linndechir (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
linndechir) wrote2012-10-12 10:47 pm
linndechir) wrote2012-10-12 10:47 pm
FIC: Mirrors (Stannis/Davos, Stannis/Jon)
Title: Mirrors
Fandom: ASOIAF
Pairings/Characters: Stannis/Davos, Stannis/Jon
Rating: G
Words: 2189
Warnings: spoilers for ADWD
Summary: Davos observes a quiet moment between the king and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
Author's note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emynithilien on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
got_exchange. Prompt was Stannis/Jon from Davos' POV. And I just compulsively write Kingsguard!Jon. ;)
The Red Keep lay in almost complete silence as Davos walked through the corridors, barely lit by the early morning sun that crept through the windows. He knew that the servants were already up, but they kept to the kitchens and stables at this hour, and most lords and ladies kept to their beds. It was oddly peaceful, and it made him appreciate the beauty of the castle that was usually lost in the hustle of the court. The official Council meeting would not commence for another hour – still early in the morning, but Stannis had made it clear that anyone who minded should feel free to give up their seat on the Council. Davos hadn't been able to sleep, though, his head full of dreams and memories of a war that should feel further away with every day, but he didn't think that he would ever forget the horrors he had seen behind the Wall, no more than the green hell of Blackwater Bay. In the end he had given up on sleep and decided to join the king a bit earlier in his preparations of the Council meeting. Stannis had always been an early riser, unwilling to waste precious hours on something as frivolous as rest when he had a kingdom to rule. Though Davos' nightmares did sometimes make him wonder if Stannis had similar trouble sleeping.
Davos was a bit out of breath by the time he reached the highest floor of the Keep, the steep steps an unwelcome reminder that he wasn't getting any younger. Fifty soon, he thought. As a young man he would have never expected to live that long. If not for King Stannis, I probably wouldn't have.
The guards let him pass without question on his way to Stannis' study – he was the Hand of the King, after all, and Stannis had given orders that Davos was to be given admission to him at all times. The doors between the stairs and the study were all wide open, and even from where he stood he could smell the fresh sea breeze. He smiled a little, unsurprised. Stannis had always hated the stink of King's Landing as much as the stuffiness of the Keep – the main reason why he had kept his old study high up in the Keep from his time as Master of Ships under King Robert's reign, rather than move to the rooms that had once belonged to his brother. The air up here was cleaner, though still freezing cold. A winter at the Wall had taken what bit of sensitivity to cold Stannis might have had before, and Davos suspected that it rather amused him to see the lords who insisted on visiting him here shiver in the cool air.
This morning even the guards by the stairs looked uncomfortable, and Davos discovered the real source of that discomfort two steps into the long corridor that led to Stannis' study: a large white direwolf lay in the middle of it, apparently dozing. Ghost lifted his head when he heard steps approaching, sniffed at Davos' hand, before the heavy white head sank back onto his paws. The direwolf knew him by now, and apparently he had decided that Davos was not worth the trouble of getting up. As Davos stepped around Ghost – how did the wolf even manage to block almost the entire corridor? – he remembered how uncomfortable he had once been around the beast, and how much he had grown used to him now. If Ghost was here, the Lord Commander probably was, too. The king's wolves, some people called them, the two white shadows who followed him everywhere.
Davos stopped by the last door when he heard voices and glanced inside. King Stannis was standing by the large desk, the usual frown etched deep into his face, his right hand resting on the papers before him. Ser Jon was at his side, his fingers pointing at one of the documents every now and then while he spoke. They were going through the details of the new customs law Stannis and Davos had drawn up – Davos smiled a little at the irony – merely making sure everything was in order before Stannis would present the documents to the Council. It was a formality, really, for the Council had indeed only an advisory power under Stannis' rule; he rarely let them interfere with his decisions.
Davos knew that he should make his presence known instead of skulking in the shadows like the smuggler he had once been, but these days the king always seemed to feel watched, and most of the time he was so guarded that even Davos could barely read him. And something about the picture before him caught his eye.
