Summerhall

“Does she know?”Jaime spun around, nearly jumping out of his skin. He flexed his hand around the flashlight he carried. Dust and soot and time itself danced toward the floorboards in the cone of yellow light. On the other end stood a man whose wrinkles cast shadows like the trenches of the Great War across his face.“Who are you?” He took a cautious step towards the man—broad and snowy-haired, though his violet eyes shone bright and like a much younger man’s.“Duncan Targaryen, and this is my house.”