Chapter 55
Ty who?
Sorry, sorry, sorry for the unacceptable long delay. Again.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for still reading.
With one hand resting casually on a cocked hip, King Aegon the Confident twirled Arya's wedding sword in lazy circles with the other. He made every effort to appear effortlessly nonchalant but his mind was racing fast as a sand steed. By the Seven, what had possessed him to admit to besmirching Shireen's honour afore half the bloody Lords and Ladies of Westeros? Truth be told, he had been so taken aback by the boy's sudden appearance and the vehemence of his accusation that he had not the wit to lie. Him! A King who had taken pride in being the most accomplished liar in the damn Red Keep. Gods! How Elder Brother would laugh. Aegon could almost hear him now, chuckling, "I told you the Quiet Isle would affect you."
Aegon decided there and then that the sooner he foreswore any future attempts to help young virgin Ladies with their research and abandoned this pious Brother's habit the better. He intended to return to his wicked, wicked ways as soon as he had seen of this impudent youth's challenge.
A probing thrust from Gendry's squire dragged Aegon's whirling thoughts sharply back into focus. He could afford no more daydreaming as, to his surprise, the boy seemed know a few advanced Braavosi sword forms. Aegon's imperious reputation had already taken a dent by his agreeing to this duel in the first place - to let even the tip of a squire's blade touch him was unthinkable. A feint followed immediately by short, sharp jump forwards – a Braavosi move he'd been taught by Old Griff – and the squire was on the back foot. Which was just where Aegon intended to keep him?
"Blestra." Arya hissed.
Gendry grunted to acknowledge the comment, assuming Arya was referring to one of her fancy Water Dancing moves. He was too enthralled with the possibility Aegon might lose to his squire to care for an explanation of the fancy sword play. Besides, these swords were toys compared to his war hammer or his Valerian steel.
"Damn that Targaryen knows his technique."
Gendry grunted again, preferring to keep his attention on the action in front of him. Ty had recovered sufficiently from Aegon's first assault, to make another tentative attacking thrust. 'Twas going to be a very interesting contest.
"Did you know Aegon was familiar with Braavosi sword play?"
Arya seemed intent on talking instead of just watching, so Gendry supposed he had better reply. "Of course. He was born a Prince wasn't he? Had his own master-at-arms and all that."
"Jon Connington taught him well. Or should I say 'Old Griff'."
Surprised someone had interrupted their conversation, Arya and Gendry both looked around and then down to see Tyrion Lannister standing between them. He did not look up, mismatched eyes focused intently on the duel instead.
"I don't suppose either of you ever met him?"
"Never had the pleasure," Arya said. Gendry grunted his confirmation.
"He was Hand to Aerys the Second you know."
If either Arya or Gendry knew, they did not confirm it, for at that moment Ty escaped Aegon's punishing attack by jumping up and grabbing a low hanging branch. With his sword between his teeth, Ty used his momentum to swing around and land again on Aegon's undefended left.
The crowd gave a collective gasp of astonishment – universally impressed by the squire's quick thinking and athleticism.
"He's not bad for a youngster, not bad at all." Tyrion mused.
"Arya taught him well."
Gendry grinned down at Tyrion, not bothering to hide his pride at his wife's, and also his squire's, talent. "What say you to a wager Lord Hand? I have twelve gold dragons who say my squire can give the King the fright of his life."
Tyrion grinned.
Lannister gold was not as plentiful as it had once been and Gendry hoped the Hand was imagining those twelve gold dragons multiplying afore his eyes. But no contracts were ever entered into lightly by Tyrion Lannister – not even wagers. So Gendry was not surprised Tyrion had a query, but the nature of the Hand's question was unexpected.
"Afore I agree to your terms Lord Baratheon, answer me this – to which House does your squire belong?"
Gendry frowned. 'Twas expected that every Lord would foster the sons of his allies and train them as squires under his own banners – thus strengthening the bonds between the great houses of Westeros. Such an arrangement meant years of commitment on both sides and all hoped the squires to be knighted at the end of it. Of course not all were.
Everyone knew Samwell Tarly had never even made it to squire. While Sam's talents lay elsewhere, some boys, no matter how great their House, simply never had sufficient talent at anything. By taking a nameless boy from the stables as his squire Gendry had broken with tradition and he did not relish having to explain himself to Tyrion. Especially on his own wedding day when he had much better things to do – like watch this damn duel.
