As Caitie watched two Baratheon soldiers escort Mance Rayder to the pyre in the courtyard with rapt attention, she couldn't help but think that he was wholly unremarkable to look at.
His hands were bound in irons, his face gaunt from loss of weight. His black hair was shaggy and streaked with grey, while his stubble had gone entirely white. He still dressed in Wildling garb, but it was dirty and tattered after so many months in captivity. It was strange to think that, even after all the devastation he'd caused to her and her friends, this was the first time Caitie had ever seen him. For a man who'd united over a hundred clans in the greatest army the north had ever seen—who had indirectly ordered Grenn's death—he was, well, just that: a man.
A rather proud man, she thought as she watched him. Mance moved with an air of pride, his back straight and his head held high. It left Caitie wondering if she would go to her death tomorrow with the same dignity.
She hoped so. A little dignity wasn't the worst thing in the world when it was all you had left.
While Caitie was confined to quarters, everyone else at Castle Black had been forced into the courtyard, standing in a wide circle around the pyre. The remaining Wildling prisoners huddled in one concentrated corner, hands bound, facing the front of the pyre, so they would have to watch their king's face as he burned. The warning was clear: bend the knee or suffer the same fate as their leader.
Of course, if he actually believed it would work, then the king's reputation as a cunning and effective battle commander had been vastly overstated.
The Baratheon soldiers escorted Mance Rayder to Stannis. The king's hand stood at his side, the red priestess on his other. Oddly, Queen Selyse and Princess Shireen had no place at the king's side; rather, they stood in the shadows on a walkway to Caitie's left. She could only just make out their faces in the torchlight, and though she was too far away to see the greyscale covering one side of Shireen's face, Caitie knew as well as anyone in the Seven Kingdoms that it was there.
"Mance Rayder," Stannis Baratheon said tonelessly. "You've been called the King-beyond-the-Wall. Westeros only has one king. Bend the knee, and I promise you mercy."
The courtyard was as quiet as a grave, but Caitie could make out Jon's face between Olly and Edd, silently willing Mance to accept.
When the King-beyond-the-Wall didn't say anything, Stannis added, "Kneel and live."
Mance stared at him for a heartbeat before he answered. "This was my home for many years," he said calmly, looking around at the castle. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."
Stannis nodded to his men, whose faces were obscured by heavy-looking helmets. They escorted Mance up the wooden steps to the pyre and tied him to the post.
Caitie watched the reactions of the other observers. Jon closed his eyes, disappointed but resigned to Mance's death. The king and his priestess were expressionless, while the Hand of the King seemed pained. Mance's second-in-command—the ginger with the arrows in his shoulder, whom Caitie had later learned was Tormund Giantsbane—looked... pleased.
She didn't know if that made her feel better about the situation or worse. All she knew was that when she looked at him and his brethren she had to push down a wave of fury rising up inside of her, and in that moment, she hated them. She hated them, for they had killed people—people she loved or cared about or simply knew were innocent. She couldn't forget that, no matter how this display by Stannis Baratheon disgusted her.
Unable to stand watching them for more than a moment, she searched for another target—and that was when she caught the expression on Stannis's wife. Even without light, it was an expression Caitie could easily see as mad. Eyes fixed on the pyre, there was so much awe and love on Queen Selyse's face that it made her sick. And what made things all the more interesting was Princess Shireen, for her expression was the complete opposite of her mother's. She could barely bring herself to look at the pyre, and when she did, the disgust she held for it shone through the darkness.
Of all the Baratheons at Castle Black, the one Caitie heard the most about was Princess Shireen, as she spent almost all of her time in the library. Since Sam and Gilly spent a lot of their time in the library, too, they knew her well—or, as well as one could know a princess. Gilly, especially, often talked to Caitie about Shireen. In the last few months, she'd taken over for Sam in teaching Gilly to read—and was much more patient about it, too, as Sam had a nasty habit of snapping when he got impatient or making well-meaning but unhelpful comments.
Both of Caitie's friends insisted the princess was kind and funny and absolutely nothing like the king and queen, so she supposed it stood to reason Shireen disagreed with them about the Lord of Light, too.
After Stannis's men departed the pyre to stand by their king, Lady Melisandre, dressed in a deep burgundy wrap with a deep v-neck—one which didn't look even close to warm enough for the cold night—stepped forward to address the crowd.
