[Her smile fades again. What should have been a happy memory was inevitably tainted by the circumstances that had lead her there. She cannot imagine Jon genuinely caring or wanting to know of her late husband, or how she had laid upon his funeral pyre with her eggs —given to her as a wedding gift for the marriage she had been sold into.
Even if she had come to love Drogo, there was nothing to erase what came before it.]
Fire.
[Her eyes drop to the burned patch on the grass. It would be disingenuous to imply that fire’s hand was the only hand. Summerhall was enough to prove that it took more than fire alone.]
no subject
Even if she had come to love Drogo, there was nothing to erase what came before it.]
Fire.
[Her eyes drop to the burned patch on the grass. It would be disingenuous to imply that fire’s hand was the only hand. Summerhall was enough to prove that it took more than fire alone.]
It is not a happy tale.