. It had been there, that he had learned that he was to be rewarded with a knighthood, as well as punished as all captured smugglers must. Whatever feeling of betrayal Davos had blew away when he learned that he would only lose the finger tips to his left hand up to the first joint, the punishment accepted by law…but one that was usually considered the lowest level of punishment. That, alongside the knighthood and the title to pass to his sons, had been more than enough to accept, as long as Stannis himself completed the punishment himself. The young man had done so. Cressen had been on hand, and had quickly stopped the bleeding with some potion and bandages, and Stannis had knighted him that very moment.

Now a knight, Stannis had insisted that Davos be allowed to sit in the Solar when Hoster arrived, if only to be sure Maester Cressen could look after him. It had been there that Davos had been allowed to see the sudden humiliation of his new lord. Hoster Tully had come into the room, and greeted Stannis as his new Goodson. That had been a surprise, every raven that had been coming to Storm's End had been shot down to keep them in the dark, and Davos himself had not known of any specific agreements to get Tully to join the rebellion.

Stannis had been shocked…but willing to accept the proposal. It was a good marriage, a daughter of one of the Lord Paramounts…even if she had a rather unfortunate past. After the initial shock, Stannis had accepted the marriage. That it had come with confirmation that Stannis would become the new Lord of Storm's End had been almost enough of a sop to end any ill feeling…

Except, then Hoster Tully had begun to speak of the wedding, and how it was to happen so soon. Stannis had at first tried to put the whole bit off, but had agreed to a small wedding to tie their families together. That had been denied outright. Hoster had explained as proof of the place of the new dynasty, they would need to have a grand wedding. Stannis, his brow furrowing, had declared that there was not enough food for him to host a major event, certainly with so little time. And then Tully had said that it would be enough, for the Reach host would be providing the food and the payment for it. During negotiations, Hoster had used his leverage to force Mace Tyrell to pay for the great wedding out of Highgarden's vault.

'And as payment for that,' Davos again eyed the Lord of Highgarden, 'Mace Tyrell demanded that he and the lords of the Reach be allowed to participate.'

That had nearly caused a brawl to begin right there. Stannis's face had become a shade of crimson that Davos had not thought a man would be able to achieve. The other men in the room, including Cressen, had been ready to fight the Riverlanders. Yet, by the end, Lord Tully put his foot down, declaring that Stannis was to be his goodson, by order of the new King Robert, and that if the wedding would have to have Tyrells to happen, then it would be decorated in golden flowers and green fields.

That had luckily not happened, but the winds of anger were feeding a great storm of rage. True, the Reach army had almost completely disappeared beyond the lords and some loyal men at arms. The Riverlanders now outnumbered the Reachmen by at least five to one. And having food in their bellies had made the men of Storm's End at least slightly less rabid when looking at their former foes.

But only slightly…

"Tis good to hear that," Hoster sighed, though the wrinkles in his skin seemed to become deeper, "Only he and his guard?"

"Yes," the Blackfish said, "No more than ten riders," he looked around, "Will at least mean that we won't have to split the food more…"

"We would have been easily able to feed ten thousand more men," Mace's chuckle was so pointed because it was true. Davos had seen the barrels and the carts and the wagons. There was more food in this camp than Davos had thought was eaten in a day in King's Landing. But Mace's eyes seemed to sharpen, "Though Lord Stark does explain why we lost several seats at the table. He and his lady are certainly going to need some of those seats."

"Yes," Hoster sighed, "I suppose that is true," he then walked up to Bryden, "Bring me to Eddard," and the Blackfish then opened the tent, and the Lord of Riverrun was soon out of sight. Davos could only stare for a moment, before suddenly he felt something his his shoulder. He looked down, and saw a small brass cup with a splashing liquid in it.

"Go on," Mace smiled, "Hippocras."