"We all must choose," she announced, eerily calm and confident, despite the gravity of the situation. "Man or woman, young or old, lord or peasant; our choices are the same. We choose light, or we choose darkness. We choose good, or we choose evil. We choose the true god or the false."
Caitie was glad no one could see her face. Good? This was good? They were burning a man alive, giving him one of the cruelest and most inhumane deaths known to Westeros. No matter what Mance Rayder had done, he didn't deserve this. No one deserved this. And what gave this priestess the right to declare her god the true god, anyway? She was in Westeros—she was in the North. The home of the First Men and the Old Gods.
She had no right. No right at all.
Melisandre took a torch from one of Stannis's soldiers. "Free Folk! There is only one true king, and his name is Stannis. Here stands your King of Lies. Behold the fate of those who choose darkness."
The threat, Caitie realized, was not just to the Free Folk, but to the Night's Watch as well, and every Northman: follow the Lord of Light suffer the same fate as Mance Rayder.
Melisandre lit the pyre, and flames burst into existence, bathing the courtyard in an orange hue.
Caitie watched with horror as the fumes slowly affected Mance until he was coughing and sputtering—as he screamed from the pain of the heat from the fire on his face. She gripped her windowsill to steady herself before her rage propelled her to do something stupid. Still, she didn't look away; she couldn't have, even if she'd wanted to. This was a catastrophe, but one she couldn't stop watching. And the more she watched the scene unfold, the more her fury consumed her, just as the flame consumed Mance.
If you had asked Caitie when she resolved to refuse Stannis Baratheon as her king, no matter the cost, it would have been that moment. For he may be the rightful ruler of Westeros, but she would never accept it. He was just as evil as Joffrey. Hell, he was just as evil as the mad King.
Gilly burrowed her head into Sam's shoulder, shaking with sobs. He looked close to tears himself as he held her.
Somebody do something, Caitie begged as Mance's screaming continued.
It was as if the Old Gods had answered her prayers. Because no sooner had the thought occurred did an arrow implant itself Mance Rayder's heart, killing him instantly.
She followed everyone's gaze to see who had defied Stannis Baratheon's orders, but Caitie knew who it would be the moment she saw the arrow. Sure enough, Jon stood above everyone in the courtyard on one of the balconies, just within her sight, holding a bow.
She couldn't help it. She smiled.
It fell as she saw the faces of the courtyard. Most looked shocked—Stannis and Melisandre included. For what reason, Caitie didn't know. What had they expected?
The Wildling prisoners seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, which… she supposed was a good thing. Meanwhile, Ser Alliser's face was twisted with fury, as was Queen Selyse's. But Caitie could have sworn Princess Shireen was trying to hide a smile.
She glanced down at the king once again, and her heart skipped a beat. For Stannis was looking straight at her. His eyes were narrowed, the same as during her trial. To her utter relief, they didn't linger on her for more than a second, moving back up to the balcony where Jon was—or had been. He'd left while Caitie was distracted.
She spent a good few minutes in a happy state of denial, convincing herself that she had only imagined the king's eyes on her before the door to her quarters burst open. Jon strode in, Ghost padding along after him. The direwolf took his usual spot, curled up next to her bed.
"You saw?" Jon asked.
She nodded. "I saw. Are you all right?"
"I'll live."
"You did a good thing. I'm proud of you."
"Aye. But Stannis will have my head for it."
"I don't think so. You're a man of the Night's Watch." Caitie cocked her head to the side. "Ser Alliser might, though."
He arched a brow. "Is that meant to make me feel better?"
"No, not really." She sat down on her bed next to him. "Well, maybe we'll get lucky and he'll kill us together. That way he doesn't have to bloody his sword twice over."
Jon barked out a laugh. "Well, I can think of worse ways to die than alongside you."
"So can I," replied Caitie. "But I'd still prefer it if neither of us died at all." She took his hand in an attempt at comfort, though didn't know if it was for his comfort or for hers. "Is... is this what it's going to be like once Stannis takes the Iron Throne? Burning people alive because they don't believe in his god?"
"I don't know."
"The North will never kneel to him if he expects us to give up the Old Ways." Nor should they, she thought, but she didn't voice it.
"I know. But what other choice is there? Stannis is the only chance to defeat the Boltons."
