Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! I hope you all have had a good two weeks. Thank you, forever and always, for your continued support of this fic! You're really doing work to keep writing this fresh and fun for me. I have really enjoyed reading your thoughts!

FYI, next chapter may be a bit delayed. I am moving to a new residence that weekend, so the new chapter going up is contingent on when I get Internet. Fingers-crossed that Internet won't be a pain!

Thank you so much, Catzrko0l, for continuing to be the beta to this work! I know the quality wouldn't be quite where it is without you.

Chapter 112

Aemon XLIII

It was barely midday and Aemon could feel a headache beginning to build behind his eyes, so he rubbed the bridge of his nose for relief. They had spent the past week cleaning up the destruction and the bodies that were left in the wake of the failed assault by Euron Greyjoy, the Ironborn, and the pirates. The Ironborn fled and the others were subsequently routed. A few of the pirates managed to actually leave in dinghies and some went so far as to leap into the Bay and swim after them. Lord Velaryon had then called up the fleet and barricaded the pirates from escaping. Those they had rounded up and tossed into prison were now being subject to mass hangings. The ships that were confiscated were at least being repurposed for the royal navy or being sold to recoup losses. There had been a marginal amount of treasure in the hold of Captain Lucia's ship that was now claimed.

As much as it pleased him that they had beat back much of the threat, the details that had emerged of the bigger picture were chilling. Once it was confirmed that Euron Greyjoy was dead, the dragons were freed from their shackles. It wasn't until morning that Aemon went out to find them feasting on the charred remains of bodies. The ones who had not yet been set aflame by the dragons were wearing pirate garb, accompanied with scimitars, cutlasses, sabers, and knives. One body had its face cut away entirely, but Daenerys was able to identify it as Captain Lucia Hardy by the stray scraps of her clothing and the feminine quality of her hands. She had been pale when she abruptly turned her attention back to the dragons and refused to look back in his direction until the body was removed.

Aemon wondered if Captain Lucia was there for the dragons only or if she had intended to kill Daenerys. It hardly mattered, but Lord Varys had reported to him that the pirates had clearly broken through one of the underground tunnels to reach the godswood. It seemed like the tunnels were an open secret. Should he cave it in or did it still have its uses as an escape route out of the palace? He wasn't sure, but it was not a question he could bring to the small council for an answer. They weren't supposed to know about it either. Although Euron Greyjoy's invasion was haphazard and high risk, he'd had a fix on the two biggest weak points: Daenerys and the dragons. Hitting his mark on even one of them would have been a devastating blow. The fighting in the city had clearly been a distraction only.

It was fortuitous that Euron Greyjoy had met his end down an alley. Healer David had asked to examine the body, which Aemon had allowed, though he was unclear as to David's purpose. But then he'd reported back the next day, insisting that Euron Greyjoy had drowned in his own blood from the tongue that was removed from his mouth. Once the small council had heard the report about Captain Lucia's face being carved out, everyone's expressions ranged from perturbed to disgust.

But Prince Oberyn had been the first to quirk his eyebrow and say, "The work of a Faceless?"

Aemon had furrowed his brow. "The Faceless actually carve out the face of their victims?"

"Yes, Your Grace. That's how they're able to disguise themselves. They take on the uncanny appearance of their victims."

Aemon had felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He remembered that Arya had been trained in those skills, but she had refused to elaborate on them. The most she had said was she murdered old Lord Walder Frey and had disguised herself in his place to poison the rest of his family. He'd always wondered how it was possible for her to pass off as that old man, thinking it as simple as using the environment around her, but it seemed there was a level of magic that went into the skills of the Faceless if it was that seamless.

After a thorough search of the alleys of King's Landing for any remaining pirates or Ironborn, Lucia's face had eventually been found. Someone had discarded it in a dark corner beneath some rags. Looking at it had been enough to cause Aemon's stomach to churn; he didn't want to touch it. He distinctly remembered Healer David using a sword to lift it over to them to look at. Without touching it, he'd dropped it into a bag and wrapped it up.

"Why would the Faceless leave her … mask here?" Aemon had asked him.

David had pondered it for a moment and said, "We know she's dead. Her disguise would be useless, wouldn't it?"

"Perhaps here, but not outside the city."

"She was fairly well-known. The Faceless prefer to slip unnoticed, so a ghost come from the grave would make it obvious they were a Faceless," David had replied.

