Dragonstone, a side hall of Stone Drum Tower
The stone steps were short, yet Davos felt as though every step landed on a fragment of memory.
He was led into a quiet little room, where a weak fire in the hearth chased away the chill seeping from the stone walls.
Shireen sat stiffly on a small stool beside the window and raised her head at the sound.
When she saw who had come, her whole body froze, and her little hands unconsciously clenched the skirt over her knees.
"...Uncle Onion?"
Her voice was as soft as the wind, trembling beyond her control.
Davos's throat tightened.
He had seen shipwrecks, severed limbs strewn across battlefields, and the most savage waves a storm could raise, yet never had he felt so helpless before a child.
Slowly, trying not to look like a prisoner or a defeated commander, he knelt a few steps away from her, bringing his eyes level with hers.
"Your Highness," he began hoarsely, struggling to steady his voice.
Shireen's tears spilled over at once, tracing glistening paths down her greyscale-covered cheek.
"My father...my mother...they..."
Davos fell silent for a moment before finding words he could say.
He could not lie, nor could he soften the truth.
"They died...with great dignity," he said at last, each word scraping his throat like rough grit.
That was all Stannis deserved, and perhaps the only truthful comfort he could offer.
The girl lowered her head, her shoulders trembling softly. "They said you're leaving too."
Davos nodded.
"I'm going north. To the Wall, to take the black and become a man of the Night's Watch."
"That's so far away...so cold."
"It is far," he admitted, "but it's the only place left for me now."
His hand shifted slightly inside his sleeve, his fingertips brushing