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linndechirTitle: The sum of all his deeds
Fandom: ASOIAF
Characters: Davos, mentions of Stannis and Marya
Rating: G
Words: 1575
Warnings: none
Summary: Davos considers the reward Stannis has offered him, and the punishment that comes with it.
A/N: Another fic I wrote for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
got_exchange, this time for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
buriedbooks. The prompt was "Davos - a boat longing for sea and yet afraid", but I think I strayed away from that completely.
Shipbreaker Bay looked oddly empty without the Redwyne fleet clustering it up. The last time he had been here, it had taken Davos all his skill to get into the castle and out again after delivering the food, and when he had left, he had not yet been certain if he would ever return.
Davos had not expected his life to change much when he had set out with his little boat crammed full of onions and dried fish. He had just assumed that the lord of the castle would hand him a sack of gold, and that would be the end of it. But Lord Stannis – so young he was almost a boy still, but hard and mature beyond his tender years – had looked at him for a long time and said that he had no gold to give. He had refused to make any promises he would not be able to keep if his brother lost the war. Instead he had simply instructed Davos to return when – if – the siege was lifted and collect his reward then.
But it will not only be a reward, smuggler. You have flaunted the laws of the realm your whole life, and for that I will have to punish you.
Punish me, m'lord?
Usually thieves lose a hand, no? I will think about your just punishment and your reward until your return. You cannot have one without the other. A man is the sum of all his deeds, the good as well as the bad.
Davos' smuggler friends had called him insane when he told them that he considered returning, had warned him that this ungrateful lordling would probably chop off his hand, and the only reward he could hope for would be to get away with his life. But Davos had felt a strange faith in Stannis Baratheon. A good smuggler was a good judge of character, and despite Davos' healthy mistrust of nobles, this young man had struck him as unusually honest and thoughtful. When he spoke his words rang true and blunt, untarnished by hollow promises.
Stannis Baratheon would not take his hand, but only his fingertips. He had offered him his life, but it was not the life Davos had known before the siege.
The water looked peaceful, the eerie calm it had just before a storm, but from the courtyard below Davos could hear men running and shouting. Storm's End had felt like a tomb when he had last come, inhabited by the gaunt, quiet ghosts of men who were too hungry to speak. Now that the siege was lifted and large parts of Lord Stark's army were still in the castle, the tomb had come back to life. Surrounded by not just soldiers, but lords and knights, Davos felt out of place. As he looked down to the familiar dark blue of the sea, the sun shining on the gently rippling surface, he was tempted to sneak down and make off on his boat, away from castles and lords and knights. Stannis' offer was tempting, but that didn't make it any less intimidating.
Your fingertips for the smuggling. A knighthood, a keep and lands for the onions and the fish. I would put an end to your old life and offer you a new one, as a knight in my service. If you refuse, your only reward will be that I let you go unscathed.
Davos' gaze went to his left hand. It was scarred and rough, but he could not picture it maimed. Once he had hung on to a rope in a storm; it had burnt into his flesh so deeply that he had thought his fingers were being ripped off. He could not begin to imagine the pain of having his fingertips cut off. He was not a warrior, he had never been seriously injured in his whole life. He did not know if he could take the pain.
When Davos had demanded that Stannis wield the butcher's cleaver himself, he had hoped that the young lord would refuse, but even though he had paled, Stannis had nodded. There was no cruelty in those blue eyes, he would take no pleasure in hurting him. On the contrary, the thought seemed to sicken him, and yet he stayed firm, unrelenting. Davos had never seen such unyielding determination in someone so young, but what else had he expected from a boy who held a besieged castle for a whole year with barely any supplies?
Your fingertips for the smuggling.
Davos had hesitated, but he had not looked away. Stannis Baratheon was not a man who appreciated grovelling, so Davos had met those deep-set, dark blue eyes. They were cold and calm, but the calm seemed as treacherous as ice in early winter, when it looks solid, but breaks the moment one steps on it. Davos had heard men say that Lord Robert was like a wild, unstoppable tempest. Lord Stannis was the quiet calm of an autumn night, when the air sizzles with tension before the first thunderbolt tears through the sky.
I am married, m'lord.
To a carpenter's daughter, he had thought, who knew no more about courtly manners than he did. The look in Stannis' eyes showed that he understood, but his frown did not deepen. If anything, some of the hardness seemed to leave his gaunt features.
Wouldn't you have your children grow up in a keep, as a knight's sons and daughters, safe and protected, rather than living in a cold shed, praying that their father will not get caught and execued for his crimes?
His eyes went back to the sea. It was what he knew – sailing and smuggling, how to stay undetected, how to notice a storm long before it started, how to find shelter in time. He was the best smuggler in Westeros, and he was sure that he would make its worst knight. But then he thought of how worried his Marya looked every time he went to sea, of his four sons' scared, trusting eyes, wondering when their father would be back.
