The Keeper
Chapter 42 – Fire Keeper
Brienne closed her eyes as she absorbed the vibration from the soft ground, the pounding of an army of undead soldiers. Above her, the living fighters, the archers, officers and squires, were now quiet, conserving their energy for the next round of battle. She looked to the rise past the tourney grounds, where the dead would soon appear. They'd been fools to think that the small number they'd just defeated, a few hundred Wights, was the entirety of the enemy they'd fight. The first wave was only the dead buried near the tourney grounds. Now they would face the true threat.
The army of men – fighters from the nearby keeps and families of the Westerlands, Stormlands, Crownlands, the Reach and Dorne – had strong advantages. They knew what they were fighting and wouldn't waste time or energy with useless defenses such as ordinary steel or hand-to-hand combat. Their archers were higher placed, giving them better sight lines and clear marks. They kept their distance and used fire, their most powerful weapon. Even more, the city's greatest protection, the thick, strong walls surrounding King's Landing would shield them, for as long as it took the archers to defend the Wights.
The walls were no protection for her. She was outside the city, near the King's Gate, the same gate Griff had, prophetically, used to enter the city he now ruled. That gate would not open for her, keeping her outside to face the Night King and his army. Brienne knew this was the Gods' work. Only they had the power to keep the massive gate shut despite the best efforts of men. The Gods wanted her out here, facing the Army of the Dead. It was their will and she was their instrument. As they commanded, she followed.
"Brienne!" Griff cried from above her.
She opened her eyes and looked up to see his white face, his emotions tightly checked under his strained, stark features. Jaime, Balon and Bronn turned away, gathering with their officers, their focus on the approaching army. Ned stood by, but kept his head lowered, quiet and ready. Griff also looked to the distance and curled his hands into fists. His face paled even further. She could almost see his eyes blazing, even from their distance, as his willpower locked his pale, perfect features into an expressionless death mask.
"Catren, Allwyn, māzigon naejot issa!" he ordered.
"No!" Brienne cried, knowing what he intended. "Don't come down here! Podrick, stop him!"
Podrick, tears spilling from his eyes, turned to face Griff. Her squire was so used to obeying her orders, he did it without conscious thought. But Podrick stopped when he was faced with the fierce, frozen desperation of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Griff calmly, deliberately, pushed Podrick aside as Catren and Allwyn rose beside him. Around him, archers, squires and officers stumbled back, abandoning their positions rather than risking an encounter with the deadly dragons. Jaime and his officers turned from their conversation to watch the confrontation.
"Your Grace, no!" Brienne pleaded. "You can't come down here. You can't face them with me."
"I am Aegon Martell Targaryen, the son of the sun and the blood of dragons," Griff snarled, his expression so cold and fierce, Brienne would have raised her sword to defend herself, if she'd seen it on anyone else. "No one controls me, no one commands me."
"Except the Gods," Brienne countered. "You said you trust me and believe the Gods are guiding us. Did you lie?"
Griff, his arms already around Catren and Allwyn, froze. Jaime, Balon, Bronn and even Podrick stepped back as they watched him. The soldiers and Ned were also still, their attention wavering between the King of Westeros and the approaching Army of the Dead. Griff glared down at her, his temper almost as tightly controlled as his expression.
"I've never lied to you, Brienne." Griff spoke through gritted teeth. "I trust you and I believe in the Gods' guidance. But I won't let you die if I can save you."
"You can't save me, your Grace. If you come down here, all you can do is die with me," Brienne insisted. "The gate won't open and once the dead approach, we can't allow it to open. We can't risk the Wights damaging the gate and entering the city. You can't die with me. You're too important to lose."
"So are you." Griff's expression was still tightly controlled but his voice trembled the slightest bit. "You're the mother of dragons, their keeper. They need you. I—"
He abruptly stopped speaking. Instead, he pressed his lips into a flat, bloodless line. Brienne's heart clenched at the icy, blank mask on his face. Griff was fighting hard to control his reactions, to keep his emotions out of his expression. She tore her gaze away from her king to look down at Ardayn, Serdun and Gallan still beside her. They were tense and puffed, aware of the threat marching towards them, even if they couldn't see the army beyond the rise. Then Brienne raised her head to look at Catren and Allwyn, hovering above Griff's head, ready and even eager to bring Griff down to her.
A wave of love and tenderness washed over her. These were her children, the only children the Gods had allowed her. They were fierce, devoted, exceptional and extraordinary, a joy beyond her wildest dreams. She had done everything she could to protect and prepare them for the world they would soon dominate. She'd given her blood for their birth, her love for their devotion and her sword for their protection. But the greatest gift she'd given them was a steady, true father to mold and guide them with his sense of honor and duty.
"The dragons have you," Brienne pointed out gently. "I couldn't ask for a better man to raise them. They're clever, strong and disciplined from your training. They'll learn to serve the world under your guidance. I know you'll serve the people of Westeros with the same love and care you're giving to raising these five. You'll be a wonderful king, as you're already a wonderful father."
For a moment, Griff's iron control wavered and his mouth quivered. Brienne could see the grief and terror in his features as he looked down at her. He opened his mouth, his desperation clear as he raised his head to scan the horizon. Judging from the way his eyes widened, what he saw alarmed him.
"Brienne," he began, but stopped as his voice broke.
It took him a few seconds to compose his features, to bring his emotions back under his rigid control. A lump rose in Brienne's throat and tears filled her eyes. She understood what he was feeling. They'd been together for less than four months but they'd fought side-by-side, planned to build a better world and had even created a family. Their time with each other had been so short but they'd packed more memories into those brief months than some people experienced in a lifetime.
"I used to pray daily to the Faith to give my life meaning and to serve a just king." Brienne knew her voice wavered but she didn't care. She blinked hard to clear her eyes but didn't wipe away the tears sliding down her cheeks. If these were her last words to her king, she wanted them to be genuine. "The Gods answered my prayers. They gave me the dragons and they gave me you. I've been blessed beyond anything I could have imagined. I've tried to serve you and the Gods to the best of my ability. It's been an honor to be in your service, your Grace."
Griff's mouth fell open and his chest expanded as he gasped in air. He shook his head, either denying her words or their outcome. Still, she knew nothing he did would change their fates. Even the King of the Seven Kingdoms wasn't above the Gods' will. She had hoped for a lifetime to serve her king but accepted their judgement. Her faith in the Gods was unshakeable. Above all things, she was their warrior and would carry out their will. If this was the sacrifice they wanted her to make, she would make it gladly.