"I suppose," Aemon had said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Would you say the Faceless killed Euron Greyjoy?"

David had grimaced. He was quiet for a moment and then sighed as they continued to explore the alleyways with the men. "It appears to be a good assumption, but …."

"But what?"

"The Faceless aren't known for torturing their victims. They're assassins. They strike like snakes: quick and precise. This seems more like a personal vendetta."

That had nearly stopped Aemon in his tracks and it brought him back once more to Arya. She had murdered Lord Walder Frey in an act of vengeance. While she'd had the skills of a Faceless, she was not one of them.

"Perhaps it wasn't a Faceless at all then. But someone who knows the skills," Aemon had muttered.

David had looked at him askance. "My encounters with the Faceless were brief, but I got a sense of their culture. They don't share their secrets to just any passing wayfarer."

"Just someone who has a vendetta against Euron Greyjoy?"

David had chuckled. "Never heard the stories about Euron Greyjoy? He was a menace; all he left in his wake was death. Woe betide the poor fool who thought they could get something from him. He had a taste for mysticism and one rumor insisted he could turn himself into a dragon." David snorted, "That appears to have not been true."

"Thank the Gods for that," was Aemon's reply.

"It seems also that his attempt at using the Dragonbinder hadn't worked as he intended it either," David replied.

As it so happened, the sound of the Dragonbinder carrying over the water, though far away, had been enough to incense Drogon. There had been a weakness in the chain. It eventually broke against Drogon's efforts and he had launched himself into the sky with the collar still around his neck and the chain dangling. He then alighted on the mast of Euron Greyjoy's ship, the Silence, and set it aflame. Drowned crew members had washed ashore over the next few days. A few more Ironborn ships had met their end at Drogon's flames. In his rampage, only one ship of the four he burned was still afloat, but no longer seaworthy. The rest had all sank to the bottom of Blackwater Bay, the Dragonbinder with them. David and Grandmaester Brunal had been distraught that such an artifact had been lost to the sea.

While repairs still needed to be made for broken doors and looted merchant stands, the last outstanding issue was what to do with the bodies. Lady Olenna had suggested feeding the pirates to the dragons, but Daenerys had been concerned that the bodies were rife with disease and would hurt her dragons. It was reason enough for Aemon, but privately he thought it might not set a good precedent to feed the dead to the dragons. He could just imagine Jaime's indignant response to the suggestion.

Lord Velaryon had suggested also taking the bodies out and throwing them into the Bay, but Prince Oberyn said that it made him ill at the thought that he could be eating fish that feasted on human flesh. That had made the rest of them all feel ill and they decided it was best not to go forward.

The last possibility had been mass graves which would have won at any other point in time, but now with the impending doom of the Long Night and the Night King raising the bodies from the grave, everyone agreed that burning the bodies would be the best solution. All of the bodies—whether pirate or ally—were being loaded up onto carts and hauled a mile outside the city. The plume of smoke from the burnings could be seen from the Red Keep, but the wind was blowing towards the south and not over the city.

There had been one final task and he had not been looking forward to it: informing Jaime of the events. He should be pleased, at least, that we handled it without him, Aemon thought. He could only imagine how displeased he might be at the thought that he missed having the pleasure of killing Euron Greyjoy. He had decided that they would work Euron Greyjoy's death to their favor: Theon would take responsibility for it. As far as he was concerned, the ambiguity of his death was a blessing in disguise that they could use to their own ends.

While he knew that Theon was an excellent bowman, he was merely only a capable fighter. He had urged Theon to not risk getting into a swordfight with his uncle. He had no idea as to Euron's skill, but with at least twenty years on Theon, he was likely to be much better.

More importantly, though, he was concerned about what the rumors of having a Faceless assassin in the city might do. They couldn't even be sure he or she was still there. While he had been proud of Arya's skills, he found that it had been reassuring to know what she was capable of. But now he had no means of either knowing who it was or reasoning with him. He hoped this was the last they'd see of the Faceless.

He heard a knock at his door and he abruptly sat up. Daenerys slipped in. She seemed to read his face in an instant and it quickly turned her expression from pleasant to sympathetic. "Still figuring out how to get the city back in order?"

"Nuh-no, no, not really. It's pretty well in order. I was thinking about what Jaime's response is going to be about all of this," he said, making a sweeping gesture.

