«“Your
wife has given you seven strong sons. Do you pray to her? It was wood we burned
this morning.”
“That may
be so,” Davos said, “but when I was a boy in Flea Bottom begging for a copper,
sometimes the septons would feed me.”
“I feed you now.”
“You have
given me an honored place at your table. And in return I give you the truth.
Your people will not love you if you take from them the gods they have always
worshiped, and give them one whose very name sounds queer on their tongues.”
Stannis stood abruptly. “R’hllor. Why is that so hard? They will
not love me, you say? When have they ever loved me? How can I lose something I
have never owned?” He moved to the south window to gaze out at the moonlit sea.
“I stopped believing in gods the day I saw the Windproud break up across the bay. Any gods so monstrous as to
drown my mother and father would never have my
worship, I vowed. In King’s Landing, the High Septon would prattle at me of how
all justice and goodness flowed from the Seven, but all I ever saw of either
was made by men.”
“If you
do not believe in gods—”
“—why trouble
with this new one?” Stannis broke in. “I have asked
myself as well. I know little and care less of gods, but the red priestess has power.”
Yes, but what sort of power? “Cressen had wisdom.”
“I
trusted in his wisdom and your wiles, and what did they avail me, smuggler? The
storm lords sent you packing. I went to them a beggar and they laughed at me.
Well, there will be no more begging, and no more laughing either. The Iron
Throne is mine by rights, but how am I to take it? There are four kings in the realm,
and three of them have more men and more gold than I do. I have ships… and I have her. The
red woman. Half my
knights are afraid even to say her name, did you know? If she can do nothing
else, a sorceress who can inspire such dread in grown men is not to be
despited. A frightened man is a beaten man. And perhaps she can do more. I mean to find out.”»
George R.
R. Martin
A Clash of Kings
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