Most mines are dank and chilly places, cut from cold dead stone, but the Fourteen Flames were living mountains with veins of molten rock and hearts of fire. We have flowered in Braavos amongst these northern fogs, but we first took root in Valyria, amongst the wretched slaves who toiled in the deep mines beneath the Fourteen Flames that lit the Freeholds nights of old. Before the Titan rose, before the Unmasking of Uthero, before the Founding, we were. The Priest in Black and White: Men may whisper of the Faceless Men of Braavos, but we are older than the Secret City. It was only by chance that Stark's own men found the girl before me. but you know that story, don't you? As I was fucking her, Cersei cried, "I want." I thought that she meant me, but it was the Stark girl that she wanted, maimed or dead. He would not have been the first king to die upon my sword. If His Grace had woken I would have killed him there and then.
I took her on Raymun Darry's bed after stepping over Robert. She told me I should carry her to bed, and shrugged out of her robe. I asked my sister if she wanted me to carry him to bed. The king was passed out snoring on the Myrish carpet. Past midnight, the queen summoned me inside. The old penalty, for striking one of the blood royal. My sister wanted the girl to lose a hand. Ned Stark's daughter had run off after her wolf savaged Joff, you'll recall.
Where King Robert slept, on our return from Winterfell. Jaime: That was Raymun Darry's bedchamber.
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