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#v; frozen tully
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Bran III, AGoT — Visions and Their Corresponding Passages
TO THE EAST
He looked east, and saw a galley racing across the waters of the Bite. He saw his mother sitting alone in a cabin, looking at a bloodstained knife on a table in front of her,
...
Her hand groped beneath her cloak, her fingers stiff and fumbling. The dagger was still at her side. She found she had to touch it now and then, to reassure herself. (Catelyn IV, AGoT)
--
as the rowers pulled at their oars and Ser Rodrik leaned across a rail, shaking and heaving.
...
"The captain was just telling me that our voyage is almost at an end," she said.
Ser Rodrik managed a wry smile. "So soon?" He looked odd without his great white side whiskers; smaller somehow, less fierce, and ten years older. Yet back on the Bite it had seemed prudent to submit to a crewman's razor, after his whiskers had become hopelessly befouled for the third time while he leaned over the rail and retched into the swirling winds. (Catelyn IV, AGoT)
--
A storm was gathering ahead of them, a vast dark roaring lashed by lightning, but somehow they could not see it.
...
The crossroads gave her pause. If they turned west from here, it was an easy ride down to Riverrun. Her father had always given her wise counsel when she needed it most, and she yearned to talk to him, to warn him of the gathering storm. If Winterfell needed to brace for war, how much more so Riverrun, so much closer to King's Landing, with the power of Casterly Rock looming to the west like a shadow. If only her father had been stronger, she might have chanced it, but Hoster Tully had been bedridden these past two years, and Catelyn was loath to tax him now. (Catelyn V, AGoT)
TO THE SOUTH
He looked south, and saw the great blue-green rush of the Trident. He saw his father pleading with the king, his face etched with grief.
...
"Stop them," Sansa pleaded, "don't let them do it, please, please, it wasn't Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can't, it wasn't Lady, don't let them hurt Lady, I'll make her be good, I promise, I promise…" She started to cry.
All Ned could do was take her in his arms and hold her while she wept. He looked across the room at Robert. His old friend, closer than any brother. "Please, Robert. For the love you bear me. For the love you bore my sister. Please."
The king looked at them for a long moment, then turned his eyes on his wife. "Damn you, Cersei," he said with loathing.
--
He saw Sansa crying herself to sleep at night, and he saw Arya watching in silence and holding her secrets hard in her heart.
...
And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher's boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell. (Eddard IV, AGoT)
--
There were shadows all around them. One shadow was dark as ash, with the terrible face of a hound.
...
But if her nights were full of wolves, her days belonged to the dog. Sandor Clegane made her get up every morning, whether she wanted to or not. (Arya XII, ASoS)
--
Another was armored like the sun, golden and beautiful.
...
"I have made kings and unmade them. Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor." Jaime smiled thinly. "Besides, kingslayers should band together. Are you ever going to go?" (Jaime IX, ASoS)
--
Over them both loomed a giant in armor made of stone, but when he opened his visor, there was nothing inside but darkness and thick black blood.
...
Maester Caleotte bowed, Ser Gregor's head still clutched in his soft pink hands.
"I'll take that." Obara Sand plucked the skull from him and held it at arm's length. "What did the Mountain look like? How do we know that this is him? They could have dipped the head in tar. Why strip it to the bone?" (The Watcher, ADwD)
...
His armor was plate steel, enameled white and bright as a maiden's hopes, and worn over gilded mail. A greathelm hid his face. From its crest streamed seven silken plumes in the rainbow colors of the Faith. A pair of golden seven-pointed stars clasped his billowing cloak at the shoulders.
A white cloak. (Cersei II, ADwD)
TO THE NARROW SEA
He lifted his eyes and saw clear across the narrow sea, to the Free Cities and the green Dothraki sea and beyond, to Vaes Dothrak under its mountain, to the fabled lands of the Jade Sea, to Asshai by the Shadow, where dragons stirred beneath the sunrise.
...
As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons. (Daenerys X, AGoT)
--
Dany's wrist still tingled where Quaithe had touched her. "Where would you have me go?" she asked.
"To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow."
Asshai, Dany thought. She would have me go to Asshai. (Daenerys III, ACoK)
However, George has said:
“I don’t plan to set any scenes in Asshai – at least not in the present book, but you may find out a little bit about it in future books. We do have one character who’s been there, of course, and that’s Melisandre. So, in the chapters from her thought, you may occasionally have her think back to her time in Asshai.”
[Source — around the 27:22 mark]
TO THE NORTH
Finally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him.
...
Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jon found himself shivering. The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would forget what it felt like to be warm. (Jon III, AGoT)
--
True death came suddenly; he felt a shock of cold, as if he had been plunged into the icy waters of a frozen lake. (Prologue, ADwD)
--
Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold… (Jon XIII, ADwD)
FURTHER NORTH
And he looked past the Wall, past endless forests cloaked in snow, past the frozen shore and the great blue-white rivers of ice and the dead plains where nothing grew or lived. North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks.
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(Source: The World of Ice and Fire Official App)
The Land of Always Winter is uncharted territory, with perpetually frozen land, said to be home of the Others.
"You mean the Others," Bran said querulously.
"The Others," Old Nan agreed. "Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels."
...
"In that darkness, the Others came for the first time," she said as her needles went click click click. "They were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins." (Bran IV, AGoT)
The "curtain of light" ends where the Others live. They dislike the sun, and would magically block it out.
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tullyfreckled · 7 years
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{ @starkmatriarch
standing in the middle of the court yard, edmure wasn't sure where to look. he felt entirely out of place. here, people had dark hair and dark eyes, not the bright auburn colored hair and blue eyes. this wasn't riverrun. he felt out of place, cold, and like people were staring at him. a few whispers were going around, people looking at him as they passed. had word spread that far? even the guards standing by him didn't believe that he was lord tully. they had never seen him before, they didn't know. someone had to believe who he was.
as he stood, edmure pulled the cloak around him tighter, fighting off the chills that were running down his back. all those times in the cells didn’t help. from the beatings to the lack of food, his body couldn’t keep warm. he wanted to go somewhere warm with familiar faces. when the unsullied had opened the cell door, edmure had believed that it was all a big joke. for far too long he had been told that he would be killed, that his life was almost over. however, as time passed and they reached dragonstone, edmure realized that none of this was a big joke. in fact, it all seemed to be fitting into place and with the prospect of going to winterfell with jon, it was almost too good to be true. but, as he left, edmure did not allow himself to believe that he was going to winterfell.
and now, he stood inside the courtyard waiting for someone to tell him that he was really himself. what he wasn't expecting to see was his sister rounding the corner. he wasn't expecting catelyn to be running towards him, he wasn't expecting for her to be alive. he didn't want it to be one messed up dream. he didn't want to wake up and find some lannister bastard to be making jabs at him, saying he wasn't going to be alive for much longer.
"-- -- -cat?" it was just barely above a whisper, his voice wavering. he would blame it on the winter winds.
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sugardaddytonystark · 7 years
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What castles coincide with Arya's siblings?
Arya - Harrenhal
Sansa - The Vale
Robb - The Twins
Rickon - Winterfell
Jon - Castle Black
Bran - Winter’s Keep
Ghosts of Castles Lost
I. Harrenhal
Peace is slowly creeping back into the realm.
Men have seen enough of war. The world has seen enough of death. The kingdom is scorched and ravaged and razed, but the roads are safer than they’ve been in years. 
People pass each other, strangers where once they were neighbors. They are not afraid, they have seen enough of battle to be scared, but are unwilling to look into the faces of those whom they have crossed swords. Brothers were killed. Sisters were raped. And all sides are still both bitter and ashamed.
She finds no need to bind her breasts any longer, though she still keeps her hair sheered short. Out of habit, perhaps, or convenience. Or to remind her of who she is now and what she hasn’t been for a long time.
She has lived a hundred lives and died just the same. She has worn a hundred faces and been given a hundred different names. Arry, Weasel, Nan, no one. She answers to Arya if someone calls, but she knows she hasn’t been Arya for lifetimes.
She isn’t sure who she is anymore.
She has left pieces of her behind wherever she went - to realms so far south that she had to hide her skin from the sun and sand so it would not burn away. To the free lands where women bared their breasts and men dyed their hair the color of rubies and sapphires. She has learned the language of those who veiled their faces, fought with those who adorned their braids with bells, laid with those who marked their flesh with every full moon. She has been to the House of Black and White to live with the men who served the Many-Faced God. She has seen the Dragon Queen.
She longs to go back north, to recover a part of her that she vaguely remembers, and when she makes up her mind to go, she is already half of the way there. She ladens a stolen mount with what she needs, which isn’t much. Food she will get along the way. And shelter. She remembers a place from so long ago.
The halls are empty, cavernous, a place built for giants and she, but a ghost. The floors are ash and dirt. The walls, rags and dust. Tapestries fray and peel from the stone, banners with illegible sigils and faded colors. The castle is but ruin and decay - a shame for such a grand place.
Arya recalls Old Nan’s stories. She remembers that the foundation is strong with the bodies of men. She remembers that the towers were built with blood, mixed in the mortar and laid between each and every brick. She remembers that the walls were raised with fear the way the walls of Winterfells were raised with magic.