Daenerys chuckled. "He wouldn't come back here, would he?"

"He better not," Aemon said acerbically, "or there will be words. He should know his duty. Besides, we swept up. There is nothing for him to race back here for."

"Yes, but he appeared overly concerned last I saw him."

Aemon scowled at the air. "I don't know why! I am a man grown. He left plenty of his soldiers on standby and I sang his praises on that for his good judgment. My position as king is no longer precarious. You and I are married and the foes we were concerned about have been dispatched. This storm was little more than a downpour, but no real flooding."

"I suppose he means well," Daenerys said with a sad smile.

"Perhaps, but he needs to focus on his mission in the North," Aemon huffed. He blew out a breath of frustration and worked to stifle his annoyance. He didn't want it to ruin the moment. "So then, are you ready?"

Daenerys gave him a flat smile. "Not sure I'll ever be ready."

"The dragons are getting too big to be so close to the servants and the nobles. They will be happier in the Dragon Pit. It was built for their ancestors, it's appropriate that they live there."

"I can see your point, but I can't help feeling safer with them here. I think Captain Lucia thought twice about whatever she had planned with them close at hand."

Aemon grimaced at being reminded of the near danger. "Perhaps, but the dragons are not responsible for their deaths. The ones whose bodies had yet to be eaten were all slit at the throat. It seems someone else snuck upon them."

Daenerys became grim. "The Faceless assassin?"

"It had to have been since they cut the captain's face away," Aemon replied, his stomach once again churning at the thought. "We have no way of knowing what their intentions might be."

"I think if they had wanted to kill me, they would have," Daenerys said.

"But the dragons were there."

She looked exasperated. "Perhaps not at that moment, but elsewhere in the Keep. They killed half a dozen men and Euron Greyjoy without much effort."

Aemon stared at her, his blood running chill. How did it not occur to me that the assassin might be inside the Red Keep?!

"He could be here in the Keep and I wouldn't even know it," Aemon said, running his hands through his hair. He looked at her with grave concern.

She drew her mouth into a tight frown. "Do not even suggest that I am to never be alone. You cannot protect me from everything, Aemon."

He sighed, rising from his chair and went over to her to cup her cheek. She leaned into it.

"I only just gained you. I don't want to think about losing you."

"You won't," she whispered.

"The danger could be anywhere."

"And it might be nowhere," she said. "Remember the Mad King became paranoid too."

Aemon scowled. "The Faceless assassins are real."

"Yes, but you can't assume every person who comes to you is an assassin in disguise. Do not let that fear eat your soul like it ate the Mad King," Daenerys implored.

His shoulders slumped and he leaned forward to touch her head with his. "You're right. My thoughts are wandering into paranoia. There is only so much that can be done. I shall have Varys keep his ear to the ground, but I will do nothing else. We shall wait and see."

"I'm glad," Daenerys replied, smiling at him.

"Let's take the dragons to the Dragon Pit."

She gave a brief nod, clearly still reticent. They headed out to the grounds and Aemon gave the command to ready the horses. Once he, Daenerys, the kingsguard, and the queensguard were mounted, he gave a short whistle. For the last month or so, he had started to whistle when he went to visit the dragons in the godswood. It hadn't taken them long for them to start associating it with him. It was the same whistle they used to call the hunting dogs in Winterfell to their sides.

They waited for a minute or two and then he whistled again. At first, they heard the higher-pitched cry of Rhaegal followed by the deep grumbling of Drogon as he alighted on the top of the tower. Rhaegal, being much smaller, flew down closer and began to circle over him like a vulture. Rhaellon also circled but stayed higher.

Were his eyes deceiving him or had the dragons changed since the Dragonbinder? Somehow Drogon appeared even larger than Rhaellon. The cream dragon had been particularly agitated by the Dragonbinder and once Drogon had set aflame the ship bearing it, Rhaellon had been clingy and timid. Daenerys could hardly detach herself from her to return to the Keep to perform her other duties. In their past life, Daenerys had made mention that she had locked Rhaegal and Viserion up once the dragons had killed a child to sate their appetite which stunted their growth. He figured since neither dragon would be locked up for days on end that the same stunted growth would not happen, but Drogon seemed to outstrip his sister still.

