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    Summary

    “Is my brother truly dead, do you think?” 

    Ormund turns then, to stare at those wide eyes and that straightened, noble back. So recognizable, all the beauty of a maid in a song and the bearing of a prince from a fantasy. “Such unexpected insolence,” he murmurs, “from a mere squire.” 

    The boy’s lip curls. “Is my brother truly dead, my lord?” 

    in the dark of the night, lord ormund hightower, guardian to prince daeron targaryen, converses with his squire.

    Language:
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