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The
old
man
sighed
.
"
You
have
done
all
you
could
.
Now
I
must
add
my
voice
to
yours
.
"
Wearily
,
he
resumed
his
climb
.
Lord
Stannis
Baratheon
’
s
refuge
was
a
great
round
room
with
walls
of
bare
black
stone
and
four
tall
narrow
windows
that
looked
out
to
the
four
points
of
the
compass
.
In
the
center
of
the
chamber
was
the
great
table
from
which
it
took
its
name
,
a
massive
slab
of
carved
wood
fashioned
at
the
command
of
Aegon
Targaryen
in
the
days
before
the
Conquest
.
The
Painted
Table
was
more
than
fifty
feet
long
,
perhaps
half
that
wide
at
its
widest
point
,
but
less
than
four
feet
across
at
its
narrowest
.
Aegon
’
s
carpenters
had
shaped
it
after
the
land
of
Westeros
,
sawing
out
each
bay
and
peninsula
until
the
table
nowhere
ran
straight
.
On
its
surface
,
darkened
by
near
three
hundred
years
of
varnish
,
were
painted
the
Seven
Kingdoms
as
they
had
been
in
Aegon
’
s
day
;
rivers
and
mountains
,
castles
and
cities
,
lakes
and
forests
.
There
was
a
single
chair
in
the
room
,
carefully
positioned
in
the
precise
place
that
Dragonstone
occupied
off
the
coast
of
Westeros
,
and
raised
up
to
give
a
good
view
of
the
tabletop
.
Seated
in
the
chair
was
a
man
in
a
tight
-
laced
leather
jerkin
and
breeches
of
roughspun
brown
wool
.
When
Maester
Cressen
entered
,
he
glanced
up
.
"
I
knew
you
would
come
,
old
man
,
whether
I
summoned
you
or
no
.
"
There
was
no
hint
of
warmth
in
his
voice
;
there
seldom
was
.
Stannis
Baratheon
,
Lord
of
Dragonstone
and
by
the
grace
of
the
gods
rightful
heir
to
the
Iron
Throne
of
the
Seven
Kingdoms
of
Westeros
,
was
broad
of
shoulder
and
sinewy
of
limb
,
with
a
tightness
to
his
face
and
flesh
that
spoke
of
leather
cured
in
the
sun
until
it
was
as
tough
as
steel
.
Hard
was
the
word
men
used
when
they
spoke
of
Stannis
,
and
hard
he
was
.
Though
he
was
not
yet
five
-
and
-
thirty
,
only
a
fringe
of
thin
black
hair
remained
on
his
head
,
circling
behind
his
ears
like
the
shadow
of
a
crown
.
His
brother
,
the
late
King
Robert
,
had
grown
a
beard
in
his
final
years
.
Maester
Cressen
had
never
seen
it
,
but
they
said
it
was
a
wild
thing
,
thick
and
fierce
.
As
if
in
answer
,
Stannis
kept
his
own
whiskers
cropped
tight
and
short
.
They
lay
like
a
blue
-
black
shadow
across
his
square
jaw
and
the
bony
hollows
of
his
cheeks
.
His
eyes
were
open
wounds
beneath
his
heavy
brows
,
a
blue
as
dark
as
the
sea
by
night
.
His
mouth
would
have
given
despair
to
even
the
drollest
of
fools
;
it
was
a
mouth
made
for
frowns
and
scowls
and
sharply
worded
commands
,
all
thin
pale
lips
and
clenched
muscles
,
a
mouth
that
had
forgotten
how
to
smile
and
had
never
known
how
to
laugh
.
Sometimes
when
the
world
grew
very
still
and
silent
of
a
night
,
Maester
Cressen
fancied
he
could
hear
Lord
Stannis
grinding
his
teeth
half
a
castle
away
.
"
Once
you
would
have
woken
me
,
"
the
old
man
said
.
"
Once
you
were
young
.
Now
you
are
old
and
sick
,
and
need
your
sleep
.
"
Stannis
had
never
learned
to
soften
his
speech
,
to
dissemble
or
flatter
;
he
said
what
he
thought
,
and
those
that
did
not
like
it
could
be
damned
.
"
I
knew
you
’
d
learn
what
Davos
had
to
say
soon
enough
.
You
always
do
,
don
’
t
you
?
"
"
I
would
be
of
no
help
to
you
if
I
did
not
,
"
Cressen
said
.
"
I
met
Davos
on
the
stair
.
"
"
And
he
told
all
,
I
suppose
?
I
should
have
had
the
man
’
s
tongue
shortened
along
with
his
fingers
.
"