Davos was not a foolish man. Even as a knight, he was still lower than this man in front of him. Davos took the cup, and sipped the wine. It was strangely sweet, with a spice that Davos had had before a few times while celebrating in Free Cities, but he could no-

"We sweeten it with cinnamon," Mace said, and Davos nodded, remembering the spice now, "Now then," Mace said, "You are the "Onion Knight"?" Davos felt a slight twitch in his right eye, but he nodded. Mace's smile grew, before he added, "Well then, I must toast you," he raised the glass up to the eye of the smuggler, "You, more than any other man, kept that keep out of my hands," he lifted his own cup to his lips, and drank heavily.

"You…you are cele-"

"Why yes," Mace's smile was thinner now, his eyes seeming to sharpen rather than dilate. Suddenly, Davos could not help but think that perhaps he should leave as soon as he was able, "Tis not everyday that the Redwyne fleet is humiliated by a small black cog and a smuggler," and yet, Mace made no move towards Davos, "I suppose that's just another trick of the gods, that despite our blood and breeding, we can be laid low by any man."

"...," Davos wasn't really sure what to say, but when Mace raised his cup once more to drink, Davos did the same. The wine really did taste good, perhaps not as sweet as the rum he had taken on some of his voyages, but still quite good. As he did so, he watched Mace begin to lay back again into his couch, "Se-Lord Tyrell," Davos found himself speaking, and was slightly worried that the wine was stronger than he thought, "may I ask you something?"

"You may," Mace said, his smile not wavering but his eyes completely focused.

"Why-," Davos swam through the contours of his mind, desperately seeking the words he would need to sate his question without offending the great lord, "Why are you so happy to take part in this wedding?" nothing about Mace changed, and Davos, worried he had not understood, added, "As a man of the old king, why are you so at ease while eating, drinking, and feasting with the men who threw him down."

"Ah," Mace pointed at Davos, "That is a fine question," Mace smiled, "Well, I dare not speak ill of the dead. But I and my family were not among the most loyal men to the Aerys or his son," he leaned back against his couch, "No…no, I am loyal to two things," he raised two fingers up, "I am loyal to my family," the first came down, "And to the throne," and the second joined it. He then stopped, and took another sip of his drink.

'That…,' Davos was not a man of words, but he could almost guess what the pudgy man was saying, 'so he thinks that since the throne is now under Baratheon rule, it would be best to be seen as loyal to them,' he then stopped, 'Which is why he is willing to use all this food and treasure to tie himself to the new king, even if he can't get a member of his family to marry a Baratheon.'

"Hoster Tully," Mace spoke up, bringing Davos out of his mind, "Is a wily old trout, I'll give him that much," Davos looked around, and while he could not see the older lord, it did not seem that Mace at all cared about what that man thought, "He managed to tie himself to two Lord Paramounts and the new royal bloodline," he shook his head, "Of course, a trout that jumps too high is far too easy a catch."

"Lord Tyrell?"

"Oh, do not trifle yourself with this," Mace smiled again, before reaching out and grabbing Davos by the shoulder. He then took out a small quill, uncorked a small little bottle with black ink inside, and took out a piece of paper. Within a moment, he was done writing whatever he had wanted to down, and then held it out to Davos. Davos looked at it, before Mace said, "I shall trust that you will not read it, so I do not feel the need to give it a seal."

Davos could only nod, and take the rolled up paper. He almost felt the need to explain that he could not read, but she kept those words in his mind, and made his way from the tent. All he could think, as he began to walk back to the keep, was that he hoped that the wedding could end without any more blood being spilt.

And if the rumors of the "The Direwolf" were anything to go by…

---

The rumors, it turned out, were nothing to go by.

'At least one less wave in the storm,' Davos thought, as he placed his tankard to his lips, the bitter taste of the dark ale washing over his tongue. Of the four tables, he had been given the one assigned to the knights and guards of the Stormlands, in comparison to one table for the knights of the Riverlands, and two other tables for the Reach. Most of these nobles…his fellows now, if Davos could force himself to remember, treated him graciously, but that did not concern Davos, whose eyes were fixed on the head table, where the nobles were sitting. But in particular, they were where they had been fixed since the wedding had begun.