Aemon nudged his horse into a trot and their parade streamed out the door. Without looking, he heard Drogon shift and leap from the tower to follow. Unlike the other times when they had ventured out into the city, there was no wall of Unsullied or gold cloaks to keep the people at bay, but the presence of the dragons overhead seemed enough to make anyone clear their path. There were still cries of celebration and a few children reached out to Daenerys to trail their fingers across her clothes where they could reach. She reached back for them, her smile aglow, and then waved.

The crowd slowly trickled away as they approached the looming structure of the Dragon Pit. Even in its half-finished state, it looked foreboding. He hoped that meant the people would wisely keep their distance. They rode up to the stables. As the Hound and Ser Preston saw to their horses, the rest of the kingsguard followed him and Daenerys into the pit. It had just a few months prior been a ruin with crumbling walls, but the debris had been cleared and stonemasons had patched up great holes that formed the lip of a den. There were at least four enormous dens, with half a dozen smaller ones carved out between them.

Aemon whistled again. Rhaegal was the first to swoop in; he noticed that Rhaegal more readily responded to him than either of the other two dragons. He was still only about the size of a dog and had a personality similar to one, running up to Aemon and extending his neck out to be scratched.

Daenerys shouted the two dragons' names next. Rhaellon at first perched on the outer wall peering down at them much like a bird.

"Come, Rhaellon," Daenerys called to her sweetly.

She was hesitant but eventually jumped and glided down next to Daenerys to have her head scratched. Drogon still had not made an appearance.

"Drogon," she cried in a firm tone. Like a child that knew he was skirting trouble, Drogon finally made his appearance and landed behind Rhaellon.

"This is your new home," Daenerys said. "You each have your own den. There will be lamb and pork aplenty should you ever decide not to fish at sea."

Drogon eventually approached to have his head rubbed by Daenerys.

"I promise, I will visit every day," Daenerys said in a quiet voice.

Aemon looked away feeling guilty. He rather doubted he would have the time to visit the dragons every day. He would make a point to go a few times at least. Rhaegal was still quite small, but Drogon and Rhaellon were old enough and big enough to take care of him. He hoped they weren't being premature in allowing the dragons the freedom to mind themselves.

"Continue eating your fish, pork, or lamb, please. Do not make a habit of eating humans," Aemon said.

Rhaegal answered him with a grumble in his throat.

Once the dragons strayed away to explore the dens, he and Daenerys decided it was time to leave. She kept looking back as they rode through the city, but he was determined to keep his eyes forward.

|-The Dragon's Roar-|

Jaime XXXVI

As they continued North, the balmy pleasantry of the fall weather in the Crownlands turned to frigid rain as they entered the Riverlands. It had been raining for two days and a chill dampness seemed to settle in Jaime's very bones. His nose was invaded with the unpleasant smell of horsehair. He had apparently grown marginally soft from his long sojourn in King's Landing.

Despite having never suffered such conditions, Brienne took the unceasing rain in stride and without complaint. Out of chivalry, Jaime suggested she take a seat in a carriage with the other ladies, but he laughed as Brienne wrinkled her nose in disgust at the idea.

"That you would even ask," she had muttered.

"For propriety's sake. You can't say I didn't offer," Jaime replied in a mocking tone.

"I am content right here, thank you," Brienne said, sounding haughty for the first time.

It had been weeks since they had left King's Landing. At first, the conversation had been comfortable and free-flowing, but it had gradually petered out the further North they went. He was getting increasingly impatient to reach Winterfell. The sooner they arrived to deal with Roose Bolton and treat with the wildlings, the sooner they could leave.

He was becoming increasingly anxious about what awaited him in the North. It was better when he didn't think about it, but with the conversation thin amidst the constant drum of the rain, it was getting ever harder to keep his thoughts from straying. He tried to focus on his plan for Harrenhal, but there was little substance to it. He was going to take Brienne away for a brief sojourn before they returned to lead the army again. It wouldn't be more than two to three days. At worst, it just turned the fretting that was pent up about his bastard son Cassian's fate over to wondering how Brienne would take hearing about this other life. Would she laugh in his face? Would she believe it as readily as she believed in the Seven? Would it bring them closer together or drive them apart? He wouldn't soon forget the awkward divide it had caused in his and Tyrion's relationship. It hadn't lasted long and did mend over time as the truths Jaime spoke of became real. However, he didn't crave Tyrion's company like he craved Brienne's.