"Brienne, no!" Griff spoke between clenched teeth but the desperation was clear in his voice. "I will not let you die."
"You have no choice." Brienne blinked rapidly as fresh tears spilled from her eyes. "You even predicted this would happen. The first day you returned to King's Landing, you said I was a woman of honor, a noble knight of the Seven Kingdoms, who would willingly sacrifice herself for the greater good. This is the greater good."
"I can't lose you, Brienne," Griff insisted, no longer caring that his voice cracked. "You're too important to lose."
"No, I'm only one person," Brienne disagreed. "You're not just my king. All of Westeros, the entire world, needs you."
She recalled what Davos had said at Dragonstone, when they'd gathered in the Chamber of the Painted Table to strategize for the parlay with Cersei and Euron.
"I remember her lies as clear as day. She told them to Stannis often enough." Davos's gentle face flushed with remembered fury. "She called him Azor Ahai and said 'you are he who must stand against the Other. The one whose coming was prophesied five thousand years ago. The red comet was your herald. You are the prince that was promised, and if you fail the world fails with you.' Well, Stannis is dead and the world still stands, doesn't it?"
Melisandre had been wrong; wrong for believing Azor Ahai and the prince that was promised were the same person, wrong for believing Stannis could be either one and wrong for believing that sacrificing unwilling innocents served a higher purpose. Only the sacrifices men or women made by choice, with their whole heart and soul were true offering. Forcing death upon another only blackened the killer's soul. Melisandre's beliefs had been wrong but the prophecy was true.
"Aegon Martell Targaryen, you are he who must stand against the Others," Brienne recited. "The one whose coming was prophesied five thousand years ago. The red comet was your herald. You were born under it. You are the prince that was promised, and if you fail the world fails with you. You must lead the people. You were born, saved, secreted and raised to be king. It is your duty."
Griff's expression hardened. He understood duty. Every moment of his life had been preparation for him to do his duty, to serve the people of Westeros. He knew his ancestors had failed because they'd looked upon kingship as a destiny, an entitlement they didn't need to defend or preserve. Their arrogance, madness and sloth had led to their own destruction. Now it was up to Griff to lead the people, to save the kingdom they'd nearly destroyed with their own hands. He couldn't allow his personal feelings for one person to outweigh his duty to the Seven Kingdoms.
Griff stared out at the horizon again then turned to glare at Ned. "Take me to the gatekeepers."
Ned kept his expression composed, even in the face of the fierce, angry dragons. He nodded and turned away. Griff glared down at Brienne for a brief moment, Catren and Allwyn flying above his head, before turning to follow Ned. Brienne took a deep breath and relaxed the muscles she didn't notice had tightened. The rumbling under her feet was getting stronger. Ardayn, Serdun and Gallan hissed and looked around, sensing the threat they didn't yet see.
Brienne looked up at the ramparts again, looking for Podrick. Her squire was curled against the wall, his face red with grief and misery. Where Griff reacted with fury and icy control to hide his pain, Podrick made no attempt to hide his emotions. He looked down at Brienne, not bothering to wipe away the tears streaming down his face.
"Podrick," Brienne called up to him. She wiped away her tears to try to put up a brave front for him.
"Y…yes, m...my L-L-Lady Ser?" he stuttered.
Over time, as they'd become comfortable with each other, Podrick's stutter had eased. Brienne hadn't even noticed it lately. But it came back when her young squire was distressed, as he clearly was now.
"Podrick, you must be strong," Brienne ordered. "I need you to be strong for the dragons and for King Aegon. If I'm not here to be with them, you must care for them, in my place. Will you do that for me, Podrick?"
He nodded but didn't try to speak.
"Listen to me, Podrick." Brienne stepped closer to the wall, as if it could bring her closer to him. "Be brave and look forward, always. Tell my father I…I—"
She faltered, thinking of the grief it would cause her father to lose his last living family member, the daughter he'd loved and supported, no matter how much she must have disappointed him. He deserved better than he'd received but she would honor his teachings with her dying breath. She drew in air to steady herself.
"Podrick." Her voice was steady now. "Tell my father I tried to live every moment as he taught me to, with honor and courage."
"I…I will," Podrick promised, his voice breaking. "I'll t-t-tell him you're the greatest knight in the…the Seven Kingdoms."
Brienne smiled at his boundless faith in her. Then her smile died and she looked up at her squire earnestly. "The people of Tarth will be your responsibility, Podrick. King Aegon will make you my father's heir."
"No, my L-L-Lady Ser," Podrick protested. "I'm not your blood."
"We're more than blood, Podrick, we're bonded," Brienne corrected. "You're as much mine as are the dragons. You're as precious to me as they are. The dragons, my father and King Aegon will need your support. I'm not worried about them because I know you'll take care of them as you've cared for me." Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks but she didn't bother to check them. "I was so blessed to have you in my life, Podrick."
Podrick sobbed and shook his head, pressing his cheek into the rough brick. A hand appeared on his shoulder. Bronn leaned over the young squire, his mouth softened in an uncharacteristic show of sympathy. Jaime, his face almost as flushed and miserable as Podrick's, appeared at his side and looked down at Brienne. He opened his mouth to speak, then swallowed visibly before trying again.
"Brienne, we've devised a plan for your defense." Jaime's voice quivered but remained strong. "The Wights are slow moving, which gives us more reaction time—"
"No, Ser Jaime," Brienne interrupted him. "I've been on the battle line before. I know how many are approaching from the rumbling footsteps. There are too many coming for you to defend me for long. It will take hours to defeat that many Wights. You're limited to only the archers on the walls to fight them."
Jaime shut his eyes as a shudder passed through him. He clenched his hand and lowered his head, fighting for control. Their relationship had started in animosity and mutual hatred. Then, long weeks of trampling through the Riverlands and keeping each other alive during the worst of times had changed it. He was her dearest friend, the man who had trusted her with his darkest secrets and believed in her honor even when he'd been stripped of his own. In a different life and a different time, perhaps they could have become more. But this lifetime required duty and sacrifice, from both of them.
Jaime opened his eyes. "It doesn't matter how long it takes. We'll defend you. As long as we can keep the fire line between you and the dead, you're safe. We'll keep up our line, even if I have to jam a bow into this useless gold hand and shoot arrows myself."
