Operation Stumpy Re-Read
ADWD: Davos IV (Chapter 29)
Even in the gloom of the Wolf's Den, Davos Seaworth could sense that something was awry this morning.
I swear to god this guy spends half the story in jail.
+.+.+
Davos rose and paced his cell. As cells went, it was large and queerly comfortable. He suspected it might once have been some lordling's bedchamber.
[...]
The food had come as a surprise as well. In place of gruel and stale bread and rotten meat, the usual dungeon fare, his keepers brought him fresh-caught fish, bread still warm from the oven, spiced mutton, turnips, carrots, even crabs.
[...]
Davos had furs to keep him warm by night, wood to feed his fire, clean clothing, a greasy tallow candle. When he asked for paper, quill, and ink, Therry brought them the next day. When he asked for a book, so he might keep at his reading, Therry turned up with The Seven-Pointed Star.
+.+.+
He knew there were true dungeons down in the castle cellars—oubliettes and torture chambers and dank pits where huge black rats scrabbled in the darkness.
Obligatory rat highlight.
+.+.+
The Den was much older than White Harbor, the knight [Ser Bartimus, chief gaoler] told Davos. It had been raised by King Jon Stark to defend the mouth of the White Knife against raiders from the sea.
King Jon Stark defended the north from raiders? What kind of raiders?
Even before the coming of the Andals, the Wolf’s Den had been raised by King Jon Stark, built to defend the mouth of the White Knife against raiders and slavers from across the narrow sea (some scholars suggest these were early Andal incursions, whilst others argue they were the forebears of the men from Ib, or even slavers out of Valyria and Volantis). - TWoIaF
Oh, raiders and slavers from Valyria.
I wish a bnf was around to tell me what that could mean.
+.+.+
Many a younger son of the King in the North had made his seat there, many a brother, many an uncle, many a cousin. Some passed the castle to their own sons and grandsons, and offshoot branches of House Stark had arisen; the Greystarks had lasted the longest, holding the Wolf's Den for five centuries, until they presumed to join the Dreadfort in rebellion against the Starks of Winterfell.
The name is hinting at Greyjoy, but the history sounds like Karstark.
+.+.+
Reavers from the Three Sisters took the castle once, making it their toehold in the north. During the wars between Winterfell and the Vale, it was besieged by Osgood Arryn, the Old Falcon, and burned by his son, the one remembered as the Talon. When old King Edrick Stark had grown too feeble to defend his realm, the Wolf's Den was captured by slavers from the Stepstones. They would brand their captives with hot irons and break them to the whip before shipping them off across the sea, and these same black stone walls bore witness.
This doesn't feel like anything, but I'm not sure.
How about a reversal! Let's have a friendly visit from the Vale.
+.+.+
"Then a long cruel winter fell," said Ser Bartimus. "The White Knife froze hard, and even the firth was icing up. The winds came howling from the north and drove them slavers inside to huddle round their fires, and whilst they warmed themselves the new king come down on them. Brandon Stark this was, Edrick Snowbeard's great-grandson, him that men called Ice Eyes. He took the Wolf's Den back, stripped the slavers naked, and gave them to the slaves he'd found chained up in the dungeons. It's said they hung their entrails in the branches of the heart tree, as an offering to the gods. The old gods, not these new ones from the south. Your Seven don't know winter, and winter don't know them."
Brandon Stark, Ice Eyes? Bran, what are you up to?
Slavers struggling with the cold, and more blood sacrifice. That's all I picked up from that.
+.+.+
"I never knew that northmen made blood sacrifice to their heart trees."
"There's much and more you southrons do not know about the north," Ser Bartimus replied.
Can you tell us.
+.+.+
Davos sat beside his candle and looked at the letters he had scratched out word by word during the days of his confinement. I was a better smuggler than a knight, he had written to his wife, a better knight than a King's Hand, a better King's Hand than a husband. I am so sorry. Marya, I have loved you. Please forgive the wrongs I did you. Should Stannis lose his war, our lands will be lost as well. Take the boys across the narrow sea to Braavos and teach them to think kindly of me, if you would. Should Stannis gain the Iron Throne, House Seaworth will survive and Devan will remain at court. He will help you place the other boys with noble lords, where they can serve as pages and squires and win their knighthoods. It was the best counsel he had for her, though he wished it sounded wiser.
He had written to each of his three surviving sons as well, to help them remember the father who had bought them names with his fingertips. His notes to Steffon and young Stannis were short and stiff and awkward; if truth be told, he did not know them half as well as he had his older boys, the ones who'd burned or drowned upon the Blackwater. To Devan he wrote more, telling him how proud he was to see his own son as a king's squire and reminding him that as the eldest it was his duty to protect his lady mother and his younger brothers. Tell His Grace I did my best, he ended. I am sorry that I failed him. I lost my luck when I lost my fingerbones, the day the river burned below King's Landing.