They were fixed on a gray eyed man and his little blonde wife.

It had been strange when they first appeared in the hall. Davos had at first thought it had been a mistake, but no. Instead of the bloody reaver of the North, the man who had cut down what some men claimed were dozens of knights in the Battle of the Trident, there had been a long face, plain looking young man, only perhaps a year older than Stannis himself. He had dressed in a plain doublet, Stark direwolf on his right breast, and that had been the only thing to tell Davos that this man was as high a rank as Stannis or either of the two older men he'd spoken to earlier. Even by appearance, despite the signs of an already receding hairline, Davos thought that Stannis himself cut a more striking figure than this legend he was seated next to.

The girl that had been at his side had been even more a shock. Not that she wasn't striking, she was. A very pretty face, one that came from good breeding and good care, with bright gold hair and cutting green eyes. No, it was just that a girl was so clearly a girl. She was so, very small, a mere slip, as Davos's own wife would say. Davos had already had questions about her story, and her appearance only made it worse. Not only did a woman defeat Barristen the Bold, but a girl had…a little small thing almost certainly half of what Davos weighed. As the only woman besides the bride, she had been seated next to Lysa Baratheon. And while she was the prettier girl, it was also true that she had not…developed as much as the woman who this event was celebrating.

'Though at least they do not seem to be making anything worse,' Davos had been worried that if a man like the legend of the Direwolf had arrived, it would have added enough bloodlust to cause a general riot, and restart the battle of Storm's End, only with the enemy inside. But, as the bows exchanged between the young man and Mace Tyrell had shown, it seemed that Eddard Stark was not the sort of man to start a fight. For that, Davos would have to be grateful, 'for any more anger might cause the deluge to start.'

Honestly, it was a good thing that the Lord and Lady of Winterfell were there, for they were preventing anyone else from reaching over and speaking to the groom and bride. That had been a worry all afternoon, since the wedding had begun.

'Like my own, only fancier,' Davos thought, the ale slightly burning his throat, 'Father giving over the bride, a cloak over the shoulders, a septon declaring you married,' he then stopped, and looked around, 'Course, there weren't any gold or riches when I was married,' he stopped, and then added in his mind, 'I wasn't married in front of a tree with a wretched face on its side. And there weren't so many people,' he took in the over hundred nobles within the room, alongside the servants bringing the food and drink, 'by the seven, I wouldn't have bee able to pay for it all with all the spices I ever smuggled.'

But Stannis had done the wedding properly, step by step. It had been as though he were following every step out in his own head, and he had been quite stiff when taking off the Tully blue and red cloak, and placing his gold and black. The poor girl had seemed stiff as she became part of her new family. The septon then declared them married, and they had come out for the feast.

Davos had been surprised by the lack of other things besides the feast. Even when he married his wife, there had been dancing, and singing, and even a few games of drop sack. Of course, partially it was because the food served at his wedding had been a massive pot of beef stew, which Marya's mother had managed to get from one of the butchers just outside flea bottom.

'Though tasting this,' Davos smirked as he bit clean through the succulent roast food that had populated his plate, 'I do wonder if my godfather wasn't the one being swindled.'

"Oi," Davos stopped, as a strong arm suddenly wrapped around his shoulder. He looked to his right, and saw deep crimson eyes staring at him. Mixed with a wolfish grin and long blue hair, Davos quickly realized that this was the most infamous of Lord Stark's hanger ons, "You seem to be enjoying the food here, huh Ser Onion."

"I," Davos felt a heat along his cheeks. He was ready for insults to come, he had been a smuggler after all. But this blatant and open, with no regard for any kind of courtesy, "My name is Davos."

"Oh, come on," the man let go of Davos's shoulder, and then pointed at him, "You southorn's are all so touchy about your names and shit," he the rested his arms behind his head, "I tell you, it's not that-"

SLAM

And then the blue haired man's popped forward. It missed Davos himself, but he felt himself blink as he saw a taller man with a gray beard standing over the intruder, a very visible vein on his forehead, and his fist directly where the younger man's head had been. This was also a North man, considering the gray garb and wolves along his cloak.

