He did not remember rising. One moment he was staring at the empty war map, and the next he was striding through the corridor, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
Guards along the queen’s wing stiffened at his approach. None dared meet his eyes.
When he reached the main doors, two Silver Blades stepped into his path.
“She’s resting,” one said with a low bow. “Lady Catelyn ordered—”
“I outrank Catelyn,” Gwi said, voice like frost. “Open the door.”
They hesitated, glancing at each other.
“I will not ask again.”
The doors opened.
The scent hit him first—mint, faint ginger, the soft perfume of lavender and candle wax. The room was dim, drapes drawn. And in the center, was Siera. Her skin was pale, lashes casting long shadows against her cheeks. A silver tray near the bedside held half-drunk tea and untouched fruit. A small bowl of crushed herbs sat cooling beside it.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Siera lay propped up against the cushions, awake, a sheen of sweat along her brow. The blood had been cleaned. The linens changed. But something in the air still reeked of what had been lost.
The door creaked open, slow. Gwi stepped in quietly, as if afraid that noise might shatter something more than it already had.
Catelyn stood at the side of the bed. She looked back, startled at first, then glanced to Siera for permission. Siera gave her a slow nod.
Without a word, Catelyn bowed and slipped out, closing the door gently behind her.
Silence stretched. It hung between them like a held breath.
Gwi didn’t move closer. He stayed just inside the door, like he wasn’t sure he was welcome.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice low.
“I am,” she replied, equally soft. Her voice was tired. Raw.
Another pause. Then, as if the words had been clawing at him for far too long, Gwi’s voice cracked through the silence, hoarse with frustration, but controlled, as though each syllable was a struggle:
''Why didn’t you tell me?'' The words were heavy, laden with a thousand unspoken questions—each one a shard that threatened to tear at the careful restraint he had been holding onto. "Why keep it from me? Why let me walk around in this half-light, blind to what’s happening inside of you?" He swallowed hard, feeling the truth of his question burn in his chest.
He couldn't help it. He couldn’t hold back anymore.
His question wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t even accusing. It was… defeated. Like someone asking not to understand, but to simply hear it confirmed that he had no place anymore.
“I wanted to,” she said truthfully. “Every day. But every time I thought about it, something—fear, timing, the pressure—always won.”
He nodded slowly, his movements stiff, as if every muscle in his body had been resisting the truth for too long. It wasn’t agreement—no, it was acceptance, a grudging recognition of something he had been too afraid to confront. The answer had always been there, just beneath the surface, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, but he had buried it deep, refusing to let it come to light.
“I thought I’d feel angry,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But I don’t. I just feel... small.” Gwi’s fingers curled into fists, his knuckles white from the strain. His gaze flickered to Siera, then away, as if he couldn’t bear to hold it longer than a heartbeat. He took a sharp, uneven breath, his chest heaving slightly as if the very air in the room was suffocating him. His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle beneath it twitched with the effort of holding back whatever words or emotions were fighting to spill out.
She looked at him, her gaze flickering between him and the space around them as if trying to find the right words, but nothing seemed to come. Her lips parted, trembling ever so slightly, as if she wanted to speak, but the words were caught somewhere deep in her chest. Her throat felt tight, each breath coming unevenly, as if the weight of his question pressed down on her ribs.
“I’m not blaming you,” he added. “Maybe it really was better this way. Maybe I just didn’t want to see the signs.”
“Gwi—”
“No, let me say this,” he said, his voice wavering—shaking, but not from anger. No, it wasn’t rage that cracked his tone. It was something far more painful. It was the effort of keeping everything bottled up inside him, of trying to control the flood of emotions threatening to break free.
“Was this your way of telling me... that you’re done?” His breath caught, and for a moment, his throat closed, as though he couldn’t even force the words past the lump there.
The words slipped out, raw, jagged, and clumsy in their delivery, but they carried the weight of a thousand unanswered questions—the doubt, the hurt, the fear that had been simmering for days, weeks, months.
He stepped closer, as if drawn by some force he couldn’t control, his eyes desperate as they searched hers. “That I should finally understand my place and disappear?”
There it was. The question he hadn’t dared to voice until now. The one that made him feel small, insignificant, as if everything he had done—the promises, the sacrifices—meant nothing in the face of her quiet decision to shut him out. And as the words left his mouth, something inside him twisted. Something broke. He could feel the fragile bridge between them cracking, but he couldn’t stop. He had to know.
Siera’s breath caught. Her eyes welled, but she blinked quickly, refusing to cry.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, breaking the silence. “I only wanted to protect the child. From everything.”
He swallowed. “Including me.”
Her silence was answer enough. Siera’s heart skipped a beat, the words piercing through her like a sharp, unexpected truth. She felt a rush of cold air fill the space between them as his voice—so full of vulnerability, so raw—cut through the silence she had carefully cultivated.
And that was the moment he felt it — not betrayal. Not even rejection. Just the cold understanding that love wasn’t enough. That maybe she still cared for him. Maybe always would. But something had broken between them the moment she chose to keep it from him.
“I understand,” he said softly. “More than you think.”
He stepped back toward the door.
“Please, rest. Your strength will be needed… soon.”
“Gwi—” she said, voice catching. But she couldn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t know what she was trying to say.
He looked back just once. And he smiled—barely there. Bitter. Tired. Full of everything he couldn’t voice.
And then he left.
When the door clicked shut, Siera didn’t move. Her hand settled on her stomach again. Her heartbeat echoed louder than any words he’d said. And louder still were the words he hadn’t.
Outside, Gwi paused in the hallway, hand braced against the cold stone wall. He didn’t cry. He didn’t curse.
He just stood there.
And for the first time, truly considered what it meant to leave.