Brienne shook her head. "Ser Jaime, you can't worry about me. You must focus on the future. You have to carry on our legacy and fulfill our vows."
Jamie stared at her. "What vows?"
"To protect Aegon Martell Targaryen," Brienne explained. "We're both former Kingsguards. It's our duty to protect our king. We took vows to give our lives for King Aegon."
"No," Jamie denied. "My vow was to Aerys and I killed him. I failed. My vow died with him."
"Not so, Ser Jaime," Brienne corrected. "Rhaegar's last request to you was to keep his family safe. You said it yourself. You told us Rhaegar and your Kingsguard brothers still come to you in your dreams, repeating Rhaegar's last request."
"They're haunting me," Jaime snarled.
"They aren't haunting you; they're reminding you." Brienne raised her voice. "They knew what you didn't. Rhaegar's son lives. All these years, your dreams were telling you your vow hasn't ended, your sworn duty isn't finished. You're the last of your Kingsguard brothers. The Gods spared you, time and again, for a reason. You may have failed to protect Elia and Rhaenys but you can still save Aegon. You have a chance to regain your honor by keeping your vow to your prince. You must fulfill our vow by protecting Rhaegar's son."
Jaime shook his head. "Aegon won't have me, even if I were the last man alive and had two good hands to protect him."
"Sansa and Arya both refused my protection the first time I offered it," Brienne countered. "I didn't let that stop me. We'd made a vow to Lady Catelyn to save her daughters, to return them to their family. This is no different than when you sent me, with Oathkeeper, to find Sansa."
"It's entirely different," Jaime argued. "Sansa and Arya Stark were frightened little girls who were being sent home. We're facing a war with the undead. I'm a one-handed cripple. I'm not enough to protect anyone, let alone a man who hates me for existing."
If he'd been closer, Brienne would have shaken Jaime until she shook his stubborn self-loathing lose. He was adrift, without the touchstones that had defined his life, trying to assimilate multiple shocks in a short time. He finally understood how his actions had contributed to the fall of House Lannister, witnessed the return of Aegon Martell Targaryen, assisted in the death of his beloved sister, organized the defense of King's Landing and now faced her death. If they'd had more time, Brienne would have sympathized with him. But their time together was about to end. She had to make him understand in the short moments they had left.
"We don't know what's enough until we try, Ser Jaime. Finding Lady Sansa, taking her to Jon Snow at Castle Black, was enough. It gave the Northerners strength to fight for Winterfell, to regain their lands, to make Jon Snow their king and for the wolves to regather. Our actions were enough to fulfill and even surpass our vow to Catelyn. We, you and I, Ser Jaime, helped restore House Stark."
Jaime was so silent, Brienne stepped away from the wall to see him. He was looking down at her but his focus appeared inward, perhaps actually listening to her this time. After so many years of defending his choices and being reviled for his most heroic act, Jaime had to decide to turn a past of shame and bitterness into a future of honor and acceptance.
"We did that, Ser Jaime. By honoring our vow to Lady Catelyn, we helped rebuild the family who warned us to guard the realms of men. Jon Snow now leads an army to man the Wall and helped prepare us to defend King's Landing." She paused but Jaime still didn't speak. "You wouldn't have known how to protect the capital if Jon Snow hadn't come to the Dragonpit and explained it to us."
Jaime shook his head. "You see honor, greatness in me where none exists."
"It exists, Ser Jamie, even if you don't see it," Brienne insisted. "You're the reason King's Landing still stands - for the second time. Before, you saved it from being destroyed by wildfire. Now, the capital would have fallen into chaos if you hadn't taken command of it before the dead rose in the graveyards. Who, other than you, could have reacted so quickly to mobilize the army and the Gold Cloaks to defend the city?"
"Only after you sent the army into the city to protect them from the Wights. And I…I didn't plan it," Jaime admitted. "I just did what needed to be done."
Brienne smiled. "Exactly. You just do what needs to be done. Every time I need you to, you rise. That's what you must do from now on. You must uphold our joint honor and the Kingsguards' honor." She held his gaze, even across the distance, making sure she had his full attention. "It's your time. Rise, Ser Jaime, rise."
Jamie held her gaze, as if he could see the truth in her eyes, even across the distance. Then, as she watched, something in his expression changed, a new resolve she hadn't seen before. His shoulders squared and his back straightened. Energy caused the fine hairs to rise on her arms as she held his gaze. She could almost see the fire building behind his wildfire green eyes. It was as if a spark had ignited inside him, flaring to life behind his eyes. He nodded to her. Then Brienne remembered the most important point.
"One more thing, Ser Jaime. You must remember, those who protect the king sometimes must protect him from himself. King Aegon is a good man, fair and intelligent, but he's hot-headed and impulsive." Brienne shook her head. "You've seen the worst of kings: madness, sloth, cruelty and weakness. Promise me you'll protect King Aegon from all things, even, if need be, from himself."
Jamie held her gaze for a long moment before he nodded slowly. He opened his mouth to speak but Griff returned with Ned at his back and Catren and Allwyn over his head. The dragons screeched and beat their wings furiously, creating a draft that caused the archers around them to duck down. Ardayn, Gallan and Serdun began to screech, too, and rose from around Brienne. She turned around and gasped. The Army of the Dead was at the top of the rise beyond the tourney grounds. Rows of skeletons, held together by bits of muscle, skin and connective tissue, stretched from Blackwater Bay to the Kingsroad and beyond.
"My Lady Ser," Podrick screamed.
Brienne looked up to see Podrick reach down for her, so distraught he didn't seem to understand he couldn't possibly reach her. He'd nearly overbalanced himself, threatening to topple from the ramparts, when Bronn grabbed his shoulders and dragged him away from the edge.
"No!" Podrick struggled with Bronn.
"You fool!" Bronn snarled. "Being bonded to dragons doesn't give you wings. Getting yourself killed isn't going to help her."
Griff, standing beside Podrick, looked away from Podrick's raw emotions to stare at the horizon. Griff's icy control broke as he saw the wave of dead coming towards Brienne. His face whitened and his mouth fell open. He looked almost as desperate as Podrick. Brienne gasped as Griff put his arms around Catren and Allwyn. Now Griff was about to act as impulsively and as foolishly as Podrick had only a moment earlier. They couldn't come down to her.
"No!" she cried out. "Don't come down here."