At least he acknowledges he's an absent father and husband.
His final goodbye to his family, and he manages to sneak in an apology to Stannis. Lol
+.+.+
Glover led him along a darkened hall and down a flight of worn steps. They crossed the castle's godswood, where the heart tree had grown so huge and tangled that it had choked out all the oaks and elms and birch and sent its thick, pale limbs crashing through the walls and windows that looked down on it. Its roots were as thick around as a man's waist, its trunk so wide that the face carved into it looked fat and angry.
When dogs and their owners look alike.
+.+.+
Then there was a blank stone wall that turned when Glover pushed on it. Beyond was a long narrow tunnel and still more steps. These led up.
"Where are we?" asked Davos as they climbed. His words echoed faintly though the darkness.
"The steps beneath the steps. The passage runs beneath the Castle Stair up to the New Castle. A secret way. It would not do for you to be seen, my lord. You are supposed to be dead."
Obligatory secret tunnels highlight.
+.+.+
"Please sit." Lord Manderly was richly garbed. His velvet doublet was a soft blue-green, embroidered with golden thread at hem and sleeves and collar. His mantle was ermine, pinned at the shoulder with a golden trident. "Are you hungry?"
Wyman is!
But not for food.
+.+.+
"How did I die, if I may ask?"
"By the axe. Your head and hands were mounted above the Seal Gate, with your face turned so your eyes looked out across the harbor. By now you are well rotted, though we dipped your head in tar before we set it upon the spike. Carrion crows and seabirds squabbled over your eyes, they say."
Davos shifted uncomfortably. It was a queer feeling, being dead.
I tingle when a character is adamant they're not dead.
This is different, this feels more like something Bran or Arya would think to themselves.
+.+.+
"Wylla." Lord Wyman smiled. "Did you see how brave she was? Even when I threatened to have her tongue out, she reminded me of the debt White Harbor owes to the Starks of Winterfell, a debt that can never be repaid. Wylla spoke from the heart, as did Lady Leona. Forgive her if you can, my lord. She is a foolish, frightened woman, and Wylis is her life. Not every man has it in him to be Prince Aemon the Dragonknight or Symeon Star-Eyes, and not every woman can be as brave as my Wylla and her sister Wynafryd … who did know, yet played her own part fearlessly.
Kind of irritating we didn't get Wylla and Wynafryd on the show.
Who am I kidding, they would have been given the Lyanna Mormont treatment.
+.+.+
"Soon I must return to the feast to toast my friends of Frey," Manderly continued. "They watch me, ser. Day and night their eyes are on me, noses sniffing for some whiff of treachery. You saw them, the arrogant Ser Jared and his nephew Rhaegar, that smirking worm who wears a dragon's name. Behind them both stands Symond, clinking coins. That one has bought and paid for several of my servants and two of my knights. One of his wife's handmaids has found her way into the bed of my own fool. If Stannis wonders that my letters say so little, it is because I dare not even trust my maester. Theomore is all head and no heart. You heard him in my hall. Maesters are supposed to put aside old loyalties when they don their chains, but I cannot forget that Theomore was born a Lannister of Lannisport and claims some distant kinship to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. Foes and false friends are all around me, Lord Davos. They infest my city like roaches, and at night I feel them crawling over me."
Damn, who needs Varys?
+.+.+
"My son Wendel came to the Twins a guest. He ate Lord Walder's bread and salt, and hung his sword upon the wall to feast with friends. And they murdered him. Murdered, I say, and may the Freys choke upon their fables. I drink with Jared, jape with Symond, promise Rhaegar the hand of my own beloved granddaughter … but never think that means I have forgotten. The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer's farce is almost done. My son is home."
Something about the way Lord Wyman said that chilled Davos to the bone.
+.+.+
The lad? Was it possible that one of Robb Stark's brothers had survived the ruin of Winterfell? Did Manderly have a Stark heir hidden away in his castle? A found boy or a feigned boy? The north would rise for either, he suspected … but Stannis Baratheon would never make common cause with an imposter.
Little bit of Arya, little bit of Aegon.
+.+.+
"He is a mute, but we have been teaching him his letters. He learns quickly." Glover drew a dagger from his belt and gave it to the boy. "Write your name for Lord Seaworth.
"There was no parchment in the chamber. The boy carved the letters into a wooden beam in the wall. W … E … X.
The little bird who isn't a little bird is back!
+.+.+
Lord Wyman nodded. "The tale you tell is one we all have heard, as full of lies as a pudding's full of raisins. It was the Bastard of Bolton who put Winterfell to the sword … Ramsay Snow, he was called then, before the boy king made him a Bolton. Snow did not kill them all. He spared the women, roped them together, and marched them to the Dreadfort for his sport."
[...]