"I was wondering the very same thing." Brienne of Tarth had apparently also decided to join their conversation.
Gendry cursed under his breath. Tyrion and Brienne had to be too of the most inquisitive people in the whole of the bloody Red Keep. There would be no fobbing either of them off with some half arsed, half truth.
"Well Lord Baratheon? Who is your squire's father?" Tyrion asked again.
There was a heavy expectant silence as they awaited Gendry's answer.
Gendry had to drag his attention away from the duel. Seven Hells. Did no one else appreciate a good fight these days? If they wanted to know so badly he would bloody well tell them the truth.
"He's got no House. He's a Flea Bottom bastard."
Gendry stared at them all defiantly, afore adding rather unnecessarily, "Like me." His fierce expression dared any of them to criticise his taking a bastard as his squire. 'Twas unheard of that a boy with no name be given such a life altering opportunity, but afore Gendry it had also been unheard of that a Flea Bottom bastard could be the son of a King.
Of course, no one dared question Gendry's right to appoint any squire he chose.
Tyrion spread his hands wide in a conciliatory manner. "We only ask as the boy bears a striking resemblance to . . . someone we both know very well." He craned his neck to look up at Brienne, "Don't you agree Milady?"
Brienne blushed a most uncharacteristic shade of pink. "I was thinking the very same thing my Lord."
Wondering who they meant, Arya looked sharply from Brienne to Tyrion. The height difference was so great that looking from one to the other left her feeling rather dizzy. Someone they both knew very well?
Ah ha! The pieces of the puzzle fit together and Arya finally realised who Ty had reminded her of.
"Jaime Lannister?"
Tyrion and Brienne both nodded, their attention fixed on the lanky youth wielding his blade with all the swagger and skill of Bravos' finest.
Arya groaned. It all made an awful, inevitable sense; Ty's age, his looks, the self confidence bordering on arrogance, his turning up in the Red Keep's stables and charming all of Bad Company into making him their Lord's squire and, most of all, his God given talent. Arya should have known that such a gift had to come from somewhere. Anyone who could wield a sword as well as Ty was destined for great things. So few possessed such a magnificent, raw talent that she should have guessed his father had to be a swordsman of the highest order.
It made her feel sick to think the boy she had trained and had come to care for so much was the spawn of the Kingslayer.
With her stomach churning, she followed her companion's gaze to the man-boy duelling with the dragon King.
Ty's stance was impeccable; the placement of his feet light and precise, the straight line of his back, chin up, focused, alert and ready for anything his opponent would try. Put him in a Gold Cloak and he would be Jamie Lannister come again. Arya felt like screaming and crying and shaking Ty all at once for not telling her.
Taking a deep, steadying breath she rationalised her furious reaction. 'Twas hardly Ty's fault his father was a monster. 'Twas no doubt he was oblivious to his parentage and Ty had not changed since the duel had begun. He was the same boy, 'twas only Arya's perception of him that had changed. As Aegon's blade flashed, Ty deflected the thrust with his own blade, his defence crisp, precise and quick as a snake. Just as she had taught him. She had taught a Lannister how to kill another King.
Despite her horror at the circumstances of his birth, Arya could not suppress the rush of pride when the crowd cheered for Ty. It might be treason to support the opponent of your King, but the crowd had fallen under the spell Ty cast just as surely as Arya had. With his golden good looks, his skills, his indisputably chivalry - duelling for a Lady's honour and most of all the balls it took to throw down the gauntlet to the mighty Aegon Targaryen, 'twas no wonder all the girls were half in love with him already and the men wished they could be more like him. 'Twas always the way with Jaime too.
Providing he survived, the minstrels would have songs penned about Ty the squire by nightfall.
Aegon had abandoned his earlier peacock posturing, having realised teaching Gendry's squire a lesson was going to take more than a few well executed flicks of the wrist. The King was on his toes, fighting with all of the skill that had earned him the reputation of one of the most feared swordsmen in the land. The crowd gasped in awe as he leapt and lunged, sword arm extended, blade flashing fast as lightning that had Ty staggering back, defending frantically as he retreated.
"Much as I would like to discover that I had a talented nephew," Tyrion sighed, referencing Tommen's well known lack of any talent, "There is one rather large obstacle that stands in the way of our happy little theory Brienne."
"Which is?"