"Cu," the man growled, "Can you take five minutes to not embarrass the whole of the north in your impropriety."

"Oi, Martyn!" Cu shrieked, holding what looked like a bump on the back of his head, "I was just talking to the smugg-"POP"YEOW!"

"That man is one of our comrades," Martyn sighed. The older man looked down at Davos, and nodded, "Please, allow me to apologize for this foolish ward of mine," he then lowered his head, "Instructing him on discretion and manner is…challenging."

"I…," Davos gave a glance at several of the other Storm lords, and wanted to slap his forehead at the looks of shock on their faces, "I thank you for your consideration," he said finally, and at that Martyn sighed, and took his seat, making sure to drag Cu down next to him. Finally, with the sudden outburst done, Davos finally looked at the blue haired man, and said, "The food is quite good."

"Ha, see Mart-," Cu stopped speaking as the older man raised a fist in preparation to strike him, "Fine, fine," Cu then turned, and smirked, "But yeah, Davos," he seemed to emphasize the name to make clear he wasn't trying to insult, "The food here is good," he reached out and ripped a leg off a roast bird, biting into it, "Though I have to say, I would have thought that these Reach guys would have more, since they are paying for thing."

"It is still winter," Davos offered, and at that, he could see Martyn nod, "Even the Reach has less food after many years of no true summer," the lack of summer had been, alongside the birth of his third son, another reason why Davos had taken his chance at smuggling the food to Storm's End. There just wasn't enough to be made smuggling spices when almost everyone was having difficulty making ends meet.

"Or they could be hoarding it," a Stormlander muttered bitterly, before reaching for a cup and downing it.

"Possibly," Davos nodded. He then returned his attention to Mace Tyrell, who was at the end of the ten person table at the front, who was speaking to the third northman among the group, Willam Dustin. As the only other lord beside Stark himself among the northern band, it had been he who had been honored with such a high seat.

'There are many lords of the Reach and the Riverlands here,' Davos thought, scanning the other three tables and seeing men proudly displaying their own house sigils, some looking enviously up at the table, 'I suppose when Eddard's message arrived, Stannis wanted to take the excuse to show that it was he who was in charge of the wedding arrangements, and removing Paxter Redwyne, Lord Blackwood and Lord Bracken from the high seat was as good a way as any,' he stared at the two other Stormlanders up at the table, 'Even if removing Ser Penrose and Renly would have been considered more appropriate.'

"Let me tell you though," Davos was brought out of his thoughts by the loud voice of Stark's dog, "If they can produce this much food when winter has been going on for…," he stopped, and seemed to think, "How many years has winter been going on?"

"Three years now," came from another North man, this one with a red maned horse on his chest.

"Yeah, three years, thanks Mark," Cu then continued where he had left off, "Three years of real winter, and the Reach can make this much food," he shook his head, "We certainly could use that, considering…"

Martyn raised his hand again, and Cu backed down. Davos blinked, wondering what the younger man could have meant, only for his eyes to follow Cu's. It was only then, that he understood the insinuation.

For Artoria Stark had on her plate a suckling pig. Not a piece. Not a slice. But a full, head to tail, suckling pig. Already half the small beast had been torn off the bone, and it looked like soon almost nothing would be left of the thing. And what was more shocking was just how calmly the thing was being torn apart. Artoria was using her knife to calmly and gently cut pieces of the pork out, eating them in almost dainty bites. She also seemed to be engaging in light conversation with the bride. Were it not for the fact that it was a whole pig, she would have seemed utterly routine, but since it was a whole pig…

"Where does she store it?" Davos could not help but ask, before realizing his error, and slamming his hands over his mouth.