There was nothing unusual about Ser Jon being here, even so early in the morning. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard barely ever left the king's side except to sleep. Rather than just guard the king he had become his second closest advisor and confidant – if Davos had been a man who cared for power and influence, he would have feared Ser Jon more than any of the lords at court. Stannis trusted him completely, listened to his advice, respected his suggestions even when he disagreed with him. It almost amused Davos how easily this young man had gained Stannis' appreciation during the war without even meaning to, when dozens of courtiers vied for it in vain every day.
He tells me the truth, Davos. I was in dire need of honesty while you were gone.
Those had been Stannis' words when Davos had first asked him about Ned Stark's bastard, back when the boy had still commanded the Night's Watch. Davos had been surprised to see such respect in Stannis' eyes during those constant arguments over men and resources, when he had really expected resentment and open hatred for someone who had to remind Stannis constantly of the man King Robert had always preferred to him. If truth be told, Davos had thought to see a ghost when he had first met Jon Snow. The same serious, long face, the same grey eyes, the same unremarkable dark hair. Even the smile that lit up Jon's face when he saw his little half-brother again had been eerily similar to his father's all those years back, when Davos had exchanged a few words with Lord Stark and they had spoken about their respective families at the feast after their victory against Balon Greyjoy.
But Ser Jon looked nothing like the sullen boy who had commanded the Wall anymore. War had turned the boy into a man, had cut frown lines into his face that were too deep for so young a man. It reminded Davos of Stannis just after the siege, a boy forced into manhood too early and too fast. Dressed in pristine white, his armour gleaming, his dark hair neatly tied together, Ser Jon looked more splendid than the king in his almost plain black clothes, a few small golden embroideries at his collar and sleeves the only concession to his status. The long white cloak was held by a silver direwolf brooch – a present from the queen, as far as Davos knew, and while Ser Jon had also refused Stannis' second offer to legitimise him and let him enter the Kingsguard as Jon Stark, the small brooch with his father's sigil still seemed to be his most prized possession.
Despite feeling somewhat guilty about his curiosity Davos stayed where he was, grateful that the two of them were too engrossed in their conversation to notice him. They were standing close to each other, shoulders brushing, but Stannis looked almost relaxed by his own standards, certainly not as tense as he usually did when someone touched him. It was rare that they weren't arguing, although Davos knew that they had had enough differences over the new law in the last few days. Ser Jon was always blunter in his objections than Davos, to the point of insolence almost, but if anything it only seemed to make Stannis appreciate him more. There was a rare peacefulness about this moment, and for half a second Davos thought he could even see a smile flickering over the king's face. The quiet, almost content smile that Davos had only ever seen on those increasingly rare evenings when Stannis allowed himself a few hours of rest, talking to Davos or more often simply sitting with him in silence.
If Davos had been prone to jealousy, he might have felt hurt at that, but instead he just smiled, a smile that mirrored his king's. He had known Stannis for almost twenty years, and in all that time old Maester Cressen had been the only other person who had ever seemed to have any love for Stannis, any appreciation for his strength, his loyalty, his unrelenting sense of duty. Most men did not bother to look past that gruff exterior – and to be fair, most men would not stand a chance even if they tried. But Jon Snow had been different, getting under Stannis' skin in a way that few others ever had. Davos wondered if the king had ever wondered why, if he was even aware of just how similar they were. For if Jon Snow had all of Ned Stark's looks, he could have been Stannis Baratheon's son for all his stubbornness and devotion to his duties. It had not really surprised Davos that they constantly argued, and it had surprised him even less that they respected each other despite that. And when Stannis had knighted Jon Snow after the war and all but forced the white cloak onto his shoulders, more than anything Davos had been relieved that Stannis had found another man he could trust.