Caitie debated whether to not to tell him the truth of the matter, but in the end, decided there was no point in lying to reassure him. He'd know if she tried, anyhow. "I'm not sure Stannis can defeat them. The Boltons are Northmen. As soon as the snows hit…"
"Winter is coming," they said in unison, and promptly burst into laughter. Caitie didn't think either of them had laughed like this since before the battle.
After they'd caught their breaths, Jon sighed. "I hope you're wrong, but... I'm not sure you are."
For only a Northman could take Winterfell, and truthfully, only a Stark.
But Sansa and Arya's fates were unknown to them, Bran was north of the Wall, and Rickon was a nine-year-old boy. Even if what Bran had told Sam was true and Rickon had gone to the Umbers, they would have to remain loyal to the Starks and not hand him over to Roose Bolton. A lot of ifs, and in any case, irrelevant to taking back Winterfell. Rickon was just a child—he wouldn't be able to lead an army.
No, the only Stark left with the capability was Jon, and Jon was a man of the Night's Watch.
Her rather morose train of thought was broken by the sound of her door handle turning. Caitie prepared for the worst, but it was only Edd, who entered the room and closed the door behind him, arms crossed and face full of exasperation.
"Well, you've gone and fucked yourself."
When Jon flinched, Caitie put a hand on his shoulder and turned to Edd. "Is it that bad?"
"Oh, it's bad. You'd better find somewhere to hide out until the choosing, Jon. Thorne was just about ready to kill you."
"What about Stannis?" she asked, thinking of the way he'd looked at her. Though she decided not to tell her friends about it—at least, not yet.
Edd shrugged. "Couldn't tell you. He walked off with his hand and that red woman. I'd worry more about Thorne."
His anger had to be manufactured. Most likely, this new turn of events delighted him. Anything to weaken Jon's standing and influence. Or maybe he really did just hate Wildlings that much. In the end, it didn't really matter.
Jon turned to her. "Could Ghost and I stay here tonight?"
"Wouldn't that just make things worse?"
"No," Edd said. "Ser Alliser won't look here, 'cause I'm on duty."
"And Ghost will tell us should anyone come near."
"Then, of course," she said. "Will you be all right on the floor?"
"Better than you with Ghost on the bed."
"I've gotten used to it." If anything, the last few months had only increased Caitie's adoration for the direwolf. She gave him a pat on the side and laughed when he licked her face.
Jon sighed. "Thank you."
She only smiled and told him it was no trouble, for after what she'd just witnessed, and knowing something similar could befall her not a day later, she was glad not to be alone.
Caitie dreamt of burning alive.
A king wearing a simple crown of silver stood in front of her, completely and utterly still. She couldn't see his face, but she knew it was Stannis—it had to be. By some mercy, he didn't have his red shadow with him.
Flames surrounded her, burning her face and her hair. She tried to scream in pain, but the smoke kept any sound from coming out. She choked and coughed, trying to beg the king in front of her to stop, but he wouldn't.
She didn't last long before she woke with a gasp, trying to calm down and remind herself of her reality.
It didn't help. Reality wasn't much of an improvement.
"You all right?"
Years of training prevented her from jumping out of her bed in fright. It took her a split second to remember the events of the night before.
"Just a nightmare," she said.
"Grenn?"
"No, not this time. I was on a pyre."
Ghost's snores were the only sound until Jon shifted, so he was sitting on her bed next to her. The mattress sunk in as it tried to support the weight of both him and Caitie.
"It was just a dream." He sounded more as if he were reassuring himself than her.
Caitie pursed her lips. Well, if she didn't tell him now, she never would.
"I didn't tell you this last night, but Stannis—he saw me. He looked right at me." She inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth. "If he didn't get his sacrifice in Mance, he'll need another. Who better than the woman who dishonored the Night's Watch?"
There was a sharp intake of breath. "He's not going to burn you."
"You don't know—"
"Yes, I do," Jon insisted. "I won't let him."
"You've gone mad if you think you can stop him."
