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got ficlet: uncertain
Uncertain
Davos/Marya | gen | ~900 words
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usetheforcelucius, who prompted Davos and Stannis, shortly after the seige of Storm's End. Maybe Davos is introducing Marya? My brain turned it into Davos and Marya talking about Stannis, IDEK. Originally posted at my Tumblr.
--
The wheelhouse pitched and rolled no worse than a ship in choppy waters, but Davos felt strangely ill -- perhaps from the close air, perhaps from nerves. It was a warm day, and the roads through the Kingswood were rutted and rough. Beside him, Marya sat as still as a silent sister, her fingers twisted into the folds of her skirts. Her dress was new, made from blue silk Davos had purchased with the first honest money he'd never held in his hands; he'd never seen Marya look so fine, but she seemed concerned that she did not look fine enough.
"What kind of man is Lord Stannis?" she asked quietly, and not for the first time. Davos gave her the only answer he had.
"He is a good man. A just man."
Marya made a soft, uncertain noise. "And why would a good and just man make a smuggler a knight?"
Davos had no answer for that at all, and he'd asked himself as much half a hundred times. Lords were queer men with queer ways, and Lord Stannis was queerer still -- prickly and proud, yet simple in his dress and manners and speech. Davos had spent nearly two full turns at Storm's End while waiting for Eddard Stark to march south and properly lift the siege, and in that time he'd learned that Lord Stannis did the things he did for his own reasons, and he rarely suffered being questioned.
"I saved his life," Davos said, frowning slightly. It still seemed strange to him, that with a black boat and a good tide he'd kept five hundred men from starving to death. He'd known hunger in his life, as had anyone who came from Flea Bottom, but he'd never seen the shadows of his own ribs, and he'd never felt pangs so strong they drove him to eat the leather off his boots. Some of Lord Stannis' men had cried at the very sight of Davos' onions, and they'd all eaten those onions raw, unwilling to wait the time it would've taken to have them sliced and stewed. "He said he wants me repaid."
"He gave you gold enough. I can't understand a knighthood as well."
It wasn't unheard of, for common men to be raised up in reward for leal service, but those common men had rarely lived so far and long outside the law. "Would you have had me refuse him?"
"No, I -- I don't know," Marya admitted, spots of color blooming on her cheeks. She was still as pretty as she'd been the day they wed, some seven years ago. "We did well enough."
They had lived a meager life in Flea Bottom, in two small and noisome rooms above a tanner, but their roof had never leaked, and their sons had never gone without clothes or shoes, and if the mutton he'd brought home had been fatty and cheap it had still been better than bowls of brown. They had done well enough, and if Davos displeased Lord Stannis somehow, or Lord Stannis found an error in his own judgement, then they would end up back in Flea Bottom and with less than they'd had before.
"Ser Davos," she said slowly. The title sounded strange from her mouth and even stranger in Davos' ears. "I don't know how to be a lady."
"And I don't know how to be a knight," he said, taking her hand. "We will learn it together."
The wheelhouse jostled to a stop, and Davos listened to the noises beyond the door -- the rumbling voice of the driver and the easy laughter of his sons. Little Matthos was asleep, nestled into a tiny cradle at Marya's feet, but Maric and Allard were outside with the men; once it had been learned they'd never sat a horse, two of the Baratheon knights had let them ride double.
They will learn to ride now, and to fight, and perhaps even to read. Davos had not intended to become a smuggler; he'd berthed on the Cobblecat after his parents died because it meant three full meals a day and a warm place to sleep at night, but he'd earned himself a black name long before he'd been old enough to truly care about such things. He had no honest trade to teach his sons, and if he'd stayed in Flea Bottom he never would. They would've grown into smugglers themselves, or else turned into poaching or thievery.
"Storm's End, ser," the driver said, as he opened the door.
The air was fresher outside the wheelhouse, and considerably cooler, despite the sun sitting high and bright in the sky. Davos was surprised to find Lord Stannis awaiting them at the gate; he stood a hand taller than any of the guards behind him, and while he looked to have gained a full stone since Davos had seen him last, he still seemed far too gaunt for his large frame, his cheeks and jaw cut from hard, sharp angles.