Griff ignored her. He took a single step to the edge before Jaime stepped in front of him. Griff snarled and tried to go around Jaime, still holding onto the dragons. Again, Jaime stepped into their path.
"Get out of my way, Kingslayer," Griff snarled.
"Step away from the edge, your Grace." Jamie placed heavy emphasis on Griff's honorific.
Catren and Allwyn shrieked at Jaime but didn't fire, even though he was in their range. In fact, Jaime was so close to Griff, he could have reached out and touched the king without stretching. Around them, the men kept their distance, including Bronn, who still had a tight grip on Podrick. Griff flushed darkly red, his indigo eyes flashing dangerous fire.
"I don't have time for you, Kingslayer," Griff snarled. "I need to protect Brienne."
"And I need to honor Brienne," Jaime countered, still standing firm.
Griff stiffened and glared at him, fury crackling around him. "What?"
"Brienne believes in the world you'll build. She's ready to give her life for it," Jaime explained, equally incensed. "She asked me to protect you, to ensure that world comes to be. I'm honoring her request, whether you like it or not. You're the king and I will keep you safe, no matter what you think of it." He raised his golden hand in almost a threatening manner. "Whatever it takes."
Griff hissed in his breath, looking from Jaime to his mangled golden hand. Catren and Allwyn, hovering behind Griff's head, also hissed. Still, they didn't attack or even screech at Jaime. They, like the men around them, waited as the tension between the King and the Lord Commander built.
"He's right, your Grace," Brienne called up. "Ser Jaime understands how important it's to me that you're always safe. The world needs you."
A fine tremor shook Griff's body but his muscles remained locked. Jaime was just as defiant, not allowing Griff to reach the edge. Catren and Allwyn stayed with their father, ready to obey but unsure of the command.
"Your Grace, you are the Prince of Dorne and the rightful King of Westeros," Ned, standing just behind his prince, ventured quietly. "The people look to you for guidance and strength. It's your duty to lead us out of the Long Night."
Griff froze. He looked from Jaime to Ned them back at Jaime. Jamie held his ground and even rotated his golden, mangled hand, despite the threat of Catren and Allwyn behind Griff. After a tense pause, Griff relaxed his posture and stepped back. Catren and Allwyn, hovering at Griff's head, quieted as they continued to study Jaime. Brienne relaxed as a sense of peace came over her. Her family would be safe. Rational people, such as Jaime, Balon, Ned and Tyrion would guide Griff and Podrick, keep them from throwing themselves off ledges or making other equally impulsive decisions.
"Griff," she called up.
A shudder passed through Griff at hearing her call him by his nickname. He leaned over to look down at her. His bout of rashness had ended and his emotions were once again tightly under his control. Still, he relaxed his features enough to smile down sadly at her. Brienne smiled up at him, but without sadness.
"Promise me you'll take good care of Podrick and the dragons. Protect Ela, the children and all the people of Westeros. Love them and guide them, be the king you promised me you would be," she asked.
Another shudder shook his frame but Griff nodded. "I will."
Her smile softened as she allowed her adoration to shine through. Griff would be a great leader, a king who would serve his people instead of ruling them. Westeros and the dragons would be safe in his hands. She might not live to see the world Griff would create but she believed in it, just as she believed in him.
"You'll be a wonderful king." Tears filled her eyes again but she blinked them back, determined not to blur her last image of her king. "It's been an honor to be your sworn sword, to serve King Aegon the Sixth Targaryen. Long may you reign."
Griff looked down at her, his lips parting as tears filled his eyes, his grief and pain suddenly raw and uncontained. Seeing his suffering brought fresh tears to her eyes, even as the archers raised their bows behind Griff, burning arrows alight. They drove a line of fire at her back, between her and the oncoming horde. Brienne whirled around to look at the Army of the Dead. She gasped. The skeletons had advanced across the tourney grounds, their stumbling steps slow but steady, only minutes away from her. Nearer to the Kingsroad, the archers were already firing into the mass of Wights, frantically trying to decrease their numbers as wave after wave approached.
She hadn't realized how close the Army of the Dead was and how fleeting her last moments would be. Brienne knelt down to embrace Ardayn, Serdun and Gallan, still at her side. There were no words to express how she felt about them as she hugged the trio tightly. But the dragons, with their heightened emotional sensitivity and their ability to sense intent, seemed to already know what was happening. They whined and pressed against her, as if their small bodies could protect her.
"Sōvegon, zaldrīzoti," she ordered.
The three squawked and refused to leave her side. No, they had to leave her. Staying with her wasn't their fate. They would grow strong and, under Griff's guidance, become the protectors of Westeros, the symbol of his reign and the promise of the glorious new world he would create.
"Sōvegon, zaldrīzoti," she ordered again, her tone sharper.
The three, as stubborn as she was, remained snuggled around her. She looked up to Griff, who was still watching her, ignoring the flurry of frantic activity around him. Archers shot into the enemy and refreshed the fire line protecting her, even as she prepared to make her last stand.
"Call them!" she ordered him. "Call the dragons to you!"
Griff swallowed hard as he brought his emotions back under his rigid control. Then he nodded. "Ardayn, Serdun, Gallan, māzigon naejot issa!"
Beside him, Podrick, no longer held back by Bronn, fell to his knees and cried out, a sound between a sob and a scream. Catren and Allwyn, now settled on the battlements between Griff and Podrick, picked up the cry, shrieking their rage and grief. Griff repeated his order, his voice hardening. Reluctantly, Ardayn, Serdun and Gallan rose, also shrieking as they flew up to the battlements. They refused to land, circling over the archer's heads, shrieking out their fury. Catren and Allwyn rose to join them, their rage and grief intensifying as they absorbed Griff, Jaime and Podrick's pain and desperation.
Their shrieks seem to attract the Army of the Dead, as the skeletons released their own inhuman cries. It seemed they were drawn to them, as many changed directions to leave the Kingsroad and come towards the tourney grounds. Brienne wanted to cover her ears but grabbed Ice instead. The Stark's greatsword was heavy in her hands but it gave her a measure of comfort. If the Gods wanted her to die this day, she would do so but she wouldn't die without a fight. Even the Gods would understand that.
Something shuddered in the air, a disturbance so profound, it caused goosebumps to rise on her arms. She looked around frantically, trying to find the source. Her sight was partially blinded by the rain of arrows lighting up the unnaturally darkened afternoon. There! In the sky beyond the rise, she saw twin streaks of light flash in the heavy grey clouds. She was reminded of the forked lightning bolt, the sigil of House Dondarrion.
