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Summary
The poppy was growing stronger now. It was stealing everything away: his pain, his fear, his own tiresome web-weaving. Baelor drifts into the night, unmoored. A lovely comforting image resurfaces in his mind’s eye: a too-tall straw-haired man with storybook charm, stooped by a stone door. His guards and maesters flowing, to and fro, to and fro, black robes and white cloaks, back and forth from his chambers. It is a coursing river, with a seven-pointed star shining above and Baelor at its center. Oaken roots surround him; it is his knight, and he has grown roots all around his prince, thick and fast and sturdy forevermore.
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What follows after Ashford: the growing plot of the Blackfyre Rebellions; the black dragon, the red dragon and the hedge knight.