And neither fear nor magic had been strong enough to keep either castle from falling.
But Harrenhal was still alive. Arya could hear creeping amongst the rotting stone. Cats and mice and birds, but men as well. They inhabit the halls for a night or two while on their way to here or there, rejecting the haunting tales of Harren the Black and his sons - of his hubris and the horrors of the ruinous place. The appeal of the monstrous keep is too great for bypassers. Great enough to forget a curse. Great enough to forget a ghost.
But Arya remembers a time when all it took for men to fall was her will and the sound of her whisper.
II. The Vale
A madness has overtaken her, they say, like the Lady of the Vale before her.
But if the smallfolk are to be believed, Sansa keeps it hidden. She is faultless and unblemished like the snow that blankets the peak. She is white and pure and beautiful like her sister remembers. Her hair is piled high in scarlett braids and threaded with shining gold. Her dress is silken and flowing, lovely and bright as her Tully-blue eyes. 
When she receives Arya in the High Hall, she’s sitting on the weirwood throne of the Arryns, a doll, ragged, filthy, held against the pale nipple of her naked breast.
Is that the doll father gifted to you? Arya wonders. Have you kept it all this time?
Maybe she is mad.
She abides in a hollow castle, far away from the reach of man. The Vale had remained untouched by war, but winter is here and those who had stayed now take refuge at the base of the mountain. They have all left her, alone in the high and desolate keep. The white stone halls are deserted and still and Arya can feel the silence echo through her.
Sansa crawls into her sister’s bed that night, laying her head on Arya’s chest, and their arms entwine as they clutch each other tight. Sansa can feel the rhythm of her sister’s heart against her cheek, her breath breezing through her hair each times she exhales. 
Sansa asks her to stay. “The winter is cruel,” she whispers, “and I am alone.”
Arya runs her fingertips over Sansa’s skin, and it is as smooth and chilled as porcelain. She thinks that the frozen lands of the north can’t possibly be as cold as the castle that her sister calls home. As barren as the sleep that she sinks into night after night. Thrice a widow and a maiden still, they say. Arya wonders if Sansa has ever shared a bed with anyone other than herself.
“We are wolves,” Arya reminds her. “And wolves are made for winter.”
She can feel as Sansa clutches the doll tighter in the crook of her elbow. Hold him near, sweet sister. Keep him close. They fall alseep in Arya’s bed, curled together like wolfcubs.
When Arya awakes the next morning, she finds the doll left in her sister’s place. The sheets are cold and the stone floor is biting. Her breath, a frozen cloud before her. She bears the chill as her naked feet glide across the room, her lungs filling with ice until she feels as though she can no longer breathe.
The wind whips through the corridors, pushing Arya back, pushing her away, pushing her across the castle until she is running with no air and numb feet. 
Sansa, she calls. Sansa. And the emptiness mocks her, echoing the name until there is only Sansa Sansa Sansa in her ears, in her eyes, in her mouth, the cold wind pushing the shadow of her sister back into Arya’s lungs.
She stops at the edge of the Moon Door, the open space still hungry and howling, trying to push her back, trying to lure her closer. 
Arya clutches her sister’s doll and thinks that there are worst ways to die.
III. The Twins
(so this is where I stopped so it’s just a whole bunch of disjointed ideas)
The land is cruel in its beauty. It is overgrownand tangled and wild
Arya vows to salt the earth.
Men now risk the marshlands and avoid the twinnedkeep.
the place is haunted
not even wolves dare
the wind like a howling beast
fear cuts deeper than swords, she has trainedherself to say, but this time she is not afraid. It is by rote that she repeatsthe words, saying them to steady herself as she creep
it’s early dawn, the sky is pink and purple andorange
The sound of her horse’s hooves echo through theair
burns like ice
she wonders at what other creatures creep through the halls
macabre
silver shadow
eyes like molten gold
He still wears a crown
hollow crown
What are you king of now, brother? Do you ruleover haunted keeps and we, the ghosts that inhabit them?
 The crown came at a cost, she thought. And we allpaid the price.
IV. Winterfell
The people in the north are scarce, and none liveinside the castle walls except a wolf, a woman, and the winter lord. The threegreet Arya at the gate.
The man is wary of this stranger who callsherself sister.
His memories of before the war are more thanhalf-forgotten; this woman’s face, only a dream that comes to him when thesnows fall deep.
Rickon the Wild, they call him. Rickon whoRebuilt Winterfell. The Second Stark to Bend the Knee.