"The fact . . . and it is a fact . . . that my dearly beloved brother never fucked anyone except my bloody bitch of a sister. May she rot in every one of the seven hells."
Brienne's face did not blush pink this time, but rather flamed as red as a Dornish tomato.
"Until after the war of course," Tyrion qualified, with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye.
Brienne coughed to cover her embarrassment, afore muttering, "Of course."
Arya was rather taken aback by the revelation that Brienne and Tyrion's brother were lovers. Jaime and Brienne might be matched in height and martial prowess, but beyond that the two of them had the most dissimilar natures Arya could imagine. The Maid of Tarth was the truest of Knights and Jaime Lannister was . . . well he wasn't that. Yet any time his name was mentioned, Brienne became as flustered as a silly maid.
It would take Arya some time to come to terms with the fact that Brienne had any lover, much less the Kingslayer. What a day for revelations it had been already and the day was only half way done.
Either Gendry already knew about Brienne's revelation or he had not heard, as his attention never wavered from the duel. Arya thought about poking him in the ribs but decided against it when Gendry winced and groaned with the rest of the crowd as Aegon's sword found its mark for the first time. Blood bloomed red and shocking on the white cotton of Ty's shirt. Even though she knew 'twas a superficial flesh wound, Arya gasped with dismay. First blood to the King.
Ty's hand flew to his shoulder and came away covered in blood. The boy looked aghast at his red fingers; as if unable to believe he was wounded.
A heart wrenching wail filled the Godswood. Until then, no one had noticed Shireen was recovered enough to be eased into a sitting position between Sansa and Rickon. All eyes flew to the Lady Baratheon. She was pale and trembling, her hands clutched to her breast, clearly distraught at the sight of Ty's blood.
Seizing the moment, Aegon stepped back. Holding his arms out, his bloodied sword glinting in the sun, he addressed the crowd rather than Ty, "You have fought well squire." He walked slowly around Ty - a King magnanimous in his victory. "You have caused Lady Shireen enough distress. Bend the knee and I'll forgive your treason."
The crowd cheered their approval; no one was seriously hurt and they had enjoyed a good afternoon's entertainment. The King grinned, sensing victory, content he had asserted his authority while giving Ty a way to concede gracefully. Aegon had also been careful to avoid the whole issue of Shireen's honour, blaming Ty for Shireen's distress. 'Twas a performance any mummer would have been proud of.
"What do you say boy?"
"No surrender until my Lady's honour is avenged!" Ty cried. "For Lady Shireen!" Holding his sword aloft as he ran full speed towards the King.
Aegon instantly assumed the water dancer's stance and Shireen fainted clean into Rickon's arms.
"Seven buggering hells," Arya hissed. "Do something Gendry!"
"Twenty four gold dragons!" Gendry cried, "What do you say Tyrion? Hurry up man afore it's finished."
"You call that doing something?!" Arya raged. "If you won't stop this then I will!"
As soon as she took a step forwards, two sets of strong arms hauled her back. Arya's slippered feet dangled above the ground.
"Put me down!"
From her right Gendry said, "Not until I win my wager."
From her left Brienne reasoned, "You cannot interfere Milady. Asking duelling men to stop is like pissing in the wind."
Above Arya's head, Gendry gave Brienne a puzzled look. How could any woman, even the Maid of Tarth, piss into the wind?
"It's a turn of phrase," Brienne sighed.
"Ahhh," Gendry nodded as the crowd roared. Ty's blade had finally made its mark on the King.
Bending towards Tyrion, Gendry shouted excitedly, "Hurry up and shit or get off the pan!"
Brienne screwed her face up in disgust.
"What?" Gendry asked innocently, "It's just a turn of phrase."
"I don't bet against my kin," Tyrion mused, "But seeing as I doubt your squire is actually my nephew, I'm in." Clapping his hands together Tyrion yelled, "I accept your wager Lord Baratheon. Twelve gold dragons says King Aegon whips the young pup's arse!"
"I have three gold dragons who say you're wrong."
"Bran, you mustn't," Meera Reed gasped, clearly horrified that her husband was so eager to commit treason by betting against the King.
"I'll take that wager!" Gendry bellowed.
"Seven hells why not," Brienne sighed afore shouting to all, "Who'll take my gold dragon on Jaime's son?"
"You're not going to let me stop this are you?" Arya grunted, struggling within the confines of her wedding finery to break free from her two giant captors.