Griff nodded. "I recognize it. The story is that the first lord was a messenger. He was ambushed delivering a message for his king. The man thought he would die in the attack but a bolt of lightning struck his attackers, killing both. The messenger delivered his important message and was made the first Lord Dondarrion for his troubles."
Would the Gods do that again? Would they send a bolt of lightning to protect her and save her from the horde? Even as the thought came to her, Brienne discarded it. A single bolt wouldn't be enough, even if the Gods did send a bolt of lightning to save her. They would have to fill the sky with thousands of bolts to protect her from an entire Army of the Dead. She tightened her grip on Ice even as she watched the skies, ignoring the burning arrows and screams around her.
The dual flare lit the clouds again then suddenly pierced it. Brienne gasped as she realized what she was seeing wasn't lightning, it was fire. Dragonfire. The gasp turned to a sob as she fell to her knees, eyes shutting as she whispered her gratitude to the Gods. This was not her time to die. They didn't require her to make that sacrifice. Instead, they had sent her not just one, but two champions. Not lightning, not fire, but dragons, the most powerful creatures in the world.
She opened her eyes, scanning the clouds for Drogon and Rhaegal. She saw the flames light up the clouds again then the dragons broke out of the cloud cover. The bigger dragons' cries, now that they were close enough to be heard over the screams of the armies and the young dragons, made the very air around her shudder. The rain of arrows stopped as the archers and officers alike froze in shocked fear, stared at the oncoming dragons.
"Keep firing!" Jaime ordered. "Brienne is still down there!"
The archers closest to Jaime, the ones being screeched at by the five young dragons, reacted first. They resumed shooting, refreshing the fire line protecting Brienne from the oncoming Wights. Officers quickly threw off their shock, prodded by Bronn, Balon and Ned, and took command of their men again. The volley of fiery arrows resumed even as the older dragons closed in on the battleground.
Drogon and Rhaegal released their fury onto the Wights, following the Kingsroad to the capital, their fire streams a hundred times more powerful than the young dragons. They were so powerful their dragonfire sent up a shower of blackened dirt, shattered rock and pulverized bones. They changed directions, now flying parallel to the wall, destroying Wights by the hundreds. The dragons turned the ground on both sides of the Kingsroad into a field of fire, torching the trees and shrubs, creating a ground fire that raced to the very walls of the city, engulfing the Wights as they lumbered towards the capital. The dragons then came to the tourney grounds, unleashing their wrath onto the dead marching towards Brienne.
"Take cover!" Jaime screamed.
The barrage of fiery arrows stopped at the men fell to their knees, trying to protect themselves from the oncoming storm of dragonfire and debris. Brienne abandoned Ice and ran for the limited protection of the gateway of the King's Gate. It provided some cover as she crouched down, trying to protect her head from the shower of flotsam raised by the dragons' fire; sharp pieces of rock, bone and even bits of steel and wood remaining from previous tourneys. Fleetingly, she thought of the Valyrian steel armor Jon had taken north with him. This was the time the armor, stronger than steel, would have provided the most protection.
"Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!"
Brienne uncovered her head as she heard Griff scream out his command. She looked up into the sky, her arms still over her head to protect her eyes from the shower of debris. She gasped at seeing the young dragons had left the safety of the ramparts to join Drogon and Rhaegal. They swooped through the sky, imitating the bigger dragons' battle tactic. The dragons dove close to the ground, released a line of fire, then flew up to avoid possible counterattack. Their intensity was nowhere near as powerful as Drogon or Rhaegal's, but their determination was just as strong.
The archers were no longer protecting her but her dragons were. They fired on the Wights closest to their mother, their dragonfire a bare fraction of Drogon and Rhaegal's, but still effective to repel a limited attack. The Wights they fired upon screamed as the dragonfire burned through the bits of tissue holding their bones together. The bones, without the connective tissue, crumpled to the ground, causing other Wights, senseless, soulless, wretched creatures, to stumble over their remains and into each other.
Suddenly one of the dragons yelped in pain. Brienne gasped and studied the sky desperately. She screamed when she saw Serdun falling rapidly. Serdun flapped its left wing but its right wing was pressed against its side. A spray of blood followed its path down from the skies. The green dragon twisted and Brienne screamed again when she saw a whole sword had pierced its body. Drogon and Rhaegal's powerful fire had uncovered and launched an entire buried sword into the sky and into Serdun!
"Brienne, fire can't kill a dragon!" Griff caught her arm and dragged her away from the railing.
She fought him. "No, but swords and arrows can!"
"Serdun!" Brienne cried.
Her cry was echoed by Griff and Podrick on the battlements above her. She watched, horrified, as Serdun continued to fall. Her greatest fear had just come true. Everyone thought the dragons were invincible, but they were frighteningly vulnerable, especially as young as the five were. Serdun's still-developing armor couldn't protect it from the bite of steel. She prayed desperately as Catren and Allwyn streaked to Serdun and, as they'd done with Griff only a short time before, pressed into Serdun, slowing the injured dragon's descent. Ardayn and Gallan flew below them, firing into the ground, creating a landing area in the midst of the battlefield.
Drogon and Rhaegal, hearing Serdun's yelps of pain, roared in fury and increased the intensity of their assault. They shattered bones and rocks with furious power, swooping closer to the ground, throwing up higher, stronger sprays of debris. Brienne didn't care. As Griff and Podrick had almost done before, she blindly threw herself into danger. Logic and reason were forgotten as her desperation to protect her dragon took control.
On the wall, Griff and Podrick cried out again, this time calling to her.
"Brienne, no!"
"My Lady Ser, stop!"
They were on the ramparts, unable to help Serdun, but she was on the ground, ready to save her dragon. She ran into the field of fire, not caring that her clothes and boots were burning. She ignored the calls from the men, the threat of attack from the Wights, the bits of steel and stone pelting her, the flames licking at her from all sides, the screams of the undead, the grunts of the archers and roars of the big dragons. All she cared about was getting to Serdun.
The other four young dragons were circling over where the green dragon had landed, firing steadily, protecting Serdun from possible attack. Brienne broke through the flames and fell to her knees beside her dragon. She sobbed at seeing Serdun was alive, its small body shuddering, with the sword still embedded, having pierced between wing and body. She knew she had no choice but to remove the sword. Leaving it in would cause more damage. Serdun shrieked as Brienne pulled out the weapon in a single smooth, swift motion.
