Hear me Roar - English version

CHAPTER 39 - She may be the only hope we have

               That very evening, I am already far from the ramparts of that cursed city, accompanied by my faithful Arrow and my new steed, whom I have decided to name Brouillard. For the first time in a very long time, I have slipped into trousers and a shirt instead of the light gowns of the capital. I need very little where I am going.

               The Lannister soldiers will soon be in pursuit. With Tyrion behind bars for Joffrey's murder, I have little doubt they will accuse me of the same crime. I am the perfect culprit.

               It is only several days after my departure that I reach the banks of the Blackwater to wash and fish. Our provisions are meagre, and even though Arrow can feed herself, it is high time to restock.

               With my trousers rolled up to my knees and my feet wet from the river's waters, which have grown fresh here, I watch a few trout struggle to save their skins from my makeshift spear. Arrow, who has already caught two, amuses herself by tormenting a small flock of birds.

               A cracking sound to my right alerts me to a presence that I know is not the wind, and that I suspect is not an animal. This scene strangely reminds me of another I lived through several years ago—back when, in King's Landing, Tyrion was preparing to defend the city against Stannis's Baratheon forces.

               I tap my thigh to order Arrow back to my side, but she takes several long seconds before obeying me. This only confirms my doubts. The Blackwater is saltwater, unlike the Red Fork. We are in the Riverlands.

"You are unkillable, Thoros," I call out then.

"My lady..."

               Unlike the last time we saw each other, I have lost my title of Queen. Thoros, on the other hand, still seems to be a worthy contender for the title of drunkard. Both hands on the hilt of his sword, he steps out from behind the thicket where he had been hiding.

"You found me before I found you," I say, packing into my bag the few fish I managed to catch today.

"I have a gift for tracking down Starks."

♐︎

               Once my meagre belongings are gathered, I walk toward Thoros. And, surely driven by all the sadness that has clung to my skin since my departure from King's Landing, I throw myself into his arms.

               Sitting on the cold floor of the cave, I wait patiently for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Bit by bit, the silhouettes become sharper, and the scarred face of Beric Dondarrion takes shape before me. If anyone had told me just a few weeks before today that I would return here to perfect my training, I wouldn't have believed it. I am not even sure I believe it as I am living it.

               I have arrived at my destination; I no longer have any reason to flee or fight to survive. I will be able to live again. However, this thought does not bring me joy. Everything I abandoned in King's Landing - especially Tyrion, condemned to a certain death—will eventually catch up with me.

"Water," I articulate once I can clearly distinguish the opposite wall of the cave.

"I was told you were looking for us..." Beric says, handing me a flask.

               I begin by nodding. I need to drink a few gulps before answering him.

"Joffrey is dead."

"We know that. My condolences."

               Again, I nod. The thought of replying "don't bother" crosses my mind, but that would be a lie. In truth, I welcome his condolences with joy and relief. I never thought I would miss Joffrey one day.