He is tall and lean and lithe. His hair is darkred and wild, running down his back in long torrents of molten amber. His eyesare fierce and frightening, blue as the frozen winter sky. They flash like anocturnal predator when the descending sun hits them, bores through Arya as if //
But he knows no lord’s courtesies. He was tooyoung to learn and hasn’t been taught since.
He keeps to the crypts, the wildling tells her.Or the godswood.
He thirsts none for blood these days. He’s drunkhis fill.
All the gold of Casterly Rock at his command. “Ameager consolation,” he says, “for what they have done to us.”
And three Lannister heads, he doesn’t say. A morecomparable consolation, but even as unsatisfying still. Three Lannister headsin a golden box, offered up to the Dragon Queen, and a promise of yet morelives to come.
But his builders are northmen and wildlings
The north will be rebuilt by the north
“Everyone went away,” he says,“but I came back. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. And I cameback.”
his hands are big and his fingers long
he spends his time wandering beyond the castlewalls.
taciturn
his wolf is wild, the woman is wild, but he isthe most wild of them all. 
black wolf green eyes
“The north does not need a king,” hetells her over their meal. “It needs hunters and healers andbuilders.”
His voice is hollow. He knows no lord’scourtesies but he does know his duty.
His fork drops with a clatter. “I neverwanted this,” he says as he holds his face in his hands.
“You won’t come back,” he tells her.“No one ever comes back, but I did. There must always be a Stark inWinterfell. And I came back.”
V. Castle Black
She wishes she could fold back time.
Back before Jon left for the wall so she couldplead for him to stay. Back before she left for King’s Landing so she couldproperly say goodbye. She thinks of Rickon and Bran and Robb - the brothers whoshe left behind. She thinks of Sansa and her last words spoken. 
She wishes shecould fold back time; fold it tight and keep it in her pocket.
We were all of us made to grow up so fast.
Rickon had sent a raven ahead to Castle Black.He’s done his lord’s duties and that is all that is expected of him.
She knows that Rickon does not expect to see heragain.
Jon is the one she has always loved the best.
outside the night rain was turning to ice, theheart in her chest battering her ribs like hailstones
one hand scarred and wrinkled
his body scarred
wounds that must have been deep
It is furiously cold on the Wall, and even in theCommander’s solar, they still wear their furs. Fires lick the walls aroundthem,
She’s had nothing but leagues between //// andthe Wall to think of what to say, but “Look,” is all she can manageas she unsheathes Needle, holds it up and displays it proudly. They watchsilently as the sword glitters in the firelight. I have given up everything,but I would never give up this.
She feels like the child she was back inWinterfell. Like Arya is who she is and not just a name.
 VI. Winter’s Keep
He shies away when he doesn’t see her wolf.
Stares at her as if a piece of her is missing. Hedoesn’t know why, and he doesn’t ask. There are already too many questions toworry about the painful ones.
And losing ones soul, that must be the mostpainful of all.
For his part, Summer stays beside him
His eyes are clear and kind and old.
someone wise peering out despite his years
archaic
the woman is apprehensive
they had a set of twins and name them afterbrothers lost. Robb and Jojen
 Bran lives in a keep several days north of thewall.
It once belonged to a man named Craster, but nolonger. The brothers on the wall call it Winter’s Keep.
few wildlings even stay north of the wall,migrated to the gift on Rickon’s request.
He doesn’t plead for her to stay, but he doestell her that the north is cruel. He tells her that he is a bird sometimes andcan fly beyond the reach of man. He tells her that he slips from his skin andwears Summer’s fur like a cloak. He tells her that he can teach her how.
She thinks of her soul wandering somewhere in asouthron forest. She thinks of Nymeria. She could –
But no,that would take her back and she has come so far.
She must go on.
People do not come back, he says. Only ghosts cansurvive in the Land of Always Winter.
Arya is a ghost and she is not afraid.
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poorquentyn · 7 years
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Regarding Connington likely resenting Arianne going by his resentment of Elia over Rhaegar, do you think Arianne will serve to drive a wedge between Aegon and Connington? When the second Dance of Dragons intitiates, Connington would likely advise caution to Aegon for dealing with Tyrion and Dany. Arianne would likely be advised by the Sand Snakes who are anything but cautious and shown to be reckless. Arianne would likely advise for a more bold (less cautious, more risky) approach.