Drogon roared with increased rage, incensed at hearing its offspring's cry. The shower of stones, bones and steel came closer. Brienne covered her head with her arms while leaning over Serdun to deflect the debris from further harming the injured dragon. She looked around frantically at the other four. The young dragons would be badly injured if they were hit hard enough or if other equally large projectiles were buried in the grounds.
"Sōvegon, zaldrīzoti!" she ordered. "Sōvegon!"
She waited only long enough to ensure the four uninjured dragons followed her order and flew straight up. Then Brienne gathered Serdun's wings close to its body and flattened herself on the ground, covering the injured dragon with her own body. Seconds later, Drogon flew overhead and unleashed its fire directly over them, making them the center of the firestorm, directing the barrage of debris away from them. Brienne gasped and turned to her side, letting Drogon see Serdun, now that they were no longer being pelted by projectiles. She pressed her face into the dirt, Serdun in her arms. Time lost all meaning as the flames roared around them, as she and Serdun waited out Drogon and Rhaegal's furious attack on the Wights.
Finally, the assault ended and another type of heat burned along her bare shoulders. Brienne opened her eyes and blinked rapidly as she adjusted to the light. Light. The heat she was feeling was sunlight! She looked up to see the clouds breaking apart, burning away as the sun attacked the chilly greyness with the same intensity Drogon and Rhaegal had used to burn the Wights. She twisted her neck to see the bigger dragons flying away, so high in the sky they seemed smaller than birds.
The four young dragons landed around her, turned away to face any possible threat, screeching and puffing, wings fully extended. Brienne lifted up on her arms to look around. Nothing moved in the blackened tourney grounds except lines of flames. Before, where there had been green grass, lush trees and abundant bushes now only a field of dragonglass remained, much of it still on fire. She lifted herself up to her knees, gasping as her skin, tight and sore from the direct dragonfire, stung with every movement. Painfully, she raised herself to a sitting position, Serdun cradled in her arms.
"Brienne!"
"My Lady Ser!"
Brienne looked back to the city walls and gasped in horror. Podrick, Jaime, Bronn, Balon, Ned and all the officers, archers and squires were still on the ramparts. Even from this distance she could sense their befuddled shock as they stared at her, alive and whole, even after sustaining direct dragonfire. She froze in horror. If she could see them, they could see her!
"Catren, Allwyn, māzigon naejot issa!" Griff ordered.
Catren and Allwyn left her side to fly to Griff. Ardayn and Gallan, picking up on her shocked distress, flared their wings and hissed at the men. They cuddled close to Brienne, giving her slightly more modesty as they pressed themselves against her bare shoulders.
Catren and Allwyn squawked as they brought Griff down from the ramparts, finally distracting Brienne from the horror of being seen, naked, in front of hundreds of men, with only an injured dragon to cover herself. Griff ran across the remains of the tourney ground, not bothering to dodge around the burning fires. Catren and Allwyn, squawking madly, returned to the wall, flying up to Podrick. Her squire rose on shaky legs but held his arms out for the dragons. She was distracted from Podrick when she saw the flames licking at Griff's breeches and jacket.
"Your clothes are burning!" Brienne cried.
Griff ripped off the leather jacket as he fell to his knees beside her. He slapped the leather against his legs and the ground until he'd extinguished the flames. Then he wrapped the jacket over her shoulders and took her face in both hands.
"Are you alright?" he demanded.
"Serdun!" Brienne gasped, loosening her hold on Serdun so Griff could see the injured dragon in her arms.
"I saw. I'll take care of it." Griff nodded and tore at his shirt, tearing it onto strips as he ripped it off his body. "Are you hurt?"
"Serdun!" Brienne said again, her voice rising to a shriek.
She glared at Griff. What was wrong with him? Couldn't he see she was fine? Why was he wasting time asking her stupid questions when their dragon was injured? He needed to focus on helping Serdun.
"Brienne, Serdun will be fine," Griff spoke soothingly as he pressed a strip of cloth to the wound on the outside of Serdun's wing. "Serdun was born of magic."
"That didn't save Viserion!" Brienne countered harshly.
Griff's eyes widened and his hands stilled for a second. Then he gently gathered Serdun into his arms and pressed more cloth to the wound on the other side. Brienne pulled his jacket tighter around her shoulders, suddenly cold with Serdun's fiery heat, even as the sun grew stronger and warmer above them. Her arm brushed her naked breast and she was distracted by the sticky, clammy wetness she felt. She looked down and cried out. Her shoulder, breasts and abdomen were covered in drying blood, Serdun's blood.
Griff, who had been winding his shirt around Serdun's body, immobilizing the injured wing, looked over at her and saw her rising fear. He held out his hand to her. It was streaked red with Serdun's blood but not coated as she was.
"Look, Brienne, look at my hand," he urged, waving in attract her attention. "Almost no blood. Fire closes wounds, remember? Serdun's not bleeding anymore."
Some of her desperation eased. "Are you sure?"
"Serdun's strong, Brienne," Griff tried to assure her. "It'll be alright."
"Serdun is only eight months old," she reminded him. "It's just a baby."
"My Lady Ser!"
Brienne turned to see Podrick, now also on the ground, with Catren and Allwyn over his head. He ran across the field, his arms overflowing with a black and blood-red, three-headed dragon banner and the Stark's greatsword, Ice, balanced on top of it. Her squire stumbled to a stop beside her, losing his grip on the items. Ice fell to the ground but Podrick was able to hold onto the banner. He shook it out and held it up for her inspection.
The coarse material, though stiff and scorched, was far better cover than Griff's half-burnt jacket. Brienne accepted it eagerly. Podrick chivalrously turned his back as she shrugged off the jacket and wound the material around her midsection. Wrapped and carefully held in place, it was enough to cover her from her blood-covered breasts to thick thighs.
"My Lady Ser, is this the sword that pierced Serdun?" Podrick knelt down and picked up the broadsword by the long, muck-covered grip.
Brienne stared at the weapon. She hadn't paid much attention to it when she'd pulled it out of Serdun's body but she studied it now. It was exceptionally long and coated with hardened dirt, as if it had been in the ground for many years. There were no distinguishing marks but it was difficult to tell with the dirt and grime caked on it.
