He burns with anger, passion, hurt. It’s always there, dwelling inside, no matter how easily or awkwardly he slaps a veneer of humor and easygoingness over it. It was always there, even when he smiled at the Warden, or talked to Ser Pounce-a-lot. All that Justice did was make him burn brighter, hotter, so he could never be contained by promises of change, by a brighter future paved over generations. He made him burn so that the only thing he could do was take action. He could not think or second guess, because Justice is always right, and those who question it are always wrong. He could not compromise because to do so would be to invite injustice to reign again. He could not bend, because to do so would be to break all that he was.
Some people just want to watch the world burn, and others try to put out the fire with another.
