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fandomweekly2025-08-10 03:13 pm
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2025-08-10 03:13 pm
Entry tags:
[#270] CROSSROADS (GAME OF THRONES / A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE)
Theme Prompt: #270 - Pride
Title: Crossroads
Fandom: Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire)
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Davos is beginning to see the weight one decision may have on the fate of them all.
Ser Davos Seaworth nearly jumped out of his skin as he knocked then entered the temporary accommodations. Stannis Baratheon was at the threshold in a heartbeat, sword drawn and ready to carve up the man who entered. Davos quickly took a step back, holding up his hands in deference. ‘Your Grace,’ he said, hoping that the familiar intonation of his voice would be enough to identify him in the darkened hallways of Castle Black. ‘What are you worried about?’ he asked, wondering who it was that Stannis thought would wish to do him harm in this isolated part of the realm. ‘It's me.’
Stannis lowered his sword, but his expression remained as stern and grim-faced as ever. ‘Ser Davos,’ he said, neither as a question nor a statement, nor a sign of relief. He might as well have been reading the name from a parchment list of thousands for all the emotion he gave it. He turned his back on Ser Davos, sheathing the sword at his hip and returning to slump in the hard backed chair behind the spartan wooden desk. A plate of food and a horn of ale sat untouched on its surface. The meat had gone cold, judging by the lack of smell, and even the cheese dared not to emit an aroma in the presence of the king.
‘I told the boy at the door that I did not wish to be disturbed,’ Stannis finally said as Davos stood there silently waiting for permission to address him.
‘I daresay the lad didn't expect it to extend to the Hand of the King,’ Davos replied. He'd come at the recommendation of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, too young to begin training to take the black but old enough to understand the harsh realities of war. Mind enough to take on the duties of a steward at an age when all boys wanted to be rangers. His time would come soon enough, Davos thought despairingly. The Night's Watch had need of every man and boy it could get. ‘Did you also tell him you didn't wish to be warm?’ Davos added, stepping over to the small hearth and stoking the flames that had all but died out, adding fresh logs to keep it going. ‘Your Grace might have stayed warmer atop the Wall than in here. This place is no Dragonstone.’
Stannis snorted and lifted a leg to rest his boot on the edge of the table. ‘As well I might throw myself from the wall and be done with it.’
Davos ignored the dour comments. ‘I take it your meeting with the Lord Commander did not go well.’
‘Lord Commander…’ The words were laden heavily with derision. ‘The boy is not a lord and scarcely has men to command. I offer him no less than his father's name and lordship of the entire Northern lands and he rejects it. He says that his place is here, to uphold the oath he took.’
‘They do say the Starks put duty above glory…’
‘Pride,’ came the sharp word. ‘They put pride above all else. Too proud to yield, too proud to bend, too proud to take what's theirs by right or be decree. Stannis leaned forward and took the apple that sat next to his plate, biting down on it and then immediately spitting it out. Inside the flesh was browned and mealy – the last of winter's provisions, in barrels too long and spoiled by the cold. ‘The Night's Watch,’ came more dismissive words. ‘Nothing more than a ragtag group of criminals and thugs. What use are they to anyone up here? Protecting the realm from Wildlings?’ He snorted again. ‘Without our strength of numbers they would have been overrun and cut down where they stood. Now that Mance Rayder is dead the Wildlings will go back to warring amongst themselves. It'll be another decade at least before they attempt to breach the Wall again. And what will the Night's Watch do until then? Sit here and idle whilst the Seven Kingdoms beneath them wither.'
Stannis sat up straight, folding his arms across the desk. ‘We have one chance, Davos. One chance to take back the realm and rule it as it should be. To do that we need the North, and the North needs a Stark to govern it. He is the last of that line, bastard-born, but a Stark nonetheless. That's all the Northmen care about. They despise the Lannisters not for taking the throne but for beheading their liege lord. Revenge for Ned Stark will spur them to battle but only under a Stark banner. Without that they'll go back to sitting in their houses and praying that King’s Landing forgets about them. Jon Snow could give us the North, strength enough to force Ramsay Bolton from Harrenhal and press all the way to King's Landing and lay it siege.
Davos rubbed his hands in front of the hearth flames, finally more than a flicker. He could see the hope dying in his King’s eyes. That sharpness of duty and pride ran deep within him as well. Stannis would not be denied what he wanted, king or not. ‘That's a lot to put on the shoulders of one lad,’ he said. Snow seemed a decent, well-meaning lad, though what else would be expected of a boy raised by Starks? They knew pride of a different kind – pride of selflessness, of doing what was needed of them rather than what they desired. Once an oath was made it would be impossible to break. Whether the Night’s Watch consisted of a thousand men or a dozen men, its lord Commander would lead them, bound by a duty that could only be extinguished by death.