He had thought that was all there was. Respect, trust, maybe gruff affection that they both hid behind serious miens – which was already more than Stannis shared with anyone but him. But now that he saw them in a quieter moment, unobserved by the eyes of the court, there was an unusual ease in the way they moved around each other, born from more than just the hours they had spent together. An intimacy in the way their hands brushed when Stannis took a paper from Jon's fingers, as if they were familiar with each other's touch, and yet it was accompanied by a shadow of guilt on Stannis' face, a look that Davos had come to dread over the years, a look that he had seen all too often whenever Stannis had but allowed himself to let his hand linger for too long on Davos' shoulder or his maimed fingers. The look of a man who felt guilty for wanting alone, as if longing for a friend's touch was already an unforgivable weakness.
That he still kept Ser Jon so close said almost as much as the warm smile on Jon's face whenever Stannis wasn't looking.
Usually Davos felt uneasy whenever he left Stannis in the company of others, knowing how uncomfortable his king would be, how much Stannis despised most people. For the first time in years, since Stannis had still appreciated Maester Cressen's presence, Davos felt like his king would not be completely alone without him.
His relief was accompanied by a sharp pang of guilt. He had no business spying on them like this, intruding on something that was clearly not meant for anyone's eyes, not even his. And although he knew that Stannis would welcome him gladly, Davos couldn't bring himself to interrupt this moment. It was not his place to disturb them. And if there was more between them than the affection between a king and his trusted advisor, more even than the love between two friends, it was between them alone. Davos could only hope that whatever this was would bring Stannis less pain than those all too similar moments he had shared with Davos, maybe even a shred of happiness or at least a sense of peace. It was the only thing Davos really wanted for his king.
Mindful not to make any noise Davos turned around and walked back towards the stairs. He still had almost an hour until the Council meeting, plenty of time to find Devan – Ser Devan now, he thought with pride – and have breakfast with him.
Ghost didn't even lift his head when Davos walked past him the second time; only his ears twitched a little. The sight made him smile – it was good to know that his king would be well guarded either way, even if Ser Jon's thoughts strayed a little. A long time ago Stannis had told him that kings had no friends, only subjects and enemies. He would probably still say that now, dismiss the very idea that he needed something as unnecessary as friendship, but Davos knew better. And if Stannis didn't want to hear about it, Davos was sure that Ser Jon knew as well as Davos not to mention it.
Fandom: ASOIAF
Pairings/Characters: Stannis/Davos, Stannis/Jon
Rating: G
Words: 2189
Warnings: spoilers for ADWD
Summary: Davos observes a quiet moment between the king and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
Author's note: Written for
emynithilien on got_exchange. Prompt was Stannis/Jon from Davos' POV. And I just compulsively write Kingsguard!Jon. ;)The Red Keep lay in almost complete silence as Davos walked through the corridors, barely lit by the early morning sun that crept through the windows. He knew that the servants were already up, but they kept to the kitchens and stables at this hour, and most lords and ladies kept to their beds. It was oddly peaceful, and it made him appreciate the beauty of the castle that was usually lost in the hustle of the court. The official Council meeting would not commence for another hour – still early in the morning, but Stannis had made it clear that anyone who minded should feel free to give up their seat on the Council. Davos hadn't been able to sleep, though, his head full of dreams and memories of a war that should feel further away with every day, but he didn't think that he would ever forget the horrors he had seen behind the Wall, no more than the green hell of Blackwater Bay. In the end he had given up on sleep and decided to join the king a bit earlier in his preparations of the Council meeting. Stannis had always been an early riser, unwilling to waste precious hours on something as frivolous as rest when he had a kingdom to rule. Though Davos' nightmares did sometimes make him wonder if Stannis had similar trouble sleeping.
Davos was a bit out of breath by the time he reached the highest floor of the Keep, the steep steps an unwelcome reminder that he wasn't getting any younger. Fifty soon, he thought. As a young man he would have never expected to live that long. If not for King Stannis, I probably wouldn't have.