Jon didn't smile—or glower, even—at her comment. Instead, he scratched at his beard, planning. "Now that you're healed, we'll sneak you out of Castle Black while everyone is at the choosing—"
"Assuming we don't get caught, which seems unlikely, where would I go?" She couldn't stay in the North without risking her father finding her, and she'd never been south of the Neck—the small strip of land separating the North from the southern kingdoms—before. A woman alone in an unknown place was a recipe for rape and death. It was why her brothers had had Lord Commander Mormont watch out for her at Castle Black. In hindsight, she should have known they'd never send her to Castle Black without protection of some kind.
Jon didn't seem to understand this, though.
"We could put you on a ship to Essos."
"I'd be raped and sold into slavery in a day."
"You survived three years—"
"Because I was lucky," Caitie hissed. "I had the lord commander of the Night's Watch protecting me, I had friends I could trust, I had a gigantic, menacing direwolf as my shadow, thanks to you."
"You don't give yourself enough credit."
"I'm giving myself the exact amount of credit I deserve," she said. "You've always thought I was irresponsible about keeping my secret, and you were right."
She saw Jon furrow his brow through the darkness. "I don't think you were irresponsible. You've made mistakes, but you did the best you could in your situation."
"You don't need to lie to me—"
"I'm not," he said, and when she rolled her eyes, he gripped her shoulders so she had to look at him. "I'm not."
She softened, just a bit. "Jon," she said, smiling sadly. "There isn't any way out for me this time." And as she spoke, she thought to herself: Valar Morghulis.
"Maybe there isn't," Jon said. "But I won't let Stannis burn you, or let Ser Alliser execute you, either. Not without a fight."
Caitie opened her mouth but found herself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. His idea was terribly stupid, especially after what he had done the night before. But she couldn't bring herself to argue.
She didn't want to argue.
The solution was to change the subject. "Did I wake you?" she asked.
"I was up."
"Ygritte again?"
He nodded. "It's the same: I reach for her, and the moment I touch her, I look down to see Longclaw in her chest."
"It never changes?"
"No."
Caitie rested her cheek on her hand, observing him. This had been his only nightmare for the last few weeks, and she had a feeling she knew why. She had for a while. It was only a matter of waiting for the right time to bring it up to him.
Considering the likely events of the next few hours, there wouldn't be a better one.
"Do you know what I think?"
Jon furrowed his brows as he stared at her, almost daring her to continue. "What?"
"I think your dream never changes because you feel responsible for her death. You have so much guilt and hurt and regret that you haven't addressed." Jon didn't meet her eyes, but Caitie still kept going. "And I think you need to, so you can forgive yourself."
"Forgive myself?" he repeated incredulously. "How can I forgive myself when I'm to blame?"
"But you're not to blame—just like you're not to blame for Grenn, Pyp, or anyone else who died that night. And you're too good to go on punishing yourself for something you couldn't truly control."
Jon broke his gaze away from her to stare down at his hands. "I loved her," he said, so quiet it was almost inaudible.
Caitie's heart constricted so tightly it burned. Because she knew exactly how he felt, and she wished she could make it better for them both. "I know you did. I'm not saying it will stop the pain of losing her. Pain like that might never go away. But it will stop you from hating yourself."
Jon opened his mouth to speak.
She held up her hand. "And before you insist you deserve it, you don't."
A slight smile played on across his features. "How did you know I'd say that?"
"Because you look for any excuse to torture yourself."
Jon glared at her for the remark.
"It's the truth," she said, shrugging. "Better to accept it."
His shoulders slumped. "After everything I've done, how can you believe I don't deserve it?"
"Because I know you. And you're a good man."
Jon blinked at the sureness of her tone. "I... Thank you, Caitie."
She sighed. "Well, it's what I'm here for—good advice and witty jokes."
Before he could reply with something undoubtedly snarky, Ghost stopped snoring and lifted his head, staring intently at the door. Half a second later, someone knocked.
"Jon," Edd called. "Hobb's about to relieve me. You better get out of there."
Jon closed his eyes and exhaled a breath. "I'm sorely tempted to ignore him," he muttered.
Caitie smiled. "As much as I'd appreciate it, you should probably go before you get into trouble. More trouble."
"I'll come back before the choosing."
Assuming Stannis didn't kill him—or Ser Alliser.
"I certainly hope so," she said.
"Jon!" Edd hissed.
When Ghost realized Jon was leaving, he picked himself up off the floor and stretched.
Jon held up a hand. "Stay with Caitie, boy."
After Ghost had settled back down, Jon crossed the room and went to throw the door open, before something stopped him and he turned back around.
