brynden “bloodraven” rivers
He’s old and strong, tall and majestic. He sees all, hears all. Time and memories fade, and yet he remains. He’s in the godswood. He is the godswood.
He sees his mother, though barely, praying to his dead, bare limbs. He sees the snows falling in the North. He sees ancient things stirring from their slumber in the ice. He sees himself, his body, kneeling among the red leaves. He sees-
A light flashes. Brynden opens his eyes.
His gaoler is there, holding a lantern up. The light burns his eyes, and Brynden shrinks into himself, turning away, back into the darkness. “What…do you want?” He croaks, his voice hoarse from unuse. Has my time to die come already?
“The king has summoned you.” The gaoler jerks his arm, pulling him up on his shakey knees. He’s closer to the light than before, so he covers his face with his arms, trying to block it out. The light, I’ve never liked the light, even as a child. Was he once a child? He must have been, he’s seen himself through the trees. He feels too old to have ever been young once.
“The king? Maekar…”
The gaoler laughs, all but dragging him out of his cell. “Lord Bloodraven with his thousand eyes and one doesn’t know who the king is? Har!” He’s pushed into a wall, his head knocking against the stone. He crumples to the ground only to be pulled up again. “It’s King Aegon that wants you, you dirty kinslayer.”
Aegon. Egg, they’d called him as a child. He was a good boy- talkative and mischeiveous- but compaired to the others… his brothers, his father.
Something stirs inside Brynden, the tiniest flicker of an almost forgotten emotion. Hope. Maekar put me in this cell, perhaps Aegon will take me out.