And he finally realised that what he felt now, he had felt before, seven years ago, on the night before his wedding. He had not stood on top of a castle wall then, but on a hill just outside King's Landing, and he had stared down at the sea, dreaming, longing. Part of him had wanted to run, to Essos, to the Summer Isles, to Lys – he was Davos the smuggler, not Davos the husband. But he had stayed, and marrying Marya had been the best choice he had ever made.
Davos the smuggler, not Davos the knight. He knew even less about knighthood than he knew about marriage, and his lord would demand so much more of him than his wife. A man like Stannis Baratheon did not offer a title lightly.
I don't know what a knight does, m'lord. I don't know what you'd expect from me.
I expect obedience, loyalty and sincerity. I've found that my peers know little of any of these. Be faithful and honest, and you will make a better knight than those shallow fools.
Davos loved the freedom of the sea; even as a little boy he had spent days at the harbour, dreaming of sneaking onto one of the ships and sailing to the other end of the world. And as early as possible, he had bought his own boat, been his own captain. Vowing to serve another man, not just for one job, but for the rest of his life? The vastness of such an oath terrified him. Criminal or not, he was honest, and he did not give his word lightly. If he bent the knee to Stannis Baratheon, he would stay true to his promise to serve him. A keep and lands for some onions seemed an unfair trade, and if he accepted, he would have to spend his entire life repaying the debt.
A man is the sum of all his deeds, the good as well as the bad. Each must have its own reward, and a man must be judged by all he has done. High or low, we must be punished for our crimes and rewarded for our service.
Davos had never before heard a man speak with such conviction, such faith. And he realised that as terrifying as Stannis' offer was, more than anything it was fair. Utterly just without prejudice. Davos had never thought of himself as a bad man – he did the only thing he knew to feed his family. But Stannis Baratheon's fervour for justice made him want to be a better man, just like meeting Marya had made him try to be worthy of her hand. He had never cared much for other people's judgement, but he had cared for hers as he now cared for Stannis'. He wanted those storm-blue eyes to look at him with approval, not disappointment. He wanted to be the man Stannis Baratheon would expect him to be if he knelt to accept this knighthood.
He had put his right hand in Marya's to become her husband. He would put his left hand in Stannis Baratheon's to become his knight.
It is just, Stannis muttered hoarsely as he lifted the cleaver for the first time. And in the second before the world exploded into searing red pain, Davos smiled.
It is.
Fandom: ASOIAF
Characters: Davos, mentions of Stannis and Marya
Rating: G
Words: 1575
Warnings: none
Summary: Davos considers the reward Stannis has offered him, and the punishment that comes with it.
A/N: Another fic I wrote for
got_exchange, this time for buriedbooks. The prompt was "Davos - a boat longing for sea and yet afraid", but I think I strayed away from that completely.Shipbreaker Bay looked oddly empty without the Redwyne fleet clustering it up. The last time he had been here, it had taken Davos all his skill to get into the castle and out again after delivering the food, and when he had left, he had not yet been certain if he would ever return.
Davos had not expected his life to change much when he had set out with his little boat crammed full of onions and dried fish. He had just assumed that the lord of the castle would hand him a sack of gold, and that would be the end of it. But Lord Stannis – so young he was almost a boy still, but hard and mature beyond his tender years – had looked at him for a long time and said that he had no gold to give. He had refused to make any promises he would not be able to keep if his brother lost the war. Instead he had simply instructed Davos to return when – if – the siege was lifted and collect his reward then.
But it will not only be a reward, smuggler. You have flaunted the laws of the realm your whole life, and for that I will have to punish you.
Punish me, m'lord?
Usually thieves lose a hand, no? I will think about your just punishment and your reward until your return. You cannot have one without the other. A man is the sum of all his deeds, the good as well as the bad.
Davos' smuggler friends had called him insane when he told them that he considered returning, had warned him that this ungrateful lordling would probably chop off his hand, and the only reward he could hope for would be to get away with his life. But Davos had felt a strange faith in Stannis Baratheon. A good smuggler was a good judge of character, and despite Davos' healthy mistrust of nobles, this young man had struck him as unusually honest and thoughtful. When he spoke his words rang true and blunt, untarnished by hollow promises.
Stannis Baratheon would not take his hand, but only his fingertips. He had offered him his life, but it was not the life Davos had known before the siege.
The water looked peaceful, the eerie calm it had just before a storm, but from the courtyard below Davos could hear men running and shouting. Storm's End had felt like a tomb when he had last come, inhabited by the gaunt, quiet ghosts of men who were too hungry to speak. Now that the siege was lifted and large parts of Lord Stark's army were still in the castle, the tomb had come back to life. Surrounded by not just soldiers, but lords and knights, Davos felt out of place. As he looked down to the familiar dark blue of the sea, the sun shining on the gently rippling surface, he was tempted to sneak down and make off on his boat, away from castles and lords and knights. Stannis' offer was tempting, but that didn't make it any less intimidating.
