The Keeper

Chapter 52 – Wraith Keeper

Later that night, Brienne sat on the ruined couch that served as Ardayn and Serdun's nest, between the two sleeping dragons. Though they shared the nest, they left enough space for her to settle between them. She stroked their backs, enjoying their magical heat under her fingertips. She'd often done this during the nights she'd been unable to sleep, her fear of Dragonbinder keeping her from rest. The horn was still missing but she had the comfort of knowing it was with the Iron Fleet, under the care of Yara Greyjoy. Yara would recognize it if it was found before the fleet docked in Blackwater Bay. She knew how dangerous it was. The horn would be in their possession soon enough.

Now their focus was on trying to reason out what Rhaegar had known. Griff and Podrick were at the table near the balcony, studying Podrick's sketches from Dragonstone. Gallan was stretched out on the table, reptilian eyes half-shut as it watching the two discuss the various drawings Podrick had laid out. Catren was asleep in Griff's arms. He stroked the brown dragon absently as he walked around the table, studying the images from different angles.

Allwyn was in Podrick's lap as he sat and waited for Griff's assessment. The blue-grey dragon was nearly asleep, too. Normally, no one could sit if the king was standing, but Griff rarely paid attention to that rule. Alone, in private, he didn't act like an inaccessible king. Daenerys was the same way, preferring to put aside the constraints of queen when away from her court. Brienne recalled the night, here in this room, when Daenerys had first claimed her as family.

Daenerys shook her head. "No, I'm not 'your Grace' in private. Not when I can throw off the expectations of others, the robes of queenship, the ornaments of rulers and the, frankly, tedious braided hairstyle of Khaleesi. When alone, together as we are now, we're a family who shares a common goal. You'll help me bring order and stability, create a better world for the people. Please, call me by my family name."

Brienne smiled. "Yes, Dany."

Daenerys's smile was bright enough to light up the room. Missandei nodded in warm approval while Brienne blushed furiously.

Now Brienne was in the same room, surrounded by the same candles, shadows and dragons but with a different ruler. Daenerys must surely know Brienne followed Aegon Martell Targaryen, not Jon Snow. It wasn't possible to keep the knowledge of the rightful King of Westeros from Daenerys, not after their successful battle against the Army of the Dead. It must have been a terrible shock for her to learn the new Prince of Dorne had a stronger claim to the Iron Throne than she did, equally powerful armies and commanded the young dragons.

Brienne hadn't lied to Daenerys but her omissions must have hurt and enraged the queen as much as outright lies. Soon, Griff and Daenerys would meet. She would also be reunited with the Dragon Queen. It wasn't a meeting she looked forward to. Their reunion would hurt her as much as it would hurt Daenerys. Brienne knew seeing Daenerys's disappointment and betrayal would damage her, too. She feared the tender place inside of her that had begun to accept admiration and friendship wasn't strong enough to endure such trauma.

Jon Snow must be disappointed, too. He'd believed he was her 'just king' and had taken pride in it. He'd even developed a bond with the young dragons. Jon, however, understood honor. The Starks held honor and duty as prized traits. Brienne hoped Jon understood and accepted her alliances were already set before she returned to Westeros. His vow to stand House Stark at her back stemmed from Brienne saving Sansa, not from his mistaken belief that Brienne considered him her king. Brienne had brought Sansa to him. It was the reunion with his sister that had led House Stark to recover from near destruction.

House Stark was strong again with the return of Arya and Bran, the fall of the Lannisters and the Freys, and the elevation of House Tully. It was House Targaryen's future that worried Brienne. Griff was doing everything he could to avoid war with Daenerys. The bond between Drogon and the five assured Westeros wouldn't suffer another dance of the dragons; their armies were evenly matched and Griff was building the people's loyalty to House Targaryen. Daenerys didn't want the people to be loyal to her house, she wanted them to be loyal to her. She wouldn't allow Griff to take the Iron Throne without a fight. Even if the situation didn't deteriorate to battle, they still weren't united. The fate of Westeros, if not the entire world, may depend on their ability to work together and save them all from the Army of the Dead.

The dragon must have three heads.

Something had convinced Rhaegar he needed to father three children, to create a three-headed dragon. What was it and was that reasoning enough to convince Daenerys to join with Griff to fight their common enemy? Brienne was sure that was why the Gods had led her to the five, the Mother of Dragons and the new Sword of the Morning. They were the keys to ending the Long Night.