"HA!" Cu laughed, and Davos blushed as he saw both Martyn and Mark placed their hands in their heads, "We don't know, me and old bonesy," he waved with his finger towards Willam Dustin, "Have a bet going on," he looked up, "He bet that her muscles bend in over one another like folded steel," Cu smirked, "I bet that poor Eddard's going to have to do something about an ou-"

"Cu, I swear to the gods, if you finish that statement, I will drag you out of here, and beat you dumb."

"Sheesh," Cu grumbled, "Come on Martyn. I'm not that kid in the yard you can just order around. I'm a great warr-"

"Then I'll let Lady Stark know what you bet."

"...you wouldn't dare," Cu leaned forward at the older man. The older man then leaned forward, and brought his eyes directly to match Cu's red pupils. Finally, the younger man leaned backward, and groaned, "Oh, you just can't let me have any fun."

"Cu," Martyn groaned, "If I let you have "Fun"...you'd have probably been a father at twelve."

"Hey!"

The next hour or so, more and more food came in. Davos would find himself full by the fourth course, but a godly seven would pass, and most of the lords around him would take in something from all the courses. Davos put moderation at feasts as yet another skill he would have to learn as he came to take up this new life he'd learnt. Just one of a half hundred other things he'd have to take up now that he was Ser Davos Seaworth, rather than the old smuggler.

When the last course was cleared out, Davos could feel a sudden shift into the feeling of the room. Many of the men around Davos had gone from focusing on their plate, to turning their eyes upward, toward the head table, and in particular, to the bride nervously playing with her food. There were almost no women here, considering that almost everyone who'd arrived had been a soldier, it was to be expected that women had not arrived on short notice. And that meant that an unusually high number of the wedding party were either young unattached men, or men whose wives were far away. So there were more men than usual ready to enjoy one of the customs of a wedding.

The bedding.

Davos had not had that during his wedding. Not because men of Fleabottom wouldn't have enjoyed the custom. Just a mix of lack of funds, smaller weddings, and small homes not allowing for crowds to grab up girls and undress them as they drag them to their rooms. No, this would be Davos's first experience.

And looking at Lysa Baratheon, he supposed that she was not looking forward to this. He imagined, had it been custom for Smallfolk to do so, his wife would not have either. For men that are not your family to strip you of your clothes, and to have them mock and belittle you…no, Davos could see how that would not be something any woman would like.

And looking over to Lysa's groom, it was hard to say he looked any more comfortable. If anything, Stannis in fact seemed to be more wide eyed and shaking than the girl. For a moment, Davos could see the boy that Stannis was, still not fully grown, instead of the Lord who had so stubbornly held out against his enemies.

'We all have burdens,' Davos thought, 'not the same as dying in an alley of Flea Bottom,' he then shook his head, 'yet, there are still burdens all the same…'

"My Lords," Stannis finally said, shaking, "It is now, the wedding is at an end…" he took in a deep breath, before his face became solid iron again, "Now, as it is time for my wife," he bowed his head just an inch in the direction of Lysa, who became stiff, but nodded, as well. The two slowly stood up, and walked around the sides of the table, to the front of it, presenting themselves to the guests. "Now, as it is time for-"

"The bedding!"

Davos nearly fell over as several of the men knocked over the chairs, and Davos could not help but see a flash of blue hair push past him, only to stop when another hand reached out and grabbed the back of a shirt. Davos could guess that Martyn had restrained the younger man once more, but stopping Cu had not been enough, as men began to push and shove their way forward. A brawl nearly started, but there was a massive push forward, as dozens of men from all the tables began to push forward. Riverlanders, Stormlanders and Reachmen all seemed to be glad to take part in the custom of the bedding. If anything, the Stormlanders were most desperate.

'Suppose it's been long since any have touched a woman,' he thought, 'certainly a young lady such as the bride.'

Davos didn't feel the need to go forward, instead merely standing and watching the wave of men approach the main table. It seemed like the inevitable flow of an incoming tide, with men overwhelming the steps up toward the table.