"Nae!" a half dozen voices chorused together.
Cursing them all, Arya gave up and sagged limply between Gendry and Brienne. She might have lost, but she was not going to concede quietly, "If he dies, the wedding is off!" she hissed at her husband.
"Too late," Gendry chuckled. "Too many witnesses to this one my dear and anyway – look! He's not going to die."
The sight of Shireen fainting again, or mayhaps 'twas the sight of Aegon's blood on his robe seemed to have galvanised Ty into furious action. With a war cry and his sword arm at full stretch Ty launched himself at the King. Aegon was forced to parry Ty's attacking blade again and again.
Arya had never seen Ty like this. In training and in their duels he had been serious and dedicated, sometimes playful, but never out for blood. Part of her wanted yell at him for his sloppy sword form; caught up in his passion, he was swinging too wide and lunging too far, leaving gaps in his defence that Aegon could exploit. The other part of her wanted to scream at him to "Kill that horse's arse!"
Stuffing her hand in her mouth to avoid doing either, Arya could only watch, helpless and mute as the duel reached its furious crescendo.
Aegon could not recall the last time he had been pressed so hard. His reputation as a swordsman was such that few ever challenged him and since becoming King, no one had. Mayhaps he was out of practice as 'twas humiliating to be marked by a squire's blade. Encouraged by the crowd and his strike on Aegon's bicep, the boy was becoming wild, unpredictable and therefore dangerous. The lad had balls, Aegon had to admit that, but enough was enough.
With his chest heaving from the exertion of defending Ty's onslaught, Aegon drew the boy back, letting him believe he was winning, waiting for the moment the squire overextended himself. The boy's inexperience would be his downfall. Aegon had several inches on the boy, half again his weight and mayhaps twice the years. He had the stamina, reserves of strength and experience that Ty could not hope to match. Someday mayhaps, but 'twas not this day.
Shireen's fainting had shocked Aegon too, but ultimately she had done him a favour. The boy was letting his heart rule his head and, by the Gods, the boy had to be head over heels in love with Shireen to have gone this far for her.
Aegon had been that hot headed once too. He remembered ill thought out, heated arguments with Tyrion upon the Shy Maid, but he had learned the error of that way. Maintaining his focus, he kept his defence tight and stuck to his plan. The boy was beginning to tire. Sweat dripped into his eyes and 'twas another distraction for the boy to have to rub it furiously away. Aegon drew him back further, looking for the sweet spot, waiting until Ty had crossed the big tree root. Only then did Aegon begin his counter attack.
Stepping forwards at last, Aegon initiated a classic close quarters riposte. With no room for lunges or sweeps, Aegon's greater height and strength gave him the advantage. Seizing his opportunity, Aegon attacked with a brutality he doubted the boy had seen afore. Water Dancing favoured skill over strength but Jon Connington had taught young Griff all forms of sword fighting and those skills had been honed through years of war.
Aegon used every punishing move he knew to drive the boy back. Vicious compound attacks rained down upon the boy, who did his best, but who was obviously now out of his depth. Keeping their blades locked in a 'prise de fer', Aegon forced the boy onto his back foot with brute strength, their fine blades screeching and twisting under the force. One more retreating step and Aegon would have him!
Ty had danced over the tree root on the offence, but caught off guard and defending for his life, his back foot landed on it awkwardly, buckling his knee and giving Aegon the opening he had been waiting for. The King was on the squire in a heartbeat, looming over him, using his superior strength and weight to force the boy down. Ty's arm was aloft, shaking with the effort of blocking Aegon's blade, but as soon as his knee hit the grass, 'twas over. There was no way for Ty to recover from that. He valiantly tried a desperate roll to his right, but Aegon was too good for that. Grabbing the guard of Ty's sword as the boy rolled, Aegon wrenched it from the boy's hand. Quick as a snake, he crossed the blades, stabbing them into the ground on either side of Ty's shoulders, pinning him in place on the grass.
Looming over the squire, Aegon roared, "Yield!"
For a moment it seemed as if Ty might actually refuse, for he bared his teeth, snarling like a cornered dog. Mercifully he was startled out of his battle rage by something totally unexpected. The crowd began chanting his name.
Over and over they called for him, a groundswell of adoration for a nameless son of Flea Bottom. If that was to be the last thing he ever heard, then so be it. Few men were ever so adored and fewer still bastard boys.