Once they finally broke camp, there was organized chaos as soldiers attempted to stake their claims for their tents. Pod and the servants naturally focused their efforts on getting their lord and lady's tent up first. Jaime guarded against anyone daring to encroach upon Podrick's and the servants' own tent spots near him and Brienne, though it didn't require more than gentle steering if at that. Most nights, Jaime and Brienne stood alone with the tent line giving them a large berth.

Before it rained and the cookfires started to break out, Jaime and Brienne would seek out a fire to sit at for the evening. Jaime used the opportunity to rub elbows with his soldiers to gain their respect. With Brienne accompanying him, he gauged how the men accepted their new lady. At first, the men had been guarded and cautious in her presence, clearly afraid to say much of anything and their eyes constantly flicked over to Jaime. It took a few nights, but eventually, the men started to relax around her, with only a few of them forgetting their manners, and that largely ended up being a harmless but crude joke. At these times, Jaime applied a deft touch to let his men know that he did not approve of what they said, but let them off with a mere warning.

Overall, he was still pleased with his men's discipline and started to relax. He had been concerned with all of his time spent in King's Landing, away from his soldiers, that they would feel detached from the lord they served and their respect would wane. While it seemed his father's lessons in fear remained, they had readily accepted his leadership and it excited them to be dining with their lord and lady.

With the rain, however, the men largely huddled in their tents and made a meal of dried bread and meat. Jaime and Brienne looked for an opportunity to join a meal, but it gave him an excuse to walk among his men and search out any issues.

"I must confess, I hadn't expected a warden of such importance as the Westerlands to personally attend to his men," Brienne said, but there was clear admiration in her voice.

"These men are supposed to be loyal on pain of death to the Lord of Casterly Rock, but I find fear to be a fickle beast," Jaime replied. "Respect for their lord breeds true loyalty. I greatly respected Ser Arthur Dayne; I would have followed him to the ends of the Earth." His amusement faded as he remembered the rush of warmth and respect as Ser Arthur knighted him. The memory faded with the events of the Rebellion, but never completely vanished. Ser Arthur was a true knight; he had good reason for doing what he did for Prince Rhaegar. And he had died protecting Aemon. Jaime could succeed now where Ser Arthur had failed in guiding the young king, but it was so much more difficult now that he was forced to tend to matters so far removed from the king himself.

"Lord Lannister!"

Jaime's head whipped around. He saw a few men walking down the rows, heading his way. His curiosity quickly turned to annoyance when he realized that Ned Stark was accompanying the party. The other man was his son, Robb Stark, and someone he didn't recognize.

"Is there something the matter?" Jaime said in a dry matter.

"Urgent news from the king," the man in front said, holding out the parchment in a shaking hand.

Jaime snatched it and inspected it, pleased to find the wax seal was still intact.

"This rider hails from House Harlton," Lord Stark said.

"For your service," Jaime said, handing the rider a gold dragon.

The man's eyes comically widened, but he'd already brushed past him to head back to his tent. He held the flap open for Brienne, but shifted his body so that it partially blocked Lord Stark before he could enter. "Was there something else?"

"I thought we were past this," Lord Stark said, his expression exasperated.

"You might be passed this, but I'm not," Jaime snapped back.

"The king is my kin. I deserve to know what news is so urgent."

"If he'd wanted you to know, he would have sent it to you."

"As if you would not be demanding the letter for yourself were that the situation," Lord Stark said with a knowing gleam.

"For the Seven's sake, Jaime, must you be so antagonistic?" Brienne snapped. "You can decide for yourself if they should know when you read it. Let them in!"

He stepped aside, but he let the tent flap fall. Lord Stark and Robb ducked and stood awkwardly, dripping rain onto the rug.

Jaime turned his attention to the letter, turning it over for a moment as if he suspected trickery. He then broke the seal and unrolled it to reveal Aemon's large, but tidy handwriting.

Lord Lannister,

Your instincts serve you well. Euron Greyjoy won the crown at the king's moot and directed the Ironborn to strike King's Landing. It seems Captain Lucia, the woman who delivered Daenerys and the Unsullied to us were working in tandem. The pirates became violent and Euron Greyjoy sailed his ships in to do battle. With your armies and the Reach armies on hand, the fighting was largely trivial and the Ironborn were turned away.

Euron Greyjoy met his end at the hands of Theon Greyjoy. He was able to ambush his uncle and deliver a mortal blow. The Ironborn have fled, the pirates are captured and are being hanged as I write this.

