Chapter Text
Shireen Baratheon is four years old.
Shireen doesn’t like King’s Landing, but Mother said they needed to come and see Father for a little while. Shireen preferred Dragonstone – she liked the noise of the sea when she was trying to sleep. From her room in Father’s tower all she could hear were people; people laughing, people calling, people screaming. The screams scared Shireen more than the storms at home ever did.
Maester Cressen said she had been born during a storm, the fiercest storm of the season, when the wind howled in the towers and the rain rattled against the shutters, and so storms would never be able to hurt her. Shireen liked that story, and she wished Maester Cressen had come to King’s Landing with them, because then she would have a friend. Patchface was there, but he didn’t have stories or games and he was just as scared of the castle as she was.
On this night, Shireen was curled up in her bed with the blanket pulled over her head. It wasn’t actually time to sleep, but she was hiding from the angry voices of Mother and Father and nursing the bruises that they were talking about. She had that day gone to look for her cousins Myrcella and baby Tommen, hoping that they had finally come back to the city with their mother. She liked Myrcella – the girl was always friendly and always wanted to play, and Tommen was just big enough to toddle after them and start to join in. They had been away for a long time though, with the Queen. When Shireen asked why, Mother had pulled a face and changed the subject. When she couldn’t find her younger cousins Shireen had, in desperation for company, found her older cousin Joffrey who had stayed in King’s Landing with his father. Joffrey was nine, and big for his age, but he consented to play with her a little while before he got bored and fetched two wooden practice swords from the armoury. One thing had led to another, and the game ended with Ser Barristan Selmy carrying Shireen up to Stannis’ chambers and Joffrey being led away by his angry uncle, Tyrion. Mother wasn’t happy at all when Ser Barristan told her what had happened and she spent the whole rest of the day waiting for Father.
Mother often shouted lots; at the servants, at Patchface, at Shireen, but Father hardly ever did. He just went quiet and growled if you spoke to him. Shireen didn’t like him shouting now. It sounded wrong.
From under her blanket, Shireen heard the click of the door. She pulled the cover down to see who was there.
“My lady?”
“Davos?” she whispered, “What are you doing here?”
Davos was a nice person. Shireen had known him as long as she could remember, and she liked him very much. She sat up to look at him properly.
“My lady, I thought you might like to come and watch the ships with me for a little while. Just until your parents are finished…talking.”
“Yes please!” she exclaimed, slipping out of bed and picking up her cloak.
“Can you help me, Ser Davos?” she asked politely, “I can’t do up the pin myself.”
“Of course, my lady,” he said, bending down and doing up the fastening. He smiled at her, a smile like her Father never smiled, and she reached up to take his hand. Davos always had warm hands, even the one with the broken fingers, and he’d let her hold that one if she ever asked. This time though she took the other one and together they walked out to the ships. Davos talked to her for a while about sails and wind and waves and then he lifted her up to sit on a wall and sat down next to her.
“My lady, why did you go and look for your cousin today?”
“Because Myrcella and Tommen are still away and I wanted to play with someone. Patchface is scared of the castle.”
She looked up and found Davos looking at her. He wasn’t smiling but she wasn’t scared. Davos was never angry, even when he was sad.
“Why didn’t you stop the game when he started to hurt you?”
She shrugged and pressed herself closer to his side, appreciating the warmth, “There’s no one else. If I made him stop he wouldn’t play anymore.”
Davos sighed and rested his left hand, the broken one, on his knee. She reached out and picked it up gently, looking at his fingers. He let her, and then he spoke.
“My lady, I know that Prince Joffrey is the only person you know, but you are allowed to tell him to stop if he hurts you. Friends don’t hurt you on purpose.”
“I know,” she said, prodding gently at the stump of his ring finger, “And next time I will be more careful. Father said Myrcella is coming home soon anyway. Ser Davos, how did you hurt your hand?”
She looked at him again, and he had a funny smile on his face. She hadn’t seen that one before. His whole face looked different, like he was lost somewhere far away.
“Ser Davos?”
He shook his head and cleared his throat, “I hurt it a long time ago, when I was young and stupid. I learned my lesson though.”
She didn’t ask anymore, just held his hand and leaned on his shoulder. Eventually, when they could see all the stars, Davos said it was time they went back before her mother started to worry. Shireen was tired though, and Ser Davos scooped her up in one arm and carried her all the way back. When they got there, Mother and Father hadn’t even noticed that she was gone. Father thanked Davos and allowed him in to carry Shireen to her bed. Mother came in after he had gone and kissed her goodnight, but Father went out and didn’t come back.
As she fell asleep that night, Shireen secretly wished that Ser Davos was her father instead.