And then the wave stopped, only two arm lengths or so away from the bride and groom. For that distance was taken up another pair, a man and woman in gray. For some reason Eddard and Artoria Stark were standing now on the steps between the grasping nobles and their prizes, Eddard with Lysa, and Artoria with Stannis. However, instead of readying themselves to assist in the ceremony, the two were standing firm…swords displayed though not drawn.

"I believe," Eddard said, "That I shall be escorting Lady Baratheon tonight," he looked over at Lysa, and bowed his head slightly, "And there shall be no need for any assistance in this."

"And I," Artoria added, her voice somehow louder and prouder than her husband's, "Shall be escorting Lord Baratheon," she did not look back, but she declared. While Davos was unable to see Lysa's face, it hidden by the crowd and Eddard's larger frame, he could see Stannis's. It was a mix of tightening muscles…and an certain lack of strain in his spine…a mix of rage and relief, if there ever was one.

"But the beddi-"

"Should be a moment to be shared by the groom and bride," Eddard declared. For a moment, he stopped, his eyes straining, before he gave a quick look to his wife, as quickly as he could. But Davos could see a slight flick of a rolled eye on Artoria, before she moved her mouth just a bit, and Eddard then shot his head forward and said, "During my wedding, the bedding was only between my wife and I. It would only be proper," Eddard looked over to Stannis, "If that was the same for you and your wife, Lord Baratheon?"

"...," Stannis's eyes widened at the offer he was clearly being given.

"But Lord Baratheon," a voice front the crowd, a man with a pink woman on his back spoke up, "Tis custom that we instruct the bride and groom during the bedding."

"...," at that, tension seemed to reach up the young man's back. He could see the crowd begin to murmur, and begin to push forward. Lord and Lady Stark had put out the offer for the bedding to be ignored, but they weren't the lords of the castle, and with enough pressure, Stannis could be probably pushed into following the tradition. Another one of the Lord Paramounts siding with the Starks would be enough.

'The best choice would be Hoster Tully,' Davos gave a quick look at Lysa's father, but he seemed to just look down instead. He did not seem at all ready to try and come to the rescue, and offer an out to his goodson and daughter, 'Which means that the bedding wil-'

"I quite agree with Lord and Lady Stark," and then the entire room, all hundred and a half nobles turned to the other edge of the table, to see Mace Tyrell sitting back, playing with his wine, "Seems to be better to allow the man and wife to be the first to see each other as they are, rather than to have a whole rabble do so," the looks on the four young nobles were almost comical. Exhausted sighs came from Stark and his wife. A massive smile burst over Lysa's face. And Stannis looked quite as though he had just fallen in the middle of a latrine.

"But Lord Tyrell," a voice came from what seemed to be a particularly Reach heavy section of the crowd.

"Now, now," Lord Tyrell declared, "There is still plenty of wine and drink to be had," he declared, before looking over at Eddard, "And I suggest that our Bride and groom leave now, so they are not tempted, and unable to perform their duties."

Eddard nodded, and quickly motioned his hand toward the door, and quietly began to lead Lysa out. Stannis, his mixed emotions on display, finally sighed as Artoria made the same motion, and slowly led him to the opposite door. After a moment, both sets were gone, and the crowd slowly made their way back to their tables. Davos could only watch as the disappointment seemed to come over everyone as they began to return to their food. Mace Tyrell pointed at one of the servants, in Tyrell green of course, and suddenly another set of food was pulled from the kitchens, and before long, the tables were back to chatting with one another again.

"Ned's just a bore," Davos looked to Cu, who was busy drinking down some more ale on his own, "He avoids the bedding in Riverrun, and he stops the one here," he stopped speaking, and held his head back. He stopped, sighed, and just shook his head, "The man just doesn't know the way to reach the hearts of men."

"That's your lord you're speaking of," Martyn said aloud, but he did not strike Cu again, whether from exhaustion or exasperation Davos could not say. But Davos was not concerned with their argument, rather, his eyes were focused on the Lord of the Reach, who was slowly making his way from the central table to one of the doors. And as Highgarden's ruler opened the door, Davos found himself standing up once more.