We have removed the dead. The city is back in order. Lord Velaryon and I are now planning to sail to the Iron Islands to bring them back into the fold.

All is well,

Aemon Targaryen, First of his name, King of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men

Jaime grew increasingly aggravated as he had read it, taking note of the line of gibberish underneath the king's signature. He hoped that would explain the clear lack of details in the account. He was simultaneously furious and vexed that Euron Greyjoy saw fit to attack. He wished he'd been the one to kill the treacherous blaggard.

But Theon? Theon killed Euron Greyjoy? He had severe doubts about that. He'd only ever seen the lad practicing his archery and never his swordfighting, but he was hardly ever on the training grounds since the position of Hand had kept him busy. He'd have to ask Brienne. If he was a gambling man, he would bet Aemon was only giving Theon the credit so that it could be used to boost Theon's influence among the Ironborn when they finally went to negotiate their allegiance.

"Well, what is it?" Robb Stark asked, startling Jaime from his reverie. To Lord Stark's credit, he did not have his hand out for the letter.

"The Ironborn attacked after our departure," Jaime grumbled.

Both of the Stark's eyebrows went high up on their forehead.

"Were they defeated?" Robb demanded.

"Yes. The combined strength of the Reach and the Lannister army I left behind were enough to beat them back. It seems Euron Greyjoy won himself the 'crown' of the Ironborn at a kingsmoot and led his men to assail King's Landing. The pirates that came with Queen Daenerys were in league with him. He's dead now. The Ironborn have fled."

"Dead? How?" Lord Stark asked, his brow now furrowed.

"Theon Greyjoy killed him."

Lord Stark was perturbed. "Is that not kinslaying?"

"It wouldn't be because Euron was banished from the Iron Islands. If he's disowned, that would no longer be considered a blood relative under the law," Jaime said, keeping his face smooth to sell the lie.

Lord Stark seemed to be having trouble buying it, not that he blamed him.

"Good for Theon," Robb said, but his smile was flat.

"Yes, well done for Theon. He stepped up just as I hoped. Perhaps I should send him a letter." Jaime waved the letter, "If this letter is correct, then there should be nothing to worry about. I'll write. Keep the messenger on hand if you don't mind."

Lord Stark grimaced, nodded, and then ushered his son out back into the rain.

The tent was quiet save for the incessant spattering of the rain. Jaime turned to Brienne; her mouth quirked into a smile while she studied him. He was about to say something when they heard someone tapping on one of the wooden poles at the entrance.

"Enter," Jaime called out. Pod walked in looking like a drenched dog, bearing a covered plate with their dinner. Another servant followed him with a jug of red wine.

"M'lord and lady," Pod mumbled, setting the plate down. He uncovered it to show slices of bread, dried meat, and a cup each of hot broth. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, Pod. Why don't you go eat?" Jaime said by way of dismissing him.

Once the two had left, Jaime turned to the meal. He wasn't normally one to enjoy delicacies his men didn't have but was feeling indulgent with the turn of the weather. He poured Brienne a small goblet of the wine and began to dig in.

They were quiet for the first few bites, but eventually, Brienne said, "It's good to hear that the king was able to repel the threat."

"Indeed," Jaime said, allowing the cutting edge of his anger out for Brienne to hear.

"You don't think it went down as he said?"

"It seems likely that they did win," Jaime replied. "But no, I don't think the king has been entirely honest in the recount of the events."

"Why such anger then? You cannot change what has been done."

"I'm angry because I swore an oath to protect the king, but I'm here."

"But you forsook your vows as a kingsguard," Brienne replied. "I admire your zeal to try to keep your oath when you're no longer beholden to it, but it has made you … unpleasant."

"You don't bandy words, do you?" Jaime said, smirking at her. She was right though. He had to stop worrying about Aemon and trust in his skills as a fighter and leader. He also had to trust that his brother and the kingsguard would keep him safe.

Later in the evening, once Brienne had retired to their cot, Jaime stayed up deciphering the gibberish the king had written. While the ciphers were useful, they were painstaking and he was impatient as he flipped pages back and forth. Perhaps we made this a little too unnecessarily complicated.

But once he had fully translated the passage, it tested his new resolve to let the king be.

It has been determined Euron died at the hands of a Faceless Assassin. We have no idea about who they are or what they look like. Respond if you have any suspicions.