I certainly think Arianne and Jon Connington will butt heads over Aegon, but I don’t see that particular dynamic unfolding. IMO JonCon isn’t likely to advise caution; indeed, he’s constantly seething at Homeless Harry Strickland for being so cautious. For example: 
“If Peake and Rivers are successful, we will control the better part of Cape Wrath,” argued Strickland. “Four castles in as many days, that’s a splendid start, but we are still only at half strength. We need to wait for the rest of my men. We are missing horses as well, and the elephants. Wait, I say. Gather our power, win some small lords to our cause, let Lysono Maar dispatch his spies to learn what we can learn of our foes.”
Connington gave the plump captain-general a cool look. This man is no Blackheart, no Bittersteel, no Maelys. He would wait until all seven hells were frozen if he could rather than risk another bout of blisters. “We did not cross half the world to wait.”
Moreover, JonCon has convinced himself that to seat Aegon on the Iron Throne, he has to be more brutal and over-the-top (more Tywin-esque) than he was as Aerys’ Hand: 
For years afterward, Jon Connington told himself that he was not to blame, that he had done all that any man could do. His soldiers searched every hole and hovel, he offered pardons and rewards, he took hostages and hung them in crow cages and swore that they would have neither food nor drink until Robert was delivered to him. All to no avail. “Tywin Lannister himself could have done no more,” he had insisted one night to Blackheart, during his first year of exile.
“There is where you’re wrong,” Myles Toyne had replied. “Lord Tywin would not have bothered with a search. He would have burned that town and every living creature in it. Men and boys, babes at the breast, noble knights and holy septons, pigs and whores, rats and rebels, he would have burned them all. When the fires guttered out and only ash and cinders remained, he would have sent his men in to find the bones of Robert Baratheon. Later, when Stark and Tully turned up with their host, he would have offered pardons to the both of them, and they would have accepted and turned for home with their tails between their legs.”
He was not wrong, Jon Connington reflected, leaning on the battlements of his forebears. I wanted the glory of slaying Robert in single combat, and I did not want the name of butcher. So Robert escaped me and cut down Rhaegar on the Trident. “I failed the father,” he said, “but I will not fail the son.”
So I think Arianne and JonCon will be antagonistic in part because they’re both impatient and eager to seize the prize (for a variety of reasons in both cases, some sympathetic, some not). It’s less reckless v. cautious than wants to be in charge v. also wants to be in charge. 
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tullyfreckled · 7 years
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{ @killthebxy
it'd been ages since edmure had seen the ocean or anything like it. he had longed for the water, to see it and feel it beneath his toes. he had wanted to run through it, to act like he was seven again with his sister's and petyr. edmure thought it could be simple to go back to those times, to forget and ignore everything else. if only it was that easy. he wanted it, gods he wanted to go back but he couldn't. not when he was standing on dragonstone, a cloak wrapped around him despite the warmer temperatures. somehow winter hadn't reached here, he wasn't sure how.
after a few moments, edmure pulled his boots off, rolling up his pants as he stepped into the water. it was chilly but the feeling of it reminded him of home and it erased all the feelings of what happened. it erased the memory of the beatings, of the starvation, of the worry, the panic, of everything that had happened to him. wherever roslin was, edmure only hoped she was safe, only hoped that she was well and when their child was born, it was healthy. it had to be soon, the moons had been ticking away and roslin had been growing bigger until they took her from him never explaining why. but, now that he thought about it, he was certain he knew the reason: they had known the unsullied were coming.
edmure didn't realize that he was standing waist deep in the water until a wave hit him in the face. shaking his head, he was no longer running through riverrun with his sisters and petyr, trying to keep up with them. instead, he was standing on dragonstone. swearing, edmure began walking back to the beach until he was safe enough to sit down, or well, he would have if he hadn't seen someone else standing on the beach.
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"how long have you been standing there?"
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tullyfreckled · 7 years
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{ @watcherandshield
despite having dry clothes on and a blanket wrapped around him, edmure was still freezing. there was a chill to his bones that not even the fire could push away. it was deep and unrelenting. when he first came here, edmure didn't think that the chambers would be so nice considering that no one had occupied dragonstone since before the war of the five kings, or well, maybe even before. from what edmure could understand, no one had been here when daenerys targaeryn had come here.
there had been rumors about daenerys for months, years, for as long as the war had been going on but edmure hadn't thought anything of it. in fact, he never believed that she would ever step foot on the soil of westeros. yet, here she was and here he was, thanks to her army after taking casterly rock, sitting in one of the chambers wearing his brother-by-marriage's bastard nephews clothing. they were baggy, as edmure had lost weight while being captive.
upon hearing the knock on the door, edmure didn't raise his gaze right away. after a long moment, edmure finally looked at the door, uncertain if he wanted anyone to enter. there had been much that happened, there was much to process, and edmure wanted to be alone. however, he finally called out, "enter" before his gaze turned back to the fire.
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