Davos stretched the fingers of his maimed hand. The shortened joints ached from time to time, but it was a dull reminder rather than true pain, and a small enough price to pay for everything it would mean for his sons.
Davos/Marya | gen | ~900 words
For
--
The wheelhouse pitched and rolled no worse than a ship in choppy waters, but Davos felt strangely ill -- perhaps from the close air, perhaps from nerves. It was a warm day, and the roads through the Kingswood were rutted and rough. Beside him, Marya sat as still as a silent sister, her fingers twisted into the folds of her skirts. Her dress was new, made from blue silk Davos had purchased with the first honest money he'd never held in his hands; he'd never seen Marya look so fine, but she seemed concerned that she did not look fine enough.
"What kind of man is Lord Stannis?" she asked quietly, and not for the first time. Davos gave her the only answer he had.
"He is a good man. A just man."
Marya made a soft, uncertain noise. "And why would a good and just man make a smuggler a knight?"
Davos had no answer for that at all, and he'd asked himself as much half a hundred times. Lords were queer men with queer ways, and Lord Stannis was queerer still -- prickly and proud, yet simple in his dress and manners and speech. Davos had spent nearly two full turns at Storm's End while waiting for Eddard Stark to march south and properly lift the siege, and in that time he'd learned that Lord Stannis did the things he did for his own reasons, and he rarely suffered being questioned.
"I saved his life," Davos said, frowning slightly. It still seemed strange to him, that with a black boat and a good tide he'd kept five hundred men from starving to death. He'd known hunger in his life, as had anyone who came from Flea Bottom, but he'd never seen the shadows of his own ribs, and he'd never felt pangs so strong they drove him to eat the leather off his boots. Some of Lord Stannis' men had cried at the very sight of Davos' onions, and they'd all eaten those onions raw, unwilling to wait the time it would've taken to have them sliced and stewed. "He said he wants me repaid."
"He gave you gold enough. I can't understand a knighthood as well."
It wasn't unheard of, for common men to be raised up in reward for leal service, but those common men had rarely lived so far and long outside the law. "Would you have had me refuse him?"
"No, I -- I don't know," Marya admitted, spots of color blooming on her cheeks. She was still as pretty as she'd been the day they wed, some seven years ago. "We did well enough."
They had lived a meager life in Flea Bottom, in two small and noisome rooms above a tanner, but their roof had never leaked, and their sons had never gone without clothes or shoes, and if the mutton he'd brought home had been fatty and cheap it had still been better than bowls of brown. They had done well enough, and if Davos displeased Lord Stannis somehow, or Lord Stannis found an error in his own judgement, then they would end up back in Flea Bottom and with less than they'd had before.
"Ser Davos," she said slowly. The title sounded strange from her mouth and even stranger in Davos' ears. "I don't know how to be a lady."
"And I don't know how to be a knight," he said, taking her hand. "We will learn it together."
The wheelhouse jostled to a stop, and Davos listened to the noises beyond the door -- the rumbling voice of the driver and the easy laughter of his sons. Little Matthos was asleep, nestled into a tiny cradle at Marya's feet, but Maric and Allard were outside with the men; once it had been learned they'd never sat a horse, two of the Baratheon knights had let them ride double.
They will learn to ride now, and to fight, and perhaps even to read. Davos had not intended to become a smuggler; he'd berthed on the Cobblecat after his parents died because it meant three full meals a day and a warm place to sleep at night, but he'd earned himself a black name long before he'd been old enough to truly care about such things. He had no honest trade to teach his sons, and if he'd stayed in Flea Bottom he never would. They would've grown into smugglers themselves, or else turned into poaching or thievery.
"Storm's End, ser," the driver said, as he opened the door.
The air was fresher outside the wheelhouse, and considerably cooler, despite the sun sitting high and bright in the sky. Davos was surprised to find Lord Stannis awaiting them at the gate; he stood a hand taller than any of the guards behind him, and while he looked to have gained a full stone since Davos had seen him last, he still seemed far too gaunt for his large frame, his cheeks and jaw cut from hard, sharp angles.
Davos stretched the fingers of his maimed hand. The shortened joints ached from time to time, but it was a dull reminder rather than true pain, and a small enough price to pay for everything it would mean for his sons.