"What do you think?" Podrick finally burst out, breaking the thick, sleepy silence.

"I don't know," Griff admitted. "Some of the images are smudged and it's hard to see them in the candlelight. Perhaps something will strike me in the morning."

Podrick looked disappointed. His mouth turned down at the corners and his eyes lost some of their sparkle. He glanced down at Allwyn nearly asleep in his lap. Griff shifted Catren in his arms and gave Podrick an encouraging smile.

"The pictures themselves are very good, Podrick," he reassured. "You're a talented artist."

Podrick brightened, a hopeful smile lighting his face. "Really? Thank you, your Grace. I had to draw with charred sticks so the work isn't as fine as quill and ink." Then he sobered. "Perhaps the pictures might have been more helpful if I'd used the proper tools."

"You didn't know the king would need to study your images, Pod," Brienne reassured. "It's good you have them to give him the idea. Podrick also drew pictures of the tunnels to show where the deposits of wildfire were stored."

Griff turned around so quickly he disturbed Catren in his arms. The brown dragon cried quietly and tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Griff deposited it in its nest before turning back to Brienne.

"I thought all the wildfire had been taken out of the city?" he questioned, walking back to the table. "It's too dangerous to keep here with dragons."

"It has been removed," Podrick assured. "I drew pictures to note where the barrels were stored. The wildfire is now at Harrenhall."

Griff relaxed and nodded as he scooped up Gallan. The blue dragon was a dead weight in his arms. Gallan laid its head on his shoulder, just like any sleepy child in its father's arms. Griff stroked its long neck, between the rows of spikes. Gallan purred as Griff took it to the nest it shared with Catren. Knocking at the hall door caused them to turn to the entrance. The humans looked to the dragons for their response. Serdun and Ardayn opened their eyes, sniffed the air, then went back to sleep. Catren half-rose in its nest but didn't seem alarmed. Allwyn and Gallan, held in the warmth of Podrick and Griff's embraces, both stirred enough to look towards the door. Brienne rose, trying not to disturb Ardayn and Serdun.

"It's someone they know," she surmised as she went around the couch.

Griff frowned out at the inky darkness beyond the balcony windows. "I didn't hear alarms. Why else would someone come at this time of the night?"

"I'll find out." Brienne crossed the floor silently on her heavily bandaged but boot-free feet.

She looked back to see Griff lay Gallan down beside Catren. He straightened and put his hand on Dawn but remained where he was. Podrick was still seated with Allwyn watching from his lap. His drawings were spread out of the table for anyone to see. Brienne opened the door partway but was careful to keep her body in the opening.

It was Jaime. He was dressed in a casual shirt and breeches instead of his usual uniform. She glanced down to see he wasn't wearing his golden hand. His stump was concealed under his shirt sleeve. He pressed his mouth into a tight, thin line, his eyes dark and anxious.

"Ser Jaime." Brienne leaned forward and gave him a puzzled smile. "Are you well?"

"Brienne, I need to speak with you." Jaime rubbed his hand over his heart as if he was trying to massage away pain. "The army leaves at daybreak. I don't know if we'll see each other again. If this is our last time together, I must tell you the truth. I don't want to leave without you knowing how I—"

He stopped speaking when the door was pulled out of Brienne's hand. Griff opened it further and glared at Jaime.

"Ser Jaime." Griff's voice was chilly. "It's rather late for a social call, isn't it?"

Brienne saw Jaime look beyond Griff, to the sleepy dragons, Podrick sitting near the balcony and the papers on the table. His eyes narrowed as he looked back at Griff.

"Your Grace." Jaime's voice cooled, too. "I wanted to speak to Brienne before the army left in the morning."

"Yes, the morning." Griff stepped behind Brienne and pulled the door closer, cutting off most of Jaime's view into the room. "Brienne and I will both be there to see you off. You may speak to her then."

"I only need a few minutes of her time," Jaime insisted quietly.

Griff's eyebrow rose. "Well then, say what you must say."

Jamie looked from Griff to Brienne then back to Griff, frustration visible in his darkening green eyes and tightening mouth. Jaime stepped back into the hall. Brienne moved to join him but Griff put his hand on her shoulder to restrain her.

"I need to speak with Brienne alone," Jaime insisted. "It's private."

"No, it's not," Griff contradicted. "Brienne is my sworn sword. I will know everything you say to her. She keeps no secrets from me."