"The evil is in his blood," said Robett Glover. "He is a bastard born of rape. A Snow, no matter what the boy king says."
"Was ever snow so black?" asked Lord Wyman.
<- Jon VI
Once a man had said the words his blood was black. Black as a bastard's heart.
Looks like it's time to remind the reader Ramsay is bizarro Jon.
A bastard born of rape. What are you telling me about Rhaegar Targaryen, George?
+.+.+
"Ramsay took Lord Hornwood's lands by forcibly wedding his widow, then locked her in a tower and forgot her. It is said she ate her own fingers in her extremity … and the Lannister notion of king's justice is to reward her killer with Ned Stark's little girl."
"The Boltons have always been as cruel as they were cunning, but this one seems a beast in human skin," said Glover.
A beast in human skin? Wow, that sounds like Jon too!
I guess that means he's going to marry Val to lay claim to Winterfell! Snort.
+.+.+
"The Freys are no better. They speak of wargs and skinchangers and assert that it was Robb Stark who slew my Wendel. The arrogance of it! They do not expect the north to believe their lies, not truly, but they think we must pretend to believe or die. Roose Bolton lies about his part in the Red Wedding, and his bastard lies about the fall of Winterfell. And yet so long as they held Wylis I had no choice but to eat all this excrement and praise the taste."
Sounds like you owe them dinner.
+.+.+
"It was the Bastard who murdered Ser Rodrik and the men of Winterfell," said Lord Wyman. "He slew Greyjoy's ironmen as well. Wex saw men cut down trying to yield. When we asked how he escaped, he took a chunk of chalk and drew a tree with a face."
Davos thought about that. "The old gods saved him?"
"After a fashion. He climbed the heart tree and hid himself amongst the leaves. Bolton's men searched the godswood twice and killed the men they found there, but none thought to clamber up into the trees. Is that how it happened, Wex?"
The boy flipped up Glover's dagger, caught it, nodded.
When he was done he flipped the dagger in the air, caught it, and stood admiring his handiwork.
x
The mute flipped the dagger, caught it, then flung it end over end at the sheepskin map that adorned Lord Wyman's wall.
What is up with this?
Daggers, the old gods, and hiding in trees. Am I supposed to be thinking about Arya or the children of the forest?
+.+.+
Wex held up five fingers, tapped each one with the dagger, then folded four away and tapped the last again.
"Six of them," asked Davos. "There were six."
"Two of them Ned Stark's murdered sons."
"How could a mute tell you that?"
"With chalk. He drew two boys … and two wolves."
[...]
Davos understood. "You want the boy."
"Roose Bolton has Lord Eddard's daughter. To thwart him White Harbor must have Ned's son … and the direwolf. The wolf will prove the boy is who we say he is, should the Dreadfort attempt to deny him.
Placing this much significance on Shaggydog is making my heart sink. It's feeling a little like the show.
+.+.+
That is my price, Lord Davos. Smuggle me back my liege lord, and I will take Stannis Baratheon as my king.
Ha, make him work for it.
My oh my, how the tables have turned for The Beggar King, Stannis Baratheon.
"Be that as it may, my lord," Maester Cressen said gently. "Great wrongs have been done you, but the past is dust. The future may yet be won if you join with the Starks.
[...]
"Lady Arryn owes you her allegiance, as do the Starks, your brother Renly, and all the rest. You are their one true king. It would not be fitting to plead and bargain with them for what is rightfully yours by the grace of god."
[...]
"I make common cause with no one," Stannis Baratheon said. - Prologue, ADWD
+.+.+
"You have better men than me in your service. Knights and lords and maesters. Why would you need a smuggler? You have ships." "Ships," Lord Wyman agreed, "but my crews are rivermen, or fisherfolk who have never sailed beyond the Bite. For this I must have a man who's sailed in darker waters and knows how to slip past dangers, unseen and unmolested."
"Where is the boy?" Somehow Davos knew he would not like the answer. "Where is it you want me to go, my lord?"
Robett Glover said, "Wex. Show him."
The mute flipped the dagger, caught it, then flung it end over end at the sheepskin map that adorned Lord Wyman's wall. It struck quivering. Then he grinned.
For half a heartbeat Davos considered asking Wyman Manderly to send him back to the Wolf's Den, to Ser Bartimus with his tales and Garth with his lethal ladies. In the Den even prisoners ate porridge in the morning. But there were other places in this world where men were known to break their fast on human flesh.
Is he going to a wedding?
There is zero reason to put any hope into this plot.
Somehow I doubt the mostly irrelevant 4-year-old boy and the imposter daughter will be the central Stark figures in the fight for the north. Call it a hunch.
Final thoughts:
That was Davos Seaworth's last chapter in the series.
You get the sense Bran and Rickon are waiting for the rest of the plot to catch up.
-> return to menu <-