The guards let him pass without question on his way to Stannis' study – he was the Hand of the King, after all, and Stannis had given orders that Davos was to be given admission to him at all times. The doors between the stairs and the study were all wide open, and even from where he stood he could smell the fresh sea breeze. He smiled a little, unsurprised. Stannis had always hated the stink of King's Landing as much as the stuffiness of the Keep – the main reason why he had kept his old study high up in the Keep from his time as Master of Ships under King Robert's reign, rather than move to the rooms that had once belonged to his brother. The air up here was cleaner, though still freezing cold. A winter at the Wall had taken what bit of sensitivity to cold Stannis might have had before, and Davos suspected that it rather amused him to see the lords who insisted on visiting him here shiver in the cool air.
This morning even the guards by the stairs looked uncomfortable, and Davos discovered the real source of that discomfort two steps into the long corridor that led to Stannis' study: a large white direwolf lay in the middle of it, apparently dozing. Ghost lifted his head when he heard steps approaching, sniffed at Davos' hand, before the heavy white head sank back onto his paws. The direwolf knew him by now, and apparently he had decided that Davos was not worth the trouble of getting up. As Davos stepped around Ghost – how did the wolf even manage to block almost the entire corridor? – he remembered how uncomfortable he had once been around the beast, and how much he had grown used to him now. If Ghost was here, the Lord Commander probably was, too. The king's wolves, some people called them, the two white shadows who followed him everywhere.
Davos stopped by the last door when he heard voices and glanced inside. King Stannis was standing by the large desk, the usual frown etched deep into his face, his right hand resting on the papers before him. Ser Jon was at his side, his fingers pointing at one of the documents every now and then while he spoke. They were going through the details of the new customs law Stannis and Davos had drawn up – Davos smiled a little at the irony – merely making sure everything was in order before Stannis would present the documents to the Council. It was a formality, really, for the Council had indeed only an advisory power under Stannis' rule; he rarely let them interfere with his decisions.
Davos knew that he should make his presence known instead of skulking in the shadows like the smuggler he had once been, but these days the king always seemed to feel watched, and most of the time he was so guarded that even Davos could barely read him. And something about the picture before him caught his eye.
There was nothing unusual about Ser Jon being here, even so early in the morning. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard barely ever left the king's side except to sleep. Rather than just guard the king he had become his second closest advisor and confidant – if Davos had been a man who cared for power and influence, he would have feared Ser Jon more than any of the lords at court. Stannis trusted him completely, listened to his advice, respected his suggestions even when he disagreed with him. It almost amused Davos how easily this young man had gained Stannis' appreciation during the war without even meaning to, when dozens of courtiers vied for it in vain every day.
He tells me the truth, Davos. I was in dire need of honesty while you were gone.
Those had been Stannis' words when Davos had first asked him about Ned Stark's bastard, back when the boy had still commanded the Night's Watch. Davos had been surprised to see such respect in Stannis' eyes during those constant arguments over men and resources, when he had really expected resentment and open hatred for someone who had to remind Stannis constantly of the man King Robert had always preferred to him. If truth be told, Davos had thought to see a ghost when he had first met Jon Snow. The same serious, long face, the same grey eyes, the same unremarkable dark hair. Even the smile that lit up Jon's face when he saw his little half-brother again had been eerily similar to his father's all those years back, when Davos had exchanged a few words with Lord Stark and they had spoken about their respective families at the feast after their victory against Balon Greyjoy.
But Ser Jon looked nothing like the sullen boy who had commanded the Wall anymore. War had turned the boy into a man, had cut frown lines into his face that were too deep for so young a man. It reminded Davos of Stannis just after the siege, a boy forced into manhood too early and too fast. Dressed in pristine white, his armour gleaming, his dark hair neatly tied together, Ser Jon looked more splendid than the king in his almost plain black clothes, a few small golden embroideries at his collar and sleeves the only concession to his status. The long white cloak was held by a silver direwolf brooch – a present from the queen, as far as Davos knew, and while Ser Jon had also refused Stannis' second offer to legitimise him and let him enter the Kingsguard as Jon Stark, the small brooch with his father's sigil still seemed to be his most prized possession.