"The same goes for you."
Caitie furrowed her brows. "What?"
"You blame yourself for getting caught," he said. "You shouldn't. You don't deserve it. You never have."
He didn't wait for her to reply before he opened the door, leaving Caitie without the ability to answer.
Edd was glowering behind it. "Took you long enough. The king wants to see you. He's waiting in the Lord Commander's tower. Good luck."
Jon's words may have affected her, but Caitie wasn't going to show it to Edd. So she put on a brave face and pretended to sound confident.
"He'll need it," she said. "Do try not to die just yet."
"No promises," Jon replied.
After taking his leave, Edd changed the subject to something no less unpleasant. "How do you feel?"
Caitie made a show of thinking about it. "Like a dead woman."
"And I thought I was a bleak bastard."
"Where do you think I picked it up?"
"Oi, don't blame me," he said. "Not my fault the world we live in is shit."
Caitie sighed, deciding not to continue their usual back-and-forth. She had so little time left for her to do everything she wanted before she died, and she had to make the most of it. "Edd," she said. "Take care of them for me when I'm gone."
His demeanor changed instantly. He straightened, expression unusually serious. "I will. I promise."
She breathed a sigh of relief. Having the reassurance that her friends wouldn't be alone after her death was something she didn't realize she'd needed. "Is there anything I can do for you before…?"
"Nah. But if I ever need a favor, I'll let you know."
It was his way of saying he truly believed she'd live through the day. And while it didn't warm her the same way Jon's reassurances had, it still made her smile.
Hobb joined them moments later. He was a tall, easy-going man, a few years younger than Edd, with olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Back when she had come to Castle Black, Caitie had thought him Dornish, but he spoke with a Northern accent.
He wasn't the typical guard that Caitie was used to, either. For one thing, he didn't carry a weapon, as he wasn't much of a fighter. Usually, he spent all day in the kitchens, trying to make something edible out of the ingredients he was subjected to using. For another, he was actually rather nice to Caitie. The only reason Thorne allowed Hobb to guard her door was that he ran out of brothers who both hated her but wouldn't try to rape her.
She hadn't known Hobb well, beyond his cooking, of course, until Thorne had tasked him with guarding her quarters. In truth, she hadn't ventured out beyond her small circle of friends before the battle. Now a part of her wished she had because, during the months of her confinement, Hobb had become a friend—and she couldn't help thinking that if she'd made more, she might not be in this predicament.
Then again, it was still the Night's Watch, and she was still a girl.
Hobb came to a stop in front of Caitie and held out a bowl of stew. "Venison—fresh onions, and everything. Figured you could use it today."
Her stomach grumbled as she looked at it. Caitie had to admit, Hobb's venison stew was good.
Well, it was for the Night's Watch.
"Seven Hells, I needed this. Thank you."
Edd scoffed. "Why don't I get venison with fresh onions?"
"You're not about to die," Hobb replied.
Caitie rolled her eyes at him. "Thank you so much for reminding me."
Hobb chose to ignore her barb and addressed Edd. "There's more in the dining hall. You'd better get down there. Tarly was asking for you."
After Edd meandered down the corridor and out of sight, Hobb turned to her. "I'm not voting for Thorne. Thought you should know."
"I didn't think you were," she said. "Mallister, then?"
"If he's the only other choice."
"I didn't think anyone else was running."
"Rumor is that Snow might."
Caitie choked on a spoonful of her venison.
While she had to admit that Jon was popular and seasoned and talented and a good man—all necessary traits of a potential lord commander—he was also barely nineteen, and a good third of the men saw him as a traitor.
Either way, if Jon was trying to become the new Lord Commander, he hadn't mentioned it to her.
"I wouldn't get my hopes up," she said.
"Ah, well, you'd know better than me."
Caitie shifted, unsure what to say to that, and quickly switched topics. "So, how many men do you think want me dead?"
"Hm... I'd say about half," Hobb said. "Can't understand why. I wouldn't want someone dead who killed three Thenns."
"I heard you killed your fair share of Wildlings during the battle, too," she said. "With a meat cleaver?"
"A hog-splitter," he corrected. "They tried to mess up my spice drawers. Couldn't let them get away with it."
Caitie laughed. Hobb, she'd learned, was extremely particular about the order of the kitchens. Everything had to be in its proper place, or else he'd fly into a rage.