Jaime drew in a harsh breath. His expression chilled until it could have been carved from ice. He stopped short of glaring at Griff. Griff's mouth also tightened as he used his hold on Brienne to pull her into the room.

"But what I need to say—" Jaime was still speaking when Griff shut the door in his face.

"Wait," Brienne protested, "he wasn't finished."

"No, he's never finished," Griff agreed, his voice still cold. "I finished for him."

"He leaves in the morning." Brienne put her hand on the latch. "He might have had something important to say."

"Then he'll say it in the morning," Griff countered. "How important can it be if he waited until such a late hour to discuss it?"

He covered her hand with his own and pulled it from the latch. She tugged but he held fast. Short of an outright struggle that would alarm the dragons, Brienne couldn't free herself from his hold. She sighed and allowed him to take her away from the door. She frowned as Griff led her back to Ardayn and Serdun's nest.

"Ser Jaime is my friend," Brienne protested.

"Ser Jaime is an idiot who doesn't know what he wants," Griff retorted, finally releasing her hand.

"That's not true. Ser Jamie simply has his own code of honor. Isn't that right, Podrick?" Brienne turned to her squire for confirmation.

Podrick's eyes widened as he looked from his lady to his king. Griff raised his eyebrows, causing Podrick to swallow visibly. Her young squire wrapped his arms around Allwyn, as if for support, before he nodded hesitantly.

"Y…yes, I think so, your Grace," he admitted. "I think Ser Jaime has known what he wants for a long time. However, I believe his loyalty to his sister wouldn't allow him to betray her trust." His gaze shifted to Brienne. "No matter how much he wanted to."

Griff snorted. "Then he truly is the stupidest Lannister."

"Ser Jaime is not stupid," Brienne defended him instantly. "He's honorable and deeply loyal in his own way."

Griff opened his mouth to reply, then seemed to think the better of it. Instead, he looked around at the sleeping dragons and sputtering candles. Gallan and Catren settled back into their nest and shut their eyes. Ardayn and Serdun hadn't even bothered to stay awake for Jaime's brief visit.

"Perhaps we should all retire for the night," Griff suggested.

Podrick shifted Allwyn to rise from the chair. The dragon jumped out of his arms and coasted to the bedding Brienne had used when Daenerys had occupied the bedroom. Podrick came to the blue-grey dragon and pulled back the sheets. Allwyn settled under the covers as Podrick joined it.

"Podrick, you can go back to your own room and get a good night's sleep," Brienne offered. "I thank you for staying last night to take care of Serdun and me."

Podrick's eyes widened and his mouth tugged down at the corners. Still, her squire tried to hide his disappointment. He remained in the bedding as Allwyn shifted closer to his side.

"Are you sure, my Lady Ser?" he asked. "I'm worried about your bindings. What if you need me to change them again during the night? Your feet are swollen from the salt water that seeped into your boots."

"Brienne, your feet are swollen? Why didn't you tell me about this?" Griff gave Brienne a severe look, censure in his indigo eyes. "No, Podrick, you will not return to your room. You'll remain here in case your lady needs your assistance. Brienne must allow her feet to heal."

"Yes, your Grace." Podrick slid quickly into the sheets.

It was as if he wanted to settle in before the king changed his mind. Griff frowned as he watched the squire and dragon curl into each other. Brienne also looked but didn't see what disturbed her king. Allwyn had shared the bedding with her when Daenerys had slept in the other room. The dragon had been a great comfort while guilt at misleading the Dragon Queen had disturbed her sleep.

"Pod, Allwyn should sleep with the other dragons, not with you," Griff scolded mildly.

Allwyn squawked softly and slid closer to Podrick. In doing so, it shifted the sheet to settled over Podrick. The dragon was clearly ready for sleep. Podrick looked at the blue-grey dragon then up at Griff, sadness once again pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Brienne couldn't bear to see the disappointment in his eyes. Podrick wanted to stay with Allwyn as much as it wanted to stay with him. The dragons were bonded to Podrick through his bond to her. He was as much hers as they were. What value was there is forcing a separation between them?

"If you insist, your Grace," Brienne agreed. "But you must convince Allwyn first. Unfortunately, Podrick and I don't speak very much High Valyrian."

"Dragons don't need so much physical affection," Griff tried to reason with her. "They need discipline and routine."