Your fingertips for the smuggling. A knighthood, a keep and lands for the onions and the fish. I would put an end to your old life and offer you a new one, as a knight in my service. If you refuse, your only reward will be that I let you go unscathed.
Davos' gaze went to his left hand. It was scarred and rough, but he could not picture it maimed. Once he had hung on to a rope in a storm; it had burnt into his flesh so deeply that he had thought his fingers were being ripped off. He could not begin to imagine the pain of having his fingertips cut off. He was not a warrior, he had never been seriously injured in his whole life. He did not know if he could take the pain.
When Davos had demanded that Stannis wield the butcher's cleaver himself, he had hoped that the young lord would refuse, but even though he had paled, Stannis had nodded. There was no cruelty in those blue eyes, he would take no pleasure in hurting him. On the contrary, the thought seemed to sicken him, and yet he stayed firm, unrelenting. Davos had never seen such unyielding determination in someone so young, but what else had he expected from a boy who held a besieged castle for a whole year with barely any supplies?
Your fingertips for the smuggling.
Davos had hesitated, but he had not looked away. Stannis Baratheon was not a man who appreciated grovelling, so Davos had met those deep-set, dark blue eyes. They were cold and calm, but the calm seemed as treacherous as ice in early winter, when it looks solid, but breaks the moment one steps on it. Davos had heard men say that Lord Robert was like a wild, unstoppable tempest. Lord Stannis was the quiet calm of an autumn night, when the air sizzles with tension before the first thunderbolt tears through the sky.
I am married, m'lord.
To a carpenter's daughter, he had thought, who knew no more about courtly manners than he did. The look in Stannis' eyes showed that he understood, but his frown did not deepen. If anything, some of the hardness seemed to leave his gaunt features.
Wouldn't you have your children grow up in a keep, as a knight's sons and daughters, safe and protected, rather than living in a cold shed, praying that their father will not get caught and execued for his crimes?
His eyes went back to the sea. It was what he knew – sailing and smuggling, how to stay undetected, how to notice a storm long before it started, how to find shelter in time. He was the best smuggler in Westeros, and he was sure that he would make its worst knight. But then he thought of how worried his Marya looked every time he went to sea, of his four sons' scared, trusting eyes, wondering when their father would be back.
And he finally realised that what he felt now, he had felt before, seven years ago, on the night before his wedding. He had not stood on top of a castle wall then, but on a hill just outside King's Landing, and he had stared down at the sea, dreaming, longing. Part of him had wanted to run, to Essos, to the Summer Isles, to Lys – he was Davos the smuggler, not Davos the husband. But he had stayed, and marrying Marya had been the best choice he had ever made.
Davos the smuggler, not Davos the knight. He knew even less about knighthood than he knew about marriage, and his lord would demand so much more of him than his wife. A man like Stannis Baratheon did not offer a title lightly.
I don't know what a knight does, m'lord. I don't know what you'd expect from me.
I expect obedience, loyalty and sincerity. I've found that my peers know little of any of these. Be faithful and honest, and you will make a better knight than those shallow fools.
Davos loved the freedom of the sea; even as a little boy he had spent days at the harbour, dreaming of sneaking onto one of the ships and sailing to the other end of the world. And as early as possible, he had bought his own boat, been his own captain. Vowing to serve another man, not just for one job, but for the rest of his life? The vastness of such an oath terrified him. Criminal or not, he was honest, and he did not give his word lightly. If he bent the knee to Stannis Baratheon, he would stay true to his promise to serve him. A keep and lands for some onions seemed an unfair trade, and if he accepted, he would have to spend his entire life repaying the debt.
A man is the sum of all his deeds, the good as well as the bad. Each must have its own reward, and a man must be judged by all he has done. High or low, we must be punished for our crimes and rewarded for our service.
Davos had never before heard a man speak with such conviction, such faith. And he realised that as terrifying as Stannis' offer was, more than anything it was fair. Utterly just without prejudice. Davos had never thought of himself as a bad man – he did the only thing he knew to feed his family. But Stannis Baratheon's fervour for justice made him want to be a better man, just like meeting Marya had made him try to be worthy of her hand. He had never cared much for other people's judgement, but he had cared for hers as he now cared for Stannis'. He wanted those storm-blue eyes to look at him with approval, not disappointment. He wanted to be the man Stannis Baratheon would expect him to be if he knelt to accept this knighthood.
He had put his right hand in Marya's to become her husband. He would put his left hand in Stannis Baratheon's to become his knight.
It is just, Stannis muttered hoarsely as he lifted the cleaver for the first time. And in the second before the world exploded into searing red pain, Davos smiled.
It is.
