#cdricdaync

Emilya's eyes remained downwards, focusing on the heat of the flames that danced about in the pit of her chambers. After everything that she had gone through, she believed she should not have to plead her story for the family that supposedly mourned her. Her cousin stood in the room with her, but she did not feel as if she was in the company of family. Sure, he had not thought anything of it when her brother had said he was searching for her. Why would he? She was as much a Dayne as he, and that meant that he had a duty to protect her, as much as she did him.  But she could not help feel the pain, the betrayal, that no one else went looking for her.

"What more do you want me to say, cousin?" The words are quiet, she no longer had the energy to fight. No longer had the energy to be angry. She was sad: she was so unbearably sad. The damage that had been done to her soul could not be undone, no matter what amount of revenge or love she received. "I have lost everything, Ned. Everything. I lost my family, my name, my freedom. I lost my son. I..." Her voice becomes shaky as the tears well in her eyes. "I am so sad, Ned... I am so terribly sad. I am angry, but it is just a cover-up for this sorrow that has settled in my heart from the moment I saw him telling those men to take me away... I just wanted to protect him, and what did it get me? The whole world believed me dead or to be the salt wife of some foul Ironbron... After everything I have been through - the story, I will not be quiet about it. What future in Dorne do you think I will have once this is done? I could not have a husband after everything that has happened - no man in his right mind would have me. And I fear I cannot have any more children..." And that's what she longed for really: motherhood.

"Would have been better if I had died as they all said. Would have been better..."

There was a time when Edric had not believed in the otherworldly, in magic. It is strange to think on now, after all he has seen; the naivete of youth never fails to amaze. Thoros of Myr had convinced him long ago that there was more to the world than met the eye, with his visions in the flame and his ability to bring the dead back to life. Arrival at the summit had served to cement this more – it was easy to believe in the existence of anything when dragons flew overhead.

Tilting his head, Edric gazed with interest at the little man before him, thinking over his words. Did he mean them literally? These days, Edric could never be certain. “I am sure ghosts and ghouls are better company than the dead we are heading towards,” he mused, voice soft as always. Though shy by nature, the presence of the Reed boy made him uneasy - but curious, curious enough to pass the long day’s ride alongside him. “Do they speak to you? What do they say?”

Jojen could never be sure what the experiences of another were, in some cases a faith (be it the Old Gods or another) was one of the strongest aspects to a person’s life, in other cases they had never considered it. He tried to keep such thoughts to himself, but so fresh from a recent vision, he was somewhat more vulnerable both in body and in mind. He’d needed to speak something, in someway, even if it would be badly received. Fate was smiling upon him though, the man seemed receptive to some talk on it.