"The problem will take care of itself soon enough," she pointed out. "The dragons will become so large they won't be able to come inside buildings. You, yourself, cuddled and carried Catren and Gallan to their nest."

"It's one thing to hold them for a time," Griff insisted. "It's another matter to snuggle with them all night long."

Brienne crossed to the door leading to the sleeping chamber. "I'm sure Allwyn will understand when you explain it. I suggest you find a comfortable place to hold your conversation. Allwyn is quite clever. I think it will stay in your lap and your talk might take the whole night."

Griff narrowed his eyes at her cheeky response. His face flushed at seeing her brilliant blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Brienne coughed to disguise her sputter of laughter. Griff turned to glare at her.

Podrick, being equally as clever as Allwyn, pulled the sheet over his head, feigning sleep. Griff continued to glare at Brienne as she slipped through the connecting door to the sleeping chamber. The king was the only one left standing, a scowl marring his beautiful features, in the sputtering candles and velvety darkness.

It was best to let the dragons – all six of them – decide their own sleeping arrangements.

.***.

Brienne knew she was dreaming. All around her was darkness, inky and all-encompassing. Far ahead of her was a faint light. She walked towards it. As she drew closer, she became aware of the chill. It wasn't the icy cold of nights spent in the North but a pervasive dampness that seeped into her bones.

The light pulsed at irregular intervals. It wasn't like a candle flame, flickering in the wind, but rather the light source was being concealed and revealed. A few steps closer and she could make out the outlines of men gathered around the light. Their bodies were shadowed and insubstantial, more like wraiths than men. As they moved, they gave her brief glimpse of the light source. It was Dawn, the magical sword of the stars. The sword's tip has been stabbed into the ground. It stood upright, milky-white and glowing with purity and purpose, reflecting its light even in the darkest night.

A soft murmur filled the air, like the chatter of indistinct voices. Brienne looked at the wraiths, trying to decipher facial features or characteristics that would help her identify them. Try as she might, she couldn't determine who they were or even how many there were in the meager light of the magical sword of House Dayne. She moved closer.

"Stop it!" a voice cried. "Stop it!"

Brienne blinked at seeing Jaime fall to his knees in the illumination cast by Dawn. He was naked, his skin covered in chilled gooseflesh, and his entire body shivered visibly. The wraiths seemed to be circling him, still humming in voices she couldn't understand. He looked around desperately, his eyes wide and wild with terror.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Jaime sobbed. "Please, stop it!"

Brienne shuddered at hearing the misery and agony in his voice. She wanted to go to him but her body wouldn't move. Neither he nor the wraiths seemed to notice she was close enough to touch them. Jaime curled into himself and crossed his hands over his shoulders. As he did, she heard his voice, faint and resonating, like an echo from the past.

"Ser Arthur allowed me to hold it on several occasions. He even knighted me with Dawn. The blade was so sharp it cut through my armor, cloth and skin. I still bear the scars to this day." He touched his shoulder. "They are my most cherished possessions."

Sure enough, she could see the scars on Jaime's naked shoulders. Even more, she saw him touch his shoulders with both hands. Jaime had his sword hand again and didn't seem surprised by it. He put both hands on the ground and bent down, his tears soaking into the dirt as he sobbed as if his very soul was being torn apart.

One of the wraiths separated from the rest and leaned closer. Brienne froze as Dawn illuminated long, silver-blond hair and deep indigo eyes. At first, she thought it was Griff. After the initial shock, she realized it wasn't. No, this must be Rhaegar. He was as startlingly beautiful as Griff, even in this spectral-like form. Griff's resemblance to him was remarkable but their differences were equally apparent.

The wraith's silver-blond hair was a curtain that fell well past his shoulders, while Griff's hair was cut at his nape. The ghost-like eyes were haunted and melancholy whereas Griff's eyes shone with intelligence and mischief. The wraith's refined lips pulled down in a natural frown. Griff had inherited Elia's full lips and sly Martell smile.

A flame, like fire, burned in Rhaegar's eyes, much as it did in Griff's. Griff's fire was as bright and welcoming as a candle lightening the night, while Rhaegar's fire reflected a dark, unsettling menace. Griff used his fire to generate energy for illumination and change. Rhaegar's fire consumed, like the conflagration that had destroyed much of House Targaryen at Summerhall. There was a darkness in this wraith that indicated living had been a burden and life had held little joy for him.

