[In the time since the monster attacks on the world’s cities, Jon and Daenerys have each involved themselves in relief efforts. He has kept in touch as a supportive presence. They are closer, as people, than they had been before, but haven’t discussed it.]
What do you think of Riverstone?
It doesn’t seem like your kind of place.
[He knows that it isn’t very likely that she would want any more people than necessary to know that she is the dragon among the Displaced. Yet, at the same time, enough people know that he isn’t sure that all of them will keep it to themselves: some might use the information for personal gain.
Either way, they both know why she might choose not to go. It may not be a good idea to discuss that part in any depth until they can talk face to face.]
I haven’t made a decision about it. But you are right to be skeptical.
They are like high lords. People have no great protection from them. All this talk of the law, and it doesn’t matter. I’ve never known the law to protect anyone from a lord.
I don’t like the idea of them taking parts of my body. Has anyone wanting your blood or skin or hair ever been anything good?
[She could answer a pretty firm "no" to that question, but she is fairly certain it is rhetorical, and she doesn't really want to speculate on it either way.]
Laws can mean very little when they are made to suit individuals rather than a whole people.
Fortunately, you still have the option to refuse such things. It is dangerous to be inviting others into the lives of the Displaced and their powers. I am glad to hear you are not considering it.
[Because he's not. Right? That's what he's telling her?]
Of course. But it does not have to be either of them.
[It's a little thing, but its nice to hear him continue to confirm that he will not lend aid to Cersei. It makes the sting of him refusing to renounce his claim as a King hurt a little less.]
We could do with a bit of quiet, wouldn't you agree?
The only trouble is that I'm not sure there is quiet anywhere in this world anymore. Not at Red Wings. Only that everyone around the place won't be fighting so much.
[If he knew of a cave, he would go live in it for a week.]
Edited (who remembers their previous tag in this thread? not me!) 2020-10-19 04:32 (UTC)
I saw some of the others speaking of New Casablanca. There is still New Cairo, or New Oslo, though they are not what they were a few moons ago.
I'd like to go somewhere warm.
[There are ways in which New Amsterdam is more than enough of his idea of warm, and ways in which he means "I'd like to go somewhere that isn't rubble," but the latter is near to impossible at the moment. What he would like is to get away from Red Wings and people sending each other angry missives for everyone else to see and thinking of his dead neighbors and everything else. For a few days, if he can.
Maybe he'd also like to spend that time with her.]
It isn’t. Time was when all I wanted to do was go as far south as I could. A year or two ago, after I left the Watch. Even a Northman can have enough of freezing.
[And of people doing whatever they can to stop his attempts to keep them alive.]
New Casablanca sounds as good as anywhere else. I’ll try to find a place to stay without too many rats, if the coin allows.
When should I say we’re going? They’ll want to know the days.
The case I have for Longclaw is a case for a guitar. A guitar is like a lute — like enough to a lute. I can’t carry a sword on my belt, but there is room enough in it for other things.
It isn’t the work of an hour to fill it with clothes. You don’t want a few days?
I’ll be at your door in an hour, then, unless you want to meet me at Red Wings. I don’t think either of us should go down to the gate alone. Not after everything that’s happened.
Do you want me to carry some of your things in this case?
[Courtesy! The case is much larger than a saddlebag, and if it was a saddlebag, he would still offer.]
I promised the man who gave me the sword that I would never lose it. I can’t leave it behind while I’m in another city. Not now.
[He doesn’t ask her where she’s stopping. He wants to know, but it isn’t his business — not really. She will tell him if she wishes.
When she arrives at Red Wings, he’s standing outside of it, leaning against the wall with a guitar case propped up next to him. No one else is around. His smile is slight but genuine, and he lifts his hand in a little wave.]
All ready?
It’s strange to set out on a journey at this time of day.
[Not, he means, at the earliest light, though it still won’t be too late when they reach their destination.]
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