Ty closed his eyes and capitulated, letting his head sink back into the soft grass. With his eyes closed he could avoid looking at his conqueror and could focus only on that glorious sound. His ears rang with it – a thousand voices and every one of them calling for him. 'Twas inconceivable and yet 'twas something he had dreamt about his whole life.
Lying there on the sweet grass at what might be the end, Ty recalled the first step he had taken on the path that had led him there. A knight had ridden through Flea Bottom when Ty had been but a child. Squatting in a stinking drain he had looked up in awe at the shining armour, the cloth of gold and the magnificent horse. He had been entranced by it all, but especially by the knight's aura of power. Knights had control over their own lives and destiny and could not only fight for themselves, but for others too. Mayhaps if he was a knight, he could have helped his mother. Ty had promised himself then and there he would become a knight or he would die trying.
Ever since that day he had lived for it. His days were spent duelling with stick swords and riding imaginary horses. His nights were spent dreaming of the day he would triumph at a great tourney and hear the crowd roar his name. Most nights those imagined cheers had drowned out the all-too-real grumblings of his empty belly. But in his dreams he was always the victor, never the vanquished. He had lost today yet still the crowd roared his name. If he died now, at least he had lived to hear that.
To his annoyance, his conqueror's voice drowned out the crowd, repeating, "Do you yield?"
Cracking open one eye, Ty was surprised there was no sword pointing at his throat. Instead a hand was extended, offering him help.
What choice did he have?
"I yield," he muttered, the words sticking in his throat like a hunk of stale bread.
The deed done, his surrender complete, he grasped the proffered hand and was hauled to his feet by the dragon King. To Ty's amazement, Aegon Targaryen raised their joined hands aloft and bellowed, "Show your appreciation for the most chivalrous squire in all of Westeros!" The crowd went wild.
Ty looked askance at the King, unable to believe he was as magnanimous as all that. Why praise a bastard boy who had attacked him? Mayhaps he was as insane as his grandfather. The grinning King shook their hands in a conjoined victory pose afore dragging Ty into a low bow to his audience. Only then did Ty realise that the crowd no longer cheered for him. Their King's name filled the Godswood, their adoration for him eclipsing their earlier love for Ty. He learned an important lesson then – that a crowd was a fickle thing and that they loved a showman. And what a showman the Dragon King was.
Letting Ty's hand drop, Aegon had raised his own arms aloft, posing and preening. He was a victorious idol for a war weary Westeros.
Sure he had served his purpose, Ty's eyes began to search for his beloved amidst the throng. His heart leapt when he found her, looking dazed but able to stand. And then he noticed she was being supported by Rickon Stark. Jealously roared through Ty like wildfire. He was about to push his way through the mob and reclaim what was his – the woman he had fought for, but Aegon's vice-like grip on his arm prevented that. Sensing some fresh entertainment, the crowd fell silent.
"You fought well today Lord Baratheon's squire. Any full fledged knight would be proud of your performance."
Ty thought the only performance going on here was the King's. He was trapped in front of the greatest Lords and Ladies of Westeros, powerless to do anything other than play along with the King's game.
Ty's throat constricted with the humiliation of it, but he forced out the words he knew the King wanted to hear, "The best man won."
Aegon's crowd cheered their approval and 'twas all Ty could do to stop from grinding his teeth in frustration. His skill in Water Dancing was equal to the King's – of that he had no doubt, yet he had still lost. How stupid, stupid, stupid to trip over a tree root – one he had even known was there! Ty cursed himself for his stupidity. But he vowed to learn from this defeat and grow stronger for it. The King had used sword forms and techniques Ty had never seen afore. He swore to himself that he would not stop until he had learned them all; long sword, broad sword, scimitar and then there was the war hammer, jousting and the melee. Oh how naïve and arrogant he had been to think one martial art would make him invincible. He would master them all and he would be the greatest Knight Westeros had ever seen.
"Bend the knee squire."
Ty narrowed his eyes at the Targaryen. Must the King humiliate him even more?
Aegon seemed to find his hesitation amusing, for the King smirked as he said again, "Bend the knee boy!"
Mortified, Ty dropped to one knee afore the Dragon King and bowed his head. What shameful oath would he be made to swear?
To his disbelief Ty felt the touch of steel upon his shoulder. It could not be!