---

"Ah, Ser Seaworth, I was expecting that you might come here."

It had been only a few short moments to make it up here, but Davos had been surprised at the agility the man he had chosen to follow had shown. Climbing up these steps to the wall of Storm's End had been difficult for Davos in such a short burst. Mace Tyrell was a slight bit older and with far more pounds along his belly, yet he seemed not at all to be that bothered by the journey. Indeed, instead of out of breath, he was looking out from the wall, back towards the land itself.

"I…how would yo-"

"Because you do seem to be the curious sort," Mace cut him off, "I supposed a man such as yourself, a man how grabbed the status of nobility and took it despite his station, would be the one who would follow me," he never turned his eyes from the view of his camp, "I do wonder, what could drive a boy to stand here day after day, and hold a castle despite the overwhelming odds."

"I…," Davos blanked, "That…what does that have to do with the wedding?"

"Oh, I suppose nothing, as it were," Mace let out a low chuckle, "and quite a bit, though I don't feel the need to tell you exactly why I came to the rescue of poor Iron Jaw," he turned his head back, "The fool nearly lost what remained of his har, and all his teeth, when it was eye that saved him from having his clothes ripped away and his body held up in the halls of his ancestors."

'So, was it to humiliate Stannis then?' Davos thought, 'Perhaps a grudge for denying Mace his conquest?'

"How far back do you remember your family, Ser Davos?"

"My fam-," Davos stopped, and blinked for a moment. He then remembered his father's hard face, and then how his father would speak of both his father and his grand father, "To my grandfather's father."

"Four generations then," Mace said, "I can name at least two dozen," he then ran his hand over the big black wall, "Or at least, about seven or eight I'm sure of, and like a dozen that I am not," he looked back, and his smile was smaller, but less strained, "I tell you, there are worse things than smuggling to earn a title, Ser Davos," he grumbled, "You gained your titles through action, while my family," he shook his head, "Well, we were gardeners for the Gardeners."

Davos stopped. He knew that the Tyrells had ruled the Reach since Aegon had conquered Westros, one of many families that had been utterly entrenched in rule since those days of fire and blood. He also knew that the previous rulers of the Reach, the Gardeners, had been wiped out at by the Targaryens, so the Tyrells had been the ones to take up the rule. But to hear they were merely gardeners.

"Oh, we aren't seen as much, even now after centuries," Mace admitted, "The rest of the kingdoms, those that read the books from the Citadel, they believe we are old blood, came over as knights," he snorted, "There may have been some ancestor long ago that did such things, but the Tyrells were for so long the scribes and the planters and the stewards that to anyone that has a drop of old Greenhand's blood, we are the lowest of the low," he then laughed, "But we've held this power for so long, that no one even cares about that anymore, not really," he then turned, "But still, still I thought, perhaps, conqueror of Storm's End," he smiled, "Bah, just the sort of madness that comes from being a Lord Paramount brings, I suppose," he then turned, and placed a hand on Davos's shoulder, "My advice, keep your head high, and care not for being a smuggler, for your blood may soon find its way up higher."

"I…," Davos stopped, "But what does that have to do with the bedding."

"Oh," Mace looked back over the wall, "I received a Raven not a few days ago, telling me that I had a third child only a few days ago," Mace turned his head back, "A daughter, you see," he grimaced, "When I saw poor Lysa Baratheon shaking at the thought of the bedding," he then stopped, before finally turning toward the stairwell, and walking past Davos to it, "Well, the Gardner brood might have been able to overrule me if I attempted to stop such a thing without precedent. But with precedent, even for a man I fought so long…"

And then, Davos was left alone. Davos could not help but feel that somehow, his entire opinion of the man had changed. The thought that this man had been the one feasting everyday before these walls, was also the man with such thoughts…though perhaps…

'Too much plotting,' He finally thought to himself, before sighing, and following the path Mace had gone down not a few moments before. As he descended, he could not see the man in green. Even when he got back within the wall of the keep, he could not see the other man. He sighed, again feeling a bit peeved that such a portly man was proving so swift on his feet, 'Bah,' he concluded, 'best to be a bit slower,' by this point most of the last course would likely be gone, 'better to enjoy the walk.'

