[ She kneels down on the fur beside him, folded as if for prayer, her red robes spilling around her like blood, and thinks of Stannis. It had given him some sense of pleasure, among all her visions and predictions and all the times she had been so infuriatingly right, to find things she did not know – like her failure to identify which specific animal a fur came from, or what that animal even looked like.

He has an easy smile to answer, this Jaime Lannister. Fate played him cruelly, she thinks, as she takes a sip of wine, more measured, this time. It is stronger than she thought it would be. ]

If we had both lived the lives we were born into... [ Never has she spoken this truth out loud, though of course, most people who know the first thing about the Red God knows how he comes about the servants, the whores, the warriors, and the priests in his Temple. ] Well, who is to say you may never have travelled to Essos, or that I might never have been sent here. No Lord would remember the face of a slave.

[ But that's just the thing, isn't it? ]

I cannot be free. I cannot strip of my priesthood anymore than I could look into a fire and see only flame, it is burned into my very core. Just like the world could bleed you dry, and yet you would still be from the Westerlands, you would still be Ser Jaime.

[ She watches him closely, but without judgment, only with curiosity. She thought it had left her, somewhere around the time she had been horribly, cruelly wrong about Azor Ahai, but now curiosity is back, and she wants to know him, perhaps because there is kinship in being displaced. Instead of voicing this thought, she hands him the jug. ]

Where would you go, if you could be anyone, anywhere?