Stannis’ battle would be a hard fought one. They desperately needed numbers. Stannis could not be blamed for imploring the Lord Commander to switch his allegiances. The question would be who would bend first and what would it cost them?
Title: Crossroads
Fandom: Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire)
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Davos is beginning to see the weight one decision may have on the fate of them all.
Ser Davos Seaworth nearly jumped out of his skin as he knocked then entered the temporary accommodations. Stannis Baratheon was at the threshold in a heartbeat, sword drawn and ready to carve up the man who entered. Davos quickly took a step back, holding up his hands in deference. ‘Your Grace,’ he said, hoping that the familiar intonation of his voice would be enough to identify him in the darkened hallways of Castle Black. ‘What are you worried about?’ he asked, wondering who it was that Stannis thought would wish to do him harm in this isolated part of the realm. ‘It's me.’
Stannis lowered his sword, but his expression remained as stern and grim-faced as ever. ‘Ser Davos,’ he said, neither as a question nor a statement, nor a sign of relief. He might as well have been reading the name from a parchment list of thousands for all the emotion he gave it. He turned his back on Ser Davos, sheathing the sword at his hip and returning to slump in the hard backed chair behind the spartan wooden desk. A plate of food and a horn of ale sat untouched on its surface. The meat had gone cold, judging by the lack of smell, and even the cheese dared not to emit an aroma in the presence of the king.
‘I told the boy at the door that I did not wish to be disturbed,’ Stannis finally said as Davos stood there silently waiting for permission to address him.
‘I daresay the lad didn't expect it to extend to the Hand of the King,’ Davos replied. He'd come at the recommendation of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, too young to begin training to take the black but old enough to understand the harsh realities of war. Mind enough to take on the duties of a steward at an age when all boys wanted to be rangers. His time would come soon enough, Davos thought despairingly. The Night's Watch had need of every man and boy it could get. ‘Did you also tell him you didn't wish to be warm?’ Davos added, stepping over to the small hearth and stoking the flames that had all but died out, adding fresh logs to keep it going. ‘Your Grace might have stayed warmer atop the Wall than in here. This place is no Dragonstone.’
Stannis snorted and lifted a leg to rest his boot on the edge of the table. ‘As well I might throw myself from the wall and be done with it.’
Davos ignored the dour comments. ‘I take it your meeting with the Lord Commander did not go well.’
‘Lord Commander…’ The words were laden heavily with derision. ‘The boy is not a lord and scarcely has men to command. I offer him no less than his father's name and lordship of the entire Northern lands and he rejects it. He says that his place is here, to uphold the oath he took.’
‘They do say the Starks put duty above glory…’
‘Pride,’ came the sharp word. ‘They put pride above all else. Too proud to yield, too proud to bend, too proud to take what's theirs by right or be decree. Stannis leaned forward and took the apple that sat next to his plate, biting down on it and then immediately spitting it out. Inside the flesh was browned and mealy – the last of winter's provisions, in barrels too long and spoiled by the cold. ‘The Night's Watch,’ came more dismissive words. ‘Nothing more than a ragtag group of criminals and thugs. What use are they to anyone up here? Protecting the realm from Wildlings?’ He snorted again. ‘Without our strength of numbers they would have been overrun and cut down where they stood. Now that Mance Rayder is dead the Wildlings will go back to warring amongst themselves. It'll be another decade at least before they attempt to breach the Wall again. And what will the Night's Watch do until then? Sit here and idle whilst the Seven Kingdoms beneath them wither.'
Stannis sat up straight, folding his arms across the desk. ‘We have one chance, Davos. One chance to take back the realm and rule it as it should be. To do that we need the North, and the North needs a Stark to govern it. He is the last of that line, bastard-born, but a Stark nonetheless. That's all the Northmen care about. They despise the Lannisters not for taking the throne but for beheading their liege lord. Revenge for Ned Stark will spur them to battle but only under a Stark banner. Without that they'll go back to sitting in their houses and praying that King’s Landing forgets about them. Jon Snow could give us the North, strength enough to force Ramsay Bolton from Harrenhal and press all the way to King's Landing and lay it siege.
Davos rubbed his hands in front of the hearth flames, finally more than a flicker. He could see the hope dying in his King’s eyes. That sharpness of duty and pride ran deep within him as well. Stannis would not be denied what he wanted, king or not. ‘That's a lot to put on the shoulders of one lad,’ he said. Snow seemed a decent, well-meaning lad, though what else would be expected of a boy raised by Starks? They knew pride of a different kind – pride of selflessness, of doing what was needed of them rather than what they desired. Once an oath was made it would be impossible to break. Whether the Night’s Watch consisted of a thousand men or a dozen men, its lord Commander would lead them, bound by a duty that could only be extinguished by death.
Stannis’ battle would be a hard fought one. They desperately needed numbers. Stannis could not be blamed for imploring the Lord Commander to switch his allegiances. The question would be who would bend first and what would it cost them?
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