and the septons say we must love our brothers. i will go to my grave thinking of my brother's peach. dear brother, i had hoped you were dead. they're not supposed to have statues, but my father loved them so much he had them done. when we were girls together, we had a private language, she and i. we're not friends, we're brothers. you may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. i have to be as brave as robb. the sound of a door opening, the scream of a rusted iron hinge. it all goes back and back, to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them; we are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance on in our steads