Rhaegar's wraith leaned closer to Jaime but didn't speak. It didn't need to. Jaime cowered away as if just seeing it was enough to drive him to the edge of madness. He breathed in audible gasps, his skin pale and sweaty. He curled into himself, making keening sounds like a broken animal.

The wraiths moved again and Dawn was hidden from Brienne's view. A body moved between her and the sword, outlining the other-worldly figure in the pale glow. Suddenly the wraith pulled two swords from their scabbards at his sides and held them up. Brienne's heart beat faster. She knew of only one swordsman in all of Westeros so gifted with speed, strength and agility to be able to fight with two swords simultaneously. A man known as the most chivalrous warrior in the Seven Kingdoms and the deadliest of Aerys's Kingsguard.

She was seeing the outline of the legendary Ser Arthur Dayne, the former Sword of the Morning.

The wraiths moved and she could again see Dawn with Jaime cowering beside it. He looked up at the image of Arthur, his lips trembling as he fought to speak. The regret and utter self-loathing in Jaime's expression tore at Brienne's heart. Was this the pain Jaime concealed every day? How did a man survive living when he hated himself so much? Even this Jaime, whole and strong, was desperate and despairing.

Arthur's wraith twirled both swords with expert coordination then tossed one of his weapons to Jaime. Jaime held up his sword hand to deflect it. The blade cut into his palm and fell to the floor beside him. Jaime cradled his bloody sword hand and looked at the sword. Brienne's breath caught as she recognized the sigil on Bright Star, Ser Duncan's sword. Jaime made no move to pick up the former Lord Commander's weapon.

The wraiths began to murmur again but Brienne still couldn't understand what they were saying. Jaime seemed to know. He looked from one to the next, as if listening to what they were saying to him. The sweat dripped down from his hairline to also dampen the ground. The wraiths began to drift away. Jaime shook his head and brought his hands together in a pleading gesture, blood running down his arm and dripping to the dirt from his cut palm.

"No, don't go!" he implored them. "Don't leave me here. Take me with you. I beg you. Take me with you!"

The wraiths didn't listen. Arthur took Dawn by the hilt and pulled it from the ground. He twirled both of his swords in perfect synchronization as the wraiths began to drift away. Jaime remained where he was even as he begged and screamed to go with them. Tears poured from his eyes and his voice broke on his pleas. The wraiths ignored him. The further they moved away, the more the darkness seemed to swallow Jaime. When the light from Dawn became so faint, it could barely be seen, the wraith of Arthur stopped.

"I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."

Brienne gasped and stumbled back. The wraith wasn't talking to Jaime. It looked directly at her. Ser Arthur Dayne's ghost was talking to her. Then he turned back to follow the other wraiths. The light from Dawn faded and darkness descended. Jaime screamed in heart-wrenching agony.

Brienne opened her eyes. For a few disorienting seconds, she thought she was still in the dream. Then her gaze focused on the lace netting the created the artfully draped canopy over the bed. She turned to look to the balcony doors, the curtains still open, to see the glitter of stars in the distance. Like Dawn, the sword of the stars, they provided enough light for Brienne to see her surroundings. She was in Daenerys's bed in the Red Keep, not in a cold, damp cave filled with Jaime's horrors.

The image of Jaime's desperation and despair as the darkness overtook him filled her mind. She thought she'd seen him at his lowest; chained as a prisoner of Robb Stark; more dead than alive after losing his sword hand; stunned and horrified when he finally realized Cersei had led House Lannister to its destruction and inconsolable after his sister's death. She thought those were the low points in Jaime's life.

They weren't. The lowest point wasn't the things that had been done to him. Being imprisoned, maimed, and blinded by love hadn't broken Jaime. No, it was the act Jaime had done himself that had broken him. He had said as much before he'd agreed to join them to fight the Great War.

"What is a knight without honor? I was crippled long before I lost my hand. I just didn't realize it."

Jaime had thrust his sword into Aerys's back. He'd done so to save King's Landing from being destroyed by wildfire. It had been a necessary and proper action to protect the people. Then he'd sat on the Iron Throne and waited for judgement. Perhaps if he'd knelt beside the king's body instead of atop his throne, Ned Stark might not had judged him so harshly. Perhaps if Jaime had rushed to protect Elia and Rhaenys, history wouldn't have judged him so harshly. Perhaps if he'd died protecting Rhaegar's family, Jaime wouldn't have judged himself so harshly.

