"Orwyle was wont to call His Grace calm and self-possessed; I say the boy is dead inside. He walks the halls of the Red Keep like a ghost." (Fire & Blood)
If he is dead inside, surely it would not hurt as much it does, still, every moment of every day, with every breath he draws and every breath he releases?
If he is dead inside, surely he would not see it again and again, all the carnages and the atrocities he wishes to un-see, all the things he wishes he had never seen in the first place?
If he is dead inside, surely he would not hear it again and again, all the screams and the pleadings he wishes to un-hear, all the things he wishes he had never heard in the first place?
If he is dead inside, surely he would not be forced to know it again and again, all the truths, half-truths and untruths he wishes to un-know, all the things he wishes he had never known in the first place?
If he is dead inside, surely he would not remember every detail of every loss and every demise?
If he is dead inside, surely he could forget … nay, surely he would have forgotten already?
If he is dead inside, surely he would not be continually assailed and assaulted by numerous strains of guilt – survivor's guilt, abandoner's guilt, and, worst of all, the guilt of an impotent boy who could neither save nor protect the ones he loves?
If he is dead inside, surely he would not be wishing that he, too, is a ghostly presence, alongside the mother he could not save, the brother he had not saved, and the cousin-wife he also failed to save?
Wounds rot and fester inside, without conferring any kind of immunity to pain.
Pain unseen is not pain unfelt.
Pain undisplayed is not pain unfelt.
Pain unshared is not pain unfelt.
Pain unprotested is not pain unfelt.
Pain ignored is not pain unfelt.
He is not dead inside. That is his punishment and his salvation both, he believes.