"It's not Valyrian steel." Podrick scraped away a bit of the stuck dirt on the blade. "How did it survive dragonfire?" He turned around to look at Brienne. "How did you –" He stopped and his eyes grew wide. "You're a dragon, too!"
Brienne blushed, unsure of how to respond to that. Behind him, the King's Gate opened with a heavy groan. Podrick turned and gasped.
"How did they open the gate?" he asked. "It wouldn't open before."
It didn't matter how they'd gotten the gate open. What mattered was that Serdun needed help. They had to clean and properly bind its wounds. Beside her, Griff rose with Serdun in his arms. The injured dragon was now wrapped up in his jacket. Once again, Brienne was struck by how blatantly the symbolism surrounding Griff revealed his heritage. He had the stunning fair beauty of the Targaryens and the sword of House Dayne, while cradling a dragon, the symbol of his father's house, wrapped in leathers marked with a gold spear piercing a red sun, the sigil of his mother's house.
Griff carefully shifted his bundle so that Serdun could rest its head on his shoulder and wrap its tail around his arm. Serdun cried softly and weakly rubbed its head against Griff's neck. Around them, the other dragons cried in response, rising up to stay even with Serdun.
"Podrick, the sword was under Brienne and Serdun during the battle. Take it with us. It might have value," Griff ordered.
Podrick tore his gaze from Brienne to nod to Griff. He looked at the heavy greatswords, Ice and the one that had pierced Serdun, then quickly shrugged out of his leather and metal studded jerkin. Cleverly, he inserted a sword into each sleeve and rolled up the leather jacket, creating a single, large scabbard.
"Brienne also needs your shirt, Pod," Griff instructed.
Podrick removed his aged, dark red shirt without question. Brienne frowned and looked from her young squire to her king. Podrick was a foot shorter than her. What would she do with his shirt?
"It won't fit me," she protested.
"Neither will our boots," Griff explained. "Podrick, tear it up and bind Brienne's feet. The grounds are littered with weapon parts and burnt rocks."
"Dragonglass," Brienne gasped. "It's dragonglass. We can mine it to make more weapons for the Gold Cloaks and the army."
Griff nodded. "The Valyrian steel will go to the front lines and the lords who'll fight in the great war. Dragonglass and dragonfire will be our most powerful weapons in the wars to come."
Podrick quickly, efficiently wrapped Brienne's feet as Griff calmed the restless, anxious dragons. Once Podrick finished his makeshift foot cover, Griff held out his free hand to Brienne. She shook her head and rose without his help. She was a knight of the Seven Kingdoms. They were strong and independent. Still, it took her a moment to regain her balance as the blood rushing into her feet caused painful prickles. It took her another moment to muster the courage to face the men lining the ramparts and filling the gateway. She looked down at herself to ensure the banner covered what it could. Still she was well aware of her thick thighs, muscular shoulders and built-up arms, visible to everyone.
Griff led and provided partial concealment for her. Podrick was a step behind her, the wrapped swords in his arms. Serdun rested its head on Griff's shoulder and looked at Brienne with tired but clear eyes, reassuring her it was alright. Through the thin covering of aged wool, Brienne could feel the bite of sharp bits and the warmth of still cooling dragonglass. Worse, she could feel the weight of the men's eyes upon her, as they came closer and closer to the King's Gate.
"Is that a woman?"
"Where did you find this beast?"
"You're much uglier in the daylight."
"Big Brienne."
"Giant, toe-headed plank."
Jaime's voice, as he used to speak to her, harsh and cutting, played in her head. But his voice wasn't the only one, or the only insults she'd endured. A lifetime of being too tall, too broad, too plain, too strong and too masculine had given her a thousand hurtful memories, thousands of cutting words and even tearful nights as she'd learned to accept who she was. But even beautiful, delicate, traditional women were subjected to terrifying brutality.
"They threw filth at her when the High Sparrow cut off her hair, stripped her naked and paraded her through the streets."
Cersei Lannister, often called the most beautiful woman in Westeros, had been humiliated and traumatized when she'd been forced to complete a Walk of Atonement. That horror had broken whatever had been left of the former queen's mind, forever separating her from logic and reason. Brienne shuddered at the thought of enduring a similar humiliation. Then Serdun cried softly, perhaps picking up on her anxiety. Brienne looked at the green dragon, its orange markings somehow more prominent against Griff's brown leather jacket and naked skin.
Brienne's anxiety faded immediately as reality grounded and steadied her. She was no helpless woman, at the mercy of enemies and tormentors. She was the Gods' warrior and the keeper of their dragons. She would not be intimidated by other people's opinions or words. She would do whatever was necessary, even walk through the streets of King's Landing practically naked, to take her dragon to safety. She straightened her shoulders and tightened her hold on the banner, her head held straight, daring anyone to comment on her build, her flaming red, sore skin, her blood-soaked chest, her limp, sweaty hair or her battle scars.
No one did. The men at the walls and the gate, along with the few merchants and Gold Cloaks beyond them, were all silent as she walked through the archway, Griff just ahead of her, Podrick a step behind her and the dragons overhead. Brienne was so focused on keeping her back straight that she forgot about her bare feet. Podrick's makeshift wool covering had shredded during her walk across the field of fire, and now the cobblestones bit into her raw, bleeding soles.
She winced but steeled herself to continue moving. She had only taken a few steps when Balon appeared before her. The courtly knight swept off his coat and knelt. He bunched the leather at her feet and shifted away. Brienne stared down at the supple leather, and the sigil of black and white battling swans pressed into it.
"Ser Balon, your coat is getting dirty," Brienne protested quietly.
"Lady Ser Brienne, your feet are bleeding," Balon noted, just as quietly.
Brienne stared at the second son of House Swann. His expression was clear and direct, no disgust or cruelty marred in the gallant knight's face. She glanced over at Griff. Her king's expression was set and calm but the corners of his mouth curled up slightly. She looked back at Balon.
"My dirty, bloody feet will ruin your jacket, Ser Balon," Brienne pointed out.
Balon's expression didn't alter. "My Lady Ser, your quick thinking and actions are the reason King's Landing still stands, why we suffered so few casualties. You brought in the army and fought off the Wights until we could organize our defenses. You've endured enough for us. Please, allow me to cushion this one step for you."