Those were the choices Jaime had made. As a result of them, the hopeful boy who'd idolized Ser Arthur Dayne grew into a dishonored, bitter man. He'd told her Rhaegar and his Kingsguard brothers haunted him. She'd assured him they weren't there to haunt him but to remind him to fulfill Rhaegar's final order. Jaime's destiny was to protect Rhaegar's son.

Was her dream the same as what Jaime dreamt? Had he experience the same self-loathing and terror as he did in her dream? She hadn't understood what the voices were saying but Jaime had. He'd begged them to stop speaking but had also begged to go with them. Jaime wanted to be free from his vows and his life. That freedom wouldn't come. The Gods wouldn't allow it. Jaime had survived events that would have crushed another man.

"You are not useless, Ser Jaime," she protested. "You are a warrior. The Gods need you to fight in the Great War."

"The Gods?" Jaime demanded. "They gave you dragons. They just took from me."

"They gave you what was necessary to become who they need you to be," she disagreed.

"There's only one resource we need from the Lannisters and that is you. We need Jaime fucking Lannister fighting on our side."

"Ser Jaime, I told you, repeatedly, that you were under the Gods' protection," Brienne reminded him gently. "You could not have survived all you've been through without their protection. They need you, we need you, to fight in the Great War."

Jaime had a great destiny, a role so important to the Gods' plans that they'd kept him from death, time and time again. In a few hours Jaime would lead his army north to fulfill that destiny. She didn't question the Gods' decisions but she prayed they would be merciful. Perhaps the destiny they'd lead Jaime to would change opinions, alter judgement, fill his pages in the White Book and end the self-loathing that had broken his spirit.

As she thought, Brienne became of an odd noise coming from the courtyard below. She listened intently. It was an irregular thumping noise accompanied by what sounded like harsh breathing. She slipped out of the bed and listened again. All was quiet except for the odd noise. She went to the door that separated the sleeping chamber from the sitting room. The starlight illuminated the dragons and Podrick, sleeping peacefully, undisturbed by the sound.

Daenerys had been given the suite reserved for the most honored of guests. The rooms were so large they had balconies facing different courtyards. The odd noise was too far away to disturb her sleeping family. Quietly, she shut the connecting door and turned for the balcony on the far side of the room. She walked on silent, bandaged feet to the balcony doors.

The moon was a high in the sky, casting an icy glow over the courtyard below. There were a few small trees and some flowers to brighten the area, which was mostly brick and stone. A pathway led to the gardens, the sweet perfume masking the ever-present stench of the city. Beyond the gardens, Brienne could see the wall that protected the capitol from attack. She walked to the edge of the balcony and looked down. A man stood in the far end of the courtyard. Brienne stiffened as the man, shrouded in shadows, raised a sword. Instinctively, she reached for her own sword, only to realize she wasn't wearing her sword belt.

The man struck his sword against the wall but not in a practiced thrust as a warrior would strike. Instead he used the sword like a club, striking it against the wall over and over, his breath coming faster and faster with every hit. Then he dropped the sword and staggered back, into the starlight, gasping for breath as if he'd pushed himself to the point of exhaustion.

It was Jaime.

He fell to his knees as if his legs would no longer hold his weight. Brienne could see he was still dressed in the same shirt and breeches as earler. He dropped his head and cradled his stump as if it pained him. Darkroar lay beside him, unblemished and unharmed by his activity. The same couldn't be said about Jaime. His whole body shuddered as if he were chilled or fevered. His despair was so strong she felt it even over the distance between them. She shivered.

Suddenly, Jaime looked up, as if sensing she was there. For a moment they were both frozen. Jaime opened his mouth but no words emerged. Brienne tried to speak but no words came to her mind. They were close enough to speak without raising their voices but words had deserted them. Perhaps it was better this way. They both knew the distance between them was greater than words, greater than the space of a courtyard and even greater than the choices they had made.

Their distance was as great as the will of the Gods.

Author's Note:

I hadn't planned to post chapters for another 3 weeks. Some readers have asked me to post sooner. I hope everyone is staying safe and well during this difficult time. Thank you for continuing to follow this story. Do you want me to return to my previous posting schedule? I won't have a beta reader so the mistakes might be plentiful. I'm happy to post if it brings you joy as we adjust to our 'new normal'.

Discord communities for GoT fans to not feel so alone during this difficult time:br /

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