Her laughter stopped abruptly as cold air drafted into the hall as a door opened and shut at the other end. She and Hobb watched two people come closer and closer until they approached her door. She shrunk back until she was half-concealed by it.
"Hobb," Ser Alliser said. He had a deep scowl on his face. Behind him, Janos Slynt's hook nose was scrunched up in disgust.
Hobb's expression went blank. "Ser."
"Speaking to the woman is forbidden."
"Sorry, Ser."
"Well, you won't be talking to her for long," Slynt said with a smile as he eyed Caitie. "The bitch will be dead soon."
Fury spread through her belly as she stepped out from behind her door. This was ridiculous. She would not cower from a craven like him. "And here I was beginning to think I'd have to remind you to execute me tomorrow."
"Who will get your body first, I wonder," he said. "After so long in our dungeons, the Wildlings would kill each other for a taste of you—headless or not. Or perhaps we should give you to one of your so-called brothers."
Caitie went still as a statue. In all the months since her trial, she had never given a thought to what would happen to her body.
She should have.
Slynt looked gleeful, watching her stricken face. Thorne, on the other hand, glowered. "Our men will keep their vows," he said. But he didn't correct the part about the Wildlings.
No. Maester Aemon would never allow something to happen to her body. Neither would Sam nor Jon nor Edd.
Caitie composed herself, swallowing her fear, refusing to give them the satisfaction of scaring her. It helped when Ghost padded over from her bed. She could hear a low rumble from the back of his throat.
"You're not lord commander yet, Ser Alliser," she said, with a sickly sweet smile. Her tone became more venomous when she addressed Slynt. "And you have no power unless he is."
Both men sneered at her.
"Soon enough, I will be," replied Thorne. He turned on his heel and flicked a hand towards Janos Slynt; a gesture for his second to follow.
A weighty silence followed their departure. "Well," said Hobb after an age. "That was… fun."
Caitie knew he was trying to cheer her, but she couldn't muster a laugh. In fact, she had to hide her hands behind her back so he wouldn't see them shaking. "I should let you get back to guarding my door."
For one horrible moment, she thought Hobb might try to comfort her. But it passed quickly, and he didn't push. "Okay."
Once she closed the door behind her and slumped against it, she broke. Her chest constricted, tears poured down her cheeks, the images of her coming death raced through her mind and every other horrible thing she could imagine, all at once. She couldn't even seem to breathe, and for one terrible moment, she wondered if Ser Alliser would have the chance to execute her. That she was having such a reaction sent a new thrill of terror zipping down her spine, for Caitie had faced death before—the army of the dead, the mutineers, the Wildings. While she may have been afraid, it had never turned her body against her like it was now.
But that isn't true, is it? You've been a coward before.
The worst of it had been the first days during her captivity at Craster's Keep when she had hardly spoken a word to Grenn or Edd. She hadn't moved, hadn't even thought, even when it felt as though her throat was closing up and her lungs were collapsing. Her mind had shut down, because it was the only way to cope as she waited for the worst: for the mutineers to rape her, torture her, undo who she was, piece by piece until she was their husk. It wasn't until Caitie realized Tanner and the others didn't care about them enough to torture them that she'd been able to put her head into gear and think up a means of escape.
It was the difference, she decided, between dying in the heat of battle and being marched to her death with her hands bound behind her back. It was knowing her body could be so… violated.
There was no fight, no chance of escape. Only the waiting.
She didn't know how long it took for this strange panic to pass. First, she regained control over her breath, the air clearing her mind and giving her body enough strength to haul herself to her bed. A while after that, her tears finally dried up, though her eyes remained crusty and swollen. The images took the longest to fade, and not completely—but she had dealt with them long enough to know they would never truly leave.
As soon as she'd regained control over herself, someone knocked on her door. Caitie didn't think she'd been too loud while trying to calm down, but Hobb must have heard, regardless.
Just lovely.
"Hobb," she started as she forced herself off her bed and to her door. "I really would rather be alone right—" Caitie stopped as she threw it open, unable to move, to speak, to do anything but stare.
Because all of a sudden she was standing face-to-face with Stannis Baratheon.
I have nothing witty or even mildly interesting to add, here. I'm in a creative rut, and life is hard. That is all.