Tears filled her eyes but Brienne blinked them back determinedly. Balon, gallant as always, had seen her wince and was trying to help her. Hesitantly, she stepped on his jacket. The soft leather was a welcome cushion against the sharp, hard cobblestone. Before she'd taken the next step, another jacket appeared on the ground before her. She drew in her breath on a soft gasp as she recognizes the worn, olive-grey leather, the hems singed from battle against Drogon. Wordlessly, she looked at Bronn's face. The knight shrugged and lowered his head. As Brienne stepped on Bronn's jacket, a cape of Lannister red was laid down next to it. Spurred by the first officer, others followed. Within seconds, the street was covered in a blanket of crimson capes.
Brienne stared, wide-eyed, at the field of crimson laid before her. The Westerlands officers, soldiers and squires lining the path and the walls bowed, eyes turned downwards. No one spoke, allowing the sound of the dragons' flapping wings to fill the silence. Beside her, Griff observed the men with open satisfaction. He whispered comfortingly to Serdun in his arms, then gently nudged Brienne forward. She looked down, focusing on the cloth under her feet, instead of the men she passed. Even though she knew Griff and Podrick were with her, and the dragons above her, she was still tense, still waiting for insults or garbage to be thrown to her, as Cersei had endured.
None came.
Once they left the little market at the gate, the crimson capes of the Westerlands officers gave way to rough wool and cotton. Brienne pressed her lips together when she realized she was now walking on the precious, carefully cared-for capes of the struggling shopkeepers at Cobbler's Square. The rough materials gave way to thicker cotton and wool, the garments worn by the wealthy merchants lining the Street of Steel. Then the thick raw silk capes of the Gold Cloaks, indicating they were passing the center square. Brienne's breath caught again when she walked over silks and fine linen. These were the cloaks of the lords and ladies of the great houses of Westeros. Even they were here, quiet and observant, sinking into bows and curtsies as Griff passed by them.
Brienne stumbled to a stop when they reached the gates of the Red Keep, staring dumbstruck at the heavy silk and leather jackets of the Dornish lords. Before her feet were three black leopards standing on a yellow pile on orange, the sigil House Vaith, warriors so fierce, they'd brought down Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Daeron bow to Griff as they passed. The path to the steps of the Red Keep was lined with the jackets of the Dornish lords. The last cape, before they mounted the stairs, was a lilac circle with a white sword crossed with a falling star, the sigil of House Dayne. Ned, who had supported Griff on the wall, bowed respectfully before his prince.
The marble steps, now heated by the rapidly strengthening sun, burned under her feet. Brienne was aware that she was leaving big, bloody footprints behind her. These were her last steps before she entered the shelter of the castle. Her shoulders ached from keeping them so straight and her fingers had cramped around the stiff material she clutched to her meager breasts and full thighs. Still, she hesitated when she saw the landing was covered by a cape bearing a spear piercing a burning sun, the sigil of House Nymeros Martell.
Griff, with Serdun wrapped in a matching jacket, didn't stop, ignoring Manfrey's respectful bow. He brushed by the castellan without acknowledging him. Brienne exchanged tense glances with Podrick, who stood silently at her side, uncomplainingly holding the heavy greatswords. Griff had not forgiven Manfrey for his poor decisions. Brienne tried to step gently on Manfrey's cloak but it was hard for someone her height to move gently.
She'd expected the floors of the Red Keep to be bare. Instead, the hallway to her room was covered with the black and blood red, three-headed dragon banners of House Targaryen, a match for the one wrapped around her. Tyrion was waiting for them at the door to her chamber, along with a line of wide-eyed, anxious servants.
"We heard Serdun and Lady Ser Brienne were injured," Tyrion said quietly, looking worriedly at the dragon bundled in Griff's arms. "We've brought heated wine and water, clean cloth and fresh fish. Shall I have the maester brought here?"
"Not necessary, Lord Hand," Griff responded. "I know how to treat battle injuries."
Serdun turned it head and chirped at Tyrion, a sound the dragon hadn't made since it was two months old. Tyrion's tension faded and he smiled warmly at the injured dragon.
"You're strong, little one," Tyrion encouraged. "Recover quickly, Serdun."
Griff, Serdun and Podrick remained with Tyrion but Brienne brushed by them to enter the sitting room. Ardayn and Gallan came in with her while Catren and Allwyn remained with Griff and Podrick. She was silent and still as servants quickly deposited their burdens on the table near the balcony then bobbed quick bows and practically ran from the room. Her feet burned, her back ached, her head throbbed and her muscles screamed with every breath. She was grateful for each and every pain.
She was alive and whole, as were most of the people in King's Landing. They thought they were safe in the southlands, so far away from the Wall and the icy battlegrounds of the North. They hadn't thought the Great War would come to them, deep in the warmth of the capital. But it had. They'd fought and they'd won, thanks to the weapons the Gods had provided them and the champions they'd sent. The dragons, Dawn, Ice, Jaime's battle command, the Westerlands army and the level-headed actions of men like Balon, Ned and Bronn had led them to victory, this time. How had the Night King's army reached them? Why didn't the Night King himself appear?
Griff came to her and gently laid Serdun in its nest. He unwound the jacket with care but Serdun cried out when its injured wing was jostled. Brienne had stayed strong and stoic while fighting Wights; while preparing to sacrifice her life for the Gods' will; while protecting Serdun in the field of fire; and while enduring a walk through the streets of King's Landing, nearly naked before the people. But she couldn't bear her dragon's suffering. She fell to her knees, wrapped her arms around Serdun and broke.
Brienne sobbed, helpless to control the torrent of fear, worry and delayed shock. Serdun laid its head on her shoulder, trying to comfort its mother. Then she was surrounded by her dragons, bathed in their protective heat. Though the tears continued to flow, the heaviness in her heart lifted.
The Great War had come to King's Landing. They, the army of men and the warriors of the Gods, had repelled the first attack. She knew more attacks would come but she had faith. She also had a family to protect and to protect her. She was ready, strong, determined and, wrapped in the warmth of her dragons, she was loved. That love lifted her, that love steadied her and she knew with no uncertainty, that love would save her. She wasn't only the God's warrior.
She was the dragons' keeper.
Author's Note: Happy New Year! I hope you all had a safe and happy holiday season. I came back with this extra-long chapter after the long wait.
In the next chapter, Brienne will finally, finally decipher the essential clue she received in the FIRST chapter. Have you figured out what the saltwater priest said that was so important? I referenced this clue multiple times and even stated it outright in chapter 38.