The window of the tower chamber stood open, and moonlight poured in like ghost-silver. The air was thick with the scent of lilac and myrrh, mingling with the scent of sweat and silk sheets tangled upon the bed.
Brynden Rivers lay with Shiera Seastar in their usual entanglement, limbs braided as one, her pale hair spilling across his chest like liquid moonlight. The fire in the hearth had burned low, and only the soft crackle of embers and the hum of the city far below whispered in the silence.
Shiera traced the curve of the scar beneath Brynden's left eye with a slender finger, the faintest smile upon her painted lips.
"He's escaped," she murmured, voice low as velvet.
Brynden let out a quiet breath. "I know."
Shiera's finger trailed to his lips. "And you let him?"
"I am not so sentimental," Brynden replied, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Had I my way, his head would hang from the Red Keep's walls. But I am not king."
She laughed softly, almost mockingly. "You are more than that to many."
Brynden turned to face her, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "If he dares cross again with another Blackfyre in tow… it will be his last."
"You've said that before."
"And I meant it."
A pause. Silence stretched like a drawn bowstring.
Then he asked, not for the first time, "Marry me."
Shiera's smile faded to a look of amused exasperation. "Again?" she said, arching a brow.
Brynden nodded. "Yes. Again."
She sighed, rising slightly on one elbow, her bare shoulder gleaming in the moonlight. "You know my answer, Bloodraven."
"I still ask."
"You're more persistent than the sea."
Brynden took her hand, his voice quieter now. "I would give you everything."
Shiera leaned in, their faces inches apart. "You already have, my lord Hand. My bed. My heart, when it suits me. My blood, perhaps, when it pleases the gods. But marriage?"
She sat upright now, her long hair cascading over her form like a veil. "No. The realm watches us with suspicion. The maesters whisper of my potions, your dreams, and the ravens that fly at your command. If we were wed, they'd cry sorcery. Damnation. Targaryen madness." A glint danced in her eye. "It's better this way. I can love you in shadow, and the gods will not look."
Brynden sat up beside her, his mismatched eyes shadowed with disappointment, though his face showed little.
"Perhaps you are right," he said at last.
She touched his cheek, her expression softening. "Of course I am. And besides…" she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear, "I like it better this way."
The last of the firelight flickered as they returned to each other in the darkness, their passions resumed amidst the ancient stones of the Red Keep, watched only by the stars—and perhaps the gods, though neither truly cared.