Chapter Text
Shiera sits with him under the weirwoods, under the cover of his old gods. He fletches arrows while she works on her spells. It’s her own special kind of blasphemy, being the witch in the godswood. She takes pride in it, as she does in all her acts of defiance. She enjoys seeing the sneers and expressions of shock and horror on the faces of the few tree-worshipers of the court.
She never upsets Brynden, though. Not here, at least. He’s never upset here.
Not even when he breaks their silence to propse marriage, yet again, and she turns him down, yet again.
“Damn stubborn woman.” He mutters, turning back to his arrows. She smiles in return.
Later that day she surprises him in his chambers and fucks him on his table, knocking over parchments and candles and spilling ink on the floor and on themselves. After, when she’s laughing at her black handprint on his ass, she thinks maybe, just maybe, the next time he asks, she’ll say yes.
She never does.