"So how was Lysa?"

Davos stopped, and threw himself against a wall. He turned his head around one corner, and saw the pair of Lord and Lady Stark, slowly strolling down a hallway. It took him only a moment to realize that they were likely returning from Stannis's room, where they had almost certainly set up the bride and groom.

"She was well," Eddard said, "Still a bit nervous, but not having so many around her," he paused his voice, trying to find the words, "But she seemed glad to be being married," and then Davos could hear another pause, "After such misfortune."

"Fathers can be so cruel," the Lady Stark's voice was a knife, and Davos would be sure that her husband was glad that they were not in the presence of Hoster Tully, "Even when he was offered a chance to relieve her of some of these obligations, after everything he did."

For a moment, the two remained quiet. Then, finally, Eddard spoke again, "What of Stannis?"

"Oh," Artoria's voice lightened, "He was, as you warned, a bit stiff," but there was a chuckle in his voice, "But it's quite clear that the boy just had trouble with girls. He does not seem to understand himself fully, and then asking him to know how a girl would react, and how to treat one," she snorted.

"You are younger than Stannis, my lady."

"Oh hush," Artoria whined, before she continued, "But once I gave him a few words of advice, he asked for more. Was why we were a bit slow, he wanted what help I could give him."

"His brother would not lack any confidence," Eddard's voice was…sad, as far as Davos could tell, and the hum of affirmation from Artoria's voice was tinged with tragedy as well, "Do you suppose it shall be a fruitful marriage?"

"Mayhaps," Artoria answered, "I'd say more likely than not, but I'd make no bet on either way," she smiled, "Though, from Stannis seemed ready to make the attempt, and he did say under his breath that at least it was I giving advice, and not his brother."

"You are wise to many things, Artoria," Eddard's voice was almost wistful, "I do hope this is fruitful though," he stopped, "considering Lyanna and Robert, securing the line is important for the Baratheons," he seemed to stop, "I only hope the moon tea has not hurt Lysa Tully."

"Well, she can have children, that's why she was forced to take the tea," Artoria noted, "And Lady Arryn is now with child," she whistled, "And so soon."

"Aye," Davos could imagine Eddard's nod, "Aye, and if Stannis has any of Robert's…bountifulness."

"Oh, most men at this age are quite bountiful," Artoria's chuckle was slight, before she added, almost too matter of fact for Davos to notice, "You certainly shouldn't sell yourself short for that my dear husband."

…

"...Artoria?"

Davos could imagine the suggestion dawning on the young man's face. He'd known they'd almost been married a full year, so the possibility of a child in the girl's womb was obvious. Yet the war, and the folly of youth, had likely put the likely result of his marriage out of mind, only now coming to him.

"My moon blood has not come," the girl announced, "I think…I know…"

"ARTORIA!" there was a rustling, and laughing from the hallway. The young lord had been told he was to be a father, and Davos could understand that joy. It almost seemed to match how happy he had been when Marya had told him they were going to have Dale.

'Mayhaps we are more alike than we think, nobles and smallfolk,' Davos thought as he walked down the stairway, leaving the two giddy to themselves, 'We have different foods, different clothes, different titles,' he smiled to himself, while clutching his bag of chopped off joints, 'But, we all need food, clothes, and purpose,' he smiled to himself, 'There is something to be said for that.'

He looked out the window, over Shipbreaker Bay, where this new life of his began. The Redwyne cordon was gone now, but it had allowed him to make his way up to this new station in life. And, with all he'd seen tonight, knew it would be worth conquering if it allowed his sons to perhaps reach higher beyond him. So he'd gladly take the missing fingers, because it allowed him to walk alongside these other men, and reach a better life than he had.

'There is something to be said for that indeed.'