Despite feeling somewhat guilty about his curiosity Davos stayed where he was, grateful that the two of them were too engrossed in their conversation to notice him. They were standing close to each other, shoulders brushing, but Stannis looked almost relaxed by his own standards, certainly not as tense as he usually did when someone touched him. It was rare that they weren't arguing, although Davos knew that they had had enough differences over the new law in the last few days. Ser Jon was always blunter in his objections than Davos, to the point of insolence almost, but if anything it only seemed to make Stannis appreciate him more. There was a rare peacefulness about this moment, and for half a second Davos thought he could even see a smile flickering over the king's face. The quiet, almost content smile that Davos had only ever seen on those increasingly rare evenings when Stannis allowed himself a few hours of rest, talking to Davos or more often simply sitting with him in silence.
If Davos had been prone to jealousy, he might have felt hurt at that, but instead he just smiled, a smile that mirrored his king's. He had known Stannis for almost twenty years, and in all that time old Maester Cressen had been the only other person who had ever seemed to have any love for Stannis, any appreciation for his strength, his loyalty, his unrelenting sense of duty. Most men did not bother to look past that gruff exterior – and to be fair, most men would not stand a chance even if they tried. But Jon Snow had been different, getting under Stannis' skin in a way that few others ever had. Davos wondered if the king had ever wondered why, if he was even aware of just how similar they were. For if Jon Snow had all of Ned Stark's looks, he could have been Stannis Baratheon's son for all his stubbornness and devotion to his duties. It had not really surprised Davos that they constantly argued, and it had surprised him even less that they respected each other despite that. And when Stannis had knighted Jon Snow after the war and all but forced the white cloak onto his shoulders, more than anything Davos had been relieved that Stannis had found another man he could trust.
He had thought that was all there was. Respect, trust, maybe gruff affection that they both hid behind serious miens – which was already more than Stannis shared with anyone but him. But now that he saw them in a quieter moment, unobserved by the eyes of the court, there was an unusual ease in the way they moved around each other, born from more than just the hours they had spent together. An intimacy in the way their hands brushed when Stannis took a paper from Jon's fingers, as if they were familiar with each other's touch, and yet it was accompanied by a shadow of guilt on Stannis' face, a look that Davos had come to dread over the years, a look that he had seen all too often whenever Stannis had but allowed himself to let his hand linger for too long on Davos' shoulder or his maimed fingers. The look of a man who felt guilty for wanting alone, as if longing for a friend's touch was already an unforgivable weakness.
That he still kept Ser Jon so close said almost as much as the warm smile on Jon's face whenever Stannis wasn't looking.
Usually Davos felt uneasy whenever he left Stannis in the company of others, knowing how uncomfortable his king would be, how much Stannis despised most people. For the first time in years, since Stannis had still appreciated Maester Cressen's presence, Davos felt like his king would not be completely alone without him.
His relief was accompanied by a sharp pang of guilt. He had no business spying on them like this, intruding on something that was clearly not meant for anyone's eyes, not even his. And although he knew that Stannis would welcome him gladly, Davos couldn't bring himself to interrupt this moment. It was not his place to disturb them. And if there was more between them than the affection between a king and his trusted advisor, more even than the love between two friends, it was between them alone. Davos could only hope that whatever this was would bring Stannis less pain than those all too similar moments he had shared with Davos, maybe even a shred of happiness or at least a sense of peace. It was the only thing Davos really wanted for his king.
Mindful not to make any noise Davos turned around and walked back towards the stairs. He still had almost an hour until the Council meeting, plenty of time to find Devan – Ser Devan now, he thought with pride – and have breakfast with him.
Ghost didn't even lift his head when Davos walked past him the second time; only his ears twitched a little. The sight made him smile – it was good to know that his king would be well guarded either way, even if Ser Jon's thoughts strayed a little. A long time ago Stannis had told him that kings had no friends, only subjects and enemies. He would probably still say that now, dismiss the very idea that he needed something as unnecessary as friendship, but Davos knew better. And if Stannis didn't want to hear about it, Davos was sure that Ser Jon knew as well as Davos not to mention it.
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