Jon’s trying to explain about death (his death), prophecies (Melisandre’s), and the war against the white walkers, and Stannis will not listen. Or at least, he won’t listen to the important part, which is that Jon requires his assistance.
Taking the North has drained something out of the king, his face even more gaunt and hollow than before, but there is a hunger left in him that Jon doesn’t know what to make of. On lesser men it would be greed, but on Stannis Baratheon it is so much more. It’s thirst, Jon thinks, thirst for what is meant to be and for things to end, and Jon understands that very little will quench it. Still, he needs the king to listen.
“The Others are coming,” Jon snaps. “The Iron Throne is useless if there are no people to be governed, Your Grace. The war is at the Wall, not King’s Landing.”
“If I take King’s Landing I can bring more men,” Stannis barks. Jon does his best not to scream and is about to politely tell the king NO when the door opens and a voice quietly says, “Excuse me.”
Stannis starts, swerving so fast he knocks a stack of books off the desk. A man walks in, wearing thick earth tones and a tangled beard. Jon doesn’t know this man, but the king clearly does.
“Davos –” Stannis takes one uncertain step forward, eyes wide. The expression on his face is strange; perhaps it’s the fact that there’s an expression rather than the typical frustration. He looks strange, wrong…
Vulnerable. That’s the word.
“Your Grace,” the man says, bowing low. He must be the smuggler-turned-knight, Jon knows, but instinct tells him that the man is more. Stannis’s face slowly tightens and he’s unsure if he should watch this private moment or not. He feels loathe to intrude on this reunion but to look away would mean Stannis needs him to look away, and Stannis Baratheon is not the kind of man to appreciate a reminder of his own sentimentality.
Jon blinks.
“I see someone has seen fit to return me my knight of onions yet again,” the king says. If his voice is a hair thicker than norm, no one mentions it.
“That would be Wyman Manderly, Your Grace,” Lord Davos says. Stannis frowns, looking refreshingly like himself again.
“It seems I won’t be collecting his head after all,” he says roughly. Lord Davos smiles, genuine and warm, and Jon finds himself liking the man. The gods know Stannis needs an acquaintance who knows how to smile.
“I would hope not,” Lord Davos says amiably. He looks to Jon and bows. “Davos Seaworth, Lord Commander.”
“I’ve heard much about you,” Jon says, bowing back. When he rises the king is staring at him.
“Lord Snow,” Stannis says, an edge to his voice. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to speak with Lord Seaworth.”
“Of course,” Jon says, recognizing the underlying plea beneath the gruff command. Stannis nods curtly at his deference but Lord Seaworth holds his gaze with silent thanks. Jon nods at them both and when he glances back, he sees Stannis’s face twitch into what could almost be a smile.
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timeasmymeasure
The Sentimental Man [minifill]
Date: 2012-07-12 01:50 pm (UTC)Taking the North has drained something out of the king, his face even more gaunt and hollow than before, but there is a hunger left in him that Jon doesn’t know what to make of. On lesser men it would be greed, but on Stannis Baratheon it is so much more. It’s thirst, Jon thinks, thirst for what is meant to be and for things to end, and Jon understands that very little will quench it. Still, he needs the king to listen.
“The Others are coming,” Jon snaps. “The Iron Throne is useless if there are no people to be governed, Your Grace. The war is at the Wall, not King’s Landing.”
“If I take King’s Landing I can bring more men,” Stannis barks. Jon does his best not to scream and is about to politely tell the king NO when the door opens and a voice quietly says, “Excuse me.”
Stannis starts, swerving so fast he knocks a stack of books off the desk. A man walks in, wearing thick earth tones and a tangled beard. Jon doesn’t know this man, but the king clearly does.
“Davos –” Stannis takes one uncertain step forward, eyes wide. The expression on his face is strange; perhaps it’s the fact that there’s an expression rather than the typical frustration. He looks strange, wrong…
Vulnerable. That’s the word.
“Your Grace,” the man says, bowing low. He must be the smuggler-turned-knight, Jon knows, but instinct tells him that the man is more. Stannis’s face slowly tightens and he’s unsure if he should watch this private moment or not. He feels loathe to intrude on this reunion but to look away would mean Stannis needs him to look away, and Stannis Baratheon is not the kind of man to appreciate a reminder of his own sentimentality.
Jon blinks.
“I see someone has seen fit to return me my knight of onions yet again,” the king says. If his voice is a hair thicker than norm, no one mentions it.
“That would be Wyman Manderly, Your Grace,” Lord Davos says. Stannis frowns, looking refreshingly like himself again.
“It seems I won’t be collecting his head after all,” he says roughly. Lord Davos smiles, genuine and warm, and Jon finds himself liking the man. The gods know Stannis needs an acquaintance who knows how to smile.
“I would hope not,” Lord Davos says amiably. He looks to Jon and bows. “Davos Seaworth, Lord Commander.”
“I’ve heard much about you,” Jon says, bowing back. When he rises the king is staring at him.
“Lord Snow,” Stannis says, an edge to his voice. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to speak with Lord Seaworth.”
“Of course,” Jon says, recognizing the underlying plea beneath the gruff command. Stannis nods curtly at his deference but Lord Seaworth holds his gaze with silent thanks. Jon nods at them both and when he glances back, he sees Stannis’s face twitch into what could almost be a smile.