Looking up, he saw the King smiling down upon him.
"Songs will be written about this duel and I do not want minstrels to say I was bloodied by a mere squire."
The crowd laughed. Aegon chuckled. That really was the point of a King's sword resting upon his shoulder. 'Twas all unreal. Ty's head swam with the implications of this as he tried to believe it was truly happening. The pain of the wound in his chest was all that told him he was awake, for there was no such pain in his dreams. 'Twas real! He was about to be knighted!
"From this day forth you will be a Knight of Westeros and I hope those damn minstrels will put that in their songs and forget about your being a squire."
The crowd laughed again. Ty did not care what the minstrels sang. He was about to become a knight!
The King moved his sword to Ty's other shoulder.
"To which House do you belong young squire?"
Ty felt as if his heart had stopped beating. He had been close . . . so close.
Of course, King Aegon needed to know the name of his House to complete the ceremony.
Ty looked up at his King with pleading eyes. Could he not just assume 'twas House Baratheon? Or make something up? Ty did not care. All he wanted was those spurs and that one little word that meant everything to him . . . Ser.
'Twas all slipping away through his hands like sand on the beach.
The King was distracted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Ty also looked to the source of the interruption. Lord Tyrion Lannister and Lady Brienne stood there side by side. 'Twas one of the strangest sights he had ever seen in his life and he might have laughed had his situation not been so dire. Gendry and Arya stood behind - her expression a dazzling mixture of pride and relief while Gendry looked mightily pissed off.
"The name of his House? We were all just wondering the same thing," Lord Tyrion said, his mismatched eyes regarding Ty intently. Ty felt as if the Lord Hand was trying to see into his very soul.
"Surely you must know to which House your squire belongs?"
The King addressed that question to Lord Baratheon. Ty began to realise why Gendry's expression was so thunderous.
"He's a Flea Bottom bastard," Gendry ground out through his gritted teeth.
"Just like you were," Tyrion interrupted, cutting Gendry off afore he could say any more. "Unclaimed by his father apparently."
"But we suspect he might be a Lannister bastard," Brienne added.
The crowd gasped in surprise, but no one was more shocked by that statement than Ty himself.
"One of yours?" Aegon asked Tyrion.
The Lord Hand looked as shocked by that question as Ty felt. Tyrion's mouth moved, but nothing came out.
"First time he's ever been speechless," Gendry muttered to a chorus of chuckled agreements from the assembled Lords.
Looking down at a still gaping Tyrion, Brienne spoke for him, "We did not consider that possibility Your Grace."
The King turned his attention back to Ty. "Is your mother alive?"
Ty had been rendered as speechless as Tyrion. 'Twas all he could do to shake his head.
"Well, someone must know who fathered you," Aegon grumbled, letting his sword slip from Ty's shoulder. All Ty's hope slipped with it.
"Anyone claim this bastard?" The King shouted to the assembled crowd in general.
To everyone's surprise, Tyrion stepped forwards. "I'm not claiming him, I just want a closer look."
Taking Ty's chin in his hand, Tyrion raised the boy's head. With Ty still on bended knee their eyes were level.
"He certainly looks like a young Jaime."
Various Lords and Ladies muttered their agreement, Brienne being the most enthusiastic amongst them.
"If you have no father and your mother is dead, then who raised you?"
Ty was surprised by the gentleness of Tyrion's touch and the concern in his voice. The Hand's earnest expression and apparently genuine interest loosened Ty's frozen tongue.
"My aunt raised me, my Lord."
"And is she still alive?"
Ty nodded, swallowed hard and admitted, "She lives in Flea Bottom, taking in washing."
"Good!" King Aegon cheered, apparently delighted by this news. "Presumably she knows who did the deed." He clapped his hands together to ensure he had everyone's attention afore proclaiming, "Find this aunt and I'm sure we'll uncover the truth of the boy's parentage. Now who fancies a trip to Flea Bottom?"
The chorus of Lords and Ladies pledging to follow the King was deafening.
Only Ty and Shireen were silent, finding each other's eyes across the Godswood, finding that some things meant more to them than names.
-o-
It's 2am and I have work tomorrow, but I enjoyed writing this and am full of good intentions to start the next chapter soon. The bloomin' dog is robbing me of all my free time though.
I hope you can bear with me a little while longer. The next chapter, or maybe the one after, should be the last.
